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You came to him with wet eyes, clutching a piece of parchment in your hand, voice wavering with anguish as you told him of your father falling ill, and fearing the worst of this fever, you begged him to let you go to him.

Although he understood your reasons, your father being the only family you had left, he could not allow you to go.

Even if he allowed it — it was futile, for all he knew, your father has been dead and for a while now too. This plague ravaged it's hosts like nothing he's ever heard of — but he did not say this to you though, those words were too cruel to say, much less hear.

Instead, he took the letter from your hands and threw it into the hearth, then held your face in his hands and wiped away at your falling tears, doing his best to ignore the betrayed look in your eyes.

"I cannot allow it," He said, the voice you loved gentle but firm, yet you couldn't find it in you to melt to the timbre the way you used to, instead your shoulders went rigid and your wet eyes glared where they would have softened. "I'm so sorry, starlight, it's not safe."

When he bent to give you chaste kiss to soothe you, you didn't reciprocate nor pull away, meeting him with defiant eyes when he drew back, it felt more patronizing than comforting.

Baelor gave no comment—as much as it hurt his heart to see you like this—instead, he gently told you to cleanse your hands, wary of the letter bearing contaminants. Because he understood that time is what you needed, you'll understand then.

Despite his plans to leave you to process— he could not do it.

He could not bear to see you like this, it wasn't like you at all.

You used to be so cheery and carefree before that letter came—even after the keep closed its doors and you could not host your banquets nor see your friends anymore, you remained bright and sweet.

That smile and cheer was what drew him to you in the first place — you were like a star that steered him through the dark, you were the sweetness that kept his days from tasting sour, you were lovely and easy to love.

That was the reasoning he gave the King when he brought forth the idea of your betrothal, you were charismatic and had no problem making friends of the stoniest persons.

Even Valarr and Matarys couldn't keep their initial silent displeasure and distance for long, especially when you gave them Naerys.

Naerys…

His sweet Naerys…

Baelor was not one for superstition, but he could not stop wondering if he doomed his girl by giving her that name, that sweet girl was more prone to fevers than most, and the thought of this plague touching the same air she breathed terrified him more than anything, he could not bear the thought.

And he could not bear to have her lose her mother to grief either.

The gloom could be felt even from the other side of your shared bedchambers. Lounged on the settee, you mindlessly eyed the book laid out on the cushions.

Baelor was sure you weren't reading a single word, your eyes were moving along the words, but you haven't turned the page for what felt like ages.

He took it upon himself to cut through this eerie silence.

"My love?"

"Hmm?" You replied, the sound coming out hoarse and weak, your eyes remained in their looped movements.

"Come to bed."

A heartbeat passed, then another skipped at your eyes flicking to him for a moment, his heart gladdened that you looked at him even if it was hardly anything of note.

"I'm not tired," you said.

"You've been up as long as I have, starlight, you are not fooling me," he joked, but you found no humor.

"I will come to bed—just not now."

That wasn't going to happen.

Baelor off the bed and closed the distance until you could not help but look up at him. He knelt before you, placing his chin on the arm he perched on the cushion, your attention turned back to the pages, only for a moment, because Baelor decided he wanted to borrow it.

"I was reading that," you said as you sat up. "give it back."

"I did not know you were interested in valyrian folktales," Baelor remarked while he eyed the contents of the pages, he turned to you and delighted at your bashful expression.

"I am not," you argued, ignoring the heat that flushed your face. "it's for Naerys, I want to read to her too—it's difficult enough that she likes you more than me so don't mock me."

"I am not mocking you, love," Baelor smiled, set the book on the table behind him and settled back on his arm. "and she does not favor me over you."

He paused in thought as he stared up at you with those eyes that never failed to make you feel seen, inside and out. "In truth, I do not believe she favors you over me either—its far simpler than that—she yearns most for whomever is farthest from her. For all we know she's dreaming of us both while we are discussing who she likes most."

That seemed to placate you somewhat, slightly softened the frown of your lips and the furrow of your brow. So he took the chance to hold your hand up to his lips and kiss it with his eyes on yours.

"There will be time for reading later—come to bed, please?" he implored, caressing the back of your hand with his lips that has long since lost their softness, dried from the stress of everything. The feeling of them stung at your heart, more than the prickling of the salty trail your tears left in their wake.

