scarletrobins

There’s no response. Your voice echoes down the hall and nothing more. Just four walls opening up into another four by four set of walls. And it's endless.

Anxiety rises in your stomach enough to pin you to the floor, and your legs are like jelly but you stumble forward. Only to realise, they’re both gone. You didn’t move a muscle, you had been stood right in between them, and now they’d just vanished into thin air. Or maybe you did? There was no telling, because this place was off ever since you’d first been pulled into it.

—

The first hour, Bobby is convinced he'll find you quickly. This place can only be so big right? And he hasn't moved that far, he’s sure of it. Apart from how the rooms started getting darker, and how he doesn't recognise anything, from the way he ran when you disappeared from his sight.

Smart thinking Bobby.. 

He shouts your name everywhere he goes, step after step around empty corners that leave a pit in his stomach and turning his head just to check behind him. There’s shadows, moving ones, like silhouettes, and every once in a while it almost looks like you. Clark didn't give much of an explanation to this place, or why he needed you both for research, but now he regretted it all.

Especially dragging you into this place with him, pulling you through that weird invisible space in the wall when you didn’t want to go.

The guilt eats at him more than the bile rising in his throat, and he’s certain he’s not that high, that even if he was it would have worn off by now. If you were together he could protect you, at least be near you and keep an eye, now you could be anywhere. With Clark, by yourself..

It wasn't like the outside, or like some underground office space it pretended to be, because that's what it was, pretend. Like it didn't know what it was, as if it was still figuring that out, like it was alive.

His fingers press into the buttons of his camera, the viewfinder lighting up his face in a flash of colour. And he rewinds the recordings he'd made sure to film every hour you were in the place, marking everything that was pointed out. He looks for some kind of blue, maybe even to ground himself he’s not sure, but he needs to see something.

The first recording was when you first went through, the clicking of the camera turning on jsut as the video comes into view. Half of his arm reaches through the wall until it disappears, and he laughs behind it, in disbelief. You’d seen it like out the other end, standing in the dim light of Clark’s store with your heart pounding in your chest.

Bobby had only looked at it in a nervous wonder, turning his arm over and back again, shoving it back to him just to reach it back out to you. His voice was shaking as the camera zoomed into his arm.

"Babe.. hey check this out—"

"Bobby where are you?'

"Go through the door.. it's safe.." Clark’s voice calls out behind him, the camera turning to face him slinging his backpack on, just enough before he faces back to the wall.

“I don’t know about this.”

“Just grab my hand.. I’m here.”

His voice again, and he calms, urging you on eagerly. Stupidly. And you do it, you listen, the film picked it up too. Your hand in his, his fingers curling around yours as he leads you to where he and Clark stand. Yellow rooms, off white carpets, and the faint smell of mould.

The next lot of them he flicks through, every passing corridor, every dumb joke he made to lighten the mood, every snag of the camera when something caught his eye. Shoes half inside of the floor. A t-shirt he remembered someone wearing once. Gull feathers scattered along the floor and black, tacky footprints. A lot of them.

All things that made no sense to be in there, to the way they were place.

The most recent tape was when you were all split up. The static buzzed louder on this one, the film jumps when the lights flicker, like when a radio loses signal, like the three of you had gone too far. The camera lands on you first, your face a contrast from the damp walls and darkness around you, something almost light around you in comparison. Bobby had a habit of doing that, capturing you on film and framing you just right so you'd be centre, the glowing, beautiful standout amid the drab background.

But this was different. He couldn't see you. He could see what was you. The same clothes you put on that morning in your apartment, shrugged on when clark had pounded on the door. The way your hair fell in your face, the small smile you gave him even though he still saw the nervousness in your eyes. But it was wrong, off, like something just highlighted your point on a map. And he keeps rewinding it just to see if his eyes are playing some sort of trick. 

There’s a glitch across your face. One that distorts your smile and leaves it crooked, and then there’s a high pitched sound, a screech so loud it nearly makes him drop the camera in a clatter on the floor. 

It fumbles in his hands before he catches it, closing the viewfinder with the clutch of his fingers. His breathing grows heavier and he dares to take another look. Because that was only hours ago, an untouched tape, and somehow it’s been messed with.

—

The worst part about this place is how it learns.

It remembers every detail. The voices started off distorted and wrong, using his voice in ways you didn't recognise. Everything was too over pronounced, the teasing and the way he dropped his accent was gone. You could ignore it then. Now it knew him, as much as it seemed to know how to get under your skin.

The laughter came next, and now it follows you in an echo down the hall, it even waits when you turn a corner before it stops again. You figure you can outrun it, pace yourself a few corridors down before it grows distant, but it comes again, louder and clearer. Right behind the wall where you’ve hid yourself hoping to regain some of your breath back.

It’s not nervous, it's real. And it’s Bobby’s laugh. The kind of laugh he does when clark made him reshoot commercials over and over, or the one he has only with you when you're both high and lounging in bed. It sounds so much like him it hurts, you can almost see the toothy grin come across his face.

So you test it again. This time you don’t run, you chase.You get up and follow it through three hallways, then four, then five. But it keeps moving away, always just ahead and never close enough to reach. Like it’s now mimicking you.

It keeps repeating like a recording stuck on loop, you haven't heard between the laughs. It’s not human, and it’s not him. Whatever it is, is something to taunt you, and you can feel the eyes of it on you, everywhere.

—

"Bobby.. bobby where are you I can't see you?" He jumps at the sound of your voice quicker than he can place himself, rising to his feet 

"It's okay baby I'm here—" You sound so tired and upset. And then it's worse. He can hear you crying. But he can't he can't see you. He's checking rooms, frantically, and he's shouting. Unpicking every lock from every door, hollowing out the crawlspace between the smaller rooms until they open up, near stumbling over himself just to follow the trail of it.

"Where the fuck.." He's expecting you to appear around the corner, where the sobs are louder, so shrill they ring in his ears. You’ve stopped calling out to him, instead there’s just sound, almost like groaning, broken and muffled by cries, animalistic in the way it distorts.

He knows you well enough to know that’s not you. He’s held you time after time when you’re upset, the times when you’ve been mad at him, curling into his chest after an argument even if you push him away first, or collapsing into his arms after a long day at work. This sound is hollow, fake and cruel. And it makes his blood boil, his fist connecting sideways with the wall with a sharp crack, because it used your voice, you.

And he doesn’t know what that means, he doesn’t know what’s happening, where you are or what that is.

But there’s one thing he does notice, pulling his hand away from the wall with a wince and the other rubbing at his temple. There are footprints, fresh ones. The same imprint he remembers. Yours. He could cry from relief, or some fucked up kind of it, because who knows if they’re yours, but they’re yours. There’s caution in his step as he follows them, mile after mile for what it seems like. Until they just stop.. There’s no other sign, just sticky tar that connects to nothing.

Only a wall.

Nowhere else, no door, no turn, just wall.

His hands press into it, maybe it’s a way out, maybe you did find your way out, and it’s like the “door” you came in, some other weird glitch you can just walk through. Bobby goes to press himself through it, but it doesn’t work, so he moves an inch, and other, tries it again. But nothing. It doesn’t budge.

He shoved his whole body into it, closing his eyes just for the hope, but he’s only met with damp.

—

The days, if they are even days, only make it harder to make out what's real and what's not. You haven't slept, the footsteps and breathing that wanders the halls are too loud every time you try to close your eyes. And that's the cruelest part, because the rooms haven’t just started to know you, now they understand.

The figure that waits at the end of the hall looks like Bobby, only for a second, but it's enough. The same height and same silhouette, the same crop top that peeks his stomach and jean shorts that ride low on his waist.

Some part of it is inviting.

You almost go to reach for him, but the pit in your stomach tells you not to, and instead you take off running. Slow at first, just to look over your shoulder and hope it doesn’t follow. It doesn’t. So you turn on your heel and run faster, further, until you can't see it anymore, until the image of him disappears completely.

And you don't want to forget, but it's not him. It runs over in a chant in your head. Not. Not. Not. Even if he beckons you back, pleading, calling your name like a prayer, in the sweetest voice he can, in that teasing hungry way that makes desire bubble up hungrily in your stomach. You claw it away, covering your hand over your mouth to silence your breathing, and the tears pricking your eyes.

Because it listens for that. Just so it can gather more of you.

And just as you are, paces behind wall and pipe, Bobby is unraveling.

He's exhausted and hungry, and lost, and he keeps seeing you, hearing you. Not the fake versions that pop around corners, he's already avoided and blocked those his mind however many days ago. These are memories. Glimpses of your actual life, and its torment. It’s probably delirium, his eyes already sting from the fluorescent lights and lack of sleep, and the pure adrenaline he’s running on.

But he sees it anyway.

You sitting in the break room and laughing as your legs swing over the counter, the pair of you hiding away from Clark’s strict instructions to stay out on the floor for customers. The way you roll your eyes at his jokes, and thread your hands through his hair. It’s the tiny moments, the things he misses, and he’s not sure where they’re coming from. But they’re the traces of you that make him ache.

And while his brain feels close to shutting down, the air thickening making his mind fog, the objects start appearing.

The jean jacket you stole from him when you first started dating and he let you have on the floor. Your handwriting on a clipboard with his recordings on, thrown onto a coffee table. A coffee cup with yours and his name on it because both of you used it anyway. Little impossible reminders that you're out there somewhere. Maybe alive, maybe not. He can’t bring himself to think of the latter, so he collects them, slinging the camera over his shoulder to shove what he can into his pockets or into his hands.

He shrugs the jacket on last. And it feels foreign because he hasn’t worn it in so long, because he said it was yours, but he stills in it, closing his eyes as the denim settles over his body like a blanket. He just hopes he can find you, and soon. Because whatever this place is, it’s trying to replicate too much.

There's scraps of you both in every hall, just enough to keep you searching.

And you both do, over and over. You suppose it makes sense how people can go missing, getting lured out into dangerous places with slivers of hope that they might return to home, or somewhere like it, to the things they took for granted. But how can they? When where they’re going is already catching up to them..

He starts leaving notes after a while, scraped from the sharp end of his belt buckle, and eventually from a marker he found lying about on the floor. And by some grace, it works. The notes are carved on every wall he could possibly manage to use, as a last ditch effort. It was arrows at first, his own markers of where he’d been just to keep direction. But then they were for you. Then they became notes.

KEEP GOING — B

That one is in the corner, scratched up right over an archway where a door should be, the ink of the marker still dripping down onto the carpet.

I’VE BEEN HERE — B

The next he took his time with, writing out the words carefully as he could in the very centre of an empty room. So wide and big you could see it easily.

GIVE ME A SIGN — B

The last one before it had ran out was desperate, so he used it wisely, tracing over every letter again and again until the words got bigger, probably enough to stain the walls from the inside out. But he needed it from you, not his imagination or

He stayed next to each one as long as he could, ducking back around corners as if you’d be standing right there. But you weren’t. So he kept going, tossing the dried out marker to the floor and continuing forward with one last smudged arrow on the tip of his finger. And now under that same daunting buzz he feels as if he really is losing it.

All he hears, is his name.

Bobby, Bobby, Bobby.

And it’s so clear now, it’s all you. Sometimes it’s happy and calm, other times it’s upset, sometimes it’s even mad. He doesn’t call back anymore, he just keeps his head in his hands, waiting for you to actually show, covering his ears as he tucks his head between his knees because he just can’t take it.

And only questions run in his mind.

How does he make it stop? How the fuck does he get out? And how does he get to you?

—

The scratching on the walls gets louder the farther you go, like the walls themselves are caving in, or something is pushing on it from either side, but you keep going. You have to.

You think about Clark, where he is, if he even survived what the hell happened, or if this is all a trick. Maybe you’re all doped up on some acid and this will be something to laugh at your trauma in a years time.

But it becomes real again, because the things you’ve been seeing are new, they’re fresh. They’re not created like you’ve noticed before, like a dollhouse with things rearranged. Furniture and distorted versions of places you recognise, they’re entirely their own..

The writing.. It makes your heart pulse, because it’s his. It’s Bobby’s. You almost missed it, your shoulders hunched and feet dragging along the floor, but you looked up, a striking flash of colour in a dull room. In bright blue marker pen scraped on the inside with something sharp, like he’d realised halfway through he had something more useful.

KEEP GOING — B

You step to it carefully, and your finger traces the mark, drawing over the line where his hand must have been. The letters are edged and wobbly like his hand had been shaking, and blue marker drips down the folded wallpaper where it had been pressed too hard.

You can hardly take yourself away from it, but you have to, the writing’s big it took up your attention, but you know him better than that. All those times he’d doodle in your notebooks, taking up room on the page in sly, testing ways. Your eyes follow to the small arrow underneath the writing, and it points one way.

So you follow it without question.

The maze continues but you can only guess, sliding your hands across every wall just to peer and hope you’ll find another. It’s hours before you find another one again, but you do.

I’VE BEEN—

You only begin to read it when you pause.

Because it’s not the writing that you find first, it’s it. Long legs stalk the hallways with a thump, taking up every second before it moves again, and it groans, shaking the floor around you. You catch yourself around the corner, crouching backward into a shadowed area of the wall. The steps stop, slowing just as the floorboards beneath you manage to creak.

Your heart hammers, and your teeth clench so hard you think they might break, and you don’t care if they do so long as it keeps you quiet. Because the footsteps pick up, uncoordinated and unstable, but fast, like a toddler would. You hear it stumble across the floor, chasing to pick up more sound, but you don’t give it. Your breath quickens into your palm, you just hop its quiet enough.

But something else isn’t.

A loud crash, followed by a “Shit” echoes down the hall, and your eyes blow wide. Because that’s the most familiar sound you’ve heard. It rings in your head, and you play it over. You’ve heard that before. It’s startled and unsteady.

It’s Bobby.

You close your eyes to tight you can feel the pulse in your eyeballs, wanting to reach out, to crawl from the space and yell for him. But you can’t, there’s already a scuffle of shoes and the heavy thump of leg saunters slowly back down the corridor and further away.

—

Minutes have passed since that noise. It’s silent, deadly silent, and even though you’ve heard and seen it all, that’s worse. Because what if he’s hurt, or whatever that is has caught up to him, or if he didn’t even see you.

Your hand pulls shakily away from your mouth with an absent mind, crawling forward into your hands and knees from where you’d dropped yourself onto the floor. The carpet shuffles under your legs, and you slow when you make it to the corner, exhaling shortly before rising back to your feat. Your fingers grip at the wall, tighter than you need to steady yourself.

But ten feet away isn’t what you expected. Ten feet away in that endless yellow hall, neither of you can trust what you're seeing. But you’re there, and he’s there and breathing, sweat beads his brow and tears prick at your eyes.

It’s real and the eerie silence falls away, it’s gentler and hushed.

His leg stumbles as he goes to reach for you, dropping everything he has, and you barely make it fully into his line of sight before he trusts his gut more than he can take and collides with you.

“Holy shit.. holy shit.” He holds you like you could break, but not something fragile, something that could fall if he only let you go. And he won’t. His fingers clutch at your sides, your hair, your face, pulling you close just to pull back and look at you again.

“You hurt?”

He checks for bruises, cuts, any signs of anything that wouldn’t be right, frantic eyes taking all over you. There’s a few of them he notes, some minor scrapes you caught along the way whilst ducking around corners, and some you didn’t care to remember. But they’re minimal, just like his own.

And then he’s on you. Lips, teeth, everything.. because he doesn’t know what to do. His lips capture yours tender and sharp all at once, grazing your lip just to get closer where his hand cradles the back of your head.

He only retracts when you’re both gasping for air, faces barely inches away as your foreheads are left touching. “I’m here baby..” Your hands hold his arms until they wrap around his waist, steadying yourselves against each other. You try to come up with the words but after so long of running, the back of your throat is dry and coarse.

His palms slide over your cheek, thumbs stroking at your temples and wiping away dry and damp tears. “I.. found you.” It’s all you can manage, and it’s enough to make him pull you into him again. This time it’s tighter, your face pressed right into his chest and all you can see is fabric, not the outside, not the blinking of LED’s or the patterned ceiling, just him. He even still has remnants of his cologne, the cheap one he swears by, and you breathe it in.

Bobby tucks his chin onto your head, his own body fighting not to betray itself and collapse completely.

“You did.. I’ve got you now.”

You feel as if you could, that you could will this all away now that he’s here. But this place has to break it, and it knew how to throw the biggest curveball.

“Guys come on..”

A voice calls behind you, so familiar it has to be another trick. You don’t look up, you tuck yourself further into Bobby’s chest and keep your feet clamped tight to the ground. If you ignore it, it’ll go away.

“Clark..? Is that you man..? ” Bobby’s voice follows, seeing something that you don’t. You shove him, whisper between you not to, that it’s not Clark, that you both need to leave.

He doesn’t argue with you, but he doesn’t move you either, he just lets you straighten, stepping just to the side of him as his arm sweeps out protectively in front. He takes a half-step forward, both of you glancing up to where the lights start to jitter wildly and that’s when you catch sight of him.

He’s stood half at a corner, only one side of his body. His shirt looks the same, tucked and proper, and he looks almost calm, peacefully so.

“I’m glad I found you guys, I’ve got to show you something..”

“Clark what is this place..” Your head shakes for you, a clear no, and you speak up, reaching for Bobby’s arm just to stop him from inching too close.

“Everything that ever was..” He reveals himself then. And it’s nothing out of the ordinary, that’s the terrifying part. Because after everything you’ve been put through, split up and chewed up by a place designed to drive you insane, he is at one with it. The gap behind him is narrow, blocked with stacks of mangled chairs, and you didn’t notice before, but the wall behind you is coloured.

It’s different from the other walls. It has drawings and writing, like a mural. Most of them are small and unreadable, little notes and diary entries scattered in a frenzy, but one catches your eye. The biggest one. A tall, silhouetted figure claims the space, rising above everything else, and holding an even smaller figure in its grasp. There’s other colour. Blue and yellow and red.. Is that meant to be blood?

Clark keeps moving, slow and calculated, cornering you both as you circle each other. You kick Bobby’s foot as slyly as you can. He hasn’t noticed it yet, but he does now, eyes flicking to you confused into to follow where you point.

He tries his best to make it out, it’s all some messed up graffiti work, but it makes it’s point. Whatever it is, it’s showing something sinister, and what that is? It’s in here.

Bobby grabs at your arm, stepping you both to the wall as Clark steps past, moving toward you with his hands up. The narrow hall in the far corner groans, or rather whatever is at the other end of it does, and that’s when you hear it. The same thump. The same clatter and shuffling. It comes in patters, every drag of a boot inching closer until the noise steps louder.

All three of you pause without a word, Bobby’s fingers curling tighter around yours, eyes darting between the hallway and Clark.

“What was that..?”

Clark’s eyes don’t tear away from the space, he just shushes you, placing his finger to his lip, and for some reason you listen, because that much is clear. It will hear you.

“It’s only me.. you know me.”

You and Bobby look at each other, and you feel colour drain from your face. It doesn’t add up what it means. Of course you know him, you’ve known him all of what, a year or so? But it’s like some sick riddle, that neither you are in half the mind to piece.

“Uh yeah, I think we’ve had enough of this shit..” Bobby calls out, ignoring the screech that pierces from the other side of the wall, he just holds you tighter.

“No wait.” Clark’s hand goes to reach for your wrist.

But Bobby is faster, taking you in arm and propelling you both down the corridor. You hit into walls, your hands bracing them as your feet scrape at the carpet and try to keep up, but you keep going, and you can’t look back. You already know he’s following, chasing, calling out to you both that it’s not safe, that he knows a way out, that it’s okay to stay a while..

It makes your throat go dryer than it already is. He doesn’t seem like himself, not that he ever seemed a ‘self’ at all. Clark was always fantastical, ambitious, wanting to be everywhere at once and hating the world for holding him down. If that was even the problem. But he was kind to you, to you both, taking you into that store when no other jobs were taking applications.

And then customers grew less, and business hung by a thread, and things went awry. He started sleeping in the store, he was brash in telling you not to lock up and not to come in too early, and then he wouldn’t open it at all for weeks. He became a shell. One that you tried to break, and help, but he’d refused it, and he’d been content that way.

That was until he came to you both with his idea, with his “research”. Research that ended you both up here. A place where things felt surreal, somewhere where time didn’t bother to check itself, and right now where you weren’t sure where you were going to end up.

And it adds up, because you’ve lost count how long you’ve been running, just that the grip on your arm is sore, doors have been slammed behind you and Clark is no longer there. Bobby hides you both around a corner, guiding the way, running up staircases and down sloping floors that should be.

You finally stop in a smaller space, there are less doors and openings, less invitation from the things outside to come in. He releases you only for a second to shut what looks like a closet door with a click, crossing the space in a few single strides just to get to you.

“You okay..?” His back falls against the wall opposite, resting his head where he tries to catch his breath.

Your hand places over your heart, thumping and hammering beneath your rib cage, “No.. you?” He only shakes his head, looking up at you with an expression that puzzles you. Because he looks terrified, and tired, and hopeful all at once.

And he is.

He’s hopeful because he’s found you, that he can cross the room just to hold you in his arms again like he does. He’s tired because it’s been hours, days however the hell long you’ve spent in there with no food, no water and being followed. And terrified.. because things feel too familiar.

And that’s when you realised it, the room you’d found yourselves in. Not just any one, or one you’d seen like wandering the endless corridors, this one is different, this one you know.

The apartment is warm, oddly warm, as if heat and comfort could ever reach a place like this. But it’s not the temperature that makes it that way, it’s the way it feels. Everything is in place just like you remember it, like home, your home, the apartment on the lot in the suburbs that you and Bobby lease. That no matter how many times you complain about it, you wish you were there in it now. The unwatered plant pot still sits on the windowsill, your toothbrushes still sit in a plastic cup, his pot is shoved in the kitchen drawer.

Even some of your clothes hang in the closet, your bed still messy the way you laid it out and didn’t make it in time that one morning. Some of the chair legs stick too far into the floor, and the lettering on the cereal boxes that are empty are all wrong, but it’s almost there. It’s still remembering.

Remembering your space, remembering you.

It takes a while for you to even remember that the jacket Bobby’s wearing is one of your own, or it became it. It makes you smile, even if the scratching in your stomach grows impatient. Because this place is dulling your senses, and Bobby can’t bring himself to move an inch away from you to make sure that you’re real.

You’re going to get out of this place, you have to.

For now you just have to look past the open windows and shutters. The plain, yellow walls and what creeps past them are enough to make your brain go fuzzy. Bobby doesn’t stop moving, he paces the hallway of your parallel home with a disturbed determination, shoving his hand through his messy, golden hair.

“We need to get out of here..”

The waiting room was… normal. You weren’t sure what you had been expecting. Of course it was normal. Why would this office be any different to the other waiting rooms and offices you had been in? Just because it was a… yeah, ok. You still couldn’t quite admit it, couldn’t quite get yourself to say it, to even believe that you were doing this. How had you been convinced into doing this? No, no, this was a good thing, Vivian had said so, and you trusted Vivian. 

The chairs were soft and comfortable, which was the most surprising thing about the waiting room, you supposed. The lighting was low and comfortable, warm yellow lamps on the little corner tables. The receptionist had checked you in, but this space was after her desk so you felt quite alone. The walls were painted a dark colour, and the wood accents were all dark as well. You felt rather cozy now that you thought about it, snug and protected. There was something to be said about the dark actually being good for comfort and vulnerability. 

You were dressed comfortably, soft trousers and a full sleeve top, trainers on, light jacket for the cooler weather (despite it being springtime), and your usual bag on your arm. You resisted the urge to keep checking your phone, to use it as your safety net as you usually did. You and Vivian had been working on that too, a sort of side bit of homework to help you become more comfortable being in your own skin, of being on your own. 

There was art on the walls, and you turned your eyes to it. It was all beautiful, the kind of paintings you yourself enjoyed, a mix of impressionist and renaissance style, either blurred or hyperrealistic, glossy and shadowed in the lamplight. There was one of a dragon, black and sharp, tall and imposing, looking down at a singular man standing on a beach. It was stormy around them, and the man was a miniscule thing next to the beast. But there was a connection between them, something soft and unspoken, mutual respect perhaps, or even care. It was a rather simple picture on the face of it, but you fell in love with it at that moment. 

There was only one door going off from the waiting room, and it had been shut since the moment you had arrived, but now it opened, a little swiftly, and a man stepped out just enough so that his feet were over the threshold but he was still holding onto the doorknob with one hand. In the other was a clipboard, held up a little so he could read from it, then he turned up to look at you and smiled gently. 

“Hello, Y/n, is it?” You nodded quickly, eyes a little wide, lips parted. “Am I pronouncing that right?” He asked kindly, frowning a little and mouthing it again. 

“Yes! Yes, perfectly, thank you,” you jumped in, nodding and clutching tightly onto your bag strap. 

He paused for a moment, looked you over, then with that same soft smile he stepped back a little into the doorway and nudged his head into the room. 

“Would you like to come in?” He asked, and you nodded quickly, eyes still a little wide as you jumped up and hurried into the room, like a little mouse scurrying around when the cat has finally found them. 

You could not quite absorb what he looked like. It felt… too good. That was an odd thing to say. You shouldn’t be describing an intimacy therapist like that… But it was also true. 

He wore a dark turtleneck, black and rolled up at the sleeves to display strong tanned forearms. He had little freckles on the skin there, dark but fine hairs, and big hands, long fingers and veins. He had a beard, a little scruffy but well-looked after, and wavy hair that had gone grey and was now scattered with white. It was a bit messy too, rather like the beard. He seemed to run his hand through it in thought, ruining whatever combing he might have done in the morning, but you liked it that way. It made him more human. He had a soft set to his face when he smiled, deep lines creasing between his cheeks and his mouth, and he had one blue eye and one brown eye. 

That was a little jarring at first, the stark difference, and you sort of wanted to compliment him on them, but he probably heard it a million times over, and you didn’t have the confidence to say anything like that to him just yet. Perhaps after working with him for a while you might do, but not yet. 

His office was similar to the waiting room in the sense that everything was dark in here as well. There was a desk in the back corner, with framed degrees and certificates and awards on the wall behind it. A cork noticeboard was on the adjacent wall, the one that the side of the desk touched, and it was pinned with lots of things, calendars and reminders and pictures and cards. The desk itself was fancy, dark wood and carved with designs, and the computer on it was all sleek lines and high-tech. There were papers and folders on the desk, pens and post-it notes, but it was all neatly organised and he even had picture frames facing toward him. That warmed your heart a little. 

The main bit was right in front of you though, a black leather couch with end tables on either side facing an armchair with its own end tables. There were already pens and paper and notebooks on the end table by the armchair, and there were lamps on each of them too, low yellow light with coloured and patterned lampshades. There were cushions on the sofa which made you happy, something to grab, something to hide with. All of this on top of a dark rug that looked lovely and plush. The sofa faced a wall of windows, lovely and big but covered by blinds right now to keep the room all cool and dim. 

He gestured you toward the sofa, waiting for you to sit down before taking his own seat, fiddling with his clipboard and all the pens and papers on the table beside him. As he did that, you took your bag off and put it to the side of the sofa, rocking back and forth a little in your seat, looking around, frankly anywhere but right at him. You felt far too awkward. You took one of the sofa cushions and brought it to sit on your lap, feeling a little more settled with it covering you, but then you felt rude for taking it without asking. Finally, he settled a little into his chair, slouching slightly and looking far more comfortable than you, and smiled directly in your direction. 

“Did Marion have you sign all the paperwork when you came in?” He asked kindly, just getting the ball rolling, you supposed, and you nodded, pursing your lips a little. “Just to go over it again, I prefer being as transparent and open as possible, even if it’s a little tedious. Everything you say to me, whether that be in this room or over correspondence is private and completely confidential unless I perceive that you intend to cause real harm to yourself or another person. While I will not record anything, I do take notes during the session and of course there will be a record of any communication via phone, message, or email, but again, this is all protected under confidentiality. Is that alright?” 

He had no judgement on his face, just a serene look, this spiel practiced by now. You nodded again, and then felt stupid for not having said anything yet. 

“Yes, uh yes, of course, uh… Mr Martell? Is that what I call you? Sorry, that’s a stupid question,” you wanted to hide your face in your hands, to physically shut your mouth by pinching it with your fingers, but you just clenched them in the cushion and darted your eyes away from his face, feeling hot all over from embarrassment. But he was smiling, nodding, twisting his pen around in his hands. 

“You can call me what you like. If you prefer Mr Martell, that’s alright, and if you’d prefer Baelor, that’s alright too,” his smile was far too kind, it made you more conscious somehow. You nodded and attempted a smile of your own, but you could bet it came out strained and stupid. 

Baelor had been careful since the start of his career to use his mother’s last name. He did not need his family’s reputation following him into this office, not in the career he had truly curated for himself. He had become used to being Mr Martell in one room, and Mr Targaryen in another. 

You couldn’t look at him for too long, it was too intimidating, which meant your eyes travelled a lot, especially to the covered windows behind him. He noticed, because of course he did, that was his job wasn’t it, and turned to glance at them as well. 

“Would you like me to open the curtains?” He asked kindly, half-twisted in his seat and looking back at you. You felt hot with mortification again, for whatever reason, and instantly shook your head. 

“Oh, no, it’s ok.” You waved it off, chewing on your lip and glancing down, clutching the cushion a little tighter. 

“Are you sure? It’s rather a lovely view,” he added, smiling still and you smiled at that, this one a little more relaxed than before, and a quiet huff of a chuckle left you. 

