I've got nothing against Drogo, but you've gotta love Ser Jorah ;) Enjoy, and please feel free to review!
"Drogo…" she murmured, her head nuzzling further into the pillow as she slept. Jorah looked up from his whittling for a moment to watch her drift back to sleep. Turning back to the toy dragon in his hands, he couldn't help but scowl. The Khal had been dead for months, and yet his name was still always on her lips. He understood that he was her husband, her love, but so much had occurred since his death. A death he had brought upon himself, through stubborn and thoughtless pride. The Khaleesi loved him with all her heart, was willing to do anything for him. He didn't doubt the horse lord loved her back, but not nearly to the same degree as the young woman. He wouldn't have thrown away his life in an idiotic fight if he did.
The Khaleesi was a good woman, a perfect woman, really. He knew that better than anyone, and he did everything he could to keep her protected. He protected her from her brother's cruel tongue and hand innumerable times. He carried her in her agony into the tent where the witch could have easily killed him. He followed his Khaleesi's orders regardless of whether or not he agreed with them. But still, it was Drogo's name in her lips. Drogo's face in her dreams. Drogo's presence in her mind, keeping her from seeing what he was offering her.
Stop it, Jorah, he snapped at himself. He was being selfish, and he knew it. He was a knight, regardless of how he may have fallen. He was honor-bound to serve his queen. His feelings meant nothing compared to his duty. His job was to guard her in her sleep, not eavesdrop on her dreams.
He took too large a chunk from the wood he was carving, and cursed softly. Taking his feet off the end of the bedframe, he put down the knife and toy, and took a swig from the wineskin that sat next to them on the table. He rested his head in his hands when he heard it.
"Jorah!"
It seemed more a whimper than anything, but it was unmistakably his name. His head snapped towards her. Her brow was wrinkled, and she clutched at the blankets frantically. A part of him considered letting her sleep a bit longer, to see if she said any more, but he knew he shouldn't. His hand rested on her thigh.
"Daenerys," he said gently, and her eyes shot open with a loud gasp.
"Ser Jorah!" she said breathily, "I'm sorry, did I wake you?"
"No, Khaleesi. I was not sleeping." She nodded, breath beginning to even, when her eyes fell on his hand. He pulled it back from her leg, then picked up his whittling again, simply to give him something to do with his hands. Her cheeks looked flushed, but it was hard to tell in the dim moonlight.
"I… I was dreaming, I think." Her brow furrowed. "Did I say something?"
"No Khaleesi," he replied, eyes trained on the wood in his hands.
"Why did you wake me?"
Jorah paused. "You seemed distressed." There was another long pause before he continued. "What were you dreaming of?"
Dany was certainly blushing now. "Of my tent, back in the khalasar."
"Was the Khal there?" he asked, arching an eyebrow in her direction. The blush was spreading to her chest.
"…Yes."
"You hesitate," he said, phrasing it as both a statement and a question.
"Perhaps it is time I went back to bed, Ser Jorah," she said with a bite to her voice. Both eyebrows were raised now.
"Why is it you hesitate, Daenerys?" He was testing his boundaries, pushing hard against the borders. He could see her start at his use of her name. She looked at him for a moment, lips slightly parted, as if they held back words she didn't know if she wanted to release. She took a deep breath.
"I hesitate," she said softly, "because he was not alone."
This surprised Jorah. He had been digging, but he didn't know what he was trying to uncover.
"Who accompanied him?" he asked slowly, his voice barely above a breathy whisper.
"Say my name again."
"Who accompanied him, Daenerys?"
"You know very well who," she breathed, and faster than thought, she climbed across the bed to where Jorah sat, and pressed her lips to his.
Jorah couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He couldn't remember his own damn name. He sat there like a half-wit with his queen practically in his lap, nipping at his lip.
She pulled back. "I always fancied you a man who knew what he was doing, Ser Jorah," she purred, and suddenly the reality of his situation dawned on him. He pounced like a lion, pinning her beneath him. "My queen," he muttered, and trailed kisses down her neck to the tops of her breasts. She tasted like warm sugar, and the heat coming from her skin was unbelievable. She pulled at the strings keeping her vest on her until they came loose, and she pulled it off herself. Jorah groaned as miles of creamy skin came into view. His mouth latched onto a breast as she pulled her bottoms off, leaving her completely exposed. He pulled back to gaze at her in awe. She blushed again, but pulled him towards herself, unlacing his rough shirt. He pulled it hurriedly off, and the brush of her breasts across his bare chest sent head rushing to his loins. She tugged his pants off hungrily, eagerly, and Jorah fell forward, pinning her again against the bed. His hand slid down her body to between her thighs, where she was already drenching the sheets.
"What were you dreaming of, lady?" he purred, and she smiled.
"Of you, Jorah. Which you already know." With one rough push, she flipped him over into his back, and hovered over him with a slightly predatory smile. As she slid agonizingly slowly down, he flung his head back with a low growl.
"I hear you, Bear," she whispered, and began rocking her hips against him. His hands latched onto her waist, moving her up and down as he thrust with her. Her hips moved fluidly, almost serpentine as they rolled. His hand found its way to her long silver hair that fell nearly to the small of her back, entangling itself there and pulling slightly. She let out a sharp moan, and her movements sped up, creating a lasting low growl in the back of his throat. He pulled it a bit harder, giving over more and more to the animal that wanted to ravage his beautiful queen, leave her shaking and covered in sweat, mewling his name.
"Jorah!" she cried, flinging her head back. "Oh, Jorah, Ser Jorah…"
Jorah snapped up with a start. A small hand was on his shoulder shaking him. "Ser Jorah," the Khaleesi said, her voice full of concern.
Jorah had fallen asleep in his chair, thankfully sitting, so his raging arousal wasn't as apparent.
"Khaleesi," he said groggily.
"I'm sorry to wake you. But you were, ah, growling in your sleep." She blushed faintly.
"My apologies, Khaleesi. I didn't mean to wake you. Please, go back to sleep. I'm quite alright," he added at the look of concern on her face. Her face was still filled with concern, but she nodded.
"Goodnight, Ser Jorah," she said gently, and placed a kiss on his cheek before climbing back into her bed.
"Goodnight, Khaleesi," he sighed.
"Ser Jorah?" He looked up at her. "Please, call me Daenerys."
He nodded wordlessly, and picked up his whittling.