25.9.12

Bolton Rising - Part 21 - Sandor

Sandor Clegane lined up the shot, pulled the trigger and fired another round into man before him. A bulls-eye to the forehead of the paper target at the end of the line. The Hound's lip curls up into a snarl of satisfaction as he pictured this imaginary foe dropping dead at his feet. He had been at it all morning, loading bullets into his gun's chamber and firing them off with deadly accuracy. Trying to get his mind off things back at the penthouse. Especially her... Alayne, the Little Bird. The woman who belongs his boss Petyr Baelish.

So far it hadn't been working. Ever since that night they kissed, touched and groped. He couldn't get the taste of Alayne off his tongue, the feel of that girl's body lingered upon his hands and the sweet sound of her voice continued to moan in his ear. Everything about that experience was torturing him day and night, like a never ending dream. He found it difficult to even look at her now without going hard as a rock, wanting to rip Alayne's clothes off and give that sweet demure Little Bird the kind of fucking she would never forget. He longed to mark her, bite onto the nape of her neck and cum deep inside her body, as he rutted like a beast over her.



He pulled off the ear protectors and pressed the retrieval button, waiting for the hole riddled man to come flying towards him like a ghost. He reached out and yanked the sheet down, crumpling it up and tossing into the trash. The Hounded sighed, removing the empty shell casings and reloading his gun, before holstering it. He headed back out to his car, a black ford mustang, and climbed in, revving up the engine. Clegane sat there for a moment, letting all the contained horsepower rumble and vibrate through his body, before stepping down hard on the gas. The mustang's tires burn rubber in a loud ear piercing screech as he peels out of the parking lot in a cloud of smoke, fish tailing around the corner with skill.

Sandor drove with a dark scowl upon his face, glaring at the slow asses in traffic, cursing and weaving in and out of the cars.  In his mood, he was ready to trample over anything on the road and never look back. The Hound in him was craving for a fight. Anyone he could just pummel with his fists and imagine he was wiping that smug smirk off the Mockingbird's face. The boss had returned home today from his trip abroad and had dismissed his bodyguard for the night. Sandor knew that bastard was probably undressing Alayne now, slipping between her thighs and sheathing his cock inside her wet heat... Clegane's hands gripped the steering wheel harder as an intense rage suddenly filled him, knuckles turning bone white. He turned off the main road and headed towards the KL Tavern, a seedy bar with an even worse underground fight club. His caged beast wanted to be let out, so the Hound would be snarling and tearing into pieces of scum tonight.

A small smile formed upon his lips as he parked the mustang and walked through the doors, letting the smell of cigarettes, booze, and cheap whores float around him, before strolling up to the bar and ordering a beer and a shot. He tosses back the alcohol then calls for another, just adding fuel to his growing anger.  How much is the buy in tonight?" Clegane asks as the barkeep, Bronn glances up and smirks. "Back again dog.  It's $500 to start. You want in?"

The Hound open his wallet and slams a few hundred dollar bills on the counter. "Why not? We both know I'll be cashing in at the end of the night." Bronn gathers up the money, then grabs the keys to open the door down to the cellar. "I don't know about that Clegane. You might have some competition tonight." He chuckles a little too much in amusement, letting the door swing open and stepping back. The sounds of flesh pummeling flesh, echoing up from the bottom of the stairs, the air stinking with the smell of sweat and blood and male aggression.

Sandor descends down the stair and peers over the heads of the roaring crowd, instantly growling at the sight of his older brother Gregor in the middle of the fighting pit. The  Mountain beating a man's head into the concrete ground with one massive sized fist.Teeth shatter across the floor and blood sprays outwards like a ruptured fountain, before the body goes limp as a rag doll. His brother's massive, shirtless body glistens with sweat under the hot lights as he drops his prey and steps back, arms raised in victory, circling around like a predator as those dark eyes look for his next opponent. They lock gazes and Gregor smirks. "Baby brother..."

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