“Yeah, no, it’s alright, don’t worry. Maybe next time,” you answered, rubbing at your cheek a little to attempt hiding your smile. It went quiet again, that heavy silence that came with expectation. 

“It’s alright if you’re nervous,” he said then, something softer coming into his eyes, as if he was keenly aware of how you were feeling, as if he had seen it a million times before and wanted to comfort you. “It’s natural to feel that way.” 

You let out a breath, closing your eyes for a moment and nodding, smoothing your hands over the cushion then looking at it instead of him. 

“I’m really nervous. I don’t even know why, I agreed to this, but… I don’t know, I just am.” You felt a bit pathetic, your lips drooping a little naturally, and you heard his pen being placed down on the notebook. When you glanced up, he had laced his fingers together and was nodding at you, the smallest frown creasing his brow, concern it seemed like. 

“Well, why don’t we start with why you’ve come to see me?” He asked gently. 

You settled into your seat, leaning back a little into the softness of the sofa, allowing yourself to get comfortable. You liked his voice. It was silky, soft but intentional in your ears, and you had the sneaking suspicion that he only spoke words he deemed necessary. You liked that, it made you feel comfortable trusting him. You had been preparing for this question too, but now you felt a bit blank in the head. 

“Um, well, my therapist, Vivian, recommended I try this, coming to see you, I mean. I’ve been working with her for a while, on a lot of stuff, but recently… Hm, I feel really awkward saying this,” then you did actually put your head in your hands, shaking it a little as you felt overcome with nervousness again, but he didn’t say anything, just shifted in his seat a little and gave you the space to say it. You cleared your throat, brought your hands down, and spoke facing the cushion on your lap. “I’ve never really been with anyone in a relationship before. No one asked me out at school, no one asked me out at university, nothing’s ever really happened. It’s not even for a lack of trying, which sounds so pathetic. Like, I tried getting on a dating app but I just couldn’t take it seriously, and the guys I talked to were either weirdos or it just didn’t amount to anything. Which leads me here, never even having kissed someone, and terrified of ever doing anything with anyone. And it gets worse, because finally, finally, a guy has asked me out, and he’s… amazing. He’s literally everything I could want, kind, patient, handsome, and I just can’t get over myself. He’s happy to take things slow, to work at my speed, but… I just feel wrong. I feel like I can’t get over this fear, and until I get over that, I can’t be a good partner for him.” 

You pressed a hand to your face as you felt the overwhelming rush of tears to your eyes. You didn’t want to cry in your first session with him, didn’t want to cry over just explaining this, but you had felt so bogged down by it recently, overwhelmed by your own inability, that it was constantly on your mind and constantly tiring you. 

You heard some shuffling, and without saying a word, Baelor had stood, taken a box of tissues and brought it over to the sofa. He placed it down near you, then went back to his seat, crossing one leg over the other and twisting his pen around in his hands again. He nodded wordlessly at your quiet thank you, waited for you to dab at your eyes and take a few deep breaths in, to look at him again, before speaking. 

“Let’s unpack some of what you said there. You’ve met someone recently, and you’d like to be able to be intimate with him?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded, smiling a little at the thought of him. “It’s still quite new, but I think he’s the kind of guy I could see myself marrying. But I feel like I can’t even imagine a future with him without addressing… this.” Baelor hummed and nodded, writing something down. 

“And you spoke about your lack of experience. You mentioned that you haven’t really been in a relationship before?” 

“Yeah,” you swallowed, grimacing a little. “I… All throughout school I watched my friends get boyfriends, or I watched people get partners and start having all these experiences that I just… never got. No one’s ever asked me out, no one’s ever seen me in that way. It’s embarrassing. I’ve confessed to my crush like three times and every single time I was rejected. I know it shouldn’t be, but it’s so demeaning and confidence killing. And then I’ve just never had the confidence to ever confess again. I got busy in the middle too, life and stuff, and my mental health was so bad for a while and just… I don’t know. I feel… I feel ugly, and unlovable.” You closed your eyes, swallowing harshly again, unable to look at him at the confession. You were opening your mouth too much, being too vulnerable too soon, you were sure of it. It was irrational, you knew that. You knew he wouldn’t get you up and throw you out and tell you all of this was true, but that irrational bit of your brain was rather annoying even at the best of times. 

“I know it’s only your first time meeting me, but I can assure you with full confidence that you are neither ugly nor unloveable.” His voice was quiet when he said it, gentle but firm, and you blinked open your eyes, blurred with tears and stared right at him. He was not smiling now but serious, sure, firm in his belief. You licked your lips and nodded, eyes a little wide, and you wiped at them haphazardly, gathering yourself. 

“We can take this slow as well, hm?” He asked then, gentle and smiling a little to comfort you. “We’ll start with just some more discussions, what you are comfortable with, what you actually want to achieve, and then I can make some other recommendations. Does that sound alright with you?” He tapped his pen against the notebook, punctuating his sentence with it, and you nodded quickly, smiling with relief. 

And you felt it too, relieved. When you walked out of the session, there was already less of a weight on your shoulders. Instead it was replaced with the lightness of faith, of trusting that Baelor would help you, of trusting that you might actually be alright in the end. 

“Why do you think there’s something wrong with being a virgin at your age?” 

You were back in the office again, the same pillow on your lap. This time you had removed your shoes before stepping onto the plush rug. You had wanted to feel it a little closer, just under your socks, as soft as you had imagined, and you sat with your feet up on the sofa, curled around the cushion, chin on your knees. 

“I don’t know,” was your first answer, automatic, too easy, and you knew by now that he wouldn’t let you get away with it. He stayed silent, waiting for you to actually think, to be honest. He always did that, you realised, stayed silent until you gave him something worth responding to. You would appreciate it more if it wasn’t so frustrating sometimes when you truly didn’t know how to respond. 

He was wearing a button-up today, blue and white stripes, neat and ironed, unbuttoned at the collar so it was a little more casual. He had his smart trousers on, as he always did, with a dark belt that blended into the fabric, navy blue socks, and leather dress shoes. He was always smartly dressed, and though sometimes it made you feel a little insecure, underdressed, you also really liked it. It made him look lovely and clean, trustworthy. 

“I feel left behind I guess. Like there’s something wrong with me because so many other people my age have already done this big milestone.” You picked at a corner of the pillow, almost mumbling as you spoke. “It’s not even just that I’m a virgin, it’s that I haven’t done anything. I haven’t even held hands with a boy let alone had sex with a guy.” 

Baelor sighed and nodded, wrote something down then placed his pen flat on the paper, folding his hands on top of it. He looked you right in the eye, that serious and determined expression in them that always came with him saying something important that you should remember and pay particular attention to. 

“I know it may feel odd, or wrong, but before anything else, you should know that there is nothing wrong with being experienced, whatever age you reach. It may not sound comforting, but unfortunately, sometimes that is the way life happens, with different experiences defining people differently. But again, there is nothing wrong with being inexperienced at your age.” 

You nodded, but then stayed silent, chewing on your lip and glaring at the floor. Usually you would say something in response, would agree with him or repeat what he said to affirm it to yourself, but this time you remained lost in your own head. 

“What is it?” Baelor asked, not allowing you to stew alone. 

“It’s just… of course you would say that. Like… look at you. You probably never had to worry about this. You’re all… handsome and charming and older, like of course you would say that.” You said it with such confidence all of a sudden, like you believed it wholeheartedly, but when you finally absorbed the words that had slipped out of your own mouth, you instantly felt your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. You could not believe you had actually said that. How could you have said that to him?? Just because it was true didn’t mean you should have said it! Oh gods, now he knew you thought he was handsome and charming. Oh gods, he would terminate this. He would say it’s inappropriate, that you had crossed a line, that you didn’t deserve to get help and that this stupidity was the obvious reason why you were still a virg-

He was chuckling. You looked up to find him smiling brightly, eyes squinted, shoulders moving up and down a little as he giggled at your words. You smiled too, couldn’t help it because his own was so contagious, and all the tension that had begun to build inside you slowly melted out of your bones. 

“While I appreciate the sentiment,” he finally said, still smiling as if you had charmed him with your little moment of unfiltered yammering, “my words are still true. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but it’s the truth.” You harrumphed a little, but nodded just the same, repeating it to yourself that you were normal, that this was normal. 

You discussed a little more, spoke about how you should not feel shame, or should not take your lack of experience as a judgement of your worth and beauty, and you felt sufficiently exhausted by the end of the session. When there were about ten minutes remaining, Baelor paused and looked at you with that serious expression again. 

“I’d like to propose something. I do not need your answer now, or even during the next session. Take as much time as you would like to deliberate, ask as many as you would wish, but please do consider it thoroughly. I think you may benefit from a more intimate approach to this. Your worries about your lack of experience seem to overshadow much of your other thoughts and I think it prevents you from moving on from some of your other insecurities. I would seriously advise you to consider surrogate partner therapy. I think it would allow you to gain some experience in a safe environment where you can ask questions and learn without feeling any possible judgement for your lack of experience.” He said it all with such a calm face, hands folded in his lap, and you nodded in response, chewing on your lip as you stared right at him, focused.  

“Do some research of your own of course, to gain a better understanding of the concept, but essentially, you would have guided experiences with another person the same way you would with a romantic partner, and you would learn how to conduct it in a real-world scenario. Do you understand?” 

“Um, I think so,” you answered quietly, nodding and chewing on your lip with a small frown as you flicked your eyes back up to meet his. “So… I would like… practice kissing with this person?” He hummed and nodded. 

“You could. You would only do what you are comfortable doing, would go only as far as you wish to go. You could stop at hugging or hand-holding if you wished. It’s meant to be a comfortable environment to help you push past the physical elements holding you back.” You nodded again, glancing up at him with wary eyes. 

“Who… would you be… who would… would it be with you?” You finally got out, heart clenching in your chest. He hummed and nodded, then moved his head side to side a little. 

“It could be. While I am trained, I do not conduct it myself often. I haven’t in many years, and you should be aware of that. There are professionals we could find for you if you would prefer to do it with someone else, but I would be comfortable providing that experience for you if you are comfortable to have me do it.” He nodded again and placed his palms on his thighs, moving to stand up as he looked at the clock and realised the time. 

“Ok,” you sighed quietly, standing up as well and moving to put your shoes back on, slinging your bag over your arm and heading for the door. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.” 

“Of course,” he replied kindly, smiling at you as he waited for you to head for the door before reaching out and opening it for you. “I would hope you do. Take all the time you need. I’ll ask again during our next session but do not worry if you have not come to a decision.” 

You nodded once more, smiled kindly at him, then bid him a quick goodbye before hurrying out of the office, popping your headphones into your ears and trying to sort through the million thoughts running through your head. 

Baelor closed the door behind you, gathered up his notebooks and went to sit at his desk. He began typing up the notes he had taken during the session, adding anything he hadn’t thought of before. He paused for a moment, staring off into space. He hoped this would help you. He hoped you would say yes. 

The weather had gotten a bit warmer, so you ditched the jacket for only a t-shirt during the session. You wore one of those pretty white cotton skirts, the tiered ones that everyone had nowadays and you thought sort of looked like a wedding cake, but again, you wanted to take advantage of the warm weather while it lasted. 

You took your shoes off again before walking on his carpet, this time feeling the plushness between your bare toes, and you sat with your legs folded up and tucked beside you, making sure to keep the skirt appropriately covering you. You wrung your hands in your lap, fiddling with the fabric of your skirt, and only looked up at Baelor in short glances. 

Baelor was a little dressed down too, a plain white undershirt peeking out at his chest under a vibrant electric blue button-down, his usual smart trousers in navy and his shiny dress shoes still making an appearance. He sat down with a quiet huff, bringing his notebook to his lap and tapping his pen on it as he smiled at you. 

“You look rather more nervous than usual. Is everything alright?” He watched you carefully but without expectation and without judgement. You nodded quickly, an innate reaction, then paused, chewing on your lip before looking up and meeting his eyes. 

“I- yeah, I’m fine, but it’s just… I think I’ve come to a decision about… what we talked about last time,” you finally broke out, smiling nervously and letting out a pathetic little chuckle. 

“Oh? That’s good to hear. What is it?” He asked, settling a little more comfortably in his seat. 

“I… think I’d like to give it a go. I trust you, and if you think it could help me then I’ll do it. But…” 

“But?” He asked, raising one eyebrow as he watched you look down to the pillow you clutched in your lap again, picking at a thread by the zipper. 

“I want it to be with you,” you mumbled, looking like a shy, scolded, child. You couldn’t meet his eye as you said it, couldn’t face your own decision despite making it. You knew he had said he would, that he felt comfortable doing it, but you didn’t want it to be that he had suddenly decided that he actually wouldn’t do it, and you would be embarrassed for asking. You didn’t want to see any sympathy in his eyes as he decided to let you down gently. 

“Of course,” he answered gently, and when you looked up, he had that small serene smile on again. “Like I said last week, I haven’t done it myself in many years but I would be willing as long as you were comfortable.” You let out a long breath, sighing and smiling again, nodding quickly in response. 

“Yes, yes, I am. Thank you,” you breathed out, smoothing your hands over the pillow in your lap and finally looking at him properly once more. 

“Right, we don’t have to start right away if that was a worry for you. I won’t force you to jump into anything yet. We can just talk some more today, continue with what we discussed before,” he explained, gesturing with his hands and pen. You smiled again, nodding as you breathed deeply to calm any last jitters you had been feeling before. “But I would like to make one change if you are comfortable with that.” You looked at him with wide eyes, blinking slowly as you waited for him to expand, suddenly feeling tense all over again. “Would it be alright if I came and sat on the sofa with you? Just on the other end.” 

“Oh,” you let out, blinking quickly before shifting so you were right on one end of the sofa then glancing at the other end, the spot he wanted to take up. “Yeah, yes, of course, if you want.” 

He smiled kindly at that then stood up. He was tall. You had noticed it before of course, but now you were sitting down, sunken in a little into the plush cushions, and it made him seem even more imposing. He walked over and sat down on the other end of the sofa, relaxed and without worry. You felt it move under you, shift a little with his weight, and you curled up just a tad more, making sure your feet were tucked under your skirt and wouldn’t go near him. He sighed, slumping comfortably into the pillows, and crossed one leg over the other, ensuring he was at an angle so he could still speak facing you. His legs were quite close to you, and if you reached out with your hand you could place it on his knee. It was odd that you wanted to. 

“Is this alright?” He finally asked, eyes flicking all over your face as you swallowed and nodded, your heart pounding a little. 

“Mhm,” you assented, but your voice was a little higher pitched than usual and he could see you clutching the cushion on your lap a little tighter, but he decided not to comment. 

“Does this make you nervous?” 

“A little, yeah,” you whispered, fluttering your eyelashes at him. Baelor felt a pang of something in his chest but chose not to focus on it, looking instead at the way you settled further back into the cushions and watched him in return. 

“What about this makes you nervous?” He asked quietly. 

“I don’t know. You’re just… very close, and I’m worried that I’ll do something wrong.” 

“What could you do wrong if we’re just sitting together?” He asked without an ounce of judgement. It pointed you toward the absurdity of your thoughts without making you feel bad for it. 

“I don’t know. I guess that’s a good point. I don’t know, I guess I feel like I would sit weird or touch you accidentally when you don’t want me to and you would just instantly be repulsed by me.” You spoke quickly, as if suddenly desperate to tell him everything you were thinking, and he hummed and nodded. “Like, if you were the guy I have a crush on, and you came and sat like this, I would be freaking out. I am freaking out.” 

“What would sitting weird do? Or accidentally touching me? What do you think would happen?” He asked gently, tapping his pen against the notebook in his lap. 

“Realistically, nothing. In my crazy head? You would be repulsed by me and never want to come near me ever again and you would tell everyone that and I would die alone.” Baelor raised an eyebrow at you and you pursed your lips, nodding for a moment before sighing and giggling a little, hot with bashfulness. “I know. I know that’s unrealistic.” 

“Good,” was his simple answer. Then he reached down and patted the side of his thigh. “Stretch out your leg, and imagine you’ve accidentally kicked me.” You looked at him, both eyebrows raising. 

“Really?” 

“Yes. Let’s play out the scenario. Reach out and tap my leg as if it was an accident,” he patted the side of his thigh again, face all seriousness, and waited for you to comply. He looked away to give the illusion of this being anywhere outside of a therapist’s office, and waited. 

You reached out, gentle and hesitant, and lightly tapped the side of his thigh with your big toe. It was barely a touch, just enough to be felt, and he reached down and lightly tickled the sole of your foot. You squealed, jumped a little, and instantly curled your foot back into yourself, staring at him with wide eyes as he attempted to hide a smirk behind his hand. 

“Baelor!” You squealed, mouth dropping open as a shocked laugh punched out of you. 

“Is that not something you would have expected to happen?” He asked teasingly, and you giggled freely, perhaps for the first time since he had met you. He watched the way your face lit up, the way you rocked back and forth a little as you laughed. His chest felt warm at the sight. He was happy to see you happy. 

When you finally caught your breath again, you leaned your elbow on the arm of the sofa and rested your cheek in your hand, looking at him from under slightly hooded eyes. “Weirdly effective strategy Mister,” you responded teasingly, and he hummed and nodded, smiling brightly. 

You spoke for a little while. He asked how you were feeling over the past week, if you had seen your guy again, and you told him how you had been a bit busy with work, how you and him had been texting back and forth but you had been hesitant to accept any invitation to meet up. You still felt too nervous. 

“Why don’t we try something else until the end of the session?” Baelor prompted after a moment, putting his pen down and shifting to sit up a little. You nodded, clutching the pillow to you. “Would you like to hold my hand?” He asked, leaning forward to rest his hand palm up on the seat between you. You glanced down to it, swallowing harshly, then nodded. You reached out, hesitant, and placed your palm on top of his. 

His hand was warm, the comforting sort, like the kind of heat that emanated from a hot water bottle. His palm was soft, but he had callouses here and there, like he used his hands for more than just writing. Did he play sports over the weekends? Did he have a manual labour job at some point? Did he do a lot of DIY at home? You wanted to know all of these things all of a sudden, wanted to know how his hands became the way they were the moment you first held them. 

He didn’t say anything, just watched you carefully place your hand in his. Yours was smaller than his, soft in the way that hands became when one was diligent about moisturising them. Gently, he threaded his fingers through yours, turning your joined hands over so his was atop yours, then turning them back over. He caressed the back of your hand with his thumb, slow strokes, and dragged his eyes up your arm then to your face. 

“How does this feel?” He asked quietly, voice hushed to match the new heaviness in the air. 

“Lovely,” you sighed, holding his hand a little tighter. You had gotten used to it far too quickly. You did not want to let go now. It felt safe, right. “I like this. It makes me feel good. Makes me feel… chosen.” 

The two of you sat there together in silence just like that. You held his hand, and he held yours right back. He softly caressed the back of your hand with his fingertips, watching you shiver occasionally at the silky touches, at the teasing little drags. You could not say anything, and he chose not to. You were hit with the sudden urge to lift your hands and kiss his. You wanted it so much you were blindsided by it. The embarrassment at your own feelings burned in your cheeks and you tightened your grip on him as if he could read your mind and would throw you off in an instant. 

The two of you sat like that until the end of the session, absorbed in your own thoughts, softly feeling each other’s palms. When the clock struck the final possible minute, you quickly pulled your hand back, breathing in deeply and looking anywhere but at him. Baelor smiled, soft and kind, and reached over to gently pat you on the back of the shoulder. 

“I’m very proud of you for taking these first steps,” he said simply, fully sincere. He stood and waited for you to pull your sandals on before opening the door for you. You were still hearing his words in your ears, still feeling all warm and mushy inside because he was proud of you. You had made progress, done something scary and made him proud in the process. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled quietly, but your face couldn’t help breaking into a smile. “See you next time.” 

“See you next time,” Baelor waved once then shut the door when you had disappeared around the corner. He was smiling too. 

“Might I hold your hand again?” Baelor asked, slumped comfortably on the other side of the sofa. He had sat there at the start of the session rather than taking up his seat in the armchair, and you were all tucked up on the other side, watching him. 

“Mhm,” you answered softly, reaching out without hesitance this time and threading your fingers through his. This was the third session where he had asked this, and you were beginning to expect it now. You sat a little closer to him than before, bringing his hand to your lap so you could hold it there, fiddle with his fingers and his rings as you spoke. You hadn’t realised how comforting it actually was to be holding his hand during the session, to have that warm presence just there that somehow made it easier to delve into the darkest and saddest parts of your mind. 

It was a couple sessions later when you initiated for the first time. The two of you sat down, and before he could ask, you gently reached out and said, “would you… would you hold my hand?” Baelor smiled, the kind that shined in his eyes too, and he nodded, reaching out and gripping your hand firmly. 

He wore a dark brown, almost maroon, shirt today, with white buttons. It looked soft, thick like a jumper, but you didn’t think it was wool. You wanted to feel it. Another thought you batted away quickly. 

“Have you become more comfortable with this action, do you think?” He asked, caressing your hand gently with his thumb as he readied his pen to write on his notebook atop his leg. 

“Yeah, I think so. It doesn’t feel so daunting now that I’ve done it,” you answered honestly, smiling shyly at him. 

“That’s good to hear,” he responded, “I’m proud of you for taking initiative.” You beamed again, body alight with the praise, then he slowly unthreaded his fingers from yours and put his notebook and pen onto the table beside the sofa on his side. “Why don’t we move it along again? Why don’t you come and sit right here?” He patted the spot directly beside him, “Right by me.” 

You gulped and nodded, swift and shaky, then slowly began shuffling over the sofa seats. He was smiling softly, encouragingly, and you moved until the side of your thigh pressed to his and you could feel the warmth of his body gently emanating against your side. Your breaths were shallow, too light in your chest, and you attempted to focus on anything but how nervous you felt. 

You could smell his cologne, something cool scented that you enjoyed, that inadvertently soothed you. You kept your arms tucked close to you, your hands clasped tightly together and pressed to your stomach. He was looking down at you, watching you situate yourself back against the sofa, and then he carefully raised up his arm and lay it along the back of the sofa behind you. 

“Would you be alright with me wrapping my arm over you?” He asked then, his voice almost a whisper, and you turned to look up at him. You could see the peppering of white in his beard closer here, could see the occasional little freckle on his skin and the flecks in his eyes that added so much dimension and beauty to them. You nodded because your throat was too thick for words. He nodded in return before moving his arm to come rest along your shoulders, his hand curling around your upper arm lightly. 

His arm was a little heavy, but it was the comforting sort, the kind of weight that made everything feel real and secure. He tucked you up close to him, bringing you in even further so your shoulder pressed into his ribs under his arm and you were practically leaning your entire body into his side. 

You were hesitant to allow it, worried you would somehow make him uncomfortable or put him off, but he seemed determined to tuck you against him, to wrap his arm tight and snuggle you into his side. You brought your legs up, bending them and tucking them against you on the other side to where he sat, and it leaned you even further into him. He hummed a little and you felt the rumble in his chest, the transfer of it into you. 

You breathed slowly, sucking in lungfuls of his cologne, shivering into his warmth. You wondered if he ran hot. He must do with how warm he was. You brought up the hand not tucked against him and carefully splayed it onto his chest, a bold move but one that felt right despite the tremble in your arm. You tipped your head back a little so you could look up at him, and he pressed his chin down to ensure your gazes met. 

“Is this alright?” You whispered, allowing your hand to spread over the soft material of his shirt just above his heart. He nodded, the smallest motion. 

“Of course,” he answered kindly, voice as low as yours, then his free hand came up and began caressing your hair. You hummed softly with pleasure, your eyes fluttering a little. His hand was big and his fingers were careful, threading through your hair and caressing along your scalp. You shivered, full body, and he felt it, smiling a little to himself at the way you began snuggling a little further into him, your limbs beginning to fully relax. You allowed your head to rest against the place where his shoulder joined his chest, your cheek pressing into the material of his shirt and the thick muscle there. Your eyes had closed now and you just rested there in his arms. Eventually he rested his cheek on top of your head, taking soft breaths that ruffled your hair a little. He smelt your shampoo, the lovely scent of it, and allowed his own eyes to be closed. 

“How does this feel?” He asked, the smallest whisper, and you only hummed in response at first, far too busy enjoying the closeness, the softness and the warmth of being in his arms. 

“Really good,” you finally breathed out. “I could fall asleep right here.” He chuckled, low and soft and the motion of it in his body moved through you too, like a baby being gently rocked. 

Then Baelor lifted his head a little before leaning down so he was a bit closer to your face and said, “would you like to sit on my lap?” 

He felt you tense against him, threaded through with steel all over again. He felt you shift back, sit up a little so you weren’t as cradled against him, and your hair brushed against his chin as you tipped your head back, muttering a quiet, “what…”. 

“You can refuse if you do not wish to. I don’t want to push you farther than you are ready for. But if you would like, then why don’t you try sitting in my lap for a little while.” He had that soft patient look in his eyes again, the one that showed gentleness, care, trust, and not one ounce of expectation or judgement. You sometimes wish you could take that look from his eyes and wrap it around yourself like a safety blanket, carrying it with you everywhere you go. 

You chewed on your lip a little, instinctively fiddling with the fingers on his hand, twisting his rings around as you mumbled, “are you sure? I… I might be too heavy.” Baelor’s face softened even further at that, and he gently caressed the back of your shoulder, a warm and comforting pet. 

“Well, why don’t you sit on my lap and we’ll find out? If you are, I’ll tell you.” He paused then, stopping his comforting caress, and he gently brought his hand around to nudge the underside of your chin until you were looking up into his eyes. “Even if you are, that is not a judgement on anything. It does not somehow take away from you, nor signify anything about you. You remain a beautiful young woman.” He could see your eyes go glassy, the way you chewed on your lower lip as it naturally began to pout a little more with your tears. You breathed shakily and nodded hesitantly, shifting forward to get on your knees. 

Baelor placed one hand carefully on your waist, shifting towards where you had sat before to give you a bit more space to bring your knee over. You slotted it into the space between his thigh and the arm of the sofa. When you were straddling him, both his hands spanning on either side of your waist, he looked up at you. You looked concerned, chewing on your lip, a furrow to your brow. Your hands had naturally come to rest on his shoulders, your fingers clutching the strong muscles there a little tightly. You could tell he worked out even through the shirt. 

“Just sit back on my knees for now, hm?” He prompted quietly, watching you nod quickly then rest yourself down onto his thighs. He resisted the urge to caress up your body, to run his hands over your sides and cup your face the way he would do a lover. You licked your lips and glanced up at his face, the worry clear in your eyes. “Is this alright?” 

“Yes,” you breathed out quickly, hurriedly, as if to appease him, and he just raised an eyebrow while waiting for your real response. “It is, I promise. I’m just nervous. I don’t want to do anything wrong.” He nodded, caressing his thumb back and forth over your waist. Your mind honed in on the motion. You prayed he would never stop. 

“What could you do wrong?” He asked, so similar to all those sessions ago, and you almost smiled. Actually, you did, just a little one. 

“Not sure, knee you in the groin?” He chuckled at that, squeezing your waist a little, and shook his head. 

“Hm, realistic, but as long as you try not to, then I think we’re safe. And even if you do, then I’ll know it was an accident, and it won’t change anything. Right?” He nudged, nodding as if to guide your answer. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” 

“Good. It’s alright to be nervous,” he continued, tilting his head back to look into your eyes. “Even in a real situation, many people are nervous when conducting actions like that. It’s perfectly normal. But communication and trust are very important, and the more experiences you have with your partner, the more comfortable you’ll become.” You nodded, blinking quickly as you met his eyes and the small smile he offered you again. 

“Can… Can I hug you?” You asked hesitantly, feeling hot with bashfulness. Why in the world were you so nervous just to ask for things? You wanted to berate yourself, to swallow the words back, but when his smile brightened, as if he was proud of you for taking the initiative again, your brain instantly quieted. 

“Of course, come here,” he slid his hands around to your back, waiting for you to lean forward and tuck yourself against his chest. You shuffled your hips down a little then snuggled up against his chest, fluttering your eyes shut as you took long slow breaths. You tucked your face into the side of his neck, wrapping your arms over his shoulders and pressing yourself right against him. 

You loved everything about this moment. If you were to die now, you could be sure you at least died happy. He was so lovely and warm. Truly, like having the heating on in winter, cozy and soft and… perfect. His smell was lovely too, his cologne something cool-scented. You imagined if water had a smell, that’s what it would be like, clean and smooth. He was strong and muscular, a firm presence under you. His thighs and hips forced your own open wide, and his stomach, chest, shoulders, were all expansive and perfect for you to find refuge in. The place where you tucked your face now, the soft stretch of his neck, was warm and his cologne was stronger there, probably sprayed there just before he left this morning. 

You could feel his beard brush against your ear when you shifted, and you couldn’t help yourself from letting out a little sigh of pleasure. You snuggled a little further into him, eyes fluttering a little but remaining closed as you somehow relaxed even further into his grip. Baelor ran a palm up your back, gently caressing you along your spine, his large hand spanning far. He sighed too, the soft breath rustling through your hair, and allowed himself to rest his cheek against the side of your head comfortably. 

“Mmm, this is nice, isn’t it?” He said quietly, and you gave a small nod, humming softly again. “While I do not claim to speak for all men, I cannot imagine that many would complain at having the comforting weight of a pretty young woman on their lap.” 

You felt your entire body go hot. The flush crept through you, pulsing in your stomach and core, then gently reaching its warmth into your legs and arms, all the way up to your cheeks and ears and down into your toes. You held onto him a little tighter, swallowing down the whimper that wanted to tremble out of you. Hearing him call you pretty might be everything you needed in your life and more. 

