Be it heart of man or of maiden 𖤓˚࿔

Gwayne Hightower

𖤓 One shot:

Homeward Bound

𖤓 Series

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

Ormund Hightower

𖤓 One shot

𖤓 Series

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

Daemon Targaryen

𖤓 One shot

𖤓 Series

── ⋆⋅ 𖤓 ⋅⋆ ──

Maekar Targaryen

𖤓 One shot

𖤓 Series

A burden shared is a burden halved: Part 1 & Part 2 - coming soon!

── ⋆⋅ 𖤓 ⋅⋆ ──

Lyonel Baratheon

𖤓 One shot

𖤓 Series

Your letters had begun innocently enough, the contents mainly focused on the agony of attempting to bare with the fact that you would never see your wives again, you would also discuss what you missed most about them, your happiest moments together, dreams and nightmares you would have concerning your beloveds. But then the subjects began to expand, focusing more on your daily lives with fewer and fewer mentions of your late wives.

Then just a few days ago you had received a letter from Maekar at the usual time and date you would expect; a Monday afternoon. You had just come in from the training ground after assisting with your youngest sons combat and archery lessons and you were intending to pick up the letter to read whilst you bathed and scrubbed off the sweat and dirt you had accumulated. This was your routine you had fallen into. But when you approached the desk your maester tended to put your letters on the pace of your confident strides slowed. On the desk before you was the expected letter, but beside it was a box wrapped in brown paper. You came closer to inspect it and sure enough the box bore the usual seal you could expect of letters from Maekar, a deep red wax with the three headed Targaryen dragon quartered—his own personal coat of arms. But the wax on the letter differed, it was the quartered dragon, but it was not crimson wax. It was rather a pale lilac with a small branch of white flowers incorporated in it, jasmine. Your favourite.

You turned your head over your shoulder, ensuring the room was clear before you strode over to your studies door and locked it. Your heart was thrumming in your chest, it was beating so loud and fast you could hear and feel the pressure in your ears. You took a seat and pulled yourself closer to the desk, you didn’t know why you were so nervous; your entire body was tingling. You supposed it was because you had never received a gift like this from Prince Maekar before, not in your whole time of correspondence. He had also made no mention of sending you anything in his previous message. Your hands shook as you picked up the box, it was light and its contents made no sound as you moved it. Tentatively you began to slowly pull at the triangles of brown paper, pulling the waxing seal keeping it whole and placing it to the side. You could never bring yourself to crack Maekar’s seal, you also could not throw them away. You had been collecting them since you excitedly opened the first letter you received from him. It felt a bit strange keeping them, as if you were doing something odd or shameful. You had already prepared an excuse if someone were to come across them, that you were simply collecting them to return so they could be melted down and used again. After unwrapping the paper you were left with a black wooden box carved with scrawling vines and flowers on all four sides and a quartered Targaryen dragon in the centre with your name underneath. You ran your fingers tips ever so lightly over the top, the hairs on your arms standing straight with each indent that came under your finger tips. You could hardly believe the beautiful craftsmanship in front of you, all to encase a gift for you. Hardly containing your giddiness, you undid the latch of the box, absent mindedly chewing your bottom lip as you opened it. Inside sat a pair of smooth black leather riding gloves with Maekar’s crest embossed at the wrist. You picked up the top glove, raising it to try on. As you did, another letter and two sticks of wax, red and black in colour, fell from the red suede inside and onto your desk. So many questions flooded your mind, but you pushed them aside for a moment to slip the glove on to your hand. To your astonishment it was a perfect fit, not a single part of the glove was loose. “How did he know the exact size of my hand…?” You pondered out loud, your voice a hushed whisper.

Staring at the two letters sat on your desk you swallowed nervously, torn between which to open first. You had long pushed away your desire to bathe, to keep to routine. Pulling off the glove you reached to the lilac sealed letter “surely as this was the letter outside of the box he would want me to open this first” you reasoned to yourself. With no one to reassure you of your assumed order you repeated your earlier gentle removal of the wax stamp, placing it next to the other on the desk before unfurling the letter.

