Porcelaine, Ivory, Steel

your husband only grumbled, rough hands trying to stop you from revealing more skin. still, you were determined, swatting every attempt away with a disgruntled sound, making maekar even more annoyed.

"have you no shame at all, woman?" he grouched, face pinched in irritation as you lifted the tunic until it pooled under his armpits, revealing his chest and belly in all its glory. "disrobing me and pawing at my flesh like i'm nothing but a toy to be played with when i'm exhausted from the bloody fucking—"

but you were barely listening to what your husband was saying, and frankly, in that moment, you had no qualms about paying mind to what came out of his mouth. all you cared about was how good he looked in that moment, leaning back against the pillows of your bed, still sweaty and dirty from the royal hunt he attended, looking every inch a man. all muscle and sinew and gods, the smatterings of fine silver hairs all over his chest and belly, and all the way lower on his navel, where a white trail of hair led right beneath the waistband of his breeches, to his cock.

you almost sighed thinking of it. you loved your husband's cock. it was one of the best things about him.

"you're exhausted," you parroted, humming as your soft hands continued to caress his stomach, pressing your fingers in, kneading at the skin like a cat, leisurely and appreciative, eliciting a displeased groan from your husband. "so sit back and indulge me for a few moments, dear husband."

maekar only scowled at you, the furrow between his brows deepening, lip curling in a snarl as he leaned forward, trying to loom, to intimidate in hopes you would cease pestering him. "don't dear husband me, you aggravating woman," he gritted, teeth barred, akin to a dragon before it unlatched its jaws to breathe fire and ash in anger. it made you warm under your chemise. you loved when your husband was all snappy and indignant.

you leaned forward, undeterred by his little intimidation tactic, noses almost brushing as you spoke, your tone soft and persuasive, as if beckoning a wild animal that might bite. "you were gone for so long, and i have been here, all alone, missing you like a limb," you lamented, distracting him from the way your fingers trailed along the waistband of his breeches now, prodding at the pudgy roll of fat there, loving the soft feel of it. "the least you could do is yield to my whims for a while."

aware that it wouldn't be enough to placate your husband, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his scarred cheek, leaving chaste, sweet kisses on the skin as you murmured. "you always look so good after a hunt, husband," you appeased, relentless in your pursuit of what you wanted, especially when it was something as delicious as touching maekar freely without him grumbling in your ear incessantly. "makes me want to devour you whole," your tone was on the precipe of resembling a purr, lips descending towards the strong line of his jaw and down his neck, nuzzling at the sweaty skin in delight.

as always, he tried to persist, even as you felt his skin warm and flush under your lips, making your mouth curl into a satisfied smile. you had him exactly where you wanted him, even if he was still resisting.

"you're being ridiculous," and oh, he was already panting softly, broad chest heaving along with the warm breaths that brushed your temple as you littered his ruddy-skinned throat in wet kisses. "pouncing on me like a cat in heat the second, ah—fuck," he cursed right when your tongue laved at his skin, tasting the remnants of the hunt. the sweat, the grime, the dirt—him, musky and manly and oh so palatable. “stop. i reek of filth and—”

“and i love it,” you moaned against his throat, mouth parting to press open—mouthed kisses to the skin of his throat, tongue licking at every remnant of perspiration, catching it against your palate and savoring it like the finest arbor gold. “you smell s’ good, husband, gods. i want to lick you all over.”

it always got like this. the more disheveled he returned, the more aroused you got. shame had deserted you moons ago, being absurdly vocal about how much you enjoyed when your husband was anything but presentable and pristine.

maekar made an aborted sound at your words, already flushed all the way to the tip of his ears, one rough hand moving to clasp the back of your nape and squeeze in hopes of deterring your assault on his senses, but it seemed in vain. the touch only spurred you, a soft sound resembling a purr rumbling against his throat as you continued to press your tongue to his skin, dipping it to taste the touch of grime gathered in the hollow of his throat.

“filthy,” maekar snarled, fingers squeezing just so at your nape and pulling upwards, eliciting a disgruntled sound from you; a whine. your lips were slick with spit, cheeks flushed and eyes blown wide, hazy with heat and adoration, which only made the pressure of his hand increase, reprimanding you for how far gone you already looked. “you’re a filthy, dirty woman, you know that?” he spat, tone brooking on a growl. “always have been,” maekar continued, tightening his hold onto your nape, the pads of his fingers restricting your breath for just a moment, just enough to make you gasp, before he eased it. “getting hot and bothered by your soiled husband like a degenerate,” his thumb brushed against your throat, where he gripped prior, the closest thing to quiet tenderness you could get in that moment, but it made warmth spread through you regardless.

“what of it?” you challenged, dipping your head back to his throat, nosing along the flushed skin, your soft fingers resuming their pawing along his belly, pressing and prodding at the pudgy flesh there, nails scraping along the trail of fine hairs leading below his waistband, making your husband hiss. “it’s your smell i crave, your taste,—” another filthy lick, along the jut of his collarbones, before moving downwards towards his chest, where the smattering of hair was thicker, the smell of sweat and musk more pungent.

maekar tensed as soon as he felt your lips brush against one of his pecs, and you could feel the shiver that ran through him when the tip of your nose nudged a nipple, willing it to harden.