You wanted to, but you couldn't.

The sight of your lips trembling tore the smile from his face. "I'm sorry, Baelor," the tears already fell once more, following along the burning trail down your cheeks. "I can't sleep—I tried already, but all I can do is toss and turn and think about him—I feel badly for him, Baelor, if I sent for him to come like I wished and hadn't lazed over it he would've been here! safe and well and he would've seen his granddaughter walk for the first time, but he isn't and it's all my fault it turned out this way,"

You let him press you hard and close, trapping your arms between you and giving you no choice but to clutch at the fabrics of his tunic, his all-encompassing warmth soothed and surrounded you whole.

Baelor never lacked for patience and affection, and it never failed to leave you awestruck, how he was always tied up by duties from dawn to dusk and still found it in him to put you first, all gladly and ungrudgingly no matter how tired he was and no matter how unfair you acted.

It only made you press your face harder into the crook of his neck and revive the dying sobs you tried to bury.

The ache of his knees screamed at him to give them rest, but he could not have that until your grief lulled itself away first, and so he ran his hands comfortingly up and down your back until those sobs turned to soft hiccups, but even then he did not let go until you felt comfortable to do it first, and as soon as you did he wasted no time in wiping away your tears and peppered kisses on your face.

Feeling a surge of overwhelming fondness you turned your face to catch his lips with your own, pouring every emotion you felt for him into the kiss, all the love and gratefulness you felt.

You separated to draw breath into your lungs, but you couldn't find it in you to be away from him, your lips brushing over his like feathers. "I'm sorry for today, that was not right of me,"

"No, no, it's alright," Baelor said against your lips then kissed you again. "you have nothing to be sorry for."

You didn't believe that at all—but you didn't want to argue because you knew if you went down that path it would be an endless chain of apologies and misplaced reassurances. You would let him think you believe you were guiltless if it made him smile.

Baelor got off his knees and offered you a hand that you took eagerly.

"If you cannot sleep—would you like me to read that book for you? I'll help you learn the words you don't know," he proposed and you looked up at him with concern.

Yes, you would very much like that.

Your husband's voice was enchanting enough in the common tongue, you swore (and you have actually sworn) that you could listen to him speak on for days about the blandest of things and never get bored—but there was something about the way the valyrian words rolled off his tongue that had you convinced it was only good when he spoke it.

"You need to rest more than me, sunlight, you've been awake longer than I," you told him, unaware of the flutters you caused in his stomach when he finally heard you say that nickname. "are you sure you want to do that?"

"With all my heart," he said earnestly.

You gave him a kiss in lieu of a response and let him lead you to bed.

Despite all your assertions and insistences that you would not be able to sleep, it took a measly ten minutes of reading for you to drift off to sleep, your soft snores and the way you went lax on his chest gave you away immediately.

Baelor couldn't resist the urge to press his lips along your face, breathing you in between each kiss and whispering promises he vowed to repeat when you woke up.

Dunk is mid-lecture, voice earnest and hands gesturing as he warns you about wandering off alone or doing something reckless.

He’s sure he’s making a point, full of righteous indignation, and slightly red from how much he cares.

Then you start loosening your dress slowly, his words faltering the moment your bodice unlaces, silk slipping softly to the floor. His eyes go wide, color rushing from his face straight down his neck as he stammers.

“By the gods…y-you can’t just—that’s not fair—”

He tries to look away like the honorable oaf he is, but his gaze keeps dragging back to your bare tits and the slick already glistening between your thighs, the sight making his breeches tent painfully fast.

Honour holds for about five heartbeats before it gives. 

Moments later he has his big, rough hands under your thighs hoisting you up and pinning you against the wall with his body crowding yours as he pounds into you, already lost and rutting like a bull in heat. 

Every brutal thrust drives so deep you feel the thick head of his cock kiss your cervix, the force of it creating a faint, obscene bulge low in your belly that he can see every time he pulls back and slams home again.

He groans loud and broken each time your cunt clenches tight around him, the sound raw and desperate.

“Shouldn’t—fuck—do this when I’m mad at ya,” he pants against your throat, voice wrecked and ragged but his hips never slow.

He keeps going until he feels you clench around him and you’re gasping his name then he pulls out at the last second with a strangled curse, spilling hot and thick across your stomach in heavy, shuddering pulses.

