you had arrived only several minutes prior, in your nightgown, to keep him company through the hours of the evening that he would often spend assessing scrolls or writing correspondences.

baelor gave an assured nod of his head, his hips canting upwards as you moved closer towards him.

“but,” you began, a wave of heat spreading across your face, “what if I suffocate you?” concern was woven into your tone as you kneeled beside him.

“then, I will have passed a pleased man,” was his reply, evoking a humiliated gasp from you.

“husband.”

“come.” baelor persisted, a hand rising to hold yours. 

your skin buzzed when it came in contact with his, the nervous jittering within your belly turning into an excited swirl as you pulled your sheer skirt up before you sat atop his abdomen, your thighs pressing into either side of his torso.

“there, that was not so difficult,” he murmured, the colouring of his mismatched gaze nearly entirely absorbed by his widened pupils, all that remained of their hue was a thin circle of blue and brown.

you began to rise, “I cannot–,”

“I promise,” baelor interrupted, hands rubbing soothing circles into the expanse of your waist, “I will notify you the moment I feel discomfort.”

you stared down at him, deciding to accept his vow despite not believing his words in the slightest.

distractedly, you noted the length of his beard and the shininess of the hair; he must have trimmed it shorter than usual that morning as well as have oiled it before you had arrived.

was it in preparation of this request, you wondered, a fond affection filling your chest at the reminder of the consideration he held towards you and your comfort at all times.

“are you truly sure?” you question again, hands gliding up his torso until your fingers were combing through his greying beard. 

“yes, my dear.”

he had freshly oiled it, you mused bashfully, the usually coarse strands were now much softer to the touch. your breath quickened at the realization that your husband never decided anything on a whim, and so this must have been a fantasy he had been entertaining for quite some time.

“absolutely certain?”

“oh, most definitely,” baelor relayed once more, the rumbling from his chest vibrating between your legs as his hands dragged you further up. 

he paused, allowing you to close the remaining distance, not only as confirmation that this was something you were willing to try, but to ensure you were aware of the control you had in this position.

after several beats of stillness, you lifted your hips until your bare core was directly above his mouth, your head hanging low to observe his next move.

immediately, baelor’s head sprang forward, mouth opening wide to swipe at your cunt as his odd-coloured eyes remained attached to yours. messily, he dipped his tongue within you, the wet appendage exploring with a familiarity that had you nearly toppling over.

you were already dripping onto him, the smell of your arousal filling the solar.

“baelor, it’s–gods, it’s too much,” you squirmed, accidentally rubbing your swollen clit against the tip of his sharp, twice-broken nose, eliciting a startled moan from deep within your throat.

“like that,” he mumbled against your wet flesh, his hands rising to grip your hips, pulling you harder against his face, “take what you need, anything–all of it.”

your first release hit you embarrassingly quickly, a flood of wetness gushing against his face and down the expanse of your inner thighs. your eyes rolled into the back of your head as pure ecstasy shot up your spine, settling at the base of your neck as your inner walls repeatedly clenched around nothing except for the tip of his nose.

your hips moved frantically back and forth, fingers tugging painfully at the short, greying strands atop his head with a surprising amount of strength. 

yet, baelor did not complain; he remained focused on your body, his hands kneading into the flesh of your backside as he assisted you with your frantic rocking movements. 

instinctively, your thighs tightened around his head when he continued to sloppily lap at your sensitive clit, a shiver passing through you when his lips enclosed around the enlarged bud.

“baelor, please..”

he ignored your pleas, languidly licking at your cunt until you were on the edge of another, more intense release.

“oh!” you cried, an embarrassed flush travelling up your chest as you felt a stream of fluid escape your convulsing passage, a loud moan leaving your body at the same time the liquid did.

baelor’s arms moved to wrap around your waist, holding you in place as your body convulsed pleasurably on top of him.

he mumbled incoherent words against your heated flesh, his low-lidded eyes fixated on the little of your face he could see as you continued to tremble and shiver from the force of your orgasm.

once you had come down from your second release, and finally stopped quivering, you flung yourself backwards, landing clumsily atop his stomach.

