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When Baelor entered the bedroom, he smiled instantly. It was a tired sort of soft, but happy, innate. He closed the door behind him, watched the way your own face lit up at his presence, and slowly made his way over to the bed. He shrugged off his doublet on the way, draping it over one of the chairs, and then sat on the end of the bed.
You were wearing one of your thin, silky, night robes, loosely belted but still hiding the contents underneath from view. He wondered what nightgown you had chosen this evening, something equally as silky as the robe, he was sure, the kind that shone even in the dimmest of lights and draped so tantalisingly over your body that he had a difficult time controlling his urges.
He didn’t know if it was a common fashion for women to wear such risque bed clothes, perhaps it was new since his time being married to Jena, whatever it was, he did not complain. They hung by thin straps at your shoulders, ended just at your thighs, bunched so well in his hands, slid up your legs so divinely… Yes, whether it was common or not, he did not complain.
“Hello,” you greeted softly, making your way over to him with dainty steps. Your feet were bare, and he frowned a little. The floor was cold, surely you felt it.
He beckoned you over, smiling again when you stopped just in front of him, waiting for his further guidance. He leaned forward, gripped one of your hands softly, and pulled you even closer then, wrapping his arm around your waist as he situated you on his lap. You gently pressed your hands to his chest, clenching your fingers in the fabric of his shirt just so.
This was your favourite part of the day, both of you knew it. He would pull you in his lap, snuggle you tight and close, caress your face and your hair and press soft kisses to your cheeks and mouth, rubbing his beard a little there so you would squirm and giggle. And you would just sit there and enjoy it, enjoy pleasing him simply by being pleased, push yourself tighter to him, kiss him back.
Your marriage to Baelor was still relatively new. You were young, perhaps far too young for him, but nevertheless, you had been married, and you were happy, if a little bashful. You were eager to please him, like a pup at the feet of its master. You learned his routines, made sure there was water in the basin for when he arrived back to your chambers to clean his face with, made sure his favourite foods were always accessible and that there was an endlessly flowing supply of Dornish wine in the Red Keep.
You took note of the scents he enjoyed and made sure you only decked yourself in them, dabbing them at your neck and wrists and filling your bath with them so he would always do that happy little sniff of your skin and hum in appreciation. You made sure your dresses were always to his liking, asking his opinion or having them made in the shades you knew he enjoyed, in the fashions you hoped he would like.
You were still a little nervous to take affection from him, standing close to him and waiting if you ever wanted a kiss or a pet, smiling in that small soft way you had. He had taken up the mantle of the initiator, always ready to wrap you up in his arms, to kiss you, to bed you. You were happy to grab his hand, to hug him or hold onto his arm, but kisses still made you bashful. You would rise on your tiptoes and nudge his nose with yours, or stand right in front of him and chew on your lip until he stopped you with his mouth. And he was all too happy to indulge you.
“How have you fared today, my girl?” He asked you quietly, reaching up and caressing your face softly, his thumb stroking your cheek as his fingers dug into your hair under and behind your ear.
“I have been well, my prince,” you spoke softly, holding onto his collar and batting your eyelashes at him. You balanced yourself in his lap and inhaled his smell of skin and spice. You wanted a kiss, he could see it, but he did not indulge.
That was another of your bashful quirks that remained, Baelor thought as he smiled at your words. You were still unused to your new rank. You still called him your prince or your grace, the same with Maekar and his brood though you now outranked them all. He still sometimes thought of the way Maekar had bitten his tongue to stop himself from harshly correcting you the last time he had been around.
“I looked after some of the housekeeping affairs, made sure all the rooms were in order and handled the adjustments for the load of Prince Maekar and his party, and the preparations for your departure,” you looked over his face as you spoke, absentmindedly running your fingers along the skin of his neck. He shivered a little at the sensation and smiled at you, gripping you a little tighter. “And you?”
“Council duties, finalising endeavours for my upcoming absence, and of course, handling my brother,” he sighed the last bit a little, though he still smiled. You nodded, running your knuckles along his jaw, eager to touch him now that you had the free reign to do so.
