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We're All Going to Die	By : pip Category: G through L > Game of Thrones Views: 12196 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones and I make no money from this work of fanfiction.

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Chapter Three

The next morning found Clegane and Tormund together at breakfast where Brienne came upon them. They weren't finished, but she took away their plates anyway and jerked her head in command.

“Get up. We're going for a walk.”

That didn't sound good.

If he was looking to see what her intentions were following their disaster of the previous evening, Clegane was not comforted by the sword at her side, but she was not wearing her armour. That was something. He moved to pick up his sword belt, only to have Brienne lay her hand upon his.

“You don't need it,” Brienne told him.

Troubled, he glanced at Tormund, who looked just as bewildered and clueless as he felt.

“I always fucking need my sword,” Clegane said in response, “especially when I go anywhere with you.” Brienne stared at him, her eyes giving nothing away.

“If anything is out there, I'm more than capable of protecting the three of us. We go out there to talk, or to fight. Your choice.”

Clegane shook his head and sighed. “Leave the sword,” Tormund said in his ear. And so that is how they came to be walking out on the snowy hillside, unarmed, with an angry Brienne of Tarth occasionally glaring at both of them. It was a seriously poor decision on his part, given their past history. When they were out of earshot of anyone in Winterfell, she stopped and whirled around to face the two of them.

“Our plan to fight together is a good one,” she announced coolly. “I still want to do it. But I swear if either of you try to make a fool of me again, I'll kill you in your sleep before the dead even get here. Do you understand me?”

Completely cowed, or maybe just turned on by Brienne's stern demeanour, Tormund immediately stepped forward and bowed his head. “Apologies, my Lady.” Fucking boy scout. Clegane harrumphed in derision.

Clegane, for his part, was a little more exasperated, because he thought he knew where this came from. It had nothing to with what they had done, and everything to do with Brienne's own insecurities, and he just didn't feel like letting her get away with it. She might have to live with them – but he sure as hell didn't. “Wait a minute. You don't understand –”

“I understand enough. Make your fun somewhere else, that's all I ask.” She looked as if she was ready to behead one or both of them if they so much as cracked a smile in her direction. He thought of all he dreamed about lately, of things he did with her, and Clegane heard himself growl.

“You bloody-minded bitch.” Again, he shook his head, and now he pointed at Tormund, whom he'd actually come to like well enough over the past day or so.

“Him, I think he's completely in love with you. When all this is over he wants to marry you or something, and have giant ginger babies.” He rolled his eyes. “Have a house together where you can raise them, I don't know.” He threw his hands up. “He's a wildling. Maybe he just wants a tent, or some twigs.” As he spoke he watched the light of comprehension dawn in Brienne – that Tormund's attentions and words were not an act – were serious. At bloody last! But then she looked at him.

“And you?” she queried, frowning. “What do you think you want?”

Some several fantasies arose in Clegane's mind, each of them so obscene there was no way he could speak them out loud to her. Most of them centred around fucking her without holding back, knowing she could take it, that she could take him in a way most women couldn't. And he was quite sure she'd take that as an insult. Of the others, they were decidedly pornographic, and Brienne was a maiden. It wasn't seemly somehow. She'd think he thought of her as a whore. He couldn't talk of the things Tormund spoke of. Hearts and flowers and babies and such. He was no romantic. Like her, life had schooled him far too well. And so he let those thoughts pass through his mind, and then he laughed at himself scornfully. So be it.

“Nothing!” he said at last, throwing his hands in the air, giving up, and he realised his mistake half a second later. For the shortest of moments her façade cracked, and he saw those marvellous eyes shine bright with unshed tears before they cleared and hardened again.

“I see.” Brienne nodded and swallowed, looked down, then drew her sword. How is this fucking fair? Clegane snorted in disbelief.

“Fuck, no. Not again!” He was unarmed. He scowled, held out his arms and stepped back, but to his great relief Brienne threw the blade aside, obviously never having intended to use it.

“Then while we're out here,” she said coldly, “you get it out of you!” She walked right up to him, right into his space. “You get over it. Whatever it is.” She shoved him back, right in the chest, then smiled without humour. “But I know what it is. You think I haven't beaten enough men in my time? You think I haven't seen it before? Get over yourself. Once more and be done.” She pushed him again, and he staggered backwards. “Come on!”