“you–,” you were breathless, fingers tightening over his clothes as you struggled to breathe properly, “that was..”

you trailed off, attention drifting to the wetness that dripped down the side of his face; most of his beard was drenched in your scent and arousal.

baelor’s hands moved to help you stay upright even as his eyes remained glued on your swollen core, his tongue swiping against the remnants of you on his lips.

“how was that, my love?” he asked quietly, his mismatched eyes twinkling like he already knew the answer.

he’s not taunting you, simply observing because you move above him with the grace of a swan even when ravenousness unfurls within the fabrics of your soul. the fire lord lays back, a simple tool for your pleasure — he arm flexed between the casing of your supple thighs and the other behind his head. supporting the weight amongst imported red silk, and tendrils of jet black hair splayed out behind him. you rock against his bicep, slow, like a boat on the surface of the sea just before a storm rolls over — a trickle of your essence glimmering against his flesh as it catches on the morning light.

you don’t answer verbally, just with a subtle clench of your cunt over the surface of his taut muscle — your head tipping back, your body trembling as it succumbs to a mounting tension, a coil turning loose in your pelvis where your peak broils. still, zuko is there — deft fingers and calloused palm a warming presence in between your shoulder blades. he holds your weight as though it’s nothing, something precious, like you’ll break even if you fall back into his sheets.

breathing becomes something of a chore, when you’re high like this — on top of the world, where the air is thin and your thoughts shake around in your head like loose change. the only thing you see clearly is zuko, his lazy grin, the languid flex of his arm against your syrupy cunt. the way the muscle shifts just right when you grind your clit against him precisely. your body drools against him, into sheets which will most certainly need a change later and still. zuko is there.

a beam so sincere that it creases the hard lines of his face into something soft, where it tugs at your heart strings and dangles you dangerously over the edge.

“zuko,” you cry out into the morning light. not because you need something more but because you need him there when you fall. the fingers at your back crook ever so slightly, steadying you where they slip against your back from the slight sheen of sweat there. your pace picks up, uncoordinated, feverish like a wildfire is burning through you, your mound making sticky noises that pierce the careful bubble of ambience the two of you have created.

his bicep tightens again, bumping the little nub tucked safely between the puffy lips of your swollen slit. “i love you,” the fire lord murmurs, swears to you, it’s written in the stars as well as his flame sealed eyes. “i’ve got you.”

he does, he always does.

even when it’s too early to move, even when his body is down for the count, even when the sun has yet to bless the world with its light — zuko still offers himself up to you, replaces the burning fireball at the centre of the universe with you. tends to your needs. as obscure as they might be. he has you, still.

perhaps its because he finds you enchanting — how you move against him, trusting and slow. unguarded, much unlike the version of you presented to the world. to your people. zuko is blessed with another side, a part of you he can keep close like a personal fleeting secret. your body sinks into his before your mind fills with worries and doubts for the day, so he stays. he commits himself to your pleasure, your heart sways his muscular arm against your cunt like he’s trying to give you his all without words. you’ve got him, he’s yours to keep, to have to use to let your inhibitions go.

“you’re okay,” the fire lord adds to the tranquil, words like a ripple in the water. not distracting, just part of the cycle. “you can cum whenever you want, let yourself feel it. let it take you away.”

the reassurance is rounded out by reverent fondness, a doting look lined up on his features — natural in the way it sinks into his skin. his eyes are hooded as he watches you, dipped in softness, in a love so strong you’re sure it could be felt nations away. your sex squelches along the path of his arm and your tummy tightens around butterflies that fight to be freed. you’re so close, all from a few flowery words and tender gazes that make you feel as though you’re the only being that matters.

the world stills for you, for zuko.

he catches you when you inevitably fall from flying too close to the run, orgasm waveleting through you all too violently akin to a tidal wave. turning you into a mess of trembling torrid limbs and shaky simpers. it rolls out of you, like a lava flow — thick, creamy and the scent of you curls in the air in a similar fashion to smoke from firewood. he inhales greedily, all five of his senses taking you in, banking the memory of you before it can be forgotten.

then you’re glowing, like the fading embers of a crackling fire, melted gold pooled valuably in the fire lord’s very own bed. you burn to the touch, sweltering and sweaty but still the most beautiful thing zuko has ever had the pleasure of setting his sights on.