After a moment, he’ll ease you down onto unsteady legs before dropping to his knees, hands spreading your thighs wider as his mouth finds your heat without hesitation.

Apologies spill from him between filthy sucks on your clit until you’re shaking, fingers tangled in his hair until neither of you can remember what the argument was even about.

Baelor is calm and measured, laying out his point with logic and quiet authority—every word annoyingly irrefutable, especially as he explains with infuriating patience why you shouldn’t have challenged the council on your own.

The more he speaks, the more you know he’s right… and the more it grates.

It doesn’t stop you from testing him anyway.

If anything, it’s what prompts you to let your gown whisper to the floor.

He pauses, eyes darkening, but he doesn’t falter outwardly. Instead he steps closer, voice dropping to velvet command. 

“You would wield your beauty itself as a blade, my love, to tempt your prince’s mercy?”

He towers over you, pinning you gently against the bedpost with his body alone. His hands come to rest at your hips, firm yet careful as they hold you in place.

His gaze lingers, roaming over you with a flicker of both admonishment and need in his eyes.

“You think to test me so boldly… and yet…” His voice dips, rougher now. “I find I cannot resist.”

With that, his hands shift, tightening on your waist as he turns you around. In one smooth motion, he guides you forward over the edge of the bed, following close behind until his body presses to yours.

He starts with his fingers, working you until your body convulses around him, sobs spilling from your lips.

Every reaction only seems to draw him in further, his restraint wearing thinner with each passing moment and pushing him on until he has you squirting over his wrist. 

When you’ve come undone he doesn’t pause, quickly replacing his fingers with his cock, entering you slowly allowing you to feel the stretch inch by punishing inch.

Each thrust is deep, pressing against your cervix while your voice breaks into ragged, babbled apologies, begging even as your body screams for more.

He spends the night proving his point with relentless attention, drawing out every gasp and shiver until your soft sounds turn to breathless pleas. 

“Please… I can’t, not again,” you manage, but he only presses on, guiding you through it again and again and keeping you exquisitely overstimulated, your body trembling as each wave crashes into the next, until at last you’re spent and utterly broken beneath him.

When you finally collapse, he leans close, his voice low and smooth against your ear.

“Perhaps… we might revisit the matter on the morrow.”

Justice served, in his way.

Maekar is already scowling, his voice sharp as Valyrian steel as he lectures you about your recklessness—or your defiance.

He’s certain he’s winning this argument, every word dripping with that prickly judgment you know so well.

So, of course… you start loosening your dress. Just enough that his sharp words falter. His eyes go wide, his scowl faltering into something very close to disbelief. 

“What—what are you—” he stammers, voice cracking where it never should.

He’s a stubborn man, but even Maekar cannot argue with this kind of… persuasion.

You let the gown fall.

He doesn’t move for a full five seconds—just stares with those violet eyes like he’s trying to decide whether he’s angrier or harder.

“You little viper,” he growls and then in two strides he’s on you. Big hands seize your waist, and he hauls you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing, carrying you straight to the bed with purposeful, angry steps.

No more lectures. No more words.

He throws you down onto the mattress and pins your wrists above your head with one iron grip before his mouth descends on your throat, biting hard enough to leave dark marks that will linger for days.

After that, he’ll fuck you like punishment—hard and relentless, hips snapping so brutally the bedframe groans beneath you. One hand cracks across your ass again and again until the skin glows bright red and stings with every thrust.

“This what you wanted?” he snarls, already pounding deep, voice rough with lust and lingering anger. “My cock splitting your disobedient cunt?”

You can only moan and nod, too wrecked to form words. He drives into you even harder, the wet slap of skin echoing with every brutal thrust until his rhythm starts to falter.

With a deep, guttural groan he’ll bury himself to the hilt and cum hard inside you—thick, hot pulses flooding your cunt as he grinds deep, making sure every drop stays buried where it belongs.

For a long moment the only sound is your ragged breathing and the creak of the bed as he collapses beside you. Then Maekar drags you against his chest, one large hand possessively cupping your marked ass while the other strokes through your hair.

When he finally speaks again it’s only to rasp against your ear: “Next time you pull that, I won’t stop until you’re crying my name instead of arguing.”