“don’t you fucking dare—”

you did it again, nosing at the pebbling bud once, twice. then, you licked it, slow and wet, circling the nipple with the tip of your tongue, flicking teasingly.

a garbled moan punched out of maekar’s chest, his hold on your nape tightening anew, his other hand fisting the sheets under him, white—knuckled and trembling with restraint. you could tell he wanted to shove you away, to haul you as far as possible from his body so he wouldn’t be able to feel all this, to have to succumb to your whims and depravity. but you also knew he liked it. craved your attention like poison in his veins. hated that he needed it. snarled and snapped his jaws while being half—hard already beneath his breeches, blushing from the tips of his ears to where your mouth was currently busied, lips parting to suckle noisily at his nipple, drawing out another restrained, delicious grunt from your husband.

“look at you,” he managed to bite out through gritted teeth, broad chest heaving under your mouth, voice thinner, breathier. “licking and sucking like a common whore,—”

but you didn’t let him finish, letting your teeth scrape against the bud, nipping at it enough to sting, halting his crude words, making him curse, back arching, pushing his chest more into your awaiting mouth. it was a reprimand, but also a sick, twisted pleasure. seeing your husband bucking and snarling under your lips and tongue was a sight you could never get tired of, much like right now, as you laved one last lick to his wet, swollen nipple, before nosing between his pecs through the fine hairs there, inhaling the scent of him like a woman possessed.

“how would you know what common whores do, mhm, husband?” you murmured, nuzzling along the underside of his pecs, letting your lips press against the skin in damp kisses as you descended towards his stomach, fingers still trailing along the hairs leading towards his navel. “have you been indulging without my knowledge?”

each question was a taunt, like dangling a hunk of meat under a dragon’s nose, waiting for it to bite. and you loved nothing more than to taunt your dragon until he bit, until you could feel his teeth sink in, metaphorically or not.

and he always bit.

“you think i would debase myself with some pleasure house wench?” he snarled, violet eyes glinting with something close to offense, which made you preen quietly, warmth spreading through your chest like drizzled honey.

as you nosed along his stomach, you couldn’t help but breathe him in again, mouth parting in soft pants as your eyes fluttered, the musk of him stronger the closer you got to the V—shape of his hips. “i would hope you wouldn’t, dear husband,” you mouthed along his belly, tongue poking out to lick at the skin, tasting him again. “i would be thoroughly scorned if you so dared,” another lap of your tongue, slow and filthy, this time along the trail of hair near the waistband of his breeches, feeling a slight tickle onto your palate.

but, gods, the scent. the taste of him.

musky and sweaty and man.

it drove you wild, lips pressing to that tempting silver line, open-mouthed and slow, savoring him on your tongue again and again, as if you couldn’t get enough.

a groan slipped unbidden from maekar’s mouth, fingers tightening at your nape, as if remembering he still had a hold on you, blunt nails biting at the skin light enough to make you shiver as he pressed with firmness, as if scruffing a cat. “don’t need some perfumed, wanton wench when i have my hands full with you,” he panted, eyes trained on you, almost unblinking, having watched you the entire time, despite his protests. lavender hues half—lidded, glinting, part anger, part heat, eyeing you like a predator stalking prey.

his words made you purr against his skin, a satisfied sound, your fingers moving to tug slightly at his waistband, revealing more of his navel to you to lick and kiss. “good,” you murmured into his skin, dipping to nose at the cincture of his pants, and lower, nuzzling against his crotch, where you could feel him hard and throbbing already.

“woman, you—” but his protest dissolved into a shuddering moan as you rubbed your cheek against his clothed cock insistently, eyes fluttering, gaze holding his, molten and smoldering with heated affection. the friction was delicious, and it only made more bitten off pleasured sounds fall from his lips, broad chest heaving, splotched red from how hard he was blushing, skin ruddy and flushed. he looked good enough to eat. and maybe later, you intended to do just that.

the scent of him was strongest there, musk so strong it made you dizzy with want, lips parting to mouth at his crotch, feeling his cock throb beneath the cloth, only spurring you on. “smell s’ good,” you mumbled as you continued to map the hard ridge of his arousal with your mouth, tongue laving at the material, wetting it with your spit, making the outline of his cock even more visible. “taste s’ good, husband.”

“gods, fuck—” came from above you, the grip at your nape firming, pressing down, almost smushing your face into his crotch, but you couldn’t be happier to succumb to maekar’s guidance, feeling his hips twitch upwards, rutting weakly against your face.

it made you moan, the action so debauched, so depraved, making you nose along his clothed cock in time with the clumsy grinding of his hips against your face, the scent of him thickening, clogging your senses and coating the back of your throat from how greedily you inhaled.

