Chapter Text
She had asked him not to leave when the others had. She hadn't been looking at him, her back turned as she looked out of the archway and into the city, her city. He hadn't missed the intense way she had been staring at him, during the meeting, followed by a flirtatious quirk of her brow when she had spoken to him directly. At least he thought it was flirtatious, but she had never acted that way towards him before.
Jorah hadn't quite known how to react. He had needed a second to get his thoughts in order, to be able to respond to her without making a fool out of himself. In front of her, in front of her council! In his head, he had stumbled over his words before speaking them.
When the others had left, they had discussed her rule in Slavers Bay, and she had joked with him about not listening to his advice in the past. He couldn't help but smile at that, ducking his head as he did so, unable to hold her eye.
Daenerys had anxieties about sailing to Westeros. He understood, he really did, but thought it her best option at this point. Of course Daenerys wanted to stay in Essos, to protect its people. Jorah couldn't help but love her more for it, for the love she had for people in general, for her desperate need to help those who needed aid. But by the Gods did he wish she would love him. Perhaps his love addled brain had imagined the way she had looked at him during the meeting, imagined the flirting and the suggestive brow raise.
He watched after her, as she turned from him, as she walked out onto the balcony. Gods was she a vision! Looking out over the city, hands resting on the wall in front of her, arms stretched wide, her silver hair lightly rustled by the warm breeze. He couldn't take his eyes off her. The most exquisite creature he had ever seen, on either continent.
Jorah watched her, watching out over the city. Watching the people navigate the winding streets of Meereen. Watching her soldiers keep the peace. Watching that which she had most certainly earned.
Jorah did not know how long had passed, whilst he had been stood watching her, it could have been mere moments, but it also could have been much, much longer. It wasn't often that he got the opportunity to just watch her, especially not without others witnessing it.
His heart pounded in his chest, his love for her absolute, his heart feeling drawn to her. It was like there was a rope wrapped around it, and she held the other end of it. It was the only direction his heart could be pulled, to her. And whenever she did something to make him love her more, he'd feel the lurch of his heart as she pulled on the rope.
After a time, he couldn't help but let his gaze roam. He may have had immense self control, but he was still a man after all. A man who was looking at the woman he was in love with, the woman he lusted over. His eyes took in the curve of her waist, his mouth going dry. The silver gown she wore left little to the imagination, not quite a sheer fabric, but very fine nonetheless. He wished he could walk up behind her, encircle her tiny waist in his muscular arms and pull her back into his chest, nuzzling his face into her neck. Gods he could imagine being overpowered by the smell of lavender and lemons with her hair so close to his nose.
Much of her back was on display, smooth, pale skin that he longed to trail kisses over, gradually making his way lower and lower, mapping every freckle on his way. He would have to sweep those long silver curls to one side first, over her shoulder, which was also bared. He would have to kiss those also.
Jorah blinked rapidly, swallowing hard. His breeches had become slightly more snug than usual. He knew he needed to get himself under control. This wasn't some lustful thoughts about her in the privacy of his own chamber. This was sinful, an abuse of her trust! She was stood right in front of him. He shouldn't be imagining doing things to her that she would not permit. Or would she?
He thought back to that flirtatious look she had sent his way and paused in his self loathing. Perhaps she would allow him to love her? Why else would she look at him so suggestively. He had never put the offer out there, had never made his feelings clear to her. If he did, would she accept his offer? Accept him? He was mere seconds away from closing the distance between them, striding across the stone floor, to offer her a proposition.
Yet when he thought back to that sweltering hot day in Qaath, when he had flattered her and she had told him he was too familiar, he doubted himself, halted his steps before they began. If she had been uncomfortable with his words of wonder, of praise, would she really let him kiss her, love her?
He guessed she was younger then, freshly widowed and grieving the loss of her son, barely out of girlhood herself. Now she was a woman, one who very much knew her own mind. It had been years since Qaath. Besides, they had barely known one another then, now they knew each other well.
Whilst Jorah was at war with himself, Daenerys had finished her observations of the city below. She had turned back towards the room, starting when she found him still stood there, staring at her with a blank look on his face.
She approached him slowly, as if trying not to spook him. It was clear he wasn't mentally present in the room, that he was in his own little world. His eyes refocused as she neared.
"You're still here?" She asked as she approached him.
"You didn't dismiss me." He replied, after clearing his throat.
Daenerys chuckled, the sound like music to his ears, and he couldn't help but smile in response to the sound. Daenerys's laugh quickly turned to a soft smile and she stepped closer, lifting a hand to his cheek as she did. Jorah watched her closely, shock in his eyes at her touching him. He swallowed. Perhaps he wasn't mistaken earlier?
"Where were you?" She asked softly, observing him, all the while her thumb lightly grazed the stubble on his cheek.
"I was here." He replied, confused.
Daenerys smirked, amused.
"I know you were here!" She said, her voice teasing. "Where were you in here?"
She moved her hand to his temple, though she had to stand on her toes to reach, and she rubbed her thumb over the skin there. Jorah reacted by lowering his head, so she did not have to stand on her toes. This action however, meant that their faces were closer than ever before, baring the one time she had kissed his cheek, the night her dragons had been born.
"I don't know." His voice came out in a hush, shaking as he tried to hold back his emotions. "In a world of my own it seems."
