Serving Saucy Fanfics

"Do I even wanna know? Just tell me anyways." "It means having sex in a plane...high in the sky. Technically" "Oh." "Hard to achieve on a dragon, I imagine."

She raised her eyebrows. "Yes." Blinked. "Gods. And Aegon has done that." Closed her eyes. "What have I done? Three of my children are on their way to Paris on dragonback and they think their mother some boring old widow obsessed with useless safety measures."

"You were right in your concern." She took a deep breath. "But Aemond will not let his sister come to harm." "Yes," Alicent agreed with a hint of a sob at the back of her throat.

Criston hesitated. The flight attendant would come bring her order soon, and he was far beneath Alicent in station. Her designer bag was mocking him from afar. YSL, green, one of her signature tones even, while he had a normal backpack. "Is my bag a security problem?" "No," he assured quickly.

Criston swallowed. The stewardesses must still be in other departments. He opened his mouth, "You're not boring." She stared at him. Didn't thank him. Of course not. It should've been a compliment. Not such a simple statement. "I'm glad you see that." He squeezed her hand the slightest bit, then let go.

A stewardess came by two minutes later and Alicent took her ordered tea with a relieved thank-you. "Do you want anythin' else?" "No, thank you, Your Grace." He didn't move his face, but his hopeful eyes said it all: so they won't come soon again.

The Queen gave an amused huff. "I thought you above such...such pursuits." He resisted the urge to grip her hand. "It's not that, Your Grace." She seemed sceptical. "I promise." Instead of touching her, he gazed outside, to the clouds beneath them. "All your children are away, your father is in a normal seat to listen in on conversation, the other guards are glad about the lack of duty." She slowly began to understand, "We are alone..." "Only if you want to."

She had invited him here, where she would otherwise be spending time reading while Aemond plotted in silence. "Not now." "Whenever you wish."

She opened a magazine and browsed in it until she exhaled a small "ahh" and began to read, then inspect at the pictures. Criston watched her, how exhausted she is despite all her elegance. For all the time they spent together, he didn't know her interests that well, only the ones she voices. "Do you have the newspaper?" The Queen Dowager didn't look up. "Which one?" "Anything." She gestured to her bag. "One from today, one from yesterday." "Thank you, Your Grace."

She didn't hand them over, so he quickly leaned over her and took the bag. Her phone was next to her, and he assumed it's the only thing which might embarrass her, but he sees the newspapers immediately and grabbed one, checkee the date, and closed the bag without giving in to his curiosity.

Criston spent a polite amount of time reading and looking out the window, before he looked at her again. Alicent had relaxed, was no longer reading superficially but immersed. Criston could keep the silence up for much longer.

* Remembering this, Criston keeps his neck straight and responds to Aemond, "First Class was a welcome change from ensuring her Grace's safety with people around, my Prince." Aemond smiles falsely. "Among other benefits, I presume." Criston's eyes lose their placable lift. "The food was much better than expected."

* "Are you not hungry, Ser Criston?" "I was expecting a sandwich, Your Grace." "Ah." He explained, "The meal merely surprised me, that's all." It did look delicious. And it was one other thing keeping his temptation at bay for longer. No doubt the Queen Dowager would like to relax after dinner.

So Ser Criston kept quiet. It was strange, being in the same room instead of standing guard outside or coming inside to have sex with her. She had not asked for any type of service.

After their plated were taken away, Alicent stood up and announced, "I'm going to bed now. Sleep where you wish." Criston lost interest in the news immediately and stared at her. "Would it bother you if I merely removed my trousers and jacket?" "No, Your Grace."

The image of her simple underwear invaded his mind, though she would no doubt continue wearing her shirt: if not for him, then for the flight attendants, just in case. Criston tried to sound unconcerned, "I shall join you in a minute." Alicent nodded. "Good. Dim the lights when you're ready. Only on my side, of course. Decide on the other side what you—" She massaged her neck. "Yes, my Queen. Do you have a headache?" "Aegon's my headache." She opened a button with an annoyed yank. "And Aemond."

She pulled off her wide green pants, which were from a photo shoot he still remembered: authentic elegance, mature for her age, and yet, it made him remember she was younger than most lowborn women with this many children. Or no, perhaps she'd bought them before. Whatever the case: they seemed to be one of her luxury items of comfort, there for her when he couldn't touch her body himself.

