Tickle My Bickle

He was always away, that was the worst part of it all. He’d either be called to battle or for inquiry; all part of the responsibilities that came with being a knight, especially one who had gained favour with House Targaryen. Weeks, sometimes months, would go by without you so much as seeing him. In the beginning, it was torture. To two newlyweds, the idea of being separated was unbearable, unfathomable, but over the years, you and Duncan had developed a steady understanding of your marriage. This was his duty, how he put food on the table; it was also something he loved dearly, almost as much as he loved you, and he’d give neither up.

Yes, you’d grown an understanding, but it did not dull the ache that resfuraced every time he was called away. This ache that had grown since the birth of your child, you’d gotten used to it, learned to ignore it.                                       

Though today was not the day to dwell on it, for you’d be seeing Duncan today, finally touching, kissing, and perhaps even more after he’d been away for seven long months, quelling whatever rebellion that was forming against King Baelor, in the Storm Lands. You’d be reunited at last, and gods, you were bursting at the seams. Ripples of excitement coursed through your body, threatening to shoot out from your veins. You were like a child on their name day, you couldn’t sit still in your carriage! Your little one, who sat on your lap, sucking his fingers, could sense this unregulated energy; in fact, it was rubbing off on him. He squealed loudly as he bounced in your lap.

“Hush now.” You chided, though there was barely reproach in your voice. You looked down at him with a smile, and he looked back up at you. Seeing his toothless grin, combined with the gentle clopping of the horse’s hooves, the gentle roll of the carriage onward, and the very notion that Duncan would be standing at the gates of Kingslanding, waiting, with his ridiculously large frame and stupid grin on his face, consumed you entirely. You swelled with joy so much so that you were shaking. You found yourself overwhelmed with the desire to squeal, like your little one, and squeal you did.

“Ahhhhhh!” The overstimulated sound was ripped from your throat before you could stop it. The carriage immediately halted, causing your little one to jolt. One of the banner boys came rushing to the carriage door. He ripped it open in a panic.

“My lady, are you alright?” He looked around for any danger or harm. “Yes, I am.” You stammered; a smile crept up on your lips. “Yes, I ummm. Yes. I saw a spider, carry on.” 

The banner boy side-eyed you, but did not let his thought be known. “Right.” He nodded as he closed the carriage door.

BAELOR

Baelor is naturally gifted in all manner of things, and because he is never half-hearted with anything he sets out to do, when he goes down on you, it's an otherworldly experience. When his head is wedged between your thighs, holding you open insistently as his tongue works its magic, you ascend to another realm. He’ll begin with gentle kisses between your thighs, a peck here and there to build up your desire. He’ll even occasionally rub your sensitive pussy  before fully committing, and commit he does. Every stroke and flick of his tongue is measured and precise; fuelled by care and devotion. Baelor worships you softly, lavishing your cunt tenderly but with a deep hunger. You cum at least two times. 10/10

MAEKAR

Maekar is annoyed with any task or obligation he has to fulfill unless it's the obligation between your legs. That is one thing he does not consider a chore; it's just a bit of fun for him. He dives right in with an open-mouthed kiss to your cunt, before he begins sucking gently. He finds it amusing to watch you squirm and wail as he tongue fucks you. He places one of his strong hands on your back, holding you down, while the other hand holds you open by your thigh as he devours you from behind. He doesn’t hold back as he hot breath fans your slit, while his nose bumps against your hardened clitoris or as your hips stutter. With Maekar, you’ll stop cumming when he says so. 9/10

AERION

Aerion is a bully. He doesn’t usually deign to use his mouth on you as he finds such an act a tad bit debasing. It's something you should do for him, not the other way around. When he does do it, and I mean really do it, without any tricks or intentions of teasing for his own amusement, it's glorious. But if he’s in a mood to deprive you, it's almost as bad as if he hadn’t. Aerion will part your legs and crawl between them. He uses his mischievous tongue to lap at your pussy with skill and and prescion, particularly focusing on your clitoris. He knows the right way to flick, lick, and rub it to get you bucking your hips and grinding on his face. When he notices that you’re enjoying yourself or, god forbid, close to climax, he’ll slow or lessen his efforts; sometimes, outright stop so you can look down and complain. The second you open your mouth to utter a word, he’ll smirk and thrust his tongue or fingers back inside you. If you cum… well, that’s on you.  7/10

DAERON

For my homie, my friend Craig, who loves maekar and wishes he could shag him.

