Armourangel

“You’ve readied?” His voice shook you from your thoughts and you turned to face him, him and his entirely undressed body. He’d not bothered with a robe as you had. He did not see the point. You two were simply to consummate the marriage, to make this all official so he could return to battle the next day.

“Oh gods!” your hands flew up to cover your eyes. The flush in your face spreading beyond what your hands covered even stretching to the small glimpse of your chest that the anvil could see.

“What is the matter?” Maekar glanced over his shoulders thinking there was surely something other than himself that was drawing such a startled and flustered reaction for you.

But there was nobody else in the room. Just Him, you and the lingering knowledge that both of you were here sharing this moment to better your families position in this world.

“Your…I just.” You eyes adverted as you pulled your hands away. “You are already bare, I was not anticipating that.” You explained after fumbling over your words a few times.

“it is challenging to fuck a women with one’s breeches on, thought many men more eager than I have surly tried.” He grumbled the last part. Perhaps war had hardened him, made him less connected to normal propriety.

“I know how one lays with their wife my prince, I’m not daft.” Muttering that had him raising a brow at you. You proclaim to knew of things yet were turning as red as wine just moments ago due to simply his physique.

Maekar stepped closer, eyeing how you held to the knot that kept your robe closed. “Do you, Wife?” His brow raised and his hand, scars scattered about it with bruises on every knuckle, reached out to toy with one of the ties that kept you concealed.

“Y-yes.” You did not even find the response convincing.

“tell me what occurs. What a wife’s duty is.” He urged, fingers pulling on the soft fabric and he knew the knot was giving away under your hand.

“You will lay with me and I shall bleed on the sheets and then, if the gods find me deserving they will let my stomach grow round and I will provide you a son.”

It wasn’t incorrect, but it was likely just a septas talking point that you were regurgitating.

“the gods have nothing to do with the making of children.” Maekar told you plainly. “Or if they do they find quite a few whores deeply deserving of babes from perverse lords.”

Your nose wrinkled and lips folded into a look of confusion and slight irritation. This had not been what you thought it would be.

“I can show you.” He offered, “we must lay together regardless, but I can explain to you that matter if you wish to have any sense of things at all.” A girl of your age, in your position ought to know the truth of things he thought. He did not want a sweet fool for a wife.

“very well…go on then.” You swallowed out arms crossing over your chest.

“take that off and sit in the bed. Back against the pillows.” He instructed. His hand was already at his cock. Fisting the pink flesh in his large grip as you shly got undressed. You slipped under the quilt, barely giving him a moment to see a glimpse of your bare bum. He had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He should appreciate the innocence but he had been expecting all this to go quite quicker. He did not think he was going to need to play mentor today.

“Can we kiss again?” You flushed as if you had just asked him to lap at your cunt.

“kiss?”

Maekar walked slowly over to the bed and stood beside it watching your eyes trying and figure out what to look at because his hand was still gripped around his cock, his foreskin pulling back little by little as he grew to his full mass.

“kiss what?” His brow raised and your mouth fell open, appalled by that you thought he was suggesting. It was sweet; your open lips. Plump and wet and he knew your tongue would be warm. He knew you’d made nervous little noises if he filled your cheeks with his cock or maybe he’d urge you to kiss his bright tip, let the pearl of seed spread against your mouth as you pecked at him.

“Forget what I said…” you curled the blanket up more, hiding your shoulders as well now when you grew self conscious about all this. It felt like he was entertained by your naivety. You did not want to be a joke to him. You were his wife.

”no, no…stop that.” He groaned and sat on the bed. He sat near your knees, one hand rubbing the side of your thigh through the quilt and his hand that had been on his manhood came to rub your cheek. You could smell him. Ash and salt. “Don’t whine during your lesson.” His thumb pressed against your lip and you relaxed some letting time lips be molded by his thumb. He parted them slightly for you and then held your chin as he leaned in. Pressing his thin lips to yours and kiss you properly. It wasn’t the chaste peck he’d received infront of the court earlier, this was warmer, longer and slower and he devoured you. To your credit you stayed soft and pliant and it made things more coordinated than he had anticipated.

“thank you.” You whispered as he pulled away finally. Your voice a bit dry from going breathless and when you smiled Maekar swallowed. You look beautiful with your lips reddened by his own and your nose pink from nesting beside his. He enjoyed seeing how he changed you.

“a wife does not thank her husband for a kiss.” He started to pull the blankets down and you almost tensed but he kissed your mouth again to soothe that worry.

“w-what does a wife thank her lord husband for?” You asked as his rough hand fondled your side. Just touching over the flare of your ribs felt erotic, he hadn’t even gotten to your sweet breasts.

“you wish to know?”

“yes!” It came out so eager that maekar rewarded you with a soft kiss to the underside of your jaw and he felt you melt some, your back ease into the pillow and your hand reach to hold to his side for support.

You were tugged down by his hands finding a hole in the dip of your hips and your started giggle was replaced with a gasp when the broad shoulder man settled between your legs, hiking your feet up over his shoulders. His presence made flowing your legs a impossible tasks so you were completely bare and utter at his disposal.

“Maekar-“ you began to reason but he was hearing none of it. You were his wife, this is what a husband could do. If he wanted to feast on your cunt he would. The scent of you was driving him mad and ever since your hand touched his side he has wanted it in his hair, he wanted to feel that desperate pushing and the nervous pull when the feeling got to powerful. He wanted to show you what pleasure was, what he was capable of eliciting within you!