It was like he had a button she could push any time she felt like it, and he didn't want to fight, but he couldn't help himself. With a roar, he moved his leg to trip her, and then the next thing he knew they were rolling down the hill together, over and over, an almost perfect match in size and strength, except that he had a slight edge over her. But he didn't use it. That's how she came to be resting on top of him, glaring and furious, holding him down to the frozen ground as Tormund looked on in amusement, having followed them on foot.

“It's always 'to the death' with you two,” he commented idly. Clegane threw him a momentary glare.

“Remind me why I help you, ginger cunt,” he spat.

“Well, like I said before, perhaps it's because you're not really mean, you just act mean. And you want to suck my cock.”

Clegane didn't bother to respond to the taunt. He was caught in Brienne's eyes again, willing her to understand him.

“I want you,” he said, meaning it with every fibre of his being. Her face seemed to crumple.

“I don't believe you.”

Briefly, Clegane closed his eyes in frustration. “But you believe him?”

“He's never tried to kill me!” Brienne hissed angrily, and he felt her weight on him shift. Reacting quickly, he grabbed at her wrist, his own hand no longer imprisoned, and he dragged her hand down between their bodies because if he couldn't say it, he could show her, because he was hard again.

“That was never fucking personal. This is.”

“No!” she cried out, but it was too late. Her hand opened out, but her palm was hot against his breeches, against the hardness in there.

“I know you're a maiden,” he said, having to use more strength than he expected to stop her from pulling her hand back. “I know you're inexperienced, but you're old enough, and you're not daft or naïve. What do you think this is for?”

She bit her lip, her eyes closed, and she shivered atop him in utter shock. “Don't...”

“Do you think this is for him?” Clegane questioned, not letting her get away. He waited, until she opened her eyes again and finally saw him. Saw him and felt him at the same time. “I want you, Brienne of Tarth. Believe this,” and he moved a little against her palm, “if you believe nothing else about me.”

She shook her head in confusion, those unshed tears shining in her eyes again. They were many years old those tears. He wasn't the cause of them. “If that's true, then why is it so hard to say?”

Clegane sighed, and he wriggled his other arm free to pull her closer to him so that he could whisper the next part into her ear. He didn't want Tormund hearing it. This was between them. “Because I can't say I want to marry you. I don't want to own you. I can't say I want to care for you. You can take care of yourself. I can't say any of those romantic things you probably dreamed of as a girl, that you might still dream of in your heart because you're still a girl beneath all that hardness. I don't want to make you mine. I don't want to make you weak. What I want shouldn't be said to a Lady like you. I want to fuck you – hard. I want us to fuck like we fight, as if it's all that matters. I want to make you moan and cry out my name. I want to beg you for mercy and have you beg me just the same. I want to feel you squeeze my cock when you come. I want to fuck you with my tongue and taste you when you come on my lips. I want to fuck you until all you know is me, and all I know is you. That's what I want.”

“Oh...” Brienne said at last, and he let her move back a little, so he could see her face again. She seemed startled, and something in his heart fell.

“Are you sorry you asked now?” he asked, sarcastic, expecting the answer, so it came as a bit of a shock to him when her expression cleared and she tightened her lips in challenge, her face tilting back so that her jaw stuck out a little.

“Should I be?” As she said it, he felt her fingers, clumsily curling around him through his breeches, and he gasped loudly.

“Am I doing it wrong?” she wanted to know, squeezing. Oh, just a little too much, but it felt too good to have her touch him to say so.

“No...” he said, then swore, “and, yes...” He couldn't help moving in her grip, tight as it was. “Ahh... fuck...”

“Teach me, then. Tell me how to do it to you, all those things you said.” She looked down at him, her expression open and honest, and Clegane was surprised he didn't come right there and then. With his own hand, he taught her fingers to relax a little. Her hand was so – it was impossible to describe. It was a woman's hand, yes, but it wasn't. She had large hands, long fingers. But it was a woman's hand that encircled him. It felt like he'd been waiting for her his whole life.

“Like this...” he said, biting his lip because she had it right enough now. Even through his clothes it felt amazing. “Yes...” He moved a little, and when that didn't alarm her, he let himself thrust into her grip over and over, watching how the look in her eyes warmed in amusement as he came apart below her. It was the same look she gave him after their first clash of swords, that smile. Clegane found he didn't mind at all. In fact, it was that, it was her sudden confidence that spelt the end of him, and he came with a low, deep groan, only to find when he opened his eyes there was no escape. That he was still the prisoner of Lady Brienne of Tarth, who looked down upon him with a curious expression.

