Multifandom Mess™

You didn't expect to spend the night this way. Sprawled in Daemon Targaryen's lap with Ormund Hightower's face between your thighs, but here you were, in the dimly lit club with bodies swirling around you. Lust palpable in the air. Desire seeping through every dripping pore. Who knew you would be the reason a temporary truce was proclaimed, bring the two powerful, controlling men to heel, and make them get along for five minutes? Ormund always said your pussy was a powerful little minx.

You made no secret of keeping both their companies. Daemon, with his alluring platinum hair and violet eyes, clad in Balenciaga, or when he was feeling more daring, would slide into Rick Owen's avant-garde designs. Ormund, with a red tint to his hair and piercing blue eyes, who preferred McQueen or Cucinelli. The two even had similar ear piercings: a golden hoop in Ormund's left ear and a Valyrian steel one in Daemon's right. Both men always dressed to the nines, except in the confines of their flats, where you witnessed them in buttery-soft loungewear. You loved to nestle in their soft t-shirts, curled against their sides while sipping some fancy beer, wine, or espresso.

Tonight, both men are bathed in Valentino in various shades of black, red, dark green, and gold, and the champagne flows like a waterfall. A thick golden chain dangles from Ormund's neck, gleaming in the dim light as his large golden ringed fingers slip up your thighs. Daemon presses the champagne flute to your lips, tipping the bubbling liquid down your throat, and some of it streams down to the corners of your mouth, which he eagerly licks away. Silver rings cling to his long, slender fingers, while one hand tangles in the hem of your dress, hiking it further up your hips to expose you to Ormund.

"I could smell you the minute you walked in," Ormund murmurs, kissing your damp inner thighs.

"No, you couldn't," you whisper, heat clinging to your cheeks as your lacy underwear is exposed.

"The man does have a particularly strong olfactory sense," Daemon hums in your ear before trailing his mouth over your neck. You wonder how much it killed him inside to compliment Ormund just then.

"No one can smell pussy across the room," you huff, and Ormund pinches your tender inner thighs before raking his short, manicured nails over the reddened spots.

"Stop overthinking it," he scolds, nuzzling his nose against the lacy crotch of your underwear.

"Mmm, he's right, just go back to being the dumb little whore you are and let us take care of you," Daemon purrs darkly in your ear.

All thoughts bleed from your head as you fumble for words. Daemon inches the thin strap of your dress down one shoulder, pulling the fabric down and exposing one breast. The cool air makes your nipple instantly harden. He licks his thumb before circling it over the stiff flesh while Ormund mouths you through the lacy fabric. You wonder if the intoxicated crowd has caught a glimpse of your almost woefully exposed body yet. It's a thrilling thought that made arousal pool through you, soaking your underwear further and making Ormund groan when he feels the wetness against his mouth even through the lacy fabric.

"Gods, you are a little whore tonight," he muses, lips twisting into an amused grin.

"When isn't she?" Daemon hums before pinching your nipple.

"Lift your hips, darling," Ormund instructs, and you obey, letting him slide the lace down your legs. He tosses the garment over his shoulder and landed on the blood red velvet banquette behind him. "There we go, good girl." He licks, nuzzles, and bites your inner thighs, leaving your lower half completely exposed.

Daemon's hand skims over your hip before letting his fingers stroke your damp pussy, making you writhe in his lap. You can feel his hard on pressing agaisnt the curve of your ass. Even Ormund's was visible against the lining of his designer trousers. Ormund lifts one of your legs over his shoulder, the heel of your red-bottomed shoe digging agaisnt his shoulder while you're spread open for him. Two of Daemon's fingers plunge inside, making you groan. He pumps them steadily for a few moments before withdrawing them, and Ormund closes the gap with his mouth.

Daemon's hand clamps over your mouth to muffle your wanton moans while Ormund's tongue dips inside you, feeling your walls flutter before he suckles gently on your damp flesh. Soon his attention turns toward your clit, tracing the sensitive bud with the tip of your tongue until you come, shaking in Daemon's lap. Ormund makes a show of sitting back and lewdly licking his glistening mouth clean. Dark chuckles vibrate through the air as they tumble from Daemon's mouth. He reaches under you to pull down his zipper and guide his cock out so fast and fluid that you barely realize until the tip of his cock presses against your dripping opening.

You whimper softly, lifting your hips and letting him guide you onto his cock until he's buried deep inside. Ormund stands in front of you, tugging down his fly and withdrawing his leaking cock. You shift forward and the angle makes Daemon's cock press perfectly against that sweet spot inside of you while Ormund taps his licking tip against your glossy lips. You're dizzy with lust as you part your mouth and draw him deep inside. Stuffed full of both men's cocks. It's intoxicating to be used like a little fuck toy, especially after a long week toiling away at work.

Your lips are stretched obscenely wide over Ormund's cock while Daemon's large hands take hold of your hips, guiding you into a rhythm. You close your eyes, letting them take control, and you sputter when you feel the warm gush leak down your throat. Salty, bitter, musky. Daemon's face presses against the back of your neck, his gentle panting spilling over your flesh, followed by a long groan as he comes inside you. You fall against Ormund's chest, momentarily exhausted.

Once their dicks are tucked away, the two men get to work, lifting you and using napkins to clean between your thighs. Ormund slips your underwear back on, and Daemon fixes your dress, making sure all your flesh is tucked away under the soft satin. You reached for a champagne flute, but Ormund pulls your hand away, tutting softly.

"Water for you," he says seriously, and Daemon places a fresh bottle in your hand. Blue and violet eyes fix intently on you as they watch you finish every drop.

"Champagne, please," you pout, reaching out your hand and batting your lashes.

"One more glass, then we are taking you home," Daemon says, before sliding the glass into your palm.

"Yes, daddy," you giggle teasingly, enjoying how the bubbles fizz over your tongue.

"Jesus, I didn't need to know that," Ormund complains, furrowing his brow.

"He likes it too," you wink at Daemon.

"Oh, I bet he does, the fucking repressed Hightowers are all secretly little perverts," Daemon sneers.

"While the Targaryens have their kinks spilled all over the tabloids," Ormund counters, ordering two glasses of whiskey.

Daemon laughs as he runs his fingers through his silvery-blonde hair.

"So whose place are we going to after this?" you ask curiously, downing the last of your champagne.

The two men exchange a look as the whiskey arrives, both taking a long swill as they contemplate the answer. Neither wants to let the other into their territory.

"Mine then. I have a flat in Highgarden," you reply.

"Interesting, I'm not paying for that one," Daemon says with amusement.

"Neither am I," Ormund quips.