#myfic

It. Of course you did. You nod back vehemently, and though he can't see you in the nighttime, you know he can hear the rustling of the sheets. He understands. He leans closer to you, leaving the domain of his side of the bed to invade into the space of your pillow. His lips find yours and the kiss is warm and wholehearted. His warm hand reaches out to you under the blankets. They slide under your shirt where his skin warms up your belly before he's reaching higher, up to your breasts, and squeezes the mounds of flesh. You relax as he massages you but suddenly tense when he grazes your nipple. He lightly pulls and rubs at one before moving onto the other. You help him by lifting your shirt up. When he spreads his fingers and grazes both of your nipples at the same time, you can't help the long, low moan you release into his mouth.

"You like that?" he says softly, eyes still shut. His breath is heavy against your lips. He feels soft and cozy next to you, but the movement of his fingers across your chest feels like sin. They spark pleasure up your spine and make it difficult to concentrate on kissing. He asked if you liked that, but you know answering is useless; it's rhetorical because he already knows the answer from the way you're shuddering, by how you're struggling to keep your lips on his since you can barely catch your breath. Your chest has always been your weak spot and Caleb loves to exploit it.

Not one to be selfish, you want Caleb to feel good too. So you stroke him again until you feel a bead of precum well up. You spread his precum across the entire head before stroking the shaft again. He swells under your hand, so erect that the foreskin stays peeled back. When he sharply pulls on one of your nipples, the cry he elicits from you seems to trigger something in him. His cock wells up with fluid again, and his breathing against your lips grows heavier. When you slip your tongue into his mouth, searching for his, his breathing roughens before he takes over to dominate the kiss.

Yes, you think. You've managed to rile him up and you moan to let him know of your receptivity.

Every time his fingers brush against both your nipples simultaneously, you feel yourself growing wetter in your underwear. Unable to take it any longer, you let go of his member only to slip your hand under your own waistband to furiously pleasure yourself. Caleb's disappointed by the loss of contact but hums in approval when he realizes what you're doing.

He detaches his lips from yours. Instead, he cups and squeezes one of your breasts before tilting his head down to suck on them. You whine when his teeth graze against the sensitive nub. They harden under his touch, even more so as his tongue laves against the skin, as he engulfs on them as if trying to draw milk out. He moves from one to the other before returning again. Your fingers are relentless where you're pleasuring yourself. The soft sounds Caleb makes as he has his way with you, the way electricity runs up your spine, it's all too much. Your toes curl into the sheets as your muscles tighten and you fall over the edge, your breath knocked out of your lungs.

Suddenly, you're much too sensitive. Each touch becomes almost painful and you push Caleb's mouth away.

"Please," you whisper. "I can't take it." He obliges, his head falling back against his own pillow again. Your body is still buzzing from your release, but you reach out for Caleb's cock again. This time, his entire member is soaked. Just from sucking on your breasts.

You coat his shaft with the fluids and listen to the gasps he makes. Without warning, you urge him to take off his briefs then rearrange yourself so you face where he's tumescent. You swallow him into your mouth and undulate your head. You can't see his expression, but you imagine it: eyebrows furrowed, mouth agape, face slack.

He runs fingers through your hair, trying to push back the strands so they're not in your face. He's salty and his body scent is slightly sweet. You bob your head as his sticky fluids coat your mouth. You even run your tongue over the wrinkled skin of his balls and feel them tighten up. Your hand caresses the shaft while you do this, even wrapping the palm of your hand over the slick head. Caleb practically curls in on himself when you do this, the tip too overstimulated. You only release him when he tugs harshly at your hair. Stars are swimming in his vision.

"C'mere," he says, breathless. He draws you back up and onto him so you're straddling his middle. He reaches under you, pulling aside your underwear and lining himself up. Slowly, you sink down. It's been awhile since you two have done this. His cock is stretching you open and you relish in the sensation of the intrusion. Once fully seated, you lean down for a quick kiss as you get used to his size. You rise up and start bouncing, feet planted firmly on the mattress, hands against his chest for leverage. When he tries to touch your breasts again, you whine in disapproval; your chest is too overstimulated now, nipples so stiff that it's bordering on pain. You redirect his hand down to your clit instead, and arch your back as he rubs your bud.

You never can manage to be in this position for long, so when he senses your tiredness, Caleb rolls you off him. Despite his drowsiness, he pulls you to the edge of the bed until your legs dangle off. He positions himself between your legs, aligns his member, and pushes in.

You don't make a sound as he starts thrusting, but your eyes are closed, savoring the movements and touch. You bite your lip so hard it leaves a bite-shaped indent.

Perhaps Caleb thinks your silentness is an inimical sign, so he lifts your legs until your ankles are on his shoulders. He pushes your thighs together and starts grinding deep into you, repeatedly pushing hips against hips until it feels like he's splitting you open. You can't help moaning at the pleasurable pain.

