Once Upon a Whaaa?

Maekar groans atop his horse, slumping forward slightly as he watches his hunting party fumble with their bows in an attempt to shoot a distant stag. The creature bellows as it spots its hunters, vanishing into the brush as the smartly-dressed hunters take off on foot, pursuing the animal with too-loud shouts.

“Fucking idiots,” Maekar mumbles, watching the lords disappear deeper into the woods. He rolls his eyes before looking around, finding himself alone save for a pair of guards lingering several metres away.

The prince dismounts his horse, giving her a solid pat on her flank, before he pulls his riding gloves from his hands and pockets them. His thighs are aching from being in the saddle for too long, his knees creaking upon his dismount. Pressure builds at the base of his spine, and he reaches his arms up, cracking his lower vertebrae in a satisfying pop.

He needs to go for a walk. And he has no interest in joining the hunting party in pursuit of a stag they most definitely will not catch.

Maekar makes for the opposite direction, ducking between a pair of towering pines. Behind him, the shuffle of footsteps, and with a disgruntled huff, he turns and shoots daggers at his approaching guards.

One of them pauses, nodding at his prince. “Your grace, you must not stray far.”

“Yes, yes, fuck off,” Maekar mumbles in response, before disappearing between the trees and leaving his guards behind.

The air is thick with the smell of pine needles and wildflowers, and Maekar finds himself drawing in a deep breath, his eyes fluttering closed. A lovely spring afternoon, Summerhall glimmering on the nearby hills, sunlight reflecting from its multitude of windows. There is hardly a breeze, and the space around the prince is warm enough that the thinnest sheen of sweat collects beneath the thick collar of his tunic.

He continues walking, hearing the distant shouts of the hunting party he was supposed to be a part of. He didn’t even want to be out here. If it were up to him, he’d be lounging around his own gardens and doing, for lack of better words, fuck all. But the Prince of Summerhall, his older brother had insisted, must keep up appearances.

Eventually, Maekar’s legs bring him into a small clearing surrounded by an array of trees. Their branches weave together overhead, creating an intricate patchwork of greens and browns. Bright white sunlight filters between their thin leaves, bathing the area in angelic light. The ground is thick with soft grass which sprouts small purple flowers, their petals dainty and delicate as though they’re made of silk.

Maekar’s knees crack as he squats to pluck one of the flowers between his thumb and forefinger. The dark violet petals are soft beneath the pads of his fingers: they felt like silk just as much as they looked like silk. He has never seen anything like it, and when he raises it to his nose, he smells a rose-like sweetness that he can almost taste. It lingers in the back of his throat, and when he brings it away from his face, the smell seems to stick to his sinuses.

Maekar looks around the small clearing, not much bigger than his solar in Summerhall. The little flowers grow plentiful, and his mind wanders to his pretty healer back at the castle, wondering if she knows what these things are.

He shakes his head, grumbling curses to himself. He drops the flower.

He should not be thinking of you.

The best healer in all the realm, it seems, and yet you’re right here in Summerhall. He can remember the day you arrived at the royal residence—bright eyed, smiling ear-to-ear, looking so much… happier than any of the home’s previous healers. You weren’t like the other maesters with their scowls and curt instructions. You were the personification of sunshine: you helped anyone and everyone, you were cheerful and amiable and so incredibly easy to talk to.

Which is why Maekar couldn’t stop thinking about you. He still can’t stop thinking about you, and you have resided in his castle for long enough, having spent three of his namedays brewing remedies for his frightful hangovers.

He decides he’ll bring a few home for you. He likes the way they look, and the way they smell, so surely they must do something.

With surprisingly gentle hands, Maekar plucks several flowers from the base of their stems. He collects a bunch, holding them between pale fingers, and when his fingers struggle to hold around the collection, he stops. He peers down curiously at the cluster of violet flowers in his hand and notices something glistening on his skin. From their ivory centre, a shimmering powder dusts out as they’re jostled together.

He swaps the bundle to his other hand and raises his fingers, appraising the sparkling substance that settles between the grooves of his fingerprints. It’s as though he had run his fingers across the surface of a pearl and the sheen had stuck to the dew of his skin.

“Strange,” he thought aloud, then almost on impulse, he brought his hand to his face. Inhaling, he once again caught the pungent aroma of roses. Sweeter than roses, as though they had been drenched in sugar water.

His mouth began to water.

“The fuck?” Maekar frowned, feeling his saliva pool around the base of his lower teeth. But it was subconscious: the flowers smelt so sweet, so dessert-like, and he had been out in the sun for way too long.

So he licked the powder off of his finger before his brain could tell him otherwise. Before his brain could tell him that No, Maekar, we don’t lick strange powder from strange flowers in the middle of the forest.

But he felt like a child, finding something he just had to try. He has to.

The powder was almost better than he imagined. A thinner, lighter version of the sugar stocked in the kitchens back in the castle. Smoother on his tongue, the flavour brighter, almost floral in its aftertaste. He couldn’t help himself from licking the dust from his other fingers, his brain telling him to. Something swirling around his brain like a gentle breeze, urging him to taste more: it tastes good, your body needs it, it’s not poisonous.

Well, he deduces it isn’t poisonous when, after a three minute stroll back to his guards and his steed, he hasn’t keeled over and sicked his guts out. In fact, he feels great. His sinuses have cleared of a small spring sniffle he had developed several days ago, his vision seems clearer and less misty, and his thighs no longer ache as he boosts himself onto his mare.

Maekar stuffs the flowers carefully into a small pouch and fastens it to his belt.

The hunting party returns, as he expected, empty-handed. They look up at him bashfully, and he simply shakes his head. A couple of the lords look at him strangely: the prince didn’t reprimand them for their incompetence? He didn’t chide them for being too slow, or too stupid, or too pathetic?

No, he didn’t.

Because Maekar is too busy staring off into the distance, his bright vision now beginning to blur at the edges. That pleasant heat trapped beneath his collar is now beginning to blaze, his skin prickling as sweat begins to build. His tongue feels too heavy in his mouth, and he can still taste rose-tainted sugar along the lines of his teeth. Something is happening to him, but his brain is telling him that everything is fine. Everything is great.

“I must… return to… my castle…” Maekar manages to say despite the lead weight of his tongue. His tone remains the same—stern and measured—so no one questions him as he abruptly pulls his horse around and flicks the reins hard.

—✿—

Your quarters are in a shadowy, quiet corner of Summerhall, but you don’t mind. It serves both as your work space and as your chambers, with your bed pushed into the corner of the cramped room surrounded by drapes of black and green silk. A long wooden table is pinned against the adjacent wall, the wall above crammed full of plants and jars filled with all sorts of natural remedies. They are all carefully labelled, and even colour coded, and you often find yourself staring up at your creations with pride bursting from your chest.

You have lived here for three years, and have come to be very fond of the Targaryen’s who so often spent the warmer months within the stone walls. Despite the work of other maesters, it seems Prince Maekar has developed an affinity for you—seeking you out for medicaments to treat the seemingly never-ending ailments of his children.

You have become an expert in applying salves to the cuts and scrapes Rhae receives toppling from her palfrey; brewing soothing teas to ease the pain of Daella’s moonblood; tending to the wounds of the adventuring Aegon; and, of course, ensuring the troubled Prince Daeron did not drown in his own sickness. Even the wayward Aerion allows you to clean and bandage the lacerations he receives after a day’s training.

For most of your life, people have referred to you as a woods witch. But here, within the walls of Summerhall, you are a healer. A maester, of sorts.

Sunlight streams in mottled stripes through the tall windows on the far wall of your chambers. The trees that grow outside obscure most of the light, but enough gets in to settle the room in a pleasant, milky glow. You busy yourself at your workstation, replenishing a large vial of ground herbs used as the base of moon tea: a heap of tansy and wormwood, and a bunch of mint.

You hum to yourself as you pop a cork onto the vial, and as you slot the bottled powder onto its slot on your shelf, your door bangs open.

The heavy oak door slamming against the stone wall trembles the glasses sitting on your shelf, and you jump, yelping as you whirl around. Your eyes grow wide as Prince Maekar’s tall frame fills your doorway, one large hand splayed over the door, the other balled at his side. His shoulders move as he pants, and when he takes a step inside, he slams the door behind him with just as much strength as when he had opened it.

You hurriedly sink into a curtsy. “My prince—”

“Tell me what these are.” Maekar produces a small pouch from his belt and tosses them onto the table.

You eye him curiously as he continues to suck in laboured breaths. You carefully pry open the pouch and spot small flowers, their silky violet petals coated in a shiny white powder. You catch a whiff of roses, and immediately draw the pouch shut.

