Save the dragons, ride a Targaryen

You asked him to lie on his back, and he did so without hesitation - with both arms tucked behind his head, a curious smile lingering on his lips.

Your gaze traced the length of him: from his face, down the line of his jaw, to his chest where dark hair sprawled, then lower still, narrowing into a dark line that disappeared under his breeches.

How could he be completely unaware of the effect it had on you?

The mattress dipped as you climbed onto him. Baelor’s hands settled on your thighs, steadying you as you lowered yourself against his lower abdomen, caging him beneath you. The position placed that dark line exactly where you wanted it. Your eyes fluttered shut.

You could feel its faint texture against your skin, coarse strands brushing in a way that sent a sharp, unfamiliar signal through your senses. Every nerve seemed to respond at once, the sensation unlike anything else you had known - a stripe of ruggedness you found utterly intoxicating.

Slowly, you began to move. Drawing pleasure from every stroke. The roughness created a steady, simmering heat between your legs. Leaning forward, you rested your forehead against his - breath breaking in short, uneven bursts.

"Is this it?", he whispered. "Is this why you wouldn't let me trim here?". He watched you with open fascination, his gaze following the sway of your hips and the gradual unraveling of your composure. 

A soft groan escaped you as you shifted your weight, moving in circles and savouring every sensation. Ensuring that every single hair of that happy trail rubbed against your slickness. You could feel yourself opening up for him, the natural lubrication of your arousal soaking into the coarse hair, making it slide and pull in a rhythmic, maddening cadence. The pleasure was intoxicating. 

You couldn’t stop moving. Your motions creating a gradual vertical line along his lower abdomen. Each time that hair grazed the damp area at the base of your opening, it triggered another surge of warmth between your thighs.

Baelor's hands roamed upward, skimming along your ribs. His touch was light, almost teasing, a counterpoint to the increasing desperation of your movements.

"You have a strange obsession with this, darling," he whispered, pausing for a fraction of a second to look up at you. His eyes were dark, blown wide with lust, but his expression remained one of pure, unadulterated love.

Then your attention drifted to his chest, fingers sinking into the thick, dark hair that spread across his pectorals and tapered toward his sternum. It softened the hard lines of muscle beneath. You traced through it lazily, relishing the coarse strands against your skin.

The contrast of tanned muscle and untamed growth left you feeling small against him, enveloped by his scent and strength. It deepened the hunger already coiling within you. The sight of him alone left your mouth dry. You loved every inch of him.

"You're so wet for me." His eyes never left your face. The slickness between you had grown impossible to ignore, easing your movements while somehow heightening every sensation.

"Tell me what you're feeling." The amusement in his voice had softened into something far hungrier.

"Full." You rocked faster, chasing the feeling. "Even though you're not inside me. I feel so full."

Baelor continued to watch you with naked admiration. His hands never stopped their gentle guidance, never tried to rush you or take control. He simply held you while you used him, patient and attentive, those dark eyes drinking in every reaction.

The coil in your belly tightened. Your thighs trembled with the effort of maintaining the rhythm. And still, that trail provided the perfect friction, the perfect texture, everything you needed to spiral higher and higher.

When you started to feel the pressure build, a golden heat radiating from the centre of your being, his name was all you could manage.

“Baelor… Baelor… Baelor.” His name was a prayer on your lips now.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice steady and grounding. “Just let go.”

And so you did. You ground down hard one final time, pressing yourself against that trail, against his navel, riding out the waves until they finally began to subside. Your body went lax, and you slumped forward. Baelor’s large arms catching you before you could collapse fully onto his chest.

A few moments passed before he cupped your jaw, tilting your face up to his. “My heart,” he whispered, planting a kiss on your lips.

“I’m definitely never trimming now,” he said quietly, his eyes bright with amused disbelief.