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The light, which appeared more dimmed with every blink, was subsequently leaving your sight, signalling the slowly approaching night. Your mind quietly worked, as you were seated in your study, with a stack of papers and acts waiting to be filled. The quill in between your fingers moved almost mechanically, your eyes didn’t even have the need to follow the words—they poured onto the parchment as fast as your mind could process them.
You didn’t hear the footsteps that emerged when the prince entered the chamber. He even knocked, but no response came from you, so he decided to let himself in. He eyed your silhouette—the tension in your shoulders, the frown on your face with lips scrunched into a thin line. Dark shadows started to form under your eyes, yet you didn’t look like you were even thinking about a break.
He started moving louder, trying to get your attention, though he didn’t succeed.
”Could you pass me that letter, please? The one with the red wax sealing it?” you muttered to the man. You actually knew when he entered the room, you just didn’t have the time to indulge him.
In response, he raised his eyebrows with slight astonishment. The prince, your darling lover, seemed to come after your work currently—he curiously eyed you. What could be so important that your gaze stayed glued to it while the sight to behold was standing near you?
He crossed the room. After he retrieved your thing, he stood behind you, and slouched against your chair.
“Dear, must you be really staying up so late?” he questioned. His voice was quiet, laced with care and warmth. A hand came to rest on your shoulder, his fingers slowly tracing lines into your skin.
“Baelor,” you sighed. “Just… let me finish a part of this. I will come to bed then.” Your palm instinctively came to rub at your temple, you felt the headache begin to settle.
Though you couldn’t see, he inclined his head to the side, a tiny frown formed on his handsome face.
“I don’t recall you telling me that you had this much to do before.” The soft sound of his words made you feel guilty. How come you have more to do than the prince, who was also the heir? Or was he neglecting his duties again?
“I didn’t expect for this much to pile up,” you uttered. If only this could fill itself out with you relaxing in bed, or doing something much more interesting with Baelor, you would jump out of joy.
“Leave it for tomorrow, dear. You already overdid yourself today. Come to bed, please,” he pleaded, and you already knew you were stopping. His almost begging tone never ceased to make you fold.
He lowered himself, his lips touching the top of your head. “Please, love,” he whispered into your hair, and you shivered—you tossed the quill somewhere onto the desk and raised your hand to place it on top of his own.
You threw your head back against his chest. When your stare met his, his mismatched eyes captured you. His irises seemed to spark with something unreadable. The corners of his mouth quivered—before they softly formed a sly smile.
“You know I cannot deny you when you use that tone,” you huffed with a tinge of amusement. He moved his face even closer—a kiss now falling onto your forehead.
“Mhm,” he purred. “That’s the only way, it seems, I can get attention from my busy wife nowadays.”
You rolled your eyes at his dramatics.
“I must work sometimes too, not just lay down all day with my husband in bed.” Your hand grasped his entirety and you pulled him in front of you—he followed your moves willingly, a twinkle of mischief appeared in his gaze.
“But you could; I would get someone to do this for you, and you would spend your days as a woman should spend hers—unbothered and free.” He raised his arm, with your palm around his to his lips, whispering the last bit of words into it, leaving a peck on the knuckles.
You shook your head. “I would bore myself to death, and you know you wouldn’t find anyone who’s better than me, my love,” you grinned.
He nodded his head knowingly, because he predicted your answer—his wife always wanted to do her work all by herself. He lowered himself onto his knees. The prince moved closer between your legs to rest his chin on your hand.
“You are so lucky to be beautiful, or else I would never be made to take a break,” you said, a smirk spreading across your face.
“Mhm, yes. I am your minor noble husband—that’s why you have to take care of yourself to be able to fend for me,” he declared sarcastically. A few kisses landed on the inside of your palm. You squeezed his cheeks and brought him closer.
Your lips touched his, the kiss at first gentle, patient, but it started getting hotter—your tongue entered his mouth, his response an intentional groan. At that, you backed off hazily, only to graze his lower lip with your teeth with increasing pressure. The whine he let out, was now an unexpected one. He loved when you made him feel akin to intoxicated—at your mercy. The stress of being the heir, apparently, seemed to make him give up his control, at least with you, and he absolutely gave in; you didn’t seem to mind either, who could deny such a pretty face?
Your hand travelled to the back of his neck, and entangled into his cropped, graying strands, causing another little squeak to sound from the prince. He pulled back a bit, his mouth seeking your jaw, leaving wet spots all over it. He moved down to explore your neck, lick a stripe downwards. He elicited a gasp from you, your fingers tightening in his hair.
“You’re so beautiful, love,” he murmured, praises catching against your skin. You sighed in delight.
