"I had been trying all night," he whines, but does as said. A shift of his hips, the movement of his hands, pulling them together. He lets out a sigh of pure relief, choked as it is by her hands.
"You have you- hah- don't you have your own people, now?"
She shivers, giving his throat a squeeze the moment that they were joined. "Are you protesting the trying? I think you like debauching me twice a night." That he kept his word to her was still remarkable. If she could perhaps prove that she would give him a son first, he might have little reason to visit any other woman's bed. All he could want was here.
Her hips rocked, testing his response to her movements before setting a slow, languid pace.
"I have no spies like yours. This task is too important for novices."
"I need a book," which shouldn't be much of a surprise. "There is a book in the Citadel that could help me." Supposedly others have tried alchemy, but it always seemed to be nothing more than parlor tricks. With a limited access of books on the subject, it wasn't a surprise that sort of alchemy was more performance. The Hightowers though, there were papers kept, accounts by various members. She hadn't seen it with her own eyes, but she believed she knew where it would be.
"There's a collection of scrolls by older members of House Hightower, men who explored and studied alchemy, as well as other magics. It's locked in an black iron box and it should be in the archives of the Citadel."
She lifted his hand, guiding it over her breasts and curves, encouraging him to touch and explore.
He begins to move his hips more forcefully, excited, as always, by talks of ambition. "You'll have it." In this moment, rutting with her, everything seems potentially possible. "Inheritance-- hah-- for our children."
So she is the daughter of a second son. Who cares? She is highest among her family, now. All that they have, she deserves.
That simple promise has her giddy and excited, promises of information that were long denied to her. For once in her life, reading books wouldn't be for her father's end, but for her own accumulation of power. If it served her well, it could belong to their children as well.
She grinned, gripping his shoulder tight as she moved more quickly, matching his energy and enthusiasm. "Our children will have dragon magic and further magic." They would command dragons, perhaps have dragon dreams? They may create substances to use in battle or to give them strength? Or perhaps create monsters like Tyanna of the Tower?"
Further magic? He stows the idea away for later, potentially troubling but worth consideration. He's too distracted, anyway, by the shape of her around him, atop him, her softness and the sound of her voice.
"You'll have it, you'll, ahh, you will," it's all mindless murmuring, the sort he can usually keep back. He'd only indulged in such total lust with Myseria, someone he could trust. Could he trust Alicent? She seemed to demand it, regardless of whether it was wise.
This is a unique moment. Atop him, moving at a quick gallop, she felt as if she possessed further magic. This wasn't a situation to abuse or exploit. There was little to ask of him as it was, but more than that, she wanted him to trust her. She was his closest ally and it seemed he was starting to understand that.
Heat was rising in her, forceful flames that left her trembling in anticipation. Like this, she wasn't the shrinking daughter of the Hand. She was sensual, powerful and addicting. Perhaps his mindless murmurings were a sign that she was starting to have an affect on him in some ways. This sort of lust, it needed to be encouraged.
His hands move over her, happy to follow that command. He can heed, when it benefits him. He watches her, watching him. "Any you worried you wouldn't enjoy, heh, wouldn't enjoy this?"
"I had a suspicion I would." She had wanted him that first time in the council room. Now after nightly practice, she was feeling far more at ease at what to do and how to please him. Even in the ways other maidens might shrink from. Everyone wants to feel wanted.
"Did you think it would be a chore, keeping your promise?"
She gasps at the buck, it's a reaction he earns by catching her off guard. "You take precautions for possibilities." Too many teeth and too few scruples. One could only guess what he'd do if she had been boring.
A shiver runs up her spine. He's become quite good at knowing where to touch since the night of the fete. It doesn't take long before she's bucking, mewling, struggling for air, her pace far more harsh than before. The Others take his eyes for being so good at this.
"What-" she gasped again, "what makes you...think you've won?"
As far as he's concerned, that's just an invitation. He rolls over on the bed, taking her with him. With her underneath, the angle is better for him, his hips move with more purpose, stronger. He wants to hear her scream. "Guesswork, mostly."
There's not much that doesn't seem to be an invitation for him. It isn't as if she's ignorant to his aim here, but as she's benefitting from this challenge, she wasn't about to hold back on him. However mounting the pressure was, there was always some aspect of performance for Daemon.
"I wouldn't celebrate too soon or victory might be taken from you."
If he wasn't biting her or moving deeply in her, she might be touched by that sentiment. As it is, she's concentrating on words as best she can, all wrapping her legs around him and digging her frayed nails into his back.
