The truth
They were standing at the prow, Tyrion saw. Side-by-side. Far too close for his liking. Talking about something or the other. Smiling far too much. Their eyes far too bright.
Even their postures mirrored each other. He was leaning forward and she back. Then she was leaning forward and he was on his heels.
Tyrion couldn't have missed the tension between them if he'd tried.
A blind maester would have noticed it, he thought. Churlishly.
The Dragon Queen and The King in the North, he thought. Bloody idiots.
Tyrion was in his cups. He'd had a few too many glasses of wine. But not enough to be as foolish as to intrude upon them.
His head was filled with dark thoughts. Thoughts that should never have been. Would never be.
She should be thanking me, Tyrion thought angrily. Instead of gazing like a lovelorn girl at a northern fool.
Tyrion didn't know why he was quite so angry. He blamed the wine. It was easier than facing the truth. That he was no longer needed or valued by the Dragon Queen. Another man had taken his place. A better man.
No, Tyrion thought spitefullly. I am the better man. The wiser man. The smarter man.
Those thoughts only inflamed his anger.
The forbidden notion came to him unbidden: She should be with me.
It enraged him. Which only made him drink again.
Fool of a dwarf, he thought. Despairingly. Don't you know that can never be? Dragons do not mate with demon monkeys.
Tyrion drank again. It had been only a few hours ago that Jon Snow had made his intentions clear in the Dragonpit.
All Cersei had demanded was that Jon Snow stay out of it. That the King in the North stay in the North.
He'd seen Daenerys' lovely eyes rest upon Jon. In them was only understanding. As if to say: Do what you must. To protect your people. I understand.
But Tyrion knew better. One glance at the honourable northern fool was all it had taken. Tyrion knew what Jon was going to say before he said it.
Fucking idiot, he thought. You fucking, fucking idiot. You'll be the death of us all.
Tyrion wanted to cry out. To tell him to stop. But it was not his place.
Afterwards, he had been the one who had to sort out the mess the King in the North had created. By putting his life on the line.
He'd returned only to find them hidden away in some dark corner. Standing far too close to each other. Whispering secrets. Sharing longing stares.
I saved you, he thought, looking at Daenerys. I saved your kingdom.
His queen hadn't even thanked him. Instead, she'd walked off, the King in the North matching her step for step.
Back safely on Dragonstone, his military opinions had already been dismissed, courtesy of his repeated thrashings at his brother Jamie's hands.
Tyrion stood in the Map Room like a silent idiot. Holding his tongue. As the military men - Jon and Jorah – made the plans. The queen for her part, looking on approvingly. Especially at Jon.
Tyrion noted how her eyes lingered on him. Particularly when he wasn't looking at her. Only to quickly look away when he did.
Tyrion found himself feeling only disdain. For all of them. The feeling hadn't gone away since. He kept washing away the bitter taste with more and more wine.
The sun began to set. He saw his queen look into the distance. The King in the North stared at her. For far longer than was appropriate.
He saw her break away from him. Finally. The northener bowed his head a little as she bid him a fond evening.
Tyion hoped for a smile and a kind word from her, but Daenerys was lost in her thoughts. She gave him only a half nod.
Tyrion was gripped by despair. She didn't have to look back at Jon for Tyrion to know exactly where her thoughts lay.
I guess she doesn't need me anymore, Tyrion thought. She has a new pet now.
As always, Cersei's words had cut deep. His sweet sister knew just where to slip in the knife. Between a man's ribs and into his beating heart. He rather admired her talent for it.
Still, Tyrion bowed his head as she passed by. Better to bow the head than lose it, a wise man had once said. He could never remember which wise man had said what. He blamed the wine.
When she slipped below deck, Tyrion finally looked up. Jon Snow was standing there. He didn't even look after the queen.
Tyrion wondered how long he'd wait. Tyrion decided he'd play a little game. For every half-hour that passed by, he'd empty an entire glass of wine.
Two sips later, darkness had covered them with a veil. And Jon Snow was still standing there.
Like the northern fool that he was, Tyrion thought. Mockingly. Bitterly. A northern fucking fool.
He saw Snow stiffen his spine. Heard him take a deep breath. Tyrion knew the moment was at hand. He vowed not to look away.
Three short steps was all it took for the King in the North to pass him by. The nod he gave Tyrion was cursory. Formal. Clearly, his thoughts lay elsewhere as well.
Tyrion resisted the urge to follow Jon Snow. It was only after he'd emptied another glass of wine did he finally work up the courage.
I need to see it, Tyrion thought. Despairingly. I have to know.
He didn't know why he needed to see it. Why he needed to know. He just knew that he did. So Tyrion put down his glass of wine and began making his way to the belly of the ship. His steps were a lot steadier than he'd imagined. Perhaps the wine had far too much water after all, he thought. He blamed the wine.