“there you go, my love. so proud of you,” zuko catches you, when you collapse forward face first into his pillows — arm still between your thighs, tight against your pussy as you rub yourself on it through after shocks. everything is sticky, and humid and still — he’s gentle with you, rolling you onto your side, rewarding you with balmy kiss to your lips. “did that feel good for you?”

“always, my lord,” somehow you tease him — offering a nod as a meek response. “good morning,” you mumble, shy, fucked out. your hand reaches before your brain recovers, brushing away the black hair from his face. thankful.

zuko lays still, mirroring your position. honey coloured eyes on you unmoving.

“good morning to you too.” he mumbles back, lips slanted into a soft grin.

he is still, still with you.

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“you, i guess,” you mumble. “you look… different.”

“different good or different bad?”

you look at him. really look. the little tilt of his smile. the sun catching in his hair. how he smells like clean soap and summer air. how his shirt fits like it was sewn onto him.

“different… very good,” you admit before you can stop yourself.

his cheeks flush pink—pink—and he tries to play it off by scratching the back of his neck, but he can’t hide the tiny grin tugging at his lips.

“yeah?” he murmurs. “well. guess the gym membership paid off.”

you swallow, trying not to stare at the outline of his bicep flexing.

“paid off is an understatement.”

his eyes flick down to your mouth then back up, quick but unmistakable.

“we should… catch up sometime,” he says, voice suddenly lower. “coffee? dinner? something?”

your breath stutters. you nod. “yeah. i’d like that.”

he smiles. “cool. then it’s a date.”

and you swear the sidewalk tilts under your feet.

…no one told you how good dick got with his mouth.

it was supposed to be innocent. coffee, catching up, a little nostalgia. but the second he shows up at your dorm room—black hoodie, silver chain, backwards cap, holding your drink order already memorized—your stomach flips.

“figured we’d hang out here,” he says, eyes scanning the walls. “more chill than the dining hall.”

you nod, biting your lip. “yeah. definitely more… private.”

you try to focus. really, you do. but he lounges across your twin XL like he owns the place, legs spread, hoodie riding up slightly to show a flash of toned stomach. he sips his iced coffee, laughs at something you say, and tilts his head like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

and you? you are struggling. his voice is deeper. his arms are thicker. his smirk is sharper. and when he leans over to grab your phone, your eyes drop—and you realize.

he has the most fuckable lips you’ve ever seen in your life. soft. plush.

so when he raises a brow and murmurs, “you’ve been looking at me weird all night…”

you don’t even pretend to play dumb.

“dick,” you say, steady but breathless, “lie down.”

his eyes widen, but he obeys.

“wait—wait,” he laughs, even as you straddle his chest. “what are you—?”

“you,” you say, fingers carding into his hair, “are going to let me ride your pretty face.”

his pupils blow wide. “jesus christ.”

“too much?”

“no,” he says, hands already gripping your thighs. “not enough.”

you don’t even bother taking your shorts off slow—just pull them aside, and he groans, deep and hungry, like the sight of you alone is enough to make him lose his mind.

“god, baby,” he breathes, voice rough. “you’re soaked.”

you hover above him, trembling with anticipation, and he murmurs, “sit.”

you do. and the first sweep of his tongue makes you whimper. he moans into you like he missed it—like this is a craving he didn’t know he had. his hands are firm on your thighs, pulling you down, grinding you into his mouth with such need it makes you shake.

“dick—” you gasp, fingers clutching the headboard. “fuck—”

he groans, tongue flattening against your clit, nose nudging exactly where you need it.

“you taste so good,” he mumbles, messy and breathless, “you’ve been sitting across from me looking like a wet dream all night— you think i wasn’t gonna do something about it?”

you grind down harder. he takes it. eats you like it’s his first meal after a drought. like he’s grateful for it. like the only thing he’s ever wanted in life is to make you cum on his tongue over and over again.

when your thighs start shaking, he just hums deep, greedy—and doesn’t let up. you cum on his face with a broken sob, hips twitching, thighs clenched around his ears, and he doesn’t stop until you physically have to lift yourself off him.

he’s grinning when you finally do—soaked, flushed, proud.

“so,” he pants, lips slick, voice wrecked. “catch up again next week?”

you laugh breathlessly, still shaking. “if you ever stop eating me like that,” you warn, “we’re gonna have a problem.”

he grins wider. “guess i better keep practicing then.”