There wasn't much that was able to settle the dreams that ailed him, except a good arbor red and the occasional dreamwine. That is, until, he tastes you.
ft. daeron x whore!reader
genre/warnings: prostitution (obviously), crying, mommy issues, no use of y/n (honey as a nickname), 69, sub!daeron, overstimulation, face sitting, oral (f and m receiving), bush lover!daeron, silk fetish, mentions of grooming, mentions of familial rape, mentions of underage sex and mentions of daeron seeing his parents have sex. song at the end is hildegard von bingen - favus distillans.
wc: 7.5k.
not proofread.
"Oh, fuck." Daeron groans, his hand reaching up to push his sweaty locks away from his forehead. "So loud."
"It's a feast," Aerion snorts. "It's going to be loud. If you don't like it, fuck off to your chambers, brother." He slams his goblet onto the table, only making the pounding in Daeron's head get louder.
The elder groans again, scrunching his eyes. Part of him hopes that if he tries hard enough, he could will his brother away with his mind.
The hall was filled with lords and ladies, the whole spectacle arranged as a marriage mixer. Apparently, noble houses across Westeros had gathered to negotiate alliances and secure matches for their sons and daughters, each hoping to earn favour, power, or secure their family's standing for another generation.
Daeron isn't entirely sure why he or Aerion got an invite, or why their father insisted they go, but he sensed it mattered, some silent test or reminder that he was expected to shape the family's legacy with every move. Expectations hung over his head like a sword, sharp and ever-present, the urge to rebel clashing with the heavy pull of duty.
Sometimes he resented being a pawn in their family's endless strategies, even as he understood that he was more than just a son—he was currency to be spent for power, favour, or a tenuous sort of love he was never sure he'd earned. Still, maybe he’d only been brought here to give Aerion someone to bother instead of leaving him to take out his frustrations on some unfortunate lord’s daughter.
Despite his previous prayers, Aerion lingers. "Whose idea was this?" He scoffs, cracking open a nut with the butt of his dagger. "No entertainment. I may just join you in your drinking."
Daeron leans forward, resting his head on the wooden table. "The entertainment is dancing."
"Was that your attempt at a joke? I would rather choke than dance with any of these…" Aerion looks around the room with a disgusted expression. "These foul-blooded ladies."
"Funny. Perhaps I should take myself to the Green Dragon and find myself a dragonseed whore to fuck. Care to join me?" Aerion gulps down the remaining wine that was in his goblet. "Ugh, disgusting."
Daeron contemplated his offer. It had been a while since their family had travelled to King's Landing, and lately, the weight of duty, the endless expectations, and the constant noise in his head had pressed heavier than ever. He ached for a distraction, something to pull him out of himself, if only for a night.
Maybe a partner would do him good, or maybe just the illusion of being wanted; he wasn't sure which he craved more. Sometimes it felt like there was a hollowness inside him, a quiet ache that never left, no matter how many times he told himself it didn't matter.
It wasn't about the act, not really—it was something deeper, a need to be held and seen, to feel desired even for just a fleeting hour. The whores near Summerhall had all been sent away by their father, and the maids knew him far too well to ever think about sleeping with him.
Loneliness clung to him like sweat, sharpest in the moments after laughter faded and he was left with nothing but silence and a pounding headache. "Mmh, I'll join you." He mumbles, pushing himself up with a grunt.
The evening had been slow, even for the Green Dragon. Knowing how King's Landing is only meant that the busyness would kick up just after the hour of the bat.
Aerion had been quick to swipe a silver-haired girl from the floor, dragging her to who knows where. Daeron, however, found himself relaxing into the pillowed seats. There were half-naked girls sashaying across a small stage, shy smiles on their cheeks as they teased glimpses of their bodies.
He let his head fall back, exhaling as he sank into his seat. The smell of incense and sex melted his brain, his eyelids fluttering shut.
"You'll get robbed if you're not careful, m'lord." A sweet voice curls into his ear, making him sit up properly. He groans, palming his temple as he gets a little dizzy from the speed at which he moved. "Oh! I'm sorry, did I scare you?"
Daeron turns his head, eyes landing on the girl at his side. You're young, and honestly, he isn't entirely convinced you look old enough to be in a brothel. Eyes round like a fawn, skin unmarred by age or scars and… Oh, you were certainly a woman, he thinks as his eyes travel down your body.
"M'lord?" You question softly, genuine worry in your eyes.
"Ah… Yes, I'm fine." Daeron clears his throat, adjusting his seat. He watches as you relax, sighing in relief. He takes the moment to look at your body again, the sheer Qaarthen silk leaving little to the imagination.