The two of you sat like that for a long while, just enjoying your shared warmth and softness. He would occasionally murmur something in your ear, something to speak about or something to remember if this ever comes up in a relationship. The two of you would shift sometimes, just to get a little more comfortable, but it was relatively still and silent. 

When the session was nearing its end, he rubbed his hand up and down your back again and murmured, “you’re a good girl. I’m proud of you for taking these steps for yourself.” Your hands clenched into his shirt, your entire body feeling ready to tremble. Your legs tightened around him, a strong pulse clenching in your core. You felt it searing your insides, in your chest and right through to your nipples. This time a breathy sound left your lips, like a strong exhale, and you were instantly filled with embarrassment at it, curling in on yourself even further. 

But Baelor didn’t say anything, just paused his rubbing and pressed his palm a little harder into your back. You pulled back a little, suddenly feeling too hot, and you blinked quickly at him, your eyes still a little dazed and lost. Your lips were parted, and his own were open just so, soft but quick breaths falling from him. You looked right into his eyes, trembling properly now. His hand came up, caressing over your shoulder, his fingers grazing your neck before he cupped your cheek. His thumb stroked over the side of your face, along your cheekbone and just grazed the corner of your mouth. His fingers were threaded through your hair, splayed along your scalp, and you felt engulfed by him, totally in his control. 

You licked your lips, the quickest flick of your tongue. You would have kissed him if you had any confidence. He watched the motion, eyes flicking between your mouth and your eyes. He would have kissed you if he had any less propriety and control. 

The ticking of the clock signifying the end of session pulled you both out of whatever trance you had fallen into. He glanced in its direction, head tilting to the side and giving you a lovely view of his jaw, and you quickly slid off his lap, falling back onto the sofa beside him before standing and beginning to smooth out your hair and clothes. You felt like you had been caught doing something wrong. You weren’t quite sure why. 

Baelor cleared his throat a little, smoothed his hands down his thighs then stood as well, gathering up his notebook and pen from the table beside the sofa and holding it close to himself. He smiled at you, attempting a comforting look, though it came out a little strained. 

“I would usually sit and debrief with you for a bit but I’m afraid we got a bit distracted. We’ll continue next time, alright?” He asked kindly, watching you nod hurriedly, a bit of a panicked look in your eyes. You had pulled your shoes on again and were clutching the strap of your bag tightly. “Y/n,” he called to you, gathering your attention once more. He reached out and gently patted the back of your shoulder, his smile a little softer now. “Well done.” 

You smiled in return, taking a deep breath and nodding. You looked into his eyes once more, blue and brown, but both soft and comforting. One look there and you could feel your entire chest become smooth and soft and relaxed. You nodded once more and headed out the door, knowing you would be thinking about that moment for a long time to come. 

“I didn’t feel very good yesterday,” you murmured to Baelor, chewing on your lip as you sat curled up in your corner of the sofa. He sat on the other end again, one leg crossed over the other, slouched down as he usually was, notebook on his lap and pen scrawling away. 

When you had entered that day, he could tell you needed to speak. He didn’t attempt to initiate anything, just smiled and gestured for you to sit then sat down himself and waited. You were wearing jogger bottoms and a hoodie today, grey and black, far more colourless than you would usually be. You had toed off your shoes and curled yourself up into the corner of the sofa, barely even looking at him. 

“How are you?” He had asked once you had both settled in, voice quiet and silky in your ear, and you had shrugged at first. 

“I didn’t feel very good yesterday is all,” you murmured, like it was nothing, but he nodded without saying a word. After a moment of silence, you continued. “Some of my friends were going to the beach and I was just feeling like crap about myself. I was so scared of having to wear a swimsuit, of having to be so open with my body that I couldn’t… I didn’t even go.” You shook your head and brought your knees up close to you, chewing lightly at your fingernail and keeping your eyes focused on the floor. You curled your arms around your shins and just kept yourself tucked up, safe, hidden. 

Baelor watched you carefully, the picture of despair before him made his chest hurt. He wanted to reach out and pet your head again, to grip your chin and force you to meet his eyes, to kiss lightly at your face and- no. No he didn’t want to do any of that. He knew that just telling someone they were beautiful didn’t necessarily do anything. You need to learn to believe it yourself. 

“I don’t know, it feels worse somehow. I thought I was doing better. That insecurity hasn’t been that bad in a while. I’ve been swimming and to the beach, but… I don’t know. Yesterday I just felt horrible and I couldn’t… could barely look at myself in the mirror.” 

Baelor placed his pen down and moved to put the notebook on the table beside the sofa. His chest felt a little too tight, and he took a moment to breathe before sitting up properly and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He looked at you for a long while, waiting for your face to smooth out from the pained expression and for you to open your eyes to look at him again. 

“Before I tell you anything else, I want you to know I only see a beautiful person in front of me. Inside and out.” His voice was quiet but full of conviction, and you felt it right in your chest. You blinked quickly, the tears overflowing, wet streaks down your cheeks. You nodded quickly, the hot lump in your throat rendering you incapable of speech, and swiped haphazardly at your cheeks and eyes. You opened your mouth as if to say something then shut it again, pursing your lips and licking your tears off them. 

Baelor took the box of tissues and placed it between you, nudging it gently in your direction. You nodded in thanks and quickly grabbed one to dab at your face and eyes. Baelor cleared his throat and leaned back into his seat once more. 

“I have some homework for you,” he began quietly once more when you looked a bit more settled and your breaths did not rattle through you. 

“Ok,” you whispered, nodding and looking at him with wide, innocent, eyes. 

“I want you to think of at least three things you like about yourself. Real things, things that you can see in yourself. And I want you to tell yourself about those things. Say that you like those things about yourself, at least once every morning and evening until our next session. Alright?” His eyes were firm again, his mouth set in a straight line, and he waited to see you nod before going on. You were hesitant, chewing on your lip and tugging on the strings of your hoodie, but you did eventually nod, glancing up at him in quick little flicks.

“Right, good. I have more though,” he continued, and you smiled a little to yourself. Of course he wouldn’t let it be that easy. “I want you to take some time in the evening, whether it be tonight or tomorrow, to strip down naked, and look at yourself in the mirror.”

You reared back a little, snapping your head to the side to stare at him with wide eyes. His expression did not change save for the slightest raise of his eyebrows. You spluttered a little, curling your hands close to your chest. 

“I don’t think I can do that,” you told him quickly, shaking your head and chewing on your lip again. 

“You can, and you will,” he affirmed, and his tone left no room for argument. You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him you truly couldn’t, but he shot you one look, hard and steely, and you snapped your lips closed once more. You were sure that with that look he could make the entire world listen to what he had to say. So you bit your lip and nodded, and he nodded in return. “Good.” 

You wore a pretty dress this time. Baelor felt… bowled over by it. He had not seen you in a dress yet. Though it did not show on his face, at least he hoped it didn’t, he felt his breath catch in his throat a little. Your hair was mostly loose, a cascade over your shoulders, a few strands from the front pulled back to keep it clear of your face. You looked better than last time, healthier, smilier. You wore something of soft cotton or linen, a wonderful pastel butter yellow, soft and beautiful on your skin. It was a simple summer dress, something pretty and easy to run errands in, and you wore matching ankle socks which made him smile. 

“How are you today?” He asked, resting his arm casually along the back of the sofa. 

He wore a plain white shirt under a black cardigan today, simple and soft. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows giving you a wonderful view of his strong forearms. You felt like a demure Victorian maiden getting hot at the sight of them. 

“Good. Really good. I went out for dinner with him a couple nights ago,” you told Baelor with a bright smile, hiding it a little behind your hand. He smiled too, nodding happily at your pure joy. It was lovely to see again. “And, you know what, if you tell yourself something enough times, you start believing it.” 

“Ah, so you’ve been following through on your homework. That’s good to hear,” he perked up at that, picking up his pen once more and writing something in his notebook swiftly without even looking down at the paper. 

“Mostly,” you told him hesitantly, looking a little embarrassed once more. You fiddled with a strand of your own hair, curling it around your finger and tugging on it gently. 

“Mostly?” He prompted, raising one eyebrow in question. 

“I’ve been doing what you said, picking out three things that I like about myself and telling myself that I like them every night. It’s been good. But…” you cleared your throat then, looking down at your lap as you mumbled, “I couldn’t get myself to do the other thing.” He paused, nodded once, wrote something in his notebook then looked at you again. 

“Did you attempt it?” He asked. 

“Sort of,” you nodded, “I stood in front of the mirror. And I looked at myself. I couldn’t… I couldn’t get naked. And I felt like crying every time I tried to say the words. I did eventually. But I couldn’t look at myself for very long.” You kept your head bowed, staring at your own lap rather than at him. You didn’t want to see his disappointment. You didn’t want to see his brow furrowed, his head shaking, a tut falling from his lips. He of course did none of those things. 

“That’s alright,” he finally spoke, his voice quiet and comforting. He offered you a small smile when you glanced up to his face. “It’s a good start, I’d say.” You nodded in response but found you had nothing else to say. 

Baelor stood up and walked over to the wall of windows. You followed him with your eyes, frowning a little when you noticed the thing he walked toward. It leaned against the wall but was covered in a brown cloth, and when he whipped it off, you realised it was a full length standing mirror. He brought it over to the open space between the windows and his armchair, standing it securely before turning to you. 

“Come,” he beckoned, waving you over with one hand as the other sat comfortably in his pocket. You gaped at him, standing only because your body innately followed his orders. You padded over to him, hands sliding into the pockets over your dress and clenching into fists there to stop the trembling in your limbs. Despite your wariness, you still stood close to him, your arm brushing against his. You were careful not to tuck any closer despite how much you wanted to. 

Baelor walked behind you, carefully placing his hands on your upper arms. His palms were warm and dry against your skin. He looked into your eyes in the mirror, waiting for you to nod to say you were comfortable before continuing. He walked you forward until you were in the centre of the mirror, reaching around to nudge your chin slightly to make sure you kept your head up and your eyes on the reflection. Your face felt too hot. Then he let go of you, not stepping back but not holding on either. The smell of his cologne stayed in your nostrils though, something hot and a little spicy today. 

“Right, look at yourself,” he guided quietly. He watched on carefully, making sure you followed his instructions. He watched you peruse your eyes up and down yourself, something hesitant and a little pained in them. “Good,” he whispered, before carefully dragging his fingertips down your arms. You felt them touch the curves of your elbows, felt the whisper of them on your forearms, and you shivered. He grasped your wrists and pulled your hands from your pockets, placing them at your sides before removing his grip and putting his own hands into his pockets. 

“I want you to look yourself in the eye, and I want you to say, ‘I am beautiful’. Can you do that?” He was patient, so so patient, you thought, and you wanted to do this for him. He probably would have told you to do it for yourself if you had voiced the thought, but you felt it anyway. You gulped, a harsh movement in your throat, and nodded. You met your own gaze in the mirror and trembling said, “I am beautiful.” 

Your voice came out a whisper, hesitant and stilted, but the words were out in the air now. You glanced up in the mirror and he was nodding, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes, and you wanted to bathe in it. 

“Wonderful,” he murmured, “once more.” 

“I am beautiful.” Your voice was more confident now, more firm, and you even nodded a little, standing up straighter. Perhaps if you pretended it was true, it might feel like it. Again he nodded, pacing a little behind you. 

“If you feel comfortable, and only if, you could try taking off your dress,” he broached. He stood just behind you, meeting your eyes in the mirror. You couldn’t feel him per se, just his presence at your shoulder, and you blinked quickly up at his reflection. You wrung your hands together, looking down as you contemplated it. You could do it. You knew you could. You could. 

You glanced up again, nodded, then reached back to grasp at your zipper. Your fingers were a little clumsy, slipping off the small thing, but eventually you managed to grasp on with a blush burning in your cheeks and pulled it down. You slid your arms out of the off-the-shoulder straps and then pushed the dress down until it fell at your feet. 

Your eyes were clenched shut. You couldn’t look in the mirror knowing he was looking at you. You didn’t want to see anything akin to disappointment, to disgust and repulsion, on his face. You did not want to see pity, to see that look that said, “oh poor thing. No wonder no one wants her.” 

You shivered a little at the cool air and crossed your arms tightly over yourself. You were wearing a pair of skin-coloured safety shorts, and your favourite go-to bra. You were not naked, but you felt it. Your breaths shook through you. 

“Will you open your eyes?” Baelor whispered, and you felt him closer now, this gentle warmth at your back. You wanted to shake your head. You wanted to tell him no, that you could not, that you would put your dress back on and sit on the sofa and cry as much as you wanted. But you didn’t. You nodded, and carefully pried your eyes open. 

You looked at his reflection before your own, and he was… he was smiling. His face was open, bright, proud. His eyes crinkled at the corners and his smile was breathtaking. You wanted to hug him. Rather, you wanted him to hug you, to wrap you up in his arms and tell you you were safe and beautiful and everything was going to be alright. 

You shivered once more then looked at yourself. You ran your eyes down your neck, over the slopes of your shoulders and arms. You looked at your bra straps and the cups holding onto your chest, the expanse of your stomach and thighs, the waistband of your shorts and the crinkles of your knees. You looked over it all, and before he could prompt you, you swallowed and murmured, “I am beautiful.” 

He sucked in a breath and nodded, whispering a “good” as you chewed on your lip and nodded too, the tears filling your eyes. Your face crumpled, and you felt a bit stuck. You could not look away, but you wanted to. You could not believe the words you had said, but oh how you wanted to. 

Baelor stood just behind you, this young woman who could not see what he saw, and he felt this desperate sense of urgency inside of him. He wanted to hold your face in his hands, to curl you close and look into your eyes and tell you how beautiful you were. He wanted to whisper it right into your brain, to say it right to the source, to press it into your mind so you were forced to believe him. His breath was too thick in his chest as he looked at the tear tracks begin to shine on your cheeks. He… he wanted to kiss you. Yes, he wanted to turn you around, to wrap his arm around your back and hoist you to him, to cup your cheek and kiss you until you were breathless, until he was breathless. 

Baelor blinked quickly, rubbing a hand over his mouth and looking away. No, he did not want those things. He did not want those things because wanting them was wrong, was unprofessional, was inappropriate, was unethical. You trusted him. You came to him for help and guidance, and he could not want that without betraying everything else. He should… he should separate from this. He should tell you that this could no longer continue, that he was too emotionally invested and it was not healthy for either of you. He should refer you to someone, perhaps pass you along to Rowan in the offices near Ashford or that new therapist from Lys. He should… he should let you g- 

You turned away from the mirror, your hands clutched tight to your chest. Your face had well and truly crumpled now, and you were shaking with your sobs. Without a word, you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his torso and pressing your face to his chest. You cried into the warm shirt there, eyes shut as you shook with your tears. He shushed you gently, his own pain at the sight clenching in his chest. He instantly wrapped his arms around you, bands over your back and shoulders. He tucked you close, his voice whispering softly against the top of your head, his lips pressing gently to your hair. 

“It’s alright,” he soothed, “it’s alright.” You trembled in his grip. “Well done, darling. I’m very proud of you. Well done.” 

Baelor held you tight and continued murmuring softly to you, rubbing one hand up and down your spine as the other kept you tucked up against him. He rested his head against yours softly, feeling you slowly quiet down, allowing his own heart to settle with yours. But when he glanced back up, when he met his own eyes in the mirror behind you, he only saw himself on the edge of a precipice, teetering far too close to the edge, only the gentlest push away from falling off… 

You were sitting in his lap again, sideways on this time, leaning back against the arm of the sofa. You wore a white tank top and a pair of flowy black linen trousers, your fingers fiddling with the drawstrings. 

“Is kissing really that good?” You asked quietly, your shoulders curled in a little. He rested one arm over your knees and caressed the outer side of your leg just so, his thumb running back and forth on your thigh. 

“What do you mean?” He asked, brows furrowing a little as he turned to look at your face. 

“I mean like… is it really that good? People are always making out and stuff… is it really that nice?” You chewed on your lip as you looked up at him, truly seeking an honest answer, and he smiled and nodded. 

“Kissing can be wonderful. Done right, it can be extremely pleasurable,” he informed you, not stopping in his caresses. You nodded, still chewing on your lip, and he waited patiently for whatever it was you clearly wanted to say. 

“The guy I’ve been seeing… he tried to kiss me last night.” You finally blurted it out, looking up at him with wide worried eyes. “We were on his sofa watching a film, and it was really nice. We even cuddled for a bit, and I felt… I felt so good. We were talking about something that happened in the movie, and he was smiling and looking at me, and then he started leaning in, and I just- I panicked, and I turned my head so he kissed my cheek. Then I pretended like I thought that was what he meant to do and just sort of cooed about how sweet he was. I kissed his cheek in return and like ten minutes later I made some pathetic excuse to leave and ran.” You groaned loudly and pressed your face into your hands, shaking your head in despair. “I can’t believe I did that. I must look so crazy and pathetic to him. For the first time in my life I have a guy who actually wants to kiss me and I can’t even do it.” 

“Sh, do not say things like that. We do not call ourselves mean things in this office, hm?” He nudged quickly, grasping one of your wrists and tugging your hand down so he could look at your face. You kept the other hand up for a moment before dropping it too and meeting his eyes. You nodded but didn’t take back your words and he sighed. “There is nothing wrong with what you did. It may have been better for you to communicate openly, to tell him that you weren’t comfortable, or perhaps you didn’t know what you were doing, but there is nothing wrong with avoiding a situation you did not feel ready for. I do not want to hear you berate yourself for it any further.” 

You nodded, sighing and allowing your shoulders to slump a little as you relaxed back against the arm of the sofa. You returned to fiddling with your drawstrings, glancing back up to Baelor’s face every now again. 

“I’m just scared I’ll fuck it up. I have zero clue on what to do. Like, zero.” You looked him right in the eye as you said it, nodding your head as if to emphasise the point. “I know you put your mouths together but after that… nothing.” Baelor hummed in acknowledgment and turned back to you. His notebook and pen were on his other side, carefully out of your view, and he put his pen down once more. He looked up at you, smoothing a hand over your knee as he said, 

“Would you like to practice?”

You blinked quickly, excitement surging in your chest. You bit your lip, hands tightening into fists as your insides began to flutter. Perhaps it was stupid and manipulative, desperate and naive, to have wished for this. You had wanted him to suggest this, had wanted him to want to teach you. You trusted him more than anyone, you had quickly realised, and the evening before had cemented it. You could only tell him these things, could only hope that he would help you with these things. 

“Yes please,” you whispered, the smallest smile on your face as you reached out and softly traced the collar of his shirt. He was wearing another button-up, this one in pale blue, and it was impossibly smooth under your hands. 

“Right, why don’t you straddle me again, like before, hm?” He prompted, shifting a little as you nodded and moved off. You stood just in front of him, your knees brushing his, and you looked down on him. His head tilted back to meet your eyes, and one of his hands automatically came up to rest on your hip. Your breath hitched a little in your throat, that simple touch searing, and you felt everything inside you tighten. 

Baelor’s eyes drifted down over your body as you moved forward, bringing your knee up and into the space between his thigh and the sofa. His eyes traced down over your breasts, heaving a little with your quick breaths. Your nipples had hardened, and he could see them poking out through your bra and the thin tanktop. His mouth watered. He wanted to lean forward and press his mouth right there, to close his eyes and focus on the sounds that you may let out. 

He gulped harshly, forcing his eyes away, and ran his hand down the side of your leg as you brought the other up and settled down on his lap. You sighed softly, running your hands along his shoulders, back and forth, before finally settling them on either side of his neck. You looked right at him now, not bashful little glances but an unabashed stare that traced over his salt and pepper beard, over the strong bridge of his nose, the small freckles that decorated his skin like kisses from the sun. You wanted to kiss each one, to press your mouth more places than just his lips. 

His eyes were bright, colourful, and you looked right into them as you leaned a little closer, moving purely on instinct. His palms traced up your sides, one settling on your hip, the other continuing up and to your neck, then cupping the side of your jaw. You gasped, his grip was firm and tipped your head back just a little. His lips parted as he flicked his eyes down to your mouth. Your fingertips traversed up from his collar and gently touched the warm skin of his neck, the lightest trace, and he shivered a little. You felt it through you, in the places where your thighs touched his ribs, and you sighed breathily, leaning in even closer until your chest touched his and the tip of your nose whispered against his. 

“Will you kiss me, please?” You asked, your voice barely a breath. You were trembling in his grip, and he let go of your hip to wrap his arm around your waist and hoist you even closer, until your core pressed right into his stomach. A small gasp left you. You felt hot all over, tingles turning to flurries in your stomach and chest. He was firm there, and you tilted your hips a little to press your core even harder there. 

“Close your eyes,” he murmured, and you felt the barest hint of his lips against yours. You breathed shakily again, a small sound falling from your mouth, and his arm around you tightened, his grip on your face became firmer, and as your eyelids fluttered shut, he fully pressed his mouth to yours. 

You hadn’t expected to be so… aware. You could feel everything. The tip of his nose pressed into the crease of your cheek. His face was warm and you could feel it against your own skin. You could feel his lashes brush the high points of your cheeks. His hands were searing on your body, somehow hotter now that his mouth had joined yours. His lips were wet, hot, moving gently against yours, coaxing your mouth in small suctioning motions. His beard was rough against your face, ticklish at your chin and cheeks and upper lip, and you almost felt overstimulated by it, torn between pulling away to make it stop and pressing harder into it. You chose the latter. 

A small moan left your mouth and Baelor groaned a little, the sound rumbling through you and triggering another little sigh. Your fingers curled at the nap of his neck, clenching a little in his hair. Your body rolled a little against him, your breasts pressing into his chest and your nipples rubbing into the fabric of your bra. Baelor’s hand slid further back and into the hair at the base of your neck, his fingers clenching a little as a high pitched sound left your mouth. 

He pulled back for a second, not far, just enough for him to be able to push back in again, a little more hurried, a little more fervent. He coaxed your mouth open with his lips, and you gasped, twitching against him at the feeling of his tongue slowly licking into you. Your nails pressed into his scalp, scraping there, and he shivered, groaning harshly into your mouth. 

You pulled back quickly, huffing and heaving in his lap. Your eyes fluttered but you didn’t want to open them fully just yet. You were… overwhelmed. Your heart raced and your hands trembled and you so desperately wanted to dive back in again, to taste his mouth until you died from lack of oxygen. He tasted like the green Extra gum, sweet spearmint, and you hoped you tasted half as good to him in return. 

Baelor looked at you with heavy eyes. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He felt… wild. Yes, that was the word. He felt like a wild animal. He wanted to grasp you by the back of your neck and pull you in again, to devour your mouth, to lick your tongue like a lion with a kill. He wanted to thrust his hands under your shirt and feel along your skin, warm and smooth and simply perfect under his palms. He wanted to know the weight of your breasts, to feel the ripple of your arse against him. He wanted to know how soft the skin of your inner thighs was and how wet your core could get. He wanted to run his fingers there, to press against your clit until you shook. He wanted to taste everything. 

“That was…” you panted, eyes shining and sparkling. He had never seen your eyes like that. They were full of wonder and joy and made him want to kiss you again. 

“That was very good,” he finally broke out, licking his lips and nodding, attempting to recapture a professional tone as he looked up at you. You shifted on his lap, not back or forward, just pressing down a little, and his breath hitched. He hoped you couldn’t feel the situation brewing… 

“Yeah,” you sighed, blinking slowly but still looking into his eyes. “Yeah, it-it felt good.” 

“Kissing can be quite instinctual sometimes,” he told you softly, allowing himself to relax into the sofa as you softened in his arms and nodded, brushing your nose against his without thinking. He caressed your cheek with his thumb, feeling the soft skin there. “You follow each other, listen to what seems to pleasure the other person. It is give and take.” You nodded again, glancing between his eyes and his mouth. Now that you had caught your breath, you wanted to kiss him again.

“Can we do it again?” you asked quickly, heat burning under your skin as you bit your lip and curled in on yourself a little. 

“Yes,” Baelor sighed out just as hurriedly, and then he was leaning in once more. 

Baelor sipped slowly from the crystal glass, his eyes unfocused where he looked out of the windows. He had pulled the curtains back after you left from another session, as if a vampire punishing himself with the sun. But the view was lovely at sunset, and he needed something to look at as he contemplated. He did not usually indulge at the office, but it had seemed necessary and the decanter was calling his name. 

The clinks were satisfying, the stopper, the pour, the stopper again. It was a lovely amber in the glass, expensive even in its colour, and it slipped down his throat like water, hot and smooth. He drank the first glass quickly, one throw back, but was now savouring the second. He rested his elbows on the desk, slumped forward a little as he thought back to your session. 

He was getting far too used to you crawling over to him now, to your sweet eyes as you batted your lashes at him and asked if you could sit in his lap again. He should have started saying no to you. He should have started building that separation back up again. You said you felt comfortable in his lap now, that you really liked it, it made you feel safe and honest. He should have stopped it right then when you had carefully admitted that in a whisper against his neck as you snuggled into him. He should not have wrapped his arms around you and hugged you a little tighter. He should not have pressed his mouth to your hair in a silent kiss and allowed his eyes to flutter shut. 

You were becoming too close, too dependent, and it would not do. It was his duty as a professional to stop this at once and pull away, to refer you to someone else. Not just because you were too dependent, but because his own mind was straying. He looked at you sometimes and found it impossible not to smile. He felt things in his chest that he should not have been feeling as an objective professional. His hands were always tight with the need to reach out and touch you. His lips were always tingling with the need to kiss you. 

Baelor sighed, clenched his eyes shut, and shook his head. He took another long sip from the glass, rubbing a hand over his face. He was not viewing you as a client anymore, and that was the most dangerous part of it all. 

He thought back to the session earlier, to your face, the way your eyes lit up as you spoke about this man you were seeing. 

“It’s been really good, Baelor! Really! We went out for dinner the other night, and he held my hand, and we went for a stroll after and he wrapped his arm around me and I didn’t even flinch. And… and he even kissed me goodbye. It was small and soft but it was a real kiss!” You giggled then, clenching your hand in the lapel of his blazer as you told him all the news excitedly. How odd that he should be happy and sad hearing this at the same time. Your excitement was beautiful, infectious, and he felt proud that you had come so far since your sessions began. He felt proud at having had even the smallest part in building your confidence. But he also felt shamefully jealous of this man, whoever he was, and how he got to do all these things with you. 

“That’s wonderful news,” he had told you, softly caressing a strand of your hair, eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“Yeah… yeah it is,” and you smiled so brightly, giggling a little with your giddiness, and it took an otherworldly sort of strength to stop him from leaning in and kissing you. “I think things are getting serious. I can’t really believe it but… he likes me. Like, he really likes me. I guess I never thought it would happen.” Tears had gathered in your eyes and he had simply held you as you cried, daintily wiping one from your cheek before you pressed your face to his neck again and sighed softly. 

There were a million things he had wanted to say in that moment. He had wanted to tell you that you deserved all the love there was to be given. He had wanted to say that he believed it, that he believed everyone was in love with you, because how could they not be? He had wanted to tell you that… that he loved you. 

Baelor clenched his eyes shut again and drank what remained of his glass before gulping down another. He picked up his pen and quickly wrote at the bottom of the page, “SEND FOR REFERRAL”. He underlined it three times, then slammed the notebook shut. 

You were wearing a red dress. Perhaps it was to torture Baelor, a punishment for not following through and referring you on to another therapist. It was another summer dress, vibrantly red, softly flowing around your shins. You seemed to favour off the shoulder straps, this one having lovely puffy and ruched short sleeves, and he could almost imagine the dress sliding down your body, piling on the floor at your feet. 

You were back to your old positions, you curled up in the corner of the sofa, and him in his armchair, attempting some form of separation lest he get too lost again. But this felt worse somehow, because now he had a clear view of you. He could see your ankles and smooth shins where the dress had ridden up. He could see the goosebumps on your arms and the place where your earring was stuck in your hair. And he could see the way you chewed at your lip, looking at him nervously as if there was something on the tip of your tongue that you were attempting to gather the courage to say. 

“I-” you began, then swiftly stopped. You glanced up at him and then shook your head, bringing your hand up and chewing at the side of your finger. “Nothing,” you murmured, waving your other hand in the air and looking back down to the floor. 

Baelor put his pen down and cleared his throat, waiting until you were looking at him before raising his eyebrows to prompt you into speaking. It was that look, the expectant one, the one that would have even the most disciplined of monks crumbling in their vows of silence. 

“Stop looking at me like that, it makes me want to tell you everything,” you grumbled, scowling a little. Baelor chuckled, shaking his head and sliding his hand over his mouth before resting it there, leaning into it on the arm of his chair as he watched you. 

“You should attempt to do so then,” he answered wryly, raising his eyebrow again as he waited for you to finally become forthcoming during this session. 

“Why are you sitting over there again?” You asked instead, looking back to the spot he usually took up then back to him. He paused a moment, jaw clenching for the smallest second (though hidden well behind the cover of his beard).  

“So I can see you better,” he finally answered, shrugging as if it meant nothing. You nodded, earnest, and he felt a twinge of guilt for the lie. Then you snorted a chuckle. 

“You know what? That makes you sound like the wolf from red riding hood,” you giggled, hiding your laugh behind your hand and looking at him with sparkling eyes. He smirked, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly but unable to hold off his smile at your joy. He much preferred seeing you like this, especially compared to the nervous wreck from moments before. 

You chewed on your lip again when your laughs subsided. You rubbed a hand down your face, shook your head, then looked up at him from under your lashes as you said, “can you come sit here again? I like it better that way.” 