Standing outside her chambers, Jon felt like an idiot. He knew what he wanted. He'd finally been able to admit it to himself. He wanted to be alone with her.
It wasn't why he'd suggested they sail together. His plan did make sense. It did help convey that they were allies and not conquerer and conquered.
And yet Jon would be lying if he said that hadn't been at least part of his decision. That he hadn't thought about it endlessly since that moment in the Map Room.
"We sail together," she'd declared. Staring at him. Boldly.
As if to say: I know. I want you too.
Jon had felt hope flare in his chest. He lowered his eyes, hoping no one else would see. But they couldn't help but flicker to her again.
Jon saw it. The moment when realised exactly what she'd said. How she'd said it. Worse, where she'd said it. In front of everyone.
He saw her feel it. The eyes on her. All of them. Standing in judgement. He saw her overcome. By a hesitation. An awkwardness he could never have associated with her. She looked embarrassed.
Jon felt terrible. He was the cause of her shame and he could do nothing for her. Say nothing. He quickly extricated himself from the situation, resisting the urge to talk to her or even look at her. He prayed that that would make things easier for her.
Afterwards, they'd boarded her vessel and pretended that it never happened. That nothing had changed between them. Everything had changed. They'd spoken of this and that. He'd spoken of the North. Of Winterfell. Of his people. His family. She listened. Then she'd spoken. Of her childhood. Her brother. Her journey. And he'd listened.
When she said goodnight, her greeting was less effusive than he'd hoped. Jon wondered if that was because she knew her people were watching. But there had been something in her eyes all evening. Something that had given him hope.
Hope, Jon thought. Shutting his eyes. Fool. Just a northern fool after all.
Jon took a deep breath. He steadied himself, raised his hand. And then he knocked on the large ebony door thrice. As loudly as he could. The wait was short, but unbearable.
When the door opened, he saw surprise in Daenerys' beautiful eyes. It made him wonder if he'd erred in coming. Only a moment later, did he understand.
She wasn't sure I'd come, Jon thought. She wasn't sure I wanted her.
Jon found himself staring at Daenerys. Boldly. Bolder than he'd ever dared look upon her. Bolder than any man had ever dared looked upon her. After all, she was a queen.
And until you pledge yourself to her before the northern lords, you are still a king, he reminded himself. Just don't forget to breathe.
I want you, Jon wanted to say.
He didn't have to say it. His eyes gave Daenerys the truth of it. He saw her expression shift. The surprise melted away and the regal mask fell into place.
Jon knew Daenerys was only protecting herself, but it still wounded him. He'd never hurt her. She had to know that. Jon didn't trust himself to speak. It was all he could do to keep breathing.
Earlier...
Daenerys wondered how long she'd been waiting. It had felt like forever since she'd Jon him goodnight. Politely. All the while her eyes had sung him a different song. Hoping he'd recognise the notes, commit them to heart and play them later.
She wondered if she should have been more forward. Said something. Done something. Anything to indicate her desire.
No, she thought. That would have never done. Not with all the eyes on them. Not in front of everyone.
She was the Queen. She could never allow herself to be seen that way. Ever.
But I agreed to sail with him to Winterfell, she thought. That shouldn't have been enough, shouldn't it?
The truth of it was that even she didn't know. She'd attempted to read a book but that had proved impossible. She replayed their last conversation in her mind. Then every conversation they'd ever had. Every look. Every touch. Every glance.
The Throne Room. Their private audience over looking the sea. The cave. After she'd returned from battle on Drogon. The Map Room. The beach. The look she'd given him when she'd come for him on her dragons. The connection they'd shared once he'd returned to her. The Dragon Pit. The Map Room again. The prow.
I was such an arrogant idiot, she thought. Demanding that he kneel to me.
Fool, she named herself. A southern fool.
At one point, Daenerys even considered sending for Jon. Only to quickly and irritably swat away that thought. She didn't want to insult him. Not after everything that had happened between them. Besides, it would be far too transparent.
Then she heard it. A loud knock. Then another. And a third. Her heart began to beat faster. Daenerys tried to convince herself it wasn't him.
It was probably Missandei, Daenerys thought. Or Tyrion.
Even to her mind, the explanations sounded feeble.
Daenerys got to her feet, only to find them unsteady.
It was the sea, she told herself. Nothing more.
As Daenerys walked over, she couldn't help but glance at her reflection. She took a moment to stare at herself. She was as beautiful as she could make herself. As beautiful as she'd ever be.
She took a final moment. Just one. She knew she couldn't take too long. She didn't want him to leave.
You're a queen, she reminded herself. The Mother of Dragons. Bride of Fire. Breaker of Chains. The Unburnt. The Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea. You are not a child. The Dragon is not afraid.