You tilt your head, catching his gaze with a giggle. "Were you looking for company tonight, m'lord?" You lean into him, fingers grazing his thigh.
He finds himself humming, reaching up to thumb your cheek. "You're very lovely," he murmurs, watching you lean into his palm like a kitten. "You're going to cost me a pretty penny, aren't you, darling?" His eyes draw over your figure again. Silk wasn't uncommon among more popular whores, but yours in particular was… expensive.
"Don't you worry 'bout that," You nuzzle into his hand. "Shall I show you my room? I think you'll love it." You grin, hands finding his and squeezing. You pull him up, giggling as he stumbles after you. "Oh, are you drunk?"
Daeron finds his lips curling at your airy laugh. "Is that against the rules?" He feels as though he is ablaze, inhaling deeply through his nose and nearly audibly reacting to your scent. It's the incense from before mixed with something sickly sweet, like spiced honey biscuits or a fruit tart that had been drenched in sex.
"No," you breathe, tugging him through a beaded curtain and up the stairs. "There are no rules, m'lord. So long as you don't fall asleep with your cock in me."
Daeron has to hold back a laugh as you turn, giving him a cute smile as you walk the pair of you backwards into the room.
It's lavish, a large bed draped in a dark red lace canopy in the middle of the room, covered in pillows and blankets. The glow of numerous candles casts a sultry ambience, while the familiar incense lingers, filling the air.
He blinks slowly, feeling as if his body was moving seconds behind his mind, exhaling as he falls back onto the bed and letting his eyes fall shut. There's heat on his thighs; a pressure he recognises as someone on top of him.
"Hey, don't leave before the fun has started," Daeron's eyelashes flutter, his eyes opening to see you inches from his face with a soft pout. Gods, you were even prettier up close. "You'll stay right, m'lord?"
"Daeron," he corrects you, his voice gravelly. He watches as you pause, recognition flashing through your eyes with a pre-speech inhale. "Please," he sighs, stopping you before you can address him with his proper title, "just Daeron. None of that."
You soften, your lips pursed together as you reach up to cup his cheek. "Course. Daeron, s'a fitting name for a handsome man like you." He almost rolls his eyes when your hips roll into his, forcing a hiss from his throat. "How do you want me?" You lean forward to whisper into his ear, goosebumps rippling on his body.
"This is good," he almost moans, his hands finding your hips as you start peppering kisses on his jaw. "What's your name, sweet girl? Surely there is something I can call you."
You grind down into him again, sitting up properly and leaning on his stomach. His tunic had risen a little in his descent to the soft sheets, allowing you to worm your fingers under the material to graze his bare skin. He inhales sharply as you slide your hands up, nails grazing over the soft skin and fair hair, intending on stripping him.
"You needn't worry about my name," you grin, "but if you must, I suppose honey'll do."
Daeron lets you pull his clothes off, entranced by your silky-smooth voice. He is quick to sit after, hands finding your waist and creeping up under your silks. His calloused fingers grace the underneath of your breast. "Honey?" He questions, breath hot on your neck.
Your fingers are quick to tangle in his hair, using it as leverage to grind against him. "You don't like it? It's- it's what everyone calls me around here." You stutter, nipples pebbling under his touch. He watches your reactions with blown pupils, tongue flicking out to lick his bottom lip.
Daeron’s eyes roll back at a particularly slow thrust, his cock throbbing in his breeches. “Gods, you’re making me feel as if my blood is aflame.” He moans, tilting his chin up to kiss you.
You are quick to turn your head, his lips finding your cheek instead. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you as you accept the movement.
You found yourself surprised that the prince wasn’t forceful—he allowed you to move at your own will, allowed you to stay above him.
Your fingers press against his chest, giving him a lidded stare as he lowers to the bed again. “Let me take care of you, Daeron.”
He could’ve died a happy man hearing his name roll off your tongue.
You toy with him, licking over his chest and stomach and grinning at the shaky, half-muffled whimpers he tries to hold back. Daeron can only watch as you move down to hover over his clothed cock, a hand coming up to caress your cheek.
Your gaze is intoxicating, your skin soft against the palm of his hand as you kiss him through his breeches.
“Oh, fuck-“ he chokes out. He reasons insanity: no other person had lit him up like this, you hadn’t even gotten his cock out yet, and he felt like he was ready to burst.
Daeron paused. As a child, he had walked in on his parents often before his mother died, and one time in particular stuck in his head. His mother is hovering over his father, his head between her thighs and her head bobbing.
