You roused, eyes bleary and unfocused. You blinked a few times as the sun began to filter through the lowered drapes. A familiar body was behind you, breathing slowed, his long arm draped over you.

You scrunched your eyes shut at the faint pangs of your head aching. Along in the apex of your thighs. Gods. You didn’t move, slowly coming to your senses.

You indulged in too much wine with Daeron last night. A rare occurrence as his ‘stuffy’ wife that had to manage Summerhall as Daeron couldn’t be arsed. Daeron nuzzled into your mussed hair, breathing slowed and occasionally hitching. His hand gripped your hip harder, long fingers digging into your flesh.

Seven hells.

You glanced down to his hand. Daeron was not awake, that was for sure. His eyes were closed, face blissful as he whined all tender and sweet, hips slowly rolling against your arse. Your cheeks flushed at feeling how dampened your shift was from however the hell long Daeron had been spending and leaking all over your arse. You’d kept him on a short leash lately— the prince was pent up.

Hm. Better than nightmares and tears. Even if this was a right mess.

Your cunt ached. You rolled back against his hard cock and earned a soft whimper of your name, his hips stuttering. Daeron gripped harder, voice soft and sleepy, “Love, mm- feel s’good. Need…” He broke off again as you gently rolled your arse against his throbbing cock.

Reaching down, you laced your fingers with Daeron’s. You hummed, brushing your thumb over his larger hand. Daeron huffed, jerked his hips with a desperate whimper. You indulged him a little longer before you had your own ideas surfacing. Your sweet, wayward prince was delightful like this. Not haunted, in the present, focused on pleasure and feeling good. You almost felt bad, you would’ve tended to his needs sooner. But Daeron’s sleepy mumbling and pretty moans threw that out the window.

Good things come to those who wait.

“Daeron.”

A jerk of his hips, his strong nose behind your ear.

“Daeron, sweetling, wake up.”

You reached behind you to give a gentle tug of his sandy hair— your husband gasping and going shock still. You peered over to meet his periwinkle eyes, a gentle smile on your heated face. This wasn’t the first time he’d needed to be locked away and worked out thoroughly— Daeron relaxed at your shrug and hum, looking less bewildered at the lack of judgement.

In a more conscious state your prince spoke, raspy and soft as he kissed at your throat. “Mm, I was having a good dream, albeit you were doing more than letting me rut at you like a green boy.”

His hand slipped up your thigh, getting a good squeeze of your thighs. He moaned, lashes fluttering, pretty mouth hung open. Even with that dreadful scar from the accursed tourney, his sensual mood softened his edges, if he really had them much else besides to keep people at arm’s length.

“You needed it, green boy or not. You’ve soaked my shift beloved. That full up?”

He sighed, eyes closed as he murmured, breath fanning over your shoulder, his fingers fiddling with the ties. Daeron continued to rub his flush cock across the seed soaked fabric over your ass. He mumbled, “Mm, drags good, so soft, you’re so soft.”

Your lips quirked up as he whimpered softly, your hand adjusting the one feeling you up under your shift to your plush clit. You turned awkwardly to get at Daeron’s bitten lips, kissing, whispering, “Might drag better if you just slip in.” He whined outright as you pulled your defiled shift to your waist. You opened your thighs wide enough for Daeron’s leaking cock to nestle at the snug area where your thighs met and core leaked.

He whimpered, rutting a few times as Daeron gasped, moving faster.

“Fuck- dear- ah- ah- s’damn wet my love. Fuck, Gods.”

You slowed him down with a lazy kiss, tongues brushing against eachother in an age old dance. You stroked his arm as you hummed, “Take it in, no rush, it’s only the morn.” Daeron audibly swallowed, voice weak as he panted, “Wanna…mm, just stay here…” His eyes lolled.

Pretty boy.

Your eyes slipped shut as the blonde’s cockhead brushed your swollen bud. You cooed, gently leaning into his movements. “You can stay, we can lay here, make love, make a mess…my sweet prince.

Daeron’s hips slid back and forth as you lulled him into a state of mindless pleasure. Daeron kept it slow like you said— a few reminders now and then. He’d squeeze you, bury that handsome face against the nape of your name as he panted and mewled in dizzying relief.

“Love you, oh, oh- love, how I love you,” Daeron babbled and canted his hips upward. He whimpered and carried on as you made sure to draw his pleasure out. You got closer with every needy plea and whine from his lips. Such a cute little slut, all yours now.

You reached behind you, arching with a breathy moan, “Close, love you, keep going baby, keep going. Don’t you stop.”

He groaned, forehead pressing on your shoulder.

“I- nghhh- I dunno,” Daeron whispered, dark brows furrowing as he trembled, spilled more pre across your flushed lips. You had to turn back again, your husbands shaking hand at your cheek. You pecked his lips, amusement in your chest as he chased you with a displeased noise.