Daenerys was terrified. Despite the fact that she'd been waiting for him, when she opened the door to find him staring at her, her surprise was genuine.
Come in, she wanted to say.
But she couldn't. She was a queen. And queens did not offer themselves up like trinkets. Not even to kings. Neither of them could seem to find the words. They just stared at each other.
Daenerys decided to make it easier for Jon. For the both of them. But only a little. Daenerys gently nudged the door open with her hand, then dropped it to her side. It was the best she could do. Daenerys prayed Jon understood.
Jon surprised Daenerys by taking two steps into her quarters. He turned his back to her slightly, took a third step and spun around.
She turned to face him. Her expression changed too. Slowly, she felt her regal mask melt under his heated gaze. By the time he was pushing the door shut, she was staring at him as longingly as he was staring at her.
I want you, Jon's eyes told her. Growing ever bolder.
I know, Daenerys' eyes told him.
Jon couldn't move. Daenerys was so beautiful. All he wanted to do was look at her. And then he found himself wanting to do a lot more than just look at her. But at the moment, he could barely breathe. He hoped his legs didn't give out underneath him. It was all he could do to not fall to his knees in front of her.
She is a queen, Jon reminded himself. Queens don't want for supplicants or servants. They desire kings. They need kings.
You are still a king, he told himself. If you want to be with her, you must be a king. The thought stiffened his resolve.
Jon's eyes were soft, Daenerys thought. So soft.
No, she thought, moments later. They were hard and demanding.
Worshipful now, she thought idly. Then wanton next.
Daenerys felt dizzy. Her chest hurt for lack of breath.
She wondered if he was waiting for her to turn him away. Still.
She couldn't him away. Not after all they'd been through. Not after she'd seen with her own eyes. Not after she thought he was lost to her forever.
She remembered the last time they were here. In the aftermath of the mission. She'd watched as Ser Davos and the servants had laid him in her bed.
The joy she'd felt at his return had turned to dust when she'd seen his pallor. He looked so cold. So blue. He looked like death.
She'd wanted to avert her eyes when they'd stripped him of his clothes. Not that she was a maid. Far from it. She didn't want to intrude.
But when she'd noticed the deep scar running down his chest, she hadn't been able to tear her gaze away. Then her eyes had fallen to the other scar. Then another. And another. She felt stricken as Ser Davos' words came flooding back.
A knife to the heart for his people, the Onion Knight had said. He gave his life...
Those words had been running through her mind ever since. Over and over and over again. She hadn't been able to make sense of them. Not yet. And still she knew the truth of them. That he'd given his life for his people.
I'll have the truth from him, she promised herself. Later.
The door slammed shut. Loudly. This was the first time they'd been alone, they realised. There were no guards or advisers looking at them. No supplicants or enemies demanding their attention. Just them. They were alone. At last. And they just stared at each other.
Jon stepped forward first, as he knew he must. His eyes growing ever softer. Daenerys found her stomach fluttering. Her cheeks flushed. She clenched her fingers, fighting the urge to fiddle with them.
Dragons do not swoon, she reminded herself. And neither do queens. And you are the Dragon Queen.
Daenerys took a half-step towards Jon. Feigning boldness, as best she could. That was all he needed. Jon reached for Daenerys, taking her by the arm. Daenerys let out a shaky, audible breath when she felt Jon's hands on her. His fingers were firm, but gentle.
It was death for any man to touch her, Daenerys thought, even as he pulled her close. I am the Queen.
But Jon isn't just any man, Daenerys reminded herself. He is a king.
Both his hands were on her waist now. His grip was firm. She looked up at him as he pulled her closer. Closer still. Wrapping his arms around her. When she was, finally, in his arms, they both exhaled.
You are the queen, Daenerys told herself. You are the blood of the Dragon. The Dragon is not afraid.
Daenerys was terrified. She found herself trembling. She placed quivering hands upon Jon's chest. Looked into his dark eyes. She knew they would be the end of her.
Be a queen, Daenerys told herself. You are the queen.
Breathe, Jon reminded himself. Just breathe.
Jon just kept staring at her. Eyes growing ever wide. Even now, all he wanted to do was look at her. For the rest of his days.
Gods, she was beautiful, Jon thought. She took his breath away. It wasn't the only reason he wanted her, but he couldn't, yet again, help but be struck by her.
Jon remembered the day they'd met. In the throne room. His eyes had grown to saucers as he'd first laid eyes upon her. She was a vision. She was ethereal. He'd never seen anything like her. Jon was entranced.
For a moment, Jon had forgotten everything. The mission. The Night King. He could barely remember his own name. But he knew he wouldn't forget her face. Not until the day he passed from this earth.
Jon raised his hand to Daenerys' cheek. Stroked it with his thumb. Tenderly. As he'd been wanting to since the moment he'd seen her.
