AN: So my prompter *waves* HI JOE! has hinted at the necessity of the dive into the lemony deep end, and I have to say, for a number of reasons, I agree with this end, this chapter falls on the more M side of the rating, but I don't know just how M it is to officially bump up the rating.

It has also been brought to my attention that a number of fans are avid watchers of the show but have not read the books, and I need to mention that the events I am writing are set in canonical timeline even if there is an OC (me. There is no way I am canonically in the series, sadly) but are further than the timeline of the show, so if you have not read the books, there is the possibility of some aspects being spoiled in the future. As of yet, this fic remains by and large spoiler free, but I'm warning you for future reference.


I knew I could not avoid him, and in fact I had to return a mere handful of hours later, my head hanging low and throbbing with the maginitude of an entire Dothraki Khalasar riding into war. I had hoped that he would be merciful, and hold his tongue on the possibly mortifying turn of events last night, but no such luck would be bestowed upon me. However at the present moment I had more pressing matters at hand, such as preventing the murderous wench who seemed intent on beheading my Lannister.

Bursting into the room with frantic desperation upon realising the grunts I heard were not ones of pleasurable exertion, I was in a state of panic for the briefest of moments then I gathered my wits and jumped to his aid, throwing the the whore on the floor. The look of surprise on her face quickly gave way to anger, and she immediately leapt onto me, her initial target forgotten. Unfortunately for me, I was in a sluggish state of mind and did not think to protect myself. Unfortunately for my assailant, my Ser Lannister was not similarly hindered and quickly brought his hands to her head and twisted until we both heard the tell-tale crack of bones rending.

My eyes wide with shock, my chest heaving, I lock eyes with him, and maybe it is my resolve snapping, or maybe it's my impaired judgement, or maybe, just maybe, I am making all these excuses in my head because I fear the consequences, but whatever it was holding me back before is gone, and I launch myself at him. My lips find his instinctively, and our kiss is anything but appropriate; hurried, passionate, desperate, gentle, and filled with so much yearning, it makes me ache.

When my wits catch up to me, I pull back, mortified, and immediately attempt to stammer out my apologies. He smirks, but its power is diminished by the slight quiver to his lip, and rebukes me for my hesitation,"just last night you sat on my very lap and professed your undying devotion or some other tripe, and now you're being coy with me?" I squeal with mortification, burying my face in my hands upon hearing his words and mutter repeatedly, "You were not meant to hear that, seven hells why did I tell you?"

He sighs, prompting me to look up but I cannot hold his gaze and drop mine to the floor shyly, where I see the dead whore. I look up at him this time and swallow my dread. "So, I propose we move this out of the way then?" and this breaks the spell. We both look around awkwardly, shifting nervousy until he clears his throat. "Go find Podrick, and tell him to bring Bronn. Go clean yourself up if you must, take whatever time you need, but make your way back here swiftly."

Nodding my head quickly, I hurry out of the room to find the squire. The awkward boy is not too hard to find and I quickly deliver the message then scurry off, my mind whirling. This is not at all conducive to our efforts, and I needed to convene with my confidant to regroup and adapt our plans.


Barely an hour or so later, I returned, and the room was as it normally was, with not a single cushion out of place. While I silently admired the efficiency of the sell-sword, I fought to keep myself upright. During the course of events we went through I was distracted from my body's pains, but now they had returned with full force. Hunched over and screwing my eyes shut, I leaned on the table and began taking deep breaths, not that this would actually help, but it served as a fleeting distraction that helped me cope.

Rushing towards the door to make certain it was shut, Tyrion then moved towards me concernedly. "Are you alright? What is it?" he fusses, endearingly, and I want to kiss him for it. It seems every other thing this dwarf of a man does recently has that effect on me.

"Just an ache in the head, it will go away on its own, do not worry milord." I assure him, but the sentiment loses merit when I collapse, the pain wracking its toll on me. He catches me, rather awkwardly, it should be noted, but he catches me all the same, and were I more conscious of it I would have swooned.

"Let's get you on the bed, you silly wench. Someone in your condition has no business being on their feet." He coaxes me into his bed and I grudgingly welcome the comfort of his luxurious bed. He climbs in after me and seats himself by my head, soothingly stroking my head as I fall into a fitful sleep, and for a few moments, I know peace.

xXxXx

Unfortunately, again, this peace does not last any length of time and I am awoken shortly after, a sleep-terror rousing me from my sub-conscious and the pain bringing me to the brink of insanity, and I scream. Bronn strides into the room, followed by Tyrion, each with reserved looks of worry etching their faces. Podrick stands near the door, the terror-stricken look on his face not masked by forced indifference and it would have made me chuckle, were I not thrashing about in obvious agony.

Bronn quickly scoops me up and brings me to the bath chamber, no hesitation in his stride, and he deposits me in the water, no doubt trying to be gentle but this all startles me and I am unbelievaby angry. Why in the seven hells was I struck with this awful hindrance, one almost nobody whose company I kept knew to deal with, AND WHY DID I KEEP THE COMPANY OF SUCH IMBECILES! I roared with pain and both men confused it for shyness, my heightened sense of modesty giving off that impression.

The Squire, Podrick, bless his soul, rushed forth with a cup, no doubt holding some of that cursed wine. Tyrion looks disgusted by the seeming stupidity of the boy, and tells him as much, "No, you fool. That's what got her in this to begin with," but I reach out a hand for the slow poison and take a large gulp, and gasp. Both Bronn and Podrick file out of the room, while Tyrion continues to fuss over me.