Aerion's voice drips with disdain, each word sharp with superiority. There’s no reasoning with him when he’s like this—only surrendering to the storm he has already decided to unleash.

So you do the one thing you know will stop his tirade. In one slow movement, you slip your gown from your shoulders, letting the it fall to the floor.

The sight robs him of every ounce of arrogance. He opens his mouth… then closes it, caught completely off guard.

Your slow, deliberate smile only sharpens the effect and his gaze darkens, hungry and dangerous as they trace your curves before lingering on your slick thighs.

Then he laughs, sharp and unhinged, sending shivers down your spine. His hand grips your throat enough to hold but not to steal your breath, thumb pressing just beneath your jaw so you’re forced to meet those wild violet eyes.

“You offer yourself like tribute? How quaint,” he purrs, voice dripping with mocking sweetness. “As if a dragon needs permission to take what already belongs to him.”

In the next breath he yanks you forward and crashes his mouth against yours—all teeth and fire, the kiss is less affection and more conquest. When he pulls back, his lips are wet and curled in a cruel smile.

“You think this will silence me, little lamb?”

He spins you around and shoves you face down onto the bed with startling strength, one knee pinning your thighs apart. His hand stays locked around the back of your neck, holding you down as he rips his own breeches open.

“Dragons do not bargain,” he growls against your ear, hot and vicious. “They burn. They claim. They breed.”

He spits once before he lines himself up and drives into you in one savage thrust—so deep you feel the blunt head of his cock kiss your cervix.

A broken sound escapes your throat, but Aerion only laughs again, low and delighted, as he starts fucking you with brutal, punishing strokes.

The bed slams against the wall with every snap of his hips. One hand yanks your hair back, forcing your back to arch sharply while the other cracks across your ass, leaving bright red prints that bloom on your skin. 

“Sing for me,” he demands, voice wild with lust and lingering fury. “Let the whole Red Keep hear how sweetly a dragon’s whore moans.”

He rides you harder, faster, until his rhythm turns erratic and his breathing turns into snarls. With a final, feral groan he buries himself to the hilt and cums deep inside you—thick, scalding pulses flooding your cunt as he grinds against your cervix like he wants his seed to take root.

Only when he’s spent does he loosen his grip on your neck. He stays buried inside you, chest pressed to your back, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Next time you dare interrupt a dragon…” he whispers, voice soft but trembling with dangerous amusement, “…you’d best be prepared to burn, my sweet.”

Valarr was coolly dismantling your argument as he lays out his point, certain that logic is on his side.

You watch him for a moment before you slowly begin to slip out of your dress, letting it fall from your shoulders with deliberate grace.

His words falter mid-sentence, a sharp intake of breath catching where confidence had been. He swallows, eyes darkening as they trace your curves, lingering on the swell of your breasts.

For a heartbeat he simply stares, the prince’s usual composure cracking. Then a slow, heated smile curves his lips.

He rises from his chair and crosses the room in two quick strides, trying to look composed even as his hands betray a slight tremble when he pulls you flush against him.

One arm wraps around your waist, firm and possessive, while the other cups your jaw, tilting your face up so you meet his two-toned eyes.

“You think you can win every argument by making me forget my own name?” he asks, thumb brushing your lower lip. There’s a hint of boyish amusement in his tone, but the grip on your waist is unmistakably dominant. “Clever girl.”

He leans down and kisses you—deep and hungry. When he pulls back, his breathing is already uneven.

“Since you’ve decided to distract me so shamelessly…” He lifts you with surprising ease, carrying you to the bed and laying you down with careful gentleness, though his eyes burn with clear want. “…then I’ll have to remind you who’s in charge here.”

He settles over you, caging you in while his mouth trails hot, open mouthed kisses down your throat, then lower, sucking lightly at the curve of your breast before drawing a nipple into his mouth with a low, appreciative groan.

One hand pins your wrists above your head while the other strokes slowly between your thighs, teasing, learning what makes you gasp.

“Look at me,” he commands quietly, voice still young but threaded with authority. When you obey, his expression softens just a fraction, warm affection shining through the dominance. 

He keeps you on edge like that, kissing and touching until you’re trembling and whispering his name. Only then does he push his breeches down and slide inside you—slow and deep, a soft hiss escaping him as he feels how wet you are.