He didn’t move instantly. It was a war inside him, the desperate desire to do as you asked, and the weaker, sensible, side of him that told him to stay put, to tell you that it would be better to remain this way. He could see worry begin to descend in your eyes at his inaction, could see the gnawing at your lip become harsher, and that sensible side of him failed once more. 

Baelor stood and moved over to the sofa, sitting down on the other end and settling his notebook in his lap. Perhaps if he kept his notebook there this time, and didn't allow you to settle on his lap, then everything would end up alright. You smiled a little once he was sat, and he felt it like a kiss on his heart. 

You pulled your knees up close to your chest and he could see your toes poking out from under your dress. You fiddled with your fingers on your lap and glanced up at him one more time before you blurted, 

“I think he wants to sleep with me.” 

Baelor paused where he had been twisting his ring around, eyebrows raising and eyes widening as he met your eyes. 

“Oh,” he breathed out, nodding, pausing to pick up his pen and twirl it around once. 

“I… I think so. Last night, I went over to his place again. We watched a movie, had a cuddle, it was… it was amazing, as usual.” Your eyes were off in the distance, a distracted but warm smile on your mouth. “We kissed, for a while. Like, properly. Like, his mouth went places other than mine.” You felt heat burn through you as you told him, glancing back to Baelor as you pressed a hand to your hot cheek. “He… he kissed down my neck and his hands started moving around, you know, like-like he started feeling me up and it was really nice. He asked me if I wanted to go to his room to get more comfortable. I panicked and said I had an early morning so I had to leave. He’s so nice. He’s like, the absolute sweetest guy ever. I don’t know why I keep lying to him about this stuff but I just feel like if I tell him how scared I am, he won’t want me anymore.” 

Baelor pursed his lips and nodded, writing in the notebook again before looking at you. Your eyes were hesitant, looking to him for guidance, assurance, anything really. 

“Is someone who would be angry about their partner being inexperienced the kind of person you would want to be with?” He asked after a while, carefully enunciating each word. Your eyes widened a fraction, lips parting, and you lifted your head to look at him properly. It should not have been such an epiphany but it still felt groundbreaking. 

“I mean, of course not,” you answered, shaking your head and pursing your lips for a moment. “But I don’t think it’s about that either. In my head, I know he wouldn’t dump me. Honestly, I think it would be the opposite. I think he would be really kind about it all. But the anxious irrational side of my head feels like I just can’t. It’s not about him being nice or not, it’s about me not being able to do it. I don’t want to have the experience with him like that.” 

You glanced up at Baelor with worried eyes. It felt wrong to admit that somehow, that you wanted to be picky and choosy about this when you should just be grateful that someone wanted to be with you in the first place. 

Baelor hummed and nodded again, brows furrowing a little in thought, and you scooted down in your seat a little to watch him. His hair was a little neater today despite his habit of running his hand through it. His beard had been trimmed recently, you could tell now, and the intense desire to feel it against your own cheek hit you so suddenly you went breathless. His lashes fluttered prettily when he blinked, and those eyes, blue and brown, warm and cold, were the perfect reflections of the balance that seemed to live within him. 

“Hm, that is rather tricky. I suppose you need to decide if you want to eventually push through this, obviously not pressuring yourself but working on it until you feel comfortable, to have the experience with him. Or if you wish to break it off and try with someone else.” Though his tone was careful, not unkind, you felt as if it was so final. 

You nodded first, pursing your lips and then pressing them tight together as tears began to burn at your eyes. Your face crumpled slowly and you pressed it to the backs of your knees, shaking your head as you sucked in a wet, crackling, breath. Then you lifted your head and shifted, slowly crawling closer to him until you were kneeling right beside him on the sofa. 

“Can I please have a hug?” You asked, your voice small and watery as the tears continued to pour. You sniffled as you waited and Baelor’s face contorted with pain. He nodded quickly and pushed his notebook to the side, bringing you into his arms. He hushed you quietly, wrapping both arms around you, one hand softly petting the back of your head as you burrowed your face into his neck and shoulder and cried quietly. 

He kept you there until your sniffling quieted and the hand that had clenched at the collar of his button-up loosened a little. You pulled back to look him in the eye, but your faces were impossibly close. You could feel his breaths brushing lightly against your nose and mouth. You reached up with one trembling hand and wiped at your cheek and undereye. Your nose brushed against his lightly, and you blinked once, slow and long. 

“Would you… would you do it with me?” You asked, voice hushed and small. Baelor stiffened a little under you as he attempted to comprehend what you were truly asking. His eyes flicked up from your lips and to your own. His hand stilled on your back. 

“Y/n…” he said your name as a warning, but it sounded far too lovely from his mouth for you to heed it. You rolled your lips against one another and shifted a little in his lap, pressing impossibly closer, until your face was all he could see. 

“Please, Baelor,” you begged, voice soft and breathy. He could feel it almost against his lips, and his eyes fluttered closed at the sound, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed harshly. You begged far too prettily for it to be anything other than seductive, anything other than a punishment. “I trust you more than anyone, especially for this.” 

Baelor’s eyes clenched a little where they had shut, his breaths harsher now. His throat moved again, and you followed it greedily with your eyes, suddenly desperate for it all. Gods, you were hot with want. It was a fire in your core, pulsing hot at the apex of your thighs and in tingling sparks in your breasts. You shifted your hips again, not thinking, not knowing how it dragged you right over his cock, hard and pulsing under his trousers and underwear, how it made him want to bite down on the naked skin of your shoulder. 

“It would not be right,” he finally managed to grit out, his hands coming down to settle on either side of your waist. You worried he would push you away, but his grip on you only tightened, neither pushing nor pulling. 

“You would be helping me, please,” you begged again, your breaths shuddering along his mouth and chin. He wanted to open his lips and suck them in, wanted to swallow everything you had to give. 

“I…” but he could not continue because somehow your mouths were joined together. Somehow his tongue was pressed past your lips, licking strong and wet into the heat there, tasting the fruit flavoured gum you had been chewing on just before the session. 

You moaned into his mouth, small and quiet, but it made everything from his neck down pulse hot and had him dragging you even closer to him. He tried not to hurry as he kissed you, tried to maintain a steady pace, deep and dragging with each movement of his lips, but it became increasingly difficult. 

You felt hot all over, like your skin was touched by the sun, and everything inside you was electrified, sensitive to every breath and graze. His arm was strong where it wrapped around your waist to drag you closer. You were straddling him, the dress ridden up to expose your knees, and the motion of him moving you closer dragged your core right over where his cock had hardened along his leg. You were wet under your panties, slick in a way that moved your lips against each other and lightly teased your clit. Your cunt pressed right into the seams over his zipper and you let out a high-pitched keen, your mouth falling open against his. The drag of it, the pressure right there, it was electric. 

He did it again, grasped your hips in his hands and dragged you back then forward again, pressing down a little more. Again that feeling, that lovely clenching inside you, the wet pulsing and rubbing feeling. He felt your moan against him, your hot damp breath over his lips, and he kissed you again until you were breathless and tingling from the rub of his beard. 

“If we are going to do this,” he finally panted out, pulling away from your mouth to reach up and begin pushing your hair out of your face. “We are going to do it properly, hm?” He nudged your nose with his, making sure you were looking in his eyes when you nodded frantically. “I’m going to teach you, and you’re going to communicate. You’re going to tell me if something feels good, if something feels bad, if something hurts or you want to do it differently. Understood?” You nodded once more and licked your lips. 

“Yes, yes I will,” you hurried out, sitting up and resting your hands on his shoulders. He groaned softly, hands flexing on you, and nodded once. 

“Right, stand up,” he ordered, patting you on the side and watching you quickly scramble off him, huffing and puffing as if you had run a mile. The movement of your chest made your breasts push against the dress and it took significant willpower not to reach out and grasp them. 

Baelor followed after you, standing up to his full height and gazing down at you. Your hair was dishevelled now, your eyes and lips glossy, and your dress had become rumpled and wrinkled. But when you looked up at him with such trusting and expectant eyes, he could not help himself from leaning down and giving you a quick, chaste, kiss on the lips before pulling back and refocusing. 

“Depending on the situation, you may undress yourself, or your partner may undress you. It happens in the moment, and can depend on how fast or slow you are going, but it does not hurt to communicate here either.” As Baelor spoke, his hands went up to his own shirt, slowly beginning to unbutton and exposing the white vest he wore underneath. You stepped closer to him then, licking your lips and reaching out to caress the backs of his hands. 

“Can- can I do that?” You asked, hesitant and small, but he smiled appreciatively and nodded, removing his own hands and instead busying them in caressing the skin of your upper arms and shoulders. You shivered at the feeling. 

Carefully, you undid each button, moving all the way down to his waistband and pulling up to untuck the shirt. You pushed the sides open and carefully touched along his chest and stomach over the vest, feeling the soft material and the firm muscle underneath. He shrugged the shirt off and tossed it onto the sofa, leaving you to gawp at his arms. They were big, thicker than you were expecting and was belied by his shirts. You carefully splayed your palm on one, feeling the soft skin there, and squeezed a little, blushing hot when he chuckled. 

Baelor reached down and undid his belt, pulling it from the loops and tossing it where his shirt was. You gulped at the motion, eyes dragging down his abdomen and to the place where you could see something pushing against his trousers. You reached out and pulled his vest from his waistband as well, gathering the white material up and up until it was bunched in your hands and you could begin pulling it up his torso. You dragged your knuckles up the lines of his stomach, up to the definition of his chest, and held your arms aloft so he could grip the vest and take it fully off. When that too was tossed on the sofa, you allowed yourself free reign, pressing your palms to his chest, to the scraggly hairs there that were the same mix of dark brown and grey. 

You could see freckles here and there too, how his skin had gone softer as he had aged, and you carefully dragged your nails along his stomach. He shivered, huffing out a breath as he felt the scratching down over his stomach and toward his waistband. You followed his happy trail. You had finally felt a happy trail, you thought giddily, and you just allowed yourself to rub back and forth along the hair there until he was reaching down to grip your wrists. 

You glanced up at him then, a new openness and almost-smiling quality to your mouth. You blinked quickly and flipped your hands so you could loosen his grip from your wrists and grab his instead. You brought his hands to your body, gulping as you placed them on your waist. 

“Will you take off my dress please?” you asked, and he nodded, slowly dragging his palms up your sides, taking a moment to just cup your breasts over the dress. Your nipples rubbed against the inside of your bra as he did it, and you let out a shaky breath. 

Baelor hooked his fingers into the neckline of your dress, sliding his fingers out to the side and stretching the elastic so you could pull first one arm out then the other. He held onto the neckline and brought it down, stretching it over your breasts then dragging it down your stomach, over the curves of your hips and arse and then down your legs. Each new inch of skin exposed was another he ate with his eyes, absorbing the details of pores or freckles or marks or hairs. When the dress was at your feet, you stepped out of it and he picked it up, gently draping it on the sofa beside his own clothes. 

He looked back to you, to the white bandeau bra and panties, to the wet spot he could see there that made his mouth salivate. He reached out and placed his palms on your waist again, flat to bare skin, and you shivered at the searing warmth. He dragged his hands up and down your sides, feeling along the skin, heating you up further, and your shaky breaths left from parted lips. 

Baelor leaned down and kissed you once more, that same soft chaste style, then pulled away to nudge his head in the direction of the floor. 

“Lie down,” he ordered, pulling away from you to grab a cushion from the sofa and drop it on the floor for your head. You nodded, getting down on your knees first. You looked up at him, gulping at the angle. He looked impossibly taller like this. You paused there, watching his hands go to the button of his trousers, flicking it open before pinching the zipper and dragging it down. You were fluttering, in your stomach, in your veins. He paused there to toe off his shoes, nudging them off to the side before gripping the waistband of his trousers and pushing them off. 

You watched him as he had watched you, greedily. He wore black underwear, the tight shorts kind that had seams around the bulge area. You could see that he was hard under them, could see his cock pressing harshly against the fabric. You licked your lips, trembling, and watched him bend a little to cup your cheek with his hand. You tilted your head back to look at him, but he bent at the waist and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. You preened at it, going warm in the chest, and shuddered with pleasure. 

He stepped back and held up a finger to you, then moved around the sofa towards his desk. You watched him as much as you could from where you leaned, but you only got a lovely view of the tan skin sprawled along his back and his firm buttocks under the black fabric. He opened a desk drawer, rummaged around, grabbed something, then shut it and walked back over. You traced his legs with your eyes this time, the strong muscles of his thighs, the tight lines that moved up and down from his knees, the black hairs that dusted him all over. 

Baelor placed the thing down on the edge of the sofa and you realised it was a condom, the foil wrapper crinkling a little. You hadn’t even thought about that in your desperation, and you felt a zap of embarrassment through you. Baelor kneeled down in front of you then, cupping your neck on either side and kissing you, licking into your mouth and emptying the thoughts from your head. You ran your hands down his chest, taking comfort from the warm skin. He pulled back, flicking his eyes down to your bra then tracing the band that lay just under your breasts. 

“Do you want to take this off?” he asked, running his thumb over the curve of it, over where your nipple was firm under the fabric and you let out a breathy sound as you nodded. He hooked his fingers under it and dragged it over your breasts, watching them as he raised it up and over your outstretched arms. You shivered, the cool air brushing places no man had ever seen before, and you raised your hands quickly to hide behind them. Baelor didn’t say anything, just reached up and caressed your cheek as you clenched your eyes shut. 

You felt scared suddenly, scared at him seeing such intimate parts of you, parts that you worried would disappoint him. He leaned forward, a soft kiss to your forehead, to your left cheek, to your right, to the bridge of your nose, and when your eyes fluttered open again, he nudged your nose with his. 

“You do not have to do anything. You can put your clothes back on and leave. You can leave the bra on and continue. Tell me how you’re feeling.” You gulped and nodded, slowly moving your hands away and resting them on his shoulders instead. 

“I want to continue. Please. I just… Do you think I’m ugly?” Your eyes were a little teary as you asked it, your lower lip trembling, and his hands tightened on you. His eyes flashed, his brow creasing with concern, and he traced your bottom lip with his thumb. 

“I think you are beyond beautiful. I think you are stunning, and sexy. But I want you to think that too.” He traced his thumb down, watching your lip bounce back into place before moving it down your chin, to the underside of it and down the middle of your neck. Down it went, over your chest and to the space between your breasts, the flat of your sternum. Then the thumb followed the curve of your left breast, pressing into the underside before pushing up and simply feeling the soft flesh there. “Anyone would be lucky to see you in this way,” he murmured, and you shivered. 

Baelor leant down and pressed a feather-light kiss to your jaw. His lips pressed another and another along it until he reached your ear. He kissed under the lobe, a soft spot just behind it that reacted to his hot breath like water on hot coals. He kissed down your neck, big, open-mouthed, kisses that had his tongue pressing out and licking the skin. His teeth gently caught some skin between them, rolling it back and forth before letting it go and kissing down.

You allowed him to push you back until you were slowly being laid down, your head settled comfortably against the cushion. Your eyes fluttered closed as you focused on the sensation of his hot mouth on the plush skin of your breasts and his beard rubbing. You felt his lips close around your nipple, wet, the tightening feeling of the skin there puckering with desire. You felt his teeth tease it, felt his tongue lap against it, felt the air begin to cool the saliva there when he pulled away and did the same to your other nipple. 

Baelor kissed down your stomach, light presses of his mouth to the fluttering skin, and you cracked your eyes open and pushed your head up to watch him. He rubbed his big hands along the sides of your thighs, groping your behind a little, before he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties. 

“Off?” He asked quietly, looking up at you from between your legs. The sight of it, of his blue and brown eye, of his beard, of his mussed hair, all situated comfortably between your thighs and peering up at you had you gulping and pulsing once more. You could feel the slick pouring out of you, hot and slippery, and you felt the cold air there like a kiss. 

He dragged your panties down to your ankles then pulled them off, tossing them onto the sofa with everything else. Carefully, he had you bend your knees, then reached between them to splay his hands on the insides of your thighs, thick fingers spanning the sensitive skin before he began pushing them apart. You shivered and licked your lips but allowed it, following the press of his hands until your legs fell naturally open. 

He gazed down at you, eyes fixating on the flushed and wet skin. You looked soft and damp, dewy and puffy in a way that called to him like nothing else. He could see your clit where your lips pulled apart a little, the swollen little nub begging for his tongue and touch. He could see your hole, fluttering a little where you clenched and unclenched with every pulse inside you, the slick and shiny wetness that coated you. He rubbed your inner thighs once before he looked back up at you. 

“As it is your first time, it’s always best to have some preparation. We’ll start with my tongue, maybe a finger or two before we attempt anything, alright?” He watched you lick your lips, eyes lighting up, and nod quickly. “This goes for the future as well. Foreplay and preparation are essential to having a pleasant time. Some can handle penetration without preparation once they become regularly sexually active, but others need preparation every single time. It all depends on how you feel and what you communicate with your partner.” 

You nodded eagerly once more. Your mouth was full of saliva no matter how much you swallowed, and your skin tingled everywhere. You wanted to tell him to hurry, that you were desperate to feel him now, but that would not do. He was trying to teach you something. It was not his fault that he was also the reason you were so riled up you couldn’t focus. 

Baelor nodded once then sighed as he shuffled down and lay his stomach on the carpet in front of you. He caressed a finger up the back of one of your thighs and you shivered, your leg twitching at the ticklish sensation. He smiled a little and began moving you around, taking one of your legs and draping it over his shoulder before doing the same with the other. Once they were secure, he shuffled forward until suddenly you could feel him breathing against your core. 

You clenched your eyes shut, your thighs tightening around his head, but he just shushed you gently and began blowing softly along your hot skin. You shivered, the cold air caressing your hot slick. He curved one arm around and splayed his hand over your stomach, carefully holding you there. The other hand slithered up and his thumb began touching the soft lips of your cunt. He rubbed the slick into the skin, then separated the lips so he could look properly at your clit. 

He breathed in your small, warm and dewy, and his eyes fluttered shut. He moaned low in his throat then pressed forward, lightly touching the tip of his tongue to your clit. 

He mouthed at you there until you couldn’t tell your body apart from a series of electric sensations. You felt his tongue licking at you, hot rough drags that pushed and pulled at your clit, that made something that was already on fire burn like an inferno. You felt each touch inside you, felt the sparks and the zaps and the tingles like someone was playing the triangle right inside you, hitting the thing that reverberated within you over and over. 

He groaned against you, his rough beard overstimulating the skin of your thighs. He pressed his tongue into your core and the feeling of it breaching your hole sent you into your first orgasm, built too quickly and crashing fast. You clenched your hands into the carpet beside you and twitched, legs stretching and pressing into the floor beside his ribs. He licked you until you were whining then brought the tip of his index finger to where he had just pulled his tongue from. He looked up at you then, lifting a little between your legs to meet your eyes. 

His beard was wet. It shined in the light. The sight of it was orgasmic in itself. His lips were shiny too, and he licked them like he had indulged in a delicacy, like he needed to savour it, and you would have twitched into another orgasm right then. 

“I’m going to push my finger in now. Tell me if it hurts or you wish to stop at any time,” he ordered, and you nodded, your lips parting as you panted. 

Baelor touched your clit softly with his index finger and your hips jerked harshly, a strangled sound falling from your mouth. You would have whined at him that it was sensitive if you didn’t think he did it for that exact reaction. He pressed the back of his middle finger between your lips and dragged up and down, making sure it was wet with your slick before he brought it down to your hole and began pressing in. 

You closed your eyes again and allowed yourself just to feel the sensation. It was an intrusion, and you clenched and unclenched around it. You were warm and wet on the inside too, but it was ten times as much, like a perfect furnace. The texture of your walls was soft and fleshy, pushing and pulling and pulsing, and he pushed his finger to the hilt then dragged it back and forth. 

You felt that hot sparkle inside you again, those waves that increased in frequency until it was a frantic up and down. He held your hips steady with his other hand as you writhed and humped against his hand. In and out, in and out. His thumb moved up and dragged against your clit, taking your wetness and smearing it along the swollen nub until you were whining and moaning from your tight throat, calling his name. He pressed another finger in with the first, watching you writhe a little more at the stretch and burn. He pushed and pulled, panted as he watched you twitch and stretch and cum against his hand. 

This one had been even more intense. It left you splayed out and trembling, melted into the carpet and spinning in the head. You focused on the shadows behind your eyelids, panting and slowly loosening. Baelor caressed your legs, the outside of your thigh and the expanse of your stomach. He watched you carefully, waited patiently until your eyes fluttered open and you were looking at him with amazement. He tilted his head and kissed the inside of your knee. 

“Would you like to continue or stop here?” He asked quietly, his voice a murmur against your skin. You gulped and wet your lips. 

“Continue, please,” you breathed out, and he nodded, bringing your knees from his shoulders and placing your feet on the carpet either side of him. 

He rose onto his knees and pulled down the waistband of his underwear. He dragged it down his thighs then under one knee and then the other. You blinked at the sight of his cock, flushed red at the tip and ready. Perhaps that was your biggest vote of confidence, that he was already hard. Surely that meant you did something right, that he found you even a little attractive. The sight had you both tensing and melting further into the carpet. 

His cock was flushed red and thick, just the right size all over you guessed. It was shiny with precum and as he reached over for the condom, his other hand dragged over it, rubbing up and down once or twice as he shivered. With shaking arms, you pushed yourself up, leaning back onto one palm as the other began reaching out for his cock. 

“Can I touch it?” You asked in a ragged whisper, flicking your eyes up to his. You watched him rip the packet of the condom open with his teeth, and you almost threw yourself at him. Why was such a simple sight so frenzy inducing? 

“Of course,” he answered, shivering when your fingers gently wrapped around his appendage. He was hot to the touch, damp with cum, and softer than you had expected. You weren’t quite sure what you had been expecting, but it was nice. You kept your grip relatively loose, not realising how teasing that felt when you traversed it up and down him. His breathing became ragged, his chest heaving at the light touches you dragged along his cock and down to his balls. You touched the skin there too, fascinated by the tightness there, and he huffed and puffed from his mouth, not wishing to stop you but becoming more and more desperate to be inside you. 

When you had had your fill, you pulled back and leaned on both hands to watch him roll the condom down onto his cock. He did it with practiced ease, slipping it over the head and rolling it down securely. Once it was done, he was quick to lean over you, pressing his mouth to yours. He kissed you, laved his tongue between your lips, rubbed his beard to your chin and cheeks as he pushed forward until you were laying back down and he was hovering over you, his hips encased between your thighs. You could taste yourself on him and his beard, could taste that dewiness as he smashed his mouth to yours until you couldn’t breathe. 

He pressed his weight down on you, your chest to his, your nipples rubbing against his skin and chest hair. Your stomach rubbed his with every heaving breath, and you could feel his cock just touching your cunt. He caressed your cheek with one hand and looked into your eyes. 

“You can say no at any point. You can ask me to stop whenever you wish, to end everything without any consequences or questions. Understood?” You nodded hurriedly in response but you were so close now, so desperate despite your fear and hesitance. 

Baelor nodded once then kissed you as he reached down with his hand and notched his cock at your entrance. He began to push in, groaning into your mouth as your wet heat enveloped him. You felt it press through you, separate places that had always been together. You felt it all the way inside you, heavy and hot and rubbing against those spots that pulsed electricity into the rest of you. He kept a steady pace and kissed you to distract from the discomfort and stinging at your entrance. Your muscles were too spent from the previous orgasms to fight against his cock too much. 

He paused at the end, panting against your mouth. He felt your hands splay against his back, your nails curling into the skin at his ribs. He felt every shift of your hips, the tightening of your thighs over his waist. The place just above his cock pushed at your cunt and rubbed against your clit, forcing it to pulse frantically and send your brain reeling. 

He waited for the contortions on your face to loosen a little, for your panting breaths to slow and the way you clenched your cunt around him to become more steady and deliberate. You ran your hand down his back and cupped his waist, just feeling his skin and muscles. He kissed you again, pressed his tongue past your lips, then began to move. You felt it drag through you, as if pulling the pleasure and then pushing it back in. 

You whined against his lips, head dropping back as your body went weak. One of his hands threaded under your arm and then up to cup the back of your neck, holding you tight to his body as he sped up his thrusts. His other hand held tight to your waist, pulling you up against his thrusts. 

Every motion your body made felt instinctual, involuntary. Every twitch was wrought from the fiery pleasure that pulsed from the drag of your clit against his skin. Every moan was punched from your throat as he thrust his cock back into you, a little harder than before. You pressed your mouth to his shoulder, biting a little when the drags began to push you higher onto the precipice. 

“Baelor,” you moaned, turning your head to begin mouthing at the skin of his neck, kissing and sucking at it. 

He groaned loudly, a low and rough sound in your hair, and his grip on you tightened. His thrusts became quicker, the sound of skin slapping and wet squelching unmistakable now. You whined. The pleasure was a pulse between your thighs. Everything was electric. Your ears were dull thumping rushes. Your fingertips were blunt and twitching. Your nipples taut, rubbing against his chest and zapping your insides with heat. You panted, clenched, pressed into his thrusts. Your fingernails dug into his back, your arms trembling. You trembled entirely. 

And then the wave washed over, your mouth dropping open on a long moan. It covered you from head to toe, warmth and throbbing and weakness. You were spent, a mass of flesh and skin and pulsing warmth. 

He bit down on the side of your neck when he came, groaning loudly and huffing and puffing. He held you tightly as his hips twitched, the last drags of his own pleasure swimming out of him. He attempted to roll off of you, but you whined and wrapped your arms around him, whimpering a ‘stay here please’ at the pleasant weight of him there. He hesitated a fraction, blinked quickly to try and look down at your face, ask if you were sure, but you whined again and pulled him back down and he went with it. 

He hummed softly as you caressed his back, pressing gentle kisses to your shoulder. He murmured little words of praise, how you did so well, how you looked beautiful, how you were utterly perfect. It felt almost like another orgasm, a soft wave of warmth over you, stemming from the whispers that entered your ears. 

When you had finally caught your breath enough to deem your mind coherent, you caressed a hand through his hair and pressed your lips to his cheek for a chaste kiss before dragging them up to his ear and whispering, “thank you.” 

Baelor hummed quietly to himself as he quickly sliced an entire cucumber. ‘Here Comes The Sun’ by the Beatles played softly in the background just over the boiling of the pasta and the hum of the oven. It would be a late lunch, he thought, as he looked out onto the back garden through the sliding doors, to the lovely sunshine on the green grass and the little table set with plates and cutlery and glasses. 

He was in a particularly good mood that day. He woke up rather late, slowly and without an alarm blaring to the bright sunshine streaming through the sheer white curtains. He had rolled out of bed, ambled his way to the bathroom and carefully examined the now slowly fading marks of your teeth on his shoulder, the one purplish bruise just above his collarbone. He pressed lightly on them, thought back to how he had been wearing collared shirts and turtlenecks for the past week, and smiled slightly, shaking his head as he hopped in the shower. 

He was dressed casually, a black polo that Matarys deemed his most ‘dad’ shirt, and a loose pair of jogger bottoms. He ate a quick breakfast over the counter as he put on the tv in the background, and now here he was, finishing off lunch just in time for his sons to arrive. He had more than one reason to be happy today. He loved Saturdays, because they meant family lunch with Valarr and Matarys, and you had a session booked in for Monday which meant he would get to see you very soon. He was almost scared by how much he longed for it… 

“Daaaad!” The door opened and then a long call, surely Matarys returning from his hockey practice if the rustling and banging by the door was anything to go by. “Val’s here too!” 

Baelor smiled brightly, wiping his hands on the dish towel and walking around the counter to head in the direction of the entryway. It was a particularly big day for another reason: Valarr was bringing his girlfriend home for the first time. 

Baelor rounded the corner, a warm smile already pulling at his lips as he spotted his youngest son, his hair a sweaty mop as he toed off his shoes and turned back to speak quickly to his elder brother. Then Valarr, sunglasses pushed up onto his head, wearing a navy blue button down casually opened at the top and a pair of jeans, smiling softly at the girl beside hi- 

There you were, standing in a beautiful navy blue dress, lips parted and staring at him like a deer in headlights. Baelor felt his heart stop beating. Your hair was neatly pinned in a half-up half-down style, the dress was respectfully modest, and you clutched a bouquet of flowers and a candle politely in front of you. Baelor couldn’t get his body to cooperate. Your hands began to shake, your lips parting as you stared up into his mismatched eyes. Valarr rubbed the small of your back gently looking between you and Baelor, his smile a picture of restrained excitement. He had been telling you non-stop how excited he was for you to meet his father. 

“Dad, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Y/n.”

The waiting room was… normal. You weren’t sure what you had been expecting. Of course it was normal. Why would this office be any different to the other waiting rooms and offices you had been in? Just because it was a… yeah, ok. You still couldn’t quite admit it, couldn’t quite get yourself to say it, to even believe that you were doing this. How had you been convinced into doing this? No, no, this was a good thing, Vivian had said so, and you trusted Vivian. 

The chairs were soft and comfortable, which was the most surprising thing about the waiting room, you supposed. The lighting was low and comfortable, warm yellow lamps on the little corner tables. The receptionist had checked you in, but this space was after her desk so you felt quite alone. The walls were painted a dark colour, and the wood accents were all dark as well. You felt rather cozy now that you thought about it, snug and protected. There was something to be said about the dark actually being good for comfort and vulnerability. 

You were dressed comfortably, soft trousers and a full sleeve top, trainers on, light jacket for the cooler weather (despite it being springtime), and your usual bag on your arm. You resisted the urge to keep checking your phone, to use it as your safety net as you usually did. You and Vivian had been working on that too, a sort of side bit of homework to help you become more comfortable being in your own skin, of being on your own. 