It began as all of his letters to you did

“Dear Lord Y/N Mallister of Seagard,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and moderate enough spirits.” It never failed to draw from you a slight chuckle. You had pondered on what moderate enough spirits even were when you got his first letters all those moons ago. You had also wondered if this is how he started all of his letters or if it was just for you. If the Prince even sent letters to others. It continued on “I thank you for your most recent letter. In truth it warms my heart to read of your children’s innocent antics, especially when I compare it to the activities of mine own brats. I wish mine simply busied themselves with practicing swordplay in the corridors, climbing trees, swimming in creeks, and making puppet shows. Unfortunately that is much too drab for them, when they prefer to entertain themselves by shaving years off my life through shock and fear for their potential to make it to old age. Just yesterday Daeron was caught by the gold cloaks roaming around Flea Bottom darting from tavern to tavern barely disguised. To make matters worse Aerion then had to be pulled off of a training partner in the keep who he was trying to bludgeon to death. Thankfully Daella and Rhae are as sweet as ever and Aegon has gone the week without running away from his guard. It is as I say, they do nothing but add to my stress.” Every time you read of what Prince Maekar’s children got up to you were both shocked and terrified, but you also felt immense sympathy for the Prince. After all his children, like yours were the last living memory of your loved ones. “Your own eldest son is doing well at the Red Keep, he acts as a stark contrast to my sons. I think they believe I look too fondly on your child, but it is not hard to extend him favour when he does as he is asked and beyond. It is like having a younger you in the Keep, his presence gives me solace. I told him I would be sending you a letter as usual, and he looked surprised. Y/N how much have you told your boy about our correspondence? Did you not disclose the regularity of it? It made me fear that you were embarrassed, but then your son spoke of how highly you regard me and it brought some comfort.”

Then it took an unexpected turn, as you came to the end of the words on the page you found yourself having to read it over again. But no matter how many times you did you could hardly believe what you were reading. You placed the letter text side down and stood up sharply, the legs of the chair screeching as you pushed it back. Frantically you looked to distract yourself, you decided to go to the window of your study. Casting your gaze outside the window you steadied yourself on stone, pressing your burning face against the cool surface. Looking down into the courtyard you occupied your racing mind with the sight of your eldest and youngest daughters braiding daisy crowns, it only managed to distract you for a moment before Maekar entered your mind once again “Prince Maekar…” you mumbled with your eyes transfixed on the crowns in your daughters hands.

Returning to your desk you picked the letter up once more, jumping back to the bottom half. “Y/N I must be truthful to you, because the guilt of it is eating away at my mind daily. As you say ‘A burden shared is a burden halved’ and so I feel that I must share this with you. For the past months upon receiving your letters an all too familiar warmth has settled in my bosom. This warmth only grows as I read your words, I imagine them as if you are speaking them to me and it brings me untold comfort. After reading your most recent letter that night I had a dream, it was about you and I. The dream is detailed in the letter inside your gift, I understand that this is peculiar. I hesitated even including this much in this letter, or telling you at all but I concluded that if I did not disclose this to you then I would feel ashamed to continue writing to you without giving you the option to extinguish this flame growing inside me.

If you can already guess what I am insinuating from my awkward prose and you are disturbed then please burn the letter enclosed in the box without reading it. I have left it in your hands so I suppose I can not stop you, which is why I have also included two sticks of wax in the box. If you read the letter and share my feelings, use the red wax. If you reject them then use the black wax, or if you hate me so much do not send another letter. I will understand your meaning. I am sorry to burden you with this.

Warmly your friend,

Prince Maekar”

You let out breath you’d been subconsciously holding, it was real. You cast your gaze towards the other letter, this one was not folded in Maekar’s usual fashion. It was almost as if he had tried to make it smaller on purpose, whether to hide it from potential peering eyes or in hopes you wouldn’t read it at all. Any guess you made could have been true. You stroked the seal, allowing yourself to find solace in the waxy texture. It was just a letter from Maekar, you had read what had to be hundreds from him at this point “There is nothing to be afraid of. It’s Maekar.” You reasoned, peeling off the seal and placing it with the other two “One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a wedding” you recited as you unfolded the letter and began reading.

