#// iojsdif ugh I have missed them SO MUCH

[call-2-arms]

When the Lannister's back struck the wall, it could have been enough to break a spine if Sandor had tried any harder. Alas, the Hound may have been rough and thoughtless to some, and feral as he was, but with Jaime, it was a game--a game that was desperate with longing. Or maybe it was just two men who didn't know what the fuck they were doing anymore. These hard headed soldiers, knowing nothing but war and fighting for the last decade. How were they supposed to come back from that? How were they supposed to be gentle?

Where had the dog even gone? After the war, Jaime had little choice in where he was to serve, unless he wished to keep himself locked in a cell. His crimes were great, yes, but with his battles fought in the Long Night, and a new king, and Tyrion serving their new King, it was his younger brother's sway in the court that truly kept him out of chains. Perhaps it was also his guilt that sat, festering inside him, that made him bow his head in service. It was the least he could do for what he'd put everyone through. If he'd not pushed a young boy from a window, then maybe none of this would have happened in the first place.

Clegane's rough hands were a welcome feeling against his body as he was forced back, the breath from his lungs pushing through his lips. That scarred and ugly face glowered at him, and caused Jaime to scowl. But how many times had he been so desperate for Cersei that he'd shoved her against the nearest wall and taken her?

His single hand gripped at the Hound's leathers, keeping them flush together, green eyes bright at the return.

"What I want?" he asked, his own words catching him off guard. Gods, what did he want? He was so fucked up from everything that had happened. He'd had no one outside of Cersei, he didn't even know what the hell he was doing when it came to any other relationships? If it weren't for growing up beside his now dead sister, he had no idea how he would have courted her. So then how the fuck did you court someone like Sandor Clegane? Someone that didn't care for the pretty things in life, someone who was a soldier and all the gruffness of a dog.

"I want you." There was a tone in his voice that made it sound like that should have been obvious to the other man, but how could it be?

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𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆 he seeks the golden haired man out. sorry and with a longing he would never get used to on his own. it's the feral part of him that rears its ugly head and he finds himself doing little to hold it back. grey are the walls of winterfell and grey are the walls of the red keep in which their paths, so long ago, would cross regularly. grey and gold and such a lack of color should be unsettling but sandor finds it home. grey stone, gold of the westerlands. ( he knows the west like i do — knows the sun there and the tall wheat and how dry the air could be and how, in spite of that, the sweat would roll down his forehead. )

his arm, all thick with muscle and promise, moves to pin jaime along those familiar stones. doesn't speak at first, his actions run hotter than his blood. faster than his words can form. eyes dart from his eyes to his lips and back up to his eyes — depths he can't handle. and gods, he wished they were coming at each other with swords and not flesh. at least then sandor would know what move to make.

" what do you want from me, lannister, " he starts, voice a stark difference from the last they connected. he leans in slightly, in spite of himself. ferocity grabbing the reigns — a pattern he sorely finds himself falling into lately. " decide quick, " he almost spits. " won't stick around for one night alone. "