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."
Perhaps she should hope for twins. It might be the only way that neither dominated the other? It seemed to be how they were both satisfied, never declaring true victory, but not fully losing either. Beneath him, sweltering from his dragon blood, she wondered if that was how she'd managed not to fully bore him yet.
She smiled, brushing back his hair as she wound her arms over them. Valaena or Daemion. Unique enough so that they would never be mistaken for another prince or princess.
"I like that far more than an Aegon." Her voice was gentle in response.
He pets her hair, holds her close. The shape of her is pleasing to him, and he keeps it with him. "There are so many Aegons," he says, "And Aenys. Aemons. Like there's a shortage on letters..."
"Something close to 'Daemon' is much more pleasing." Teasing him was pleasing in the afterglow. Her fingertips brushed against the open sore on her neck. At least the blood had dried. "I will never be able to wear low neck gowns again."
"Is it really credit to me when it's born out of necessity from you?" She could only grin. "I think they know well why. They at least assume you've bruised me somehow."
"Mushroom believes you branded me with the price a man can purchase me for. He's claimed to have had me three times already." There's a not of distaste at that, even as she does her best to seem amused.
"We're not taking Mushroom to the Driftmark," Daemon says, flatly. "I like Shandy." His favorite fool, a beautiful woman if not for a face disfigured either by poor genetics or childhood injury-- no one knows, and she refuses to tell.
"I promised I'd find her a dragonseed husband. You can't throw a stone in the Narrow Sea without hitting at least twelve dragonseeds. It's," he yawns, "it's a safe thing to promise."
As a reward for loyalty, he means. He assumes Alicent can fill in the rest. Ronda's grandchildren need husbands and wives. Several of Daemon's favorites do as well. Daemon's own penchant for trusting and favoring blood above all else-- he doesn't think to question his logic.
"Shandy is more amusing." She at least had better wit than Mushroom, though perhaps Alicent is biased in that. As it is, she happens to keep secrets better than the rest. Alicent hadn't forgotten how she tasted the food on their wedding night and had done so subtly. That was worth keeping close.
So long as the dragonseed husband is loyal. "There may be a few that join your cause." In the Stepstones, she imagines that power has a way of earning respect. Never having heard much about the area or the sorts of men there, she can only imagine a rampant brutality. The sort of place that Daemon might do well as king.
The exact timing of such things is still unclear. The way he speaks about it, it could be tomorrow.
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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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She smiled, brushing back his hair as she wound her arms over them. Valaena or Daemion. Unique enough so that they would never be mistaken for another prince or princess.
"I like that far more than an Aegon." Her voice was gentle in response.
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"I promised I'd find her a dragonseed husband. You can't throw a stone in the Narrow Sea without hitting at least twelve dragonseeds. It's," he yawns, "it's a safe thing to promise."
As a reward for loyalty, he means. He assumes Alicent can fill in the rest. Ronda's grandchildren need husbands and wives. Several of Daemon's favorites do as well. Daemon's own penchant for trusting and favoring blood above all else-- he doesn't think to question his logic.
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So long as the dragonseed husband is loyal. "There may be a few that join your cause." In the Stepstones, she imagines that power has a way of earning respect. Never having heard much about the area or the sorts of men there, she can only imagine a rampant brutality. The sort of place that Daemon might do well as king.
The exact timing of such things is still unclear. The way he speaks about it, it could be tomorrow.