You looked down as he kissed over your midsection and his hand that had been on your jaw followed his descent. Your heart was beating so hard that when his hand pressed over your chest your breast pushed up into the hallow of his palm and he gladly squeezed in response.

You liked the weight of his arm against you, the heat of his shoulders on your inner thighs and his breath in the spot between your legs was making you feel very…very strange.

“You’ve been wet here before?” He looked up seeing you were about to crawl in on yourself out of pure embarrassment. “It’s good.” He grunted. “Do you touch yourself here?” Your ears went red and you shook your head fast.

“gods no.”

Maekar looked from your to your untouched cunt and he swallowed, voice rough and heavy when he finally responded while dipping lower to put his mouth of your heat.

“poor, sweet thing.”

You whimpered right away, because his nose tickled the bump at the top of your slit and you may not understand exactly what pleasure was hidden with that bud but Maekar did and you body was fast to response. Hands instantly grabbing his head because you needed grounding and he was very very grounding.

“oh.OH…” a moan, your first proper moan and Maekar savored it as he lapped at your cunt. Tongue tasting your core and lips greedily trying to suck at your pearl at the same time. You taste addicting.

“M-Maekar! Oh gods…stop…don’t do that!” You suddenly twisted your feet drawing up his back and you pushed at his head. You had almost climaxed and that sensation was foreign and frightening.

“fuck-“ he hissed face shoved back by your knee and he needed to take in a few breaths to steady himself. You were delicate…this was new. He reminded himself that the thought of exposing all this to you had gotten him hard earlier, he was turned on by it. By your innocence. This reaction was apart of that, a product of it.

You started to pull the covers back over you, flustered by your strong reaction and now feeling guilty because He had seemed frustrated when he got shoved back.

“my lady,” he grabbed the quilt and stopped it at your waist crawling back over you and kissing your shoulder. “It’s okay, did that hurt you?” He asked mouth kissing the corner of your frown and he nodded when you shook your head no. His hand slipped under the blanket and pressed low against your stomach. Right where you had felt that startling ache. “Put your faith in me…I’d not lead you astray.” He kissed your lips tenderly. “A husband leads their wife, you must trust in what I tell you.” He managed to slip the blankets down against and got your thighs open. “What you felt before was good…give in to that sensation this time?” He held your cheek until your nodded and then gave you as tender of a grin as he could offer. “Good,” hips positioned between your soft thighs and cock laid heavy over your mound. “What are you going to do?”

“put my faith i-in you.” Your voice hitched because he had fed his cockhead into your core. Blood rushing from his head to his cock and he groaned as he nodded.

“That’s right…good, such a good wife for me.” He breathed hands caging you in as he gave you another inch and then the next one made your lips quiver and he felt a sudden warmth. “Fucking hells.” You were his now. Body pierced open for him.

It took some time for him to work fully into you but by the time the hair at the base of his cock mixed into the curls on your mound you were breathing heavy and unrestrained, the sting from losing your maidenhead long gone and it was replaced by a sensation that made your toes curl.

Maekar hadn’t felt this much comfort since before the war. Men in the camps bought whores and fucked woman in the villages but he had been to focused on winning for that. His own wants came second to the thrones and so this was the first release of that tension that he was getting in some time. I’m too long he was realizing because he could already feel the hairs on the back of his neck rising up as his release began to build.

He grunts a few times when he senses the tightening of your abdomen and then he realizes belatedly that you are going fully tense under him.

“No…you can’t hold your breathe. Relax this,” he pinched your stomach and that made you exhale with a shutter while you weakly nodded up at him. “See…don’t fight that feeling in your belly my love.” You nodded again your neck getting tense as the feeling got stronger inside of you. “Just like that…see that feels go doesn’t it wife? Are yin going to be good and coat my cock?” You tremble under him and grip at his shoulder hand slipping a hit because you were getting clammy as the orgasm brushed at the thread of restrain still in you.

“let go wife.” He demanded in your ear and you did just that. Body curling up around him and your hips stuttered as you let out a loud gasp with his name muttered out at the end on repeat. You sunk deep into the bed as he pounded into you a few times, tougher now while he knew the climax had you buzzing and distracted. His seed filling you a moment later. Mixing the mess of blood in your cunt with his semen.

“now,” he kissed you pleased with both of your efforts “now, we wait and see if the gods bless us.” He rubbed your cheek when you smiled hazily up at him.

Maekar Masterlist, Prompt Masterlist

“There surely must be more than one room available?” you heard Gwayne ask, your eyes wandering around the inn where you sought to rest for the night, tightening the cloak around you as Gwayne's eyes met yours, a soft smile on his lips as if to apologise for the inn's lack of availability. 

“One room shall be fine,” you insisted, taking the key from the innkeeper as Gwayne passed her the necessary coin. “I'm sorry,” Gwayne insisted, speaking your name with a sense of reverence as you took his hand and squeezed it, “it is not normally this full.” 

“It's all right, Ser,” you assured him, half of you giddy at the idea of sharing a room with your sworn sword. The man had been your sworn sword for nearly two years now. Two years of blushing whenever his eyes met yours, of your normal calm and steady voice wavering whenever his attention was entirely focused on you. “I am sure you can bear my company for one whole night,” you teased, smiling at the blush that rose to his features at your words.