Despite her best efforts, Daenerys found herself faltering. Her cheeks felt aflame. No one had ever looked at her like he had. She'd been dealing with looks all her life, of course. Every man who'd ever looked at her had wanted her. Her own brother wanted her. But this was different. Felt different.
Daenerys lowered her eyes. Only to find Jon's fingers beneath her chin. Strong fingers. Firm, yet gentle. Tipping her chin up. Until their eyes met again.
I want you, his eyes told her. Again.
I know, her eyes told him. Again.
And? Jon questioned. Silently.
Daenerys saw Jon steel himself. Even now, when she was in his arms, he would not let himself believe she could want him. She saw a lifetime of hurt and sorrow behind those soulful eyes. It made her heart ache for him.
A moment later, Daenerys' eyes told Jon what he should have known.
I want you too.
They didn't have to say it, they realised. They didn't have to say anything. They both knew.
When Jon leaned in, Daenerys drew in a shaky breath. Her eyes fell to his lips. Much to her chagrin, when their noses brushed, Jon stayed in place, teasing her mouth with his. Letting the anticipation build further.
Daenerys found herself growing impatient. She wet her lips to entice him, drawing his gaze to her mouth. Then she tilted her face upwards. Ever so slightly.
Jon knew Daenerys was granting him permission. He decided to make her wait. For just a moment longer. He was still a king, after all. Only when he saw impatience flicker in those exquisite eyes and her soft lips part, perhaps to issue a command, did Jon close the distance between them. Placing the gentlest of kisses on her mouth.
Daenerys sighed. Deeply. His lips were as petal soft as they looked. And worshipful. She sighed again when Jon deepened the kiss just a little, exerting the slightest of pressure against her mouth.
Daenerys had often wondered what it would be like to kiss Jon Snow. More often than she cared to admit, even to herself. Wondered if he'd kiss her as hungrily as his eyes had been the day he first saw her. Staring at her as if he wanted to devour her whole.
As defiantly as all the times he'd refused to bend the knee. Until he broke through her icy exterior, forcing her to give in to his embrace, quaking and shuddering in his arms.
Or as admiring and soft as the day when he named her his queen. Eyes shining with something that terrified her beyond measure and had her fleeing for safety. Now, after months of wondering, Daenerys had her answer. Finally.
Jon was gentle with her. Yet firm. Sure, but with the faintest trace of hesitation. He'd taken control, but he wasn't forcing his affections upon her. It was sheer perfection.
She felt his arms slip around her waist. Slowly. Gently pressing her to him. His lips, stayed ever-so-tender as they began exploring the contours of her mouth. Inviting her to kiss him back. Pleading with her to kiss him back. Only then did it occur to Daenerys
She hadn't kissed him back.
Daenerys had softened her lips. Even increased the pressure against his mouth ever so slightly. But she hadn't kissed him. Not the way she'd been wanting to. She remedied that by wrapping her arms around his shoulders to pull him even closer, then began kissing him in earnest. Makimg him sigh against her mouth.
Jon cupped Daenerys' chin, holding her sweet lips to his. Drinking from her. Deeply. No wine had ever tasted so sweet. Nothing ever would, he knew. He never wanted to let her go. He wanted to just kiss her. Forever.
The kiss was slow. Soft. Languid. Sensual. They fell into each other. Further and further and further. They fell forever.
When they finally broke apart for air, their faces remained joined. Their eyes locked as they shared a soft smile. The smile was theirs alone. Their secret.
Suddenly, the mood shifted. Their smiles faded. The look that passed between them was serious. Their breaths became ragged. There was unfinished business between them.
I want you, Jon's eyes told her.
I want you, her eyes told him.
And then their mouths were coming together again. Passionately. Their bodies rubbed up against each other. Unabashedly. It was a kiss meant for the end of the world.
Daenerys moaned against Jon's mouth. He was kissing her in all the ways she'd ever wanted to be kissed. Hard one moment. Then feather soft. Slowly. Frantically. Languidly. Hungrily.
He felt like steel under her fingers, Daenerys thought. Hard. Unyielding. Cool. She ran her hands all over him, her fingers delighting in the feel of the chiselled, muscled flesh under his many layers of clothes.
She felt like liquid flame in his arms, Jon thought. She burned him everywhere he touched her. She was consuming him whole. And yet, he couldn't stop touching her. He never wanted to stop.
Jon licked her luscious lips. Daenerys delighted him by parting her mouth, inviting him in. When his tongue moved to explore her mouth, she was waiting. She wrapped herself around him as he entered. Their tongues teased. Sparred. Teased again. Duelled. And teased again.
Suddenly, they found themselves drowning. Found their lungs screaming for air. Their lips broke apart, greedily gulping down air. When Daenerys raised her face to the heavens, Jon wasted no time, trailing kisses everywhere he could reach.