“Y/N,

Hopefully you read the letter with the purple seal before opening this one. Knowing you, I am sure that you were eager to open the gift I got you. I hope you find them suitable and get good use out of them. If you can not already tell by the fit, I had them specially made for you. Before you read ahead I beseech you to read the previous letter if you haven’t, an order from your prince.

Assuming you obeyed my instructions, you will know I had a dream of us together. These gloves were a part of that dream and I awoke from it flustered and confused. But certain that I wanted to have them made for you. They bare my personal coat of arms, if you wear them then you are for me.

I have somehow managed to ramble in written form, but I’m sure you can gleam that I am wrecked with nerves. The dream was as follows:

You were staying in King’s Landing with me and we had decided to go for a horse ride in the Kingswood. Rather than wearing House Mallister’s Indigo you were wearing black and red paired with those gloves. It made you look as if you were a Targaryen. We came to a clearing in the woods near a small stream and dismounted. We began to talk, I’m not entirely certain of what but as we did we inched closer. Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from you on mine own skin, you smelt how you always do; jasmine and cedar. We joined out hands together and you drew circles on my wrist with your gloves fingers. Then we began to kiss, it was sloppy and imprecise and soon we were on the grass pulling each other's clothes off. We licked and sucked at each others skin, I ground down against you and you let out the sweetest of moans, your voice like honey. Then I took you right there in the Kingswood. I claimed you with no witness but the trees, river, and our horses. In the wild with no bed to cushion us. It felt so very right and just as I was about to orgasm I awoke. Bereft of the fact that it had been a dream, it felt so real I look for you besides me under the covers before it dawned on me that none of it had been real. I wanted it to be real, I still would like it to be real. Since my wife passed I have felt no desire for anyone, except for you. My yearning began before this dream, although it had manifested itself in more subtle and manageable ways. I have many times pleasured myself to your letters and to fantasies I have constructed in my mind of you.”

You dropped the letter from your hands, feeling the warmth that had previously been in your cheeks migrate to your crotch. The groin of your pants stretch painfully over your erection, you felt shame cloud your mind as you rubbed over the tented fabric. You could hardly help the moan that escaped from your mouth, it was deep and felt as if it came from your chest. Your body felt like under a spell, driven by pure lust as you undid your breeches and shifted them just far enough down your thighs that you could comfortably lean back in the chair and begin to pleasure yourself. Running your palm over your leaking tip you used the endless amount of precum to begin sliding your hand up and down the length of your cock. You picked Maekar’s letter back up rereading the contents of his dream, closing your eyes you conjured up the scene behind your eyelids. The KingsWood, the exact clearing and stream. The steamy makeout and then him taking you, you couldn’t imagine it exactly as you had never been taken that way before. But you could envision that the pleasure must be intense, or you were certain that Maekar would make it feel good.

You hand worked faster, the feeling brewing in your abdomen coming to head. You broke your silence with a shout “Fuck- Maekar!” as you climaxed. You stared at the thick ropes of cum on the underside of your desk, breeches and floor mortified at your own lust driven actions. But the distress did not linger for long, instead it was replaced by a resolute calmness. You realised that this had been one of the first times you had actually pleasured yourself since your wife’s death. In that moment you had decided, as the warm rays of sunlight bathed the room in orange and yellow hues you took it as a sign that a new dawn had arrived. You took a moment to clean yourself and your surrounding before returning to the final section of the letter.

It read as follows “Ultimately, I will end with this. My heart is and will always be yours. Whether you decide to reply to me or not. You have breathed life into an old man who was certain the rest of his days would be filled with guilt and misery. For this I am endlessly grateful.

I await your reply with hope,

Yours,

M.”