“Please send some food to our rooms,” you asked the innkeeper, handing her an extra gold coin, before fitting your hood over your hair and walking through the endless horde of men in the inn.

“Gwayne,” you called, reaching for his arm as a sense of unease filled you. You kept close to him as he led you to the room, ready to settle in for the night after a long day of travel. With no dragon to your name, travel by horseback was your only means, and though the days were long and hard as you travelled the realm, at your fathers behest for you to find a husband, you were grateful to have Gwayne as company, even if you wished he would enter the contenders to win your hand, for you knew he would win it even if he just made a passing comment on the matter. 

“My princess,” he spoke softly, reaching for your hand as he weaved through the men and up the stairs to your room. “I apologise, truly I-“

“You need not apologise again,” you assured, your eyes searching the room, as Gwayne pushed open the door, a blush rising to your cheeks as you saw that only a small dresser table and one singular bed occupied the room. And despite its lack of furniture, the small room seemed only large enough for its objects, leaving both you and Gwayne cramped into the small room, with your bags taking up what little standing space there was. 

“Oh,” Gwayne sighed, “I shall take the floor-“

“Don’t be ridiculous, there is no space on the floor,” you breathed, “we shall share the bed.”

“I…it is improper.”

“What would be improper is you refusing to get a good night of rest based on propriety.”

Gawyane sighed, sending you a glance with an emotion so fleeting that you could hardly make out what it meant before it was gone. “Very well, princess,” he said, a small frown on his lips that had your stomach dropping. You gave him a small smile, half flushed from embarrassment,  you had hoped he truly would not mind being in such close quarters with you. You certainly did not mind it, you relished his company, loved how easily the conversation flowed and how there were no moments of awkwardness, at least until this moment. A part of you had hoped he would feel the same giddy feeling you did. You had dreamed of him, of sharing a bed beside him, of what it would feel like for his hands to fully grip yours and not only touch you in passing moments where your hands graved one another, and he retracted with uncanny speed. Of what it would feel like to kiss him, to be able to caress his cheek and play with his hair. Each day your hands itched to brush the strawberry blonde strands of his hair, to place kisses across every inch of his face and body. Of what it would feel like for him to kiss you from your mouth all the way down to you-

“Princess, are you alright?” Gwayne asked, interrupting your thoughts. His voice dripping with concern, he sat on the bed, his hands working to unstrap his armour. “You seem lost in thought.”

“Oh, I-...I am fine,” you insisted, deciding to focus your attention on removing your riding clothes.

Gwyane couldn’t take his eyes off you. He never could, in truth. He followed your every move, more so than a sworn sword should. But now, watching as you removed your riding clothes and soon only stood in your underdress, he found it impossible to look away. He had been nothing but chivalrous; he knew he should not focus his gaze upon you, that he had no doubt was unwanted; he knew he should keep his distance, defend you when needed and honour you as he should with any woman. But you, the second daughter of King Viserys, a girl he had grown up alongside in court, wishing each and every day you would pay him any attention, and when you did, even if it was the smallest glance or choosing to sit beside him over his sister and yours. It made him giddy and feel like a love-struck green boy. 

Growing up, he had been besotted, had wished to court and marry you, but who would want the son of a second son? He had no land or titles, would not inherit any. And you were a princess, daughter to the king and sister to the future queen. You deserved a prince or a lord paramount, not him, a simple knight. 

But despite this, he could not keep away from you, and when you needed a sworn sword, he had gladly volunteered. Any chance to spend time with you, even if it meant following you around the world on the hunt for a husband. 

Watching you be courted by lords and knights had him full of jealousy, watching them make you laugh, shower you in gifts and affection. And you giving them the attention he so thoroughly craved.

He hated every second and yet loved hope after each dance, or feast, or long afternoons spent hearing lords sell themselves to you; you came straight to him. Would laugh and talk and tell him every thought. He loved those moments more than anything. 

And though he was irrevocably in love with you, he would do anything for this inn to have another room. 

The idea of sharing a room, a bed, with you and not being able to touch you, to hold you and kiss you. Gods, it killed him. And now watching you undress with a flushed tint to your cheek that had him wondering how far the flush went down. 

Gods, he felt sinful. The utter embodiment of lust and all for the love and want, no need, he felt for you. 

A knock pulled him from his thoughts. Standing quickly, his armour off and left in his own shirt and breeches, his shirt untied enough to show you the top of his chest. Opening the door, he came face to face with the innkeeper and a tray full of food. “Here, milord,” she spoke, her eyes gleaming and a smirk on her lips as he took the tray, Ii added something special to it for ya bot.”

“My thanks,” Gwayne thanked, taking the tray and choosing to ignore her gaze as she assessed him and then you as you platted your hair into a braid in nothing but your small clothes. His face turned red, flushing entrily as he looked at you, then back to the innkeeper. “Good night,” he spoke, shutting the door and choosing to ignore the woman's wink. Shaking his head and ensuring his gaze did not stray from the food in his hands to you, as he sat down on the bed. 

“Is that dinner?” your sweet voice spoke, wandering over to the bed and sitting beside him, your leg touching his as you reached for the food in his lap. 