Jon kissed Daenerys' cheeks. Her chin. Her nose. Her forehead. He found himself wanting to kiss every inch of her. Slowly. He vowed that before this night ended, he would. And them, after Daenerys had taken a few deep breaths, Jon cupped her face, turned it towards him and swallowed her mouth in a fiery kiss.
When their mouths finally broke apart, they realised that they were dressed. Still. They both attempted to remedy this grievious error. Together. When they found their limbs entangled their eyes silently argued over who should undress whom first.
Daenerys wanted to see Jon. She'd seen him before, but that was different. She wanted to feast her eyes on what she knew lay beneath his armour. Wanted to let herself delight in it as she took it off. Let her fingers, hands, lips and tongue run all over his muscles. Slowly.
You first, Daenerys' eyes said, but Jon shook his head. Firmly.
Jon wanted to see her. Stripped off her finery. Off her impressive clothes. Have her stand before him and see her as she really was. And what's more, he wanted to be the one to do it. And do it slowly.
I will have you in my arms, my queen, Jon's eyes vowed. And you shall be as you were when you came into this world.
It was only a mere skirmish this time. Jon prevailed. Both because he was insistent on having his way and because Daenerys let him. Knowing his need was far greater than her own. Besides, his insistence only further added to her desire for him.
Jon reached behind Daenerys. And struggled with her dress. She rolled her eyes and attempted to swat away his hands, but he refused. Jon frowned when Daenerys attempted to push him away. He clung to her like a drowning man to driftwood. Unwilling to be parted from her for even an instant.
Daenerys smiled at his possessiveness, then quickly spun around in Jon's arms and raised her hair over her shoulders. Then, he understood. She was making it easy for him. It made him smile.
Jon kissed the nape of her neck, making Daenerys sigh, then kissed all the way to her ear and nibbled on it. His hands, which had been on her waist, glided upwards. Slowly. Giving her enough time to stop him. She didn't.
Jon filled his hands with Daenerys' breasts. Squeezed them. Gently. Making her gasp. He chuckled when he remembered his own words. She has a good heart. He squeezed her 'good heart' again. Tenderly. Which made her moan. He longed to hear her moan again. So he squeezed her breasts again. Which drew another heady moan from her.
Jon remembered how he found himself staring at Daenerys' 'good heart' more than once. And had to chide himself for it. Hoping all at once that she'd both notice and never catch on.
She was enough to drive a man out of his wits, he thought, as he rubbed his face into her neck. She was driving him out of his wits, he knew. Reason was fleeing him at this very moment.
Which is why Jon knew he would have to kill Ser Davos after this night had ended. After all, Davos had noticed Jon staring at Daenerys' 'good heart'. Which means Davos had noticed that she had a good heart. And Jon couldn't allow that. As far as he was concerned, no one else was even allowed to look upon Daenerys without his leave. She was his queen.
Daenerys gasped when she felt Jon's hardness nestled against her bottom. She gasped when she felt his firm hands on her breasts. Cupping them. She moaned when he kneaded them. Boldly.
Jon's actions' emboldened Daenerys as well. First, to lean back, then rub herself against him. Wantonly. Turning her to look at him.
Their eyes met and held. Coming to terms on all that would pass between them this night.
Together, they both thought.
They sealed their pact with a frantic, open mouthed kiss as they rocked back and forth. Until they remembered that they were dressed. Still. Which led to Jon growling in frustration and Daenerys letting out an exasperated sigh.
Jon gave her breasts a final, possessive squeeze, then moved his hands to the back of her dress. This time, he found the buttons. And began undoing them. Jon cursed his clumsy fingers. He had to focus his breathing to steady himself. With every button that he undid, he saw more and more of her smooth, creamy skin being revealed to him. He kissed every inch he could.
Daenerys could feel his warm breath on her back. Felt his fingers gliding over her. Felt his lips touch her skin. Felt his tongue taste her flesh. And she trembled.
Jon kissed her shoulder blades first, then ran a trail of kisses down her spine. When the final button was undone, Jon pushed the dress off her shoulders. It fell to the ground. Leaving her bare before him. Jon ran his eyes down her back, letting them linger on her perfect bottom.
Daenerys waited. She could feel Jon's heated breath. Feel his eyes running over her. She waited. For his hands to grasp her hips and turn her around. But he didn't.
Instead, Daenerys felt Jon's lips on her shoulders. They were soft. Tender. Then he raised her hair and ran his mouth to the nape of her neck, trailling kisses all the way. Soft kisses. Warm kisses. Worshipful. He locked his arms around her waist and pulled her flush against him. Leaned over to nuzzle her cheek.
He was asking her to turn around, Daenerys thought. To look at him.
Daenerys shut her eyes, summoning all her courage.