Glancing down at your desk the options were before you, red wax for yes and black for no. Your desire was undeniable, you could hardly contain yourself even reading about his yearning for you. But at the same time you thought of your family, your deceased wife, his deceased wife, his family. If the relationship were to be discovered then both of your lives and reputations would be destroyed, your children’s marriage prospects and standing would be permanently impacted. You fiddled with the wedding ring now on your right hand, a tear slipping down your heated cheeks. You had made your decision.

Even so, seeing Ser Gwayne in the state he was in after today’s trek across the hostile landscape was pushing your limits of acceptance. You had never seen him like this. Ever. And it was infuriating. You had accompanied Ser Gwayne on numerous trips and campaigns but never had they entailed trudging through leech infested muck and watching your fellow soldiers die of exhaustion alongside a host of illnesses. You were all too familiar with what war entailed, you were not a child of some ten and six, but these were not war casualties. These were feckless deaths brought about by the gormless ego possessed by Ser Criston Cole. You were reaching your limit. Your rage had been bubbling for a while but picking leeches off of Ser Gwayne's legs, his hair matted and darkened with sweat, the exhaustion that had taken shelter under his eyes…it tugged at your heart strings and you couldn’t stop your jaw from ticking as your eyes caught a glimpse of Ser Criston from across the camp whilst you cleaned both yours and Ser Gwayne’s swords. You had to start manually breathing to calm yourself, because you knew if you didn’t then the blade currently being shined in your palm would find its way embedded in Ser Criston’s chest.

Just as you were beginning to centre yourself a familiar auburn haired figure entered into your field of view. Warmth blossomed in your chest, but your heart simultaneously felt heavy taking in his tired appearance. Your hand slowed shining the blade as you watched with interest Ser Gwayne approaching Cole. You could barely make out what they were saying amongst the assortment of lively conversations taking place in the camp. But parts jumped out to you, you heard Gwayne mournfully say “sanctuary” followed by the the low rumble of Ser Criston speaking of “death and defeat”. Despite being sat mere inches from the fire your blood ran cold and a wave of clarity saturated your brain “He means for us to die here” you scoffed in a hushed pained voice. Your movements stilled completely as you witnessed Ser Gwayne stand suddenly and chuck the tattered, thin, hemp blanket he was previously shrouding himself in to the ground before he marched off into the thicket of trees. Ser Criston seemed apathetic to the action, his gaze already fixed hazily on the distance. He may not care, but you sure as the Seven do. Placing your blade back in your holster, you picked up Gwayne’s sword and began to pursue him.

It didn’t take long for you to find him. He was precisely where you expected him to be, sat outside the small makeshift tent you had set out for him. It was in no way as grand as the lodging Ser Gwayne and other knights of similar rank were accustomed to but you knew it would at least protect from the frigid night winds and a moderate amount of rain. Gwayne lifted his head at the sound of your footsteps crunching the leaf-laden forest floor, when his eyes met yours your heart squeezed “Y/N, it’s you.” heat rose to your cheeks as your name left his blush coloured lips. His voice was like honey.

“Yes Ser, I have finished polishing and sharpening your sword. It was a pain to get the thick mud out of grip, it was really embedded in the groves” you gave a friendly chuckle and smile as you handed him the sword laid across both your hands.

Gwayne took the sword, inspected it briefly and reattached it to his belt “My apologies for making you do such a finicky task. Thank you, you’ve cleaned it well.”

“Not at all Ser. I enjoyed doing it, it helped take my mind off of” you gestured broadly towards the tent in front of you and the camp behind you “all of this.”

“Yes it’s not the most pleasant of situations…” He sighed dropping his head into his hands. Gwayne’s fingers settled in his hair, tugging it slightly in frustration. You dropped your knees to meet the height of him sat on the tree stumps you had collected to act as seats. Once level with him your hands settled on his rubbing your thumbs against his palms, urging him to release his hair.