“That’s it… take all of me,” he breathes against your neck, hips rolling in a steady, powerful rhythm. “You’re mine to argue with… mine to fuck… mine to love.”

He builds the pace gradually until your legs are shaking around his waist. When you start to clench around him, he presses his forehead to yours, eyes locked on yours.

“Come for me, sweet girl,” he whispers, voice rough with restraint. “Let me feel you.”

The moment you shatter around him, he follows with a broken groan, burying himself to the hilt and spilling deep inside you—filling you as he holds you close, hips jerking with each wave.

Afterwards he doesn’t pull away. He stays buried inside you, rolling you both onto your sides so he can tuck you against his chest. His hand strokes slow circles over your back while the other brushes damp strands of hair from your face with tenderness.

“Should you wish to end an argument again,” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, a shy smile tugging at his lips, “you may simply ask, my love. Though I must admit… your method is far more enjoyable.”

Daeron tries to reason with you, convinced that careful words will eventually sway you, when you start sliding your dress off your shoulders, before letting it pool at the ground.

He stops mid-word, the goblet of wine in his hand stopping halfway to his lips. A crooked, thoroughly amused grin tugs at his mouth as his eyes rake over every newly revealed inch of skin.

“Seven hells, love—warn a man,” he laughs, low and warm.

He sets the wine down (a small miracle) and reaches for you instead, pulling you straight into his lap with strong, eager hands.

The moment your bare chest presses against him, his mouth is on you—kissing every bit of newly exposed skin with wet, open-mouthed affection.

His hands greedily cup and squeeze your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples before pinching just hard enough to make you whine and arch into him.

He doesn’t stop there. His lips travel lower, sucking marks into the valley between your breasts, then down your stomach, until he’s sliding you off his lap and onto the edge of the table. With a wicked grin he drops to his knees, pushing your thighs wide apart before burying his face between them without hesitation.

“Fuck… you taste so sweet,” he groans against your cunt, voice already thick and messy. “Better than any wine I’ve ever had.”

His tongue laps at you eagerly, almost sloppy in his hunger, while two thick fingers curl deep inside you stroking that perfect spot with practiced ease.

He hums and praises you the whole time—soft, filthy words vibrating against your clit until your thighs start to tremble.

“Come on my face, love,” he murmurs, sucking harder. “Drown me. Let me feel it.”

You shatter with a broken cry, hips jerking against his mouth. He doesn’t let up, only growling in satisfaction as he continues until you come a second time, flooding his tongue while he drinks every drop like a man dying of thirst.

Only then does he rise, lips shiny and swollen and eyes dark with lust and affection. He leans over you, hands bracing on either side, letting his weight press you gently against the surface.

Then he slides into you slowly and deeply, savoring every inch, every shiver, and every gasp that escapes you as he sets the rhythm with lazy but unrelenting thrusts.

“Gods… this cunt,” he mutters against your shoulder, voice rough and reverent. “So fucking perfect… made for me. I don’t deserve you, sweet girl.”

He keeps the pace unhurried, grinding deep on every stroke, murmuring praise and little endearments until your legs are shaking again. When you clench around him, he groans long and low, burying himself to the hilt as he comes hard.

He stays buried deep, draped over your face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, arms wrapped around you, holding you close while he catches his breath.

“Fight me again tomorrow,” he whispers against your skin, pressing a lazy kiss just below your ear, a smile clear in his voice. “I like losing when it feels this fucking good.”

Lyonel's laughter booms across the room, full of fire and pride. “By the gods, woman! You argue like a bloody gale!” 

His words falter as your dress hits the floor, and for a long moment he simply stares, wide-eyed and raucous. Then a grin spreads across his face wickedly.

“Oh, you fight dirty.”

He strides forward, big hands seizing your hips and tugging you flush against him. His body is all heat and solid strength, chest rumbling as he growls low against your ear. “And I bloody love it.”

Before you can respond, he scoops you up effortlessly and tosses you over the thick arm of the chair, leaving your ass up and your chest pressed into the cushions. He gives one playful, resounding smack to your backside, the sound echoing sharply.

“Thought you could end an argument with this pretty cunt? Hmm?”

He drops to his knees behind you before spreading you wide with both large hands, and devours you. His tongue dives straight to your entrance first—hot, broad, and greedy—licking through your soaked folds before pushing inside, tasting you deep.