“c—can’t believe you’re, shit—” he could barely get his words out, too impaired by the way you looked, the blissful look on your face as he humped against it. “can’t believe you’re getting off on this, you wanton woman,” maekar continued, his hips picking up the pace, forcing you slightly more against his clothed cock, grinding against your cheek, the corner of your mouth, your nose; anything he could, the pleasure tingling down his spine way too rapid for his taste. “mouthing at me like a filthy animal, letting me hump—fuck.”

you could tell he was getting close, the thought satisfying you more than you could tell. seeing your husband so unraveled by this alone, hips grinding against your face, hand holding you down for more delicious friction, chasing more but not being able to get it. a delicious torture that was way too exquisite not to witness.

“mhm,” you hummed against his crotch, rubbing your cheek harder against his clothed cock, feeling it throb incessantly, the smell of him more pungent, the precum leaking steadily through his breeches and staining your cheek. “not my fault my husband left me unattended for so long,” you lamented, fluttering your lashes, continuing to rub against him. “i’ve been so lonely,” the words were mouthed against him, breath warm against his crotch, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

“always so fuckin’ demanding,” he groaned, long and suffering, humping against your face with more fervor, so close to his peak, face and throat flushed and splotchy, hand firm against your nape as he pushed your face deeper into his crotch. “n—never satisfied, ah, fuck, fuck, wife—,”

wife. the word strained and close to a whine as he lost control, rutting against your plush cheek once, twice, before he came with a pained groan, as if someone clawed the sound from deep in his chest, his spent dirtying his breeches, wetting the fabric against your cheek.

his chest was heaving, mouth parted wide as he tried to catch his breath, his grip still firm, but trembling against your nape, his thumb now brushing along the side of your throat, just like before, as if rewarding you silently, thanking you for letting him use you like this.

it made you smile and you nuzzled into his now damp crotch, the smell of him more powerful than ever, making you moan against the cloth. the sound seemed to bring maekar back from his post coital bliss, his violet eyes blinking down at you, hazy but attentive.

“lick it,” he breathed out, voice strained and heaving still, the fingers at your nape guiding you towards where his cum stained his breeches most, a wet patch visible where the head of his now softening cock was under the cloth. “can’t let good spend go to waste, wife.”

you only hesitated for a heartbeat, mind not wrapping around his words for a moment, before you moaned, mouth parting eagerly, tongue pressing to the damp material and licking, feeling the taste of him invade your palette. “yes, yes,” you sighed, overly pleased, too preoccupied and greedy, lips wrapping around the wet spot and suckling it into your mouth, the essence exploding onto your tongue.

“fucking filthy woman—,” maekar cursed, the sight of his wife, so desperate and eager, making him equal parts flustered and astounded.

you knew the night was going to be a long one when you felt a twitch under your tongue, your husband’s cock throbbing back to life, making your lips curl.

The fire was roaring high in the hearth, the logs spitting and cracking, the flames almost licking the Red Priestess’s fingers. YN wondered if she foresaw the defeat on Blackwater Bay, and if she had, why hadn’t she urged Stannis to hang back?

YN often wondered if the priestess saw anything in the flames, or if red R’hllor had hidden Himself completely from His humble servant.

“Leave us,” murmured the Queen, her fingers twitching towards the seven-pointed star that adorned her girdle. The Onion Knight’s boy set down the flagon of wine and bowed, before scurrying away. The Red Priestess remained in her spot, though she had turned to face YN, her ruby necklace pulsing at her throat. Unlike Stannis’s first queen, YN was not a staunch worshipper of the Red God, and a gaze from Melisandre’s pale, heart-shaped face would not sway her. “I would have a moment with my husband, my lady,” YN said, not without courtesy. “I bid you a pleasant evening,” YN smiled pleasantly as she stepped back and gestured towards to door, and was almost pleased to see that the King barely acknowledged her leaving.

“Why are you here?” Stannis said, his voice a disgruntled rumble. He was still gazing out of the window, but YN knew he was gritting his teeth.

“I had to see with mine own eyes that you had survived,” YN said, moving away from the hearth. “So many have not returned-”

“And many have turned cloak,” Stannis snapped.

The queen did not flinch at the iron of his tone. She might have once, when she was merely a Lady, but a Queen did not cower; a Queen knew how to cull her King’s dark mood.

“Many have turned cloak, aye,” she agreed, taking a step closer. “And many have not returned,” she repeated. “And I thank the Seven above that you are not one of them,” His head turned slightly, his jaw tightening when he sensed the icy steel in his wife’s voice. She arched her brows at his movement, at this barest suggestion that he was even listening to her. “Would you rather I thank Red R’hllor?” She asked.

“It matters not to me which gods you thank,” he said sharply.

“Well, it is not by your own virtue you remain on this mortal plain,” she snapped, her temper rising. “From what I hear, you had to be dragged back by your own men to the Lysene galleys. You are not Robert-”

“Careful, woman,” he said darkly, turning to face her fully. His jaw was hard set, the hollows under his eyes dark. He had not slept since the battle. “Do not presume to tell me how to fight my battles,”

“I will, when your life and your very claim is at risk!” YN burst, glaring up at her stubborn husband. “What do you think would have happened had the Lannisters taken you, hm?”