That earns a look of surprise from her. The mother of the conquerors? She might have imagined a 'Visenya' or a 'Rhaenys', but not Valaena. But she likes it and makes a point of biting his shoulder to prove it.
A boy? There are such a wealth of names for boys, all so ripe with meaning, they become essentially meaningless. No one pays attention to boy's names. "I don't care, so long as it isn't Otto."
She said his mother's name in bed; it's only fair.
It's such an interesting paradox in him. A boy would further his ambitions more, but he isn't so interested in boy names. A girl is often nothing more than a pawn, but his interest is far more focused on a daughter. It is difficult to know what to make of that.
And yes, she'll ignore her father's name.
"I suppose we'll see whose willpower is stronger?"
It's the crafting of a person for matters of state; a name is ultimately meaningless. A boy is ambition, a tool. A daughter can be a man's child. He's always wondered what he'd do with a child, fully his to cosset or teach. He'll only find out when he has one.
But either would be good. Ideally, he'd like twins. Those are always favorable omens.
"I already know that." Teeth meet her neck once more, breaking the skin. He wants to hear her scream.
There was less of a scream and more of a small cry. The sensation of him biting and breaking skin was common enough now that the pain no longer surprised her. It had fallen into line as picking her fingers, a bit of pain and then a rush of sensation, relief or anticipation. It was hard to tell which was which in the moment any longer.
Her hips thrust up more roughly to meet him as a wave of warmth flooded her. She was bearing down, drinking in the ripples of aftershock from the bite and letting it press her until she felt like she was near keeling over. He got the scream he wanted, her body tightening around him as she felt close to collapse.
He moans into the ruin of her neck, plunging forward until he feels too much, and then nothing at all. His blood rushes, then weighs him down. It's always as though he's about to take off, and then the world remembers he has no wings.
For himself, he tends to forget.
"Daemion," he murmurs into her hair, "I like that one."
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"You have you- hah- don't you have your own people, now?"
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Her hips rocked, testing his response to her movements before setting a slow, languid pace.
"I have no spies like yours. This task is too important for novices."
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"What are you looking for, lady wife?"
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"There's a collection of scrolls by older members of House Hightower, men who explored and studied alchemy, as well as other magics. It's locked in an black iron box and it should be in the archives of the Citadel."
She lifted his hand, guiding it over her breasts and curves, encouraging him to touch and explore.
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So she is the daughter of a second son. Who cares? She is highest among her family, now. All that they have, she deserves.
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She grinned, gripping his shoulder tight as she moved more quickly, matching his energy and enthusiasm. "Our children will have dragon magic and further magic." They would command dragons, perhaps have dragon dreams? They may create substances to use in battle or to give them strength? Or perhaps create monsters like Tyanna of the Tower?"
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"You'll have it, you'll, ahh, you will," it's all mindless murmuring, the sort he can usually keep back. He'd only indulged in such total lust with Myseria, someone he could trust. Could he trust Alicent? She seemed to demand it, regardless of whether it was wise.
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Heat was rising in her, forceful flames that left her trembling in anticipation. Like this, she wasn't the shrinking daughter of the Hand. She was sensual, powerful and addicting. Perhaps his mindless murmurings were a sign that she was starting to have an affect on him in some ways. This sort of lust, it needed to be encouraged.
"Touch me."
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Every maiden does.
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"Did you think it would be a chore, keeping your promise?"
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"I enjoy winning." He enjoys winning her.
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"What-" she gasped again, "what makes you...think you've won?"
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"I wouldn't celebrate too soon or victory might be taken from you."
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"A Daenys or an Alyssa?"
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"And if it is a boy? Aegon?"
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She said his mother's name in bed; it's only fair.
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And yes, she'll ignore her father's name.
"I suppose we'll see whose willpower is stronger?"
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But either would be good. Ideally, he'd like twins. Those are always favorable omens.
"I already know that." Teeth meet her neck once more, breaking the skin. He wants to hear her scream.
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There was less of a scream and more of a small cry. The sensation of him biting and breaking skin was common enough now that the pain no longer surprised her. It had fallen into line as picking her fingers, a bit of pain and then a rush of sensation, relief or anticipation. It was hard to tell which was which in the moment any longer.
Her hips thrust up more roughly to meet him as a wave of warmth flooded her. She was bearing down, drinking in the ripples of aftershock from the bite and letting it press her until she felt like she was near keeling over. He got the scream he wanted, her body tightening around him as she felt close to collapse.
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For himself, he tends to forget.
"Daemion," he murmurs into her hair, "I like that one."
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