“Where did you find these, your grace?” You ask him, turning quickly to find him approaching.

He grabs the edge of the table with both hands, leaning his entire body weight onto it, his knuckles white with his grip. He groans and you frown, noting the way his white hair clings to his sweaty forehead. His cheeks are flaming red beneath his beard too.

You speak again, “My prince? Where did you find these?”

“The fucking forest,” he replies curtly, head hanging between his arms. You note the strong expanse of his shoulders and back beneath the stretch of his black hunting tunic. He grunts. “You didn’t answer me.”

You sigh through your nose, watching the prince tremble where he stands. You have half the mind to run your hand down his back as if you were soothing Rhae to sleep.

“They’re an incredibly rare floret, I didn’t even know they grew around here! I believe they were brought over from Essos, possibly from the forests of Lesser Moraq—”

“I didn’t ask for a fucking history lesson,” Maekar grumbles, lifting his head. His light eyes are black beneath the expansion of his pupils, his white eyelashes fluttering as he sucks in another troubled breath. “What are they?”

“...Flowers,” you say slowly and simply, noting the way his eyes drop down your body. 

You have only ever seen the effects of these flowers once, and that was long ago on your travels around the known world. You found a small pot being cultivated on the roof of a pleasure house in Lys, and watched the way experienced courtesans applied the sugared pollen to their necks before allowing patrons to lick their way across their shimmering skin.

Your stomach dropped. “Oh, gods, your grace, did you consume the pollen?”

Maekar grunts, eyes snapping up to yours. “What?”

“The pollen,” you repeat. “The white powder. Did you taste it?”

Maekar’s eyes drop. This time, he appears bashful as he stares down at the ground. He’s still gripping the edge of your table, willing himself not to topple over under the weight of the burning pleasure no doubt coursing through him. You almost feel bad.

“My prince,” you say sternly. “Why did you do that? You should know better—”

“Do not berate me,” Maekar growls, finally pushing himself away from your table.

He walks across the room, sweat slick across his skin. He begins to unbutton his tunic, his doublet likely tossed somewhere down one of Summerhall’s winding corridors. Across the room, he turns to you and you swallow thickly as he finally unbuttons his tunic, exposing his pale chest and stomach. He’s wet with sweat, moisture beading between the soft grooves along his strong abdomen.

He gestures to himself. “Fix this.”

You shake your head. “My prince, there is no medicinal cure.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he tells you. “You can fix anything.”

His tone softens as he tells you that last part, and you find yourself leaning back against your table as your knees tremor slightly. With a loud groan, Maekar sits down on the edge of your bed, the straw mattress dipping deeply beneath his weight. He sheds himself of his tunic, exposing his strong, scarred shoulders and the muscled length of his arms.

“My prince,” you squeak, averting your eyes. Your body heats up beneath your cotton robes at the usually reserved prince’s boldness. “Please, there is nothing I can do—”

“Tell me plainly,” Maekar utters, his breathing erratic. There is a noticeable tent in the front of his trousers, and he covers it with his forearm, groaning before speaking again. “How do… how do I get this to stop?”

You swallow nervously. It was such a simple answer, yet you struggle to articulate the right words. Maekar stares at you, eyes dark with desire, his brows furrowing as his patience wears thin. Thinner and thinner like a fraying string.

“Out with it,” he snaps, a few strands of his hair falling over his forehead.

“Release,” you spit out as quickly as you can. “You… you need to release.”

Maekar’s brows furrow deeper. “What?”

Gods, this was humiliating. Shame crawls up your spine, invading your nervous system as you fidget with a ring on your finger. A prince of the realm was under the effects of an aphrodisiac, half-naked on your bed, looking at you as if he wanted to rip you apart.

Just get on with it, you think.

“You need to come,” you tell him almost breathlessly. “You—”

“I heard you,” Maekar interrupts, his voice low. He stares at you, head cocking to the side. “So… I can pleasure myself and I will feel better?”

“Well…” You’re still fidgeting with your ring. “I believe you can, but it is more beneficial… it will ease quicker if you… release within someone.”

“Ah,” Maekar replies. “I see.”

His voice is scarily calm despite his entire body being on fire. You can see it within him: the dewy red flush across his pale skin indicates the burning of his blood in his veins, heading south. He’s panting like a dog too, still perching on the edge of your bed. You look at him carefully, your backside pinned to the edge of the table.

Maekar continues to cock his head, looking you up and down appraisingly. His eyes linger on where you fidget with your ring, the smooth metal hugging the base of your middle finger. His eyes lie on the movement, watching you spin, spin, spin the ring around until he finds himself growing dizzy.

“Your grace?” You speak softly, still not moving from your position across the room. You point to the door though, finally removing your fingers from your ring. “Shall I inform your maester? Or perhaps organise for… for a woman to be brought to your—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the prince interrupts. He removes his forearm from his pelvis with a breathy groan that makes you squeeze your thighs together. His handsome face screws up a little in pleasure as he presses his palm flat to the bulge in the fabric of his trousers. “You can fix anything,” he says for the second time.

Your mouth goes dry. “My prince?”

“Fix me.”

“Maekar, please—”

Maekar gets to his feet, fingers deftly unbuckling and untying the intricacies of his trousers. They drape open, but he leaves them hanging around his hips as he crosses the small chambers. Your eyes flicker down momentarily to the thick stripe of white hair that delves below his waistband from the base of his navel. There’s a deep, well-healed scar that runs horizontally through the line of hair too, like a bridge across a river.

“Fix me,” he repeats, looming over you now. You lean backwards, scared not of him, but of his proximity. You are lowborn, a commoner, a woods witch. He is the Prince of Summerhall. He is Maekar Targaryen.

“My prince,” you breath out, eyes finding his. 

You can see the scars that mottle his rouged skin beneath the white hair of his beard, and you can see a small knick across the bridge of his nose. You remember the day he came to you with it—you had sat him down on his chair in his solar and applied a soothing balm to it, your hand cradling his face, his eyes closed in what you now realise would have been bliss.

Maekar watches you. “Can you fix me?”

The tent in his trousers presses to your lower belly, and you can’t help the whine that escapes you. A low hiss leaves his mouth, the muscles of his jaw working as he fights to capture a groan before it rolls unfiltered from his tongue.

“Yes,” you whisper, but it’s timid. “But I can’t. I–I shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“You’re—” You suck in a breath, and all you can smell is him. Sweat, pine needles, polished leather, fresh spring air. You shake your head. “I can call for a woman for—”

Maekar grunts. “I don’t want a fucking whore, woman. I want you.”

You gape, body hot beneath your cloak.

He continues. “I want you. I want you to fix me, for fuck sake. Are you blind to what you do to me?”

You stammer over your words, the heat of his clothed cock warm through the thick cotton of your cloak. “It–it’s the flowers, my prince.”

“Maybe it is,” Maekar whispers, shrugging. “But why was the first person I thought of you? Why did I need you, hm?”

I don’t know, you want to say.

The silence that stretches allows him to continue undeterred. “So, will you fix me?”

You bite your lip. It was no secret that the prince was a handsome man, even in his age now. He was always regarded as a handsome young man, but now? You heard the maids’ whispers from the first day you arrived, you heard the shy murmurs of the stablehands and the cooks and hell, even Aegon and Rhae’s tutor. Maekar’s a handsome prince, s’just a shame he’s such a moody bastard. A brewing storm, widowed for years now, stalking the halls of Summerhall or skulking around the gardens when the castle grew too loud.

And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find him attractive. Your eyes would linger when you rubbed ointments on bruises along his back; your hands would skim his warm skin when you applied bandages; you would try not to stare as you cuddled Aegon in your lap whilst his fever broke, Maekar watching from a chair across the room, legs splayed wide.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Maekar mutters, slightly impatient, but his tone is too breathless to hold any real weight. He peers down at you with his swollen pupils and his red cheeks, his sweat-slick forehead and his hair brushing his eyebrows. “I need you to be good and fix me.”

You nod, and the smile that splits across the prince’s face is vulpine. He crowds you now, a delighted groan slipping up and out of his chest as his hand reaches behind you as his face lowers. You gasp lightly as he traps you against the table, and you note the shimmer along the lines of his lips.

“How do you feel?” You ask quietly, your hands finding his bare chest.

He groans loudly, eyes falling shut. Your hands are heaven against his burning skin, fingers soft along the curve of his pectorals. When your thumbs brush over his nipples, his cock twitches heavily in his breeches and another groan slips between his teeth. One of his hands finds the back of your neck, and he simply holds you.