There was art on the walls, and you turned your eyes to it. It was all beautiful, the kind of paintings you yourself enjoyed, a mix of impressionist and renaissance style, either blurred or hyperrealistic, glossy and shadowed in the lamplight. There was one of a dragon, black and sharp, tall and imposing, looking down at a singular man standing on a beach. It was stormy around them, and the man was a miniscule thing next to the beast. But there was a connection between them, something soft and unspoken, mutual respect perhaps, or even care. It was a rather simple picture on the face of it, but you fell in love with it at that moment. 

There was only one door going off from the waiting room, and it had been shut since the moment you had arrived, but now it opened, a little swiftly, and a man stepped out just enough so that his feet were over the threshold but he was still holding onto the doorknob with one hand. In the other was a clipboard, held up a little so he could read from it, then he turned up to look at you and smiled gently. 

“Hello, Y/n, is it?” You nodded quickly, eyes a little wide, lips parted. “Am I pronouncing that right?” He asked kindly, frowning a little and mouthing it again. 

“Yes! Yes, perfectly, thank you,” you jumped in, nodding and clutching tightly onto your bag strap. 

He paused for a moment, looked you over, then with that same soft smile he stepped back a little into the doorway and nudged his head into the room. 

“Would you like to come in?” He asked, and you nodded quickly, eyes still a little wide as you jumped up and hurried into the room, like a little mouse scurrying around when the cat has finally found them. 

You could not quite absorb what he looked like. It felt… too good. That was an odd thing to say. You shouldn’t be describing an intimacy therapist like that… But it was also true. 

He wore a dark turtleneck, black and rolled up at the sleeves to display strong tanned forearms. He had little freckles on the skin there, dark but fine hairs, and big hands, long fingers and veins. He had a beard, a little scruffy but well-looked after, and wavy hair that had gone grey and was now scattered with white. It was a bit messy too, rather like the beard. He seemed to run his hand through it in thought, ruining whatever combing he might have done in the morning, but you liked it that way. It made him more human. He had a soft set to his face when he smiled, deep lines creasing between his cheeks and his mouth, and he had one blue eye and one brown eye. 

That was a little jarring at first, the stark difference, and you sort of wanted to compliment him on them, but he probably heard it a million times over, and you didn’t have the confidence to say anything like that to him just yet. Perhaps after working with him for a while you might do, but not yet. 

His office was similar to the waiting room in the sense that everything was dark in here as well. There was a desk in the back corner, with framed degrees and certificates and awards on the wall behind it. A cork noticeboard was on the adjacent wall, the one that the side of the desk touched, and it was pinned with lots of things, calendars and reminders and pictures and cards. The desk itself was fancy, dark wood and carved with designs, and the computer on it was all sleek lines and high-tech. There were papers and folders on the desk, pens and post-it notes, but it was all neatly organised and he even had picture frames facing toward him. That warmed your heart a little. 

The main bit was right in front of you though, a black leather couch with end tables on either side facing an armchair with its own end tables. There were already pens and paper and notebooks on the end table by the armchair, and there were lamps on each of them too, low yellow light with coloured and patterned lampshades. There were cushions on the sofa which made you happy, something to grab, something to hide with. All of this on top of a dark rug that looked lovely and plush. The sofa faced a wall of windows, lovely and big but covered by blinds right now to keep the room all cool and dim. 

He gestured you toward the sofa, waiting for you to sit down before taking his own seat, fiddling with his clipboard and all the pens and papers on the table beside him. As he did that, you took your bag off and put it to the side of the sofa, rocking back and forth a little in your seat, looking around, frankly anywhere but right at him. You felt far too awkward. You took one of the sofa cushions and brought it to sit on your lap, feeling a little more settled with it covering you, but then you felt rude for taking it without asking. Finally, he settled a little into his chair, slouching slightly and looking far more comfortable than you, and smiled directly in your direction. 

“Did Marion have you sign all the paperwork when you came in?” He asked kindly, just getting the ball rolling, you supposed, and you nodded, pursing your lips a little. “Just to go over it again, I prefer being as transparent and open as possible, even if it’s a little tedious. Everything you say to me, whether that be in this room or over correspondence is private and completely confidential unless I perceive that you intend to cause real harm to yourself or another person. While I will not record anything, I do take notes during the session and of course there will be a record of any communication via phone, message, or email, but again, this is all protected under confidentiality. Is that alright?” 

He had no judgement on his face, just a serene look, this spiel practiced by now. You nodded again, and then felt stupid for not having said anything yet. 

“Yes, uh yes, of course, uh… Mr Martell? Is that what I call you? Sorry, that’s a stupid question,” you wanted to hide your face in your hands, to physically shut your mouth by pinching it with your fingers, but you just clenched them in the cushion and darted your eyes away from his face, feeling hot all over from embarrassment. But he was smiling, nodding, twisting his pen around in his hands. 

“You can call me what you like. If you prefer Mr Martell, that’s alright, and if you’d prefer Baelor, that’s alright too,” his smile was far too kind, it made you more conscious somehow. You nodded and attempted a smile of your own, but you could bet it came out strained and stupid. 

Baelor had been careful since the start of his career to use his mother’s last name. He did not need his family’s reputation following him into this office, not in the career he had truly curated for himself. He had become used to being Mr Martell in one room, and Mr Targaryen in another. 

You couldn’t look at him for too long, it was too intimidating, which meant your eyes travelled a lot, especially to the covered windows behind him. He noticed, because of course he did, that was his job wasn’t it, and turned to glance at them as well. 

“Would you like me to open the curtains?” He asked kindly, half-twisted in his seat and looking back at you. You felt hot with mortification again, for whatever reason, and instantly shook your head. 

“Oh, no, it’s ok.” You waved it off, chewing on your lip and glancing down, clutching the cushion a little tighter. 

“Are you sure? It’s rather a lovely view,” he added, smiling still and you smiled at that, this one a little more relaxed than before, and a quiet huff of a chuckle left you. 

“Yeah, no, it’s alright, don’t worry. Maybe next time,” you answered, rubbing at your cheek a little to attempt hiding your smile. It went quiet again, that heavy silence that came with expectation. 

“It’s alright if you’re nervous,” he said then, something softer coming into his eyes, as if he was keenly aware of how you were feeling, as if he had seen it a million times before and wanted to comfort you. “It’s natural to feel that way.” 

You let out a breath, closing your eyes for a moment and nodding, smoothing your hands over the cushion then looking at it instead of him. 

“I’m really nervous. I don’t even know why, I agreed to this, but… I don’t know, I just am.” You felt a bit pathetic, your lips drooping a little naturally, and you heard his pen being placed down on the notebook. When you glanced up, he had laced his fingers together and was nodding at you, the smallest frown creasing his brow, concern it seemed like. 

“Well, why don’t we start with why you’ve come to see me?” He asked gently. 

You settled into your seat, leaning back a little into the softness of the sofa, allowing yourself to get comfortable. You liked his voice. It was silky, soft but intentional in your ears, and you had the sneaking suspicion that he only spoke words he deemed necessary. You liked that, it made you feel comfortable trusting him. You had been preparing for this question too, but now you felt a bit blank in the head. 

“Um, well, my therapist, Vivian, recommended I try this, coming to see you, I mean. I’ve been working with her for a while, on a lot of stuff, but recently… Hm, I feel really awkward saying this,” then you did actually put your head in your hands, shaking it a little as you felt overcome with nervousness again, but he didn’t say anything, just shifted in his seat a little and gave you the space to say it. You cleared your throat, brought your hands down, and spoke facing the cushion on your lap. “I’ve never really been with anyone in a relationship before. No one asked me out at school, no one asked me out at university, nothing’s ever really happened. It’s not even for a lack of trying, which sounds so pathetic. Like, I tried getting on a dating app but I just couldn’t take it seriously, and the guys I talked to were either weirdos or it just didn’t amount to anything. Which leads me here, never even having kissed someone, and terrified of ever doing anything with anyone. And it gets worse, because finally, finally, a guy has asked me out, and he’s… amazing. He’s literally everything I could want, kind, patient, handsome, and I just can’t get over myself. He’s happy to take things slow, to work at my speed, but… I just feel wrong. I feel like I can’t get over this fear, and until I get over that, I can’t be a good partner for him.” 

You pressed a hand to your face as you felt the overwhelming rush of tears to your eyes. You didn’t want to cry in your first session with him, didn’t want to cry over just explaining this, but you had felt so bogged down by it recently, overwhelmed by your own inability, that it was constantly on your mind and constantly tiring you. 

You heard some shuffling, and without saying a word, Baelor had stood, taken a box of tissues and brought it over to the sofa. He placed it down near you, then went back to his seat, crossing one leg over the other and twisting his pen around in his hands again. He nodded wordlessly at your quiet thank you, waited for you to dab at your eyes and take a few deep breaths in, to look at him again, before speaking. 

“Let’s unpack some of what you said there. You’ve met someone recently, and you’d like to be able to be intimate with him?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded, smiling a little at the thought of him. “It’s still quite new, but I think he’s the kind of guy I could see myself marrying. But I feel like I can’t even imagine a future with him without addressing… this.” Baelor hummed and nodded, writing something down. 

“And you spoke about your lack of experience. You mentioned that you haven’t really been in a relationship before?” 

“Yeah,” you swallowed, grimacing a little. “I… All throughout school I watched my friends get boyfriends, or I watched people get partners and start having all these experiences that I just… never got. No one’s ever asked me out, no one’s ever seen me in that way. It’s embarrassing. I’ve confessed to my crush like three times and every single time I was rejected. I know it shouldn’t be, but it’s so demeaning and confidence killing. And then I’ve just never had the confidence to ever confess again. I got busy in the middle too, life and stuff, and my mental health was so bad for a while and just… I don’t know. I feel… I feel ugly, and unlovable.” You closed your eyes, swallowing harshly again, unable to look at him at the confession. You were opening your mouth too much, being too vulnerable too soon, you were sure of it. It was irrational, you knew that. You knew he wouldn’t get you up and throw you out and tell you all of this was true, but that irrational bit of your brain was rather annoying even at the best of times. 

“I know it’s only your first time meeting me, but I can assure you with full confidence that you are neither ugly nor unloveable.” His voice was quiet when he said it, gentle but firm, and you blinked open your eyes, blurred with tears and stared right at him. He was not smiling now but serious, sure, firm in his belief. You licked your lips and nodded, eyes a little wide, and you wiped at them haphazardly, gathering yourself. 

“We can take this slow as well, hm?” He asked then, gentle and smiling a little to comfort you. “We’ll start with just some more discussions, what you are comfortable with, what you actually want to achieve, and then I can make some other recommendations. Does that sound alright with you?” He tapped his pen against the notebook, punctuating his sentence with it, and you nodded quickly, smiling with relief. 

And you felt it too, relieved. When you walked out of the session, there was already less of a weight on your shoulders. Instead it was replaced with the lightness of faith, of trusting that Baelor would help you, of trusting that you might actually be alright in the end. 

“Why do you think there’s something wrong with being a virgin at your age?” 

You were back in the office again, the same pillow on your lap. This time you had removed your shoes before stepping onto the plush rug. You had wanted to feel it a little closer, just under your socks, as soft as you had imagined, and you sat with your feet up on the sofa, curled around the cushion, chin on your knees. 

“I don’t know,” was your first answer, automatic, too easy, and you knew by now that he wouldn’t let you get away with it. He stayed silent, waiting for you to actually think, to be honest. He always did that, you realised, stayed silent until you gave him something worth responding to. You would appreciate it more if it wasn’t so frustrating sometimes when you truly didn’t know how to respond. 

He was wearing a button-up today, blue and white stripes, neat and ironed, unbuttoned at the collar so it was a little more casual. He had his smart trousers on, as he always did, with a dark belt that blended into the fabric, navy blue socks, and leather dress shoes. He was always smartly dressed, and though sometimes it made you feel a little insecure, underdressed, you also really liked it. It made him look lovely and clean, trustworthy. 

“I feel left behind I guess. Like there’s something wrong with me because so many other people my age have already done this big milestone.” You picked at a corner of the pillow, almost mumbling as you spoke. “It’s not even just that I’m a virgin, it’s that I haven’t done anything. I haven’t even held hands with a boy let alone had sex with a guy.” 

Baelor sighed and nodded, wrote something down then placed his pen flat on the paper, folding his hands on top of it. He looked you right in the eye, that serious and determined expression in them that always came with him saying something important that you should remember and pay particular attention to. 

“I know it may feel odd, or wrong, but before anything else, you should know that there is nothing wrong with being experienced, whatever age you reach. It may not sound comforting, but unfortunately, sometimes that is the way life happens, with different experiences defining people differently. But again, there is nothing wrong with being inexperienced at your age.” 

You nodded, but then stayed silent, chewing on your lip and glaring at the floor. Usually you would say something in response, would agree with him or repeat what he said to affirm it to yourself, but this time you remained lost in your own head. 

“What is it?” Baelor asked, not allowing you to stew alone. 

“It’s just… of course you would say that. Like… look at you. You probably never had to worry about this. You’re all… handsome and charming and older, like of course you would say that.” You said it with such confidence all of a sudden, like you believed it wholeheartedly, but when you finally absorbed the words that had slipped out of your own mouth, you instantly felt your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. You could not believe you had actually said that. How could you have said that to him?? Just because it was true didn’t mean you should have said it! Oh gods, now he knew you thought he was handsome and charming. Oh gods, he would terminate this. He would say it’s inappropriate, that you had crossed a line, that you didn’t deserve to get help and that this stupidity was the obvious reason why you were still a virg-

He was chuckling. You looked up to find him smiling brightly, eyes squinted, shoulders moving up and down a little as he giggled at your words. You smiled too, couldn’t help it because his own was so contagious, and all the tension that had begun to build inside you slowly melted out of your bones. 

“While I appreciate the sentiment,” he finally said, still smiling as if you had charmed him with your little moment of unfiltered yammering, “my words are still true. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but it’s the truth.” You harrumphed a little, but nodded just the same, repeating it to yourself that you were normal, that this was normal. 

You discussed a little more, spoke about how you should not feel shame, or should not take your lack of experience as a judgement of your worth and beauty, and you felt sufficiently exhausted by the end of the session. When there were about ten minutes remaining, Baelor paused and looked at you with that serious expression again. 

“I’d like to propose something. I do not need your answer now, or even during the next session. Take as much time as you would like to deliberate, ask as many as you would wish, but please do consider it thoroughly. I think you may benefit from a more intimate approach to this. Your worries about your lack of experience seem to overshadow much of your other thoughts and I think it prevents you from moving on from some of your other insecurities. I would seriously advise you to consider surrogate partner therapy. I think it would allow you to gain some experience in a safe environment where you can ask questions and learn without feeling any possible judgement for your lack of experience.” He said it all with such a calm face, hands folded in his lap, and you nodded in response, chewing on your lip as you stared right at him, focused.  

“Do some research of your own of course, to gain a better understanding of the concept, but essentially, you would have guided experiences with another person the same way you would with a romantic partner, and you would learn how to conduct it in a real-world scenario. Do you understand?” 

“Um, I think so,” you answered quietly, nodding and chewing on your lip with a small frown as you flicked your eyes back up to meet his. “So… I would like… practice kissing with this person?” He hummed and nodded. 

“You could. You would only do what you are comfortable doing, would go only as far as you wish to go. You could stop at hugging or hand-holding if you wished. It’s meant to be a comfortable environment to help you push past the physical elements holding you back.” You nodded again, glancing up at him with wary eyes. 

“Who… would you be… who would… would it be with you?” You finally got out, heart clenching in your chest. He hummed and nodded, then moved his head side to side a little. 

“It could be. While I am trained, I do not conduct it myself often. I haven’t in many years, and you should be aware of that. There are professionals we could find for you if you would prefer to do it with someone else, but I would be comfortable providing that experience for you if you are comfortable to have me do it.” He nodded again and placed his palms on his thighs, moving to stand up as he looked at the clock and realised the time. 

“Ok,” you sighed quietly, standing up as well and moving to put your shoes back on, slinging your bag over your arm and heading for the door. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.” 

“Of course,” he replied kindly, smiling at you as he waited for you to head for the door before reaching out and opening it for you. “I would hope you do. Take all the time you need. I’ll ask again during our next session but do not worry if you have not come to a decision.” 

You nodded once more, smiled kindly at him, then bid him a quick goodbye before hurrying out of the office, popping your headphones into your ears and trying to sort through the million thoughts running through your head. 

Baelor closed the door behind you, gathered up his notebooks and went to sit at his desk. He began typing up the notes he had taken during the session, adding anything he hadn’t thought of before. He paused for a moment, staring off into space. He hoped this would help you. He hoped you would say yes. 

The weather had gotten a bit warmer, so you ditched the jacket for only a t-shirt during the session. You wore one of those pretty white cotton skirts, the tiered ones that everyone had nowadays and you thought sort of looked like a wedding cake, but again, you wanted to take advantage of the warm weather while it lasted. 

You took your shoes off again before walking on his carpet, this time feeling the plushness between your bare toes, and you sat with your legs folded up and tucked beside you, making sure to keep the skirt appropriately covering you. You wrung your hands in your lap, fiddling with the fabric of your skirt, and only looked up at Baelor in short glances. 

Baelor was a little dressed down too, a plain white undershirt peeking out at his chest under a vibrant electric blue button-down, his usual smart trousers in navy and his shiny dress shoes still making an appearance. He sat down with a quiet huff, bringing his notebook to his lap and tapping his pen on it as he smiled at you. 

“You look rather more nervous than usual. Is everything alright?” He watched you carefully but without expectation and without judgement. You nodded quickly, an innate reaction, then paused, chewing on your lip before looking up and meeting his eyes. 

“I- yeah, I’m fine, but it’s just… I think I’ve come to a decision about… what we talked about last time,” you finally broke out, smiling nervously and letting out a pathetic little chuckle. 

“Oh? That’s good to hear. What is it?” He asked, settling a little more comfortably in his seat. 

“I… think I’d like to give it a go. I trust you, and if you think it could help me then I’ll do it. But…” 

“But?” He asked, raising one eyebrow as he watched you look down to the pillow you clutched in your lap again, picking at a thread by the zipper. 

“I want it to be with you,” you mumbled, looking like a shy, scolded, child. You couldn’t meet his eye as you said it, couldn’t face your own decision despite making it. You knew he had said he would, that he felt comfortable doing it, but you didn’t want it to be that he had suddenly decided that he actually wouldn’t do it, and you would be embarrassed for asking. You didn’t want to see any sympathy in his eyes as he decided to let you down gently. 

“Of course,” he answered gently, and when you looked up, he had that small serene smile on again. “Like I said last week, I haven’t done it myself in many years but I would be willing as long as you were comfortable.” You let out a long breath, sighing and smiling again, nodding quickly in response. 

“Yes, yes, I am. Thank you,” you breathed out, smoothing your hands over the pillow in your lap and finally looking at him properly once more. 

“Right, we don’t have to start right away if that was a worry for you. I won’t force you to jump into anything yet. We can just talk some more today, continue with what we discussed before,” he explained, gesturing with his hands and pen. You smiled again, nodding as you breathed deeply to calm any last jitters you had been feeling before. “But I would like to make one change if you are comfortable with that.” You looked at him with wide eyes, blinking slowly as you waited for him to expand, suddenly feeling tense all over again. “Would it be alright if I came and sat on the sofa with you? Just on the other end.” 

“Oh,” you let out, blinking quickly before shifting so you were right on one end of the sofa then glancing at the other end, the spot he wanted to take up. “Yeah, yes, of course, if you want.” 

He smiled kindly at that then stood up. He was tall. You had noticed it before of course, but now you were sitting down, sunken in a little into the plush cushions, and it made him seem even more imposing. He walked over and sat down on the other end of the sofa, relaxed and without worry. You felt it move under you, shift a little with his weight, and you curled up just a tad more, making sure your feet were tucked under your skirt and wouldn’t go near him. He sighed, slumping comfortably into the pillows, and crossed one leg over the other, ensuring he was at an angle so he could still speak facing you. His legs were quite close to you, and if you reached out with your hand you could place it on his knee. It was odd that you wanted to. 

“Is this alright?” He finally asked, eyes flicking all over your face as you swallowed and nodded, your heart pounding a little. 

“Mhm,” you assented, but your voice was a little higher pitched than usual and he could see you clutching the cushion on your lap a little tighter, but he decided not to comment. 

“Does this make you nervous?” 

“A little, yeah,” you whispered, fluttering your eyelashes at him. Baelor felt a pang of something in his chest but chose not to focus on it, looking instead at the way you settled further back into the cushions and watched him in return. 

“What about this makes you nervous?” He asked quietly. 

“I don’t know. You’re just… very close, and I’m worried that I’ll do something wrong.” 

“What could you do wrong if we’re just sitting together?” He asked without an ounce of judgement. It pointed you toward the absurdity of your thoughts without making you feel bad for it. 

“I don’t know. I guess that’s a good point. I don’t know, I guess I feel like I would sit weird or touch you accidentally when you don’t want me to and you would just instantly be repulsed by me.” You spoke quickly, as if suddenly desperate to tell him everything you were thinking, and he hummed and nodded. “Like, if you were the guy I have a crush on, and you came and sat like this, I would be freaking out. I am freaking out.” 

“What would sitting weird do? Or accidentally touching me? What do you think would happen?” He asked gently, tapping his pen against the notebook in his lap. 

“Realistically, nothing. In my crazy head? You would be repulsed by me and never want to come near me ever again and you would tell everyone that and I would die alone.” Baelor raised an eyebrow at you and you pursed your lips, nodding for a moment before sighing and giggling a little, hot with bashfulness. “I know. I know that’s unrealistic.” 

“Good,” was his simple answer. Then he reached down and patted the side of his thigh. “Stretch out your leg, and imagine you’ve accidentally kicked me.” You looked at him, both eyebrows raising. 

“Really?” 

“Yes. Let’s play out the scenario. Reach out and tap my leg as if it was an accident,” he patted the side of his thigh again, face all seriousness, and waited for you to comply. He looked away to give the illusion of this being anywhere outside of a therapist’s office, and waited. 

You reached out, gentle and hesitant, and lightly tapped the side of his thigh with your big toe. It was barely a touch, just enough to be felt, and he reached down and lightly tickled the sole of your foot. You squealed, jumped a little, and instantly curled your foot back into yourself, staring at him with wide eyes as he attempted to hide a smirk behind his hand. 

“Baelor!” You squealed, mouth dropping open as a shocked laugh punched out of you. 

“Is that not something you would have expected to happen?” He asked teasingly, and you giggled freely, perhaps for the first time since he had met you. He watched the way your face lit up, the way you rocked back and forth a little as you laughed. His chest felt warm at the sight. He was happy to see you happy. 

When you finally caught your breath again, you leaned your elbow on the arm of the sofa and rested your cheek in your hand, looking at him from under slightly hooded eyes. “Weirdly effective strategy Mister,” you responded teasingly, and he hummed and nodded, smiling brightly. 

You spoke for a little while. He asked how you were feeling over the past week, if you had seen your guy again, and you told him how you had been a bit busy with work, how you and him had been texting back and forth but you had been hesitant to accept any invitation to meet up. You still felt too nervous. 

“Why don’t we try something else until the end of the session?” Baelor prompted after a moment, putting his pen down and shifting to sit up a little. You nodded, clutching the pillow to you. “Would you like to hold my hand?” He asked, leaning forward to rest his hand palm up on the seat between you. You glanced down to it, swallowing harshly, then nodded. You reached out, hesitant, and placed your palm on top of his. 

His hand was warm, the comforting sort, like the kind of heat that emanated from a hot water bottle. His palm was soft, but he had callouses here and there, like he used his hands for more than just writing. Did he play sports over the weekends? Did he have a manual labour job at some point? Did he do a lot of DIY at home? You wanted to know all of these things all of a sudden, wanted to know how his hands became the way they were the moment you first held them. 

He didn’t say anything, just watched you carefully place your hand in his. Yours was smaller than his, soft in the way that hands became when one was diligent about moisturising them. Gently, he threaded his fingers through yours, turning your joined hands over so his was atop yours, then turning them back over. He caressed the back of your hand with his thumb, slow strokes, and dragged his eyes up your arm then to your face. 

“How does this feel?” He asked quietly, voice hushed to match the new heaviness in the air. 

“Lovely,” you sighed, holding his hand a little tighter. You had gotten used to it far too quickly. You did not want to let go now. It felt safe, right. “I like this. It makes me feel good. Makes me feel… chosen.” 

The two of you sat there together in silence just like that. You held his hand, and he held yours right back. He softly caressed the back of your hand with his fingertips, watching you shiver occasionally at the silky touches, at the teasing little drags. You could not say anything, and he chose not to. You were hit with the sudden urge to lift your hands and kiss his. You wanted it so much you were blindsided by it. The embarrassment at your own feelings burned in your cheeks and you tightened your grip on him as if he could read your mind and would throw you off in an instant. 

The two of you sat like that until the end of the session, absorbed in your own thoughts, softly feeling each other’s palms. When the clock struck the final possible minute, you quickly pulled your hand back, breathing in deeply and looking anywhere but at him. Baelor smiled, soft and kind, and reached over to gently pat you on the back of the shoulder. 

“I’m very proud of you for taking these first steps,” he said simply, fully sincere. He stood and waited for you to pull your sandals on before opening the door for you. You were still hearing his words in your ears, still feeling all warm and mushy inside because he was proud of you. You had made progress, done something scary and made him proud in the process. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled quietly, but your face couldn’t help breaking into a smile. “See you next time.” 

“See you next time,” Baelor waved once then shut the door when you had disappeared around the corner. He was smiling too. 

“Might I hold your hand again?” Baelor asked, slumped comfortably on the other side of the sofa. He had sat there at the start of the session rather than taking up his seat in the armchair, and you were all tucked up on the other side, watching him. 

“Mhm,” you answered softly, reaching out without hesitance this time and threading your fingers through his. This was the third session where he had asked this, and you were beginning to expect it now. You sat a little closer to him than before, bringing his hand to your lap so you could hold it there, fiddle with his fingers and his rings as you spoke. You hadn’t realised how comforting it actually was to be holding his hand during the session, to have that warm presence just there that somehow made it easier to delve into the darkest and saddest parts of your mind. 

It was a couple sessions later when you initiated for the first time. The two of you sat down, and before he could ask, you gently reached out and said, “would you… would you hold my hand?” Baelor smiled, the kind that shined in his eyes too, and he nodded, reaching out and gripping your hand firmly. 

He wore a dark brown, almost maroon, shirt today, with white buttons. It looked soft, thick like a jumper, but you didn’t think it was wool. You wanted to feel it. Another thought you batted away quickly. 

“Have you become more comfortable with this action, do you think?” He asked, caressing your hand gently with his thumb as he readied his pen to write on his notebook atop his leg. 

“Yeah, I think so. It doesn’t feel so daunting now that I’ve done it,” you answered honestly, smiling shyly at him. 

“That’s good to hear,” he responded, “I’m proud of you for taking initiative.” You beamed again, body alight with the praise, then he slowly unthreaded his fingers from yours and put his notebook and pen onto the table beside the sofa on his side. “Why don’t we move it along again? Why don’t you come and sit right here?” He patted the spot directly beside him, “Right by me.” 

You gulped and nodded, swift and shaky, then slowly began shuffling over the sofa seats. He was smiling softly, encouragingly, and you moved until the side of your thigh pressed to his and you could feel the warmth of his body gently emanating against your side. Your breaths were shallow, too light in your chest, and you attempted to focus on anything but how nervous you felt. 

You could smell his cologne, something cool scented that you enjoyed, that inadvertently soothed you. You kept your arms tucked close to you, your hands clasped tightly together and pressed to your stomach. He was looking down at you, watching you situate yourself back against the sofa, and then he carefully raised up his arm and lay it along the back of the sofa behind you. 

“Would you be alright with me wrapping my arm over you?” He asked then, his voice almost a whisper, and you turned to look up at him. You could see the peppering of white in his beard closer here, could see the occasional little freckle on his skin and the flecks in his eyes that added so much dimension and beauty to them. You nodded because your throat was too thick for words. He nodded in return before moving his arm to come rest along your shoulders, his hand curling around your upper arm lightly. 

His arm was a little heavy, but it was the comforting sort, the kind of weight that made everything feel real and secure. He tucked you up close to him, bringing you in even further so your shoulder pressed into his ribs under his arm and you were practically leaning your entire body into his side. 

You were hesitant to allow it, worried you would somehow make him uncomfortable or put him off, but he seemed determined to tuck you against him, to wrap his arm tight and snuggle you into his side. You brought your legs up, bending them and tucking them against you on the other side to where he sat, and it leaned you even further into him. He hummed a little and you felt the rumble in his chest, the transfer of it into you. 

You breathed slowly, sucking in lungfuls of his cologne, shivering into his warmth. You wondered if he ran hot. He must do with how warm he was. You brought up the hand not tucked against him and carefully splayed it onto his chest, a bold move but one that felt right despite the tremble in your arm. You tipped your head back a little so you could look up at him, and he pressed his chin down to ensure your gazes met. 

“Is this alright?” You whispered, allowing your hand to spread over the soft material of his shirt just above his heart. He nodded, the smallest motion. 