Baelor’s hand clenched a little in your robe and nightgown then, his face gaining a certain seriousness to it in the way he pressed his lips together. He brought his other hand down from your face and gently patted and stroked your lap.
“Speaking of my brother,” he began, “he is rather… distressed over the disappearance of his sons.” You frowned, nodding and caressing Baelor’s cheek.
“Of course he is,” you responded kindly, “and you must be too. They are your nephews after all, stranded all alone somewhere.”
Baelor smiled softly at you again, caressing your face once more. He could not help it, not when your lip pouted so prettily and you spoke so kindly.
“Yes,” he sighed, and then brought his hand down again, holding you onto his lap. “I was hoping to ease Maekar’s worries.”
You nodded, tilting your head a little as you smiled in admiration. Oh what a good brother he was, you thought. You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, rubbing your nose there a little teasingly in the hopes of eliciting a smile (which you of course did).
“I think that is very gallant of you,” you complimented, cupping the sides of his neck with both hands. “Is there something I could do to help?” You asked, blinking up at him with big eyes.
Baelor felt like a dragon, maw wide open, and the lamb had simply stepped into the crush of his teeth. And he snapped his jaw shut.
“Perhaps you would pay him a visit then,” he crooned, a soft smile on his mouth and a spark in his eye as he stroked your hair again. “Maekar is agitated and requires a kind ear, and I find that there is none better in the realm than yours.” You felt flushed with heat at the compliment. “Sit with him, offer him your kindness, perhaps a soothing touch or two to his hair and hands.”
You looked up into his eyes, both sincere and serious, and you nodded eagerly. All you ever wanted to do was please your husband, to always keep Baelor happy and soothed in your presence, and if this was what was required of you, then you would do it with your whole heart.
Baelor patted your behind with one of his big palms and smiled at you before leaning in and pressing a long kiss to your forehead, listening to you sigh with pleasure and lean into him.
Baelor was an observant man, perhaps calculated to some. He had seen the way you had (inadvertently) charmed Maekar. His brother was not as subtle as he wished to be. He saw the way Maekar watched you, eyes intent and unrelenting on your figure, on your mouth or your hands or just your figure in the distance. How he was more careful with what he said and how he said it, the softening of his naturally gruff nature to be more palatable to you.
Baelor knew Maekar had… feelings about your marriage. His elder brother happily remarried to a painfully young woman, a beautiful one who was eager to please and so gentle in nature that one could not help but be charmed. Whether it be jealousy or simply a desire to have something similar or even a combination of the two, Baelor knew that toxic mix existed in his brother, and he did not want to stand by and let it fester, especially with this added stress in Maekar’s life.
Baelor was kind, Baelor was generous, ‘Baelor the Benevolent’ they said, and it was only his duty to live up to that, even in this way.
You stood from his lap then, hands clasped tightly in front of you as you looked at him with your big sparkling eyes. “Shall I go see him now?” You asked eagerly, the kind of eagerness that the youth possessed when concerning the enacting of action.
Baelor reached forward and cupped your cheek. He pulled you back in and kissed you on the mouth, firm and long. Then, when he pulled back and saw the dazed look in your eyes and the way your lips twitched with the desire for another kiss, he smiled in satisfaction and nodded.
“Go on,” he urged, nudging his head in the direction of the door and watching you turn swiftly and head out.
You chewed on your lip as you walked, wringing your hands a little as you made your way to the chambers that Maekar always inhabited when he visited the Red Keep. When you made it to the door, you breathed deeply and knocked gently, bringing your hands back to their wringing as you waited for a response.
There was a groan, grunt, and then the door was being flung open. You blinked up at the Prince, smiling a little when he looked at you with slightly widened eyes. Maekar wore a plain tunic, unlaced and displaying his strong chest, and a pair of loose black trousers. He gazed at you up and down, your pretty hair all loose and billowing around your face, your thin robe hanging from you, your bare feet on the cold stone.
“Pri- Baelor told me of your worries about your sons, my prince,,” you spoke softly, your mouth tipped down at the edges in the smallest frown of concern, your lower lip pouted only just.