Now I can, he realized: they could be next to each other, brushing against each other, covered by blankets and no one would be the wiser. "Might I do something to alleviate your pain?" Her answer was faint, "Yes." He touched her neck again. "You may...massage my neck and back. If that does any good." "I hope it will." Alicent lowered her head. She did not want to be a burden.

"But do take off your clothes." He kept a shiver from running down his spine. The Queen means the shoes and trousers. "Yes, my Queen." "Did you bring preservatives?" "Your Grace?" Alicent bit her lip. "Is that not the French word for it?" "Ah—oh." Criston could speak some French. Condoms. He continued taking off his shoes as if it was a normal conversation about luggage. "Yes. No. I didn't. I thought...it would be unwise." "Indeed. It would've been foolish."

Next came his trousers. Alicent nodded and sat in a comfortable position, watching unashamedly as he undressed...for a second. Then she sighed and lay on her stomach, waiting. He was there quickly. "May I?" Alicent nodded, and he moved her reddish brown hair aside, then caressed her neck. She leaned into the touch and sighed faintly.

But he wouldn't do more than that without her bidding. Instead, he pressed both thumbs on each side of her neck, feeling for tensions, savoring her smooth skin under his fingers. Her neck was a little stiff, which was to be expected, but her back was so tensed up he wondered how much she'd worried about her children during the flight.

Criston took a moment to warm up his fingers, which were cold from the altitude. When he applied pressure again, her head jerked a little, as if she'd been going to look over her shoulder. With how her muscles flexed under his work, the massage must hurt, and yet, she stayed calm, didn't say a word. Her skin and the brush of her curls felt divine.

"How does this feel?" Criston allowed himself to ask. It was for her benefit. Alicent's head was empty for a second. "Good. Nice."

She put her hair out of the way, so he was no longer touching it, making him realize what a big step he had taken without her permission. They were secret lovers. They did not exchange more tenderness than exchanging words of comfort, helping each other dress or wishing each other luck.

* Aemond steps towards Criston, close enough that his words only reach the knight and queen. "The food? Or my mother's company?"

Alicent's lover stays calm. He has to, if he reveals their years-long secret, she'd be devastated, embarrassed. But she is furious, "Aemond, how dare you?" Her second oldest son raises his hands defensively.

* She sighed into the massage, lay pressed against the sheets, sighing on the verge of moaning. And he took in the sounds like a concert. "T—to the right..." He adjusted. "Here?" "Further up." It was at the back of her head, where he was once again touching her hair. He started cautiously, rubbing small circles not unlike he sometimes did on her clit. Eventually, Criston found she reacted better to one direction and focused on that.

"Just like this." Alicent exhaled and inhaled purposefully. "It's helping." "I'm glad, Your Grace."

"Is there—" A judder throughout the plane startled them. "Ser—" Another rumble. "Sit up." Criston looked for the belts. They needed to stay buckled in for turbulences. When he saw her again, Alicent was sitting upright and her voice was jittery, "S-seat, I prefer to sit down." "Yes." He rushed towards his seat to grip it and offer her his hand. The Queen stepped forward, but wavered upon another shake. She hesitated to go further. Ser Criston turned back around. "Sit down. Put on the belt." She nodded, trying to keep her fear small, as she had so many fears before.

The floor tilted under her feet and Criston was forced to sit down and grip his seat. Then the plane flew steadily, but the red light indicating necessity for belts was still on. He saw Alicent, eyes big, hands shaky, overwhelmed, no belt in sight. The knight took the chance and stood up, rushing over, quickly reaching over her to fasten her belt, then rolling to the other side to do the same for himself.

* Criston tries to placate Aemond, "I assure you, my Prince, the flight was not an enjoyable time. There were some turbulences."

* A flight attendant came over soon after the start of them, giving instructions on how to adjust the bed so they'd be safer in case of worse turbulences. "But for now they're mild," the woman assured. Alicent swallowed. "Thank you."

* "Turbulences?" Aemond raises a brow.

* Alicent gripped the sheets above her strongly. "How long do you reckon it'll take?" He didn't want to look outside, but did so anyways: the windows showed rain and not much else. "It appears we're in a storm. It may take minutes. Or hours." She made a disappointed sound, then grew quiet, as she often did when she downplayed her feelings.

He was going to find the right words to console her when she suddenly started crying. "I cannot. This—this vacation is already testing me and it's barely begun." She shook her head. "Three of my children are flying, Aemond and Helaena together, but how will that help them in a storm like this?!"

