[ it's the greed she always condemned rhaenyra for, now flourishing inside her, hanging on saber's every word and deed, animating her hands that won't still until he seizes them both. she comes on his cock, fingers rolling her clit, with a stuttering moan. it tapers into a whine, pitching higher as he fucks her through it, her cunt shuddering around him. it was too much before — and their brief pause does little for how sore she feels. yet her hips still hitch to meet him as if guided by unseen hands, abortive little thrusts that pull him deeper. her rouged nipples pebble under his calloused fingers, but it's his pinching that makes her gasp, all the better for teetering on the right side of rough. ]
Fill me up.
[ again, as if she isn't stuffed and leaking. ]
You have to. [ mimicking his words, trying for mocking and failing, voice wrecked. ] Don't you want it to take? To make me yours?
[ the ultimate claim, in westeros. the kind that would ruin her family for generations, and yet she can think of no higher calling. a tidal wave of relief overwhelms her when he comes again, giving herself over entirely to her role (and the pleasure he seeds within her). intentionally tightening her walls, milking his cock. it isn't long before she's coming again, hands jerking weakly in his hold, eyes wet with overstimulation, tears tracking down her cheeks. she doesn't want to fight it, instead sinking into the feeling of — not helplessness, exactly. more like succour, because saber is both the cause and the cure of the fizzling heat within her, carrying them both through the final, sputtering flames of it, licking at her insides. ]
no subject
Fill me up.
[ again, as if she isn't stuffed and leaking. ]
You have to. [ mimicking his words, trying for mocking and failing, voice wrecked. ] Don't you want it to take? To make me yours?
[ the ultimate claim, in westeros. the kind that would ruin her family for generations, and yet she can think of no higher calling. a tidal wave of relief overwhelms her when he comes again, giving herself over entirely to her role (and the pleasure he seeds within her). intentionally tightening her walls, milking his cock. it isn't long before she's coming again, hands jerking weakly in his hold, eyes wet with overstimulation, tears tracking down her cheeks. she doesn't want to fight it, instead sinking into the feeling of — not helplessness, exactly. more like succour, because saber is both the cause and the cure of the fizzling heat within her, carrying them both through the final, sputtering flames of it, licking at her insides. ]