“Of course he did,” Maekar grumbled, rolling his eyes, but he remained at the door, one hand holding it open so he could keep looking at you.
“I was very sorry to hear it,” you added, and your pout pushed out a little more. “It is a sad business, and it hurts me to know that you are so wracked with worry.”
Maekar almost scoffed again but resisted. Yes, he was worried about Aegon, but he was more angry than anything at Daeron’s cowardice and his constant derailment of his plans. Could the boy not just buck up and go to one tournament for seven’s sake?
He just made a sound, a grunt of something akin to affirmation, and said nothing else, just continued to watch you. His eyes lingered on your hands, held softly together in front of you, and the folds of your robes, the tantalising knowledge of what could possibly be under there.
“Would you wish to speak about it with me?” You asked then, eyes blinking hopefully, frown lifting a little. “I may not be able to solve it, but perhaps I can offer some comfort.”
You smiled then, small and tentative, and something clenched in his chest. He pursed his lips, looked up and down the empty hall, then nodded and beckoned you in, shutting the door behind you.
Maekar stayed by the door for a moment, watched you pad daintily into the room and stand a little awkwardly in the middle as you waited for him. You pushed hair behind your ear and chewed on your lip and he was hit by something akin to longing and despair and a third thing that was a mix of the two. To have you there in his chambers was something he could only have dreamt of, could only wish to have repeated every evening.
You turned and smiled at him, small and attempting at comforting, and you looked around his room once more before taking a step toward his bed. You paused just before you reached it, chewing on your lip again and thinking for a moment before looking back up at him. You patted the end of his mattress and smiled.
“Why don’t you come and sit here?” You asked softly, innocently, fiddling with one of the edges of your robe without thinking. “In the evenings, when Baelor and I sit together, we always sit at the end of the bed.”
Maekar grunted again, annoyed at the mention of his brother, but did as you asked, walking over with heavy steps and sitting on the end of the bed. You carefully sat down beside him, pushing yourself up higher on the bed until your feet dangled above the ground, one thigh pulled up so you could sit facing him. Your foot brushed the side of his thigh and he was tempted to reach down and simply grab it. You made little noises as you adjusted, the smallest little huffing sounds from your mouth, and Maekar desperately wanted to cover your mouth with his, to feel those noises against him.
“When did they set out for the tourney?” You asked, attempting to begin the conversation. Maekar looked down at you, one eyebrow raising severely.
“Only a few days before myself and Aerion. Daeron suggested that he should get a headstart and prepare himself at the tourney and I foolishly hoped that he was perhaps finally getting a hold of himself.” Maekar rolled his eyes at himself but instead of indulging his sarcasm, you reached over and gently grasped his hand, pulling it to rest between both of yours on his lap. You caressed the back of it and frowned.
“Oh, he deceived you,” you sighed, clicking your tongue and shaking your head. “That is simply… wrong.” You looked down at his hands and marvelled at how slender they were, still thick and bigger than yours, but slender and veined.
“Mmm, yes it is,” Maekar grumbled, though there was no bark behind it. He was too busy watching you.
Your robe had fallen open, slipping a little down your shoulder and exposing the swathes of skin. He could see your nightgown, a thin slip like thing of pale lavender, hanging only by a strap, edged with lace. He was quite sure that it would tear under his hands like parchment.
You moved your jaw a little as you thought, then you let go of his hand and shifted a little, uncomfortable in your position. You stared at him, at the large expanse of his lap where he sat with his legs spread, and thought of Baelor’s words, to offer comfort the way you did with him.
“Would it comfort you to have me sit in your lap?” You asked out of the blue, looking up at him with earnest eyes. His mouth dropped open a little, taken aback, and he did not say anything. “My Baelor says it comforts him,” you told him with a smile, “that is how we sit on the end of the bed. It is more comfortable for both of us.”
Maekar stared at you, at your polite expression and the easy way you asked it. You were smiling, asking not pushing, offering not teasing, and he almost trembled with how much he wanted it.