He swallowed, looking down at the sweet girl whose cheek was pressed against his prick.
Expensive girls meant clean girls.
“Come here,” His voice is raw, “up, please.”
“Up?” You question, not sure what he means.
“Please,” he repeats, throat bobbing. “I want your cunt on my mouth while you swallow me down.”
It wasn’t an unusual request—you just hadn’t expected a prince to be interested in it. You slide up his body again, coiling your fingers up and around his arms like a serpent.
“You wish to taste me?” You whisper, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Where did you learn of such a thing?” You begin to peel the silks from your body, the thin skirt being the last thing to go.
He tries to look down, but you tip his chin up, cupping his cheek. “I asked you a question.”
“My mother…” Daeron swallows, eyes drawn in by your gaze again.
You have to purse your lips to hide your smile. “Oh, I see. Is that why you came with me? Do I look like her?”
“What?” He blinks. “No, I-“ he almost chokes as you crawl up, leaving him face to face with your cunt. He has to swallow a sob as you move away from him, turning and straddling his face.
Daeron is on fire. He's sweating, panting, trembling. Something must be wrong with him- perhaps the wine at the feast was off.
Gods, your cunt was gorgeous, coarse hair framing your folds, wetness peaking out from between them—he has to close his eyes, the sight of your pussy almost too much for him.
Your fingers find his hips again, pushing his trousers down just enough for his cock to come out. The tip is a furious red, foreskin pulled tight around the glans. He’s pretty, hay coloured hair framing his pinkened skin, a vein throbbing on his underside.
Daeron can feel you. The heat of your wet cunt, can taste you in the air, nose mere inches from burying in your folds. The heat of your breath on his tip and- “Oh, fuck,” he whines, shaking under you. “Wait, wait- please. Gods, I’m-“
“You said you wanted to taste me, Daeron.” He keenly listens to his name on your lips.
“I did, I- I do.” He opens his eyes, met with that delicious sight again. He moves out of instinct, using his thumbs to pull your folds apart.
His breath is hot, fanning over your wetness, making you clench. It prompts a moan out of him, seeing your hole close up around nothing.
Daeron licks through your cunt, starting at your clit and dragging all the way up, dipping slightly into your hole. The taste on his tongue is nothing he has ever known. He does it again, this time taking a moment to circle your button once, twice, then swiping up.
Your own mouth finds purchase at the base of him, licking and lavishing where his balls meet his length, dipping down to suckle on one gently.
His stomach tenses under your tits, cock throbbing against your cheek as he whines into your cunt. It vibrates through your body, your skin feeling like it was tingling from every noise he made into your folds.
A crude slurp echoes through the room, his lips suctioning around your clit and sucking. Daeron feels like a man possessed, nose digging into your heat while he works at your nub, hands tight on your hips to keep you pressed against his face.
“Do you think you could find your release like this?” You ask shakily, finding that vein and lapping over it. All Daeron can do is whimper into your pussy, nodding. He would rather die than part from your wetness, would happily drown down there.
All it takes is the flick of your tongue at his tip for him to crumble. The first bit of his orgasm surprises you, spurting against your cheek before you wrap your lips around the head and suck. Your arms are around his thighs and hips, keeping him from bucking up into your mouth.
Daeron’s vision goes blank, stomach cramping from the intensity of his peak as he cries into your cunt, unwilling to part with it as you grind your hips against his face.
You swallow him down eagerly, riding him through his orgasm. His eyes are rolled back, tongue impossibly deep in your hole, when one of his hands parts from your hip to find the back of your head, tugging on your hair to pull you off.
“Seven fucking hells,” Daeron wheezes, finally pulling back from between your thighs to lay his head on the silk pillow beneath him. You go to move, wanting to turn and face him, but his trembling hands find purchase on your hips again, tugging you back to almost be seated on his face. “No, I am not done.”
“Oh, you do not need to-“
“I will be paying you, will I not? So I will do as I like.” He grumbles before pulling you down, slurping at your heat again.
He could never imagine such a thing could exist, such sweetness, such addiction. He realises this is how men must have gotten swept away in war, not lost to battle but lost to foreign cunts that tasted finer than any wine he had drunk.
His soft cock twitches against his stomach, between your moans and the noise of his tongue fucking you, there's no shock he can get hard again, even if the air felt like it was prickling his skin. He licks into you like a man starved, as if your pussy would bring him some sort of relief from the tortures of his mind. He almost sobs when you fall forward, moving away from his mouth.