“If I die, you are no longer queen, is that what you mean?” He said dismissively.

YN felt her temper rising at his flippant tone. He was treating her like a child, as if he thought she cared only for finery and title.

“Yes,” she hissed. “If you are slain, I am no longer Queen. But do you think that would satisfy Tywin Lannister? Cersei? Joffrey? Do you think they would not send some cutthroat after me? Aye, I would not be queen- but upon your death I would be raped and tortured and killed for treason,” he made no response, but his jaw worked as he began to grind his teeth. “And what of your daughter?” YN said softly. “Do you think they would spare Shireen? No, my love, her pretty head would be dashed against the stones of this very keep, her body wrapped in a Lannister cloak to hide the blood. Tywin Lannister is not above murdering children,”

“Enough,” he said gruffly.

“No,” she persisted, stepping closer. “No, I will not be silenced. Should you fall, your claim is all but vanquished. Your men will all desert the cause- you have no heir,”

“Shireen is my heir,”

“They will not follow her, and you know it. The lords of Westeros will not come to her aid,” she took a breath. “Andal law puts sons before daughters,” she murmured. “If you were slain, your son could still rise…”

“I do not have a son,” he gritted.

YN threw up her hands in frustration. “And for complete want of trying!” She exclaimed. “Have you any idea what must occur between a man and woman for there to be a child? Surely you must, you’ve managed it at least once before!”

“Silence,” Stannis grabbed her wrists, his large hands pressing into her skin.

“No!” She exclaimed, pulling against his grasp, but he was all lean muscle and sinew, and his grip held firm. He frowned down at her, a deep line furrowing his brow. It was so rare, he thought, to see his wife in such a temper. Through the silk of her sleeves, she burned hotter than the flames of the Red Woman, her breast heaving. But beneath her fury was fear. He saw it in the wideness of her eyes, the dark circles beneath them, and in the welling tears that threatened to fall.

She struggled against him, turning her face away to hide the shame of her tears. “Shadows will not hold your throne, sons will!” She gasped, wrenching free of his grasp and glaring up at him. “And yet you have shared your bed with the fire woman more times in the past year than you have your own lady wife! You shun me for not giving you a son, yet you provide me no chance to do so- how am I meant to conceive if you will not play your part? Battles and council meetings are your duty, aye, but you must sire an heir!”

Stannis stared at her, his jaw working as he ground his teeth fervently. He had no argument for her, and his silence only served to embolden her. She took a steadying breath and returned her expression to her usual one of placidness. “Goodnight, my love,” she said stiffly. “Sleep well,”

***

“Your Grace,”

YN looked over her shoulder and paused in her walk along the battlements. The scarlet of Melisandre’s robes stood stark against the harsh stones of Dragonstone.

“My lady,” she responded, when the priestess was near enough to hear. “Leave us,” she instructed her guards, who nodded, bowed, and strode away, exchanging puzzled glances. “Walk with me,” she invited, and the two women fell in step.

“Your Grace has little love for me,” Melisandre said after a pause.

YN was silent for a moment, considering her words. “You think my gods are false, My Lady,” she said. “I think the same of yours. Men have gone to war for less,” she smiled slightly. “I am aware that the queen before me was a faithful convert, and I am sorry you have not found that same faith in me,” she paused and turned to the Red Priestess. “That does not mean I have any malice towards you,” she said. “If my husband needs a spiritual advisor alongside his council, then so be it. But I will not abandon my faith for yours, and I would not expect you to do the same for the Seven,”

“My Queen is kind to say,” Melisandre replied, and they resumed their walk. “I saw you in the flames,” she said after a beat. “Sweating and bloody, yet giving suck to a babe,” YN’s lips pressed into a thin line as she remembered the argument from a few nights past. “Your Grace need not believe in R’hllor to appear in His revelations,” Melisandre murmured. “I’ll leave you to your walk,” she said, dipping ever so slightly into a curtsey before she walked away.

***

That evening, while she was engaged in her embroidery, YN’s guard entered the room. “The King is without, Your Grace,” he said.

“He may enter,” she replied, hardly looking up from her stitches.

The door closed, and the sound of Stannis’s boots was all that indicated his presence. She made no move to greet him, though she gripped her embroidery hoop a little tighter.

“It grows dark in here,” he said after a while. “You will strain your eyes,”

YN huffed out a little laugh. This was the first they had spoken since their row. She supposed his statement reflected an element of care, in his own stubborn way.

“The hour is late, your Grace,” she said, poking her needle into the fabric and setting down her sewing. She looked up at him expectantly- had the Red Priestess shared her vision with Stannis? YN pushed the thought to the back of her mind. She wasn’t entirely sure how much stock she gave to visions in the flames. “How may I serve you?”

Stannis stared at her for a moment, his jaw ticking slightly. “I have come to ask your forgiveness, my lady,” he said.