His beard is already glistening, soaked with your arousal as he growls against your cunt, voice rough and filthy.

Only when you start whimpering and pushing back against his face does he drag his tongue upward, circling your swollen clit with slow strokes. Then he slides two thick fingers inside you, curling them hard against that perfect spot while his mouth sucks greedily on your clit.

He doesn’t stop until your thighs are shaking violently and you’re squirting hard down his chin and beard, soaking his face as he groans in pure satisfaction and keeps licking you through every pulsing wave.

When the last tremor finally fades, Lyonel rises behind you, breathing heavy. He gives your ass another firm smack, then grips your hips and lines himself up. In one smooth, powerful thrust he buries his thick cock inside your still-spasming cunt, stretching you open with a deep, satisfied groan.

“Fuck… still fluttering around me,” he rasps, voice rough with pleasure. “That’s my girl.”

He starts slow, deep rolls of his hips that quickly turn harder, more demanding. One hand fists in your hair, the other braces on the small of your back, keeping you arched and pinned exactly how he wants you.

The wet slap of skin on skin fills the room as he fucks you with the same fiery energy he argues with—joyful and entirely unapologetic.

When you clench down hard around him again, he lets out a loud, rumbling groan and slams into the hilt. You feel the hot flood of his release as he spills deep inside you, pulse after thick pulse, filling you until it starts to leak out around his cock.

He stays buried deep, draped over your back, pressing lazy kisses along your spine while he catches his breath. A low, satisfied chuckle vibrates through his chest.

“Next time you want to win an argument, love…” he murmurs against your shoulder, nipping lightly, “just do that again. I’ll gladly lose every damn time.”

He gives your ass one last affectionate squeeze before gently pulling out, then scoops you up into his arms like you weigh nothing.

Mayhaps it was how you had always been, traits you had developed due to your future profession, or even something you had picked up to be taken seriously as he knew the world was not always the kindest to strong women.

He hated he thought that much about it.

He hated your traits. He fucking hated you.

And your stupid sharp tongue.

And watchful eyes.

And pretty smile.

And contagious laugh.

FUCK!FUCK!FUCK!

He let out a dramatic huff, flipping over onto the bed staring at the wall as if it was the cause of his problem and not the fact that he could still feel your hands lingering on his arm.

It had been nothing. It was nothing he told himself, but it did not change the fact that his body felt on fire and the only thing that could even come close to drenching it was your ice.

You were only trying to get by him, stepping around him, but your hand had touched him as you stepped around and now it felt as if your touch had been branded into his skin. 

He was sure he would have preferred an actual brand to this.

He closed his eyes, but all he could see was you rather than the back of his eye lids. He could feel his cock continue to strain against his boxers, but he was trying to ignore that fact, but it got harder by the second.

Literally and figuratively.

He should not have accepted Baelor's invitation to come on holiday with him. Then he would not have been in this situation, stuck in the same house as you and it was only day two out of fourteen.

Finally Maekar let out a loud huff. He had enough of this. He was an adult. Two years into university and here he was acting like a school boy once again. Yet even despite his own voice degrading himself he still found his cock in his hands seconds later.

He tried to picture someone other than you, or at least that is what he told himself, but you would not leave from his mind. He could picture your bossy tone telling him exactly what to do.

The thought of you got him there embarrassingly fast and for a moment he could pretend that you were really here. That he was inside you pumping you full as you told him how good he was doing. He was so lost in his own fantasy causing him to finish with your name tearing from his lips.

The Targaryen let out a shaky breath, as he felt boneless for a minute basking in the relief and not even minding the sticky seed coating his hands as he finally felt like he could exist properly for the first time since he had boarded for the flight.

But it did not last long.

"Maekar?"

That was your voice, and it was vivid. It was real, much realer than anything he could even think to conjure to which brought a sinking realization.

His eyes shot open and you stood in the doorway, a grin spread across your features as you took in his disheveled state. Your eyes shined as if you knew exactly what was going on.

Neither of you spoke only staring at the other, but then his post high wank finally began to fade as he realized exactly what position you had discovered him in.

Which was one thing. He was a man and he could pass it off as such, but then the true clarity flooded over his bones like cold water on an even colder day.