Both of them watched the rain against the window. "I should've forced them to fly on this plane." "The princes have both flown during storms before." "Yes—yes, but when Aemond and Vhaegar..." "Helaena and Aemond are on Dreamfyre, are they not?"

"Indeed. Perhaps I shouldn't worry so." "Worry is a natural feeling for a parent." Alicent shrugged. "Tell that to Viserys' grave."

Criston had to think for a moment. There was no offering to kill him for her, and if we was still alive, he wouldn't have done so...unless her failure of a husband hadn't been the King. "Is there anything I can do for you?" "I'm fine...I think." "The plane is flying more steadily now." He lowered his voice because his suggestion was too forbidden to speak out loud, "I could wash my hands."

She sounded interested, but declined, "When we arrive. Once the children are busy." "Yes, Your Grace." Alicent shivered. "The storm brought a chill." "Should I come closer?" She lifted her arm from where it had rested on the duvet. "Please."

Criston tried to cheer her up, "Dreamfyre knows Helaena's easily tense nature. She will fly lower to the ground if need be." Alicent was still uncertain. "And what of Sunfyre?" "He has a decent amount of experience flying."

Alicent wiped a tear away. "But Aegon...he is too daring at times." "He is," he Criston admitted, remembering his training with the royal sons when they were young boys. "But Aemond and Helaena will be close to them. And if dragons can survive fire..." "Then they could survive lightening as well?" "Perhaps."

"But they aren't the same, are they?" A quivering sob forced its way through her throat. "No." He inched closer, patting his chest in small movements as an offer of letting her head rest there. Alicent swallowed and gladly cuddled up to him.

His chest was comfortable, a firmness she could rely on, now that images of Helaena holding her ears in a storm flashed behind her eyes, and Aemond's eyes widening with the shock of yet again not having control, and Aegon riding Sunfyre to the wrong destination: into the sea, cliffs, trees...

"What are you looking forward to?" he attemped to distracted her. "In Paris?" Alicent cleared her throat. "Apart from seeing my children..." It was a common thing for  her to do: naming her biggest wishes first, as if her prayers might be listened to. "I would like to go to a café. Just...enjoy the vacation for a bit."

He stroked her arm, finding it cooler than his, and put an arm around her. The flight was much steadier by now, but every now and then they could feel the movement, though it seemed to be rocking them to sleep much more than startling them.

* "Normal turbulences, my Prince." *

Alicent almost yawned. "What about you, Ser Criston? What do you look forward to?" He could sense her tiredness, see the heaviness weighing down her eyes. "I'll find something I like, I'm sure of it." He leaned closer to her head. "Paris has a lot to offer."

* Aemond eyes them, analyses how they stansd: Criston at an angle, one foot where he meant to pose for the picture, the other closer to him: a broad stance, ready for defence, while his mother...is simply annoyed and upset, her body directed towards her second son. No sign of romance or lust. *

Each time after a flight attendant came, they would inch closer again, and each time Alicent felt herself dose off, she brought distance between them again.

Finally, she fell asleep, breathing slowly, face still tense but less than before. He could allow himself to fall asleep now.

* Aemond tilts his head. "I take it the turbulences complicated sleeping." *

In the middle of the night, at least from their perspective, they were woken by a jolt and multiple bumps. Only a few seconds after Criston meant to check on Alicent, she opened her eyes, still blinking. "What was that?" "Turbulences again. I presume."

She was going to nodd and calm down, but a series of bumps took her by surprise. She gave him a wide-eyed look and decided, "The next time th-they stop, we'll sit down." "Yes, Your Grace." Then she closed her eyes and started praying. He didn't know what else to do and did the same.

* Criston takes s step towards Aemond and nods. "They roused me from my sleep." Alicent nodded, "I'm glad he was there, Aemond." The flight attendants had seen them, she might as well admit it. *

For minutes, they were stuck in bed half-upright, adjusting to the movement as best as they could. Alicent's bedsheet had fallen from her, leaving her strained upper body cold. Criston gently adjusted it. Seeking more than warmth, she gripped his hand before it could back off. They locked eyes, hers wet from unshed tears, his concentrating on her state.

As if in a daze, she slowly brought her head closer, minding the juddering. Then she halted, stayed still, still, until he caressed her side under the blanket, and she surged forward to clash their lips together. With great relief that she wouldn't ignore him, he reciprocated, all while putting his arm over her, similar to a second belt.