YN’s brows quirked up slightly in surprise. “Oh?” She asked. “Whatever for?”

Stannis frowned slightly. Had she forgotten their argument? Or was she feigning ignorance to force his admittance of wrong. “You came to me, expressing worry for my safety and that of my daughter,” he said. “And I responded to your concern cruelty and anger. For that I am sorry,”

She stood, reaching up tentatively to cup his cheek, her thumb stroking his clenched jaw until it slackened. He seemed to deflate at her touch, his eyes closing and his frown relaxing as he leaned into her touch. “You are forgiven,” she murmured, her other hand reaching to cradle the back of his head, her fingers curling in the wiry black hair there. “Let me kiss you,” she whispered.

“Please,” he murmured, his voice a little strained, as if the words had gotten stuck in his throat.

She nodded, shushing him gently as she reached up, closing her lips over his, her fingers still stroking his face and hair as his hands came to rest on her hips, his thumbs splaying up into the soft flesh of her waist. They kissed until YN felt weak at the knees, and when he finally pulled back a few millimetres, her hands searched for his. Slowly, she pulled him from her solar to the adjoining bedchamber. He did not resist; he did not set his jaw as if he were marching to battle. Instead he followed her gentle tugging, and watched as she lit some more candles in the dimly lit chamber. It seemed alien to him, and the fact he was not familiar with his wife’s most private chamber filled him with a sense of shame. As she shook the spill to extinguish the flame, he grasped her wrist, pulling her body to his. She gasped slightly, but relaxed into his touch when he pressed his lips to hers once more, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips. She could not remember the last time they had exchanged more than a chaste kiss, but the slightly unfamiliar feelings of arousal she had last felt months ago flooded her senses, and she moaned against his mouth.

“I need you,” he grunted against her lips, one hand tangling in her hair.

The air in the bedchamber was thick, charged with the scent of your arousal and the heavy, oppressive weight of the men staring at you. Baelor had just stepped back, his challenge hanging in the silence, asking if Maekar was finally capable of doing his duty. The question seemed to snap something inside Maekar.

He moved with a sudden, violent urgency, all but shoving Baelor aside, his shoulder connecting with his brother's chest, forcing the taller man back a step. Maekar didn't even seem to register the contact. His violet eyes, usually so cold and distant, were burning now, fixed entirely on you. The indifference of the past months had evaporated, replaced by a hunger that was terrifying and thrilling all at once. He loomed over the edge of the bed, his chest heaving, staring down at your naked, exposed form as if he were seeing a star fall from the sky.

You looked up at him, your heart hammering against your ribs, legs still parted from Baelor's attentions. You felt incredibly vulnerable, yet the power you held over him in this moment was undeniable. He was mesmerised. The man who had ignored your existence for weeks was now unable to tear his gaze away.

"How do you want me, husband?" you asked, your voice trembling but audible in the quiet room.

The word husband seemed to undo him. A low, ragged sound tore from his throat, half-groan, half-growl. He leaned down, bracing a hand on the mattress beside your head, and captured your lips.

It was nothing like the dry, perfunctory peck he had given you at the wedding altar. This was a conquest. His mouth was hot and demanding, his beard scraping against your sensitive skin in a way that made you shiver. He kissed you deeply, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, tasting you, stealing the breath from your lungs. You gasped into his mouth, your hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders as you felt the hard muscle beneath the fabric of his tunic.

He broke the kiss only to strip you of the last barrier between you. His hands were rough, impatient, hooking into the fabric of your shift and yanking it down your arms. You lifted your hips to help him, and within seconds, the linen was discarded on the floor. You were entirely naked, bared to the flickering candlelight and the hungry eyes of both men.

Baelor, having recovered from the shove, stepped closer to the bed. His gaze moved over you slowly, a deliberate, appreciative perusal that started at your flushed face and traced down the curve of your neck, over the heave of your breasts, and settled on the damp heat between your thighs. He reached out, his hand sliding up your ribs, his palm warm and slightly calloused. He brushed his thumb over the swell of your breast.

"Look at her," Baelor said, his voice low and rough. "Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?"

Maekar watched his brother's hand on you, and instead of the anger you might have expected, he let out a groan of agreement, his own hand coming to rest on your hip, gripping you hard.

He descended upon you, and took your nipple into his mouth. The sensation was sharp and wet. He licked the tight peak, his tongue swirling around before sucking hard, drawing a cry from your lips. He didn't linger there long, his need was too great. He kissed a trail down your stomach until he reached the apex of your thighs, leaned in and gave your clit a few quick, firm licks, tasting the wetness Baelor had drawn from you. The touch was fleeting but intense, sending a jolt of pleasure through your nerves that made your back arch off the mattress.

Then he rose up, his hands moving to the laces of his breeches. He worked them frantically, his cock springing forth, thick and heavy and flushed with blood.

He paused then, his hand wrapping around the base of his shaft and looked you in the eye, his violet gaze searching yours, checking, making sure you actually wanted this despite the circumstances, despite the audience. The stern, judgmental mask was gone, leaving only a man desperate for connection.

