cat got your tongue?

three moons, valarr had told himself. three moons of propriety, and the marriage will be consummated. he truly believed he could endure, even though you were the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes on.

it takes his restraint—and yours—a mere three weeks to falter.

under the cover of midnight, his strong hands roam your body, clad only in your airy nightdress; his back is pressed to the heavy oak door of your bedchamber, your spine flush against his taut abdomen as he peppers wet kisses along the slope of your neck.

still in his black and crimson garbs, he’d spent all day warring with his conscience. he had hoped the dying of the day would steady him; perhaps his desire would subside in the stillness of the evening.

it did not.

his fingers hook around the delicate straps of your nightdress, and you shiver as the fabric pools at your feet; valarr’s clothes feel rough against your skin, but his hands are warm, and you cannot hold back a soft whine of his name. this is not dishonour, he reasons unconvincingly, feeling your nipples pebble beneath his touch. not yet.

“please, my prince,” you beg, arching against him.

his hardened length nudges your lower back, and heat pools in your womb, seeping between your legs, demanding relief. you are certain you’ve taken leave of your senses—to be caught like this would be to disgrace your family name—but the embers of lust burn too hot for you to care.

valarr’s hand dips between your legs to trace your silken slit, and your wetness sheens his fingers instantly. seven above. he wants nothing more than to fill you any way he can, to stretch you and make you his, but he cannot allow himself to sully you out of wedlock. you are too precious—to the seven kingdoms, to him.

and yet, he can feel his tip leaking through the confines of his breeches. fuck, can he truly deny you? you are to be his wife, joined for all your lives before the old gods and the new; does that not absolve this…this small indulgence?

“valarr,” you huff, bucking your hips against him. “please.”

“shhh. alright, darling,” he concedes finally, pressing his lips to your temple in a soothing kiss. “i have an idea.”

his free hand loosens the ties of his trousers, and his cock springs out, the tip flushed and sticky with his arousal as he slides between your thighs. your breath hitches; he’s thick and hot and velvet-smooth against your skin. his rosy head prods your entrance, and you instinctively grind down with a whimper, but your betrothed tuts in your ear.

“not yet, sweet girl,” he says, his voice laboured at the contact. he cups your mound, rings glinting in faint candlelight, and presses his fingers to his base to trap himself flat against your slit. he rocks his hips so that you glide over him from root to tip, and the sound you emit is divine.

“on our wedding night, hm?” he murmurs into your hair, feeling your fluids coat him. “i’ll fill you then, my bride, as many times as you please, alright? i swear it.” by the seven, he means it.

you nod weakly, hardly able to think with his manhood slotted between your legs. your moans grow louder each time the ridge of his head bumps your aching pearl, tightening the hot coil deep in your belly. your hand finds the nape of his neck, and your fingers weave themselves into his cropped hair, pulling softly. you whisper his name, and it sounds like music on your lips.

“you’ll be mine soon, darling,” he says, his voice ragged, “in truth and in name.” a dragon’s bride, guarded like gold. his cock is sensitive against you, and he feels you begin to tremble in his grasp; his arm wraps around your waist to keep you steady, his hips working tirelessly to coax out your release.

“that’s it,” he manages, his own peak drawing close as your throbbing cunt thrums against him. “let me hear you, my dove.”

with a sob, the coil in your belly snaps, and your climax seeps out of you, coating his cock like warm honey. you slump against valarr, his arm around you the only thing keeping your body upright. heat blankets your cheeks, your head spinning at the vibration of his moans against your back.

his release follows yours almost immediately. with a strained utterance of your name, valarr’s seed paints the inside of your thighs white in sticky, hot ropes, and he sorely wishes he’d spilled inside you instead. the prince’s forehead drops into the crook of your neck, and you feel his breath fanning out on your skin.

he stays sheathed between your thighs, his cock twitching, pressing kisses to your shoulder until your body softens in his hold. he knows what has transpired teeters dangerously on the edge of transgression, yet guilt evades him as your remnants trickle down his shaft.

he picks his head up, his two-toned eyes glancing out at the round moon glowing through the window, and a smile ghosts over his pink lips.

maekar notices everything. every lingering touch, every lord whose gaze travels too far down your body, every whisper that a young wife demands a vigorous husband. the court circles you like vultures, and even his own blood forgets their place; daeron has the wit to disguise his awed stares, but aerion…he watches you like a bloodhound. hungry.

he lets it pass at first. it is not her fault, he tells himself; you are young and vibrant, and men are predictable beasts. he has seen it all before, and knows the novelty will pass eventually. but maekar is not known for his patience—you are his, and by the seven, he will not let you forget it.

your fists are balled into the rich cotton beneath you, the sheets muffling your moans as his hips snap into you from behind, his cock filling you to the brim with each thrust. strong fingers grip your hips hard enough that you know bruises will have bloomed by morning, but the ache only makes your cunt wetter.