“What are you—” Daeron pants, palming your thighs. “Did you…?” His gaze drifts down.
You were trembling, your whole body heaving with breaths as you tried to recover from his ministrations.
He can’t help but bring a hand up, spreading your juices over your mound and parting your folds again. “Gorgeous,” he mumbles, head still fuzzy. He steadies you with his hand as you move, turning to face him while straddling his thighs.
Your hands glide up and down his stomach, catching your breath. You do not miss the tensing of his muscles, his own body still wired. "If I did not know better," you purr as you steady yourself on his chest, his heart racing beneath your palm. "I might think our positions flipped." Your head tilts with a soft smirk, reaching up to drag a nail along his jaw.
Daeron has this almost… begged expression, clinging onto every word that came out of your mouth like it was a scripture from the Gods. He's incredibly pliant, melting at your touch and receptive to the slight adjustments you make to his form. His fingers squeeze your hips, one hand drawing down to your mound and cupping, thumb swiping over the hair that lies at the peak of your thighs.
"How is it that every part of you is so soft?" He whispers. "And sweet. Mmh, I am seeing now why people have likened you to honey."
The hesitation you felt about kissing him earlier seems to have dissipated as you let him lift his head to yours, taking your bottom lip between his teeth with gentle pressure. His tongue is next, and you can taste yourself as he licks yours with a gentleness you have never experienced. Every part of you takes him incredibly well, your mouth soft as his fingers creep down to your cunt again.
"No," you whisper against his lips. "I want your cock, Daeron."
He wheezes at your words, kissing you once more before burying his face into your neck, planting a few kisses there. "Take me then, honey." His slide down to your thighs, lying back against the bed to watch you.
Your body is lit up by the few candles around the room, casting a golden glow onto your skin. He watches as you lift yourself, a slight shake in the muscle of your thigh from the previous exertion, delicate fingers reaching down to hold his length steady.
You take a moment to rub him against your slit, a quiet moan on your lips as his tip presses to your clit. You repeat that a couple of times before letting his cock slip into your warmth.
Daeron's reaction is instant, his hips bucking with a gasp. "So hot," he chokes, fire burning through his veins, feeling like he was melting. "Ah, wait a second- please…" He whimpers, nails leaving definite crescent moon-shaped indents on your thighs.
You lower yourself further, letting out a satisfactory sigh once you have taken him all the way. His tip just about grazes a spot at the front of your walls, and if you grind down harder, it's enough to hit it fully.
You find yourself distracted, focusing on your own pleasure. He has a good length and thickness, the vein on the underside rubbing deliciously inside of you. You move faster, chasing the heat that rises within your loins.
A warmth spreads in your stomach, followed by a sudden cry that jolts you back to reality. Daeron's back arches beautifully beneath you, an arm thrown over his eyes, his bottom lip between his teeth. You slow your hips, and his arm moves, revealing wet lines from his eyes to his temples.
Daeron is breathtaking like this. A little pathetic looking, wet eyelashes and a bitten lip to go with his flushed chest. You rock forward, and he sobs, one hand flying up to grip your waist. "Please," he sniffles, "just- a moment, please. I'm sensitive."
You hum, reaching down to wipe away a tear. "Too much for you?" You coo, slowing your pace but still moving. He hiccups through a whine, scrambling to halt your hips, but he doesn't have the strength in him.
His second orgasm had taken a lot out of him, and you were pushing him through to a third. "I know," you whisper, a bead of sweat rolling down your forehead. "S'okay, let me make you feel good."
Daeron's whole body hurts.
He groans, lifting his head from the pillow and blinking. The sun was ruthless, pouring in through the window and warming his arse. He rolls over with a huff, reaching up to rub his sore jaw. His free hand pushes on the bed, straining as he sits up. He doesn't remember exactly what happened the night before, but his muscles sure did.
He rubs his face and looks around the room. His clothes are all over the place, and part of your clothing was tied around his wrist. Fucking hell, he could feel his prick stiffening despite his soreness, the silk soft against his skin.
Daeron stumbles out of bed, limping as he gathers his clothing and dresses himself.
Of course, you had helped yourself to his gold pouch, but he couldn't blame you. Whatever you had done to him was enough to offset his nightmares for the night, and that to him was worth way more than 3 gold dragons.
The door to the room had slammed open as Daeron pulled on his boots.
"Brother," Aerion speaks. He opens his mouth to continue before pausing and tilting his head, looking his elder up and down, noticing the strange gait he had. "Did you get beaten?"