You nodded. "Please," you whispered.

Maekar positioned himself between your legs, spreading your thighs wider with his knees, and guided the head of his cock to your entrance, pushing forward slowly. The stretch was immediate and intense. He was big, thicker than you had imagined, and your body, though wet, resisted the intrusion.

He entered you inch by inch, his jaw clenched tight with the effort of holding back. There was a lot of discomfort, a burning sting as your body adjusted to the sudden invasion. You gasped, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you, your eyes squeezing shut.

Baelor's hand moved to your face, his thumb stroking your cheek with a tenderness that belied the raw scene. He watched your expression shift as Maekar filled you, cataloguing every wince and flutter of your lashes.

"There you are," Baelor murmured. "You are alright. Just breathe for him."

Maekar seated himself fully inside you, his hips flush against yours, and stilled. He seemed overwhelmed, his body trembling slightly as he fought for control. The initial sting began to fade, replaced by a dull, heavy ache that throbbed in time with your heartbeat.

He began to move. At first, his thrusts were shallow, experimental. The friction was strange, but as he found a rhythm, the discomfort began to recede, melting into something else. It started to feel good. The fullness, the drag of his cock against your inner walls, the weight of him pressing you into the mattress, it was overwhelming in the best possible way.

Maekar truly could not believe he had denied himself this for so long. You were perfect. You felt incredible, tight and hot and wet, gripping him like a velvet fist. He had been a fool to sleep in the cold when he could have been in your warmth.

"Do you like how that feels?" Baelor asked from his perch on the side of the bed. His eyes were locked on the place where you and Maekar were joined.

You nodded frantically, unable to form words, your breath coming in short pants.

"Tell him," Baelor commanded, his voice firm.

"Yes,"  your voice breaking on a moan as Maekar rolled his hips. "So good, Maekar."

"Good girl," Baelor praised. He sat back and watched, a dark, satisfied figure in the corner of your vision, while Maekar fucked you.

Maekar, however, did not like where your attention lay. He was moving faster now, properly fucking you, the bed creaking rhythmically beneath you. Your moans and screams were filling the room, driving him crazy, but he wanted them for himself.

With a growl, he reached up and turned your face away from Baelor with one hand, gripping your chin firmly and pulling your attention back to him. He forced you to look into his violet eyes, to see only him.

"Mine," he grunted, the word punched out of him with a sharp thrust. "You are mine. I was a fool, a stupid, stubborn fool, but I am here now."

He began to whisper nasty things to you, filth that shocked your ears but inflamed your blood. He apologised for neglecting you in the same breath that he praised your sweet cunt, telling you how tight you were, how good you felt milking his cock, how he was going to fuck you every night to make up for lost time.

He grabbed your leg, hooking your knee and pushing it up toward his shoulder. The new position folded you nearly in half, changing the angle of his penetration. He slid so incredibly deep that you cried out, a mewling sound that was half-pleasure, half-pain. He was hitting a spot inside you that made you see stars, a place that felt too sensitive to be touched.

"Come on," Maekar urged, his voice ragged. "Give it to me. Let me feel you."

The pressure built to a breaking point. The coil in your belly tightened until it snapped. Your inner walls clamped down around him, rippling and fluttering as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

Maekar followed you shortly after. You felt him pulse inside you, his cock jerking as he spilled his seed deep into your womb, filling you with heat. He thrust through his release, riding out the aftershocks, marking you.

You were exhausted.

Maekar removed himself from you slowly. He leaned over you, placing a gentle, almost reverent kiss on your forehead before lying down beside you with a groan. He didn't bother to cover himself or tuck himself away, leaving his cock to lay against his thigh, still glistening with your combined fluids.

You lay there with your eyes closed, trying to catch your breath, your body humming with the aftershocks of the most intense experience of your life.

Then a shadow fell over you.

You opened your eyes, blinking against the dim light. Baelor was standing over you. He had unlaced his breeches while you were recovering, and he was stroking himself slowly, his eyes locked on yours. There was no hesitation in him, only a dark, expectant demand.

Maekar sat up, propping himself on his elbow. He looked at his brother with an expression that was somewhere between disbelief and exhaustion.

Baelor did not look at him, his gaze was only for you.

"Surely," he said, his voice smooth and dangerous, "you would not allow me to go unsatisfied."

This week had been a slow-moving torture of missed connections. Maekar would stumble into your shared chambers long after the moon had reached its zenith, his face etched with the day's battles, only to find you deep in an exhausted sleep. When you woke, the space beside you was cold, his scent a fading ghost on the pillows. It was a chasm of silence and solitude, and you had grown tired of it. That morning, you had summoned Maekar's steward. "You will tell my husband," you instructed, your voice leaving no room for argument, "that his work ends today at the seventh hour. He will join me for dinner. He will not be late." The steward, a man who had seen the your husband’s frustrations at the constant near-misses, simply bowed. "Of course, my lady."