“maekar,” you plead, your voice a high-pitched whimper. you scarcely know what you’re begging for, but your husband’s name is the only word you can muster, and it’s all he needs to hear.

he pries one hand off your body, snaking it between your legs to rub circles on your swollen clit, and the sound you make sends fire burning across his skin. your cries echo against the stone walls of his bedchamber, and he’s certain the guards outside can hear what he’s doing to you.

good. let them.

his fingers on your clit have your walls fluttering around him helplessly, and he feels his cock twitching, his peak drawing dangerously close. still, he resists, determined to send you over the edge first. his eyes are dark and famished as he takes in the sight of your ass bouncing off him, your slick coating his length each time he buries himself in you.

“fuck, good girl,” he hisses, his voice ragged as your grip on him tightens. “take me just like that.”

your whines get louder as your legs begin to tremble; under his touch, you fall apart with a desperate moan, your release turning your vision white as your body sinks into the bed beneath you. fuck, all of king’s landing must have heard that.

the thought pushes maekar to his limit; he hooks a muscular arm under your waist, turning you onto your back with his cock still inside you, and his hands spread your thighs so that he has an unobstructed view of your glistening pussy swallowing him whole.

“seven hells,” he growls, his thrusts growing irregular. “look down. see what a mess you’ve made for me.” it’s a command, and you obey, prying your teary eyes open to see where your bodies meet.

“all for you, my prince,” you breathe, your voice soft and dreamy as you come down from your peak. “i’m yours.”

your words sink into him like valyrian steel, and he spills inside you with a low groan and a string of profanities, his hips staggering to a halt. finally, he collapses beside you with a heavy sigh, pulling out of you carefully.

no words are exchanged, but you curl into his side, your body pliant and spent and your breathing heavy. his arm locks around you, keeping you close, and in the candlelight of his chambers, maekar allows himself the faintest curl of a smile.

aerion recalls the exact moment he overstepped. you’d been your poised self all evening, nodding politely at the mindless chatter in the banquet hall as was your duty; your husband, on the other hand, had remained insolent as ever.

he’d spent a better part of the night regaling his captive audience with stories of his favourite ancestors, knowing he was surrounded by families whose allegiance to house targaryen was thin at the best of times.

“maegor,” he mused, swirling his wine. “now there was a great targaryen. he understood the importance of legacy.”

the lords and ladies around the table tensed visibly at mention of the cruel king. aerion’s blue eyes shifted to you, and a wicked smirk curled his lip.

“he kept many wives. a testament to his ambition, i think.” he noticed the way your jaw tightened at his words. “a sensible precaution, wouldn’t you agree? dragons are known for their…appetite, after all.”

silence befell the table as your guests glanced between you and the princeling with unease, goblets and forks stilling in half-raised hands. eventually, your eyes met your husband’s; to the nobles watching you, your expression seemed bafflingly serene.

to aerion, it was a promise that he would yet answer for your humiliation.

your nails carve crescents into the prince’s chest, drawing a pained hiss from his lips as you pin him to the tufted bed beneath you. his fingers dig into your hips with intent to bruise, but you do not relent, grinding down onto him forcefully until his cock is fully sheathed inside you.

aerion moans, the sound deep and rumbling as his head lolls back. a snide smile blooms on his face when his eyes meet yours again, your expression caught between contempt and lust.

“all that composure, gone in an instant,” he coos, his voice tight from the feeling of you on top of him. “i much prefer you like this, little wife.”

you roll your hips against him, gasping at the girth stretching you open, but your pace only quickens.

“you forget yourself, husband,” you spit, biting back a whine as the head of his cock grazes the sensitive spot in your walls. “i am not some lowborn whore for you to toy with.”

“no?” aerion’s hand slips between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit to rub circles in time with your thrusting. “you certainly fuck like one.”

a breathless whimper escapes you at his touch, but you refuse to yield; your fingers weave through his silver hair, tugging harshly until another low moan rattles out of him.

“tell me, my prince,” you hiss, lowering your lips to his ear, your hips never once stilling, “if you are a dragon, what does that make me?”

your head dips lower until your teeth are grazing his throat, and you feel aerion tense beneath you, and a satisfied grin settles on your lips. now you’ve got him.

“answer me,” you command, releasing his hair to wrap your hand around his neck. you level your face to his, taking in his blown-out pupils gazing up at you through pale lashes.

“fuck—a dragonrider,” he manages at last, his voice wavering as you squeeze his throat gently. “you’re a dragonrider.”

you feel him twitch inside you at his own words, his fair skin flushed and his voice thick with desire; his hands clutch at the flesh of your ass, desperate for purchase as you ride him closer to his release, the pressure around his neck increasing his sensitivity tenfold.