“What is it?” she demanded, frowning. “What happened? Why did you stop?”

Clegane shrugged sheepishly. “I couldn't help it. Your hand, it felt so good.”

A booming laugh echoed over the hill and they both looked up to see the wildling sat on the snowy ground beside them. “To be ended so quickly,” Tormund said, teasing, then winked at Brienne. “Well played. I think you should try me out next time you want to play with something.”

“You,” she accused. “You want me too.” She didn't make it a question, more of a statement, as if she was trying to come to terms with the revelation.

“Yes.” Tormund nodded quickly.

“And yet you just sat around and watched us then?”

He only shrugged carelessly. “I have no competition.”

“Oh?” As if bidden, Clegane watched Brienne's gaze flicker down briefly, though since Tormund was bundled up in furs again, there wasn't much chance of seeing anything. Again, the wildling laughed.

“Oh, no!” he said then. “I think it's your turn.”

“My turn?” Brienne echoed, suspicious. In response, Tormund just patted the ground beside him. Fucking spoilsport! Clegane sighed, since he'd just managed to get his hands where he wanted them, sliding them over her hips where she was perched astride him, and down so that he was just getting acquainted with her buttocks. But she moved away, curious to a fault, though she was quite safe with the two of them, Clegane was certain of it. It kind of depended on your notion of 'safe' though.

She lay on her back with her arms folded, glaring up at the wildling. “If I don't like it, or if you hurt me, I'll end you too,” she threatened. “And don't think I haven't noticed you're littler than him.”

Clegane laughed out loud at Tormund's rapturous expression. The day she raised a hand to him he'd probably swoon, just like a maiden. The thought was hilarious somehow.

“I'm just going to touch your leg,” he said carefully. “On the inside... here.” He illustrated by brushing his fingers up her inner thigh, moving the single layer of fur she wore out of the way to do so. Even then she wore thick breeches. She must barely feel it.

“Is that it?” she asked, unimpressed, and Tormund smirked.

“Not quite. Just going to go a little further up now.” And he was, and he was nearly there as Clegane watched, and he saw as Brienne realised the trick, what his eventual aim was, the flare of alarm in her eyes as she closed her legs.

“No!”

Before she could move, or otherwise hurt the wildling in any way, Clegane scooted closer. He cupped her face with one hand, turning her head to look at him, taking her attention, letting his thumb caress her cheek. She seemed unbearably fragile to him then somehow. Not breakable like all other women were. She seemed fragile because she needn't be, as if it was something she only showed to him, and it made her completely irresistible.

“Much better,” he murmured, almost to himself, slowly closing the gap between them. Her lips were full and pink in the winter sun. Much better like this, when they were all sober, when they all knew what they were doing. Their lips met, and it was tender, the slightest pressure, because he wanted to feel it all, wanted to feel it when she kissed him back. And she did so, tentatively, clumsily, as if she'd never done it before – and then he remembered.

When they all knew what they were doing... he was getting carried away. She didn't know anything. But he smiled against her lips, and he kept it light, patient, tutoring her, keeping tongues away for now. Her hands were on his face again, as if she didn't want him to stop. And then suddenly she gasped.

“W-what is it? Oh!” Her breath was coming in little fits and starts, and her hands trembled on his cheeks. Her eyes rolled closed. Clegane looked down, and saw that Tormund had reached his goal. The kiss had distracted her, and the wildling was now rubbing a slow circle over her pubis. He was using the heel of his palm. Hadn't gone inside her breeches, but the pressure and heat should be doing the trick well enough. Had she ever even been touched before? Going by her reaction, Clegane would lay money on not. He would lay money on her not even having touched herself there. What use would she have for a distraction like that? Quite suddenly he saw more than he really wanted to, and he felt suddenly closer to her.

He was not born as The Hound. He'd made himself, hammered away at himself until the result was a monster that matched his terrible, scarred appearance. And her... she was the same. She wasn't born the fearsome Brienne of Tarth. If she'd chosen so, she could have become a tall exotic blonde beauty. Instead, she'd forged herself and chiselled away at everything that wasn't necessary to ensure she became what she wanted to be. Fuck, how he loved her for it. And he knew then that if he didn't watch out, losing an ear to her would be the least of his worries.