Relief washes over Caleb when sound finally leaves your lips. He wants to hear you coming apart for him, after all. For good measure, he grinds desperately into you unceasingly, angling his hips differently each time he presses in. You swear his tip is abusing the opening of your womb, pushing against your cervix like as if he's seeking entrance. He keeps it up until you're practically crying.

Finally, he draws your legs apart again and holds onto the back of your knees, bending your legs into your chest. He pistons his hips, dragging loud, sharp wails out of you. It's not enough for Caleb though. You got him all riled up and if he can't see your melting expressions in the dark, he at least wants to hear you and he wants to hear you loud. So he does what he knows you love.

His hands move away from your bent legs and reaches up to your throat. One hand on either side, fingers curling around you. He doesn't press down hard, just enough to put pressure on your windpipe, to show you who's boss. And you trust Caleb so wholly—trust that he'd never actually harm you—that the pressure cascades utter pleasure through you instead of fear. He holds you for leverage as he wildly jackhammers.

Your gasps are sharper and breathier from the lack of air and the occasional moans you emit are cut out each time he presses his fingers down a little harder. Every single sound you make is music to his ears.

At some point, it gets too much for you and you can't control how your cunt clamps down on him. Your muscles tighten around his cock so intensely that if you both weren't so wet and leaking for the other that Caleb wouldn't even be able to thrust any further. You squeeze around his cock until it feels like he's the one who's being choked.

Finally, his breath begins to stutter before his hips do. He lets go of your neck to grip your hips instead in a bruising hold, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your pelvis.

"Fuck," he swears, "I'm gonna cum."

You nod and whine in approval. Your hand moves down to rub against your own clit.

"Shit," he wheezes. "Are you touching yourself?"

He didn't sound too creepy, even if he was a med student. You messaged him back saying you were still looking and would be willing to meet tomorrow. He asked if he could come at seven, saying he had a busy day and apologising. You told him not to fret and that you would be happy to meet him.

You spent the rest of your day budding with nerves, you had been happy enough on your own until your rent increased. Alongside your utilities. No wonder everyone was desperate, you couldn't help but think. You needed to find a roommate and quick, desperation growing each day. By the time it had swung back around to bed time your lips were cracked, indents of your teeth evidence of your anxiety.

The day passed so slow you had almost gone mad, staring down the clock as time ticked by. When you heard a knock you almost leapt out of your skin, double checking everything was presentable before you opened the door.

The first thing you noticed was his height, he had to be at least 6'4. "H-hey! Come in! You must be Jack?" You choked out, smiling and stepping back. "Hi, sorry it's so late. I hope it's not too imposing." His voice was thick and creamy, causing warmth to envelop your stomach. You ignored the butterflies he sent rampaging through your stomach, he was rather handsome. Something about him seemed off though, almost like an act. You tried not to dwell on it, nor how his teeth almost seemed sharp. Canine sharp.

His voice and charisma alone kept you from wondering what it was you were experiencing, you felt deep shame in yourself. You felt like you were looking at something that wasn't really what you were seeing. You shoved that feeling down, he seemed like a nice guy.

By the end of the night you had managed to quell the feeling, going as far as to offer him the other room which he gladly accepted. He was extremely grateful to you, shooting even more shame into you.

After he had left your mind had finally landed on a feeling. Uncanny valley. That's what he gave the feeling of. You flopped into your bed, intent on ignoring the stupid feeling that gnawed at your mind.

That night you had a disturbingly realistic dream, you couldn't see anything due to the hand keeping your face buried into your pillow. But you could feel something wiggling inside of you, pushing deep and rubbing your prostate so sweetly it left you choking. Saliva dripped down your ass, dribbling out of your hole every time the tongue began to pull out of you. It felt unbelievable, all you could think about was how good it felt. You came embarrassingly quick and hard, clenching hard around the tongue lapping at your insides. Your eyes drifted shut, a deep chuckle rumbling from behind you.

"Mine now."

That voice.. It sounded like Jack's.

You tried desperately to ignore your dream, you had woken up to a throbbing cock and vague memories of claws grabbing onto your hips. A heavy body pressing into your back, keeping you anchored as a fat cock rubbed between your ass cheeks.

Knocking disrupted your thoughts and you quickly got up, momentarily shocked before you remembered your new roommate. "You getting your stuff later?" He shook his head, brown hair swaying. You couldn't stop staring at him, he wore dark sweats and a black shirt that clung to him. You could see he was strong, his muscles evident even through his shirt. "Would you like a coffee?" You didn't let silence sit long after he sat down next to you on the couch. "Black, please." You smiled and nodded, hopping up from the couch.

Jack couldn't believe his luck, he usually kept a room mate for the week he spent in different towns and cities. All left for dead the moment he planned to move on. This time was different. His eyes never left your ass, he couldn't wait to make that little dream of yours come through. The moment he stepped into the building he smelt something downright delicious, a different type of hunger consuming him as he tracked the scent. When it had turned out to be the door he was supposed to come to he was borderline giddy.