In the middle of it, she gasped again from a movement and a yell from the other people on the plane, and sat up fully. She gripped his thigh then, and dropped her gaze for a moment, suddenly too stressed to do anything at all. "They would've told us by now if this was an emergency." Alicent unclenched her hand, but stayed quiet.

Soon they pulled apart at approaching voices, and relaxed when they were told the plane had faced far worse.

While the Queen Dowager was still shocked, her knight asked, "Can we sit in our seats again?" A friendly stewardess shook her head. "Wait until the signal glows again." He nodded.

They left again, allowing the lovers to be close, not kissing but cuddling, with Alicent's hair falling over Criston and him holding her hand to keep her from picking at her fingers.

Alicent sighed. "If you wish to fall asleep..." She noticed how tired she was despite the stress. "I'll distance myself before falling asleep." "Thank you."

His voice was low, a deep whisper, when he called her by her first name, "Good night, Alicent." "Good night, Criston."

* "It is you who should tell us about your ride here," Criston reminds Aemond with a reproachful tone. "Your mother was worried for you." Aemond looks guilty, and suddenly interested in the croustades further away.

Alicent keeps the proud smirk off her lips, simply nodding so Criston catches her satisfaction with the distraction.

They didn't have sex. But they'd never embraced this much without it.

She's not one to participate in challenges...but a part of her hopes for the romance Paris promises.

*💚*✈️*🧳* Is this my longest fic yet? 🤭. I wish they had done more with this pairing, as they were in season 2, but then again, I also ship Rhaenicent 💞 Comments more than welcome!

Daeron is raised after the faith too, but Ormund will allow you small criticisms of him so the boy can learn to react to them. You don't have to act like a parent, but he'd prefer if you admired the way he teaches Daeron.

At night, he wishes you to sleep in his bed, and during the day, you may lay down as well: with his clothes on you, so they will smell like you afterwards.

Sometimes he uses you as an exuse to leave sooner, naming your tiredness or supposed squeamishness. Of course he knows women can be very courageous, but he prefers to think you see him as your protector.

In truth, he's knocked out by the smell of strong alcohol and steps back when Daeron's dragon Tessarion approaches him, but he drapes a cloak around you during rainfall like a knight in romantic paintings.

Then there is his temper: Ormund's eaaily upset, and yet, you never quite know when he'll explode. Smell of course aggravates his anger, political decisions as well, sins in the eyes of the Seven. He doesn't stop at expressions and cursing, but uses force: throwing tools, cutlery, slicing into tables, pulling fabric apart.

However he doesn't attack his family. Never. They're his to protect, or at least to let live. His constraint depends: with Daeron, Ormund's unrestrained but as quick as possible, preparing the boy for a war he himself might not be able to accompany him to due to sensory issues. With Gwayne, Ormund allows himself near limitless insults, though he does have a preference for wordplay and hidden stabs at his interests.

You're different. You're to be respected, as a part of his household, as the Lord of Oldtown's status symbol. He even encourages compliments to you, though they may bring out jealousy.

His position as Lord of Oldtown is very important to him. At times he even neglects you for it, but he spends way more time with you than other husbands would.

Ormund will walk into your chamber with fabrics in hand and seamstresses in tow, asking you touch them and choose. They're usually green, in various shades, and he never wishes to see you in Targaryen red and black, even if it's only headwear. The combination is an abomination to him, as is the family behind them.

One time his uncle Otto and Prince Aemond came to visit, and multiple ladies whispered plans of dressing in his house's color. Ormund was appalled. "Let us use a red table cloth and call it a day." He gave those who dressed in black and red annoyed looks for the next weeks.

In Oldtown, the centre of the Faith of the Seven, Ormund finds himself with less power than one might expect. Acting as the dutiful partner is expected of you not merely as a part of marriage, but from the faith as well. They are looking up to you, and you hope to do your best at showing kindness in contrast to his aggression.

* Your Lord husband comes up behind you and strokes the vibrant green dress adorning you. "Daeron, don't you think Lady (y/n) has chosen a wonderful tapestry?" "Y-yes, my liege." "And her dress. What does it tell you, boy?" Daeron's eyes fleet to you, then the tapestry again. Ormund pats his back. "Our house." "Of course. Hightower Green." "Because we belong together." Ormund smiles confidently.