“Tis nothing special…just some bread and soup,”

“After the feast the Dondarrions hoste, I am grateful for just soup,” you hummed, pulling a chunk of bread off the roll and dipping it in the soup, Gwayne’s eyes watching as you ate, watching each bit you took, each drop of soup and how your tongue reached out to lick it.

“Is it good?” he asked, his voice hoarse, watching as you brought your fingers to your lips, licking what little soup was left.

You hummed, reaching for some more. “It's so good,” you spoke, reaching for some bread and holding it to Gwayne’s lips. “Have some,” you spoke, swallowing roughly as Gwayne reached forward and took the food from your hand with his mouth. He smiled, embarrassed by his actions, though not regretting them, especially when he saw the heat rise to your cheeks. 

You both continued to eat in silence, every last drop of soup and bread crumb eaten, whatever the cooks put in had you both raving for more.

“I feel hot,” you breathed, lying back on the bed, fully flushed. Gwayne nodded, feeling the same, a fire burned underneath his skin, that had him tugging at his clothes. A fire that he felt in his abdomen and was beginning to stretch to his cock, a desire was building in him unlike anything he had felt before.

He swallowed roughly, watching as your hands reached for the sleeves of your small clothes, tugging at them with annoyance. “As do I, princess,” he breathed, his eyes tracing your body as you riggled in discomfort. He snapped his gaze away, busying himself with opening the small window, hoping the storm breeze of the stormlands might cool him of whatever desire was building in his body. He had been so good at hiding his desire, had been so good at finding ways to relieve himself before it got too much, or finding ways to distract himself from thoughts of you. But the sight of you now on a bed he would have to share with you tonight, watching you flushed and hot from what he did not know, nor did he wish to.

“That should help.” he cleared his throat, his eyes set on the floor as he made his way to the bed, turning his whole body away from you as he tried to will the desire in him away.

“Goodnight, Gwayne,” you whispered, your voice sounding distant as if you were fighting the same effects as him.

Heat coursed through your veins with the might of a thousand suns.  Your skin was on fire, your hands reached for your slip, begging to tear the clothes from your body and lie bare, bare so that your hands may wander to your core. You had never felt hotter, nor more aroused. The need to touch yourself controlled your every thought and every movement. You were desperate for it, to feel the movements of hands across your skin, to close your eyes and imagine Gwayne, imagining kissing you, of his fingers touching, tracing your skin, all the way down to your core. For him to gather the slick of your cunt across his fingers before thrusting them into you and filling you with pleasure. It was that dream that you thought of every night, and a dream tonight you especially wished was real.

You stared over at him, his back turned to you as he slept, as straight and rigid as a board; his shirt had ridden up, showing the span of his muscled back. You bit your tongue, fighting the urge to reach out and touch him. The urge to flip him to his back and mount him and take him. 

A whimper left your mouth. The need for pleasure getting worse by the second, the heat in you becoming scorching. 

An hour passed before you were no longer able to fight the urge, your gaze flicking to Gwayne, ensuring he still slept, your hands tore at your smallclothes, tearing it from your body and leaving yourself bare, your hands tracing your breasts before sliding down to your core. You were so wet, ridiculously so; your fingers started at your clit, rubbing small circles around your clit as your other fingers moved down to your cunt. You bite your lip to stop the moans that begged to fall through you, fucking yourself with your fingers; you were desperate for release, hoping it would ease the pleasure within you, but even as you chased your peak, your fingers fucking into you desperately, your hips bucking the air chasing the need for more fiction. 

“Princess,” you heard Gwayne's voice say; a whimper broke from you at the sound of his voice. “Princess, what are you-?” Your eyes flew open, meeting Gwayne's panicked gaze as he took you and your naked body in, before diverting his eyes quickly. “Princess, I- will leave you i-” he spoke, rushing to get up. 

Your hand reached for him, tugging on his shirt,” no Gwayne, I am sorry- I just felt so…i needed to. I am sorry”

“Needed to?” he repeated, turning back to you; his eyes darkened. 

“I am sorry, I- I could not sleep; the heat, the need to touch myself, it got too much… I apologise, I have made you uncomfortable, I'm sorry.”

“No, no…you haven’t, you never could”, he whispered, his eyes drawn to where your hand gripped his arm. “i understand the agony and need for pleasure, the heat that can core through you,” his breath heavy as he spoke, “but-” he cut himself off, his hands reaching to tugat his clothes, the same heat that you were feeling taking over.

“Gwayne,” you whimpered, watching as he tore off his own shirt. Your hand trailed from his arm to his shoulder, crawling across the bed. 

“What was in that soup?” you heard him mumble, throwing the shirt to the floor.

“What?”

“The soup, he muttered, standing up from the bed quickly, as if distance would quench the desire in you both of you and cool the hat that had you both in agony. “She put something in it, something special.”

“Gwayne?” you asked, chasing after him, needing to feel him, even if it was just your hand on his arm.

“No…we can’t, you do not want this nor me,” he shook his head, averting his gaze.

“I need you, please,” you insisted, nodding your head desperately as your hands slid back down to your core; the need to touch something, to feel pleasure, caused your hand to move of its own accord. “Gawyne,” you moaned, watching his eyes darken as you sat back down on the bed, your fingers disappearing into your cunt. You watched him closely, taking in his toned chest, and the tent his hardened cock had left in his breeches. 

