[ in that moment, it feels like he knows her better than anyone, reflecting and refracting her every desire. she comes on his urging, nearly delirious with the bliss of giving her mate what he asks, the praise as galvanising as his continued attentions. he’s so good to her. perfect for her. stuffing her overfull, just to be sure. marking her, so the feeling of belonging soothes the pain in her limbs.
(it’s what she wants, even when wholly herself — though perhaps not with him, moonspun tresses haunting her mind. to be desired, chosen, claimed instead of an afterthought.)
and he takes to guidance well, pupils blown wide, so she nips at his ear and hums approvingly. his hand feels so much bigger than her own, cupping her sex, fingers dragging along the seam of her. better even than his adoration, for him to brush the tender flesh stretched around him. her way of returning his words, proof of their unmatched fit: it’s just for you. no one else has had her so undone, filthy with their shared release on her thighs, in the auburn curls beneath his fingers. madly, she doubts anyone could but him. ]
I won’t. [ forget, tone assuring or pleading, so he never stops. she wraps her arms around his neck, pressing on the same spot that he tends with his tongue sweetly. urging him to apply his teeth to her already bruised mating bite. she wants it to hurt. ] No other could fill me so perfectly.
[ but him, meant to be hers. chosen by the gods. the wretched magic of the manor. fate. alicent couldn’t say how long they’ve been at this, arousal still lingering, close like humidity, a haze over her mind and body, no longer burning but simmering with continued need. this deep, slow grind works her up again, for it will surely get her with child.
she groans, then, moved by him vocalising his claim. it feels — impossibly right. unbelievably good. writhing on his cock, nuzzling into his cheek. debauched and tenderer for it, queenly armour discarded. ]
Yours. [ the new ache, not of emptiness but of being used so well, proves it. it almost stings, to near orgasm again, these heights of oversensitivity never before reached, squirming both away and towards. ] Yours. Say it — [ not just that, but — ] My name, Saber. [ hushed so low, he might think he imagined it, her lashes kissing his cheek. ] When you claim me again.
[ gods above, she needs to hear it. not aemma, rhaenyra, all the women who came before. alicent. ]
no subject
(it’s what she wants, even when wholly herself — though perhaps not with him, moonspun tresses haunting her mind.
to be desired, chosen, claimed instead of an afterthought.)
and he takes to guidance well, pupils blown wide, so she nips at his ear and hums approvingly. his hand feels so much bigger than her own, cupping her sex, fingers dragging along the seam of her. better even than his adoration, for him to brush the tender flesh stretched around him. her way of returning his words, proof of their unmatched fit: it’s just for you. no one else has had her so undone, filthy with their shared release on her thighs, in the auburn curls beneath his fingers. madly, she doubts anyone could but him. ]
I won’t. [ forget, tone assuring or pleading, so he never stops. she wraps her arms around his neck, pressing on the same spot that he tends with his tongue sweetly. urging him to apply his teeth to her already bruised mating bite. she wants it to hurt. ] No other could fill me so perfectly.
[ but him, meant to be hers. chosen by the gods. the wretched magic of the manor. fate. alicent couldn’t say how long they’ve been at this, arousal still lingering, close like humidity, a haze over her mind and body, no longer burning but simmering with continued need. this deep, slow grind works her up again, for it will surely get her with child.
she groans, then, moved by him vocalising his claim. it feels — impossibly right. unbelievably good. writhing on his cock, nuzzling into his cheek. debauched and tenderer for it, queenly armour discarded. ]
Yours. [ the new ache, not of emptiness but of being used so well, proves it. it almost stings, to near orgasm again, these heights of oversensitivity never before reached, squirming both away and towards. ] Yours. Say it — [ not just that, but — ] My name, Saber. [ hushed so low, he might think he imagined it, her lashes kissing his cheek. ] When you claim me again.
[ gods above, she needs to hear it. not aemma, rhaenyra, all the women who came before. alicent. ]