Daeron scoffs, plopping back down on the messy bed. "No, I did not get beaten."
Aerion frowned, confused. "Then what? Did you take a man to bed instead of a whore?" He scoffed.
"Gods, Aerion. No, I did not- I did not bed a man." Daeron hissed, rubbing his forehead. The younger brother looked him up and down once more before inhaling.
"Right. Well, hurry. Before we are late to break fast and have to explain to Aegon what a whorehouse is."
Two days. That is how long it took for Daeron to recover after you fucked him to near-death. Even then, he wasn't fully sure he had recovered. He felt like a degenerate, his eyes lingering on any silken dresses worn by court ladies that he passed by, having to pinch himself to keep down the bubbling feeling in his blood.
At least he was walking normally now, your… expert skills having left him feeling like he had ridden a horse for a week straight. That morning, he’d slipped a silken sash from your room into his pocket, later tucking it under his pillow to reach for in the still hours, pressing it to his nose as he ground his aching hips into the bed.
Gods, he was a fucking pervert.
Even now, just thinking about it, he could feel himself stiffening in his breeches, having to shuffle uncomfortably in his seat.
Dinner that evening had been incredibly long; his knee shaking as he waited for the opportunity to excuse himself for the night. He had gulped down the remainder of his wine and parted from his family. They were due to leave for Summerhall on the morrow, and Daeron could not leave without seeing you once more.
He’d spent much of his youth wandering the Red Keep before the move to Summerhall, and even after that, they visited often. So it was fair to say Daeron knew the unguarded ways out of the keep. All he needed was a hooded cloak to hide his face, and he headed straight for the Street of Silk the moment he was free.
The Green Dragon was busy, to say the least. Daeron caught too many glimpses of common cock for his liking, darting for the familiar face of the madame.
"My prince," the older woman smirks. "How may I help you this fine night?"
Daeron swallows, a hand smoothing over his stomach. "Honey."
The madame arches her eyebrow, leaning back into the wall. "What about her?"
He let out a quiet breath, grateful to his past self for managing to get her name. "I need to see her. Please." He grimaces at his plea, fearful of looking desperate. "I have something of hers that I would like to return."
"If that's all there is, I'm sure I can pass it on to her. Unless you plan on staying longer?" The older woman questioned, crossing her arms.
He let out a sigh, glancing around to make sure no one had recognised him. "Yes, that is the plan."
With a smirk on her face, she juts her chin at the stairs. "Go on. Last door at the end of the left hall, if you don't remember." She snickers as Daeron darts off, already feeling a pinch in his head.
He lets his feet carry him through the familiar corridor, swallowing as the memories from two days ago swarm through his head. He's at your door before he realises it, hand raised to knock when it opens.
A girl- not you- scurries past him, darting her head down with a murmured apology on he lips. He takes the moment to step into the room, breath shuddering at the sight of you lounging effortlessly on the bed.
Silk, again. He had to resist the urge to hit himself.
"Well, look who it is." You smile and roll over, settling comfortably on your stomach. "What a pleasure it is to see you again, my prince."
Daeron closes the door behind him and takes a couple of steps toward you. "I… yes, hello." You grin at his awkwardness, giving the bed beside you a friendly pat.
"Relax and come and sit. I don't bite, in fact, I believe the biting was all you." You tease, giggling as he flinches, yet complies, settling in beside you. "How are you? Sore, I imagine. I am quite shocked you lasted so long, honestly." You poke his thigh, leaning your chin on your free hand.
"I am fine, not- not sore. Not anymore, anyway." He clears his throat. Gods, what is wrong with him? He was a man grown, yet here he was stuttering before a whore like a maiden. "I… must confess that I did not leave empty-handed." Daeron reaches into the pocket of his doublet, pulling out the silk sash.
Your eyes widen slightly in disbelief. "Oh, I was wondering what happened to that. It served you well, I imagine?" The wink you shoot his way makes him swallow rather loudly.
"I am a little surprised you were bold enough to bring it back. Or, perhaps it has served its purpose, and you wish to find another keepsake?" You tease, gently tugging the sash from his grip.
"If not to return the sash, I fear I may not have had an excuse to see you again," Daeron speaks before he can even stop himself. "Is that okay?"
You hum, leaning forward to rest your cheek on his thigh with a soft tilt of your lips. "You do not need an excuse to see me, you know. I am a whore, not some lord's daughter." He finds himself a little taken aback by the forwardness of your words, but you speak the truth.