“Like I’ve been dragged through hot coals,” he hisses, hips grinding against you, the bulge of his erection hard on your soft belly. Your hands skirt lower, over the ridges of his abdomen. Maekar curses, eyes flying open when one of your thumbs drags over the dip of his navel. “Fuck, fuck, woman, Seven above.”

“How’s your head?” You ask, thumb pressing to the scar that cuts through his trail of hair above his waistband. “Are you dizzy? Does it hurt?”

“Yeah, yeah—uh, wait, no, not dizzy,” Maekar rambles as you stroke the scar, watching curiously as the lower muscles of his abdomen contract as his hips jerk. “Doesn’t hurt. Doesn’t… yeah, doesn’t hurt.”

He pants as he watches your fingers toy with the flaps of his trousers, nails tapping briefly on the unfastened buckles there. The point of your tongue presses to the corner of your mouth as you focus, eyes fixing up and along the sweat-slick skin of his abdomen.

“What about your cock?” You look up at him, eyelashes fluttering. “Does it hurt?”

Your hand slips down between you two, beneath the material of his trousers but overtop of his breeches. Your palm slides against his hard length, warm and leaking against the linen. The moan that leaves his throat is broken into shards of pleasure, strung together on thinning whimpers as his hips jerk, attempting to chase the contact.

“S’fine, s’fucking fine, it doesn’t hurt,” the prince grits out, but then opens his eyes. He stares at you, eyes narrowing, and you smile up at him shyly. He shakes his head. “Are you seriously trying—fuck, t-trying to map my symptoms? N-now?”

You stroke your palm up and down the imprint of his cock, relishing in the way his eyes gloss over as he watches you. He doesn’t seem so moody now.

“I’m a healer, my prince,” you tell him simply. “It is my job.”

“Fuck your job.”

“I need to know—”

“No, you don’t.”

You huff, vexed. “Maekar—”

Maekar bends and slams his mouth to yours, silencing your protests. His hand on the back of your neck forces you to arch up to meet him. He groans into your mouth as your lips part for him, and he finally slips his tongue against yours, flicking over your teeth momentarily. A sick thrill runs through you, something like fear, but he soothes you with his warmth: the warmth of his hands, his body, his tongue. Even the kiss is warm as the force knocks your teeth together, saliva slick against your tongue as his slides along it. It’s messy, and you find yourself digging your nails into the fat of his biceps as he curves you against the edge of the table.

His other hand crawls towards the pouch of flowers. He blindly opens it, his thumb delving inside until he can feel the silken petals, rubbing along the florets and collecting a fine layer of pollen. He does this while kissing you, drinking the little mewls that escape your mouth. Your lips are soft against his hard ones, supple from your herb-based remedies. He wonders if you can taste the rosy sweetness along his teeth.

You can. The smell of the flowers seems to be trapped in his saliva as your tongue struggles to keep up with his. The kiss is all Maekar—dominant, rough, particular. You succumb to it, letting yourself move in languid strokes to meet each of his. He seems pleased with this, a deep grumble vibrating where you hold his biceps. He continues to rut his hips, the tent in his trousers firm against you.

Maekar pulls out of the kiss with a quick lick to your lower lip. It makes you squirm, and he chuckles as he withdraws. Your hands drag down from his biceps, along his chest and abdomen, before finding his breeches and open trousers. You curl your fingers around the strings of his breeches, tugging gently until they begin to loosen, the knots unravelling.

Maekar hums, pleased. “Mm, that’s it. Y’gonna fix me, sweetheart? Gonna make all this go away, huh?”

You nod eagerly, guilt long gone now. You pull the laces undone and tear open his breeches, shucking them down until his cock can fall out. You manage to trap your gasp between your teeth as you take in the sight of his cock, heavy with pleasure and flushing a brilliant red towards the head. The velvet skin at the base is paler than the rest of his body, sitting before a patch of white hair that is an exact match to the hair on his head. Not a shade lighter or darker.

You look up at Maekar, all starry-eyed and wanting. If it weren’t for the pollen running molten in his veins, he would have kissed you again. But his cock was drooling, slit wet with precum as your small hand enclosed around the base. The hiss that leaves his throat is serpent-like, and he only just manages to squeeze the back of your neck to get your attention, your fingers barely touching where they grasp him.

He holds his thumb to your lips now, the pad shining with the white pollen. You look at it, then blink up at him.

“You want to suck it?” Maekar asks, voice dark. He doesn’t wait for a reply before his thumb presses to your closed lips, waiting.

Your response is to open your mouth. You part your lips, allowing the prince to slide the pollen-coated digit past the ridges of your teeth and onto the flat of your tongue. You whimper as your lips wrap around his knuckle, tongue laving across his thumb and tasting the sweetness of the pollen. It’s like nothing you’ve ever tasted before.

“There we go,” Maekar utters, running his thumb along your tongue. “What a good girl. Bet that taste’s real good, doesn’t it?”

You nod.

“Yeah… yeah it does.” His eyes are black with lust and it makes your stomach flip.

His gaze is predatory, and you’re completely pliant beneath him. Vulnerable. His thumb pushes further, the base knuckle bumping against your lips, and he presses down, making you gag. He appears transfixed as he repeats the actions, making you gag again, and then once more after that, until tears build in your lash line.

“Y’’know what else’ll taste good?” He whispers, almost to himself then to you, but you know it’s for you by the way he drags his thumb until he can hook your bottom teeth. 

You yelp around his thumb as he pushes firmly, pressure on your jaw, other hand still on the back of your neck. He carefully guides you down until you understand what he wants, and you drop to your knees on the worn Myrish carpet beneath you.

The prince grips the base of his cock firmly as he aligns it with your face. He retracts his thumb, wiping it across your lips before patting your cheek.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he mutters, hips inclining forward until he can rub his wet tip across your parted lips. You pout at him, and he groans, the hand he had on your neck now resting on the top of your head. “Don’t look at me like that.”

With a gravelly groan, he continues to drag the head of his cock against the warm skin of your face. Precum smears across your chin, then your cheek, and you whimper at the heat that passes through your core. He moves his hand from your head to grip the edge of the table for support as he finally presses his tip to your mouth once more. Your face feels sticky, and he peers down at you proudly, no doubt committing the gloss across your skin to memory.

“Pretty fuckin’ girl,” Maekar mumbles as you open your mouth and he slowly begins to feed his cock inside. He groans, bending over you, crowding your space, trapping you parallel to the table’s edge. Your cunt is slick and molten-hot within your smallclothes, and you desperately want to rock against your heel, but Maekar keeps you pinned between him and the table. He groans again. “That’s it, that’s it, that’s a good girl.”

His cock stretches your mouth wide, and you find yourself gagging again as the thick tip nudges towards the back of your throat as he bottoms out as far as he can go. You take a deep breath, your nose brushing against the hair at the base. A string of grumbling noises falls from his mouth as he ruts his hips a couple of times, testing the waters, feeling the quivering of your throat around him, feeling the hot slide of your tongue against the vein on the underside. He spares a glance down at you, and you meet his gaze—your eyes watery, pleading as your hands shift to rest on his thighs.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Don’t cry for me just yet,” he says, but it isn’t gentle. It’s desperate, nearly whiny. He pulls his hips back and then jerks back in, cock slamming against the back of your throat, and this time you manage to hold back a gag. “Let me use your mouth and then—uhh, f-uh-ck—then I’ll fill t-that pretty little pussy.”

He groans at his own words, and at the suction you apply when you hollow your cheeks. You’d picked up a thing or two from the working girls you had befriended while travelling the Free Cities, and the girls in Lys were especially knowledgeable.

“Gods, woman, fuck,” the prince curses, his cock twitching in your mouth, his balls drawing up already somewhere close to your chin. That draws your attention: you reach a tentative hand away from his thigh and cup his balls, running your fingers gently along the soft skin. That makes his hips buck, the back of your head nearly hitting the table. “M’gonna spill down your fuckin’ throat, sweetheart, y’know that? And you’re gonna swallow it like a good—fuckin’—girl—”

Maekar punctuates his sentence with firm thrusts into your mouth, tip slamming into the back of your throat. A tear rolls from each eye as you take him, mindful of your teeth, fingers still working over his sensitive skin. A moan is torn from your throat when you swallow around him, and you feel his cock, burning hot against your tongue, give one last final jerk before he’s shoving himself to the hilt. You don’t have time to gag as your nose is pushed flush with his pelvis and he’s spurting down your throat with your name loud on his lips.

He heaves above you, still hunched over. His eyes open though, looking down at you in awe. Never in his life has he spilled that quickly before, and he can’t help the shame that further reddens his cheeks. But the pollen’s effects stop him from dwelling on it too much.