The moment you had opened the door he had made a decision, you would be his. The way your pretty eyes looked up at him left his cock twitching, picturing you on your knees as tears dripping down your cheeks. Your lips stretched impossibly wide around his thick cock.

Jack had to stop his thoughts before he pounced you. He had to wait, he had to lull you into security.

Jack gratefully took the coffee from you once you came back, drinking down the dark liquid. You looked at him in surprise, it should have burnt his mouth but he had no reaction. You chalked it up to the fact he may drink a lot of the stuff.

The first two days had been peaceful, existing together. The only weird thing was that Jack never seemed to eat, claiming he had dietary restrictions. You had tried to get him to tell you, promising to accommodate him. Instead his lips had twisted into a small smirk, so quick you almost missed it. As if he knew something you didn't. You didn't push him further, you were sure he would open up eventually. "Shift tonight, I won't be back until late." You nodded, bidding him a goodbye.

You let out a deep breath, you chalked it up to him just being new. You would get used to another presence soon enough. It definitely wasn't because a primal part of your mind screamed, as if there was a predator right next to you. It had all left you on high alert, mind cagey whenever you were around him. You were exhausted after two days.

Crawling into your bed had almost been too hard, body collapsing the moment you hit the sheets.

This time you were on your back, legs held wide open. You looked up and felt horror fill you. You had been so thrown you hadn't noticed the similarities at first. It was Jack. Except his eyes were black, thick gooey tears constantly running from them. His teeth were on full display, he looked like he wanted to eat you whole. His teeth were so sharp you didn't doubt he might just be able to. The uncanny feeling had completely disappeared, this was right. This was what he really looked like.

He leaned down to whisper into your ear, almost snapping your legs.

"Soon."

You woke up with a gasp, dripping with your own sweat. You heard a noise from outside and assumed Jack was back. You crept towards your door, your dream still fresh in your mind. You had no idea if it had any basis in reality but the urge to know overtook the wiser part of your mind, the part telling you to just get back into bed. You were safe there. Instead you ignored every instinct and pushed off, slowly opening your soor and stepping out.

You crept down the hallway, pausing by Jack's room. You heard a weird sound, almost like flesh being ripped into. You gathered your courage up and peaked through the dood, blood almost stopping as you took in what was going on in front of you. There was Jack and he looked just like your dream, his skin a dark grey colour. Blood streaked down his neck, a heart held between his hands as he bit into it. You couldn't stop yourself from gasping and stumbling back, intending to run back to your room.

His head snapped towards you, pitch black eyes staring into your soul. You tried to run to your bedroom, stumbling back when you ran into something. You looked up at Jack with fear, you couldn't believe how fast he moved. He shoved you up against the wall, claws digging into your biceps. You felt too scared to move, voice coming out in a whispered crack as he smirked down at you. His mouth dripped with saliva.

Just before those sharp serrated teeth got any closer you shot up in your bed, trembling as you wrapped your arms around yourself. These dreams were getting out of hand, they seemed too real. This time your room was filled with a warm light, the sun squeezing between your curtains. You got up, ignoring the way your legs still shook as you made your way to the bathroom.

You hopped into the shower, washing yourself in a foggy haze. You double checked over your body, making sure there were no marks or bruises. When you had gotten out and made your way to the kitchen you found Jack and two cups of coffee. You thanked him for it and sat next to him at the breakfast bar.

"You okay?" You almost jumped, forgetting he was there for a moment. "Yeah-Didn't sleep much." He hummed as he drank down the coffee. You made idle char before you started getting ready for your classes.

Jack couldn't help but smirk the moment your back was turned, he was having a lot of fun with you. He felt possessive around you, a deep feral urge to lock away. Keep you all to himself. He couldn't help but picture your reactions, wondering what you looked like under all those baggy clothes you hid in. Jack snuck into your room after you left, he took a deep inhale of your scent. You smelled amazing.

After two months you had settled, you still experienced weird dreams but most had taken on a rather sexual note. It left you flustered, hand creeping down your pants the moment Jack left. You had at least felt less anxiety around him, except for the occasional twitch of your cock whenever he did anything your mind liked. Everytime he stretched and his shirt rode up your mind went haywire, the sight of his stomach leaving you practically drooling at the sight.

Winter had been creeping in and it was getting colder by the minute, snow already piled up outside of your window. Your classes had been cancelled and Jack had been let off for the night, it was far too dangerous to travel. You shivered again and finally got up, intending on finding out why the hell the heating wasn't coming on. You gawked at Jack when you spotted him in the kitchen, he had on sweats and just a shirt. You pulled your blanket around you. "Whats wrong with you? It's freezing." You looked at him as if he had two heads and he just chuckled and shook his. "I run warm." Was all he said and you pouted.

"Is the heating broken?" He shrugged before walking over to the basement to check out the system.