He whimpered your name, watching you fuck yourself on your fingers, hearing you moan, his own hands untying the strings of his breeches. “I want you, Gwyane, I always have,” you moaned, feeling the coil in your stomach snap as you came. 

You could hear the sound of your breath, heavy and still full of need. “Gaywne,” you moaned, “I need more, please… I need you, “

“Fuck,” he sighed, walking toward the bed, “we can’t… I will not take you,” he breathed, his hand grasping your cheek, caressing you softly as he fought the need to kiss you and take you, as you begged for him and his own mind and body begged for you. 

“Gwyane, please, I need to feel you somehow,” you begged, nuzzling into his hand. 

Gwyane swallowed, sitting on the bed, his hands reaching for your hips. A moan left him as he touched your bare skin, pulling you to his lap. You collapsed against him, your breast against his bare chest, your head in his shoulder, pressing kisses to his skin. 

He whimpered your name, his hand on your hips. “I want you,” you breathed, working kisses from his neck to his jaw. “Please, Gwayne, touch me, help us both cure the fire within,” Gwayne swallowed, his hands steady on your hips as he began to move your hips back and forth, rocking you against him. 

Moans left you both as you began to rut against his clothed cock, chasing friction and another orgasm. Your name was like a prayer on his lips as he began to thrust his hips in time with yours, giving in to the desire that burned in you both. “Fuck”, he groaned, holding you tightly to him, his hand reaching to bring your face up to meet his. “Can I kiss you, please?” he begged, “i need to, please.” You nodded, desperately and clumsy reahcing for his lips; you had wanted this for so long. Had dreamed of his lips against yours and special soup or not, you were happy it was happening. Happy to have his moans swell yours and to have your second peak wash over you as he came in his breeches, your bodies pressed impossibly against each other as the desire for more only built with each orgasm as you rutted against each other for what felt both like hours and mere seconds, your lips only breaking apart for air. 

A strangled moan escaped Gwayne as he broke away from you. “It's too much he breathed,” “But not enough. gods” he lifted you off of him, standing from the bed, his body tired from pleasure but the need for more, for him to touch you, to take you and fill you with his cock as he whsipered sweet nothign sin your ear, only grew stronger with each second he was not buried inside of you.  “Tell me you want this, want me,” he begged, his eyes locked on you.

You got off the bed, walking to him, your hand on his chest. “I have wanted you since you named me the queen of love and beauty on my ten and six name day,” you breathed, “Please, Gwayne, I need you, I want you so badly it hurts, touch me, take me please.”

Gaywane thought everything in him that it took to not take to not throw you on the bed and take you then and now. “I do not wish to take advantage of you-” “You aren't, please, Gwyane, please,” you begged, reaching for him and grabbing your hand, placing it on your breast. He groaned, squeezing your breast, before reaching forward and kissing you, his hands moving to grab you by the waist, lifting you up and carrying you to the bed, his mouth never once leaving yours, your hand on his breeches, throwing them across the room, your hand reaching for his cock and lining it up with your cunt.

“I will take your properly next time, i swear it,” he vowed as he began to push into your cunt. His head fell to the nape of your neck, a whimper falling from his lips as your cunt wrapped around his cock, a small gasp falling from your lips as you felt a small pinch of pain as his cock filled you. “Gods,” he moaned, “so tight,” he moaned intoy our skin, “can i move,” he begged, the need for him to take you taking over every sense of priority he had drilled into him.

“Yes, fuck, Gwayne, please,” you begged, needing him as desperately as he needed you. He tried to control his thrusts, to have some rhythm, some sense of care. But the need for you, the pleasure, the pure desperate animalistic urge to be fucked so thoroughly by Gwayne took over every sense in you. 

His hips began to pound into you, your core filled with so much pleasure as he fucked you. His pace was unrelenting as you both chased the endless pleasure you needed. Gwayne moaned your name as he fucked you, pressing kisses to every part of you that he could reach, the need for you controlling him, the need to fuck you and love taking over all of his senses.

Before you knew it, your peak was washing over you once more, the walls of your cunt tightening around his cock. His own peak soon followed.

He collapsed on top of you, the heat and endless desire washing away as you held Gwayne to you, your bodies tired and content. 

“I love you,” you whispered into his hair. 

“Hmm?” he hummed, moving off you and to the side, his arms reaching to hold you to him. “Say that again,” he pleaded.

“I meant what I said, Gwayne. I have wanted you, needed you and loved you for years. I love you,” you breathed again, turning so that you were facing him.

“His hard caressed your face, reaching forward to place as soft a kiss on your lips. “I have loved you since the day I met you.”

“You have?” you breathed. “Why didn't you say anything?”

“Why didn't you?” he asked in turn, smiling softly as you blushed. “It has been torture not telling you, believing that you did not return my affections… torture watching you be courted and search for a husband that was not me,”

“It has been torture for me too; I have only ever wanted to be courted by and marry you.”

“You wish to marry me?” he asked, a giddy smile on his lips.

“Yes…Gwyane, I- will you? Will you marry me?”

“It is I who should ask you that,” he hummed, reaching down to place another soft kiss to your lips. 

“Then ask it.”

“Will you marry me?” Gwayne asked softly, holding you close to him.

“Yes,” you breathed, reaching forward and pulling him back in for a heated kiss.

“Did ya enjoy the special ingredient in ya soup last night, milord?” the innkeeper asked, smirking as you both turned to each other, blushing.