He’s still hard, and when he pulls himself from your mouth, the tip is still dribbling strings of cum and blood continues to pump hotly in the head. That makes him grumble, frustrated, as he fists the base and slaps it across your lips again.

“Fix it,” he mutters, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. “Kiss it better.”

Your brows furrow, lips jutting out in an unimpressed pout. “I told you, my prince, the best fix for this is if you spill—”

“Inside,” Maekar grits out, as if only just remembering. 

The word is loud in the small chambers of your room, and you can’t help the yelp that escapes you as he hauls you to your feet with unsurprising strength. His mouth finds yours once again, and it’s just as desperate as before. His tongue is quick to breach past your lips, licking his spend from your tongue while his hands find the metal clasp of your cloak. Black and red, the House colours.

He remembers the day you wore it for the first time. Merely a month after your arrival, finally out of the old brown rag you had been wearing whilst you traipsed the Free Cities like some wandering merchant. It suited you well, he deduced, the moment he saw you whisk down the halls in it, his daughters in tow, giggling happily as you recounted a story of how your hair was pink for a month after visiting Tyrosh.

You looked like you belonged here.

The clasp comes undone and Maekar tears the cloak from your body. You wear only a simple linen dress, the warmth of the day making you reluctant to dress in your usual layers of skirts.

Maekar’s hands are warm on your waist as he pulls you to him. His mouth kisses away from your lips now, across your cheek, until he can suckle at the curve of your jaw. You moan for him, hands scraping down the strong expanse of his back as you arch against the table. His beard scratches against your skin. You moan even louder, sensations heightened as sweat peaks on your forehead. The pollen’s effects are well kicking in.

“Need you right now,” the prince mutters against you, teeth nipping. His hands find the ties at the back of your dress and he begins to blindly undo them. “I know you can fix me. Just know your pretty pussy’ll do it for me.”

Testament to his six children, you expect a lot from Maekar, but the filth that spills from his mouth is something else entirely. He undoes the ties at your back in record timing, your dress falling loose at your shoulders and waist as he continues to whisper to you. His rough hands push the fabric down, and you hurriedly pull your chemise over your head.

“Seven forgive me,” Maekar whispers as he pulls back and takes two large handfuls of your breasts, kneading the flesh roughly and making you keen.

“My prince,” you respond around a mewl, and he tuts at you in turn. 

While his hands are occupied, you help finally rid him of his trousers and breeches, until finally, you’re both bare and the heat of the chambers feels suffocating. You gasp out as he rolls a hardening nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

With no warning, Maekar grabs you once more by the back of the neck and hauls you across the room. You stumble, body falling across the edge of the mattress, your breasts pushing harshly into the soft sheets.

He kicks your legs apart as he holds you down. “S’this what I need to do?”

Your body is on fire, the dappled sunlight bright in your cleared vision. Visions of Maekar swirl around your mind, and you struggle to look back over your shoulder at him.

He clutches the base of his cock, slick with his spend and your spit, and fists himself a few times. He does this while he drags the leaking tip across the curve of your arsecheeks—the left, and then the right, before finally settling the length of himself between them. A pathetic whimper is your response, back arching, spine dipping further, and he simply chuckles, the hand around the back of your neck tightening.

Not squeezing, just holding.

“Something tells me you’d let me in here, too,” Maekar says lowly as he taps the tip against your arsehole. You draw in a deep breath before biting down hard on your lip, something clenching tightly in your tummy. The prince hums, intrigued. “Yeah… bet she’ll let me right in, won’t she?”

You shake your head, biting your lip so hard you taste copper over the rosy sweetness still on your tongue—somehow, even over the musk of Maekar’s cum, the sweetness still lingers, and it’s starting to make you dizzy.

“S’alright, sweetheart, not today,” he says, then drags his cock down. It catches at the entrance to your cunt, which is slick and wet in such a way it makes him choke on an unexpected moan. “Oh, now I know she’ll fix me.”

And then he’s pushing in.

There’s no warning, no trawl of his cock through your folds or a poorly drawn circle against your puffy clit. Nothing. The prince simply pushes in and doesn’t stop.

You thrash against the mattress, pussy splitting apart as Maekar shoves himself inside. Your walls stretch to accommodate him, and you can’t help the embarrassingly loud moan that leaves you as a heady mixture of pleasure and pain manifests in your brain. Your heart hammers wildly in your chest, sweat clinging to the line of your spine as he holds you still, other hand moving to grip your hip now as he feeds his cock into you.

He had groaned when the tip sunk in with a wet pop, but the rest of his thrust consists of dog-like panting that ends in whines. It’s pure, unbridled desperation: his hips roll low as he fills you, gummy walls contracting tightly around the thick of him. You arch so perfectly for him, your legs tremble and your noises are music to his ears. His cock seems to pulse in time with his concerningly fast heartbeat, and he wonders, for a moment, if he’ll spill straight away.

“Maekar.”

He loves the way you say his name. And he feels no need to reprimand you for using it so openly.

“Am I doing it right?” He utters as his hips finally come to a rest against the fat of your arse. His cock throbs deep inside you, head nestled right up against the plug of your cervix. He sees you wince a little when he rocks his hips experimentally.

“Yes,” you hiss out, unable—but wishing—to turn around and look at him. But you keep your cheek pressed to your sheets as he holds the back of your neck and leans over you.

“This’ll fix me?” He pants, withdrawing.

Air fills your lungs and you gulp in a deep breath, but the thick head of his cock is still inside you. You try to answer him, but he thrusts back in again and cuts you off. Well, you cut yourself off, words strangled by a dry gasp as he fills you.

“Course it will,” Maekar mutters, answering himself. He continues to anchor himself with a hand to your neck and hip as he builds a rhythm, pollen potent in his bloodstream. His face stings with heat, and another orgasm is already contracting low in his abdomen. “All I have to do is come inside this tight little pussy and I’ll be better, won’t I, sweetheart? S’what you said. S’what you said I need.”

His thrusts drown you deeper and deeper into the tangle of sheets on your bed. Your hands grip them uselessly, attempting to steady yourself as the prince shifts in and out. Skin-on-skin echoes through the small chambers, and the force of his movements have your rickety bed creaking against the wall. His balls slap heavily against your clit too, and that makes you bleat out his name like a lamb, heat blooming through you.

“She’s so wet,” Maekar whispers behind you, watching a frothy white ring build at the base of his cock as he slams your hips back onto him. He watches the sweat build up along your spine too as your pussy sucks him in, the wet plap-plap-plap of his movements forcing him to draw in faster. “Fuckin’ listen to her. She’s just as wet in my dreams, y’know. Gods, woman, you soak me in my dreams, y’know that?”

You squirm beneath him, his cock hitting right up against your cervix. You want to cry, to sob out, the pleasure all too much as a huge ball of tension nestles itself deep in your gut. It sits low, tugging at the nerves that shoot up your spine and down your legs.

He dreams of you. Maekar Targaryen dreams of you.

“Maekar, please,” you moan, wriggling against him. Pleasure begins to prick down your spinal cord, tension building taut in your abdomen, pussy clenching tightly around the thick of his cock. “Uh–oh, fu–please, please, please—”

“M’not stopping you,” he slurs out as he rails into you. He’s chasing his high, his thrusts rough and ill-timed and barely rhythmic now. He grunts with each push and pull inside of you, your slick leaking down the seam of his cock each time he rolls his pelvis outwards. His thumb massages the side of your neck. “Be good and squeeze me nice and tight, okay? Then I’ll do what you said—I’ll spill deep inside this pretty little pussy, yeah?”

You’ve never heard him speak this much in a proper sentence, let alone speak with this much conviction. He’s a man possessed, his words churning together, forward and vulgar, and the ends of his sentences are beginning to taper off with each of his laboured grunts or whines.

“Yeah, let me feel you, sweetheart–uh, uh,” Maekar ends in a loud pair of groans. His cock knocks up against the perfect spot inside you, angling so deep you see stars. 

That’s when you come, your back arching even deeper, your fists balling your sheets and his name tumbling from your mouth like it’s the only word you know. Your body trembles violently as your cunt clenches around him, drawing a resounding moan from the depths of his chest. He sounds wounded, almost. He watches with hooded eyes as your body wracks with tremors as you come around his cock, and he finally lets go of your neck to let you melt comfortably into the sheets.

Your pussy is so wet, so warm, so perfect, he doesn’t last much longer.

He comes. A lot.

Right up against the plug of your womb, Maekar empties himself into you with a yearning gasp of your name. His seed spills in hot, continuous spurts, and you can’t help but let out a feeble complaint as it fills, and fills, and fills you until you can swear you feel it sloshing around in your belly as you shift to peer over your shoulder.

