gwayne hightower thoughts and thots because he’s a babe and i recently rewatched hotd.
this man has a control/dom kink, but he’s so gentle with it.
he likes to be in charge - knows how to hold you down, how to make you beg without raising his voice. he isn’t cruel, maybe with his pace, but oh he’s reverent. worshipful. like he’s doing the god’s work between your thighs.
“let me take care of you” as he pins your wrists above your head, before proceeding to wreck your body like it’s a holy rite.
speaking of, have you ever see a knight kneel in total devotion? this man loves to go down on you. he’ll drop to his knees in your chambers like he’s at the Sept, mouthing along your inner thigh. her gets drunk on it - nose pressed into your wetness, morning into your skin.
“god’s my lady,” he pants, fingers digging into your hips, “you’re sweeter than summer wine.” you try to close your thighs and he just pulls them open again like, absolutely not.
makeup/mid-fight sex should be illegal.
he pushes you up against the wall, hot breath against your ear- “you drive me mad,” he growls. “say it to my face.” and then he’s lifting your skirts, grinding up between your thighs like he wants to fight and fuck you at the same time. teeth bared against teeth, scratches at your hips, hands in your hair.
his favourite position? anywhere he can see your face. missionary? yes. bent over the council table? for sure, but he’ll pull you up by the throat halfway through so he can kiss your mouth. he wants to watch you fall apart for him, wants to hear your breath hitch and your lashes flutter. “you’re mine, say it. out loud.”
morning sex is sweet.. he wakes you up with kisses down your spine, fingertips pushing at your waist. and then he’ll slip his fingers in you, pressing his forehead deep into your shoulder and into the crook of your neck. “let me have you.” he murmurs, “just like this.”
it’s slow. sensual. lazy grinding and tangled limbs and soft gasps as the sun rises.
but his hand never leaves your throat. just enough pressure to make your eyes roll back and your voice go breathy.
you can tear up from overstimulation and he just—short circuits.
“too much?” he whispers, instantly checking in. “do you want me to stop?”
and when you say, “no, don’t stop,” he kisses the tears off your cheeks and keeps going, gentle and coaxing.
“you’re doing so well for me, darling. just a little more.”
pls pls pls.