You began making up two coffees, Jack's black as he liked. You kept yourself bundled up in your blanket, only turning to see Jack coming up the stairs and sighing. "Fucked." You let out a groan, throwing your head back. "I'll freeze to death by morning." You whined, handing Jack a cup and nestling yours between icy hands. Jack paused for a moment, awkwardly shuffling. "You can share my bed tonight, it's gonna be minus twelve." You shuddered but nodded, you just hoped you didn't have an exciting dream while sleeping next to him.

After Jack had asked that question the day had gone by painfully slow, minutes felt like hours. By the time bed time had come around you were so riled up you doubted you even could sleep.

Still you followed Jack to his bedroom, already in your pyjamas. "You can take the wall side." You nodded, flushing when you turned to see him pulling his shirt off. It was almost impossible to rip your eyes from his shoulders. You hopped into the bed, shuffling towards the wall and facing towards it. You sat in silence as Jack changed, slipping pyjama bottoms on.

Jack could practically feel you shivering before he even got into the bed, it had been pure luck on his part that the heating had actually broken. He faced away from you but you could feel the heat practically radiating from him, it left you wanting to curl close to him. You fought against the urge and curled into yourself, body finally succumbing to the self inflicted mental exhaustion.

You let out a low moan, you could feel those claws digging into your hips again. You assumed it was another dream and decided to just ride it out once again. Jack's tongue worked quickly and expertly, rubbing you in ways that were impossible by most human standards. He left you biting into your sheets, toes curling as your hole twitched around his tongue. His hands almost burned, radiating pure heat.

You arched your back, moans getting higher the closer you got to your orgasm. "A-Ah! God!" You felt a chuckle rumble through Jack and came, mouth stretched into a silent scream. You whimpered when he pulled his tongue out, making an obscene slurping noise.

Usually you would wake up, instead you felt him lean over you. He hooked his chin over your shoulder, his voice deep and downright demonic as he whispered into your ear. "There is no God here." He moved too fast for you to think, his cock doing its best to bully its way into you. You let out a guttural whine when he finally squeezed the tip of his cock into you, body shaking as you were forced to accommodate.

You felt a hand wrap around your throat, Jack easily pulling you off of the bed. You finally got to look at him, exactly like your dreams. You felt him lick your cheek, his tongue was insanely long and rough. Almost like a cat's tongue.

Jack fucked you like you weighed nothing, barely breaking a sweat as he held you up by your neck and hip. You held onto his forearm desperately, small moans falling out with your heavy breathing. You were almost sure he was balls deep into your guts at this point, when he finally bottomed out you swore you could see stars. It felt completely overwhelming, your mind reduced to a fizzled mist.

If Jack was bothered by the fact you currently had his blood running down your hands, he didn't show it. The first slam of his hips felt like being hit by a car, punching all of the air from your lungs. You felt useless as he fucked you like a rag doll, bouncing you like you weighed no more then a teddy bear. That fact went straight to your cock, precum practically streaming out as your prostate was rammed into. "S-such a pretty little thing. Smelled you th-the moment i stepped in." He buried his face into your neck, sniffing at you like some animal.

All you could do was let out a weak groan, twisting in his grasp as pleasure shot throughout your body. You almost felt sick, some part of you chiding yourself for letting a demon bed you while the other practically cheered with glee.

Suddenly he stopped, revealing in the whine you let out when your orgasm was cut short. He pulled out of you and flipped you onto your back. You could see the moon reflecting off of his eyes, casting a shine inside of them that reminded you of a predator in the night. You could see him much better now, his true form. Sharp teeth, pitch black eyes and all.

You watched as he licked his teeth, shuddering as you got a look at what had been inside of you. You swallowed down a whine, feeling exposed. He was rough when he pushed his cock back into you, groaning as your tight walls consumed him. Once he had buried himself to the hilt he took a moment to stare you down, his hands pinned either side of your head. You felt too hot and too cold, almost like you were drowning.

You felt like you could practically taste his cock, all you could do was stare up at him through wet eyelashes. "Beg for it, pretty boy." When you didn't answer he shoved your knees up to your shoulders, practically glowing when he heard you squeal at the change. "Beg. For. It." He enunciated each word with a harsh slam of his hips, almost leaving you catatonic. "You know you want this. I've seen your dreams." He purred, he never seemed to blink. His eyes were completely trained on you.

"Pl-please.." You finally whispered out. "Oh, you can do better than that." His hand wrapped around your balls, biting his lip when your eyes suddenly doubled. He held just hard enough to make sure you wouldn't cum as he ground into you. You spluttered, hips beginning to buck on their own. "Please! F-fuck me!" You finally begged out, words turning into a babbling mess.

You had been so close to cuming it was almost insanity inducing, fat tears raining from your eyes. You couldn't even see anymore due to the constant flooding.

Jack could see just fine, drinking up every moan and twitch of your face. He couldn't get over just how pretty you looked, sobbing and bucking your hips as you desperately tried to seek some form of release. Jack's hands were big, his claws made them feel even bigger. He seemed to have great control, his talons only digging into you enough to draw out small droplets of blood.

