A/N - next chapter will be self indulgent lol

The tavern's walls were constructed of rough-hewn stone, and the floor was covered in dust and sticky with a night's worth of spilled alcohol. Oil lamps affixed to the walls and ceiling provided the sole source of light, casting shifting shadows across the faces of the tavern's jubilant patrons. The Battle of Blackwater Bay was on the horizon, and this particular night was the last each and every soldier had guaranteed to spend together. Among the crowd, a group of women from the local whore house performed for and on the jeering knights and soldiers. They thrust themselves around the space in an exaggerated frenzy. The vibrant clothing of the whores and their provocative motion contrasted starkly against the dark and dingy tavern environment.

In a far corner of the room, Ser L/n and The Hound sat quietly at a dark wooden table, speckled and worn by years of spilled ale. Their expressions were solemn and serious, in high contrast to the revelry around them. Despite the clamor of the pandemonium surrounding them, the two men seemed clinging to the comfort of mutually agreed upon silence in the face of increasing tensions. Memories of that night in which they looked at each other with such softness and relished in the comfort of being truly seen by another. It was dangerous to dwell upon — even more dangerous to act on. The idea that either of them could be struck down in battle, the memory of that moment being lost to the vast bloodshed of the gritty battle for the Iron Throne. For that reason they were not participants in the merriment, instead merely observers weighing the many horrific outcomes of a future spent in the light of true desires. The tavern echoed around them as they sat in silence, consumed by their own thoughts. There would be little conversation until the two were comfortably numbed by alcohol.

"I'm heading out," Y/n said suddenly, slamming his glass and slashing through the emotional tension at the shared table. He stood swiftly. The fluidity of his movement even in an alcohol field stupor was evidence of years of fighting, even off the battlefield he moved with a coordinated intelligence throughout a space — back almost always facing a wall.

The Hound cleared his throat before speaking, "Already?"

"Yes, my apologies for ruining this," He said gesturing towards the man with a laugh, "This great fun."

Sandor rolled his eyes, "We could, you know — talk. If you want."

"Here?" Y/n asked with a tone far more serious than before.

The Hound shook his head slightly and leaned in, "We could go."

"Go?" Y/n asked barely above a whisper as he crouched to sit at the table once more. The Hound registered the meaning of his words, having spoken on pure instinct.

He broke eye contact, staring at his hands clasping the ale in front of him as he spoke, "You are the one who said 'To hell with the Lannisters'."

"And you told me to shut up right after," He replied. Sandor certainly remembered, and he did not disagree with the logic he utilized in his past. He did however hear whispers that wildfire would be the main event of the ensuing battle. Without a clue as to whether Y/n knew, he felt compelled to warn the man. Many nights ago they had confessed their undying fears of the flame, and memories of being cooked alive.

He stood from the table, "Just follow me, would you?"

"For fucks sake," Y/n said with a sigh, as he stood to follow Clegane out of the tavern's thick sweaty embrace.

The night's air acted as sweet relief, cooling the skin of both men and differing wildly from the overwhelming climate behind the tavern's door. Dozens of drunken men and women fucking, dancing, and fighting had driven the temperature up. They were better suited for the soft comfort of a quiet night. Wordlessly they walked to the White Sword Tower, heading this time to The Hound's chambers. Y/n had yet to be invited there, and Clegane held his liquor well such that he never needed an escort back to his room. There was an unspoken weight to this action, as it was a risk Clegane had previously expressed not being ready for. Y/n swallowed hard, Sandor's words echoing through his mind — Could they really just go?

The pair arrived at Sandor's chambers and quickly entered, the door was shut carefully and quietly behind them. They stood in a tense and awkward silence for a moment, allowing the mutual emotional turmoil to marinate in its wake.

The Hound cleared his throat, "We could leave tonight. Before Blackwater?"

"Abandon our positions," Y/n paused, "...and why would I risk my head like that?"

Sandor stepped closer to Y/n, the gap between them closing. He placed a single hand gently atop Y/n left side, "Could be worse if we stuck around."

"What's worse than my head on a spike outside the King's chambers?" Y/n scoffed.

Sandor stepped back, removing his hand. He looked away from Y/n's face as he spoke, "We're burning Stannis' whole fleet alive. Wildfire."

Y/n coughed, stomach churning at the thought of the stench that would surely fill the bay — seared human flesh and the sickly sweet smell of rot. "Who told you that?" He asked, trying to stifle his gut's panicked reaction.

"I heard," Sandor said, now gazing back at Y/n. "We could leave before we even got to see it."

Shaking his head Y/n replied, "How?"

"I already got our horses prepared. Enough packed for about a week. We head for the Kingswood and keep going until we get somewhere far from here!" He replied in an impassioned whisper.

Y/n smiled, small and flat. He coughed again nervously, "And do what?"

"Anything, I mean you and I — We," The Hound stumbled through his proposal.

Y/n let out a dry laugh, and gazed down at the floor. He was quiet for a moment before whispering,  "I'm staying."

"Is this some shit about honor? Piss off," The Hound replied, defaulting to anger rather than honesty.

Y/n sighed and walked towards the bed, taking a seat. The man's elbows rested on  his knees, and his head sat propped in his hands. "I'm just a fighter. There's nothing else out there for me."

Clegane observed his companion for a moment before sitting next to him. The two sat silently and thigh to thigh. He tucked his hair behind his ears, fully exposing his face before speaking, "I could be out there with you." He placed one large hand on Y/n's knee, a small gesture of his affection that had not yet been shared.

Y/n looked up at The Hound for a moment, and after observing him for a few seconds he placed his own hand over the man's. "If we leave now there's no telling what we could run into — Stannis' army, guards, Varys' little birds. We can't."

"Can I ask you for just one favor then?" He asked.

Y/n nodded, "Go ahead."

"Stay with me, would you?" The Hound asked, practically begging.

Y/n smiled, "How much did you have to drink?"

"Never enough," He replied with a curt laugh.

Y/n kicked off his shoes and pulled himself further onto the bed, positioning himself to lay next to the other man. He pat the bed next to himself, signaling The Hound to join. He did join him laying down, instead he stared at the empty space next to Y/n.

"What? You asked me to stay?" Y/n asked, his eyes welcoming and warm in the orange glow of the shielded fireplace. He traced small circles on the bed's surface with his index finger. The Hound swallowed hard.

"I don't know what to do next," He stated, nearly a whisper.

Y/n smiled again, this time softer. "Laying down is a good place to start, Sandor."

They were back to first names. He eased some of the tension in his shoulders for a moment, allowing the comfort of his companion to soak in. With the stiffness of a man who only knew violent touch he awkwardly laid next to Y/n — careful not to touch him too much. He was nervous, inexperienced. Y/n moved closer once he was still, pressing himself into the Hound's side.

"Have you ever laid with a man?" He asked Y/n, barely audible.