Gwayne cleared his throat, handing the key back to the innkeeper, his hand on the small of your back. “Yes, we did. What was it exactly?” he asked.

“Oh, only a fancy flower,” she laughed, “tears of a poppy the poets call it,” she chuckled, watching as your heads snapped to one another, understanding on your face. An aphrodisiac. 

“Oh well, we thank you.”

“Ay, I'm sure you do,” she smirked, eyes following you as you both waved your goodbyes as you walked towards the door, blushing all the way to the stables.

Helping you top your horse, Gwayne pressed a kiss to your hand, smiling as he moved to mount his own steed.

“Where to next, princess?” he asked, heading towards the King's Road.

“I believe home, to Kingslanding,” you hummed, turning to him and smiling. “There is only one man I ever planned to be my husband”, you smiled, your hand reaching to grab his as your horses rode side by side.

“And who may that be?” he asked, smiling softly, already knowing the answer, but wishing to hear it from your lips once more. 

“Why, you of course,” you laughed, “it has only ever been you.”

You did worry for your husband when the isolated nights drew long and silent. You had faith in him and the gods you were so devoted to. Gwayne was as good with his sword as he was his words. He had never once failed to return to you in one whole piece.

Slumber welcomed you with open arms, and your mind rested on the thought of seeing him soon.

The Hightower was cloaked in moonlight as the night dragged on. It was silent, save for the fluttering of curtains of the window you had left open. The cool air nipped at your throat, but it was the gentle clack, clack, clack of steel that roused you. It was a sound you had grown to know quite well ─ the sound of armor. Your fists clenched the silken bedsheets below you, and your eyes remained squeezed shut. Your heart fluttered, a light and airy thing within the confines of your ribcage. Gwayne had returned far earlier than what was expected. You waited in silence, feigning sleep as you did so, and anticipated the sound of shedding armor and the shift of the mattress as his weight met it.

Only, those sounds never came. You could feel his soft breath against the nape of your neck, and his fingertips - hands freed from his gloves - tickled your skin as he brushed your hair over your shoulder. Your back was facing towards Gwayne as his lips brushed against the sensitive skin of your neck, and you could not stop the breathy sigh that escaped your lips.

A knowing smirk spread across his lips. Gwayne knew his wife far too well for her liking ─ he knew you had not been sleeping, your breaths too quick for such a thing. His mouth traveled lower, down the slope of your shoulder that had been exposed by the slip of your shift. He gripped at the quilted duvet that covered your form, inching it lower and lower as he went. His final destination was on his knees, hands grasping at the softness of your hips. The soft fabric of your shift bunched around his fingers, wrinkled from your slumber. Your body, now exposed by the lack of bedding and practically glowing in the moonlight, shivered beneath his gaze.

“What are you doing?” Your voice was a hushed whisper, hoarsened from your rest.

“Worshipping my wife.” Gwayne's voice was smoother, rich with a lilt that made your tummy flip. His hands smoothed up and down your calves. “As she deserves.”

The time apart from you had left him needy and hard within his breeches. His nights had been spent similar to your own when time allowed it, dreaming of the warmth of your skin, and the taste of you on his lips. Gwayne had foregone the task of ridding himself from his armor and swordbelt, favoring the sweetness between your legs.

His wrists wrapped around your ankles, his thumbs brushing over the delicate bone beneath the skin, and with a practiced ease, he tugged you closer to the edge of the bed. The sheets ruffled beneath you, and a little yelp of surprise slid past your lips. Gwayne's strength never failed to arouse you, even with the years you had known him. It was such a simple thing. He gazed up at you from beneath tousled strands of copper hair, his gaze locked on your own. His mouth found the inside of your knee, trailing open-mouthed kisses up the expanse of your inner thigh.

Your chest heaved, one hand reaching down to thread through his locks as you propped yourself up on your elbows. With the growing pit of warmth in your core, and the abundance of wetness pooling in your smallclothes, you found your voice. “How… how was your journey?” You sounded breathless, still trying to bring your concern for him to light.

“Long,” Gwayne answered simply. He nipped at your soft skin before he soothed the bite with his tongue. He switched to the other thigh, coating it with kisses and licks and nips. “It was a laborious affair,” he spoke between breaths, “and quite dull in nature.” His head dipped closer to where you needed him. You could hear him inhale deeply, heat of embarrassment rushing to your cheeks and neck. A playful scold died on your lips as his mouth met your cloth-covered cunt. He placed a kiss upon your clit, and he groaned at the wetness he could feel through your smallclothes.

“Gwayne-!”

The fabric was shimmied down your legs with a swiftness that left you gaping. His hands grasped at your hips with a need that was unbecoming for a man like Gwayne, and he tugged you ever closer. Your thighs were thrown over his shoulders, his pauldrons digging into the soft flesh. You shivered at their coldness, your grip in his hair tightening. With the lessened proximity, you could smell him. “You reek,” you announced breathily, “of horses and steel and… blood.”

“Not mine own.”

Gwayne's head of red hair disappeared beneath your shift, his tongue delving between the slick folds of your pussy. His hands gripped at your hips, stilling the way they threatened to twitch and buck. He flattened his tongue, lapping through your slit and savoring the familiar taste of you. His eyes fluttered shut as the tip of his tongue circled your clit, feeling the little bud throb and swell. His lips closed around it, encouraged by the whines that you made, sounds that made his cock twitch with need and greed. He suckled on it gently, moaning against your cunt as your thighs clamped around his head. Any thoughts of worry for your husband had been placed on hold, pleasure curling in your gut like a spring about to snap. His mouth moved with practiced ease, born of the many nights spent together.