He kept a tight grip of your thighs, pushing them closer to your ears as he leaned down to push his tongue between your parted lips. He ate up every whine and sob he could, he wanted you to only ever think about him. He wanted to make sure he ruined you, no human could ever compare afterall.

He watched as you went cock-eyed, chest heaving as you desperately grabbed at the frame of his bed. Jack knew things would change, he'd make sure you never left his bed again. He felt you spasm around his cock before you locked him in a vice grip that almost hurt, making him work a little harder to push into you.

You couldn't believe just how good it felt, your dreams hadn't compared to him actually carving you out with his cock. When your high finally hit its peak you let out the most embarrassing moan you had ever made, body almost violently fighting against Jack as you were ripped through an orgasm.

Jack loved how you whimpered, looking up at him with pleading eyes. He didn't even think you knew what you wanted, he would gladly decide for you. He continued fucking into you, your body too exhausted go do anything other then lay there and take everything he wanted you to. He wrapped a hand around your cock, jacking your cock in time with his thrusts.

Your eyes shot open, a renewed vigor inside of you as you begged him to stop. But you also wanted him to keep going, it burned in a way that felt too good and your body craved more despite its exhaustion. Jack tried to commit every movement to his memory, especially how pretty you looked being dumbed down by his dick. It felt heavenly, how sweetly you wrapped around him. Whenever he pulled out he could feel you trying to suck him back in. He knew you would have such a slutty hole. You passed out after he managed to drag another orgasm from you, growling as you clamped down on him and milked him. His own orgasm finally hit and he bit into your neck with a growl, grinding into you as he rode out his own high.

He smirked down at you when he pulled out, taking a moment to admire his cum dripping from your twitching hole. You smelled of him and he loved it, he was going to make sure he buried his scent so deep into you there would be no way you would forget. You had belonged to him the moment he had smelled you and now he finally had taken you.

To be a cup bearer to the Hand of the King, son of good king Daeron II, is a great honor. She’d been told as much when her father put the raven’s letter to words, mouth twisting awry. A tourney at Storm’s End had put the girls of Summerhall face to face with the uncles and cousins they so scarcely saw. And the Prince of Dragonstone had particularly been kind towards his oldest niece, freshly seventeen and flowered, who so eagerly wanted to know it all about the world. Who so eagerly wanted to ride dragons, but not in the belligerent and desperate fashion as her brother Aerion did. She wanted to fly. I long to be one with the birds, she told her uncle, who put a hand on her shoulder and smiled. 

The reasoning for her change of scenery had been obvious. There were few women of House Targaryen in their generation, her sisters and her, of age to wed, her cousins too young or… unfit for the matter at hand. Aelora had half lost her mind not a moon ago. 

She had known their intent from the very moment she was presented in front of her grandfather and her uncle, both men grown in years and wisdom, who had asked her to turn on her heels. They deemed her clever and sweet, well behaved. If they had known of the sort of folly she and her sisters got up to in the halls of Prince Maekar. 

At long last, she could feel the wind of change pick up speed, twirl her hair into knots as she poured wine and heard the words of her uncle become a truth. Marriages are the closest ties our families can share. The words get caught in the stare between the eyes of the Hand of the King and that of Lord Tyrell. His lit up like two coins of green, a damning contrast to the red of his toothy grin. 

“You may leave us, niece,” the Hand of the King says, his hand on her forearm, a gentle gaze on his face. She mouths a ‘yes, my prince’ that barely carries noise, before retreating with her wine and her hitched breath. 

Come the morrow, she’d still think of her uncle’s gaze as she closed the chamber’s door behind her. Come the morrow, she’d dress in a golden dress and have a maid twist her hair into a long braid, before hurrying towards the Hand of King and his chambers. 

A cup bearer serves diligently, hears nothing, says nothing, stays put until a command comes. And a cup bearer of royal blood must behave better than all others, set an example. Her uncle said so half a dozen times, speaking with his sons, with his brothers, with his unruly nephews. The Seven know no word could go through Aerion’s thick skull. 

(The Maiden knows she prayed on her knees to be spared of a marriage to either of her older brothers. The younger, Aemon, would have been acceptable, a good man even, but her father had sent him to Oldtown. Aegon was too young to even be a question. He would be a good man one day, though. Perhaps Daella would wed him, in time.)

Her uncle was breaking fast when she walked into his rooms. Eggs and cheese and wine and a platter full of summer fruits sat on the small table by the window that overlooked the courtyard. The kingsguard at the door had announced her entrance and her uncle had given her a rue smile before the knight left them in solitude. Ever since his lady wife’s passing, Prince Baelor had been much alone. She pitied him. 

“Come, niece,” he says, a command and a request carried over by the velvety feel of his voice. She walks over to him, offering a curtsy as she stands by the small table. “Pour me some wine, if you would be so kind.”