The horror that filled him at the thought that you had more than likely heard your name and now found him, his pent covering his hand as he stared at you as if he just committed a crime.

And he was sure he did. Some basic courtesy law that you were not suppose to jerk off to your brother's girlfriend's best fucking friend, and yet.

"Get out!" he bellowed, hand still covered in the evidence searching for something to fire at you.

You only laughed, undeterred as if you had not just discovered his dirty little secret, or mayhaps you had already known. You always seemed to be a step ahead of everyone else in the room.

"Next time you plan to touch yourself, especially to the thought of me,  let me know and I will at least join," you teased, before shutting the door.

He let out a breath, somewhere between relief and embarrassment, but then his entire body felt engulfed in flame once more when your words finally processed.

I will at least join you.

His flaccid cock perked back to life in seconds and he stared at it in disbelief as if his own appendage had betrayed him. "I am fucked," he then declared. And yet he still went to shower, brush his teeth, and spend twenty minutes going back and forth with clothing options, before finding himself wandering down to your room.

Maekar stood outside the door for longer than he would care to admit. Finally he raised his fist rapping against the door. He waited impatiently checking both sides of the hallways four times each before you finally opened the door allowing him to step in with a grin. 

He stepped into your room, as you shut the door behind him. It was much the same as his, smaller, with a bathroom attached. Baelor and Jenna had got the master room due to them staying together, but it was still a decent size with a bed big enough to fit two people, a small dresser and television. 

Then he took in your appearance. You wore only a crimson silk robe, and he found himself trying to use his height as an advantage to see what you had on underneath, but you had the thing tied so tightly he could not. 

He was sure that was on purpose. Everything you fucking did seemed to have a purpose and it infuriated him.

Though it also turned him on.

The fact that you could read him like a book despite only knowing him for the short time his brother had been dating your best friend. 

“When I extended my offer I did not expect you to come running down here,” your trails downed his chest to his hands, “At least you cleaned yourself up.”

“Fuck you,” he grit out, unmoving as he stared you. 

You moved forward, slowly like a predator as your eyes took in his appearance. He did not budge as you circled around him as if you were appraising him for the first time, “You want to. That’s why you're here isn’t it?”

He stopped breathing for a minute as he turned toward you, “I don’t want to be played with,” he told you, but you seemed unbothered, only smiling at him as you stood in front of him once more, your hand trailing down over his clothed chest. 

“Oh, but I think you do,” you cooed. 

That did something to him… much more than he would ever want to admit, but he was sure that if you had asked him he would have told you in a second. You smirked at him, pulling the string of the rob and allowing it to pool to the floor. 

He let out a shaky breath at your bareness. He had seen you in a bathing suit most of the day, but this was different. This was you showing your full self to him and he could not help but wanting to drop to his knees and worshipping the ground you walked on. 

He met your eyes, and slowly his hardened tough exterior pooled to the ground next to the silk. He knew that you were aware you had him right where you wanted him. That he was putty in your hand ready to take the shape of whatever you wished. 

“What do you want, Maekar?”

He liked the way you said his name, and wanted for you to say it again, but he was more than ready to earn it. “Whatver you give me,” he found himself answering pathetically fast, but even his own conscience didn’t degrade him now. Not with you standing in front of him. 

The night could go no further than this. Him standing in the fool like an idiot, gawking at you and he would be content, simply for the fact that you had given him a small sliver of something. It would not be enough to quench the desire, but he could work with this. 

You took a step back, and he kept his eyes on you. Moving from your flesh to your eyes every so often watching as you tilted your head back and forth like you were trying to make a decision, 

“Take your shirt off,” you finally 

Maekar moved quickly pulling the fabric over his head, practically throwing it across the room as it had personally scorned him.

This caused you to laugh which stirred something in him that he was not acknowledging. Not tonight at least, “Now your pants. Slower. It’s not a race.”

He did exactly as you asked, slowly pushing his shorts down his legs. You stood back watching with an approving smirk when they met the floor. “Now your boxers.”

He nodded, doing the same allowing the material to move down his muscular thighs, faster than his shorts as he was practically buzzing in anticipation. You did not call him out this time, to which he was grateful for.

Maekar’s already hard cock sprang out slapping against his lower belly. You licked your lips slowly looking from it back to his eyes who watched your every move waiting for further instruction. 