You are the blood of the dragon, Daenerys told herself. The Dragon is not afraid. And then she began turning in Jon's arms. Slowly.
When Daenerys opened her eyes, she found Jon gazing at her. Adoringly. It made her smile. Which made him smile. Daenerys placed her forehead against Jon's. And gave him the slightest of nods. Blushing like a maid.
Look at me, her eyes told him.
Are you sure? his eyes asked.
She nodded again. I want you to.
Jon took a breath. Fortified himself. Then he lowered his eyes. And exhaled.
Daenerys couldn't explain why she'd grown bashful before their first kiss. She found herself entirely at a loss to explain why she grew ever bolder now, when Jon's eyes drank her in.
Daenerys knew she was beautiful of course. Men had spent her lifetime telling her that. In every way and language she knew. And several that she didn't.
But no one has ever looked at me this way, she thought, even as he lifted his gaze to meet hers. Daenerys saw awe in Jon's eyes. He was looking at her as if she was a goddess. As if he wanted to worship her. As if she were a queen.
I am a queen, she thought, feverishly. His queen.
When Jon moved to take her into his arms, Daenerys stopped him. Shaking her head. Daenerys smiled at the wounded look on Jon's face. His eyes asking her what he'd done wrong. Daenerys tugged at his clothes. Playfully.
No fair, Daenerys' eyes told Jon. I want to see you too.
Jon could have laughed. Instead, he let himself smile and lifted his arms, allowing Daenerys to take off his shirt and undervest. He rather enjoyed the gleam in her eyes when she stared at his chest, enjoyed the sigh that escaped her lips even more.
Daenerys placed her hand on Jon's chest. Experimentally. Letting her fingers feel his bare flesh. Delighting in the way his breathing quickened. Daenerys ran her hand flit along his chest, sure to trace all his scars with her finger tips. Her touch was feather light.
She stroked his skin with the tip of her fingers. Let her palm glide over his muscles. Closely watching as they rippled like little waves beneath her touch. Daenerys moistened her lips. Suddenly, she was parched.
She sated herself by bowing her head. Letting her lips brush the scar on his heart. Smiling when he trembled. Daenerys lowered herself further, kissing the scar that ran across his belly. Tenderly. And then the one that ran down his side. And the one that was on his navel.
Daenerys looked up at Jon and smiled. When her eyes fell to his breeches, Jon found himself impossibly hard. Daenerys lay her palm flat against his stomach. Stroking his flesh. This time, he gasped. Daenerys' eyes were innocent, but her smile turned wicked.
Daenerys hooked her fingers in his breeches. This time, Jon nodded. Daenerys steadied herself, reminding herself to breathe. Then she began unfastening him. Her fingers trembling just a little.
Neither of them spoke. They just watched her fingers struggle to undo the knots he'd so carefully fastened earlier that morning. When the stubborn knot refused to give Daenerys let out a little exasperated noise.
Jon clasped her fingers with his. Gently. Daenerys looked up at Jon. Her eyes chiding him. Her expression turned just the slightest bit cross.
No fair, Daenerys' eyes said. You undressed me. Now, I want to undress you.
Jon took her hands, then raised it to his lips. Kissing her fingers. One by one. Gently. Staring into her eyes. Which only increased her desire for him. He cupped her chin, bringing her up to take another kiss from her.
Then he placed her fingers on his breeches again. But this time, he took her guided her fingers in such a way to allow her to more easily undo the knots he'd tied.
He was making it easier for her, Daenerys thought.
Daenerys smiled when the first damned knot finally gave way. Then the second. Leaving just one more to go. The wait was sheer torture. For the both of them. When the third knot gave way, Jon's breeches fell to the floor. Daenerys felt her cheeks colour as she stared at him.
Huh, Daenerys thought. I guess he isn't too little for me after all.
The thought amused her a little and aroused her much more. Daenerys let herself have a sly smile. When she looked up at him, she found him staring at her.
Before she could move, Jon pulled her up and took her into his arms. Daenerys responded by slinging her arms around his neck. And then their mouths were joined again.Together, they thought.
Daenerys sighed when Jon moved to her neck, laying a trail of warm kisses. She felt like she was in the flames again. His mouth and lips were setting her ablaze everywhere they touched. She longed for him to kiss her again. Properly. She tugged on his hair. Firmly.
Jon chuckled. He went lower, kissing the swell of a breast and teased a nipple with his tongue. He enjoyed her gasp when he took her into his mouth.
He longed to hear that sound again. So he did it again. This time with its twin. She rewarded him by gasping again, this time bucking against him. She tugged on his hair. Even harder. Throwing her head back this time.
Jon would have spent a lifetime between her breasts. Touching them. Kissing them. Worshipping them. He vowed to return soon, giving each breast a parting kiss.
