[ a lighthearted tease morphs into a shadowed truth, veiling them both as understanding dawns on him. of course alicent would be the keeper of a hundred secrets, no different from him. of course there would be her husband's daughter, the companion, a girl much closer in age and therefore, obviously, the one.
he stares past her, the reflection of fireworks shimmering atop the lake as they explode overhead, her breath skimming warm along his stubbled jaw where she hides herself, as if seeking the sort of protection that they both know to be a fairy tale. usually, she's not so forward, but something about the night, or the fireworks, or the water scrubs their souls raw of long-held secrets, exchanged for the sole purpose of sharing in each other's miseries. ]
It's hard, being the one who knows it. [ belatedly, as if there's something in him that has to unlock before he can fall into the motion of real, genuine affection, he presses into something like a real embrace. it's painfully raw. ] Harder, being the one who knows it, and still wants anyway.
[ and he thinks he'll die wanting ash, an affliction he'll never rid himself of, a sickness sticking to his bones like rust to metal. he knows better than to make a pass at alicent now, not when they're both thinking of other people, even if a part of him wonders if now wouldn't be the best time for it, but — no, there's some couth in him somewhere, shockingly. her sadness, her longing, it's all a mirror image of his own. he might deal with it in a wildly different way, with his crass commentary and her sharp piety, but in the end he feels her heart has gone adrift in the same way his has, and he has no real idea how to get it back.
he turns his head, nosing through her hair to press a warm, sharp kiss to the slope of her jaw, moving his hand down her thigh to squeeze just above her knee. ]
I don't really care if you think about someone else with me, Alicent. [ he tucks a spiral of her coppery hair behind one ear and watches it immediately spring free. with a rueful smile — ] I can be the girl in the relationship. You have to promise to suck my tits, though.
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he stares past her, the reflection of fireworks shimmering atop the lake as they explode overhead, her breath skimming warm along his stubbled jaw where she hides herself, as if seeking the sort of protection that they both know to be a fairy tale. usually, she's not so forward, but something about the night, or the fireworks, or the water scrubs their souls raw of long-held secrets, exchanged for the sole purpose of sharing in each other's miseries. ]
It's hard, being the one who knows it. [ belatedly, as if there's something in him that has to unlock before he can fall into the motion of real, genuine affection, he presses into something like a real embrace. it's painfully raw. ] Harder, being the one who knows it, and still wants anyway.
[ and he thinks he'll die wanting ash, an affliction he'll never rid himself of, a sickness sticking to his bones like rust to metal. he knows better than to make a pass at alicent now, not when they're both thinking of other people, even if a part of him wonders if now wouldn't be the best time for it, but — no, there's some couth in him somewhere, shockingly. her sadness, her longing, it's all a mirror image of his own. he might deal with it in a wildly different way, with his crass commentary and her sharp piety, but in the end he feels her heart has gone adrift in the same way his has, and he has no real idea how to get it back.
he turns his head, nosing through her hair to press a warm, sharp kiss to the slope of her jaw, moving his hand down her thigh to squeeze just above her knee. ]
I don't really care if you think about someone else with me, Alicent. [ he tucks a spiral of her coppery hair behind one ear and watches it immediately spring free. with a rueful smile — ] I can be the girl in the relationship. You have to promise to suck my tits, though.