Daenerys trailed her fingers down his face, tracing the lines etched into his skin, brushing over stubble, her eyes boring into his own. He could hardly breath, she had never touched him like this before. Her eyes left his to watch her fingers move over his face, to study him, curiosity written on her own face.
Jorah had restrained himself well, had kept his hands to himself and stood perfectly still for her. But as aforementioned, he was no God, no almighty force. No. He was merely a man, how long could he endure this odd form of torture without retaliation of some sort.
He hadn't even consciously decide to do it, but when her eyes returned to his own, that intense gaze shooting jolts through his heart, his head lowered further until, acting on pure instinct, he kissed her softly. Her lips like velvet against his own as they returned his kiss, and Jorah couldn't believe he had deprived himself of this.
Daenerys’s eyes fluttered closed as their lips met, his own following a second later. His initial tentative kiss became more confident almost immediately, as he realised she was not refusing him and her hand snaked around his neck, pulling him closer to her. Her nails dug into the delicate skin of his neck, and entwined in the hairs at his nape, he brought his own hands up to touch his very own forbidden fruit. If she were forbidden, he had most definitely overstepped.
But Daenerys was not stopping this, quite the opposite in fact. Should she ask to stop Jorah would without a second thought. But she didn’t, so he wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him, his hand splayed across her lower back. His other hand cupping the back of her head, fingers spread wide through her velvety silver hair.
The kiss deepened, he wasn't even sure which of them deepened it first, but he felt his breeches tighten painfully at the sensation. Of the woman of his dreams finally in his arms. Of kissing her. Of their tongues dancing over one another in a way he had never expected he would experience.
The kiss lasted for what felt like hours, but also not nearly enough time. Jorah couldn't take the lust building up inside of him for much longer, the feeling of her petite body pressed up against him, the thin fabric of their clothes being all that separated them. He slowly backed her towards a wall, lips never leaving hers.
Until her back bumped against the stone wall. As if the stones had bumped sense back into her, she broke their kiss, pulling her head back from him, he dropped his hands immediately. Daenerys’s hands fell to his shoulders and she stared at him, an unreadable expression in her eyes. Her chest heaved, Jorah's eyes momentarily drawn to the movement, her cheeks were stained pink, lips swollen by their kisses.
"We shouldn't." She spoke, voice barely above a whisper.
Her hands dropped from his shoulders, and he reluctantly stepped back from her. He cleared his throat, eyes downcast as he struggled to make eye contact.
"My apologies Khaleesi." Jorah struggled his way through the words. "If I have overstepped, if I have misinterpreted-"
"Don't apologise." She ordered him. "I felt it too. But we still shouldn't."
He nodded, still only barely being able to lift his gaze to her own. But whatever did she mean? ‘I felt it too.’ Felt what? Love? Lust? He’d gladly accept either, though he knew he didn’t deserved them. Yet she had put a stop to things and he doubted he would ever experience this again.
Jorah suddenly felt a different type of tension filling the air, and a strange awkwardness came over them that had never been present before.
"I guess I should take my leave."
He bowed his head to her, turned, and made to leave the room.
"Jorah.” She called after him, and he stopped, cocking his head to one side slightly, reluctant to turn should she see what their interaction had caused below his waist.
“This doesn't change anything between us." Her voice flowed over him. "You are still my dear friend. Still a valued member of my council."
He looked back at her, forcing himself to hold her gaze. She looked worried, worried that he would leave perhaps?
"Aye Khaleesi." He replied, an attempt to reassure her, though he didn't feel very reassured himself.
Jorah rushed straight back to his chamber, the need to relieve the pressure in his breeches intense. He couldn't meet her eye, later that day at dinner, knowing that he had thought of her as he pleasured himself. Imagined kissing the soft skin of her back, remembered the feel of her body pressed against his own, the taste of her kisses.
In the days that followed, they returned to their usual way of interacting, as if nothing had happened. But Jorah still felt the sting of jealousy and betrayal when she took Daario into her bed. He supposed he deserved it, when his pardon arrived, when she looked at him in a completely different way this time, the hurt behind her anger apparent.
In his days separated from her, Jorah thought of their kiss often, and he wished he could experience it again. It was what stopped him from paying the whore in Volantis who had dressed up as Daenerys, as he knew her kisses would be wrong, not the sweet perfection he had experienced with the real Daenerys. He wouldn't even be able to pretend.
It kept him fighting to get back to her. The memory of the feel of her lips against his own, of her pulled close to him, all he needed to fight his way back to her side.
When he discovered the greyscale, he knew he would never touch her again. He could not risk infecting her with the deadly disease.
The grief that filled her eyes, when he revealed the disease to her, on the cliff tops of Vaes Dothrak, damn near broke him and again he questioned how she felt towards him. He feared he would never find out, but needed to admit his own feelings. Should this be the last time they saw one another, he would not keep any secrets from her.
When he uttered the words "I love you" unable to hold her gaze as he did, he saw the flash of something in her eyes.
That, that flash that he couldn’t quite place, combined with her command to heal himself, is what propelled him towards a cure. It was what gave him the strength to grit his teeth as the skin was torn from his flesh, and gave him hope, when he finally boarded the ship that took him back to her.