#dh!baela

Aegon would instinctively rub himself all over his lover without a care in the world, having you sat underneath him on your shared bed. Wings wrapped around you like a cocoon and little chirps leaving his throat as he’s unable to otherwise communicate what relief and pleasure the simple act of scenting you brings him. You’ve known him long enough not to ask about this sudden bout of physical touch need he was fulfilling now, preferring to let Aegon get his fill. Questioning him usually made him mad, and he would retreat into a grumpy silence you didn't care to entertain most nights. And Aegon is only too please to have you so pliant under him as you let him have his fun. He would never admit that he likes th subtil whiff of his smoky, sulfuric smell tangled with yours, and sweetened by the oils you use to bath. That’s a secret he’ll bring in death with him.

Aemond is more sneaky about it. He’ll leave his hand on your shoulder or back, have you were his cape when he deems it too cold (he doesn’t even need a bloody cape!!) He also uses sex as ha way to feed his need of scenting you so as to not have to answer questions he cannot give intelligent and thought off explanations. However he’ll have you, you can be sure that Aemond’s nose will be nuzzling your neck sometime or another, his body pressed so close you thing he wants you to merge with him, truly become one. The scales of his skin leaving visible indentations onto your skin when your both done. And Aemond relishes on his scent, like a lit incense, that follows you around for the day afterward, mixing with the other scent that makes you, well, you.

Baela is confident enough in herself and your relationship that she would not hide the scenting. Sure, she would keep it to a minimum around others, but she wouldn’t keep you in the dark about it either. Having you wear one of her scales, rubbing her hands on your body, covered or not, letting the burnt rosewood that was her smell seep into you, mixing with the more unique smell of you. Maybe she would have you wear one of her (numerous) ribbons, somewhere on your person, just because she likes having a visual reminder of her ownership (that’s a dirty word, but is nonetheless true) of you. And she dislikes leaving traces of your intimity for others to see. The burnt marks of her hands in your skin is a reminder enough of how fragiles humans are, and what physical/visual marks can spur on.

Daemon would be very quiet about scenting. Not letting you know exactly why he keeps touching your neck and wrists and ankles. But he would get mad if you dodge him, or worse, wash his scent off. It would take, I imagine, some time before he’s comfortable enough with you to explain (a bit) about scenting. His touches would also become more affectionate, less hidden. Mornings where Daemon would let his hands caress your body, waking you up gently until you’re all but drunk off of him. Having you writhing with pleasure, lust or not, simply because he can and he wants to. Scenting, to Daemon, is the hicky of royalty. People get thrown off by something, they don’t quite know what, but he does, and most importantly, you do too. Daemon would never admit to liking the mix of his burnt-meat-smell with yours… Caraxes is more talkative about it then him.

Helaena scents you very rarely. She scents her children more than she does you, which, to a point, is understandable. The insulting part is that you’re with her more than her children. Helaena was not taught the dragon ways, and Alicent didn’t encourage the scenting between her children either, even if it’s a formative part of packbounding and childhood in dragon hybrids. Helaena tends to scent you when she gets overwhelmed by something. Too many people, a stressful moment, after a tea with her mother. It’s her hand placed in the crook of your arm, a brush of her hair tangling with your own, or your clothes. She does it in all settings of her life, private or more public (or as public as Helaena goes, anyways.) the smell of burned grass mingled with the smell she associated with you calming her more than any potions the maesters had ever given her. That’s usually when Dreamfyre takes over her mind to sooth them both.

Jacaerys likes having you smell like him, like too-warm sand on a too-hot day. He likes having you touching him in any way, shape and form possible. He doesn’t really shy away from scenting you when people are around, even if he tries to stay princely around strangers or in official meetings. But could you really blame him? If he doesn’t scent you, then he has to contain Vermax (more than usual), and appear normal when doing it, and he’s expected to be alert, too. So he just… scent you, whenever the urge takes him. In the garden after playing with his siblings? Done. While lazing around in bed? Easy. Because some lord of a small house looked at you just a bit weirdly for a bit too long? Bet. Jacaerys is proud of his dragon traits and won’t shy away from it, so what makes some people weirded out? They just have to avert their gaze when they see his arms encircle you.

Laenor is more discreet about it. Sure, he’ll rub himself like a cat on you in private, but there are apparences to uphold, unfortunately. Laenor cannot scent you whenever he pleases, and this is his tragedy. It does not deter him from giving you presents! Clothes (his), and congratulations!! You now share a perfume. Something akin to encens and the sea air that he’s so fond of, and mixing to you, Leanor would roll in it himself if he could. Seasmoke is particularly proud when you wear a piece of his clothing in public, and Laenor has to reign them in so as not to smother you in affection. But Rhaenyra could tell you about Laenor’s micro expressions that he cannot hide well. The little tremor in his hands when you walk past, the way his eyes search for you in the sea of people when your intermingled scent floats to him. How his scaly tail raises to alertness when he recognizes a familiar shirt on your shoulders.

Rhaena would like to scent you, but lacks the instinct to need it. She knows that not scenting you should bother her, is bothering her, but she cannot bring herself to do it, as it brings her no satisfaction. The urge of having you be hers completely in the most innocent and intimate way cannot be filled. Her nose cannot pick up on the scent that should be hers on you. It’s a subject she is not willing to bring with you, or anyone else, for that matter. At least not for a long time. What you don’t know won't hurt you, and gods know how hurt you become in knowing her to be unfulfilled.

Rhaenyra is unbothered in scenting you outrageously. Younger, she would make a small show of pressing herself against your body, making people’s gaze falter from you, a small, satisfied smirk tugging at her lips as Syrax’s purrs echoed in her mind and out of her throat. The heavy smell of melted metal soaking up your skin and clothes, not that you notice, anyway. As she grew, Rhaenyra found that she didn’t need to express her possessivity so harshly. You were hers completely, without a doubt or the shadow of reticence. Yet, having you prowl around smelling both as yourself and her made the dragon spirit sharing her mind preen harder than anything else. Clothes were now kept with hers, in the same chest, washed with the same care, by the same hands. Individuality of bath time now non-existent after all those years, but if it kept your queen smiling, who were you to refuse her?

Taglist: @lady-dragon-rider