Maekar grunts, his cock twitching, and twitching again, a sharp pain shooting through his head before suddenly, he blinks, and his vision is clear. He can’t help but gasp as his cock finally begins to soften inside you, the ache in his stomach dissipating as his orgasm recedes, and he finally, finally stops coming. He doesn’t have to look down to know he’s leaking out of you and onto the Myrish carpet.

But he doesn’t pull out.

“See?” Maekar says, hands shifting to slide up and down your damp back. The subtle sting of regret is evident in the back of his mind, but he doesn’t pay it any attention. Instead, he takes the time to gently lay himself over you, draping his body against yours, placing kisses along your bare shoulder as he pins you to the mattress. He whispers in your ear, “Told you you’d fix me.”

You huff. “You weren’t broken to begin with.”

He nuzzles your cheek, and your common sense urges you to pull away. But you don’t, and instead, you angle your head to drag your nose against his before your mouths meet again. He groans against you, rolling his hips against your arse enough times that his cock gives a tired jerk inside you.

“Actually…” You pull out of the kiss and Maekar grunts, annoyed, and continues peppering kisses along every inch of your face he can reach while being practically completely on top of you. “If you want it more potent, I can grind it up, petals and all, and you can put the powder straight onto your gums.”

Maekar licks the corner of your mouth and you shudder.

“And you know this… how?” He tries to draw your mouth back to his but you resist.

You can’t help but laugh. “I’m well travelled, my prince. I know plenty.”

———

he’s not gentle.

it had started gentle, as it usually did, but after pulling you apart on the flat of his tongue, followed by the stretch of two thick fingers, he knew exactly what he wanted and how he was going to get it. good thing you liked it like that.

maekar curls you over the edge of the bed, your body completely bare as you bend and lay amongst the silks and furs. a strong, calloused hand holds the back of your neck, anchoring you to the feathered mattress as he stretches your pussy open around the thick of his cock.

he groans, feeling your pussy pull tight around him as he ruts in. silk walls draw inwards, heavy against the ridges along his shaft and the vein, pumping hot with blood, that runs along the underside. his other hand is a vice on your hip, dimpling the flesh as he forces you back onto him, the slapping sounds of skin-on-skin loud in the evening silence of your chambers.

you mewl into the sheets beneath you, a string of saliva already catching out the side of your mouth as your husband thrusts into you, the movements deep and far-reaching. heavy balls nudge against the swollen pearl of your clit, and you mewl again, startled, when the head of his cock punches up towards the plug of your cervix.

“don’t fuss,” maekar grumbles, rutting into you, eyes trailing down the line of your spine and over the curve of your arse as he holds you down by the nape. your pussy drools around him, his flushed shaft slick as he pulls out, then shoves back in. he groans, “fuck, you always take me so well, don’t you?”

he doesn’t really want a response when he questions you like this, cock splitting you open as he pins you to your shared bed. you gape, breathy moans falling free of your throat as your fingers tangle in the silken sheets and sweat builds tacky down your back and thighs. he listens to you gasp and mewl, a crooked smile on his face as he kneads the fat at your hip.

“how many times…” maekar begins, sentence breaking momentarily as the wet squelch of your cunt becomes audible in the flame-soaked silence, the open hearth flickering nearby. you whimper, and your husband groans. “will i have to spill in this tight cunt before you’re full, huh? how many times will she have to take me before you’re round with my child?”

you let out a pathetic sound, some mix of a gasp and a moan, the syllables showing some semblance of his name, but it’s lost in the heat of your pleasure. a third orgasm sparks at the ends of your nerves, flames flickering across the walls of your womb, deep in your pelvis.

maekar grunts, strands of white hair falling loose over his forehead, cheeks hued with pink beneath the candlelight. he palms the flesh of your arse now as the hand on your neck pushes you deeper against the bed.

“is that what you want, little dove?” he asks as his hips rock, the leaking head of his cock pushing right up against that perfect spot inside you. your back arches and you cry out his name, pussy fluttering as heat fills the base of your tummy. he grunts, continuing as you squirm. “you want me to fill you? spill deep inside this tight cunt ‘til she makes a right mess of herself, yeah?”

“maekar,” you manage out, and it’s low and tense and strung across a high-pitched moan. you fist the silks and furs for support as he rocks against you, bed creaking.

“i’m right here,” he whispers, barely audible over his hips slamming against your arse. the fingers on your neck give you a gentle squeeze, and you suck in a shallow breath. then, he groans, the thick of his cock sucked in tight as your pussy flutters around him. “oh, she wants it, little dove. wants me to fill her—wants me to make you a mother.”

you cry out at his words, your release strung taut across your sparking nerves. it’s right there, your entire body growing rigid beneath him as he spears you apart on his cock. you grow hot, and hotter still, tension deep through the lines of your pelvis as you angle your hips to meet his thrusts, heartbeat heavy in your clit.

maekar huffs and grunts behind you, his voice breaking across a poorly hidden whine. “fuck, fu-uh-ck, oh, little dove, here we go, here we go…”

he coaxes you through your orgasm as it ignites and overwhelms you. your body shakes, trembles like a picked flower, as heat bursts through your pelvis and the depths of your womb, your pussy squeezing tight around him. you moan, his name and his title up in the air around you, as stars burst behind your lowering lids and your legs threaten to give out.

but he’s not far behind you—as you come, he groans his praises, guiding you through the fissuring of pleasure with “that’s it, there we go” and “good girl, just like that” as he ruts his cock towards the base of your womb. with each thrust into you, slick dribbles out around his shaft, and he feels it along the seam of his balls as they draw up, visions of you fat with his child at the forefront of his mind.

maekar groans loudly. “gods, you’ll look perfect round with my child—fuck, i’ll be good to you, little dove, an’ i’ll keep you full all—the—fucking—time—” thrust, thrust, thrust, with each word, before he’s letting out a hoarse moan of your name and shoving himself to the hilt inside you.

he rolls his hips, sliding against you in lazy movements as he spills right against your cervix. still fizzling down from your own orgasm, you let out a shaky moan as he fills you, seed too warm in the base of your pelvis. his cock twitches, jerks inside you as your walls flutter, then pull him in even tighter as his seed fills you, fills you still, then settles.

he doesn’t pull out, but he collapses half way on top of you—the hand on your neck moving to bracket your head. you shift a little, panting as he plants a wet kiss to the corner of your mouth. you whine, turning your head to slide your lips to his. he grunts into your mouth as your tongues meet, and you taste yourself on him as your heart begins to slow beneath your ribs. he pulls away, resting his dewy forehead against your temple.

“it’ll take,” he says like he’s sure of it. like he knows it will.

“and if it doesn’t?” you counter through a mumble, limbs lax as you melt into the silks and furs, his body a firm press atop yours.

maekar chuckles. it’s a deep, low sound that vibrates through his chest, and it makes a little whine slip past your lips.

“then we keep trying,” he mutters, rolling his hips and nudging his cock deeper. you whimper, a shudder racking through you in response. he kisses your warm cheek. “i’ll fill you again and again, every fucking night, until you’re too full to even move… understood?”

you nod, words evading you as he noses your cheekbone, kissing you softly there too as his cock twitches where it sits deep, plugging you full of him.

———

me next

Maekar was supposed to be yours. It was supposed to be you, Baelor, and Maekar together, a family together until the King had decided that he could not just allow that to happen with all the whispers already surrounding his family. 

Which had led to the downfall of his plan. Maekar would not join your relationship, instead having to find a wife of his own, and for his brother to claim his own son. You had helped with selecting his bride having known the woman from childhood. 

Dyana was absolutely lovely. You adored her, more than you think you ever had a woman in your life. You held absolutely no resentment for her. She was a friend, a staple through your life. 

The Dayne had been the first person you had kissed when you were four and ten both wanting to understand why your brothers kept doing it with random girls in the corridors, and not wanting to do it with some random boy. Then again before she married Maekar as she was afraid of looking like a fool in front of half the realm. 

It was her idea to travel down to Dorne in your husband’s absence, an extended stay away from the capital. 

A vacation away from the vultures of court.

You currently lounged on the bed, the silks pulled tightly over your bare chest as you watched your husband dress for the trip ahead. The sun had barely risen, but he would have to leave within the hour, “I cannot believe you will be gone for so long,” you whined. 

He chuckled slightly, “I will be home before you know it,” he tried to assure you, but you both knew it was a lie. Since the day you had wed the pair of you had hardly been away from the other for more than a fortnight. 

“Mayhaps I should just come with you instead.” 