“Please don’t tug at your hair Ser.” You plead. Gwayne’s head rose from his hands, deep indigo eyes met yours.

He rolled his eyes “Drop the Ser, we are alone. Are we not?”

“Of course. Gwayne, please.” A smile crept on to his face at that. He relaxed his hands, instead of tugging his ginger locks they occupied themselves with holding your hands.

The brief smile that occupied his lips faded and instead a look of concern pinched at his brows “Your fingers are icy, were you not sat near the fire?”

“I was, but it’s so windy that even a moment away from the fire is making me feel like I’m swimming at Winterfell.” You were relieved to hear a small laugh from Gwayne, it felt like you hadn’t heard that sound in forever “But you holding my hands is transporting me to Dorne” at that Gwayne dramatically dropped your hands.

“You’re embarrassing, you know that don’t you?” a pretty pink was dusted along his cheeks as his lips formed a perfect pout.

You reached out your hand to cup his face, pulling it back to face you. Your eyes traced carefully over his features, even caked with mud, with dark circles, and the beginnings of stubble above his upper lip he was the handsomest man you’d ever seen. You tried to file away this memory for later “I’m home with you, Gwayne.” It came out before you could even register your lips moving.

His eyes widened and then softened, he nuzzled more into your palm “and I with you. You’re keeping me sane Y/N.”

“I heard bits and pieces of your discussion with Ser Criston” as soon as the words left your mouth Gwayneface returned to his previous frustrated furrow. Despite it you continued on, shifting his face to look at you more directly “He’s gone insane.” You declared with a resolute certainty.

“No…I think he’s been this way for a while now”

“I don’t care when it started.” Your voice came out more terse than you intended, you could see that Gwayne was slightly startled in response but you kept going. It was now or never “We have to leave Gwayne. He’s going to kill us”

Gwayne sighed, standing from the log he was sitting on and move towards one of the thin birch tree. He was looking back towards the camp now, in his eyes you could see conflict. “We can’t just abandon him, we have a duty to perform” the words sounded formulaic, they were clearly not his own thoughts and instead those imbued in him from his education. You admired his persistence to adhere to the knightly code but simultaneously it frustrated you.

You rested your hand heavily on his shoulder, pulling him back towards you “Duty be damned! For Sevens sake look around us, look at yourself!”

Gwayne scoffed at your statement, looking you up and down as emphasising the irony in your comment “Rude-”

You cut him off “Well I’m sorry but I’m being truthful. I plucked who knows how many leeches off you earlier, we watched soldiers drown in mud, we got slashed by brambles, and our forces have been more than halved. It’s over. It has been over. This is not the order we were originally given and we have no reason to push ahead.”

“I can’t disagree with what you’re saying, today was bad. But-”

“No. No buts, this is a death march. If we don’t leave now this is where our stories end.”you trailed your hand down his arms towards his hands. Right before you could entwine your fingers Gwyane pulled his hands away placing them instead on his hips.

“If you want to, you can leave.” The sharpness of the word left your mouth dry. You couldn’t even conceive of leaving him here, not when you knew the fate that would befall him if you did.

His assertion was preposterous and after a small moment of silence the words leapt from your lips firm and coated with melancholy “No! No I can’t.”

“There’s nothing stopping you!” He spat

“You! You are stopping me. I refuse to let you die here,” a heavy lump formed in your throat and your eyes stung even imagining a world without Gwayne “if I were to leave and you die then I may as well just impale myself on my own blade.”

His eyes softened his face cloaked with sorrow at your words “Y/N…” Gwayne croaked. You took your chance to take one of his hands in yours.

“I am sorry for being morbid but it’s true. I swore myself to your service, I am not leaving here without you. I mean it. Tomorrow early in the morning before they set off we must go.” Gwayne turned away from you entirely, looking pensively back towards the glimpses of the camp that could be seen in the distance. “I’m serious Gwayne.” You stated firmly, drawing circles on his palm with your finger tips. Uncertain whether the motion was to soothe yourself or him.

