A/N: This is my second one-shot. R and R please! I DON'T OWN ANYTHING! This is my take on a Dothraki party!
Danareys throws her head back and dances. Flames lick the sky from the bonfire, casting their shadows upon the ground. The black figures twist and bend, rolling their shoulders and throwing their hands into the sky. Her feet tap the tempo upon the ground, kicking up the dust. The dust stains her legs and the hem of her gown, but she doesn't care. Tonight, she is free.
She can feel him watching her. His eyes track her every movement, never leaving her writhing figure. She ignores him and concentrates on the feel of her body. Sweat rolls down her back in rivers. Her hair is plastered to her forehead. It sticks to her mouth as she cries out, a triumphant sound that is echoed by the other dancers.
She screams again, throwing her hands into the air. She spins in a circle, tipping her head back. Her hips roll and buck of their own accord. The air is filled with power and sex, an intoxicating combination that leaves her drunk. Her breath is coming in harsh pants. Her breasts heave against their confinements. Her face is flushed from excitement. The drum grows faster and faster, spurring her into an uneven tempo. The other dancers around her pick up their speed, growing wild. They growl and pant and howl, worshipping an unknown deity.
She cries out again, and she knows who she is worshipping. She is worshipping the drum, the ground, the very air around her. She is worshipping the unnamed gods. She is worshipping her body. She is worshipping everything and nothing.
She spins again, her legs quaking underneath her. Soon, she will collapse. The other dancers are growing tired as well, but none of them dare to stop. None of them want to stop. Let them collapse; at least they will have fulfilled their purpose. Their sole purpose was to dance and worship, to seduce.
She turns to face him again. Drogo's eyes have darkened with lust. He leans forward, elbows on his knees. She catches his eye and doesn't leave his gaze. She bends and twists, all the while thinking of him in her body. His mouth opens partially as she collapses to the ground, her legs having given way. Still, she doesn't cease to dance. She pounds the ground with her hands, raking her fingernails through the dust. She rolls her head on her neck, closing her eyes in rapture. She pushes herself to all fours and rolls her hips, crawling towards him. She continues writhing, crawling. His eyes darken even farther, and he rises to his feet.
She comes to stop at his feet and raises her hands up to him. She brings her hands down, laying herself prostate before him. The other dancers haven't ceased dancing. Some of them had fallen onto their knees, much like she had. They, too, crawled towards chosen mates. She ignores them and looks towards the one she worships now.
In an instant, she is swept into his arms. He crushes her against his body in a bone-searing kiss. She grips his shoulders, rolling her body against his with abandonment. The drums make their rhythm as they grind against each other. She isn't concerned about the others as he lays her on her back. There is no shame in what they were doing. It was natural, and she took pride that she was the one who could bring him to this state of plain need.
He shoves her legs apart, and she complies willingly. As he joins her body with hers, she throws her head back. All around them, there are the sounds as others couple with chosen mates. She rakes her nails down his back, prideful that she was the one in his arms. She will always be the one in his arms.
Without a thought, they continue their dance.