“Of course,” he answered kindly, voice as low as yours, then his free hand came up and began caressing your hair. You hummed softly with pleasure, your eyes fluttering a little. His hand was big and his fingers were careful, threading through your hair and caressing along your scalp. You shivered, full body, and he felt it, smiling a little to himself at the way you began snuggling a little further into him, your limbs beginning to fully relax. You allowed your head to rest against the place where his shoulder joined his chest, your cheek pressing into the material of his shirt and the thick muscle there. Your eyes had closed now and you just rested there in his arms. Eventually he rested his cheek on top of your head, taking soft breaths that ruffled your hair a little. He smelt your shampoo, the lovely scent of it, and allowed his own eyes to be closed. 

“How does this feel?” He asked, the smallest whisper, and you only hummed in response at first, far too busy enjoying the closeness, the softness and the warmth of being in his arms. 

“Really good,” you finally breathed out. “I could fall asleep right here.” He chuckled, low and soft and the motion of it in his body moved through you too, like a baby being gently rocked. 

Then Baelor lifted his head a little before leaning down so he was a bit closer to your face and said, “would you like to sit on my lap?” 

He felt you tense against him, threaded through with steel all over again. He felt you shift back, sit up a little so you weren’t as cradled against him, and your hair brushed against his chin as you tipped your head back, muttering a quiet, “what…”. 

“You can refuse if you do not wish to. I don’t want to push you farther than you are ready for. But if you would like, then why don’t you try sitting in my lap for a little while.” He had that soft patient look in his eyes again, the one that showed gentleness, care, trust, and not one ounce of expectation or judgement. You sometimes wish you could take that look from his eyes and wrap it around yourself like a safety blanket, carrying it with you everywhere you go. 

You chewed on your lip a little, instinctively fiddling with the fingers on his hand, twisting his rings around as you mumbled, “are you sure? I… I might be too heavy.” Baelor’s face softened even further at that, and he gently caressed the back of your shoulder, a warm and comforting pet. 

“Well, why don’t you sit on my lap and we’ll find out? If you are, I’ll tell you.” He paused then, stopping his comforting caress, and he gently brought his hand around to nudge the underside of your chin until you were looking up into his eyes. “Even if you are, that is not a judgement on anything. It does not somehow take away from you, nor signify anything about you. You remain a beautiful young woman.” He could see your eyes go glassy, the way you chewed on your lower lip as it naturally began to pout a little more with your tears. You breathed shakily and nodded hesitantly, shifting forward to get on your knees. 

Baelor placed one hand carefully on your waist, shifting towards where you had sat before to give you a bit more space to bring your knee over. You slotted it into the space between his thigh and the arm of the sofa. When you were straddling him, both his hands spanning on either side of your waist, he looked up at you. You looked concerned, chewing on your lip, a furrow to your brow. Your hands had naturally come to rest on his shoulders, your fingers clutching the strong muscles there a little tightly. You could tell he worked out even through the shirt. 

“Just sit back on my knees for now, hm?” He prompted quietly, watching you nod quickly then rest yourself down onto his thighs. He resisted the urge to caress up your body, to run his hands over your sides and cup your face the way he would do a lover. You licked your lips and glanced up at his face, the worry clear in your eyes. “Is this alright?” 

“Yes,” you breathed out quickly, hurriedly, as if to appease him, and he just raised an eyebrow while waiting for your real response. “It is, I promise. I’m just nervous. I don’t want to do anything wrong.” He nodded, caressing his thumb back and forth over your waist. Your mind honed in on the motion. You prayed he would never stop. 

“What could you do wrong?” He asked, so similar to all those sessions ago, and you almost smiled. Actually, you did, just a little one. 

“Not sure, knee you in the groin?” He chuckled at that, squeezing your waist a little, and shook his head. 

“Hm, realistic, but as long as you try not to, then I think we’re safe. And even if you do, then I’ll know it was an accident, and it won’t change anything. Right?” He nudged, nodding as if to guide your answer. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” 

“Good. It’s alright to be nervous,” he continued, tilting his head back to look into your eyes. “Even in a real situation, many people are nervous when conducting actions like that. It’s perfectly normal. But communication and trust are very important, and the more experiences you have with your partner, the more comfortable you’ll become.” You nodded, blinking quickly as you met his eyes and the small smile he offered you again. 

“Can… Can I hug you?” You asked hesitantly, feeling hot with bashfulness. Why in the world were you so nervous just to ask for things? You wanted to berate yourself, to swallow the words back, but when his smile brightened, as if he was proud of you for taking the initiative again, your brain instantly quieted. 

“Of course, come here,” he slid his hands around to your back, waiting for you to lean forward and tuck yourself against his chest. You shuffled your hips down a little then snuggled up against his chest, fluttering your eyes shut as you took long slow breaths. You tucked your face into the side of his neck, wrapping your arms over his shoulders and pressing yourself right against him. 

You loved everything about this moment. If you were to die now, you could be sure you at least died happy. He was so lovely and warm. Truly, like having the heating on in winter, cozy and soft and… perfect. His smell was lovely too, his cologne something cool-scented. You imagined if water had a smell, that’s what it would be like, clean and smooth. He was strong and muscular, a firm presence under you. His thighs and hips forced your own open wide, and his stomach, chest, shoulders, were all expansive and perfect for you to find refuge in. The place where you tucked your face now, the soft stretch of his neck, was warm and his cologne was stronger there, probably sprayed there just before he left this morning. 

You could feel his beard brush against your ear when you shifted, and you couldn’t help yourself from letting out a little sigh of pleasure. You snuggled a little further into him, eyes fluttering a little but remaining closed as you somehow relaxed even further into his grip. Baelor ran a palm up your back, gently caressing you along your spine, his large hand spanning far. He sighed too, the soft breath rustling through your hair, and allowed himself to rest his cheek against the side of your head comfortably. 

“Mmm, this is nice, isn’t it?” He said quietly, and you gave a small nod, humming softly again. “While I do not claim to speak for all men, I cannot imagine that many would complain at having the comforting weight of a pretty young woman on their lap.” 

You felt your entire body go hot. The flush crept through you, pulsing in your stomach and core, then gently reaching its warmth into your legs and arms, all the way up to your cheeks and ears and down into your toes. You held onto him a little tighter, swallowing down the whimper that wanted to tremble out of you. Hearing him call you pretty might be everything you needed in your life and more. 

The two of you sat like that for a long while, just enjoying your shared warmth and softness. He would occasionally murmur something in your ear, something to speak about or something to remember if this ever comes up in a relationship. The two of you would shift sometimes, just to get a little more comfortable, but it was relatively still and silent. 

When the session was nearing its end, he rubbed his hand up and down your back again and murmured, “you’re a good girl. I’m proud of you for taking these steps for yourself.” Your hands clenched into his shirt, your entire body feeling ready to tremble. Your legs tightened around him, a strong pulse clenching in your core. You felt it searing your insides, in your chest and right through to your nipples. This time a breathy sound left your lips, like a strong exhale, and you were instantly filled with embarrassment at it, curling in on yourself even further. 

But Baelor didn’t say anything, just paused his rubbing and pressed his palm a little harder into your back. You pulled back a little, suddenly feeling too hot, and you blinked quickly at him, your eyes still a little dazed and lost. Your lips were parted, and his own were open just so, soft but quick breaths falling from him. You looked right into his eyes, trembling properly now. His hand came up, caressing over your shoulder, his fingers grazing your neck before he cupped your cheek. His thumb stroked over the side of your face, along your cheekbone and just grazed the corner of your mouth. His fingers were threaded through your hair, splayed along your scalp, and you felt engulfed by him, totally in his control. 

You licked your lips, the quickest flick of your tongue. You would have kissed him if you had any confidence. He watched the motion, eyes flicking between your mouth and your eyes. He would have kissed you if he had any less propriety and control. 

The ticking of the clock signifying the end of session pulled you both out of whatever trance you had fallen into. He glanced in its direction, head tilting to the side and giving you a lovely view of his jaw, and you quickly slid off his lap, falling back onto the sofa beside him before standing and beginning to smooth out your hair and clothes. You felt like you had been caught doing something wrong. You weren’t quite sure why. 

Baelor cleared his throat a little, smoothed his hands down his thighs then stood as well, gathering up his notebook and pen from the table beside the sofa and holding it close to himself. He smiled at you, attempting a comforting look, though it came out a little strained. 

“I would usually sit and debrief with you for a bit but I’m afraid we got a bit distracted. We’ll continue next time, alright?” He asked kindly, watching you nod hurriedly, a bit of a panicked look in your eyes. You had pulled your shoes on again and were clutching the strap of your bag tightly. “Y/n,” he called to you, gathering your attention once more. He reached out and gently patted the back of your shoulder, his smile a little softer now. “Well done.” 

You smiled in return, taking a deep breath and nodding. You looked into his eyes once more, blue and brown, but both soft and comforting. One look there and you could feel your entire chest become smooth and soft and relaxed. You nodded once more and headed out the door, knowing you would be thinking about that moment for a long time to come. 

“I didn’t feel very good yesterday,” you murmured to Baelor, chewing on your lip as you sat curled up in your corner of the sofa. He sat on the other end again, one leg crossed over the other, slouched down as he usually was, notebook on his lap and pen scrawling away. 

When you had entered that day, he could tell you needed to speak. He didn’t attempt to initiate anything, just smiled and gestured for you to sit then sat down himself and waited. You were wearing jogger bottoms and a hoodie today, grey and black, far more colourless than you would usually be. You had toed off your shoes and curled yourself up into the corner of the sofa, barely even looking at him. 

“How are you?” He had asked once you had both settled in, voice quiet and silky in your ear, and you had shrugged at first. 

“I didn’t feel very good yesterday is all,” you murmured, like it was nothing, but he nodded without saying a word. After a moment of silence, you continued. “Some of my friends were going to the beach and I was just feeling like crap about myself. I was so scared of having to wear a swimsuit, of having to be so open with my body that I couldn’t… I didn’t even go.” You shook your head and brought your knees up close to you, chewing lightly at your fingernail and keeping your eyes focused on the floor. You curled your arms around your shins and just kept yourself tucked up, safe, hidden. 

Baelor watched you carefully, the picture of despair before him made his chest hurt. He wanted to reach out and pet your head again, to grip your chin and force you to meet his eyes, to kiss lightly at your face and- no. No he didn’t want to do any of that. He knew that just telling someone they were beautiful didn’t necessarily do anything. You need to learn to believe it yourself. 

“I don’t know, it feels worse somehow. I thought I was doing better. That insecurity hasn’t been that bad in a while. I’ve been swimming and to the beach, but… I don’t know. Yesterday I just felt horrible and I couldn’t… could barely look at myself in the mirror.” 

Baelor placed his pen down and moved to put the notebook on the table beside the sofa. His chest felt a little too tight, and he took a moment to breathe before sitting up properly and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He looked at you for a long while, waiting for your face to smooth out from the pained expression and for you to open your eyes to look at him again. 

“Before I tell you anything else, I want you to know I only see a beautiful person in front of me. Inside and out.” His voice was quiet but full of conviction, and you felt it right in your chest. You blinked quickly, the tears overflowing, wet streaks down your cheeks. You nodded quickly, the hot lump in your throat rendering you incapable of speech, and swiped haphazardly at your cheeks and eyes. You opened your mouth as if to say something then shut it again, pursing your lips and licking your tears off them. 

Baelor took the box of tissues and placed it between you, nudging it gently in your direction. You nodded in thanks and quickly grabbed one to dab at your face and eyes. Baelor cleared his throat and leaned back into his seat once more. 

“I have some homework for you,” he began quietly once more when you looked a bit more settled and your breaths did not rattle through you. 

“Ok,” you whispered, nodding and looking at him with wide, innocent, eyes. 

“I want you to think of at least three things you like about yourself. Real things, things that you can see in yourself. And I want you to tell yourself about those things. Say that you like those things about yourself, at least once every morning and evening until our next session. Alright?” His eyes were firm again, his mouth set in a straight line, and he waited to see you nod before going on. You were hesitant, chewing on your lip and tugging on the strings of your hoodie, but you did eventually nod, glancing up at him in quick little flicks.

“Right, good. I have more though,” he continued, and you smiled a little to yourself. Of course he wouldn’t let it be that easy. “I want you to take some time in the evening, whether it be tonight or tomorrow, to strip down naked, and look at yourself in the mirror.”

You reared back a little, snapping your head to the side to stare at him with wide eyes. His expression did not change save for the slightest raise of his eyebrows. You spluttered a little, curling your hands close to your chest. 

“I don’t think I can do that,” you told him quickly, shaking your head and chewing on your lip again. 

“You can, and you will,” he affirmed, and his tone left no room for argument. You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him you truly couldn’t, but he shot you one look, hard and steely, and you snapped your lips closed once more. You were sure that with that look he could make the entire world listen to what he had to say. So you bit your lip and nodded, and he nodded in return. “Good.” 

You wore a pretty dress this time. Baelor felt… bowled over by it. He had not seen you in a dress yet. Though it did not show on his face, at least he hoped it didn’t, he felt his breath catch in his throat a little. Your hair was mostly loose, a cascade over your shoulders, a few strands from the front pulled back to keep it clear of your face. You looked better than last time, healthier, smilier. You wore something of soft cotton or linen, a wonderful pastel butter yellow, soft and beautiful on your skin. It was a simple summer dress, something pretty and easy to run errands in, and you wore matching ankle socks which made him smile. 

“How are you today?” He asked, resting his arm casually along the back of the sofa. 

He wore a plain white shirt under a black cardigan today, simple and soft. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows giving you a wonderful view of his strong forearms. You felt like a demure Victorian maiden getting hot at the sight of them. 

“Good. Really good. I went out for dinner with him a couple nights ago,” you told Baelor with a bright smile, hiding it a little behind your hand. He smiled too, nodding happily at your pure joy. It was lovely to see again. “And, you know what, if you tell yourself something enough times, you start believing it.” 

“Ah, so you’ve been following through on your homework. That’s good to hear,” he perked up at that, picking up his pen once more and writing something in his notebook swiftly without even looking down at the paper. 

“Mostly,” you told him hesitantly, looking a little embarrassed once more. You fiddled with a strand of your own hair, curling it around your finger and tugging on it gently. 

“Mostly?” He prompted, raising one eyebrow in question. 

“I’ve been doing what you said, picking out three things that I like about myself and telling myself that I like them every night. It’s been good. But…” you cleared your throat then, looking down at your lap as you mumbled, “I couldn’t get myself to do the other thing.” He paused, nodded once, wrote something in his notebook then looked at you again. 

“Did you attempt it?” He asked. 

“Sort of,” you nodded, “I stood in front of the mirror. And I looked at myself. I couldn’t… I couldn’t get naked. And I felt like crying every time I tried to say the words. I did eventually. But I couldn’t look at myself for very long.” You kept your head bowed, staring at your own lap rather than at him. You didn’t want to see his disappointment. You didn’t want to see his brow furrowed, his head shaking, a tut falling from his lips. He of course did none of those things. 

“That’s alright,” he finally spoke, his voice quiet and comforting. He offered you a small smile when you glanced up to his face. “It’s a good start, I’d say.” You nodded in response but found you had nothing else to say. 

Baelor stood up and walked over to the wall of windows. You followed him with your eyes, frowning a little when you noticed the thing he walked toward. It leaned against the wall but was covered in a brown cloth, and when he whipped it off, you realised it was a full length standing mirror. He brought it over to the open space between the windows and his armchair, standing it securely before turning to you. 

“Come,” he beckoned, waving you over with one hand as the other sat comfortably in his pocket. You gaped at him, standing only because your body innately followed his orders. You padded over to him, hands sliding into the pockets over your dress and clenching into fists there to stop the trembling in your limbs. Despite your wariness, you still stood close to him, your arm brushing against his. You were careful not to tuck any closer despite how much you wanted to. 

Baelor walked behind you, carefully placing his hands on your upper arms. His palms were warm and dry against your skin. He looked into your eyes in the mirror, waiting for you to nod to say you were comfortable before continuing. He walked you forward until you were in the centre of the mirror, reaching around to nudge your chin slightly to make sure you kept your head up and your eyes on the reflection. Your face felt too hot. Then he let go of you, not stepping back but not holding on either. The smell of his cologne stayed in your nostrils though, something hot and a little spicy today. 

“Right, look at yourself,” he guided quietly. He watched on carefully, making sure you followed his instructions. He watched you peruse your eyes up and down yourself, something hesitant and a little pained in them. “Good,” he whispered, before carefully dragging his fingertips down your arms. You felt them touch the curves of your elbows, felt the whisper of them on your forearms, and you shivered. He grasped your wrists and pulled your hands from your pockets, placing them at your sides before removing his grip and putting his own hands into his pockets. 

“I want you to look yourself in the eye, and I want you to say, ‘I am beautiful’. Can you do that?” He was patient, so so patient, you thought, and you wanted to do this for him. He probably would have told you to do it for yourself if you had voiced the thought, but you felt it anyway. You gulped, a harsh movement in your throat, and nodded. You met your own gaze in the mirror and trembling said, “I am beautiful.” 

Your voice came out a whisper, hesitant and stilted, but the words were out in the air now. You glanced up in the mirror and he was nodding, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes, and you wanted to bathe in it. 

“Wonderful,” he murmured, “once more.” 

“I am beautiful.” Your voice was more confident now, more firm, and you even nodded a little, standing up straighter. Perhaps if you pretended it was true, it might feel like it. Again he nodded, pacing a little behind you. 

“If you feel comfortable, and only if, you could try taking off your dress,” he broached. He stood just behind you, meeting your eyes in the mirror. You couldn’t feel him per se, just his presence at your shoulder, and you blinked quickly up at his reflection. You wrung your hands together, looking down as you contemplated it. You could do it. You knew you could. You could. 

You glanced up again, nodded, then reached back to grasp at your zipper. Your fingers were a little clumsy, slipping off the small thing, but eventually you managed to grasp on with a blush burning in your cheeks and pulled it down. You slid your arms out of the off-the-shoulder straps and then pushed the dress down until it fell at your feet. 

Your eyes were clenched shut. You couldn’t look in the mirror knowing he was looking at you. You didn’t want to see anything akin to disappointment, to disgust and repulsion, on his face. You did not want to see pity, to see that look that said, “oh poor thing. No wonder no one wants her.” 

You shivered a little at the cool air and crossed your arms tightly over yourself. You were wearing a pair of skin-coloured safety shorts, and your favourite go-to bra. You were not naked, but you felt it. Your breaths shook through you. 

“Will you open your eyes?” Baelor whispered, and you felt him closer now, this gentle warmth at your back. You wanted to shake your head. You wanted to tell him no, that you could not, that you would put your dress back on and sit on the sofa and cry as much as you wanted. But you didn’t. You nodded, and carefully pried your eyes open. 

You looked at his reflection before your own, and he was… he was smiling. His face was open, bright, proud. His eyes crinkled at the corners and his smile was breathtaking. You wanted to hug him. Rather, you wanted him to hug you, to wrap you up in his arms and tell you you were safe and beautiful and everything was going to be alright. 

You shivered once more then looked at yourself. You ran your eyes down your neck, over the slopes of your shoulders and arms. You looked at your bra straps and the cups holding onto your chest, the expanse of your stomach and thighs, the waistband of your shorts and the crinkles of your knees. You looked over it all, and before he could prompt you, you swallowed and murmured, “I am beautiful.” 

He sucked in a breath and nodded, whispering a “good” as you chewed on your lip and nodded too, the tears filling your eyes. Your face crumpled, and you felt a bit stuck. You could not look away, but you wanted to. You could not believe the words you had said, but oh how you wanted to. 

Baelor stood just behind you, this young woman who could not see what he saw, and he felt this desperate sense of urgency inside of him. He wanted to hold your face in his hands, to curl you close and look into your eyes and tell you how beautiful you were. He wanted to whisper it right into your brain, to say it right to the source, to press it into your mind so you were forced to believe him. His breath was too thick in his chest as he looked at the tear tracks begin to shine on your cheeks. He… he wanted to kiss you. Yes, he wanted to turn you around, to wrap his arm around your back and hoist you to him, to cup your cheek and kiss you until you were breathless, until he was breathless. 

Baelor blinked quickly, rubbing a hand over his mouth and looking away. No, he did not want those things. He did not want those things because wanting them was wrong, was unprofessional, was inappropriate, was unethical. You trusted him. You came to him for help and guidance, and he could not want that without betraying everything else. He should… he should separate from this. He should tell you that this could no longer continue, that he was too emotionally invested and it was not healthy for either of you. He should refer you to someone, perhaps pass you along to Rowan in the offices near Ashford or that new therapist from Lys. He should… he should let you g- 

You turned away from the mirror, your hands clutched tight to your chest. Your face had well and truly crumpled now, and you were shaking with your sobs. Without a word, you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his torso and pressing your face to his chest. You cried into the warm shirt there, eyes shut as you shook with your tears. He shushed you gently, his own pain at the sight clenching in his chest. He instantly wrapped his arms around you, bands over your back and shoulders. He tucked you close, his voice whispering softly against the top of your head, his lips pressing gently to your hair. 

“It’s alright,” he soothed, “it’s alright.” You trembled in his grip. “Well done, darling. I’m very proud of you. Well done.” 

Baelor held you tight and continued murmuring softly to you, rubbing one hand up and down your spine as the other kept you tucked up against him. He rested his head against yours softly, feeling you slowly quiet down, allowing his own heart to settle with yours. But when he glanced back up, when he met his own eyes in the mirror behind you, he only saw himself on the edge of a precipice, teetering far too close to the edge, only the gentlest push away from falling off… 

You were sitting in his lap again, sideways on this time, leaning back against the arm of the sofa. You wore a white tank top and a pair of flowy black linen trousers, your fingers fiddling with the drawstrings. 

“Is kissing really that good?” You asked quietly, your shoulders curled in a little. He rested one arm over your knees and caressed the outer side of your leg just so, his thumb running back and forth on your thigh. 

“What do you mean?” He asked, brows furrowing a little as he turned to look at your face. 

“I mean like… is it really that good? People are always making out and stuff… is it really that nice?” You chewed on your lip as you looked up at him, truly seeking an honest answer, and he smiled and nodded. 

“Kissing can be wonderful. Done right, it can be extremely pleasurable,” he informed you, not stopping in his caresses. You nodded, still chewing on your lip, and he waited patiently for whatever it was you clearly wanted to say. 

“The guy I’ve been seeing… he tried to kiss me last night.” You finally blurted it out, looking up at him with wide worried eyes. “We were on his sofa watching a film, and it was really nice. We even cuddled for a bit, and I felt… I felt so good. We were talking about something that happened in the movie, and he was smiling and looking at me, and then he started leaning in, and I just- I panicked, and I turned my head so he kissed my cheek. Then I pretended like I thought that was what he meant to do and just sort of cooed about how sweet he was. I kissed his cheek in return and like ten minutes later I made some pathetic excuse to leave and ran.” You groaned loudly and pressed your face into your hands, shaking your head in despair. “I can’t believe I did that. I must look so crazy and pathetic to him. For the first time in my life I have a guy who actually wants to kiss me and I can’t even do it.” 

“Sh, do not say things like that. We do not call ourselves mean things in this office, hm?” He nudged quickly, grasping one of your wrists and tugging your hand down so he could look at your face. You kept the other hand up for a moment before dropping it too and meeting his eyes. You nodded but didn’t take back your words and he sighed. “There is nothing wrong with what you did. It may have been better for you to communicate openly, to tell him that you weren’t comfortable, or perhaps you didn’t know what you were doing, but there is nothing wrong with avoiding a situation you did not feel ready for. I do not want to hear you berate yourself for it any further.” 

You nodded, sighing and allowing your shoulders to slump a little as you relaxed back against the arm of the sofa. You returned to fiddling with your drawstrings, glancing back up to Baelor’s face every now again. 

“I’m just scared I’ll fuck it up. I have zero clue on what to do. Like, zero.” You looked him right in the eye as you said it, nodding your head as if to emphasise the point. “I know you put your mouths together but after that… nothing.” Baelor hummed in acknowledgment and turned back to you. His notebook and pen were on his other side, carefully out of your view, and he put his pen down once more. He looked up at you, smoothing a hand over your knee as he said, 

“Would you like to practice?”

You blinked quickly, excitement surging in your chest. You bit your lip, hands tightening into fists as your insides began to flutter. Perhaps it was stupid and manipulative, desperate and naive, to have wished for this. You had wanted him to suggest this, had wanted him to want to teach you. You trusted him more than anyone, you had quickly realised, and the evening before had cemented it. You could only tell him these things, could only hope that he would help you with these things. 

“Yes please,” you whispered, the smallest smile on your face as you reached out and softly traced the collar of his shirt. He was wearing another button-up, this one in pale blue, and it was impossibly smooth under your hands. 

“Right, why don’t you straddle me again, like before, hm?” He prompted, shifting a little as you nodded and moved off. You stood just in front of him, your knees brushing his, and you looked down on him. His head tilted back to meet your eyes, and one of his hands automatically came up to rest on your hip. Your breath hitched a little in your throat, that simple touch searing, and you felt everything inside you tighten. 

Baelor’s eyes drifted down over your body as you moved forward, bringing your knee up and into the space between his thigh and the sofa. His eyes traced down over your breasts, heaving a little with your quick breaths. Your nipples had hardened, and he could see them poking out through your bra and the thin tanktop. His mouth watered. He wanted to lean forward and press his mouth right there, to close his eyes and focus on the sounds that you may let out. 

He gulped harshly, forcing his eyes away, and ran his hand down the side of your leg as you brought the other up and settled down on his lap. You sighed softly, running your hands along his shoulders, back and forth, before finally settling them on either side of his neck. You looked right at him now, not bashful little glances but an unabashed stare that traced over his salt and pepper beard, over the strong bridge of his nose, the small freckles that decorated his skin like kisses from the sun. You wanted to kiss each one, to press your mouth more places than just his lips. 

His eyes were bright, colourful, and you looked right into them as you leaned a little closer, moving purely on instinct. His palms traced up your sides, one settling on your hip, the other continuing up and to your neck, then cupping the side of your jaw. You gasped, his grip was firm and tipped your head back just a little. His lips parted as he flicked his eyes down to your mouth. Your fingertips traversed up from his collar and gently touched the warm skin of his neck, the lightest trace, and he shivered a little. You felt it through you, in the places where your thighs touched his ribs, and you sighed breathily, leaning in even closer until your chest touched his and the tip of your nose whispered against his. 

“Will you kiss me, please?” You asked, your voice barely a breath. You were trembling in his grip, and he let go of your hip to wrap his arm around your waist and hoist you even closer, until your core pressed right into his stomach. A small gasp left you. You felt hot all over, tingles turning to flurries in your stomach and chest. He was firm there, and you tilted your hips a little to press your core even harder there. 

“Close your eyes,” he murmured, and you felt the barest hint of his lips against yours. You breathed shakily again, a small sound falling from your mouth, and his arm around you tightened, his grip on your face became firmer, and as your eyelids fluttered shut, he fully pressed his mouth to yours. 

You hadn’t expected to be so… aware. You could feel everything. The tip of his nose pressed into the crease of your cheek. His face was warm and you could feel it against your own skin. You could feel his lashes brush the high points of your cheeks. His hands were searing on your body, somehow hotter now that his mouth had joined yours. His lips were wet, hot, moving gently against yours, coaxing your mouth in small suctioning motions. His beard was rough against your face, ticklish at your chin and cheeks and upper lip, and you almost felt overstimulated by it, torn between pulling away to make it stop and pressing harder into it. You chose the latter. 

A small moan left your mouth and Baelor groaned a little, the sound rumbling through you and triggering another little sigh. Your fingers curled at the nap of his neck, clenching a little in his hair. Your body rolled a little against him, your breasts pressing into his chest and your nipples rubbing into the fabric of your bra. Baelor’s hand slid further back and into the hair at the base of your neck, his fingers clenching a little as a high pitched sound left your mouth. 

He pulled back for a second, not far, just enough for him to be able to push back in again, a little more hurried, a little more fervent. He coaxed your mouth open with his lips, and you gasped, twitching against him at the feeling of his tongue slowly licking into you. Your nails pressed into his scalp, scraping there, and he shivered, groaning harshly into your mouth. 

You pulled back quickly, huffing and heaving in his lap. Your eyes fluttered but you didn’t want to open them fully just yet. You were… overwhelmed. Your heart raced and your hands trembled and you so desperately wanted to dive back in again, to taste his mouth until you died from lack of oxygen. He tasted like the green Extra gum, sweet spearmint, and you hoped you tasted half as good to him in return. 

Baelor looked at you with heavy eyes. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He felt… wild. Yes, that was the word. He felt like a wild animal. He wanted to grasp you by the back of your neck and pull you in again, to devour your mouth, to lick your tongue like a lion with a kill. He wanted to thrust his hands under your shirt and feel along your skin, warm and smooth and simply perfect under his palms. He wanted to know the weight of your breasts, to feel the ripple of your arse against him. He wanted to know how soft the skin of your inner thighs was and how wet your core could get. He wanted to run his fingers there, to press against your clit until you shook. He wanted to taste everything. 

“That was…” you panted, eyes shining and sparkling. He had never seen your eyes like that. They were full of wonder and joy and made him want to kiss you again. 

“That was very good,” he finally broke out, licking his lips and nodding, attempting to recapture a professional tone as he looked up at you. You shifted on his lap, not back or forward, just pressing down a little, and his breath hitched. He hoped you couldn’t feel the situation brewing… 

“Yeah,” you sighed, blinking slowly but still looking into his eyes. “Yeah, it-it felt good.” 