“Go on then,” he finally broke out, nodding and shifting back a little so you would have more space to sit properly. You beamed at him then, getting up and standing in front of him. When he did not do what Baelor usually did, you gently grasped his arm and guided him to wrap it around your waist, to hold you steady as you sat on one thigh and raised your legs over the other.
You sighed softly, blinking your eyes slowly as you snuggled into his hold, wrapping one arm around his back and draping your other hand onto his shoulder. He held you tighter then, the arm around your waist becoming firmer. The other hand came and rested on your outer thigh, holding you there securely. His palm landed on soft, warm, skin and he realised that your robe and nightgown had ridden up. You did not seem to care, and he would not mention it to you lest you cover up.
You leaned your cheek onto his shoulder, sighing again like a happy kitten, and he felt the brush of your breath along his neck, the tickle of your eyelashes on the skin there. You were warm and supple and you smelt of flowers, like a spring garden.
He burned hot like your Baelor, if not more so, and his body was a firm thing under you, like plush stone. He was named ‘The Anvil’ for a reason, you thought. He smelt warm and clean, like skin and the scented oil on his beard. You nuzzled your nose a little against him.
“Do you feel comforted?” You asked, your voice a breathy whisper, and then one of your hands came up and began gently carding through his hair. Your fingertips parted the strands and ran along his scalp, pressing just enough and then scritching back and forth a little. His eyes fluttered closed, he shivered, and a low rumbling groan vibrated through him. He felt your smile against him.
Your hand travelled down from his head, softly petting along his bearded jaw, and you leaned up and pressed your nose there too. He felt the graze of your lips, the way you pressed your own face to his beard, and everything in him seemed to tighten past the breaking point.
“Your goal is to comfort me?” He broke out, voice a gravelly thing behind gritted teeth as he pulled his face away from your own so he could look down into it.
You had this dazed look in your eye, like you had been lost to the sensations and had not quite found your way back, and you nodded with a dopey smile.
“Of course,” you responded, whispering, and he watched your lips move around the words.
Maekar grunted again, then carefully slid his arm under your thighs, hooking your knees over it before hoisting you up into his arms. You gasped, clinging to him quickly as he stood from the bed and turned to walk around it to be closer to the head. He deposited you onto it, careful to make sure your knees landed on the mattress. He stood there a moment before pulling his tunic off over his head, dropping it to the floor, then climbing in after you. He positioned himself in the middle of the bed, laying back against the pillows, then he turned his head to look at where you kneeled obediently at his side.
“Pull up your nightgown, and sit yourself here,” he ordered, patting at the top of his chest.
You stared at him, eyes on his, and when the moment stretched almost too long, you untied the belt of your robe and slipped it off your shoulders to bare your arms to him. His eyes were hot, a fire there despite them being the colour of ice.
You shuffled up, hands clenching in the fabric on either side of your hips, and you lifted one knee to plant it on the other side of his torso. You did not realise how broad he actually was, how the stretch was particularly wide and exposing, and your shallow breaths sped up a little.
You had not lifted the hem of the nightgown fully yet, and though he got a tantalising peek of your pussy, he could not see the whole thing yet.
“Now move higher,” he instructed, if only to watch you for longer, to keep you there another moment. You gulped and nodded, letting go of the fabric to lean down and plant your hands on the pillows behind his head. Your face was curved down close to him, your breasts too, and his breaths were heavier as you lifted first one knee and planted it beside his head, and then the other.
His face was under your nightgown now. You quickly began bunching it up at your waist, and you panted a little when you saw him there between your thighs, felt the rub of his beard as he settled further into the pillows. He took a deep breath in, shuffling a little closer to your cunt.
You were wet, he could smell it, could see the slick shining even in the dim light. He groaned a little then gripped your behind with both of his hands, holding the plump flesh so tight you gasped, leaning back into it a little.
He dragged you closer so he didn’t have to raise his head too much, and then he… devoured you. There was no better word for it. His tongue dragged between the lips of your cunt, and then rubbed over your clit. The little thing pulsed, and he did it again, slathering spit and slick over it. You whined and moaned, falling forward against the headboard, upper body contorting with surprise and pleasure. His hands slid around to your thighs and gripped onto them, holding you where you had dropped your weight onto him without thinking.
