#bealor

In the semi-darkness of the room, barely lit by flame and moonlight, he had never looked more beautiful. His dark hair had always been one of your favorite features on him, and over the years, silver strands had begun to thread through it. Every time you noticed them, something primal stirred within you.

He was so handsome. 

His eyes, each of a contrasting color, made him look so close to a Valyrian, to a god. His hands so familiar with your body, his fingers slender and always gentle, so pretty adorned with his rings.

Seeing him like that, in the middle of the full-moon night, you had the sudden, overwhelming urge to—

“You should be resting, wife,” Baelor broke the silence, not even lifting his head to glance at you, aware of your presence the moment your feet stepped into the hallway. If he looked at you now, he knew his concentration would be utterly lost. “And not wasting your beauty sleep on spying on me.”

A tired smile tugged at your lips as you crossed the room. One hand brushed over the warm bricks of the central fireplace, your nails lightly scratching the stone, while the other clutched your fluffy nightgown tighter around your shoulders.

A small shiver ran through you as you caught his sidelong glance, unwilling to miss a single word of his beloved book on how the Wall had been built.

“I could say the same about you, Your Grace,” you shot back, just as you stepped up close to his chair like a stalking cat, sliding your hand over his shoulder to rub it gently. “You’re only wasting your precious time hiding from me in here.”

At your touch, the prince eventually paused his absorption in the tedious book in front of him and raised his head to meet your own gaze, his two-toned eyes softening enormously as they took in the sleepy, lovely look on your face.

“I have to read, I have to stay informed,” he tried to give you at least a decent excuse for having been away from you for so long, sighing softly and leaning back in his chair, spreading his legs comfortably.

You took that as a silent invitation.

Without another word, you sat down on his lap. Baelor’s arms came around you at once, pulling you closer to his chest, supporting your weight easily over his thighs.

You clicked your tongue, slipping your arms around his neck and looking at him fondly, despite your accusatory tone. “And I have to sleep with my husband by my side.”

Baelor let out a soft, tired chuckle, one of his hands giving your backside a playful pat. “The husband you chose is the Hand of the King. He is be a busy man.”

“By day he is the Hand of the King,” you smiled teasingly, leaning in to press a brief kiss to the tip of his nose, pleased to feel his other hand on your face, brushing strands of your hair away from your forehead. “By night, he is mine. And it is already night, Your Grace. Very late.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, darling,” he drew his face closer to yours, stealing a delicate kiss from your lips, tasting the honey you put on them every night to keep them soft. “He is always yours.”

You smiled triumphantly as you stood, taking his hand to coax him up. “Then come with me, my love.”

His other hand never left your waist, sliding just a little lower to your bum once you were standing before him. 

He looked up at you as if you were the closest thing to a goddes in this world, as if no dragon’s blood ran through his veins, as if he were not part of the most powerful family in Westeros. No, when Baelor looked at you, he knew paradise must look something like this: your beautiful face gazing down at him with playful, shining eyes, your lovely body inviting him like a spell he could never resist.

Both his hands settled on your hips beneath the thin, fluffy nightgown, guiding you to face him fully as he pulled you closer, trapping you between his open legs and his arms.

Baelor lowered his head to rest it against your stomach, eyes closing in a silent plea for affection.

He was needy. Of course he was—any man would be at such late hours of the night.

Poor thing, so many hours locked away in there without your caresses, your kisses, your body beneath his hands.

“I’m sure the History of the Wall is not more interesting than I am, is it, my prince?” you teased, raising a brow as your fingers slid soothingly through his dark hair.

A quiet warmth kindled in your belly when you saw the strands of gray between your fingers. It was always the gray that stirred something deep and fierce within you.

“Nothing is more interesting than you, my sweetest,” he gave you the answer you had been hoping for, drawing a smile from your lips. His hands roamed with tender familiarity over the backs of your thighs, caressing your skin beneath the fabric of your nightgown, pulling your body closer to his in a warm, much-needed embrace.

“I do need you,” he confessed quietly.

Your expression softened instantly.

Baelor went still beneath your loving touch, glancing at you from the corner of his eye as you carefully unfastened the pin from his doublet. The weight of it came away with quiet ease, resting in your palm for a brief moment before you reached to the desk and set it beside his open book.

“You are only mine tonight, Baelor.”