“and dragons obey their riders, do they not?” your voice is firm, but your cunt clamps down on aerion’s cock, signalling your own impending climax. you sense him resisting, but the words tumble out of him anyway.

“y-yes, my princess,” he breathes, his eyes fluttering shut. with a final snap of your hips, aerion spills into you, swearing loudly in high valyrian as his body jolts beneath you.

you come undone soon after, collapsing on top of the dragon prince in exhaustion. moments pass in silence, aerion’s fingers absently tracing your spine as he catches his breath. finally, you lift your head, taking in his dazed expression. he looks at you, and his gaze is laden with something new—not quite affection, but recognition, perhaps, of an equal at last.

“shall i expect you to begin collecting wives, then?” you ask, resting your chin on his chest. you don’t miss the amused smile that ghosts over aerion’s lips as he speaks.

you’d always known your husband to be a dutiful prince, even before you wed; still, valarr’s devotion to siring an heir takes you by surprise. for the second time since morning, he’s sought to have you, seeking you out between his other less…titillating commitments.

he’d given you time enough only to disrobe before he laid you on your marital bed, his lips pressed against yours in a hungry kiss. his palms roam your skin freely, tracing a path down your body to where you truly need him.

“but, my prince, the small council meeting—” you’re silenced by your own gasp as his hand slips between your legs, circling your most sensitive spot. you feel the length of his hard cock pressed against your thigh; his urgency clear.

“they’ll wait,” he mumbles, trailing his lips down your neck.

his finger slides into you with ease, and he works you open gently, until a second digit is met with no resistance. you moan quietly, tangling your hands in his hair and pulling lightly at his silver streak. the prince smiles against your skin, grazing your throat with his teeth as he braces himself on either side of your body with his strong arms.

he aligns himself at your entrance and sinks into you in one graceful motion, his muscles rippling with strain. almost instantly, his head drops into your shoulder, his eyes screwing shut as your warmth envelops him.

“gods, you feel good,” he groans, rocking his hips steadily. your breathing is shallow, hampered by the fullness inside you. the prince quickens his pace as your walls relax around him, biting back another moan when he sees you reach between your bodies to touch yourself.

“i’ve been told it can…help the pregnancy take,” you tell him cautiously, your cheeks hot.

valarr’s mismatched eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide with lust as he watches your self-pleasure. fuck. careful to stay sheathed inside you, he hooks his hands under your thighs and pushes your legs back until you’re completely exposed to him. you whine at the newfound depth, feeling your cunt pulse around him rhythmically.

the new position sets fire coursing through the prince, whose thrusts become harder, unrestrained. your fingers move faster and your soft whines of his name melt into pleas as your belly tightens, your release building dangerously fast. valarr can’t help the smugness that tugs at him at the sight of you trembling at your own touch, so visibly overwhelmed by the size of him and his strong hands holding your legs open.

“wait—valarr, i’m—”

you cry out abruptly, unable to finish your thought as an orgasm tears through you fast and hot, burning you up from within. your cunt squeezes around him with abandon, the haste of the moment only adding to your arousal.

“fuck,” he rasps, his voice raw and his skin sheened with sweat. he’s fighting his own climax, but the feeling of your walls clamping around him, milking him, is almost too much to bear. yet, you give him no respite; you have a duty to him, after all.

you lock your ankles around his waist and pull him closer to you by the nape of his neck, your fingers coiling through his soft hair. “please,” you breathe, “come inside me, my prince. make me yours.”

those words are all it takes; with a deep groan, valarr throws his head back, spilling his seed into you in hot, thick spurts. you feel him twitch inside you as his sensitivity mounts, and when his hips finally stagger to a halt, his body drops onto yours.

his limbs feel molten and his heart rattles in his chest; the temptation to stay like this—buried inside you, with his face tucked into the crook of your neck and your hands running through his hair—is almost too strong to deny. still, a foggy memory of the small council meeting, to which he was now inexcusably late, drags him out of his bliss.

he sighs heavily and presses a loving kiss to your neck, lifting himself off you with care. you whimper when he slides out of you, the sudden emptiness unfamiliar. you tuck your knees to your chest to keep his release inside you, following valarr with your eyes as he dresses himself with haste.

“do you think it worked?” you ask after a moment.

“time will tell,” he says, fastening his belt. he conceals it, but a smirk pulls at his lips.

the prince makes his way to you again, peering at your exposed cunt and the small droplet of his seed that seeps out of you. there’s a hint of pride on his face—something he oft tries to suppress, though you know it simmers just beneath the surface.