“Gods, you're so-” you choked on a moan, tugging on his hair to keep him close, “too good. Too good, husband.”

Gwayne sucked and licked, his tongue circling over your entrance before he pushed it inside of you, lapping at the depths of your core. His nose nudged against your pearl, and the hands upon your hips had tightened, nails digging crescents into your skin. Your thighs trembled on either side of your head, your noises growing in pitch and volume as he fucked you with his tongue. Unable to stand the ache in his loins, Gwayne moved. His hips rutted against the mattress like a dog in heat, the featherbed creaking in time with his rhythm. The grip he held on your flesh had loosened, arms wrapping around your thighs to lift your weight off of the bed.

With a squeal of pleasure, both of your hands found purchase in his hair, and you rocked against his face. Gwayne whined against your cunt, encouraging your movements as his hips began to stutter, nearing his own orgasm.

“Gwayne, I'm-” the warning died on your tongue, and with a particularly firm suck on your slickened clit, you threw your head back with a shout. Your husband eagerly drank up your release, working you with his mouth until you were shaking and whining. With one final thrust, and a sharp grunt, he spilled himself within his breeches.

Gwayne felt your body grow pliant, melting into the bed as your thighs grew lax upon his shoulders. He pulled back from between your thighs, your hands slipping from his hair. A languid grin grew across his wet lips, his chin coated in spit and your slick. “That was quite enjoyable, wife.”

You flung an arm across your face, shielding yourself from his view as you tried to catch your breath. The kiss he planted to your thigh had your legs jolting again, and you could nearly see his grin widen in your mind's eye. His touch, gentle and firm, slid your thighs off of him, and settled you back into your previous place in the bed. You could hear the clinking of plates of armor as he rose, and the subsequent shedding of those layers before you slid your arm away. You watched Gwayne in silence as he undressed, eyes honing in on the stain of his breeches. The light filtering in through the window offered just enough to see.

“It seems you have missed me dearly,” you teased - or tried to, if it weren't for the breathlessness of your words. Gwayne turned to you then, and his gaze softened. Stripped down to his tunic and trousers, he cradled your face in his hands as he hovered over you.

“As always, my sweet one.” His lips met yours in a dance as old as time. It was wet and filthy, it was slow and sensual. Gwayne sighed softly as your hand slid into his hair again, carding through his copper locks. He broke the kiss to gaze down upon you, a string of saliva still connecting your lips. His touch was reverent, as was the look in his eyes, as he brushed a wayward strand of hair away from your sweaty forehead. “It would be wise to get comfortable. I am nowhere near done with you after such an arduous time away.”

Neither of you have any knowledge of how long you’ve been there, nor how many times you’ve peaked. The evidence of your orgasm now making a sticky mess between your legs and spraying his thighs, creating a wet sound that’s nearly lewd each time you lower yourself all the way down onto his cock and bottom out, sitting all pretty on his lap.

A goddess hovering above him, mighty and glorious. And there he remains, but a servant at her mercy.

Gwayne is lost in the haze of your body and your cunt and the way you're making him feel—so lightheaded that he can hardly even comprehend your words. Though he does, for he was made to listen to you, to answer to you, to obey you, to receive whatever you choose to bestow upon him. 

“N-no,” he babbles his reply, his lovely lips—all wet with sweat and his own spit—tracing a trail of sloppy kisses down your throat. His lean arms lock your body tight against him in an unavoidable cage, his hands molding to the outline of your hips and guiding you up and down on top of him, to ride him like a savage. “Never let me go, my love. I could not bear to be away from you any longer—hmm!—”

The dirt clinging to him, the fine dust of the trail ground into his skin, the smudges of earth dried against his jawline, temple and cheekbones from days of relentless travel, doesn’t diminish him. It fucking heightens him. Every sweat-streaked trace of soil on his flushed face and along the tense line of his neck only serves as a raw, tangible marker of how far he had pushed himself in the last days, how tirelessly he journeyed... just to reach you.

Seeing him like this; weary, filthy, and thoroughly pathetic, ignites something fierce and primal deep within you. It makes your blood run hotter, turning every harsh, heavy bounce of your hips into a claim over every inch of him.

“And what did you do all this time we’ve been apart?” you question him in a remarkably steady voice, considering just how utterly overwhelmed he's making you feel, tugging sharply at his reddish hair to force him off your neck so you can look him straight in the eye. “How many whores were you with while I was gone, husband?”

The sight of him—your sweet, perfect knight—now reduced to a ruined mess begging for your mercy, makes your insides clench even tighter. Your cunt pulses around the length of his hard cock, impossibly tight, sucking him deep inside, so deep that his swollen tip bumps up against that one special little spot inside you that lights up stars everywhere you look.

It’s a remarkable circumstance, that you two have withstood all these months away from each other. The only thing that could ever separate you would be death or war, and war has fallen in between you, unfortunately locking you into opposing sides. Your birth name and your dragon are what, months ago, dragged you away from the peace of Oldtown and back to Dragonstone, where you were summoned to take on an important role alongside your mother Rhaenyra, the true heir to the Iron Throne.