You spent the afternoon orchestrating the evening. The kitchens were a hive of activity, preparing everything Maekar favoured. You wanted to care for him, to wash the week's exhaustion from his bones with food and wine and quiet affection.

Dinner was a success. The tension in his shoulders finally unwound, and the lines around his pale violet eyes softened as he spoke of his day, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the table. He fed you from his own fork, his fingers lingering on your lips, a silent promise of what was to come. When you finally retired to your bedchamber, the air was thick with unspoken need. The week of abstinence had been a strain on you both; your life together was a passionate, physical one, and this dry spell had left an ache.

"You have missed your husband, I think," he teased, his voice a low growl as he pulled you into his arms. His silver-blond hair brushed against your cheek, and the faint, coarse scratch of his beard was a familiar, thrilling sensation against your skin.

You wound your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his. "And you, my lord," you murmured against his mouth, "have you missed your wife?" His answer was a kiss, deep and hungry. He backed you toward the bed, his hands roaming possessively over your curves, undressing you as he went, his touch igniting a fire low in your belly. You fell onto the soft furs, a tangle of limbs and growing urgency. His mouth moved from yours to your throat, nipping and sucking, and you arched against him, a soft moan escaping your lips.

"Maekar," you breathed, your fingers tangling in the hair at his nape. "I did something… for you."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his violet eyes dark with lust and curiosity. A slow smile spread across his lips. "Did you now?" he rumbled. "Show me."

You sat up and gripped the hem of your silky shift. In one fluid motion you pulled it over your head and cast it aside. The firelight kissed your skin, and you watched his face, your own breath held tight in your chest. His smile faltered. His eyes, which had been filled with a hungry heat, widened slightly. The look on his face was a flash of pure, unadulterated dismay.

"What is this?" He pushed himself up on one elbow, his gaze fixed on the juncture of your thighs. "Who did this to you?"

A knot of anxiety tightened in your stomach. "You… you do not like it?" you asked, your voice smaller than you intended.

The sound of your voice seemed to break him from his stupor. He saw the uncertainty in your eyes, the slight tremble in your lower lip, and his expression immediately softened. He reached out, his large hand cupping your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin. "No," he said quickly, then corrected himself. "I mean, yes. You are beautiful, perfection, as always."He sat up fully, his muscular torso bathed in firelight. "But I love the look of you, all of you."

You could not help the small pout that formed on your lips.

He saw your disappointment and leaned in, pressing a soft, apologetic kiss to your mouth. "You are spectacular," he insisted, his voice a low, earnest murmur against your lips. "But please, do not let that butcher touch you again."

A small, watery laugh escaped you at his dramatic choice of words. The tension in the room broke, replaced by something more complex, a mixture of your lingering disappointment and his overwhelming affection. He pulled you back down onto the furs, his mouth finding yours again. The kiss was different now, less frantic, more apologetic and tender. But the week of built-up need was a powerful force. His hands began to roam again, rediscovering your body, and the heat between you began to rebuild, slowly at first, then with a sudden, ferocious intensity. He rolled on top of you, and when he entered you it was with a groan of pure relief.

He began to move, his strokes deep and punishing, and as he took you, as he watched his thick, glistening cock disappear into your body, something shifted in him. He had been dismayed, yes, but now he was transfixed. Without the soft, neat curls he could see everything. He could see how the perfect, swollen folds of your cunt spread around his length, see how utterly soaked you were for him, your slickness coating him, shining in the firelight. The visual was filthy, intimate, and undeniably erotic. He could see every detail of your body's response to him, and it drove him wild with a possessive lust.

"Gods," he grunted, his rhythm growing faster, harder. He gripped your hips, pulling you onto him with each thrust, the sound of your bodies meeting echoing in the quiet chamber. "How long," he panted, his gaze locked on where you were joined, "until it grows back?"

"Four moons or so," you gasped, your hands clutching at his powerful shoulders, your body arching to meet his brutal pace.

A rough, breathless laugh escaped him. "Well, there is no point in waiting around." He drove into you, his hips snapping hard against yours. "We might as well make the most of this." The sheer, unexpected amusement in his voice, mixed with the power of his thrusts, sent you over the edge, and you cried out his name as your release tore through you. He followed you moments later with a hoarse shout, burying himself deep inside you and spending inside you, marking you as his.

he’s not gentle.

it had started gentle, as it usually did, but after pulling you apart on the flat of his tongue, followed by the stretch of two thick fingers, he knew exactly what he wanted and how he was going to get it. good thing you liked it like that.

maekar curls you over the edge of the bed, your body completely bare as you bend and lay amongst the silks and furs. a strong, calloused hand holds the back of your neck, anchoring you to the feathered mattress as he stretches your pussy open around the thick of his cock.

he groans, feeling your pussy pull tight around him as he ruts in. silk walls draw inwards, heavy against the ridges along his shaft and the vein, pumping hot with blood, that runs along the underside. his other hand is a vice on your hip, dimpling the flesh as he forces you back onto him, the slapping sounds of skin-on-skin loud in the evening silence of your chambers.

you mewl into the sheets beneath you, a string of saliva already catching out the side of your mouth as your husband thrusts into you, the movements deep and far-reaching. heavy balls nudge against the swollen pearl of your clit, and you mewl again, startled, when the head of his cock punches up towards the plug of your cervix.