“Yes, my prince.” Her hands pick up the pitcher full of sweet summer wine, the kind her uncle loved most, and pours him a cup of it before stepping back. The wine is sweet, but sweeter is her uncle’s smile, his gentle gaze and good manners. Oh, the dream of every maiden of the realm. 

The soul of chivalry they called him. She was inclined to believe the good Father above had made him to his own image, carved out of the walls of Dragonstone. Didn’t uncle Aerys say that’s how the first dragons were born, carved out of the pits of a volcano by fire mages? She didn’t know for certain how dragons were born or how to raise them. None of her cousins or uncles or grandparents knew. Dragons died before all of them came to be. But they are all dragons too. Quite the contradiction. 

“Niece?” His voice pierces through the veil over her eyes. She had lost herself in thought, the pitcher had leaned too far left in her loose hold and a thread of red poured over her right hand. 

She feels the red of her cheeks, warmth spreading over her face not unlike fire in the dry wood. How embarrassing. 

He stares at her for a moment, as if assessing the situation, then lets out a dry laugh. Prince Baelor stands up and takes with him a handkerchief, dabbing it gently over his niece’s hand. 

“You must be more careful,” he says, such a mirth in the tone of his voice. She feels embarrassed but the sudden warmth of his smile makes her giddy like a child. 

“My apologies, my prince,” she tried to keep her voice steady, but it quivered all over the place. 

Her uncle takes the pitcher, places it back in its silver tray, and turns to face her. He had been larger than life since she was a child, a shadow of a shadow in a memory shared by her father and brothers. Everyone in the family felt small in his presence, but he had words to put at ease even the most skittish in the realm. Oh, how her brothers played to be the Dragonknight she wanted her sons to play pretend in the shoes of Baelor Breakspear. 

His hands drape over hers, the callous of his palms not too different from her father's hands. “I have made arrangements for you to marry Lord Tyrell’s heir.”

“Oh.”

Her mouth falls agape for a mere moment, before years of good manners overcome her senses and she’s there again, a lady with a soft expression on her gentle face. Smile, smile, you are a princess of the blood of the dragon, you must not falter. 

“It must be approved by your father, still, but there’s no reason why he should oppose it.” Prince Baelor quips an eyebrow, his voice still carefully calm. “Or is there?”

She shakes her head lightly. “No, my prince.”

“I wish not to send you away so soon,” his right hand reaches for her hair, the soft strands that spill around her face like a halo. His fingertips brush her temple and she feels light like a feather. “You had been a most lively presence in this castle.”

“Thank you, my prince.” Maekar’s daughter is but a little pawn, she remembers now, a piece to be dragged around the board at the will of the powers that be. Her uncle could only ever trade her for gold, all ladies must marry according to the needs of the family. It was only a matter of—

“It is a shame your father refused my request for your hand.”

Prince Baelor talks circles around her mind and her heart stops beating if only for a moment. 

“I could have commanded him, but I would not humiliate him in such a way.” His hand stills on her cheek, a careful hold as his eyes pin her in place, a gypsum statue in the gardens of the Red Keep, awaiting magic to bring her to life, “Maekar is my brother, after all.”

“Why did…” her voice comes out small, weak, “why did my lord father refuse?” She tries again, but her voice is barely above a whisper. 

The smile on Prince Baelor’s face carries a tinge of sorrow, regret perhaps. “He wasn’t content with his oldest daughter being a second wife to anyone.”

“But you’ll be lady of Highgarden before long” her uncle steps back, falling into a place much more familiar for both of them, a prince and a cup bearer. “And your children will bear the blood of the dragon too.”

The air inside her lungs burns. There’s fire blooming like flowers across her skin. Is it shame? Is it the burning sensation of almost getting what you wanted? All the girls want to have for husband a man as brave as Baelor Breakspear. And she had been so close to being his… 

“If I may, my prince…” Baelor crosses his hands behind his back, watching her intently, a silent permission. “I would have liked my father to have told me about your request.”

He leans his head to the side, a smirk on his pink lips. “What for, sweet child?”

“To tell him I’d be most happy being a second wife to you, Uncle”

His eyes harden and she knows she must be overstepping but what can a desperate soul like her do but cling to what she didn’t know she could have had? 

“I shall require your services no more for the day,” Prince Baelor turns on his heels, “you shall leave.”

The shame bites at her loins insistently, a hungry pup gnawing at a bone, and she retraces her steps towards the door of the Hand of the King’s chambers. 

“Uncle?” Silence. His back remains to her. Emboldened by her own hunger, her hand falls from the door as she walks back towards him. “What must I do on my wedding night?”

Baelor looks over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. 

“I know not how to please a husband,” she continues, a meekness to her that she is not sure fits the situation at hand. “Is my body useless if I’m so… naive?”

“Don’t speak of such things,” he turns around, facing her with a frown. “Hasn’t your septa spoken about it with you?”

“My septa speaks only of pleasure as a sin,” she confesses, shrugging lightly. “I know not how to be a good wife.”