“Am I mishearing you, brother?” Baelor looks at his younger brother with a confusion and uncertainty that made Maekar’s gut roll unpleasantly. “You mean to tell me you’ve developed a proclivity for men?”

“Not men!”  Maekar hisses almost immediately. In a flash, he shoots down his brother’s questioning, which is largely based in truth. It’s not something Maekar would like to confront, or admit, let alone say out loud, around other people. It was a miracle, and a frankly moment of desperation that he’d even invited Baelor to Summerhal and pulled him into a private chamber beneath the castle, just beyond the catacombs, to confess what had been ailing him for many moons.

Too long this anomaly has troubled Maekar, driving him to the brink of madness as he lay awake at night. He’d stare up at the ceiling as he fantasized about the strong, framed shoulders of another man. He found himself salivating at the very thought of the sturdy and calloused hands that belonged to a serving boy, rather than the soft curves of a high-born lady. It was a cursed thing! More cursed when he awoke with a throbbing between his legs.

By the gods! 

Maekar began to pace around in the private quarter. “I merely have an attraction to him, only him, no other man.” And gods were Maekar attracted. 

In all his years of living and occupying Westeros, he’d never seen someone so tantalising; man or woman. Since laying his eyes on this young cupbearer, a fire had begun burning inside him, one that he’d thought was long extinguished since Dyanna’s death. But now, a desire had been rekindled inside of Maekar, and no matter how hard he tried to quell or quash it, it would simply not go away. 

“Well…” Baelor mutters. He looks at his brother from the pillar he’s leaning against. He’s silent for a while, too long for Maekar’s impatient liking. Maekar stops pacing and turns to him. 

“Well?” He snaps. “What is it that I should do? I called for your council, not so you could gape at me.”

Baelor is flabbergasted by the question. Such a reaction is no help to Meakr’s turmoil or understanding of himself, nor is the answer that slips from Baelor’s lips mere seconds after. “I am unsure, brother.” “Unsure?” Maekar snorts. “I’ve ridden into battle with you, but at the first sign of something queer, in relation to me, then, you become unsure?” Insecurity bleeds from his voice.

“You misunderstand me, brother,” Baelor says with a swiftness to avoid escalation and to silence the voices in his brother’s head. He steps away from the pillar and saunters towards Maekar.

Maeakr suppresses a gulp. His older brother’s directness and unabashed confidence in the face of anything and everything unnerve him; it always has. Maeakr finds himself tensing up, anticipating the worst. But then Baelor put his hand on his brother’s shoulder, Maekar finds himself relaxing.

“It is not this… queerness that frightens me, or an attraction to men, but this fear in you. It means this matter has truly shaken you.” 

“Why did you not come to me earlier?” Baelor’s words invoke guilt inside Maekar; he cannot meet his brother’s eyes.

“I was unsure you’d listen or understand,” Maekar admits. “I will always understand, even when I don't,” Baelor says firmly, always ready to affirm his brother. He squeezes Maekar’s shoulder. Though Maekar did not meet his gaze, he knew Baelor’s eyes were radiating that look; that damn look.  It was the look that melted all worries and troubles.

“Tell me about him.” Baelor coaxes gently, removing his hand from Maekar’s shoulder and putting it behind his back. He speaks in earnest, with genuine interest. 

Maekar shrugs, portraying a disposition of calm or ease, but internally, his stomach is performing a wildling jig. “He’s young, strong, calm, of good character,” he recalls all he can of the young man. He recalls the brief moments where he served Maekar, bearing his cup or assisting in flaying an animal. Maekar knew little of the younger man, but of what he did know, he found himself liking grealtly.

Baelor nods approvingly. A smile crept onto his lips, he’d never heard his brother describe anything or anyone with such interest of fevror; not since Maekar’s late wife, and not since they were young men. “A knight or lord then?” Surely this man had to be of considerable character, social standing, and nobility.

Maekar hesitates. “ He’s a serving boy,” 

“A what-” “A serving boy!-” Maekar snaps. He raises his voice, but quickly reels himself in. “A serving boy.” He says more calmly. 

Baelor exhales slowly. This was a matter that truly boggled his mind. His surprise came not from his brother’s attraction to another man, no, that was not out of the ordinary, but his brother’s attraction to someone of a lower station was certainly perplexing; his brother of all people was attracted to a serving boy.

“He truly must be a different kind of man.” Baelor notes.

“He is,” Maekar says softly. He closes his eyes briefly, imagining the young man’s face. “he is.”

