[ There are few delights in this world that could come close to the joy of the pleasure of a wife sated, of a lover come to completion, spilling in hand or mouth or elsewhere. Daemon has found great enjoyment between his wife’s legs over the years they have been together, and has longed for her further than that - how many of the whores in King’s Landing had been his for an evening because they had her nose, the glint of her eye, the dimple of her smile?
Too many, and perhaps that lacks the flattery that it might offer to some, but there is no denying the truth.
Daemon is hers, and has been so for too many years, under the pained and watchful eye of Viserys, with other marriages between them. He had fondness for Laena, that he would never deny, but the whole world had known where his oath and devotion had lied. They’ll know it again now, with his knee bent to her at Harrenhall, his promise made before their banners and their kin.
He is her dragon, her sword, her monster in the night, her own to command and cast where she sees fit.
It is so easy, then, to kiss her, to lean into the familiar dance, to leave soft noises against her skin. There is no duty in this, nothing beyond the joy and pleasure of coming together once more, of adoration and love and trust branded upon them. There need be no heir from this, no replacement for what was lost - only love.
Breathless, he grins up at her, their noses nudging even as he rocks himself into her cunt, using the angle to push in as hard as he can, to take what is given to him so freely. ]
Whatever my grace wishes, she will have. Let us not resist our urges.
no subject
Too many, and perhaps that lacks the flattery that it might offer to some, but there is no denying the truth.
Daemon is hers, and has been so for too many years, under the pained and watchful eye of Viserys, with other marriages between them. He had fondness for Laena, that he would never deny, but the whole world had known where his oath and devotion had lied. They’ll know it again now, with his knee bent to her at Harrenhall, his promise made before their banners and their kin.
He is her dragon, her sword, her monster in the night, her own to command and cast where she sees fit.
It is so easy, then, to kiss her, to lean into the familiar dance, to leave soft noises against her skin. There is no duty in this, nothing beyond the joy and pleasure of coming together once more, of adoration and love and trust branded upon them. There need be no heir from this, no replacement for what was lost - only love.
Breathless, he grins up at her, their noses nudging even as he rocks himself into her cunt, using the angle to push in as hard as he can, to take what is given to him so freely. ]
Whatever my grace wishes, she will have. Let us not resist our urges.