"Perhaps so," Daeron says quietly, swallowing as he reaches forward to thumb at your earrings. Pretty things, they were. Suited you well. "But an excuse makes me feel at ease." He finds himself relaxing in your room, the incense from the previous night still lingering in the air, as if you hadn’t lit it fresh for the evening.
You hum, amused. "Let's you pretend this isn't a brothel, hm?" Your fingers find his hip, poking at the bone. "Shall we do some more pretending?" Rolling onto your side a bit more, you playfully tease him. "What shall it be? Perhaps… us as King and Queen?"
"That is treason, honey."
"You bore," you huff. "What about newlyweds?"
Daeron pinches your cheek with a deadpan expression as he looks downward at you. "Stop that. I did not come here to… pretend. I came to see you." He watches as your eyelashes flutter slightly.
"Wow, if I were your future lady wife, I'd have demanded to marry you on the spot for that." Daeron shakes his head at your jest, the corner of his lip curled up.
“What if I wanted to talk?” He says next, finger curling to rub at your jaw.
“Talk? To me?” You ask. “About what?”
“Anything.” his hand finds your hair, brushing through the strands.
You purse your lips, rubbing circles into his hip. “Okay, why do you drink?”
“Oh, straight to the point.” Daeron snorts. “Well, if you must know, I tend to have horrible dreams. They haunt me, showing me Summerhall in flames and my brother burning green.”
You hadn’t expected such an answer, so you sat up and crawled onto his lap. “Sounds awful.” You hum, reaching up to card through his hair. “Does it work?”
“Oft enough for me to keep doing it, yes.” He can’t help it as his gaze is drawn towards your lips, the soft pout you always wear making you look just the sweetest.
He finds his hands on your back, stroking through your scant clothing. “Am I interrupting your work?” He whispers, the silk beneath his hands making him sweat a little.
“Not unless you plan to leave with your coin pouch intact.” Your voice has a teasing lilt to it as you lean in to kiss the bridge of his nose. “Which I hope isn’t the case, my prince. You are the most fun I’ve had in years.”
At times, Daeron looked like a child walking through a sweet shop, now especially. Even with the dark under his eyes, you can see his anticipation, the excitement in his eyes and in his shaking breaths.
He lets you push him back, falling upon that familiar bed that had brought him such a pleasant night only two days prior.
The kiss starts slow, wanton and teasing until you lick over his bottom lip. He shivers, whining when your tongue intrudes into his mouth, tangling with his own. He tastes of arbor red, you of a cheap ale common among smallfolk.
His palms slide down to your behind, pulling your hips tight against his. "Need to- to taste you again," he pants into your mouth, already trembling under your touch. "Like before, please."
You pull back from the kiss with a breath, fingers running across his cheekbones. "So sweet, aren't you?" Your voice is quiet, so much so that he fears he is imagining your praise. You plant one more kiss on his cheek before pulling back and climbing off him, tugging at his clothes. "Take these off, and I'll let you do whatever you like."
Truth be told, you’d never seen a man undress so fast. With a teasing smirk, you hooked your thumbs into your clothes, sliding off your silky bra (not that it had covered much) and had just started on your skirt when he caught your wrists, stopping you.
"Wait…" Daeron whispers, chest already flushing pink. "Leave it." He drags you closer once more, fingers bunching the silk as he trembles, eyelids flittering.
You let him pull you down, kissing once more. One hand of his is palming a tit, the other reaching down to find its way under your silken skirt. The moan he lets out into your mouth when he touches your cunt is sickening, the noise of a desperate man who has finally found salvation.
He hadn't expected you to be so wet, slick folds parting as he thumbs at your clit, his other hand at your chest pushing, forcing you upright so he can lean in to wrap his lips around a nipple. Such actions together make you gasp, head thrown back.
You were so beautiful, a silken dream for him to drown in, salvation. He rolls the two of you, peppering your sternum with kisses and nips, trailing down to the hem of your skirt. He licks a line over the silk, nibbling on your hip through the fabric.
"Daeron-!" You gasp his name as he ducks his head, nuzzling into your mound. He inhales with a groan and rolls his hips into the bedsheets, your smell sending ripples of pleasure down his spine.
His hands find their way around your thighs, keeping them tight to his ears. He licks at your clit, nose still buried in the soft hair just above. Sucking, licking, drooling into your cunt like it was his last meal, eyes rolling back as your hands found his tawny locks. You tug, a moan vibrating into your folds as he lowers his lead, tongue finding your entrance.