The silence stretched on, punctuated by crackles of the woodfire and the rusting of leaves in the breeze. You held your breath as Gwayne turned back towards you with a resolute expression ”you’re right.” You exhaled deeply, allowing your head to drop downwards “You’re so right. Tomorrow we’ll leave for Tumbleton and go join my cousin Ormund.”

You breathed a sigh of relief “Thank you. I love you, I don’t want to lose you.”

“I cherish you too, you’re a much needed voice of reason.” You both inch closer together until your bodies collide, moving on each other desperately exchanging messy breathy kisses. Your hands pull at his tunic, desperate to remove it as soon as possible. Gwayne’s hands similarly wrestle your armour from you, whilst taking care to not allow his lips to leave yours. In your passionate storm of kisses you manage to meander your way into the tent. Once all your plate and mail is removed you pull away from Gwayne, your lips still connected by a thin line of spit.

“Let me fetch some warmed water so I can clean your skin” you move towards the entrance of the tent with the intent to quickly slip out and retrieve the water, but a strong grip around your forearm prevents you from leaving.

“No. I can’t wait” the confession stopped you in your tracks adding a mental block to the already physical one of Gwayne’s pull.

You feel your dick twitch as you hold eye contact with him “oh? Later then I suppose” the words trickle from your lips in a stunted awkward fashion. It was hard to think under his intense needy gaze, an endeavour which only increased in difficulty as Gwayne went back to stripping you bare.

You could feel the swell of Gwayne’s desire rubbing against you, a wet warmth blossoming where he was grinding. His desperation was apparent, though you were no less desperate. You dipped your head down to litter kisses in the space between Gwayne’s throat and shoulder. As you do you breathe deeply, his typical scent of pine and honey suckle was dominated by the overwhelming metallic smell of blood, mud, and the heady odor of sweat even so you revelled in the scent, you loved Gwayne in any form. Even one that desperately needed a bath.

You drop slowly to your knees pulling down Gwayne’s breeches to allow his dick freedom. You began by taking just the head into your mouth, licking the head of his cock tenderly. Gwayne’s hand settled on the sharp edge of your jaw, rubbing tenderly at your ear. The saltiness tingles against your tongue, like a long aged cured meat but you take him deeper into your mouth regardless brushing aside the taste. Your nose pressed against the sparse hair above his member, you hold his full length in your throat for a moment humming to send vibrations across Gwayne’s cock.

“Fuck” he moans his head falling backwards as he revels in pleasure. It has been a while since you had last had the chance to be together like this due to the constant need to be on the move and the close proximity that Gwayne tended to maintain to the central camp. The time had made you only more desperate to pleasure him and be pleasured. You started to move up and down his length with a rhythmic pace, at that his hand shoots up and his fingers tangle in your hair desperate for purchase. Your jaw ached a bit from Gwayne’s girth but you filed away the discomfort and continued your movements, removing one of your hands from his ass cheek to cup his balls. Utilising the spit spilling from your mouth and pooling at his base to massage his heavy sacks. You pulled your mouth off of him to lick up and down his length with your hot wet tongue. As you come back up you graze his tip ever so lightly with your bottom teeth before suck him back into your mouth with your cheeks hollowed to give a stronger suction. You could feel Gwayne twitching in your mouth as you settled once more with his full length in your mouth. A soft tap on your temple took your focus away from the task occupying you, without removing him from your mouth you cast your eyes upward “I need to be inside you, let us move to the bed”

You pulled off of him with a pop and wiped the spit from your chin and lips. Calling it a bed was generous, it was a pile of fabrics and furs that you were able to find scattered around camp. But anything was better than laying directly on the packed dirt floor. As you sat across from each other on the furs on your knees, your hands roamed each others bodies, giving light squeezes as you explored. You lightly scratched across the corded muscle of Gwayne’s back with your nails making him erupt in a moan against the skin of your chest he was kissing. In response he pushed you down so your back into the furs and hiked your knees up on to his shoulders “Apologies for the lack of materials to make this easier on you, I’m going to try my best to relax you.” He reassured whilst dribbling spit from his mouth on to your hole before massaging with his fingers in circles.