He sighed moving to the bed, as you watched him approach you, “You could not be away from the boys that long. Dorne will be nice with Dyanna and Maekar. Besides if you get…” Baelor tilted his head searching for the words, “Lonely. Then you have company to use in my absence,” he told you. 

Your eyebrows drew together searching his face, “Are you suggesting what I think you are?”

Your husband shrugged, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, his hand moving to your neck as he dipped your head back to stare up at him, “You know me better than I know myself I am sure you know exactly what I am saying.”

You only nodded, “We shall see,” was all you replied. 

The Dornish sun beat down on your face, and it made an excitement fill you, to be back home in a climate that finally felt right. There was no whispering gossip about that you did not fit in or that you did not deserve to be Queen one day. 

It was almost pure bliss. Dyanna sat next to you, watching as Aerion, Valarr and Daeron ran around enjoying the warm weather as each clutched a small dragon in their hand pretending to make them fly. 

“I could kiss you for suggesting we come home instead of staying at the Keep,” you confessed, turning to look at her. 

She let out a laugh, a smile spreading across her beautiful lips, “I would accept that form of gratitude,” she told you. 

The pair of you stared at each other a moment, and it was as if there was a shift in the air. There had been something different during this visit. Something that was not there in the Red Keep, but neither of you could quite place it as it was. 

Dyanna was a safe space, you hand long decided. One that has made you feel like your best self. She was there to hold your hand during your labors, and tell you how beautiful you look when your body did not look the exact same after two children. 

She in a very sense made you feel along the same way Baelor did. What you were unaware of is that she felt the same way. 

“You look very pretty today,” you then complimented, your eyes taking in the dark purple of her dress. She seemed to have a weight lifted off her away from the prying eyes of the capital, adn you were the same way.

Things were different here than in the Red Keep. Neither of you had to be the perfect wives married to a Prince of Realm. You could just be yourself. The person you were once able to be all the time before husbands and children had changed everything. 

“Maekar, does your wife not look gorgeous today?” you yelled out turning toward him. 

You watched him flinch as if he did not. You were aware that he stood so closely behind the air of you, but he should have. You were not one to miss things and he was not one to not linger especially in an unfamiliar place. 

This was your home, but he was still protective at his very core, over all of you. His eyes blinked as they locked onto you then slowly turned to Dyanna as he finally came closer instead of lurking, “She always looks beautiful. Both of you do,” he finally decided, but cringed as if the words were not meant to be spoken aloud. 

You hummed, “Did you know Dyanna was my first kiss,” you then confessed casually. His eyes widened as a blush spread across Dyanna’s cheek. “When were what… four and ten?” you asked, turning toward the woman. 

“Yes…and then again before I married Maekar, because I was nervous about looking a fool.”

You grinned, looking from the woman to her husband, “Better keep her close tonight, Maekar or I might let her keep me company,” you whispered to him patting his chest, before you stepped around him, “Come on, Valarr and Aerion, we can go sit in the water gardens.”

The words caused a reaction to fill both of them, their bodies going warm as they stared at you watching as your eyes flickered between both of them, as the statement was for both of them. They watched you turn away, each of your sons gripping your hands as you swung them lightly receiving a loud laugh from both. 

“Maekar,” Dyanna whispered, causing him to turn toward her. He hummed in reply, “Why did you end up giving her up?” she questioned, but knew the answer. 

“I am not going to dishonour you,” he stated, but his voice sounded rough as if there was vice wrapped around it, getting smaller by the minute. 

Dayne thought about it for a moment. Her husband was honorable, and for that she was most appreciative of, but she was not sure she would call what he was referring to as dishonourable. Especially when they both wanted the same thing that came in the form of you. 

She nodded, “If you do not…I will cross that line for us both,” she then started patting his chest, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

“Come along Daeron let us join your cousins,” she then called, wiggling her hand out to the door. 

Maekar still stood his mouth opening and closing, wondering what the fuck had just happened. 

The hour was late, and you both should have been asleep, but yet here you were. “He does not wish to dishonor me. Which I understand and am grateful for, but it seems like it is killing him slowly.” 

“He loves you,” you assured her as if that was what she needed to hear. It was not, because she already knew. 

“Just as he loves you… I know the thing between Baelor, yourself and him had a…complicated ending.” 

“That is one way to put it,” you laughed shaking his head slightly, “Baelor gave me permission to fuck him in his absence,” you declared. 

She did not reply at first and you wondered if you had accidentally offended her, “Just him?” she then asked. 

The moment switched in an instant. Your eyes trailed over her form, “Well…his exact words were I would have company if I got…lonely,” you recited with a grin. 

She hummed, her eyes dragging over your frame. You leaned forward giving her a clear view down the front of your dress and you watched her violet eyes darken almost instantly, “If you want me to make the move, Dy, you’re going to have to say the words,” you told her plainly. 

Dyanna nodded, her head going back and forth as if the decision had not already been made. You waited patiently sitting back watching her with a large grin, “I see it now,” she admitted. 

Your eyebrow drew together, “See what?” you asked, as you stood to your feet, the thin silk of your dress whispering against the floor as you approached her slowly. 

“Why Maekar is the way he is. You are…some else entirely.”

“As are you,” you assured her, your hands finally touching her, resting on her neck as you titled her head back to look up at you from her chair, “Say the words, Dyanna.”

The pupils of your eyes no doubt were entirely as blown as her, “Make your move,” she finally whispered, closing her eyes in preparation. 

You leaned down carefully as if you were going to press your mouth to hers, but you stopped just before you gave in to what you both want, “I can’t hear you,” you teased, your breath fawning her face causing her lips to part instinctively. 

Her eyes fluttered opening, meeting yours, “Please,” she said louder, voice a little rougher with need. 

You finally gave in, pressing your mouths together, your tongue instantly moving into the warmth of her mouth as you gave yourself the proper exploration this time. The pair of you moaned into each other’s mouth, each being swallowed as your tongues mingled against the other. 

She stood pushing herself to her full height as you kept your mouth connected, your hands moving up her sides to the strings at the back of her dress pulling them free with quick fingers. The thin material pooled at her feet. 

“Your turn,” she muttered against your mouth, her lips trailing down the column of your throat as she stepped back a moment waiting. You did as she said, freeing yourself as the material went falling down showing your form to her. 

You let her take her time sweeping over your skin, taking in everything she could with her eyes before you moved back toward her, with a grin. 

You guided her back toward the bed, stopping her for a minute before you sat back against the mountain of pillows, waving her forward. She crawled up the bed as you smirked at her, and you could see the confusion on her face. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, slightly confused as you guided her to straddle your thigh. 

She was not sure what she had been expecting, but it hadn’t been this, but she trusted you. “Grind down against me,” you whispered, your mouth moving to latch to her throat as you sucked against it hard enough to leave a mark. 

“Oh,” she muttered, as she rolled her hips against you, a wave of pleasure running through her as her clit rubbed against your flesh. 

“Do it again,” you instructed, as your mouth worked, trailing down her chest, to the heavy mounds. 

Dyanna let out a loud moan as you wrapped your mouth around the hardened peaks, your tongue flicking causing her eyes to practically roll back as she continued to rock her hips down against your thigh just like you had told her too. 

You could feel her drooling down onto you causing it to feel easier as she humped against you, gliding repeatedly as your tongue dragged across her chest to the other suit continuing your pursuit of her other breast. 

“There ya go. Take what you need.” Your hands planted on her hips to help guide her as she rode your thigh. 

She did exactly that as her nails dug down into your shoulders, pressing small crescents into the skin as she chased her own high, using you just like you had suggested moments ago. You knew exactly the moment she finished, her nails digging further, as her entire body seemed to tense as she cried out your name causing you to grin against her chest. 

You pressed a tender kiss to her breast, as she moved forward, her head resting against your shoulder as her ragged breaths filled the air, “What now?” she asked, as she sucked in a deep breath trying to regain her composure. 

You shook your head, grinning up at her, “I am giving you Baelor’s rule of curiosity tonight,” you told her. 

She sat up looking down at you, confused, pulling at her features, “And what is that?”

“You get to finish twice before I do,” you told her, your hands snaking up the smooth skin of her spin before you wrapped them around the nape of her neck pulling her back down to your mouth once more. 

Her hands moved cupping either side of your face as your mouths moved against each other. She bit at your lower lip causing you to groan slightly, your hands moving down to grip her ass tightly in your hand as she began to slowly grind against you once more. 

You sat up slightly, turning her over onto her back as smoothly as you could manage, now hovering over her.  You simply held yourself above her for a moment eyes scanning her face as you tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, “You are so so so beautiful,” you whispered to her, pressing a kiss to her lips then to her cheek, then her neck slowly trailing down her body til her womanhood. 