“don’t fuss,” maekar grumbles, rutting into you, eyes trailing down the line of your spine and over the curve of your arse as he holds you down by the nape. your pussy drools around him, his flushed shaft slick as he pulls out, then shoves back in. he groans, “fuck, you always take me so well, don’t you?”

he doesn’t really want a response when he questions you like this, cock splitting you open as he pins you to your shared bed. you gape, breathy moans falling free of your throat as your fingers tangle in the silken sheets and sweat builds tacky down your back and thighs. he listens to you gasp and mewl, a crooked smile on his face as he kneads the fat at your hip.

“how many times…” maekar begins, sentence breaking momentarily as the wet squelch of your cunt becomes audible in the flame-soaked silence, the open hearth flickering nearby. you whimper, and your husband groans. “will i have to spill in this tight cunt before you’re full, huh? how many times will she have to take me before you’re round with my child?”

you let out a pathetic sound, some mix of a gasp and a moan, the syllables showing some semblance of his name, but it’s lost in the heat of your pleasure. a third orgasm sparks at the ends of your nerves, flames flickering across the walls of your womb, deep in your pelvis.

maekar grunts, strands of white hair falling loose over his forehead, cheeks hued with pink beneath the candlelight. he palms the flesh of your arse now as the hand on your neck pushes you deeper against the bed.

“is that what you want, little dove?” he asks as his hips rock, the leaking head of his cock pushing right up against that perfect spot inside you. your back arches and you cry out his name, pussy fluttering as heat fills the base of your tummy. he grunts, continuing as you squirm. “you want me to fill you? spill deep inside this tight cunt ‘til she makes a right mess of herself, yeah?”

“maekar,” you manage out, and it’s low and tense and strung across a high-pitched moan. you fist the silks and furs for support as he rocks against you, bed creaking.

“i’m right here,” he whispers, barely audible over his hips slamming against your arse. the fingers on your neck give you a gentle squeeze, and you suck in a shallow breath. then, he groans, the thick of his cock sucked in tight as your pussy flutters around him. “oh, she wants it, little dove. wants me to fill her—wants me to make you a mother.”

you cry out at his words, your release strung taut across your sparking nerves. it’s right there, your entire body growing rigid beneath him as he spears you apart on his cock. you grow hot, and hotter still, tension deep through the lines of your pelvis as you angle your hips to meet his thrusts, heartbeat heavy in your clit.

maekar huffs and grunts behind you, his voice breaking across a poorly hidden whine. “fuck, fu-uh-ck, oh, little dove, here we go, here we go…”

he coaxes you through your orgasm as it ignites and overwhelms you. your body shakes, trembles like a picked flower, as heat bursts through your pelvis and the depths of your womb, your pussy squeezing tight around him. you moan, his name and his title up in the air around you, as stars burst behind your lowering lids and your legs threaten to give out.

but he’s not far behind you—as you come, he groans his praises, guiding you through the fissuring of pleasure with “that’s it, there we go” and “good girl, just like that” as he ruts his cock towards the base of your womb. with each thrust into you, slick dribbles out around his shaft, and he feels it along the seam of his balls as they draw up, visions of you fat with his child at the forefront of his mind.

maekar groans loudly. “gods, you’ll look perfect round with my child—fuck, i’ll be good to you, little dove, an’ i’ll keep you full all—the—fucking—time—” thrust, thrust, thrust, with each word, before he’s letting out a hoarse moan of your name and shoving himself to the hilt inside you.

he rolls his hips, sliding against you in lazy movements as he spills right against your cervix. still fizzling down from your own orgasm, you let out a shaky moan as he fills you, seed too warm in the base of your pelvis. his cock twitches, jerks inside you as your walls flutter, then pull him in even tighter as his seed fills you, fills you still, then settles.

he doesn’t pull out, but he collapses half way on top of you—the hand on your neck moving to bracket your head. you shift a little, panting as he plants a wet kiss to the corner of your mouth. you whine, turning your head to slide your lips to his. he grunts into your mouth as your tongues meet, and you taste yourself on him as your heart begins to slow beneath your ribs. he pulls away, resting his dewy forehead against your temple.

“it’ll take,” he says like he’s sure of it. like he knows it will.

“and if it doesn’t?” you counter through a mumble, limbs lax as you melt into the silks and furs, his body a firm press atop yours.

maekar chuckles. it’s a deep, low sound that vibrates through his chest, and it makes a little whine slip past your lips.

“then we keep trying,” he mutters, rolling his hips and nudging his cock deeper. you whimper, a shudder racking through you in response. he kisses your warm cheek. “i’ll fill you again and again, every fucking night, until you’re too full to even move… understood?”

you nod, words evading you as he noses your cheekbone, kissing you softly there too as his cock twitches where it sits deep, plugging you full of him.

———

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