“Is it my approval you seek, brother?” That question rips Maekar from his daydreaming. His lips curl into a semi-frown and a sneer. “I don’t need your fukcing approval.”

That was a lie. Maekar wanted it, he craved it, he needed it.

Please tell me what I desire is not wrong. Maekar’s prayer echoed in his head. Please tell me it is not wrong in the eyes of the gods, but more so that it is not wrong in your eyes, brother.

An uncomfortable silence was thrust upon the two brothers for some time. Maekar twitched, his hands tapping the side of his own leg, as Baelor stood there, trying to find the right words. After some thought, he spoke. He was careful and considerate. 

“My wife, Jena, was quite skittish around me until I spoke to her... properly. I gained her favour when I spoke to her as myself, not as Baelor Tarygen or the heir to the Iron Throne.” Baelor smiles faintly.

“She spoke to me freely as when we took a turn around the courtyard together and ate a hearty meal away from prying eyes… a hearty meal.”

Maekar frowned. “A hearty meal-What the fuck are you-” “Everyone likes to be wine and dined, man or woman. They enjoy good conversation, while being spoken with, not at.” Baelor remarks with a knowing smile. It clicked Maekar’s head, not only the meanings of his brother’s words but the subtle approval in them. He had Baelor’s support. Maekar could hear the enthusiasm that came from his brother’s words, and that was present in his smile.

Maekar nods. “Yes, of course.”

He’s perpetually annoyed because he has to attend small council meetings, unnecessary banquets, gatherings, or outings that reinforce the Targaryen claim and power over the realm… That is, unless you are there, with him. Your presence makes it just a tad bit bearable. During these oh so tedious obligations, he’ll demand that you be seated next to him. He’ll hold your hand or stroke your thigh beneath the table, all while complaining and rolling his eyes.

Maekar was reluctant to court you, even more so to publicly confirm your coupling. Frankly, he was skittish regarding the age gap between the two of you; he worried about the whispers and judgmental gazes that would inevitably follow him. To many outsiders, he was just another elderly lord, looking to snatch up and corrupt a young beauty,  but to others, you were a temptress, a predator. In the eyes of some, you were a sultry young thing, looking to take advantage of a lonely widower. Naturally, Maekar would not stand for any slander against you. He had deigned for something more private, but quickly realised it was dishonouring your name, letting such rumours float about unchecked, and so he married you.

Your marriage/engagement to him was a surprisingly opulent and extravagant affair; you’d always thought Maekar was not one for frills or over-the-top declarations of affection, but you were wrong. When it came to you, he spared no expense. He’d ordered the finest silk from Oldtown, just for your wedding gown, jewels from the wealthiest merchants in Braavos, and rings recovered from the remnants of Valyria. There was no price too high for his bride.

Maekar may have been old, but he certainly fucked like a man in his prime. His desire for you had increased tenfold after you’d become his wife. There wasn’t a waking moment that he wasn’t thinking about taking you. He daydreamed about the softness of your skin, the tenderness of your breast, or the tight and warm feeling of your cunt. Just the thought of your face scrunched up in pleasure got him going. It didn’t matter wherever he was. His appetite surged; It gave him an unnatural level of stamina.

Of all the characters in Spirited Away, Lin will always be my favorite. She stands out to me in this beautiful story of a lost girl navigating the realm of spirits and the supernatural, as well as the inescapable coming of age.

Aside from the many theories that surround her character, theories regarding her humanity and origins, I find that what is most interesting about her is that she is a great tool for the exploration of the idea of "wanting' or dreaming; dreaming of something out there that is bigger and better than what you're currently saddled with, but being too afraid to pursue it because of the comfort and safety you're entangled in.

Lin is a young woman/spirit toiling endlessly as a worker, trapped in the unpredictable and exploitative conditions of the bathhouse. She is a cog in this supernatural capitalist wheel. Like Chihiro and other workers in the bath house, she desires to leave; it's her dream, but that's all it ever is: a dream. When given the opportunity to leave, she doesn't take it. Perhaps out of fear of the unknown, after all, the bathhouse, for the longest time, is all she's known. It's most likely she'll never leave.

I've always viewed Lin as a warning, as someone who often dares to dream but is squeamish about said dreams escaping the inner corners of my mind. Sometimes I'm downright frightened.

And so, I ask myself, do I die one day, knowing that I had lived in a complacent, unfilled, yet comfortable existence, or do I venture for something more, even if this something doesn't exist?