You leaned forward not wasting another moment as you licked a long strip up her folds. She let out a loud moan, her hands shooting forward to interlace in your hair giving you a harsh tug as you entered a digit inside her, your tongue flicking over her swollen clit. 

Maekar let out a sigh as sleep evaded him, and he had no clue where his wife had gone off too. He had decided to go off in search of you. He was not entirely sure what had led him to this decision, his body moving before he could talk himself out of it. 

He let out a sigh, lifting his hand to knock against the door, but he did not get that far when he heard a loud moan carry through the wood. He could instantly feel his bones go cold, before it was quickly released by a warmth that resembled a dragon’s fury. 

Who could you have been in there with? Was someone taking advantage of you in his brother's absence? He could feel his anger rising with each thought worse than the one before finally he pushed the door open ready to stop him, but he paused. 

What he was expecting was not 

Both of you turned toward him. You for half a second, your brain registering it was him before diving back into his wife’s cunt. Dyanna’s eyes tried to say to him, but her head turned back in a loud moan instead, not able to hold his gaze. 

He did not know what to take in from the sight in front of him. His body instantly had a reaction that he could not quite control as he heard sounds coming from his wife that he was typically earning, but it was not him this time

It was you. 

You who he had such a guilt, because you were constantly invading his thoughts. You who was currently slotted in between his wife’s thigh devouring her as if it was your last meal. Then he realized he had been standing there too long, observing, watching and suddenly he felt as if he was intruding. 

He moved to turn away, “Maekar,” Dyanna called out, causing him to turn back slowly, “Come here,” she beckoned him forward as you pulled away your head resting against her thigh watching him. 

The Dayne stood to her feet as you lounged back against the bed watching them. She pressed herself into him, as her hands went up to cup his cheeks forcing him to meet her eyes. Neither said anything for a moment, only staring at the other. 

Then she turned back toward you, and you offered her a single nod, “You can join us. You can have what you want,” she assured him, her thumbs rubbing gently against his bearded cheeks, giving him her attention once more.

“Dyanna,” he warned, though it lacked any bite, as each of you knew him much better than that. 

“Maekar, please,” you then whined, causing his violet gaze to shit toward you. 

“It is okay, Maekar,” Dyanna assured him. 

He swallowed harshly looking to his wife once more, searching her face for any hesitation, but he found none. You stood to your feet and he finally allowed his eyes to drop down taking in your appearance. 

You looked different from what he could remember, but it was better than any recollection he could make. He did not have long to admire you as your hand wrapped around the nape of his neck forcing his mouth down onto yours. 

Dyanna smirked to herself moving herself to the bed, watching you both, not quite knowing where she wanted to keep her eyes. 

Your hands trailed down, rubbing against his hardened cock causing him to groan. Then you gave him a harsh shrug, “Take off your clothes,” you instructed, moving to sit down next to his wife.

He began to take off the layers, but you did not watch, instead turning toward the Dayne beside you once more. You moved forward reconnecting your lips to her guiding her back toward the mattress causing Maekar to begin to quicken shedding his clothes. 

You hardly paid him any mind as you could feel him move behind you, the mattress dipping further under his weight. You trailed open mouth kissing moving back down toward her still soaked womanhood. 

You settled yourself in between her legs once more, the cushion of her thighs feeling something close to heaven, 

You could feel the tip of his penis, run through your folds collecting your slick, “You are fucking soaked. Is this all from devouring my wife’s cunt?”

You did not reply, only grinning against her, before sucking harshly on her clit letting her moan be only the reply he needed.  Though you could not see his face you had known him long enough to feel the satisfied expression boring into you. 

He notched himself at your drooling hole, before pushing himself in with one fluid thrust, “Seven fucks,” Maekar groaned at the feeling. 

You could only moan, which sent a vibration up Dyanna, causing her to curl further into you. Your hand moved inserting two digits into her, with ease, her walls adjusting to you without complaint, as you began to fuck her with your hand. 

You had already fingered out exactly what caused her toes to curl before Maekar’s interruption. Maekar had the same advantage with you. Though it had been years since he had the pleasure of touching you he remembered you like the back of his hand, thrusting into you with the same brutal rhythm he knew made you cock drunk. 

The room filled with the obscene sounds of the three of you. The wet sounds and cries of pleasure that no doubt could be heard in the halls if anyone had dared based by the doors, but none of you cared too wrapped in the other. 

Maekar fucking you like a man possesed, as you continued to devour his wife as if she was the only source of water. It felt like something overcame you all. Such need. Such want. Making you all wonder how it had taken this point in the trip to get here. 

It quickly turned into a game as if you were all waiting to  see who would topple over first, each waiting intently to see who was able to make the other finish. 

It was Dyanna. 

She cried out your name as her fingers tightened around your hair 

You used her tongue fucking her through it, until she was pushing you away as she fastly approached over stimulation. You moved resting your head onto her thigh as Maekar continued to brutally thrust into you from behind. 

His hand trailed down your front until it moved, pinching your clit. You groaned slightly, nipping into Dyanna’s thigh as she moaned slightly watching the pair of you with a hazy expression still as if she was high from before. 

“Cum,” he demanded, needing you to go next. 

“Fuck you,” you grit out, but you could feel the coil in your belly threatening to snap. 

He whispered your name, as he began to circle your swollen pearl as you squeezed around him. You could not see his face, but you could feel his triumphant grip knowing you were close. 

“Be a good girl and cum on my cock,” he instructed. 

It was your undoing. 

The white-hot pleasure traveled down your spine as you finally tilted over the edge crashing into the deep end of relief. You clamped down around him like a vice causing him to cry out your name when he finally joined you and his wife moments later. 

Maekar came with a guttural groan, peeling forward to press his mouth into the place where your shoulder and neck connected. All three of your ragged breaths filled the air, before you let out a laugh, “I bet that’s not how you thought our trip to Dorne was going to go.”

“You are brooding. You look like your damn dragon,” your brother muttered from beside you, causing you to roll your eyes. 

“He has been your good-brother this long and you still cannot say his name,” you countered, raising a brow. 

Lyonel laughed with a shake of his head, “It does not change the fact that he is a miserable bastard.” 

You could still remember Lyonel’s bitter reaction when you had declared you were going to wed Prince Maekar. You were hardly a woman grown in love for the first and had declared to your father that if he denied the match when it was proposed you would burn down Storm’s End 

You lifted your knife that you had previously used to cut your meat now flashed before his face, causing him to scoot back slightly, “Watch yourself,” you warned.

“I see where, Aerion, gets it from,” he then muttered, looking away from you toward your second whose face mirrored your own as he picked away at his supper. 

“Mama,” a small voice called out. 

You turned looking toward Rhae who sat across from you, “Yes?” you asked, your face transforming to one of a softer expression within a moment. 

“When are we leaving to go see kepa?” 

As if you could hear her thoughts your head snapped down to the end of the table glaring at your mother. She had been even less pleased than your brother when marrying a Targaryen and it now showed more than ever especially watching her interact with your children. 

Lyonel, at least, loved his nieces and nephews. Your mother was a different story. You made a mental reminder to make Lyonel visit you at Summerhall next time he was missing you. 

Aerion’s eyes drifted down to his grandmother holding her gaze as if he himself was warning her not to start with his mother. “On the morrow,” you told her.  “Why don’t you three go get ready for bed. We will have an early start. I will be right in,” you told them with a smile. 

The three eventually went off to bed, the eldest of them the most reluctant, but went nonetheless. You turned looking to your brother, “Next time you are coming to Summerhall so I do have to deal with the looks or the comments about my silver haired brood,” you declared loudly pushing yourself to your feet. 

You ignored your mother’s voice, but it was easy to ignore as it mixed with your brother’s loud laughter. Your father simply sat at the table with a sigh, “You are the reason she hardly comes around,” he muttered to his wife. 

Your eyes moved from your good-brother to your husband, “You lost our sons? You were in charge of two children and you lost them both?” You stood in front of the long table where they sat Lord Ashford having excused himself at your arrival being half terrified to hear how you took the news of your missing sons. 

Maekar rolled his eyes, muttered something under his breath which only caused you to raise a brow, “Is that not what you did? We have six children. One is at the Citadel, three were with me, and two with you. Where are you two, Maekar?”

Baelor let out a small chuckle pressing his hand to his mouth as if trying to hide his betrayal, but his younger brother had already heard him long and clear. “Tell her why Daeron ran off.”

Your eyes snapped to the elder then slowly turned to your husband, “Why did they run off, Maekar?”