“Kissing can be quite instinctual sometimes,” he told you softly, allowing himself to relax into the sofa as you softened in his arms and nodded, brushing your nose against his without thinking. He caressed your cheek with his thumb, feeling the soft skin there. “You follow each other, listen to what seems to pleasure the other person. It is give and take.” You nodded again, glancing between his eyes and his mouth. Now that you had caught your breath, you wanted to kiss him again.

“Can we do it again?” you asked quickly, heat burning under your skin as you bit your lip and curled in on yourself a little. 

“Yes,” Baelor sighed out just as hurriedly, and then he was leaning in once more. 

Baelor sipped slowly from the crystal glass, his eyes unfocused where he looked out of the windows. He had pulled the curtains back after you left from another session, as if a vampire punishing himself with the sun. But the view was lovely at sunset, and he needed something to look at as he contemplated. He did not usually indulge at the office, but it had seemed necessary and the decanter was calling his name. 

The clinks were satisfying, the stopper, the pour, the stopper again. It was a lovely amber in the glass, expensive even in its colour, and it slipped down his throat like water, hot and smooth. He drank the first glass quickly, one throw back, but was now savouring the second. He rested his elbows on the desk, slumped forward a little as he thought back to your session. 

He was getting far too used to you crawling over to him now, to your sweet eyes as you batted your lashes at him and asked if you could sit in his lap again. He should have started saying no to you. He should have started building that separation back up again. You said you felt comfortable in his lap now, that you really liked it, it made you feel safe and honest. He should have stopped it right then when you had carefully admitted that in a whisper against his neck as you snuggled into him. He should not have wrapped his arms around you and hugged you a little tighter. He should not have pressed his mouth to your hair in a silent kiss and allowed his eyes to flutter shut. 

You were becoming too close, too dependent, and it would not do. It was his duty as a professional to stop this at once and pull away, to refer you to someone else. Not just because you were too dependent, but because his own mind was straying. He looked at you sometimes and found it impossible not to smile. He felt things in his chest that he should not have been feeling as an objective professional. His hands were always tight with the need to reach out and touch you. His lips were always tingling with the need to kiss you. 

Baelor sighed, clenched his eyes shut, and shook his head. He took another long sip from the glass, rubbing a hand over his face. He was not viewing you as a client anymore, and that was the most dangerous part of it all. 

He thought back to the session earlier, to your face, the way your eyes lit up as you spoke about this man you were seeing. 

“It’s been really good, Baelor! Really! We went out for dinner the other night, and he held my hand, and we went for a stroll after and he wrapped his arm around me and I didn’t even flinch. And… and he even kissed me goodbye. It was small and soft but it was a real kiss!” You giggled then, clenching your hand in the lapel of his blazer as you told him all the news excitedly. How odd that he should be happy and sad hearing this at the same time. Your excitement was beautiful, infectious, and he felt proud that you had come so far since your sessions began. He felt proud at having had even the smallest part in building your confidence. But he also felt shamefully jealous of this man, whoever he was, and how he got to do all these things with you. 

“That’s wonderful news,” he had told you, softly caressing a strand of your hair, eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“Yeah… yeah it is,” and you smiled so brightly, giggling a little with your giddiness, and it took an otherworldly sort of strength to stop him from leaning in and kissing you. “I think things are getting serious. I can’t really believe it but… he likes me. Like, he really likes me. I guess I never thought it would happen.” Tears had gathered in your eyes and he had simply held you as you cried, daintily wiping one from your cheek before you pressed your face to his neck again and sighed softly. 

There were a million things he had wanted to say in that moment. He had wanted to tell you that you deserved all the love there was to be given. He had wanted to say that he believed it, that he believed everyone was in love with you, because how could they not be? He had wanted to tell you that… that he loved you. 

Baelor clenched his eyes shut again and drank what remained of his glass before gulping down another. He picked up his pen and quickly wrote at the bottom of the page, “SEND FOR REFERRAL”. He underlined it three times, then slammed the notebook shut. 

You were wearing a red dress. Perhaps it was to torture Baelor, a punishment for not following through and referring you on to another therapist. It was another summer dress, vibrantly red, softly flowing around your shins. You seemed to favour off the shoulder straps, this one having lovely puffy and ruched short sleeves, and he could almost imagine the dress sliding down your body, piling on the floor at your feet. 

You were back to your old positions, you curled up in the corner of the sofa, and him in his armchair, attempting some form of separation lest he get too lost again. But this felt worse somehow, because now he had a clear view of you. He could see your ankles and smooth shins where the dress had ridden up. He could see the goosebumps on your arms and the place where your earring was stuck in your hair. And he could see the way you chewed at your lip, looking at him nervously as if there was something on the tip of your tongue that you were attempting to gather the courage to say. 

“I-” you began, then swiftly stopped. You glanced up at him and then shook your head, bringing your hand up and chewing at the side of your finger. “Nothing,” you murmured, waving your other hand in the air and looking back down to the floor. 

Baelor put his pen down and cleared his throat, waiting until you were looking at him before raising his eyebrows to prompt you into speaking. It was that look, the expectant one, the one that would have even the most disciplined of monks crumbling in their vows of silence. 

“Stop looking at me like that, it makes me want to tell you everything,” you grumbled, scowling a little. Baelor chuckled, shaking his head and sliding his hand over his mouth before resting it there, leaning into it on the arm of his chair as he watched you. 

“You should attempt to do so then,” he answered wryly, raising his eyebrow again as he waited for you to finally become forthcoming during this session. 

“Why are you sitting over there again?” You asked instead, looking back to the spot he usually took up then back to him. He paused a moment, jaw clenching for the smallest second (though hidden well behind the cover of his beard).  

“So I can see you better,” he finally answered, shrugging as if it meant nothing. You nodded, earnest, and he felt a twinge of guilt for the lie. Then you snorted a chuckle. 

“You know what? That makes you sound like the wolf from red riding hood,” you giggled, hiding your laugh behind your hand and looking at him with sparkling eyes. He smirked, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly but unable to hold off his smile at your joy. He much preferred seeing you like this, especially compared to the nervous wreck from moments before. 

You chewed on your lip again when your laughs subsided. You rubbed a hand down your face, shook your head, then looked up at him from under your lashes as you said, “can you come sit here again? I like it better that way.” 

He didn’t move instantly. It was a war inside him, the desperate desire to do as you asked, and the weaker, sensible, side of him that told him to stay put, to tell you that it would be better to remain this way. He could see worry begin to descend in your eyes at his inaction, could see the gnawing at your lip become harsher, and that sensible side of him failed once more. 

Baelor stood and moved over to the sofa, sitting down on the other end and settling his notebook in his lap. Perhaps if he kept his notebook there this time, and didn't allow you to settle on his lap, then everything would end up alright. You smiled a little once he was sat, and he felt it like a kiss on his heart. 

You pulled your knees up close to your chest and he could see your toes poking out from under your dress. You fiddled with your fingers on your lap and glanced up at him one more time before you blurted, 

“I think he wants to sleep with me.” 

Baelor paused where he had been twisting his ring around, eyebrows raising and eyes widening as he met your eyes. 

“Oh,” he breathed out, nodding, pausing to pick up his pen and twirl it around once. 

“I… I think so. Last night, I went over to his place again. We watched a movie, had a cuddle, it was… it was amazing, as usual.” Your eyes were off in the distance, a distracted but warm smile on your mouth. “We kissed, for a while. Like, properly. Like, his mouth went places other than mine.” You felt heat burn through you as you told him, glancing back to Baelor as you pressed a hand to your hot cheek. “He… he kissed down my neck and his hands started moving around, you know, like-like he started feeling me up and it was really nice. He asked me if I wanted to go to his room to get more comfortable. I panicked and said I had an early morning so I had to leave. He’s so nice. He’s like, the absolute sweetest guy ever. I don’t know why I keep lying to him about this stuff but I just feel like if I tell him how scared I am, he won’t want me anymore.” 

Baelor pursed his lips and nodded, writing in the notebook again before looking at you. Your eyes were hesitant, looking to him for guidance, assurance, anything really. 

“Is someone who would be angry about their partner being inexperienced the kind of person you would want to be with?” He asked after a while, carefully enunciating each word. Your eyes widened a fraction, lips parting, and you lifted your head to look at him properly. It should not have been such an epiphany but it still felt groundbreaking. 

“I mean, of course not,” you answered, shaking your head and pursing your lips for a moment. “But I don’t think it’s about that either. In my head, I know he wouldn’t dump me. Honestly, I think it would be the opposite. I think he would be really kind about it all. But the anxious irrational side of my head feels like I just can’t. It’s not about him being nice or not, it’s about me not being able to do it. I don’t want to have the experience with him like that.” 

You glanced up at Baelor with worried eyes. It felt wrong to admit that somehow, that you wanted to be picky and choosy about this when you should just be grateful that someone wanted to be with you in the first place. 

Baelor hummed and nodded again, brows furrowing a little in thought, and you scooted down in your seat a little to watch him. His hair was a little neater today despite his habit of running his hand through it. His beard had been trimmed recently, you could tell now, and the intense desire to feel it against your own cheek hit you so suddenly you went breathless. His lashes fluttered prettily when he blinked, and those eyes, blue and brown, warm and cold, were the perfect reflections of the balance that seemed to live within him. 

“Hm, that is rather tricky. I suppose you need to decide if you want to eventually push through this, obviously not pressuring yourself but working on it until you feel comfortable, to have the experience with him. Or if you wish to break it off and try with someone else.” Though his tone was careful, not unkind, you felt as if it was so final. 

You nodded first, pursing your lips and then pressing them tight together as tears began to burn at your eyes. Your face crumpled slowly and you pressed it to the backs of your knees, shaking your head as you sucked in a wet, crackling, breath. Then you lifted your head and shifted, slowly crawling closer to him until you were kneeling right beside him on the sofa. 

“Can I please have a hug?” You asked, your voice small and watery as the tears continued to pour. You sniffled as you waited and Baelor’s face contorted with pain. He nodded quickly and pushed his notebook to the side, bringing you into his arms. He hushed you quietly, wrapping both arms around you, one hand softly petting the back of your head as you burrowed your face into his neck and shoulder and cried quietly. 

He kept you there until your sniffling quieted and the hand that had clenched at the collar of his button-up loosened a little. You pulled back to look him in the eye, but your faces were impossibly close. You could feel his breaths brushing lightly against your nose and mouth. You reached up with one trembling hand and wiped at your cheek and undereye. Your nose brushed against his lightly, and you blinked once, slow and long. 

“Would you… would you do it with me?” You asked, voice hushed and small. Baelor stiffened a little under you as he attempted to comprehend what you were truly asking. His eyes flicked up from your lips and to your own. His hand stilled on your back. 

“Y/n…” he said your name as a warning, but it sounded far too lovely from his mouth for you to heed it. You rolled your lips against one another and shifted a little in his lap, pressing impossibly closer, until your face was all he could see. 

“Please, Baelor,” you begged, voice soft and breathy. He could feel it almost against his lips, and his eyes fluttered closed at the sound, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed harshly. You begged far too prettily for it to be anything other than seductive, anything other than a punishment. “I trust you more than anyone, especially for this.” 

Baelor’s eyes clenched a little where they had shut, his breaths harsher now. His throat moved again, and you followed it greedily with your eyes, suddenly desperate for it all. Gods, you were hot with want. It was a fire in your core, pulsing hot at the apex of your thighs and in tingling sparks in your breasts. You shifted your hips again, not thinking, not knowing how it dragged you right over his cock, hard and pulsing under his trousers and underwear, how it made him want to bite down on the naked skin of your shoulder. 

“It would not be right,” he finally managed to grit out, his hands coming down to settle on either side of your waist. You worried he would push you away, but his grip on you only tightened, neither pushing nor pulling. 

“You would be helping me, please,” you begged again, your breaths shuddering along his mouth and chin. He wanted to open his lips and suck them in, wanted to swallow everything you had to give. 

“I…” but he could not continue because somehow your mouths were joined together. Somehow his tongue was pressed past your lips, licking strong and wet into the heat there, tasting the fruit flavoured gum you had been chewing on just before the session. 

You moaned into his mouth, small and quiet, but it made everything from his neck down pulse hot and had him dragging you even closer to him. He tried not to hurry as he kissed you, tried to maintain a steady pace, deep and dragging with each movement of his lips, but it became increasingly difficult. 

You felt hot all over, like your skin was touched by the sun, and everything inside you was electrified, sensitive to every breath and graze. His arm was strong where it wrapped around your waist to drag you closer. You were straddling him, the dress ridden up to expose your knees, and the motion of him moving you closer dragged your core right over where his cock had hardened along his leg. You were wet under your panties, slick in a way that moved your lips against each other and lightly teased your clit. Your cunt pressed right into the seams over his zipper and you let out a high-pitched keen, your mouth falling open against his. The drag of it, the pressure right there, it was electric. 

He did it again, grasped your hips in his hands and dragged you back then forward again, pressing down a little more. Again that feeling, that lovely clenching inside you, the wet pulsing and rubbing feeling. He felt your moan against him, your hot damp breath over his lips, and he kissed you again until you were breathless and tingling from the rub of his beard. 

“If we are going to do this,” he finally panted out, pulling away from your mouth to reach up and begin pushing your hair out of your face. “We are going to do it properly, hm?” He nudged your nose with his, making sure you were looking in his eyes when you nodded frantically. “I’m going to teach you, and you’re going to communicate. You’re going to tell me if something feels good, if something feels bad, if something hurts or you want to do it differently. Understood?” You nodded once more and licked your lips. 

“Yes, yes I will,” you hurried out, sitting up and resting your hands on his shoulders. He groaned softly, hands flexing on you, and nodded once. 

“Right, stand up,” he ordered, patting you on the side and watching you quickly scramble off him, huffing and puffing as if you had run a mile. The movement of your chest made your breasts push against the dress and it took significant willpower not to reach out and grasp them. 

Baelor followed after you, standing up to his full height and gazing down at you. Your hair was dishevelled now, your eyes and lips glossy, and your dress had become rumpled and wrinkled. But when you looked up at him with such trusting and expectant eyes, he could not help himself from leaning down and giving you a quick, chaste, kiss on the lips before pulling back and refocusing. 

“Depending on the situation, you may undress yourself, or your partner may undress you. It happens in the moment, and can depend on how fast or slow you are going, but it does not hurt to communicate here either.” As Baelor spoke, his hands went up to his own shirt, slowly beginning to unbutton and exposing the white vest he wore underneath. You stepped closer to him then, licking your lips and reaching out to caress the backs of his hands. 

“Can- can I do that?” You asked, hesitant and small, but he smiled appreciatively and nodded, removing his own hands and instead busying them in caressing the skin of your upper arms and shoulders. You shivered at the feeling. 

Carefully, you undid each button, moving all the way down to his waistband and pulling up to untuck the shirt. You pushed the sides open and carefully touched along his chest and stomach over the vest, feeling the soft material and the firm muscle underneath. He shrugged the shirt off and tossed it onto the sofa, leaving you to gawp at his arms. They were big, thicker than you were expecting and was belied by his shirts. You carefully splayed your palm on one, feeling the soft skin there, and squeezed a little, blushing hot when he chuckled. 

Baelor reached down and undid his belt, pulling it from the loops and tossing it where his shirt was. You gulped at the motion, eyes dragging down his abdomen and to the place where you could see something pushing against his trousers. You reached out and pulled his vest from his waistband as well, gathering the white material up and up until it was bunched in your hands and you could begin pulling it up his torso. You dragged your knuckles up the lines of his stomach, up to the definition of his chest, and held your arms aloft so he could grip the vest and take it fully off. When that too was tossed on the sofa, you allowed yourself free reign, pressing your palms to his chest, to the scraggly hairs there that were the same mix of dark brown and grey. 

You could see freckles here and there too, how his skin had gone softer as he had aged, and you carefully dragged your nails along his stomach. He shivered, huffing out a breath as he felt the scratching down over his stomach and toward his waistband. You followed his happy trail. You had finally felt a happy trail, you thought giddily, and you just allowed yourself to rub back and forth along the hair there until he was reaching down to grip your wrists. 

You glanced up at him then, a new openness and almost-smiling quality to your mouth. You blinked quickly and flipped your hands so you could loosen his grip from your wrists and grab his instead. You brought his hands to your body, gulping as you placed them on your waist. 

“Will you take off my dress please?” you asked, and he nodded, slowly dragging his palms up your sides, taking a moment to just cup your breasts over the dress. Your nipples rubbed against the inside of your bra as he did it, and you let out a shaky breath. 

Baelor hooked his fingers into the neckline of your dress, sliding his fingers out to the side and stretching the elastic so you could pull first one arm out then the other. He held onto the neckline and brought it down, stretching it over your breasts then dragging it down your stomach, over the curves of your hips and arse and then down your legs. Each new inch of skin exposed was another he ate with his eyes, absorbing the details of pores or freckles or marks or hairs. When the dress was at your feet, you stepped out of it and he picked it up, gently draping it on the sofa beside his own clothes. 

He looked back to you, to the white bandeau bra and panties, to the wet spot he could see there that made his mouth salivate. He reached out and placed his palms on your waist again, flat to bare skin, and you shivered at the searing warmth. He dragged his hands up and down your sides, feeling along the skin, heating you up further, and your shaky breaths left from parted lips. 

Baelor leaned down and kissed you once more, that same soft chaste style, then pulled away to nudge his head in the direction of the floor. 

“Lie down,” he ordered, pulling away from you to grab a cushion from the sofa and drop it on the floor for your head. You nodded, getting down on your knees first. You looked up at him, gulping at the angle. He looked impossibly taller like this. You paused there, watching his hands go to the button of his trousers, flicking it open before pinching the zipper and dragging it down. You were fluttering, in your stomach, in your veins. He paused there to toe off his shoes, nudging them off to the side before gripping the waistband of his trousers and pushing them off. 

You watched him as he had watched you, greedily. He wore black underwear, the tight shorts kind that had seams around the bulge area. You could see that he was hard under them, could see his cock pressing harshly against the fabric. You licked your lips, trembling, and watched him bend a little to cup your cheek with his hand. You tilted your head back to look at him, but he bent at the waist and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. You preened at it, going warm in the chest, and shuddered with pleasure. 

He stepped back and held up a finger to you, then moved around the sofa towards his desk. You watched him as much as you could from where you leaned, but you only got a lovely view of the tan skin sprawled along his back and his firm buttocks under the black fabric. He opened a desk drawer, rummaged around, grabbed something, then shut it and walked back over. You traced his legs with your eyes this time, the strong muscles of his thighs, the tight lines that moved up and down from his knees, the black hairs that dusted him all over. 

Baelor placed the thing down on the edge of the sofa and you realised it was a condom, the foil wrapper crinkling a little. You hadn’t even thought about that in your desperation, and you felt a zap of embarrassment through you. Baelor kneeled down in front of you then, cupping your neck on either side and kissing you, licking into your mouth and emptying the thoughts from your head. You ran your hands down his chest, taking comfort from the warm skin. He pulled back, flicking his eyes down to your bra then tracing the band that lay just under your breasts. 

“Do you want to take this off?” he asked, running his thumb over the curve of it, over where your nipple was firm under the fabric and you let out a breathy sound as you nodded. He hooked his fingers under it and dragged it over your breasts, watching them as he raised it up and over your outstretched arms. You shivered, the cool air brushing places no man had ever seen before, and you raised your hands quickly to hide behind them. Baelor didn’t say anything, just reached up and caressed your cheek as you clenched your eyes shut. 

You felt scared suddenly, scared at him seeing such intimate parts of you, parts that you worried would disappoint him. He leaned forward, a soft kiss to your forehead, to your left cheek, to your right, to the bridge of your nose, and when your eyes fluttered open again, he nudged your nose with his. 

“You do not have to do anything. You can put your clothes back on and leave. You can leave the bra on and continue. Tell me how you’re feeling.” You gulped and nodded, slowly moving your hands away and resting them on his shoulders instead. 

“I want to continue. Please. I just… Do you think I’m ugly?” Your eyes were a little teary as you asked it, your lower lip trembling, and his hands tightened on you. His eyes flashed, his brow creasing with concern, and he traced your bottom lip with his thumb. 

“I think you are beyond beautiful. I think you are stunning, and sexy. But I want you to think that too.” He traced his thumb down, watching your lip bounce back into place before moving it down your chin, to the underside of it and down the middle of your neck. Down it went, over your chest and to the space between your breasts, the flat of your sternum. Then the thumb followed the curve of your left breast, pressing into the underside before pushing up and simply feeling the soft flesh there. “Anyone would be lucky to see you in this way,” he murmured, and you shivered. 

Baelor leant down and pressed a feather-light kiss to your jaw. His lips pressed another and another along it until he reached your ear. He kissed under the lobe, a soft spot just behind it that reacted to his hot breath like water on hot coals. He kissed down your neck, big, open-mouthed, kisses that had his tongue pressing out and licking the skin. His teeth gently caught some skin between them, rolling it back and forth before letting it go and kissing down.

You allowed him to push you back until you were slowly being laid down, your head settled comfortably against the cushion. Your eyes fluttered closed as you focused on the sensation of his hot mouth on the plush skin of your breasts and his beard rubbing. You felt his lips close around your nipple, wet, the tightening feeling of the skin there puckering with desire. You felt his teeth tease it, felt his tongue lap against it, felt the air begin to cool the saliva there when he pulled away and did the same to your other nipple. 

Baelor kissed down your stomach, light presses of his mouth to the fluttering skin, and you cracked your eyes open and pushed your head up to watch him. He rubbed his big hands along the sides of your thighs, groping your behind a little, before he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties. 

“Off?” He asked quietly, looking up at you from between your legs. The sight of it, of his blue and brown eye, of his beard, of his mussed hair, all situated comfortably between your thighs and peering up at you had you gulping and pulsing once more. You could feel the slick pouring out of you, hot and slippery, and you felt the cold air there like a kiss. 

He dragged your panties down to your ankles then pulled them off, tossing them onto the sofa with everything else. Carefully, he had you bend your knees, then reached between them to splay his hands on the insides of your thighs, thick fingers spanning the sensitive skin before he began pushing them apart. You shivered and licked your lips but allowed it, following the press of his hands until your legs fell naturally open. 

He gazed down at you, eyes fixating on the flushed and wet skin. You looked soft and damp, dewy and puffy in a way that called to him like nothing else. He could see your clit where your lips pulled apart a little, the swollen little nub begging for his tongue and touch. He could see your hole, fluttering a little where you clenched and unclenched with every pulse inside you, the slick and shiny wetness that coated you. He rubbed your inner thighs once before he looked back up at you. 

“As it is your first time, it’s always best to have some preparation. We’ll start with my tongue, maybe a finger or two before we attempt anything, alright?” He watched you lick your lips, eyes lighting up, and nod quickly. “This goes for the future as well. Foreplay and preparation are essential to having a pleasant time. Some can handle penetration without preparation once they become regularly sexually active, but others need preparation every single time. It all depends on how you feel and what you communicate with your partner.” 

You nodded eagerly once more. Your mouth was full of saliva no matter how much you swallowed, and your skin tingled everywhere. You wanted to tell him to hurry, that you were desperate to feel him now, but that would not do. He was trying to teach you something. It was not his fault that he was also the reason you were so riled up you couldn’t focus. 

Baelor nodded once then sighed as he shuffled down and lay his stomach on the carpet in front of you. He caressed a finger up the back of one of your thighs and you shivered, your leg twitching at the ticklish sensation. He smiled a little and began moving you around, taking one of your legs and draping it over his shoulder before doing the same with the other. Once they were secure, he shuffled forward until suddenly you could feel him breathing against your core. 

You clenched your eyes shut, your thighs tightening around his head, but he just shushed you gently and began blowing softly along your hot skin. You shivered, the cold air caressing your hot slick. He curved one arm around and splayed his hand over your stomach, carefully holding you there. The other hand slithered up and his thumb began touching the soft lips of your cunt. He rubbed the slick into the skin, then separated the lips so he could look properly at your clit. 

He breathed in your small, warm and dewy, and his eyes fluttered shut. He moaned low in his throat then pressed forward, lightly touching the tip of his tongue to your clit. 

He mouthed at you there until you couldn’t tell your body apart from a series of electric sensations. You felt his tongue licking at you, hot rough drags that pushed and pulled at your clit, that made something that was already on fire burn like an inferno. You felt each touch inside you, felt the sparks and the zaps and the tingles like someone was playing the triangle right inside you, hitting the thing that reverberated within you over and over. 

He groaned against you, his rough beard overstimulating the skin of your thighs. He pressed his tongue into your core and the feeling of it breaching your hole sent you into your first orgasm, built too quickly and crashing fast. You clenched your hands into the carpet beside you and twitched, legs stretching and pressing into the floor beside his ribs. He licked you until you were whining then brought the tip of his index finger to where he had just pulled his tongue from. He looked up at you then, lifting a little between your legs to meet your eyes. 

His beard was wet. It shined in the light. The sight of it was orgasmic in itself. His lips were shiny too, and he licked them like he had indulged in a delicacy, like he needed to savour it, and you would have twitched into another orgasm right then. 

“I’m going to push my finger in now. Tell me if it hurts or you wish to stop at any time,” he ordered, and you nodded, your lips parting as you panted. 

Baelor touched your clit softly with his index finger and your hips jerked harshly, a strangled sound falling from your mouth. You would have whined at him that it was sensitive if you didn’t think he did it for that exact reaction. He pressed the back of his middle finger between your lips and dragged up and down, making sure it was wet with your slick before he brought it down to your hole and began pressing in. 

You closed your eyes again and allowed yourself just to feel the sensation. It was an intrusion, and you clenched and unclenched around it. You were warm and wet on the inside too, but it was ten times as much, like a perfect furnace. The texture of your walls was soft and fleshy, pushing and pulling and pulsing, and he pushed his finger to the hilt then dragged it back and forth. 

You felt that hot sparkle inside you again, those waves that increased in frequency until it was a frantic up and down. He held your hips steady with his other hand as you writhed and humped against his hand. In and out, in and out. His thumb moved up and dragged against your clit, taking your wetness and smearing it along the swollen nub until you were whining and moaning from your tight throat, calling his name. He pressed another finger in with the first, watching you writhe a little more at the stretch and burn. He pushed and pulled, panted as he watched you twitch and stretch and cum against his hand. 

This one had been even more intense. It left you splayed out and trembling, melted into the carpet and spinning in the head. You focused on the shadows behind your eyelids, panting and slowly loosening. Baelor caressed your legs, the outside of your thigh and the expanse of your stomach. He watched you carefully, waited patiently until your eyes fluttered open and you were looking at him with amazement. He tilted his head and kissed the inside of your knee. 

“Would you like to continue or stop here?” He asked quietly, his voice a murmur against your skin. You gulped and wet your lips. 

“Continue, please,” you breathed out, and he nodded, bringing your knees from his shoulders and placing your feet on the carpet either side of him. 

He rose onto his knees and pulled down the waistband of his underwear. He dragged it down his thighs then under one knee and then the other. You blinked at the sight of his cock, flushed red at the tip and ready. Perhaps that was your biggest vote of confidence, that he was already hard. Surely that meant you did something right, that he found you even a little attractive. The sight had you both tensing and melting further into the carpet. 

His cock was flushed red and thick, just the right size all over you guessed. It was shiny with precum and as he reached over for the condom, his other hand dragged over it, rubbing up and down once or twice as he shivered. With shaking arms, you pushed yourself up, leaning back onto one palm as the other began reaching out for his cock. 

“Can I touch it?” You asked in a ragged whisper, flicking your eyes up to his. You watched him rip the packet of the condom open with his teeth, and you almost threw yourself at him. Why was such a simple sight so frenzy inducing? 

“Of course,” he answered, shivering when your fingers gently wrapped around his appendage. He was hot to the touch, damp with cum, and softer than you had expected. You weren’t quite sure what you had been expecting, but it was nice. You kept your grip relatively loose, not realising how teasing that felt when you traversed it up and down him. His breathing became ragged, his chest heaving at the light touches you dragged along his cock and down to his balls. You touched the skin there too, fascinated by the tightness there, and he huffed and puffed from his mouth, not wishing to stop you but becoming more and more desperate to be inside you. 

When you had had your fill, you pulled back and leaned on both hands to watch him roll the condom down onto his cock. He did it with practiced ease, slipping it over the head and rolling it down securely. Once it was done, he was quick to lean over you, pressing his mouth to yours. He kissed you, laved his tongue between your lips, rubbed his beard to your chin and cheeks as he pushed forward until you were laying back down and he was hovering over you, his hips encased between your thighs. You could taste yourself on him and his beard, could taste that dewiness as he smashed his mouth to yours until you couldn’t breathe. 

He pressed his weight down on you, your chest to his, your nipples rubbing against his skin and chest hair. Your stomach rubbed his with every heaving breath, and you could feel his cock just touching your cunt. He caressed your cheek with one hand and looked into your eyes. 

“You can say no at any point. You can ask me to stop whenever you wish, to end everything without any consequences or questions. Understood?” You nodded hurriedly in response but you were so close now, so desperate despite your fear and hesitance. 

Baelor nodded once then kissed you as he reached down with his hand and notched his cock at your entrance. He began to push in, groaning into your mouth as your wet heat enveloped him. You felt it press through you, separate places that had always been together. You felt it all the way inside you, heavy and hot and rubbing against those spots that pulsed electricity into the rest of you. He kept a steady pace and kissed you to distract from the discomfort and stinging at your entrance. Your muscles were too spent from the previous orgasms to fight against his cock too much. 