His head is throbbing, all of the blood in his body having gone south. His hips are wild, all of his senses overwhelmed. The silken skirt under his fingers, the brush of your pubic hair against his face, the taste of your insides as he tongue fucks you, the smell of your skin, your moans and cries muffled by your thighs.
Daeron isn't sure exactly when he reaches his peak, only that his chest feels like it is caving in from lack of air, his hips stuttering into the bed. His nails dig into your thighs, and his vision becomes starry, his hearing dull. He has to pull himself back, fearful he would pass out if he left himself buried in your cunt any longer. Two fingers replace his tongue as he rests his cheek on your thigh, watching you with lidded eyes.
The trembled hand that was in his hair falls upon his face, stroking his cheekbone before finding your clit and rubbing, your other pinching at your own nipple. Your cheeks were red, chest heaving as you approached your own peak at his actions.
"Curl your- ah…" You choke out, your back arching and hand falling away from your chest in favour of fisting a pillow beside you. He does exactly as you ask, curling his fingers upwards while still attempting to catch his breath.
He nudges his head closer to your mound, breathing your smell in again, while his free hand creeps down between his body and the sheets, finding his sticky cock.
If he were anywhere else, with anyone else, he might have had a little shame. But with you, he just cannot seem to help himself. He's so sensitive, almost painful, but unable to stop his fingers from rubbing his tip.
Your fingers cramp, thigh tensing under his cheek as you arch, sobs filling the air. He feels your cunt clamp around his digits, eyes shooting up to watch you fall apart. Your vision flashes white, gasping for air into your lungs as your release crashes over you, your hands and feet curled.
You barely register as Daeron crawls over you, gently kissing your neck and face. "So beautiful," a voice whispers in your ear, low and gravelly. A palm presses to yours, intertwining your fingers and lifting, a kiss pressed to the back of your hand before it's brought down, wrapped around a twitching cock. "Fuck," a choked sob is muffled against your throat.
Your eyes open, meeting his pale shoulder. Your neck twists, fingers flexing. He sobs again, shaking above you, before you feel a warmth on your stomach.
You're gentle, letting him grind erratically before he shooes your hand away, trembling so much you fear he may fall apart before he collapses onto your chest, sniffling and catching his breath.
Neither of you are quite sure how long you’ve been lying there, the only clue being the candles burned low and ready to be replaced.
You hold him, one arm around his shoulders to scratch his back, and one hand brushing through his sweaty hair.
He moves slightly, nose, grazing your throat. "Tell me," he whispers. "How did you get here?"
"Are you asking for my life story?" you whisper with a grin.
Daeron lifts his head to look at you, leaning on his elbow with a hum and a nod. Your hairline was damp, cheeks still a little pink from the earlier endeavour. "Go on, I'd like to know."
Your grin softens into a purse. "It is not as pretty as I." This makes him stifle a laugh, reaching up to touch your earrings as he did earlier. "My mother caught a sickness and passed in her sleep," you start. "My father oft said I looked like her." Daeron's jaw tenses. "He was a drunk and did not notice the shard of glass I had in my hand one evening. After, I snuck onto a ship, and ended up in Blackwater Bay, and then Flea Bottom."
"How old were you?" He whispers.
"Three and ten," you reach out and curl a stray piece of his hair around your finger. "The madame saved me from getting my hand chopped off by gold cloaks after I pinched a drunk's copper pouch." You reminisce, smirking. "Worked the bar downstairs for a year and then started doing… this."
Daeron gives you a look that you can't quite discern. "Do not look at me like that," you exhale, letting his hair fall away from your finger.
"I am not looking at you any particular way." He is quiet when he speaks.
"You feel sorry for me. I could've left, but I chose not to. I make good money." Your argue.
"I did not say otherwise." His thumb moves away from your lobe to your bottom lip. "What did you buy with what you took from me?"
"You speak as if I did not deserve what I took."
"You do a lot of assuming, honey." Your breath hitches, forgetting for a moment that he only knew your work name. "Answer my question, I find myself to be a curious man when it comes to you." His thumb smooths from your bottom lip and down, finding its resting place at the base of your neck.
"I have yet to spend it," you admit reluctantly.
"Because, if you must know, I am a responsible woman and I am saving."
"Goodness, I don't think there is another man in the whole world that is as curious about a whore he has only met twice as you are." You snort, poking his forehead. "I do not know what I am saving for, perhaps to buy myself a fancy horse and tour the realm. Is that good enough for you?" A laugh ripples up from your chest.
He gives a half-smirk, leaning in to kiss your jaw. "A tour of the realm?" Kiss. "Where would you go first?" The next kiss is on your neck. "Dorne?" The next is on your collarbone. "Could come visit me at Summerhall."