“Shh, I’m not going anywhere. Be a sweet baby and make me come, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he echoed, blinking glassy periwinkle eyes. His hair was messy, fucked truly. You smiled at him, instructing gently, “Mm, good boy, yeah, right there love, can you feel it?”

He groaned, circling his fingers.

“Can you feel me?” You asked again, more firm.

Daeron shuddered as you clenched around him, more of your own arousal and Daeron’s pre mixing together to create slick, heady noises. He rasped, eyes shutting with a mewl, tears welling in those lovely expressive eyes. He leaned towards your ear, voice wrecked, “So close, oh, I feel you, so tight baby, please don’t go…”

“Not going anywhere Dare.”

You smiled, feeling that precipice rise in your molten belly as Daeron lost more and more composure. You kissed him with heady intoxication, lapping into his warm mouth, tasting the spices lingering from that Dornish wine. His thumb continued to circle your most intimate parts, cock stimulating everything else. It was a tangle of limbs, moans, drawn out cries and euphoria in the morning haze.

Daeron huffed, holding you tight as he pled all sweet and saccharine. Nothing like an eldest prince, an heir. They were supposed to fuck and claim. Daeron was close enough to a boy whore from Oldtown who simpered and pressed his pretty cock for a lick of coin.

Well. He didn’t need coin. But your sweet prince loved affection and feeling good, not having to think so much.

“Please, longer, more, hurt s’all good,” Daeron slurred. His eyes were glassy, teary, his cheeks flushed and damp. You kissed his darkened lips again, arching as a line of pleasure rolled up your back.

Fine. Good things come to those who wait.

“Alright baby, yeah,” you breathed, meeting his eyes with delirious dilated pupils and a lazy grin, “We’ll sit here all afternoon until you’re crying for me to stop.”

He nodded, inhaling eagerly at the promise, cock spurting more against your heated flesh at the idea. You caressed his cheek, perfectly content with a day escaping the ever mounting friction outside of your chambers. Daeron pressed his lips to yours eagerly, tongue sliding in to lap for a few moments. He pulled back, the blonde breathing, “Yes, need that love, need you. Need you so bad.”

You cupped his cheek, eyes on his as you replied, “Go ahead darling, all you need. Wanna hear, feel, see how perfect you are. Do it for me.”

He whined ‘fuck’ before attaching himself to your throat— the day a blissful reprieve and dedication to the pair of your own unfulfilled, long ignored needs. Daeron stiffened as you finally clenched hard as his oversensitive tip was caught in the vice of your cunt and thinks.. He sniffled, gasped, stiffened before crying out as hot spend splattered against your thighs and swollen intimates, flush and needy with arousal.

“Good boy, keep going, I think I’ll wait…”

Daeron laughed deliriously, pressing lush kisses to any exposed skin as the blonde returned to soft panting, moans, babbled and leisurely rutting.

Daeron lay curled around his drowsy wife, his hands wandering lazily—kneading her breasts, the soft fat of her stomach and hips, his lips brushing slow kisses against her shoulder. His hips rut softly against the curve of her backside, slow and patient, She made a tired little sound at the attention, too sleepy to protest, only sinking further into him.

His fingers slipped beneath the edge of her nightdress, easing the fabric higher as his mouth trailed along her side in soft kisses, his fingers hooked into the waistband of her small cloth, pulling it down. “This alright petal?” he murmurs, wine on his breath. She answered with a sleepy nod.

Carefully, gently, he guided her onto her stomach, his hands smoothing over the curve of her back, then down to cup her backside, kneading the soft flesh with slow, reverent pressure. His lips trace a path up and down her spine—light, unhurried kisses that make her shiver. She’s half-asleep, pliant, warm beneath him.

“Gods,” he whispered, voice rough with exhaustion and affection alike, He shifted, pulling his trousers down just enough. The night air kisses his thighs, and the heat of her body pulls him closer. “Need to have you, princess…” he murmurs against her shoulder, his voice low but tender.

He eases her legs apart with his knee, settling between them. His cock brushes against her slit—already slick with her sleepy arousal. He doesn’t push. He rocks his hips, letting the head glide through her folds, teasing them both. She gasps softly, her fingers curling into the sheets.

“That’s it,” he breathes, pressing his forehead to her nape. “Just let me in, my sweet petal.”

Slowly, he sinks inside her—an inch at a time, stretching her with a gentle, full ache. Her body accepts him greedily, a wet, clinging heat that makes him groan against her skin. He stills when he’s fully sheathed, letting her feel every inch of him, letting the moment settle.

Then he begins to move—a languid, deep rhythm, hips flush against her backside. Each thrust is a question, answered by her soft, breathy sighs. He reaches around to palm her breast, thumbing her nipple. His mouth never leaves her skin—kissing her shoulder, her neck, the shell of her ear.

“Feel good, princess?” he whispers.

She answers with a shudder, her hips pressing back into him, asking for more. He gives it—not harder, but deeper, slower, until every inch of them is connected. The room is full of quiet sounds: the slick whisper of skin, her muffled whimpers, his ragged breaths.