His beard rubbed the insides of your thighs and the lips of your cunt, but you could not pull away and he did not want you to. He licked through your folds again, firm and confident. His tongue pressed to your nub, fiddling with it, rubbing it, slipping and sliding over it until you were clenching around nothing and bucking your hips against his face. It was only then that he dragged his tongue lower and plunged it inside you.
“Ah!” You cried out, feeling the roughness of the muscle at your hole, the press of it inside you and at the flesh of your entrance itself. You felt his nose take his tongue’s place at your clit, pressing into it and inadvertently rubbing back and forth along it.
He lapped at you and plunged inside you as you bucked your hips against his face. His mouth was burning hot, your core was wet with slick and saliva, and you did nothing except feel it all and clench your hands around the headboard.
He mumbled something against your cunt, something about being a good girl that you did not properly catch, just felt the vibrations and the pleasure they caused. Maekar’s hand pushed down over his stomach and into the waistband of his trousers. He gripped his cock tightly, felt the hot skin and raging pleasure that pulsed through it, and he began to jerk his fist along his length.
The pleasure inside you was like an uncontrollable flame, flickering and hot and burning up through your insides. It was at your core where Maekar kissed and licked. It was in your nipples where they rubbed against the silky material of your nightgown. It was in the tips of your fingers and pulsing in your biceps, in your toes and the muscles at your calves.
“Mmnh,” you moaned, shifting your hips back and forth across his face, chasing that high that crested now. He groaned against your cunt, jerking himself off harshly in his trousers, quick motions of his wrists.
“Maekar,” you panted, mouth dropping open as you rode his face, pressing your clit into his nose. “Maekar!” You were louder now, bucking harder, feeling those final precious drags and presses. “Maekar!” You squealed, whined, rocked and came.
It was hot and wet, pulsing and panging inside you. You rode out the high as he licked relentlessly, as his tongue continued its path along your skin and your sensitive clit. He licked until it was painful, until his cock was too hard, too close, and he came against his hand with a shout muffled between your thighs. You felt him shift, felt the buck of his hips all the way up where you sat, but you were still too lost to turn back and attempt to see his actions.
You shifted back a little to place your weight on his chest, sitting there as he breathed heavily. He did not mind, the hand not in his trousers coming up to rest on your thigh and lazily caress the skin there. He kissed you gently on the insides of your legs, pressing his lips to the sensitive skin that was rubbed raw by his beard.
You looked down at him with that dopey smile again, but this one was worse. You looked properly fucked out, damp with sweat, mouth a little open, eyes bleary and hazy, hair mussed and messy. Maekar took a deep breath and just kissed your thigh again.
He pulled his hand out of his trousers, groaning a little, and it was only then you noticed. You turned your head a little, and then grasped his wrist between both of your hands. You raised it up and looked at the white spend gathered up on his palm.
Something inside your head sang. It was like the bells of the sept ringing, like the piece of a puzzle clicking into place or a singer hitting the right note in a song. You had done your job well. You had done your task so immensely well that here was proper proof of it. You could see Baelor now, beaming with pride as you told him, kissing the top of your head and caressing your back and snuggling you tight because you had done as you were supposed to.
Without thinking, you leaned in, and licked it up. The flat of your tongue pressed to his palm, dragged up it, and collected his seed. It tasted like triumph.
Maekar stared at you with wide eyes, his breath quick again, his cock twitching painfully in his trousers. You licked his hand clean, then lifted shakily up onto your knees. You leaned forward to place your hands on the pillow either side of his head, then shuffled your lower body down until you could drape yourself along him. You rested softly on his stomach and chest.
“Do you feel better?” You asked softly, nudging his nose with your own, brushing your lips just barely over his, blinking blearily at him. Your hair fell in a curtain around the two of you.
“Like a changed man,” he grumbled, voice low and gruff, and you smiled before pressing your mouth delicately to his.
Yes, you thought with a sigh, you had done well.