He looked back up, and saw she'd thrown her head back, her hands had fallen away from him to rest on the ground beside her head, fists opening and closing in the same rhythm as Tormund's touch. Her eyelashes fluttered on her cheeks.

She had the longest, most exquisite neck he'd ever seen. Clegane reached out to touch, fingers curling around the nape of her neck, thumb brushing over the hollow in front. Then suddenly there were fingers clamped tight around his wrist, brute strength forcing his hand back. She raised her head, still breathing fast and light, her eyes an extraordinary dark blue with pleasure.

“Don't do that,” she said, her voice low and sultry, and then she moaned. Her entire body undulated between him and the wildling. Tormund just smiled and nodded, and carried right on touching her that way. She'd relaxed her legs again, bent her knees a little, probably completely unaware of it.

“Never been touched, has she?” Tormund breathed, as if he'd found some great prize. Clegane gave him a sharp look.

“Never anything.” He paused. “Fucking imagine it, will you.” They looked at each other, then at her, almost writhing on the ground between them. Tormund stopped, though his hand still rested in that place on her. Brienne almost seemed to slump, as if someone had cut the strings that animated her.

“I think we should take you back to your room, and all get a bit better acquainted,” Tormund said carefully, obviously reconsidering his actions in light of his discovery.

“Don't stop!” Brienne cried out, and she surged to a sitting position, her midriff muscles rippling slightly. She pressed Tormund's hand in place. Something about her seemed wild, and quite suddenly she really and truly frightened Clegane. Dangerous and wild – Brienne of Tarth? He couldn't think of anything more terrifying. For once, Tormund didn't seem as affected by it. Almost as if he'd been expecting it.

“You want me to undo you right here,” he challenged, “out in the open air, just like you did with the dog?” he jerked his head sideways at Clegane, who shot him a dirty look.

“I want you to continue, or I'll kill you,” she said sweetly, staring right into the wildling's eyes. She paused, just for a beat, eyelids flickering. “Just as soon as I find my sword.”

Tormund laughed in admiration. It was a strange reaction, but Clegane began to understand what he saw in her. He, Clegane appreciated the discipline she displayed, her dedication, her strength, her courage. Tormund knew this was there underneath, this wild, untamed thing, longing to be set free, and he'd seen it from the first moment he beheld her. She meant it, without a doubt. She meant every word.

“Oh, I know you would, my ferocious beauty. How could I refuse you?” And he began again, just like that, pleasing her. She let out a provocative moan and subsided back down. Clegane caught Tormund's eye, and the wildling winked, happy.

“Clegane,” Brienne said, and he turned to her, moving back to lie beside her again as she stared into his eyes, still gasping in pleasure, but back to being his Brienne. “More,” she demanded, and he obeyed, closing the distance between them as they began their kissing anew.

If she ever decided to enslave him, he would be fucking lost.

The more aroused she became, the more sinuous those occasional movements were, until Clegane was hard again himself, seeing how it would be, seeing that she was so sensual beneath it all. She had none of the pretence of other women, none of the fake airs.

He reached a hand down to slip inside her fur wrapping and her tunic, finding her chest. You couldn't see her pectoral muscles, but he could feel them. Though her breasts were small, those muscles made them stand proud of her chest in a decidedly perky and erotic way. He flicked his thumb against her nipple again and again, a counterpoint to Tormund, and between them they gave Brienne her first orgasm.

Afterwards, they all spent a quiet time of contemplation, mulling things over, sat on the edge of the hill, looking out upon Winterfell. The darkness of the winter sky was like an omen of things to come, and yet Clegane felt damned cheerful for the first time in as long as he could remember.

“My life has taken a very strange turn,” Brienne said at last, seated between them. “I think it must be winter.”

“How can you tell that?” Clegane asked, his new feeling of peace only increasing despite her words.

“Something someone said to me once. I think Hell must be finally freezing over.”

Tormund laughed. “No one ever listens to us wildlings. Hell has always been frozen over.”

Well, yes. For a moment Clegane thought of the dead, marching out from the ice, probably sweeping through the scattered villages of the northenmost reaches of The Gift right now. It occurred to him for the first time that he was glad Tormund had survived. And there they were. Friends.

To be continued...

Author's Note: Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed that. It's going to get quite dirty from here out, with the occasional straight scene for plotting purposes, of course. But any plot will likely exist purely to potentiate the smut. So there's that. Please leave a review if you liked it! Responses will be found here: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/topic/61848-pippychicks-review-replies-tv/
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