I look him over, appreciation and gratitude flooding my mind as my eyes take him in, until the blasted drink's effects take over and my gaze turns lusty with long-suppressed desire. He is currently trying to undress me, no doubt because he believes I can scarcely breathe in my skin-molding garments of leather bandaged to my torso and ending on the upper portions of my thighs, but my mind has gone to mush and I stupidly try to undress him in return. A part of my mind looks on at my actions with horror and impotently screams out to cease my actions, to cover up, to cower, but the larger part of my conscious ignores that and finally allows me to go forth with my innermost instincts.

As he unbinds the last of my wrappings he realises what I am doing, and noting the the lust-filled look in my eyes, he quirks his lips in a small smile and watches me, not even trying to stop my hands. I reach forward with my lips, coming towards him for a kiss and I close my eyes, and see the fires of a thousand sun and stars dancing behind my eyelids. He chastely keeps his hands on my face, only venturing his fingers to stroke my hair, and I pull back, sobering up. And for once, I do not panic, or run, but sigh tiredly, and rest my forehead on his shoulder.

He is already nude, and standing by me on the brink of the bath, and I simply look around wordlessly, moving toward my pack of oils and other tools and bring out his sponge, and drop in some oil of vanilla and even less of citrus, I move towards him and he steps into the bath, for once, sparing me from any words. I continue my ritual of bathing him in silence, when he turns to me, having taken hold of his sponge, he gives me a meaningful look and I turn, offering him my back which he gently touches with the sponge. And he clumsily does this for a few moments until I hear him succumb to a shiver, and I jump out, holding his robe for him. The silence continues while he steps into his robes and I hold his gaze this time, my cheeks ablaze but my resolve iron-strong. He looks about and realises just as I do that I have no robe with which to exit, and my leather clothing is not comfortable in my current still-wet state. "Wait here." he orders and hurries away, and I oblige, sitting by the edge of the bath and contemplating my circumstances.

We have come close, so many times, and each time I have been reticent. And yet, each time his lust-filled gaze sweeps over me, I strain to contain myself. I want this, and I know, so does he. The ghosts of my pasts haunt me each time I allow myself to think about what is happening, and yet when I allow myself to give in to the lust, to the pure instinct, my hesitation disappears. So why do I punish myself still? Why do I punish him? And more than that, oh gosh, I really, really wanted him.

I am brought out of my reverie when he taps on my shoulder, and I turn to face him, and smile. I pull on the robe over my shoulders, and pick up my pack with one hand, and hold his hand with the other, and lead him towards his chamber. I will not allow any words to distract us, and I am certain my newfound boldness has a time limit upon which my meekness would surely return.

I climb into his bed while dropping the robe uncermoniously on the floor, and I turn back to watch him. He is a dwarf, and I know that by most standards, he is not very handsome, or even moderately attractive, but to me, he is beautiful. And in that precise moment, he is the most desirable man in this world and any others. I lean forward to kiss him, rendered insatiable to his lips, and I just know, of all the things I have done, this is the most right.

He frames my head in his misproportionately large hands, and strokes my cheek with the gentlest of caresses. This look in his eyes, it humbles me, that someone can aim their gaze at another with such ardency, not a look filled with love, but lust. And it relieves me, because I can rest assured that he is not so foolish a man to aim my affections and hopes at, that he would be taken by a veritable stranger, so easily.

I know he is a man accustomed to whores, patronising prostitutes for a variety of reasons, and accustomed to being sexually serviced, and of all my hesitations, this would easily be one of them. However, Tyrion surprised me by laying me down gently, and hovering over me as he planted kisses along my neck, shoulder, my hand that he held in his, and he turns his cheek into my palm and I want to scream with yearning, he is being exactly the kind of sweet man I would have needed then.

I touch him tentatively, with the touch of a virgin I have not really been in years, storing this entire moment in my memory forever. His hands skim over me, touching me reverently, arousing me past the point of return and I am going mad. When I cannot stand it any longer, I pull him down on top of me and the logistics of the situation strikes me and I want to chuckle, until I feel his fingers upon me in a manner so intimate I gasp. And he works me up, playing my body like a finely-tuned delicate instrument, and I have never been one to suppress my emotions well, my screams deafening until I bite on the pillow, keening wildly.

When I have reached heaven upon his fingertips a few times and I want to scream at him to stop, he enters me swiftly and I see the stars once more, and oh by the gods, I could die now with a smile on my face. He is done soon after I climax once more and I am grateful, because my breathing is ragged and I feel like I just may actually die. I suppose I may have learned that too much of a good thing may just kill you. I turn to face him, a stupid smile gracing my features as I am certain I am incapable of much else, and I kiss his lips, like it's the most natural thing in the world.

His smile is its regular self, and this scares me; was this not as world-shattering to him as it was to me? And I feel stupid, and a flood of self-loathing overcomes me, and I turn to leave, willing my tears to remain at bay at least until I can cry in private. But he reaches out a hand to me, grabbing hold of my arm. "Where can you go at this time? In fact, after what I heard, how can you think, let alone move?" he smirks, and I am relieved, again.

I turn back to him and grin, my remorse forgotten, but a yawn escapes and I am mortified. Instead, he reaches out to stroke my cheek, absent-mindedly playing with my hair and I feel a wave of drowsiness wash over me, "Don't fight it, dear girl. Sleep, my Kiara," were the last words I heard before I fell into a blissful sleep.


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