Much to Daenerys' chagrin, Jon only moved lower. He kissed her flat, smooth stomach this time. Kissed it all over. Let his tongue explore the contours of her hips and her belly button. Daenerys stared down at him. She stroked his hair. She wanted him to return to her. Now.
What are you doing? her eyes asked.
Jon only smiled at her. And waited.
It took a moment for her to understand. When she did, her legs nearly buckled.
He'd bent the knee. But not in the way she'd been expecting.
Before she could say a word, Jon kissed both her thighs, then casually slung one of her beautiful legs over his shoulders. His breathing became ragged as he stared at her. The look on his face had her melting.
I want to worship you, his eyes told her. Let me worship you. Please.
She saw him swallow. Heavily. Saw him lick his lips. Still, he waited. For her assent.
Worship me, she thought. Love me.
Daenerys gave him the slightest of nods. And spread her legs for him. Jon grew even harder at the sight of her most intimate place.
He found himself wanting to kiss her flower. So he did. Noisily. Making her gasp and buckle against him. Jon tightened his grip on her and kissed her again. And again. And again. She gasped again. And again. And again.
Jon teased the soft, pink folds with his mouth. Finally, he could hold himself back no more. He swiped his tongue at her, making Daenerys throw her head back and cry out. Her eyes filled with water as he made love to her with his tongue. The feeling was wondrous.
Jon was lost at the first taste of her. He couldn't stop himself. Wild dragons couldn't have stopped him. He parted her with his hands and let his tongue have free reign. Taste her to his heart's content. When he finally slipped inside of her, he was rewarded with a flood of juices.
He felt her body quiver under his efforts. He knew she was getting close. He intensified his efforts. Making her whimper. His tongue went deep. Deeper. Deeper still. When he flicked against her nub, Daenerys felt her body coil tighter than it ever had. And uncoiled. With a heady moan.
Jon drank down every drop she offered. Delighting in her. Drowning in her.
He felt her legs tremble. He was loathe to abandon his delightful task, but he knew that she would give way in a matter of moments. And he needed to be there to catch her when she fell.
When Daenerys tumbled down she found him holding her up. Daenerys sighed, smiling languidly. She felt sated. Almost.
Jon committed the way she looked to memory. She'd never looked more beautiful. Gods, he thought. I want her so much.
Her breathing, which had been unsteady, began returning to normal. Her cheeks were damp with sweat. Her face was flushed.
Daenerys ran her hands through his hair. Then kissed him. Thoroughly. Enjoying tasting herself on his lips and tongue. When she looked down between their bodies, her smile grew even wider. The proof of his want lay against her stomach. Hard. Pulsing.
Daenerys looked at Jon. Questioningly. Asking if he wanted her to return the favour. Jon responded by lifting her her into his arms. Easily. Daenerys let him, granting him a smile. Jon paused at the foot of her bed, his eyes asking her if she was sure. Daenerys kissed him for it.
Daenerys knew what would happen next. She'd had her turn. This was his. Within moments, he'd lay her down on the bed.
On her back. He'd climb on top of her, spread her legs and take what he'd been wanting since the moment he laid eyes on her.
She'd seen it on the faces of every man she'd ever taken as a lover. And every man who she'd turned away. They all wanted the same thing. She was a queen after all. And a conquerer. And men loved nothing more than conquering a queen.
Something in Daenerys' eyes gave Jon pause.
What's wrong? his eyes asked.
Nothing, she reassured him, shaking her head. She touched his face, running her finger across his cheek.Giving him a small smile. I want you.
Jon's eyes drifted to the bed. And then back to her. He nodded to himself, as if making a decision. And then he sat down on the bed, holding her up and scooted backwards. Until his back hit the headboard.
Daenerys found herself surprised by Jon again. A second later, she understood. He wasn't trying to conquer her. Take her. Posses her. Own her. All he wanted was to love her.Daenerys ran her hands across his muscled chest, urging him to lay back and spread himself. She smiled when he did as she bid.
Daenerys lay on top of Jon, placing herself between his legs. Carefully. Her eyes asking him to wait just a little longer. Promising herself to him. Smiling when he nodded.
Then she kissed him. Thoroughly. His lips. His face. His chest. She paid special attention to his scars, tracing those with her mouth and tongue. Making him gasp and shudder.
Later, she reminded herself.
Daenerys began rubbing herself against Jon. Wantonly. Jon joined her. Their bodies began mimicking the gentle, rocking motion of the boat on the waves. Causing delicious friction.
Soon, she promised him.Staring into his eyes. Do you understand?
When Jon nodded, Daenerys rewarded him with another kiss. Then she kissed him again. Once. Twice. A thousand times. Each kiss was a question. A test.
Do you want me?
Would you kill for me?
Would you die for me?
Would you betray me?
Never leave me.
Never betray me.
Swear it.