The feeling made your cock ache, his gentle touches cast a haze over your mind making even thinking difficult but you managed a reply “It’s no worry, Gwayne. I am just grateful to have you here with me now.” You shared another tender kiss as his fingers worked their way inside you, scissoring and thrusting in a way that made warmth pool in your gut.

“You’re doing so well for me,” You hummed at him feeling a slight burn as three of his large fingers began pistoning in and out of your slick hole “I think I may be able to put it in. If you are still alright with it?” You nodded furiously “words my love.”

“Please fill me” to that he guffawed, shaking his head with a smile on his lips.

“No need to ask me twice” Gwayne retorted as he guided the head of his cock to your opening. He pushed lightly, watching your hole swallow him and pulled away and pushed again swirling his head in the spit around your entrance. Right as you were about to reprimand his teasing he pushed inside, stilling immediately as his head disappeared “does that feel alright Y/N?”

“Yes!” You whimpered, tears brining your eyes as you clench down on him. Your reassurance prompts him to move deeper. As Gwayne bottoms out inside you he leans down, pressing your foreheads together just as a moan escapes your already open mouth. The heat of your shared breathing so close makes your face grow impossibly hotter muddling your thoughts in the process.You threw your arms around his neck, digging your nails into his shoulder blades as his barely apparent stubble scraped across your cheek, he licked the shell of your ear with his tongue. He moves tentatively inside you, searching your face for even the slightest instance of pain, the tenderness of his actions deepened your adoration. But you needed more “Harder, please. Harder” you manage to choke out between muffling your moans. Gwayne’s grip on your hips tightens in response, you can already seen the beginnings of bruises under his touch. One of your hands finds purchase on his waist, your nails leaving red marks as you desperately tried to maintain your grip, it was the only thing tethering you to reality whilst Gwayne drove into you mercilessly.

He manhandles your hips to tip you at an angle, forcing you to hover just above the ground so he can thrust into you deeper. With each powerful movement you can feel the head of Gwayne’s cock repeatedly bashing into your most sensitive point causing you to tighten in response. He breathes out shakily, sweat dripping down his face and on to you as he stills “If you keep squeezing me like that I’m going to explode.”

“I can’t help it, it’s just too good” one of his hands leave your hips and instead finds its way to your face. He strokes along your jaw and cheek before falling to your throat, where his hand settles for a moment, squeezing playfully. “I’m all yours, every part of me belongs to you”

He swipes some of your sweat soaked hair from your face, his eyes soft and full of adoration “Nothing could make me happier.”

You open your mouth to speak again and Gwayne takes the chance to move his hips, a sharp whine stumbles from your lips. You squeeze your eyes shut and bite harder on the fabric of the sleeping fur beneath you, trying desperately to muffle the moans begging to escape from your throat in response to Gwayne’s piston-like thrusts as he fucks into you with a renewed vigor.

You feel the warmth of his hand as he untangles your fingers from the fur, the feel of his rough calloused skin as it slipped into yours, you felt it fulfil the touch starved section of your mind. You can feel yourself reaching your peak and your certain that Gwayne notices, his thrusts becoming more erratic, his groans deeper “Come for me.” It sounds almost like a command and it’s one that you follow. He fucks you through it, watching your throw your head back and your body shake as your orgasm rushes over you. His thrusts begin to slow and his hips stutter with his own release overwhelming him.

As you both come down from your highs, tiredness starts to settle. It had been a long trek and one of similar ardour laid ahead in the morning. Gwayne shifted you both it a more comfortable position, your bodies entwined. You could hear his heart thumping in his chest as your fingers dance lightly across Gwayne’s forearm, tracing his veins like a meandering river trapped beneath his smooth pale skin warmed with hues of yellow and orange from the lantern in the corner. “My words are true, we will leave early on the morrow.” He slurs, words thick with drowsiness.