“until then, we will try again. and again. and again. as many times as it takes.” his voice is gentle, but you see fire behind his eyes.

you burst into aerion’s pavilion with such ire that his kingsguard scarcely had time to announce your entrance. lounging lazily in his chair with a goblet of wine in hand, the prince hardly blinks at your arrival. under the black silk drapery of his tent, illuminated by candles, he looks every bit targaryen, with silver hair that seems to glow and blood-red garbs that soak up the light.

“leave us,” you snap at the knight guarding the entryway. then, you turn to your betrothed. “i know what you did,” you tell him, jaw tight and fists balled into your gown. aerion glances at you coolly, blue eyes taking in your seething face.

“you’ll have to be more precise, my lady,” he sighs, looking down at his wine like it’s infinitely more fascinating than you. his feigned ignorance only stokes you further.

“the lord, my prince. the one from the tourney.” aerion’s expression remains blank, and your chest heaves with anger. “you broke his legs!” you spit, glaring at him. “the maester says he will never ride again.”

at this, the prince finally concedes a small smirk. “what of it?” he asks, setting his goblet down on the table before him. “he injured the honour of my house; i repaid him in like.”

you scoff incredulously. “you crippled a young man because he offered me his favour? are you completely mad?”

there’s a pause, and in it you realise you’ve raised your voice at a prince—one who has shown himself capable of great cruelty when angered. your wrath begins to give way to panic as aerion stands to meet you at eye-level.

“if i do nothing when a knight advances on my betrothed, my lady,” he begins, his voice eerily calm, “then he will think he is free to take anything that belongs to the dragon. and what will men fear if they do not fear dragons?”

you feel your resolve and all your righteous outrage abandon you now that his clear eyes are locked on you. the smell of sweet wine on his lips blends with warm spices and the faintest hint of smoke. he studies you closely, his brows knit in thought. suddenly, his hand clamps around your jaw, trapping you in place.

“did you enjoy it?” he asks, undeterred by your gasp or your fingers clutching at his wrist. “the spectacle? the attention of some lowly lord before the eyes of thousands?”

you whine as he walks you backwards, your jaw still firmly in his grip, until you’re pushed against the table and made to sit on it. finally, he releases your face, and brings his lips down to your ear.

“truth be told, i should have punished you both,” he says. “only a common whore debases herself for the affection of a lordling. is that what you are?” aerion’s voice is gentle enough, but the words send blood rushing to your cheeks. as you attempt to stammer out a response, the prince pushes your knees apart, and his hand works its way under your skirts. you suck in a sharp breath when his touch trails up your inner thigh, cursing the warmth that pools deep in your core.

“answer me, my lady,” he presses, your title feeling more like a taunt than a formality. your eyes flutter shut as his fingers glide between your folds, already slick with arousal, but you answer him nonetheless.

“no, my prince,” you manage, your voice hardly a whisper. aerion smiles—cold, unforgiving—as his fingers work you, drawing out quiet moans from your lips. your free hand clutches at his bicep while you use your other to prop you up on the table, your breathing growing ragged.

“do you know what they’d say about you, had i let that indignity go unanswered?” aerion’s face hovers inches above yours, his eyes narrow. “they’d call you a slut across the seven kingdoms. they’d say any hedge knight could have his pleasure with you—the wife of the dragon—for the small price of a flower garland.”

his own words seem to invigorate him, quickening his pace between your legs. you cry out when he sinks a finger into you, hardly allowing you to adjust to the intrusion before adding another, and he laughs. it’s a sound devoid of warmth; you can see in his eyes the same look you imagine he gave the poor lord before shattering his legs. hunger.

aerion feels the way you tremble around him, he sees the blissful expression on your face; you know the message is clear. you belong to the dragon now. you cling to his arm desperately, burying your face in his shoulder as your spine arches toward him, an impossible tightness building in your belly.

“forgive me, my prince,” you beg, almost delirious as his fingers curl against a strangely sensitive spot inside you. your abdomen starts to contract and your moan grow louder, much to aerion’s delight; let the whole tourney hear who owns you. and then, just as you’re about to reach your peak, he stills abruptly, withdrawing his hand from your aching cunt.

your eyes blink open in a daze, your thigh still twitching from your impending release. your wide eyes stare at him expectantly, pleadingly, your cheeks hot with desire; surely, he cannot not leave you like this? the prince leans over you and shakes his head, bringing his fingers to his lips to taste you. sweet as summer wine.

“forgiveness must be earned,” he tells you after a moment, his voice coated in mock sincerity. he lifts your chin with a single finger, forcing you to meet his icy eyes. “earn it.”

he gives you a final smirk—arrogant, like a knight who’s bested an a opponent—before retreating completely. he exits the pavilion without so much as a second glance, leaving you flustered and frustrated upon the table, your gown bunched around your hips and your core aching for relief. you breathe shakily, for the first time contemplating what life will be like alongside aerion targaryen, the volatile, cruel, possessive prince he is.