And Gwayne, by his family name, had to follow his sister's orders and swear allegiance to the Usurper.

Your husband shakes his head in despair, whimpers slipping from his half–open lips, and big tears welling up in the corners of his beautiful eyes, blue and sparkly like a sky full of stars. “N–none, my Princess. I could never be with anyone else.”

You know it’s true, and that someone like Gwayne—your Gwayne—could never even consider being with anyone other than you; he could never possibly betray you. His own values as the most righteous and honorable man in the Seven Kingdoms forbid it, and most importantly, he is simply much too in love with you to view anyone else with the kind of gaze that is only reserved for you.

His body belongs to you; his soul, heart, and mind are yours.

“No?” nevertheless, you question through a low whisper, taking full advantage of the fact that you’re performing a slow circular motion down his lap so you can lean toward him and kiss his lips. He moans into your mouth, making you breathe him in, his thrill, his pleasure, his appreciation.

The very moment your dear husband spotted the ominous silhouette of your dragon swooping down from the cloudy sky and onto him and Criston’s futile little army, he knew it was all over. He had endured so much over the past few moons, forced to follow that foolish man around. It was absurd—what other choice did they have? Nothing but to beg for the dragon’s mercy.

Fortunately for him, it was you who descended from the clouds, for if it had been anyone else, he would be as dead as Cole.

He keeps whimpering as your hips rise again, your velvety walls wrapping all around his cock, making him twitch inside you, as your tongue runs passionately along his cheekbone, wiping away the tears that have dampened his freckled, flushed skin.

“No one takes me the way you do, my beloved,” he claims, kissing your lips to seal it like a promise. He kisses you again and again before continuing to whisper sweet things to you. “No one feels like you—so tight and perfect. I—fuck—I am yours.”

He pulls you down hard against him, his hips snapping upward to meet your descent with an ungodly, wet slap that knocks the breath clean from your lungs. The tip of his cock buries itself ruthlessly against that exquisite, agonizing spot inside you, making the world behind your eyelids fracture into brilliant bursts of gold and white, of him, his soul.

“Yours,” he repeats, a broken, desperate prayer against the seam of your lips. His slender fingers dig brutally into the soft flesh of your hips, leaving bruises that will surely bloom tomorrow. “Always yours. Slice open my chest, my love... look inside, feel it... there is no room for a King or a crown or a throne. Only you. Only my wife, my sweet wife.”

Gwayne locks his arms around your waist and shifts his weight, rolling you both over in one fluid, breathless movement. In an instant, the tent spins, and he settles above you, his heavy, warm body pressing you back into the wrinkled bed and thrusting his hips into you.

He looks down at you through a veil of disheveled, reddish hair, his sky–blue eyes dark with emotion and body utterly undone by yours.

“G–gwayne...” you moan out his name, your hands moving up to the broad curve of his shoulder blades, your fingers digging into his freckled skin as he frames your face with trembling hands. “My dearest”

“Yours,” he pledges, the words rolling off his tongue and onto your lips like a prayer and he kisses you again, and again. “Let me give you everything. Take it all—all of me.”

He sets a relentless, desperate pace, driving both of you straight past the edge. Your back arches into him, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist as the tension builds to an agonizing, exquisite peak.

When the wave finally breaks, it crashes over both of you at once—a blinding, overwhelming release that leaves you clinging to one another, gasping for air and crying each other’s names as your heartbeats clash against each other’s chests in tandem.

Gushes of his seed warm your insides, coating your walls in his color and laying claim to your womb.

The feeling is so familiar, the way he fills you right to the brim, so much that trickles overflow out the edges of your throbbing, abused cunt.

“Gods above...” Your lover sighs weakly against your collarbone, leaving a wet trail of saliva on your skin. “Thank you, thank you, thank you...”

You stroke the soft, auburn hair at the nape of his neck, breathing in the scent of rain, leather, and him.

Your fingers trace appreciatively the familiar curve of his back as your chest heaves in time with his, the wet warmth between your thighs a quiet, lingering mark of the love he just poured into you.

“Gwayne,” you call out to him softly into the dark, your voice cutting through the heavy silence of the tent.

He shifts slightly, pressing a tender kiss onto the sensitive skin beneath your jaw. “I'm here, my love. I'm right here.”

You cup his beautiful face in your hands, forcing him to lift his head so you can look straight into those clear, desperate blue eyes. The tears have dried on his cheeks, but the vulnerability in his gaze is raw and absolute.

“Then come with me,” you say, the command laced with a quiet, pleading ache that makes his breath catch in his throat. “Leave all of this behind tonight. Fly with me to King’s Landing and bend the knee to my mother; she will grant you mercy and forgiveness.”

Gwayne freezes, his chest resting heavily against yours as the weight of your words sinks in.

“My love...” he begins, his voice thick with an ache so profound, for love and for you. He presses his forehead against yours, his warm, uneven breath fanning over your lips. “Would that truly make you happy? Is this what you need from me?”

“It is what I desire above all else in this world,” you answer without hesitation, your voice trembling with the full weight of your devotion. You kiss him tenderly, tasting the salt on his skin. “I want you by my side, Gwayne. I want you, alive, safe, and mine. I need you with me.”

A shaky, shuddering breath escapes his chest, and a brilliant, tearful smile bleeds across his flushed face.