[ perhaps she’ll allow him to say her name, if he begs. or if he gasps it so sweetly, desperately, as he threatens to do before she recaptures his mouth. there’s so much in a name, aemma whispered in her ear more often than alicent, while her knight said nothing at all, my lady choking out the specifics of her person (because ser criston fucked her girlhood companion in that room first, spoiling her years before alicent ever parted her legs for him). ever the second choice, the consolation prize, the young wife chosen for her womb and not her person. alicent does not doubt saber has eyes for others — likely for whoever looks upon him, greed evident in his beseeching gaze, his insistent mouth. it matters not because he must want her more than anything, in this moment, for she feels as though she’ll die, if she doesn’t have him. if he doesn’t claim her, the prize of the hunt.
she grasps him tightly in turn, nails biting into his back as he lowers them to the ground, then pushing at his shoulders to hold herself above him, stealing all the air she can as she looks down at him through her lashes. would a knight have bed her like this, if she had more time?
her thighs part instinctively, spreading that bit wider under his broad palm. she hovers in his hand, above his mouth, for agonising seconds before she meets him again, hips hitching and tongue seeking. pliant, no, eager because it will win her all she desires, too, curved hot and heavy against her stomach. pearling white and wasted, she realises with a shudder, when it should be inside her. she whimpers, then, as he presses a single finger into her, sudden and sure and not at all enough.
her hands wind into his curls, kiss glancing off the corner of his mouth as she talks. ]
Saber. [ his name riding on an exhale. ] Another, Saber. [ plaintive, coyness drowned out by need. she grinds into his hand, cunt fluttering around his finger. ] I’m no summer maiden.
[ her thoughts beyond this place — of the men who came before, upon her, inside her — splinter and scatter. impossible to be anywhere but here, to go away inside (as she did in her youth), with his overwhelming presence. ]
no subject
she grasps him tightly in turn, nails biting into his back as he lowers them to the ground, then pushing at his shoulders to hold herself above him, stealing all the air she can as she looks down at him through her lashes. would a knight have bed her like this, if she had more time?
her thighs part instinctively, spreading that bit wider under his broad palm. she hovers in his hand, above his mouth, for agonising seconds before she meets him again, hips hitching and tongue seeking. pliant, no, eager because it will win her all she desires, too, curved hot and heavy against her stomach. pearling white and wasted, she realises with a shudder, when it should be inside her. she whimpers, then, as he presses a single finger into her, sudden and sure and not at all enough.
her hands wind into his curls, kiss glancing off the corner of his mouth as she talks. ]
Saber. [ his name riding on an exhale. ] Another, Saber. [ plaintive, coyness drowned out by need. she grinds into his hand, cunt fluttering around his finger. ] I’m no summer maiden.
[ her thoughts beyond this place — of the men who came before, upon her, inside her — splinter and scatter. impossible to be anywhere but here, to go away inside (as she did in her youth), with his overwhelming presence. ]