Baelor picks his cup, drinks what remains of his sweet wine and turns his back to her once more. His posture tenses. She’s on the teething edge of finding if there’s fire in his blood. 

“Must I ask for you to teach me, uncle?” 

The prince sighs, his voice softer. “It is not my place to teach such things, child.”

“Who am I to ask then?” She presses on, one step closer. “A maester or a septa? Both sworn to keep away from pleasures of the flesh.” Her hand finds his sleeve, clinging on to it like a toddler. “Teach me, uncle, and I shall be the most grateful lady in the realm.”

Her dear uncle Baelor looks at her with both pity and careful restraint. He takes her hand, pulling it away from his arm. 

“Please, uncle,” she continues to plead, a weak voice, all too eager to chase what she now knows could have been hers. “Would it fare well for a marriage if the bride were not to know how to bring sons into this world? Wouldn’t my father be shamed if his daughter proved useless in the marital bed?”

Baelor regards her with a gaze that is hard to decipher. She had seen only so many men in such close proximity, but the heat… they are burning like dragons. Did the fires of Valyria burn like this? Men of low steed claimed the dornish blood had tainted the house of the dragon, but she knew it to be a lie. Her dear, mighty uncle, is just like Aegon the Conqueror. His hair may not be pale and his eyes not lilac like the sunset but he is a dragon. She can see all that humanly resolve melt, his hand holding hers with a tighter hold. 

“You put me in a difficult position, niece,” he says and it sounds like he’s giving in. “You are my cup bearer, have you forgotten?”

Oh, of course. Silly little princess, forgetting her place. 

“Shall I pour you wine, my prince?” She asks, her eyes lowered. Had she not been his niece, would she ever be allowed in the presence of such a mighty man? Oh the look in his eyes, that soft tilt of his head as he studies her. 

“You shall.” He pushes her away lightly, turning his back towards her and walking deeper into his chambers, away, away, so out of reach. 

All that she has in her is to hold in the tears, pick the pitcher of summer wine and fill a cup to carry back to him. You are a dragon, dragons don’t cry. 

Quietly, obediently, she follows his steps, finds him seated at the edge of his bed and hands him the wine. A cup bearer must not hear, must not speak, must only await for a command. 

“If I have offended you, my prince, “ she begins to say, breaking all the rules for good cup bearers, anxiously playing with the sleeves of her dress. “I beg for your for—”

“Drink,” he cuts her off with an order, arm extended. She reaches for the cup and he pulls away. “I said drink not touch.” She nods, hands now pressed to her middle. Prince Baelor brings the cup to her mouth and, through slightly parted lips, gives her a drink. The summer wine coats her tongue in sweetness. She’s drunk it before, but now it tastes like something forbidden, illicit. 

“Have you had your taste?” Prince Baelor holds her face with his free hand, his thumb softly caressing her lower lip. She nods and her mouth is about to part when he speaks once more.

“I wished you to be my wife before,” his voice sounds… tired, exhausted even. A worthy warrior come home after the war.  “why must you tempt me when I cannot have you?”

“Uncle,” her brows furrow and her mouth trembles, “you can have me, but you must teach me.”

“Temptress,” Baelor’s hand steadies her as she steps closer, the hem of her skirt covering his feet. “I wish not to be your father. Maekar has enough with those boys, why cause him further trouble?” 

“What trouble is in this, uncle? Our house has wedded brothers and sisters for hundreds of years. Isn’t this what I was made for?” She’s pleading like a child, bargaining for one more lemon cake. “You have no sisters, my prince. Am I not sent by the gods for you?”

The strength of his pull throws her off her feet, forces her hands to reach for him, hold on to her shoulders as he adjusts her legs on each side of his thighs. Her dress bunches uncomfortably at her calves, but Prince Baelor is holding her body close to his and the crooked cut of his nose brushes across her cheek as his lips press a pious kiss to her cheek, 

“You would ruin better men than me,” his voice scratches at an itch at the base of her skull, the clicking in place of pieces long thought to be unreachable. 

“There aren’t better men, uncle.”

She commits to memory the moment Baelor leans to kiss her. Her eyes are closed but all of her is alive and burning bright. Had the gods made their bloods not intertwined she wouldn’t taste in his sweet summer wine and the fruit of paradise lost, Valyria and all their glory. 

Princesses kiss stable boys all the time. Her sisters had done it, but she had been the first to kiss a knight. He was a hedge knight, a man of a rugged life with hard salt beef in his stomach and a coarse character, who touched her budding breasts and kissed her meanly before he went on his road past Summerhall and to the marches. He had been a miserable experience for a princess, but on the lap of Prince Baelor all memories became dust. 

He had undone the bodice of her dress so quickly, pressed the pads of his fingers to the softest corners of her skin, undoing layers of childish insecurity with hands and lips. Baelor kisses her so gently, pulling upwards the fabrics of her skirt and sliding a hand to where her small clothes were growing uncomfortable and bothersome. 