He paused at the end, panting against your mouth. He felt your hands splay against his back, your nails curling into the skin at his ribs. He felt every shift of your hips, the tightening of your thighs over his waist. The place just above his cock pushed at your cunt and rubbed against your clit, forcing it to pulse frantically and send your brain reeling. 

He waited for the contortions on your face to loosen a little, for your panting breaths to slow and the way you clenched your cunt around him to become more steady and deliberate. You ran your hand down his back and cupped his waist, just feeling his skin and muscles. He kissed you again, pressed his tongue past your lips, then began to move. You felt it drag through you, as if pulling the pleasure and then pushing it back in. 

You whined against his lips, head dropping back as your body went weak. One of his hands threaded under your arm and then up to cup the back of your neck, holding you tight to his body as he sped up his thrusts. His other hand held tight to your waist, pulling you up against his thrusts. 

Every motion your body made felt instinctual, involuntary. Every twitch was wrought from the fiery pleasure that pulsed from the drag of your clit against his skin. Every moan was punched from your throat as he thrust his cock back into you, a little harder than before. You pressed your mouth to his shoulder, biting a little when the drags began to push you higher onto the precipice. 

“Baelor,” you moaned, turning your head to begin mouthing at the skin of his neck, kissing and sucking at it. 

He groaned loudly, a low and rough sound in your hair, and his grip on you tightened. His thrusts became quicker, the sound of skin slapping and wet squelching unmistakable now. You whined. The pleasure was a pulse between your thighs. Everything was electric. Your ears were dull thumping rushes. Your fingertips were blunt and twitching. Your nipples taut, rubbing against his chest and zapping your insides with heat. You panted, clenched, pressed into his thrusts. Your fingernails dug into his back, your arms trembling. You trembled entirely. 

And then the wave washed over, your mouth dropping open on a long moan. It covered you from head to toe, warmth and throbbing and weakness. You were spent, a mass of flesh and skin and pulsing warmth. 

He bit down on the side of your neck when he came, groaning loudly and huffing and puffing. He held you tightly as his hips twitched, the last drags of his own pleasure swimming out of him. He attempted to roll off of you, but you whined and wrapped your arms around him, whimpering a ‘stay here please’ at the pleasant weight of him there. He hesitated a fraction, blinked quickly to try and look down at your face, ask if you were sure, but you whined again and pulled him back down and he went with it. 

He hummed softly as you caressed his back, pressing gentle kisses to your shoulder. He murmured little words of praise, how you did so well, how you looked beautiful, how you were utterly perfect. It felt almost like another orgasm, a soft wave of warmth over you, stemming from the whispers that entered your ears. 

When you had finally caught your breath enough to deem your mind coherent, you caressed a hand through his hair and pressed your lips to his cheek for a chaste kiss before dragging them up to his ear and whispering, “thank you.” 

Baelor hummed quietly to himself as he quickly sliced an entire cucumber. ‘Here Comes The Sun’ by the Beatles played softly in the background just over the boiling of the pasta and the hum of the oven. It would be a late lunch, he thought, as he looked out onto the back garden through the sliding doors, to the lovely sunshine on the green grass and the little table set with plates and cutlery and glasses. 

He was in a particularly good mood that day. He woke up rather late, slowly and without an alarm blaring to the bright sunshine streaming through the sheer white curtains. He had rolled out of bed, ambled his way to the bathroom and carefully examined the now slowly fading marks of your teeth on his shoulder, the one purplish bruise just above his collarbone. He pressed lightly on them, thought back to how he had been wearing collared shirts and turtlenecks for the past week, and smiled slightly, shaking his head as he hopped in the shower. 

He was dressed casually, a black polo that Matarys deemed his most ‘dad’ shirt, and a loose pair of jogger bottoms. He ate a quick breakfast over the counter as he put on the tv in the background, and now here he was, finishing off lunch just in time for his sons to arrive. He had more than one reason to be happy today. He loved Saturdays, because they meant family lunch with Valarr and Matarys, and you had a session booked in for Monday which meant he would get to see you very soon. He was almost scared by how much he longed for it… 

“Daaaad!” The door opened and then a long call, surely Matarys returning from his hockey practice if the rustling and banging by the door was anything to go by. “Val’s here too!” 

Baelor smiled brightly, wiping his hands on the dish towel and walking around the counter to head in the direction of the entryway. It was a particularly big day for another reason: Valarr was bringing his girlfriend home for the first time. 

Baelor rounded the corner, a warm smile already pulling at his lips as he spotted his youngest son, his hair a sweaty mop as he toed off his shoes and turned back to speak quickly to his elder brother. Then Valarr, sunglasses pushed up onto his head, wearing a navy blue button down casually opened at the top and a pair of jeans, smiling softly at the girl beside hi- 

There you were, standing in a beautiful navy blue dress, lips parted and staring at him like a deer in headlights. Baelor felt his heart stop beating. Your hair was neatly pinned in a half-up half-down style, the dress was respectfully modest, and you clutched a bouquet of flowers and a candle politely in front of you. Baelor couldn’t get his body to cooperate. Your hands began to shake, your lips parting as you stared up into his mismatched eyes. Valarr rubbed the small of your back gently looking between you and Baelor, his smile a picture of restrained excitement. He had been telling you non-stop how excited he was for you to meet his father. 

“Dad, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Y/n.”

“Ha..” The nervous laughter died on your tongue, anxiety creeping into your stomach where bile threatened in your throat.

“He is rather a diligent beast in his old age..”

It had been weeks since the announcement of your betrothal. Conversation, courting, cohorting with people politely even though they inspected every single thing about you though they had known you all of minutes. But the Prince was kind, the royal family as welcoming as they were generous in their offer for you both to wed. And beyond all new worlds, you had been taken with your intended.

He walked you through the gardens, listened intently to every word and ramble you had to say, and his eyes never quite seemed to leave you. He had sworn to you for this to be your choice only, for it to be a marriage of happiness and a vow he would make to protect and cherish you always.

Though there was one thing, one you had strayed from the very moment you had set foot in King’s Landing.

Facing the dragon.

You were surrounded by them, indefinitely, but that was something else entirely, something only very few were gifted to witness up close.

It seemed like a cruel twist of fate, and by the prince of the gods you could not decide.

Once it was said that such an offering, such an intimate moment was the true binding of dragon blood. That the dragon was apart of their rider as they were it, and sharing such with you was something special, something chosen.

You should have been swooned, should have been.

“Here, take my hand..” He held it out for you without hesitation, fingers flexing in the air as they waited for yours patiently. You reached out shakily, inching closer until his own had swarmed your hand.

Long fingers curled around yours gently, warm and tender as he guided you both forwards, every step closer.

The Dragonpit was dark, an open mouthed cavern large enough to house many dragons of all different sizes, supposedly once even Balerion the Black Dread.

Though Vermithor was not quite the size, he was large enough, the huff of his nostrils with every breath enough to knock you over. His scales gleamed golden in the low light from the sky above, twinkling in your eyes as he lowered his head from the darkness.

“Breathe.. there is nothing to fear. But you must be calm, he does not need to mistake you for—“

“Mistake me for what?”

He smiled flatly, shaking his head as he watched you grimace about to pull away but he caught you. It was not forceful, but balancing, evening out your steps as you both continued forward past the point of no return. He was inches away, a stretch of fingers alone, and by some of the Gods grace you had held out your hand out in front of you.

Prey.

The realisation startled in your mind as you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing as a warmth pressed into your back, the hand in yours slowly rising over your knuckles.

“Here like this..”

Many would have remarked at the sight, the crown Prince and his betrothed in the dragonpit, but it was mere innocence, curiosity even. And even you could not help yourself from allowing it to happen. It was not an ordinary thing to see a dragon up close, much less touch it.

The skin was rough, like the calloused hand that pressed over yours, smoothing over the skin just between his mouth and eyes. Darkened slits dilated and retracted, watching you and his rider expertly.

He eased after a moment, a large huff exhaling through the beast all at once. You felt yours ease too, despite your heart still beating heavily.

“See, there is nothing to fear.. I should think he quite likes you.”

You chuckled into your other hand, opening your eyes as much as you could manage.

“He is a dragon.”

“And he feels as we do.” Baelor replied carefully, reaching his fingertips beyond yours to touch the dragon himself. You gazed back between you, melting into the warmth of his chest to find his closed, only for a moment, a sharp inhale and exhale coming from his nose.

Almost as if they had been communicating in their own way. Nonsense.. but you ate those words altogether.

A moment passed, and mismatched eyes found yours, softening with a small smile, though mischievous at its edges.

“Perhaps you’d like to ride him?”

“What? No.. I would not.. I couldn’t..” You stumbled out, tensing in his grip as he chuckled, that piercing gaze as serious as it had been. But your protests fell on deaf ears, two hands instead cinching at your waist and carrying you in his arms.

Vermithor rumbled at that, a higher pitched sound echoing from his stomach.

Almost like.. agreement.

You gripped your way up the ropes as you had set down into the saddle, widening your legs over the sides of his body that reached further than you managed to see. Baelor settled behind you, clasping together rope and steel as he came.

He settled a hand onto the rough skin by his boot, soothing and signalling, and speaking in words that you could not understand, but the warm brush at your ear calmed you somehow.

“Lykiri vermithor, gūrogon sȳz care hen zirȳla.” Calm Vermithor, take good care of her.

His chest pressed into your back, clasping tightly around the reins that seemed far too small for the size it carried. But he must have checked it fifty times, eyes darting cross every entryway. Heavy echoes sounded throughout the cavern with every step and heavy gust that began to cast at the sides of you. Baelor’s arms fell at your sides, just as wings began to pick up startling forward a they caught in the air. Arms clutched you tightly and you held onto them, for dear life.

“Are you certain about this?” You whispered on bated breath.

“More than anything..”

Meleys, he had called her, though you supposed it had long been her name from the legends of her previous riders. A beautiful ruby red she was, with horned crowns of three at either sides of her head, beautiful indeed, in the most terrifying way.

“She cannot reach you from there you do realise.”

He muttered whilst tugging his gloves away, shoving them into the pocket of his doublet as he glanced your way. Maekar had stepped out into the walkway, lit only by the open mouth of the cave, hundreds of feet into the air, just below the sky. And though he had asked to escort you, you had hoped it would be a turn about the gardens, or something rather placid and gentle, not this.

Your fingers remained curled around the brick of the archway into the cave, sand and grit planting at your slippers where you pressed the tightly to the ground. Smoke filled your nostrils just as it consumed the air, dragon smoke.

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

He tutted, deep and nonsensical at your sarcasm, though it was the truth, none of it had felt safe, not when you saw the great figure behind him.

“Come here.”

He called incredulously, though careful, extending his hand out as he stepped once toward you, as if to reach the large gap at once. Anxiety swirled in your head, your eyes focusing onto the silhouette moving through the darkness when a hesitant laugh escaped your throat. You stuck your hand out anyway on shaky breath stepping into the dim light.

He caught yours before you could fully reach, tugging you closer gently, just into his shoulder as violet eyes pierced yours, properly this time, and somewhat tenderly.

“She will not harm you.. I wouldn’t let that happen.”

You believed him, even in his gruff straight words, the look had had given you was nothing short of meaning. A screech rippled the air, low and eager, as he moved you in front of him, patterning your steps as he walked you every step closer toward the edge of the rock and toward the beast.

Your steps failed you, slowing every inch you closed in, your eyes squeezing shut as you attempted to fall back into the heavy press of muscle at your back. He stayed vigilant, huffing as he continued on, rather you both.

“Like this..”

Long fingers curled around yours, spreading them wide beneath his own as your arm extended with his. Tough crimson scale met your fingertips, jagged where you flattened your palm, feeling just above the curve of her mouth.

“Breathe.. unless you want to get eaten?”

“What?” Your hand retracted nearly as fast as your head spun, but he caught it, pressing it back as not to alert her.

“Seven.. it was a jest.. but you must calm, else she’ll startle. She may be a crone but she is still a battle worn one.”

Meleys huffed at that, just as he did it back, the remnants of a laugh escaping his throat as his eyes shut for a moment. You had caught it, just by a glance int your own panic, and the way his features seemed to ease even for a minute, his brow fell, his lips flattened, and for once the stern prince seemed.. relaxed.

As if their connection was stronger than what you knew it to be, it was communication.

“It seems she’s ready now.”

“Ready for what?” Your head snapped up, warmth spreading fast at your fingertips along her skin.

“To ride. She accepts you. Come on..” He pulled you with him, just as you protested the words circling in your ears. A ride.. in the sky, with him?

Nonsense.

But he gripped you all the way, fingers curled around your hip and the long fastened ropes that bound her body to the saddle. You eventually relented, stepping up every rig and knot of the wrappings until you had settled your legs either side, draping down to the endless cavern below.

She was warm, a deep rumble sounding throughout her body as a deeper warmth carefully slotted at your back.

“Are you certain this is safe?”

“I wouldn’t bring you if it meant danger.. I intend to keep you safe.” He replied, wrapping both arms at either of your sides and in front of you, where your hands tightly gripped the saddle.

Intends to.

His eyes fluttered as he blinked at you blankly, reading more than what he let on. And you wondered just exactly what.

But to Maekar he had already decided, even if he had not pronounced every vow and chivalry in the book like many would have, having you in his arms meant much more.

“you would call treason upon your own son?” you huff, finding the situation more humorous than it should be as you cradled the chubby babe to your breast. he was too preoccupied latching onto you and puckering for milk, oblivious to the mock disdain his father was currently displaying towards him. ridiculous, truly, but you never were one to call out aerion’s dramatics outward, instead sitting back and watching keenly as your husband fussed and snapped his teeth in search of your attention, hoping to garner it.

away from his own son. even now, having the heir he most ardently wanted, healthy and nursing from your breast in contempt, aerion still was not entirely pleased. still wanting to possess and monopolize every bit of it.

“i would,” he responded, lip curled lightly, even as he made his way towards the plush bed, where you and the babe were lounging, surrounded by pelts, pillows, and blankets. it was aerion’s order, for his wife and son would not want for nothing and receive every bit of comfort there is, at any hour of the day. “it is the greatest offense to steal one’s wife,” aerion continued, a frown now marring his handsome features as he slid under the blanket, molding himself to your back from shoulders to ankles, hooking his around yours. “more so a prince’s of the realm. a dragon’s.”

you had half a mind to contain the laughter that was bubbling in your throat at your husband’s words. he would rather take a spear to the heart than openly admit to missing you, to inquire you offer your consideration and affection to him, too. so, instead, he would find every which way to demand it, one more nonsensical than the other. it was confusing in the early stages of your betrothal, with all the fussing and squabbling, but over time, it slowly bloomed into unadulterated fondness, making your heart flutter.

your husband had always been a greedy man, wanting nothing else than to hoard everything he deemed worthy of him, like a dragon with its shiny treasures. most endearing, truly, but you would never relay that little thought to him, for you know aerion would show his teeth at any diminishing praise from you.

“he is not stealing anything,” came your soft protest, your lips twitching with amusement as you felt aerion’s arm curl around your waist, holding you tightly pressed against his chest, fingers spreading to encompass as much of your belly as possible, just to feel and paw at the clothed skin. “you know babes need all the care and vigilance from their mothers,” you lilted, before adding pointedly, leaning back against him. “and fathers.”

he scoffed, the puff of air brushing against your nape, where your husband was currently nuzzling, face tucked against your skin as he mumbled. “he needs too much,” aerion protested, the fingers on your belly pressing in, kneading at the pudgy skin, similar to a cat kneading. “he takes too much from you,” your husband continued, words slightly muffled by his incessant nosing against your neck, breathing you in, the smell of warm milk and motherhood drawing him in like a moth to a flame.

you didn’t respond, only huffing, your attention drawn to the peaceful babe in your arms, as one of his little hands patted at your breast, fingers curling onto the skin as he nursed. your expression melted, heart soaring with so much love and affection for the bundle nestled at your chest. you and aerion’s bundle. the most important thing in the world to both of you.

“even now, his greed knows no bounds, wife,” aerion complained again, chin hooking onto your shoulder, cheek pressing against yours as he watched the way his son suckled at your breast, content and unburdened, the corners of his little mouth smeared with milk as he cooed softly the more he nursed. “he’s been feeding for what feels like forever,” he pressed on, brows furrowing, making you stifle a soft snort of laughter, which only made your husband scowl. “and you seem to find my predicament highly amusing.”

of course you did. having your husband close to pouting over not receiving enough attention from you was prime entertainment when one was so swamped by the intricacies of motherhood.

“maybe just a little bit, my love,” you spoke, turning your face until your nose bumped against his cheek, wanting his gaze on you, urging him to meet your eyes. “but he needs it,” the words only make his frown deepen as he peers at you, lip curling in distaste. “how is he to grow into a strong dragon if he doesn’t feed, hm?” you wonder, but it’s all placating, wanting to coax out your husband’s agreement by using his own pride against him.

since before the babe was even born, all you heard was your husband proclaiming that his son was to be the strongest dragon. an exemplary targaryen. the one who would mount the world and bring renown to the family name anew.

and now he dared to complain when you were aiding his dreams to come true? feeding and nurturing his son to your breast as many times as the babe fussed, even in the dead of night, bone—tired with exhaustion.

he only sneered lightly, leaning in to brush your noses together, eyes half lidded with intent as he watched you. the frown between his brows eased just a bit when he saw your gaze being trained on him steadily, no longer on the babe. “he’s being a greedy little dragon, then,” your husband mumbled, not ceasing his nosing, pressing closer so his lips brushed against your cheek. “seizing all your attention and love for himself, while i am left bereft without my sweet wife's tending.”

your breath hitched from his words, and even more so when his tongue flicked out to taste the corner of your mouth, needy and insistent, pupils blown wide, eclipsing the purple of his eyes. he only looked at you like that when he wanted to have you, which was more often than a proper lady would want to admit. but you never minded. you loved being wanted by aerion. it felt exhilarating to be caught under the sheer intensity of his gaze; a predator prowling his next prey, a dragon circling his mate before giving into ancient instincts.

“you are being dramatic to a fault,” you accuse, breath thinning into soft puffs as your husband’s lips trail towards your jaw, peppering the curve with wet, lingering kisses, willing to make you falter. “we sleep in the same bed every night, and have supper—”

“and it is not enough,” he interrupts, pressing one last kiss to your soft chin before nudging your noses together anew, lips brushing as he spoke, tone low. “i haven’t bathed with you in moons, wife,” your husband reminds you, eyes sharpening in reprimand, as if you have committed a grave sin and must now repent. “haven’t had you cheer me on when i joust at tourneys, bestowing your favor upon me so i can come back victorious.”

he spoke truth, and you knew how much aerion cherished those moments, even if never said out loud. his eyes always sought out yours when he jousted, preening under your watchful gaze, pea-cocking only for you, especially when he won. the baths you missed as well. having the whole bath-chambers to yourselves while you washed each other, letting your hands linger and steam warm up your skin when ultimately your husband became too impatient not to have you against the tub, slick bodies moving languidly until you both came, tongues tangled and nails biting into each other’s skin.

aerion missed you.

the thought made you smile against his mouth, a secretive, fond thing, humming as you leaned to peck his lips, pleased to see him chasing your mouth when you drew back. “you know it was hard for me to move much, my love,” you whispered, lips touching as you spoke. “our little dragon demanded my rest more often than not,” a little smile in the corner of your mouth as you continued, offering another kiss, which aerion soaked up like a man starved, inhaling sharply through his nose as he meant to prolong it, but was denied. “and now look at him. chubby and cute as a button,” you paused for a moment for your husband’s gaze to clear from the brief haze of want, before murmuring. “healthy.”

aerion’s expression seemed to ease, chest heaving just so as he watched you, stagnant for now, as if acclimating to your words, to their meaning.

he sighed, moving closer, eyelashes fluttering as a long sigh parted his lips, brushing against yours as he murmured. “healthy,” aerion repeated, tone dipping into reverence. “you have given me a healthy, strong babe,” he continued, tipping his chin to slot his lips with yours, making you gasp softly. “a miracle.”

the words were poured into your mouth, aerion’s lips firm but slow against yours, coaxing you to reciprocate, to let him reward you for the blessing you brought into this world, for the pride that swelled into his chest every time he looked at his son, for all the days and nights you ached and wept from the pain of pregnancy. for his son and heir.

you couldn’t help but melt into his kiss, forgetting for a moment about the content babe suckling at your breast. oh, how you have missed your husband, even if he had kissed you plenty today. aerion couldn’t tolerate the absence of your touch for too long. it was like an itch under his skin that he couldn’t scratch, quieting only when your bodies touched, when he tasted your lips, when he felt your warmth seep into him and make a home in the marrow of his bones anew, simmering his blood.

“my good wife,” aerion crooned against your lips, his tongue swiping to lick greedily into you mouth, tasting you fully, swallowing the quiet moan emitting from your throat as he brushed the roof of your mouth and traced the ridges of your teeth. “giving me so much,” he murmured, tone shifting to a pleased rumble from deep within his chest the more he talked. “making me so proud.”

“aerion—,” his name slipped unbidden from your mouth, but it sounded muffled as your tongues tangled wetly, your husband relentless in his conquest of your mouth, coaxing your lips wider for more leverage, groaning when they gave away, lax and pliant for him to do as he wished with.

he was kissing you like he hadn’t in years, his lips wrapping around your tongue and sucking lewdly, eyes fluttering open just enough to watch you, to let his gaze feast on how debauched you looked as you allowed him such indulgences. as you let him slowly move back and forth, taking more of your tongue between his lips before drawing back until only the tip remained, just to repeat the salacious motion, making you whine from how wanton it felt.

“aerion—,” you tried again, half—moan, half—plea, eyes hazy and soft with pleasure, the word coming out garbled from the way he was still leisurely suckling on your tongue, growling in annoyance when you meant to draw back. his gaze was sharp as he gave one last, long suckle, leaning back, just enough to let you speak, your lips still brushing.

“do you not wish to—”

“w—we can’t, my love,” you hoped your tone was apologetic enough for him to let you continue and not dive back in to claim your mouth. “the babe—”

he scoffed, gaze drifting towards the bundle tucked against your breast, still nursing, but slowly drifting towards sleep. the little glutton was still going strong, puckering for more, milk—drunk even though his eyes were half—lidded with slumber and satiation.

you could see a myriad of conflicting emotions flit onto your husband’s features, only to relent moments after, a frustrated sigh leaving his swollen, spit-slick lips from how eager he had kissed you prior.

aerion turned, leaning in to press one last firm, lingering kiss to your mouth, letting his tongue swipe at the seam of your bottom lip before tipping back. “later,” he muttered, thick with unspoken intent. a promise.

you huffed, wanting to protest, but were rendered silent by the way he settled against you, still molded to your back, arm tight around your waist, holding you cuddled into his chest, his chin tucked onto your shoulder.

it made you relax, a small smile quirking your lips as you held the babe closer against your chest, lifting his body just a bit so your husband could easily see him without having to dip his gaze down too much.

“later,” you parroted, and felt your heart flutter when a pair of lips brushed your temple moments later, as if sealing that promise in place.

Now he sat in the booth near the back of the club looking exactly as out of place as expected. One arm slung over the backrest behind you, his light blue eyes lazily scanning the crowd, glowering. 

You thought he looked unfairly attractive beneath the dim club lights, which is why you kept looking back at him. And every single time, his gaze was already on you.

“No excuses!” Rowan yelled suddenly, as the waiter brought shots at the table. “It is my birthday. You are taking a shot and then dancing with me!”

You laughed as she shoved the tiny glass into your hand.

“Rowan-”

“Drink up, please!”

You drank it, because you would not refuse our best friend. Instant regret burned down your throat.

“Eugh, that is disgusting.” You coughed.

Rowan was already dragging you toward the dance floor. You barely managed to press a quick kiss to Maekar’s lips before being stolen away.

“I will be back soon.” You promised.

He only grunted, his hand briefly squeezed your thigh before letting you go.

So now you were laughing, dancing under the lights with Rowan, both of you half shouting lyrics at each other. Song after song blurred together, hair slightly messy, cheeks warm from drink, your entire body pleasantly buzzed with alcohol.

You were having fun, and you were radiant.

Maekar was watching every second of it.

And the whole time he did so, he noticed the way men kept looking at you, how their eyes roamed your body, how they wanted to get close to you. One tried speaking to you. Another danced too close, your back nearly brushing against him before Rowan shoved herself between you with an annoyed glare.

Hells, Maekar hated every single one of them instantly.

He recognised Duncan from Baelor’s team joining you briefly, and even that irritated him more than it should have.

Because you looked too good tonight. That soft little black dress he liked on you suddenly seemed far more revealing beneath club lights. Your smile was brighter, your laugh carried and drew attention far too easily. 

Raymun noticed the murderous look from across the table and looked out to the crowd.

“She is just having fun.” He said carefully.

But Maekar did not answer, because a man approached you. Tall and smug, his hand immediately settling at your waist.

Maekar’s jaw flexed, nose flared.

“Fucking hell, he is scary.” Duncan said, sitting at the booth. 

Raymun snorted. “I almost feel bad for the poor bastard when he gets to him.” 

Across the room, you said something at the stranger and rolled your eyes, pushing him away. Then your gaze lifted, catching Maekar’s eye. The man barely left you alone, still hovering around you, and instead of coming back to him like a sensible girl, like a good girl, you smiled.

A bratty little smile. A smile that said you were fully aware of exactly what you were doing to him. 

Then Rowan twirled you again and you threw your head back laughing.

The glass in Maekar’s hand hit the table with a loud clack. Placing both hands on the table, he rose from the booth without a word. He moved through the crowd with terrifying calm, all broad shoulders under the sharp black shirt, eyes fixed entirely on you.

You were his, and his only. The sight of another man touching you made something ugly and possessive curl low in his chest.

Meanwhile, you looked delighted to see him.

“There he is!” You announced happily when he stopped in front of you. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing a kiss at his jaw. 

“For fuck’s sake….” He said over the music, his hands at your waist firmly. “You are going to be the death of me…” 

He sounded so exhausted by it all, it made you giggle.

The stranger hovering around you immediately stepped back. Maekar looked at him once and that was all it took. The man mumbled something about getting another drink before disappearing into the crowd.

You pouted dramatically, as Rowan laughed at the scampering man. 

“You scared him away.”

“Yes.” His voice was flat.

You swayed slightly in your heels, smiling up at him with flushed cheeks. 

“Thank you.” You said, pressing a kiss at his cheek. “He was being annoying.”

Maekar exhaled slowly through his nose, like he was trying very hard not to lose his temper.

Before he could say anything, you said: “I need air.”

Outside, the cold night hit your warm skin instantly. You laughed as Maekar guided you with one hand steady at your waist, your coat over your shoulders.

“You have had enough.” He said.

“I am fine.” You giggled.

“You are drunk.”

“I am tipsy.” You corrected him with a grin.

Maekar just stared at you, before sighing heavily.

“We are leaving.”

“No!” 

The answer left your mouth instantly.

His eyes narrowed. That was a dangerous answer. You knew it, he knew it.

“Do not make me repeat myself.”

You leaned closer conspiratorially, fighting another smile.

“You know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think you are being jealous.”

“I am jealous.”

The blunt admission startled you, your smile faltering for a second.

Maekar stepped closer until your bodies touched. His hand settled against your lower back, pulling you flush against him. 

“I am jealous.” He repeated quietly, eyes burning into yours. “Because every man in this room has spent the last hour staring at you.”

Heat curled low in your stomach. 

“Maekar-”

“They asked you to dance.” He continued darkly. “They hovered around you, while you stood there like you had forgotten who you fucking belonged to.” 

A shiver ran up your spine. Gods, you loved when he sounded like this, possessive and barely controlled. You tilted your head, warmth spreading across your face.

“Maybe I wanted to make you jealous.”

“That fucking mouth…” He muttered, pulling you against his chest. “Is going to get you into trouble.”

“Hmm… I do not think so.” You teased softly. “You like my mouth too much for it to be in any real trouble.”

His eyes darkened instantly. 

“You enjoy testing me.”

“Maybe.”

“Brat.”

The word should not have sent a jolt straight to your core, but it did. You smiled softly, fingers smoothing over the front of his shirt. 

“You came all the way across the club because some boys were talking to me.”

“I saw one put his hand on your waist.”

“Oh no!” You widened your eyes dramatically. “Was he touching something yours?”

Maekar’s composure finally cracked. His hand slid to your waist possessively, fingers digging in just enough to make your breath hitch. His other hand caught your chin firmly, tilting your face upwards to him. 

“Yes.” The answer came instantly.  

“You are mine.”

Your lips parted in anticipation as his lips were a breath away from yours.

“And you would do well not to forget that.”

And then he kissed you, hard.

It was the kind of kiss that stole breath immediately.

He pressed his hand against your waist as he pulled you closer, mouth moving against yours with something dangerously possessive beneath it all. You melted into him with a soft moan, fingers gripping the front of his shirt tight as your head spun pleasantly from both the alcohol and him.

He kissed you like he needed the entire world to be reminded that you were his.

Like he needed you to be reminded, you were only his.

When he finally pulled back, your lips tingled, your cheeks warm as you looked up at him with that slightly dazed, unfocused expression. He knew that look, and he loved that look so much it made his chest tighten. His expressions softened for the briefest moment, as his thumb lightly brushed against your jaw.

Then it immediately hardened again when the club door opened behind you and drunken laughter spilled outside.

“Let’s go.” He said, steering you towards the exit. You stumbled slightly, laughing the entire way to it.

And Gods, he tried so hard not to soften at the sound. But then you reached for his hand with that tipsy, happy little smile, and his grip tightened around yours immediately.

Like he had no intention of ever letting go.

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