"Mmh, I was thinking somewhere further north." Daeron scoffs at that, biting at your skin before descending to your chest.
He mouths at your nipples, letting his teeth graze the sensitive flesh before moving to kneel, your thighs resting on top of his. Hands smooth up your skin, his fingertips grazing at your pelvic bones- petruding from the angle he had your hips at.
"If you came with me to Summerhall," he begins, voice barely above a whisper, "you'd need not worry about gold."
He can only watch as you slide a hand down your stomach, finding your apex and spreading yourself with two fingers. "And what is there for me in Summerhall?"
He swallows hard. Has to fight to tear his eyes away from your centre, his mouth twitching. "Me."
Your hand falls to the bed beside you, seconds passing before you push yourself up, inches from his face. "You?"
His nails bite into your flesh again, mirroring the past marks he had made, gaze drawn to your swollen lips. "No one would blink if I were to take you as a paramour."
Your head tilts, eyebrows slightly raised. "A paramour."
Daerons eye twitches, huffing through his nose. "Stop repeating me and give me a real answer."
An amused expression washes over your features, and he feels a hand on his neck, your thumb stroking his jaw. "I would prefer it if you buried your cock in my cunt, my prince."
He nudges forward and you lean back on your remaining hand, watching as he slots himself through your folds. You exhale, lifting your hips slightly to make it easier for him. The hand on his neck slips down to his chest, the pounding beneath his ribs serving as a grounding.
A choked moan fills the air, your warmth finally swallowing him as he buries himself balls deep. Your feet dig into his spine, keeping his hips pressed snuggly to yours.
You can already feel him trembling inside of you, his eyes closed and mouth open, a pinch in his brow as he tries to focus on not releasing.
You know it's cruel, but you can't help it when you clench around him. You can only watch as he bows forward, one hand squeezing your waist while he keens and the other landing on the bed beside yours, shaking. "You- hah…" Daeron pants, his chest flushing that pretty pink for the second time this night. "You are evil," he whispers, "the most wicked woman in the seven kingdoms."
"You may find your peak within me if it tortures you so," you whisper back, an amused lilt lingering on your tongue. Your fingers find the back of his head, gripping and pulling him up to look at you. Or I could leave you to find it with just your hand, if you would like."
"No," he rushes out, swallowing down a whimper, "I would like to… inside. Please." He whispers the plea, tongue flicking out to lick over his bottom lip.
You roll your hips again and he whines, eyes rolling back into his head. "Please," he whines, shivering as your grip in his hair only gets tighter. "I- I made you feel good, did I not? Please, let me…" he cuts himself off with a choke, hips twitching uncontrollably.
Tears prick at his eyes again, wetting his lashes. He was truly beautiful like this, teetering on the edge of sanity. You dig your feet further into his back, making him arch. His nipples brush against yours as he sobs, whole body shaking. You lessen your grip to cup his cheek, brushing over a wet eye.
It's all he needs to crash, head buried in your neck as he comes deep within you, cries of gratitude muddled onto your skin. You lower both of you to the bed, legs relaxing from his back to rest over his again, hands coming up to rub his back.
Daeron feels for a moment as if he would die, enveloped in flashes of hot and cold like a plague-ailed man. He is brought back by the circular shapes you trace on his shoulder blades and the smell of your skin, tremors slowing down to the occasional quiver.
If he had any sense, he might feel a lick of embarrassment for releasing as soon as you had given your word, but he is exhausted. His hearing is the last thing to clear, a hummed tune vibrating through your throat.
You are warm- impossibly so, and he is hesitant to move in fear of losing the moment.
"Think about it," he whispers, voice broken. "About Summerhall."
"I will think about it." You murmur into his hair before humming again. It rings familiar through his mind, but he isn't sure where from. It takes him drifting off, a memory nipping at the base of his skull.
"Again, mama!" He giggles, fingers clutching his mother's silken dress. "Please, it is my favourite song!"
Dyanna smiles, reaching down to brush his messy hair back. "Is five times not enough to sate you, sweetling?"
"No!" he whined beneath his laughter. "Please, please, mama! Just once more!"
"Okay!" The woman laughs, picking up her son and putting him on her hip as she begins to sing, swaying.
"Honey and milk beneath her tongue,
for she gathered around her,
in a crowd of virgins,
a fruit-bearing orchard
and a garden in bloom.
Therefore rejoice in the noblest dawn,
O' daughter of Sion."
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