“Have you not been with a man before?” She shakes her head and bites her lip as his hand pushes aside the plain cotton of the small clothes, the warmth of his hand meeting the warmth of her most intimate of places. A soft squelching noise comes bubbling between their bodies as his fingers touch all the wetness of her cunt. 

She had touched her entrance before, pushed her fingers but never anything more. She had been raised by a pious woman of the faith, septas and all their wariness, bringing on the tales of Saera Targaryen to terrify the youth into obedience. This is so different from her childish play. His fingers are larger than hers, broader and rougher, and they pry her open delicately but insistently. Her mouth can’t quite remain closed, the feeling so overwhelming her throat sings the praises of her mighty uncle and his sweet hand. 

Once he’s played with her enough, he kisses her again, his tongue prodding past her lips, her whines insistent and desperate. She knows not the way men’s bones grow taller but she feels his manhood before she sees it, pried open pants and soft pink hardened flesh in her uncle’s right hand. He doesn’t want her on her back, he tells her, tracing the column of her throat with soft, wet kisses. That would be undignified for a princess, he mutters against her breasts. 

Her cunt yields not to his invasion, slowly pushing upwards, but his calloused hands fit perfectly over the bones of her hips as she sinks deeper. It burns at first, his cock tearing through the untainted flesh. All this pain must be heavenly, she thinks as her chivalrous uncle is inside her to the hilt, a sword buried between her legs. 

“That’s it, yes,” he mouthed against her neck, “precious girl, you are doing so well.”

She closed her eyes tightly, the coarse texture of his beard scratching her skin in a way that raised goosebumps across all of her. The pain subdued as her muscles became more acquainted with the feeling, the wetness of her growing with each kiss her uncle planted. His lips mouthed at the skin of her breasts, warm and more warm, teeth scraping across her nipples, eyes darkened with desire looking up at her. 

“Sweet girl,” Prince Baelor muttered, “you curse me.”

“We are dragons, uncle,” she responded, words cut out by small gasps and moans as her belly settled into the feeling, adjusting to the intrusion, welcoming it gladly. “Blood calls for blood.” 

Baelor lets out a bark of a laugh. 

“Move, sweet girl,” he commands, voice deeper than before. 

An image comes to her, a knight in dark armor, the three headed dragon on his chest plate, emblazoned in glory, laying a crown of roses in the lap of his lady wife. She had wanted his attention even before she knew what men and women did in the dark. 

His voice is warm, his hands are steady as they set on her hips once more, gently pushing her up and down. She lets out a whimper at the feeling, speared up and down on his cock. The feeling is absurdly unraveling, ripping apart her stitches and threads in her a burning feeling. 

“Do you like it?” He asks, watching her with intent. She wishes to speak but the daring spirit in her tempts her to do the motions harder, faster. The bones of him crash against hers and it hurts, it burns her, and she wants to chase that feeling once more. Baelor lets out a breathy laugh, catches her lips and open mouthedly kisses her as she finds a pace for her awkward bouncing. 

“Eager,” Baelor says into her mouth, holding her hips hard enough to bruise before thrusting into her, once, twice. A pause and a harsh thrust, her lips quiver halfway between a moan and a whimper. “You have no need for teachers, niece,” his cock slides back and forth inside her, dragging across her muscles as if it had been made by the gods to fit only inside her body. Did Jena’s body ever cradle his manhood like this? It couldn’t have, she wasn’t the blood of the dragon, only a Targaryen can love a Targaryen. Truly, entirely.  

Her uncle, oh good uncle. He should have been her husband. Curse the gods his father had expectations of her above their station. A fourth son cannot deny a firstborn his right. If Baelor had been Maegor he would have taken her. Perhaps he would have even taken her inside the walls of Summerhall, forcing her father to hear the moans of their rotten affair. Her throat is tight knotted, light in between his arms, thinking of the pity it is to die when your husband is the most beloved knight of the realm, when your husband takes to the bed like he takes to the battle, singlemindedly and determined. Poor Jena, not long for this world to enjoy the pleasures of her husband’s cock. 

“Sow your seed, uncle,” she begged him, holding his face between her hands, her body quivering in his hold, “I want my sons to be your blood, uncle, I want them to be yours.”

Baelor Breakspear, Hand of the King, spurts his seed inside the cunt of the oldest of his brother’s daughters. The arms of the Prince of Dragonstone wrap around her as his cock spills the last of his seed inside her, his breath fanning the side of her neck, her legs sore, her cunt even more so.

He had been gentle, he had ripped open the veil of her innocence and dug his teeth on her naivety, prying open her eyes. Oh, what pleasure could be found away from this bed, away from the tender mouth of her dear uncle? His hands had left behind patterns no other could fill. Her lord husband would always be second to the greatest knight of the realm. 

“We must not engage in these affairs again,” he says, his beard rubbing red marks on the skin of her chest. but she crawls deeper into his embrace, squeezing her legs and ripping out of him a low groan. “Niece…”

“My firstborn will be named Maekar,” she mutters, “for my lord father.”