“Come here.”

He crossed the threshold in a flash and this time he needed no coxing as his lips were already on yours in a hunger kiss. He tried to consume you, to pull you into his body and tuck you beneath his ribs where you could leave free of any trouble. 

You hands trailed down his toned chest, the muscles of his abandoned tightening against your hold until his entire body shuddered when you wrapped your hand around his shaft, “Oh, fuck,” he groaned embarrassingly loud when you gave him a lazy few strokes. 

He had been a girl before. He had done numerous activities with them, but nothing compared to this feeling in the now and he could help, but want to be inside you even more if this is what it felt like to only have you jerking him. 

“Maekar,” you whispered, causing his eyes to open. He wasn’t even sure when he had closed them, “Get on the bed.”

He nodded moving backwards, as he kept his hands placed on your hips pulling you with him. You unwrapped your hand from him allowing him to sit down as he stared up at you.  HIs head moved down following you as you now straddled him.

You hovered over him as you reached between you taking his cock and running it through your folds. He could feel how soaked you were and the feeling alone had his eyes rolling back, but then you went even further noticing his tip into your drooling hole before sinking down onto him fully. 

For a moment he swore he was in heaven. That he died, because there was no possibility this feeling could be real, but then you rolled your hips against him and he was once more assured that this was actually happening.

“Maekar,” you moaned out, causing his mind to short circuit. 

You bounced against him, setting the delicious pace as your nails dragged against his back painting his pale skin with red that would no doubt stay there for days. Something he would not be able to hide in the slightest, but he did not care. 

All he could think about now was the way you moaned his name, and he needed to hear that sound again. He would strive to have the blessing of having you like, hearing the sound of his name as you rode his cock everyday if you would let him. His mouth moved forward, trailing open mouth kisses down from your collarbone until he arrived at the heavy mounds of your chest. 

He latched onto the peak, his tongue swirling around the hardened nub testing the waters. You reacted immediately, your fingers digging into him, as you began to quicken your pace. He did the same sucking harder moving his tongue faster trying to keep up with your movements. 

You let out a harsh cry, his name filling the air once more as you clenched around him. He would have been embarrassed that he knew this would be over anytime soon, that the feeling was too good to last forever, but he could tell by the way you clenched around him you were soon to cross the gates of relief. 

He dragged his tongue across your chest and licked the small sweat that started to gather between the valley of your breath. He hummed in appreciation as if he was tasting something so savory. 

Though not having even lived half his life yet he was sure he could die then in this moment and be happy. That life could not…would not  get any better than this. Or mayhaps it could, but only if you continued to give him this, anything. He would take crumbs as if he a small bird if it kept you like. 

If he could just keep you for himself, to have the honor of allowing his cock to be inside you. To feel your cunt squeeze him like it was trying to milk him for all it was worth. 

He would give you anything. 

He would give you everything. 

“You are so fucking beatiful,” he whispered agaisnt your flesh before continuing to feas against your chest. 

You let out a wrecked sound, one he would never ever be able to forget, before, “Oh, shit,” stuttered out from your pretty lips. Your cunt suddenly clenched around himi like a vice as you went boneless in his arms, but he did not stop. He took over snapping his hips up into you sucking at your breasts as if he was trying to devour them like a last meal. 

Your hand wrapped around his silver locks giving him a harsh tug forcing his head back. He merely grinned up at you. Continuing to fuck you, as your nails dug into him leaving small crescent reminders . 

“‘M gonna cum,” he told you, not quite knowing where you wanted it. 

“Go ahead,” was all you replied, so breathy it barely sounded like words. It was the only reassurance he needed as he continued thrusting up into you chasing his own release, which followed only a mere moments later. 

“Holy fuck,” he finally breathed out causing you to laugh. It was beautiful, and he wished nothing more than to have the sound engraved into his skull. 

He felt like a new man, one that had discovered religion in the form of you and he had no desire to stop worshipping at the altar anytime soon. Based on the way you leaned down kissing him so tenderly, full of all the emotions you did not dare to speak into the air. He figured you felt the same. He hoped you felt the same.

And boy did you confirm it to him when you muttered, “Next time you do all the work.”

“When is next time?”

“As soon as you can get hard again.”

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