The man opened his mouth and closed it again. You let out a sigh, your hand moved, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Come,” you beckoned, turning out of the hall. 

You did not have to turn to know he was following you, even if you could not hear his boots against the ground you knew he would have followed after you. 

At the last minute he moved ahead of you, opening the door and allowing you to enter inside the provider chamber. Your eyes scanned the room, it was nowhere near as grand as the one at Summerhall, but it was rather large. 

You moved toward the table at the far side pouring the wine in the flagon into two respective chalices. “Why did Daeron run off?” you asked once more. 

He moved to sit in one of the chairs as you settled in the other. “He was going to enter the lists.”

“Oh, Maekar," you groaned in frustration. 

“He is a man grown, it is expected of him!” he argued. 

You rolled your eyes, “He is not Aerion nor is he you. The sooner you come to that realization the happier our lives can be.”

He sighed, but argued no further. “I am glad you are here. I have missed you,” he whispered quietly as if it would bring shame to admit it. 

“Cannot hear you,” you teased, raising a brow. 

His jaw clenched, “I am glad you are here. I have missed you,” he said louder this time. 

You hummed, downing the rest of your wine as you stood to your feet making your way over to him. His legs parted for you like they had done thousands of times before as you looked down at him. 

Your hands moved cupping either side of his face forcing him to look up. The hair of his beard rubbed against your palms. His violet eyes flickered over your face, as his hardened features visibly softened now that you were alone. 

“I have missed you too,” you confessed, leaning down to press your lips to his. 

It was chaste and it caused him to chase after you as you pulled away staring down at him. He groaned in displeasure before his hand trailed up gripping your ass and forcing you down onto his lap. 

This time when his lips met yours it was anything, but chate. A hunger clash of teeth as you both tried to convert your overwhelming need for the other into it. It had been long. Too long without the other, and it always made the reunion just that much sweeter. 

You pulled away once your lungs begged for more air than you were currently providing them with, “You are getting soft on me, husband,” you teased, your hands interlaced through his silver locks giving it a harsh tug. 

“Shut your mouth,” he grunted, his own mouth pressing open mouth kisses down your throat. 

“Make me.”

He grinned pulling the strings before you were being forced onto your feet, “Take your dress off,” he instructed. 

You did as you were told, allowing the black fabric to pool at your feet. Maekar had finally freed his cock, by the time you were bare before him moving forward as you straddled him once more. The chair groaned under your combined weight, but neither of you truly cared. 

Your mouth reconnected with his as his large hands moved. You rose up onto your 

He drew his hand back giving your cunt a harsh slap, causing you to shoot forward your head to rest on his shoulder, “Not running your mouth now,” he muttered. 

You leaned back, your hand raising to connect with his face the same way he had just done to your womanhood. His head snapped to the side before slowly turning back to you, a wide grin on his lips. 

“She is soaked,” he whispered, his mouth moving to nip at your neck as he entered a digit into your drooling hole with ease. You hummed your head tilting back as you let out a loud moaning as his thumb rubbed a circle on your clit. 

“She might already be ready to take me,” he said, slipping another finger into you. 

You nodded, “I told you..I’ve missed you,” you told him, grinding yourself down against his hand. 

He nodded in agreement withdrawing his finger, giving his cock a lazy few strokes as you hovered over him. He notched himself at your hole holding your eye contact as you slowly sunk down on him, taking him inch by inch. 

He sat back waiting for you to begin to fuck yourself onto him, but you did not budge. You sat there staring at him, “Move,” he grunted. 

“No. You lost our sons,” you told him. He groaned your name as if it was painful, but you still did not move. “Why should I move? Plead your case.” 

“You are my wife and I have missed you so I order you to move.”

“Missed me or my cunt?”

“Both,” he confessed, trying to get you to move but you fought against him staying still. 

“You lost our sons,” you pointed out. 

“I will find them,” he promised. 

That was good enough for you, allowing you to finally give him moving your hips against his. His mouth moved forward latching around your hardened peak of your breast, “Maekar,” you moaned, your nails digging into the pale skin of his shoulder. 

“Missed you,” he muttered, as he dragged his tongue across the valley of your breast turning to get the other side the same attention as the first. You grinded your hips down into him quickly, your clit rubbing against the coarse hair at his base causing you to already feel the coil in your belly quickly building. 

“She’s taking me so well.”

You only groaned in response, your nails digging further into him. His hands dug into your hip bones no doubt going to leave bruises in his wake, painting your skin with the reminder of him. 

“You’re close already,” he observed, feeling the way you kept fluttering around him, the loud cry of his name being the only thing you could truly say. 

You nodded eagerly, fucking yourself into him harder trying to achieve the ecstasy of relief, “Be a good girl and finish on your husband’s cock,” he instructed, continung to lap and suck at your hardened nub. 

“Oh, fuck,” you groaned when the coil in your belly finally snapped. 

You went boneless in his embrace moving forward. Maekar continued to fuck you through your high as he chased his own release, “Gonna fill you,” he told you, as he thrusted up into you quickly. 

“Give me another, babe, husband," you muttered, and that was his undoing as buried himself to the hilt, the long ropes of cum shooting out filling you with him for the first time in what felt like forever.

Your ragged breaths filled the room as your flesh pressed against the other, his heat radiating off him as if he was your own personal fire. You were still slumped against his shoulder, as you pressed a kiss to his sweat slickened skin, “Oh, my dragon I have missed you,” you coed. 

He grunted in response, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head, “Don’t leave that long again.”

“I can’t. You lose our children in your absence.” 

The Baratheon tent was chaotic as always as your second son and yourself sat at the high table glancing around. You let out a sigh debating making your way back to the castle to await your husband’s return when you finally noticed a small boy next to an overly large man. Though his head was shaved you would have recognized that face anywhere. 

“Aerion?” you asked, tilting your head toward the young man. He hummed in response turning toward you, “Is that your brother or are the fumes of stench finally getting to me.”

His head turned following your extended hand, and you watched his eyes instantly widen. “That’s what I thought,” you muttered, pushing yourself to your feet. 

You made your way through the tent, men alike moving out of the way averting their eyes as if they were scared to make eye contact with you, but you did not care your gaze was set on your missing son. 

The boy immediately looked toward the large knight hoping to his feet as he urged his companion to do the same and was almost successfully able to make a break for it before, “Aegon!” was called out loudly. 

Your brother who had heard the commotion slowly approached eyes flickering between his sister and his new companion, “What is going on?” he asked, but you ignored him, eyes trained on the bald boy. 

Egg paused for a moment and you could tell he was debating ignoring you like he did when he was caught doing something he should not have been. “If you run you will stay with your uncle for two moons,” causing him to turn toward you slowly. 

The large man turned from you to the boy at his side, “M’Lady?” he questioned, as if you had gone crazy. 

Your son looked at you with a sheepish smile that caused your head to spin. You quickly turned to your brother, “How many times has been in this tent?” you asked. Lyonel scratched the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes. “Your missing nephew was in your tent and you did not notice him!” you hissed, driving your finger into his chest. 

The hedge knight’s eyes widened, glancing from the Baratheon siblings to the boy at his side, “Nephew…That means,” he slowly started to put the pieces together. 

“That you have had Prince Maekar and my darling sister’s missing son, my dear friend,” Lyonel laughed moving toward the hedge knight as he kept his eyes on you as if he were afraid you were going to strike him. 

“I am so sorry, M”lady I had no idea!”

The Baratheon man smirked, “Well now that is all sorted out you can take dear Aegon back to the castle and I will fill in Ser Duncan.”

You rolled your eyes, “Nope. The hedge knight is mine now, brother,” you muttered, shaking your head. “Come along. Ser…?”

“Duncan,” Egg supplied. 

“Ser Duncan. Mayhaps one of you can inform me where the hell my eldest son has taken off too,” you muttered, shaking your head. 

You went to move toward the exit when you felt a small hand wrap around yours causing you to look down, “I am sorry I ran off, but I lied to Ser Duncan, and he does not deserve to get in trouble.”

“Oh, good, because Ser Duncan is not going to get in trouble for keeping you alive. You are going to get in trouble for lying to the poor knight and running off.”

Aegon in the moment wasn’t sure which was going to be worse his father’s fiery temper or his mother’s fury.

maekar taglist: @sacha1slytherin @erylilly @thebl00dwyrm @ilocuras24 @xkatherinexo @eleventhboi @alaeratrrn @sem-ra @vigilante24ish @alecriminn @kravitzwhore @loveslide @xostarrgirl @claerysa @karakatitsa-sonya @ghost-heart34 @princessphilly @eowyns-fantasy @hourastius @aryaslittleneedle