Jon answered all her questions. With his mouth. His lips. His tongue. And most of all, with his eyes. Daenerys found herself marvelling at his eyes. Dark and grey and brooding. She found herself utterly lost in them.
He has the most honest eyes I've ever seen, she thought.
They just lay there. Rocking back and forth. Kissing. Softly. Slowly. Taking their time. Neither of them knew how long it had been since he'd knocked on her door. It felt as if ages had passed them by.
The moment arrived far later than she expected. At the end of a series of long, soft, open-mouthed kisses that left them both trembling with desire. The moment Jon sat up and touched her face, Daenerys knew.
His breath, which was scorching, turned to dragonflame. His eyes, which had been soft, turned hard and demanding.
Daenerys breathed into him. Her fire. Her strength. Her power. Her desire. All she was. And Jon took all of it and made it his. It gave her pleasure she could never have imagined. When Jon turned Daenerys onto her back, still kissing her, she was more than ready for him.
Jon slid on top of her, delighted to find her sopping wet. Jon wanted to wait. To draw it out. But he couldn't. He wanted her far too much. Needed her far too much.
When Jon entered Daenerys in one smooth motion, she bucked under him, threw her head back and gasped her pleasure. Jon strained not to spill himself, like some green boy. The moment of their joining was exquisite.
Together, they thought.
When Jon thrust again, Daenerys rose up to meet him. Allowing him to slip ever deeper into her. They both gasped. If the first thrust was exquisite, the second was utterly divine.
Together, they thought. Together.
The third thrust was perfection itself, punctuated by an even more perfect open mouthed kiss that left Jon shaking and Daenerys' heart clench and her soul want to weep.
And then Jon did the last thing Daenerys expected. He stopped. And stared at her.
Daenerys, Jon thought. It's you. All this time. It's always been you. You're the one I've been waiting for. My love. My queen.
Daenerys couldn't fathom the way he was looking at her. As if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. As if he couldn't believe she was real.
The soft way his thumb cupped her brow. The gentle way he touched her hair. It increased her desire for him ten-fold.
Jon, she thought. It's you. All this time. It's always been you. You're the one I've been waiting for. My love.
Then she was struck by another thought: My king.
Before that final thought could truly sink in, Jon was taking a deep breath and kissing Daenerys again.
This time, they both knew there was no stopping. No turning back from this. For the either of them. They were home. And they were never leaving.
Together, they thought. Together.
Jon, Daenerys thought. Her thoughts were frantic now. She strained to reach up. To keep their lips joined. Kiss me. Take me. Love me. Love me, love me, love me...
When Tyrion stepped into his chambers, he saw a figure in the darkness. Awaiting him.
Father? Tyrion wanted to query. Tyrion knew it wasn't, of course. The wine was going to his head and making him foolish.
"My lord," the figure said.
Varys' gentle voice gave him away. The eunuch was sitting at Tyrion's table, drinking from Tyrion's second favourite bottle of wine.
"So," Varys said. "It has come to pass."
"So it has," Tyrion said.
He couldn't contain the anger and sorrow in his voice, much as he tried. Varys sighed deeply.
"Do not blame yourself," Varys said. "There was nothing either of us could have done. It was, from the start, inevitable."
"Was it?" Tyrion asked.
"Of course," Varys said. "Daenerys is young and beautiful and unmarried. Jon Snow is young and handsome and unmarried. It was only a matter of time."
Tyrion took a wine glass and pushed it across the table, his eyes ordering Varys to pour. The spider poured two glasses, one for each of them. Then they both drank. Varys only took a little sip, but Tyrion emptied his glass in one go.
"It does not worry you?" Tyrion ventured, noting the serene expression on Varys' face.
"Everything worries me," Varys replied.
"Of course," Varys added. "It helps that I've seen this all before."
"Have you?" Tyrion asked. Idly. He was too busy focusing on the bottom of the wine glass.
"War has that effect on the young," Varys said. "Passions run high. Children are born. Vows are sworn. Comfort is sought. Robert's Rebellion was no different."
"You think this comfort?" Tyrion asked.
Varys noted the hopeful look in the dwarf's eye and shook his head.
"No," Varys said. "I think it far worse."
"Love," he added. Distastefully.
Tyrion looked as if he was going to drink himself to death.
"Put the thought out of your mind," Varys suggested. Gently.
"What thought?" Tyrion asked. His eyes, for once, lowered.
"That she could ever be yours," Varys said.
"My lord," Tyrion said. Wincing.
"It is a sweet dream, of course," Varys interrupted him. "And, who could fault you for it? You are only a man. But you know it can never be. Dragons to do not mate with sheep."
Varys stood up and made to leave as Tyrion poured himself another glass.
"I am not a sheep," Tyrion said. "I am a lion."
"To a dragon," Varys said. "There is no difference."
And with those ominious words, Varys took his leave.