You pushed him back, then navigated him upwards, and chased after his soft lips. Instead of staying in between your thighs, he rose—and actually straddled you. The chair creaked when his weight settled on top of you. He raised his eyebrows unsure if you would be content with him taking over your lap, he cocked his head to the side.
“Is this… okay?” he stuttered out.
You looked stunned for a second, although this was probably the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced. He was perched up a little, his long lashes seemed even prettier than usual, his hands sat on your shoulders. You grinned hungrily, like a maniac, lust filled your gaze; he seemed to notice that this wasn’t something you felt disgruntled about. You grabbed his ass and gave it a few pinches, then you concluded with an extra slap. He jumped up a bit, his eyes widened immediately at the motion, a sinfully shy expression crept onto his face.
“You don’t know how exquisite you look at the moment, dear,” you complimented the man, his cheeks dusting with light pink.
“I take this as a yes then,” he teased. He moved forward to continue what both of you had started. He encouraged you to take what you want—paw at his body.
You touched his skin—grabbed at his, at the moment, clothed arms, bare neck, unbuttoned chest, yet it wasn’t enough.
“Strip,” you demanded quietly.
He smirked, and to your surprise, obeyed. He popped the rest of the buttons on his doublet, dropped it somewhere onto the floor. Then, he got rid of his chemise, as quickly as he did with the previous piece. You could finally take in his naked form. His broad shoulders, the years of swinging a sword showning, the plates of his chest—bigger than any man you had seen, coated with some strands of dark, also grayish, hair, his strong abdominal muscles. You could say that he was broad everywhere, and who would disavow that.
He couldn’t take off the undergarments off his lower body—your mouth already found a peculiar spot at his throat that made him let out a moan. You sucked and bit at it, leaving a dark spot surrounded by teeth marks. He loved this, loved you. Loved when you acted possessive of him, claiming him as yours—of course he too responded, at times, with his own trail of scratches and purples, but your teasing brought him almost to the edge.
“Don’t stop,” he whimpered. He started grinding on you, eagerly seeking out any sort of stimulation to the growing hardness. You didn’t feel as much as you would the other way physically, but that, perhaps, was the thing making this better, knowing how he barely could contain himself from coming undone on your lap. While your tongue worked, you palmed him everywhere. Your hand dipped to his abs, tracing the muscles, tracing the even lower v-line. He shivered at your touch, a train of curses leaving his mouth with a gasp, at the end of each one.
“That’s it, Baelor,” you praised, he pulled you to the back of the chair at that.
“Wait, wait…,” he uttered. “I’m… too close, I fear I will not last longer,” he admitted almost embarrassed, the reddish hue only deepened under his beard. His gaze left yours, it fell onto something behind you. His ragged breaths were the only sound breaking the silence.
“You know—that makes me want to do the opposite,” you replied while eyeing him delightfully.
He rolled his eyes with faux exasperation, grumbling not quite coherent words. You noticed a stain decorating his drawers.
“You too should, at last, take your gown off. Why am I the only one baring oneself.” His fingers pulled at your garment. You giggled, your husband pouted.
“Be patient, my dear. I want to play with you a little more,” you chirped, giving him your best pleading look. He huffed, but he didn’t get off. You squished his face and the cute pouty look turned into a glare. He seized your hand, then he moved it to his neck—navigating you to put a little pressure on it. You did as he desired.
“Aaah-” he breathed. Your mouth continued assaulting his skin, leaving bruises on his shoulders, collarbone, and chest. You realised, that you never tried a certain thing.
Your face inched downwards, stopping at his pecs. With a mischievous grin, you tenderly sucked onto his peak—a guttural moan left Baelor. He jerked up at the new sensation, his eyebrows shooting up, eyes sharply closing.
“O-oh, wait-” he swallowed. “Don’t stop.” His voice gave out at the last word, broken by a sudden flick of your tongue.
You introduced teeth, and gods be good, was it a good idea. You toyed with him, pushing him to his limits. Switching between soft and sharp, stopping when a few load noises left his throat, only to go at it harsher. Suddenly, his fingers roughly tightened on your shoulders; he cried out your name, probably, so loud the whole castle could hear it. His head fell limply against your body, two-toned eyes closing, mouth agape. He bit down on your neck as he rode out the high, humping you to gain the friction out from it, scratching you with his beard.
You groaned in response, eyes half-lidded. You craved him in ways astounding even for you, you assumed you could use only his mouth now.
”I believe this to be my new favourite experience—ever,” he whispered into you, his palms not letting you go. The marks left on your upper body surely staying for days after this, yet you craved them. No man had ever been so good for you. The heir, the prince, the graceful nobleman, Baelor Targaryen—utterly falling apart, coming untouched.
”I’m warning you—we are doing this again,” your tone lacking any bite, softly turning breathy.