Related to the Targaryens by an off-branch from way back on the tree, the Baratheons made a huge deal whenever one came to stay at Storm's End. There was always a full itinerary and enough alcohol to keep everyone's spirits high but at least it was private. Usually, such events ended in a weeklong hunt through the heavy forests of the Stormlands, chasing boars and stags as though there was nothing better in the world.

Thankfully, the short time frame of the newlyweds' visit didn't allow for one. Not one to let his court be disappointed, Robert arranged a day of hawking to allow the royal guests some rest.

Any hope of sleeping in, as Dany planned to do, was crushed with the persistent buzzing of her phone. With a groan, she flipped it over to see the wall of notifications from Rhaegar, Elia, Sansa… even the twins. Screenshots of headlines and links to articles with no context but Dany still felt the urgency.

The words massive sham, chilly marriage bed, and even espionage dug their malicious claws into her stomach and twisted. No matter how bloodthirsty the words, their intent was clear— they figured it out. Blood already boiling, she pressed one of the underlined links to scan it.

A source close to the princess claims she left her Braavosi apartment suddenly after the fateful tabloid photo. It was radio silence until two days later when our source received a call, during which the princess admitted to being forced into an engagement she had no wish for. More sources have detailed the icy relations between the supposed lovebirds; one even revealed that the princess was seen speaking intimately with a man who was not her husband— on their wedding night, no less.

She sat straight up as the words flooded her groggy brain. Enraged, she threw back the duvet and marched into the sitting room.

Unsurprisingly, she found Jon already seated on the tacky brocade sofa, staring pensively out the picture windows. He looked lonely, sitting there in the spacious room with his mind elsewhere. She wondered what it must be like to wake up next to him, to see the diffused light playing on his handsome features first thing in the morning, their limbs tangled and breathing soft and slow.

The tension in her shoulders dissolved and for a second, she forgot what angered her— mind blanking and breath catching. With just one look the rest of the world fell away and it was just them, no troubles or worries to be found. When was the last time that happened?

Her thumb brushed the place where her wedding ring usually sat, reminding her that the man was, in fact, hers. And no amount of vicious rumors would change that.

He glanced at Dany, the corner of his mouth tugging upward at the sight of her unbrushed hair and sleep-wrinkled clothes. Then he turned back to the view beyond the glass, "Have you seen them?"

"Worse. I read one."

Jon stretched his arm across the back of the sofa in invitation and Dany gladly filled the space, tucking herself in his security.

"What did it say?"

"Doesn't matter," she murmured into his shoulder, "It's all bullshit."

They sat in silence, Jon's thumb brushing absently over the bare skin of her arm— soothing and pricking all at once.

Their room had a view of the courtyard and the gates beyond. Cars lined the side of the little road leading from the palace to the city. And from those cars came photographers with varying lenses and cameras and microphones.

Jon noticed her fixation, "Is there any way to get rid of them?"
"Unfortunately, no," Dany frowned, leaning her head against his shoulder, "Can you believe it? We finally get a day to ourselves and this happens?"

"Just more damage control," he sighed.

"I know," she returned, "Gods, what was your life like before me?"

"Quiet and uneventful," he chuckled. "Normal, I guess."

Normal. Slipping in and out of places undetected, no cameras waiting around corners. Normal people didn't have their every move analyzed by body language experts, or have random people dedicate entire blogs to their daily lives. Their lives were wholly unremarkable, passing under the radar of media interest.

Dany perked up. "Tell you what, I'll make a few calls and then you and I are going on a date."

"A date?"

"You know, like normal people do. We may have skipped a few steps but that doesn't mean we should ignore them completely."

Her sudden change of demeanor amused him; she saw it in the subtle shift of his face.

"A date?" he asked again, sounding more convinced.

"We have a few drinks, we dance a little, and at least pretend our personal business wasn't plastered across every newsstand in the country." She snuggled a little closer.

"Does that usually work for you?"

"It did in University."

Jon raised an eyebrow at her and she playfully swatted him. He laughed, his usual non-committal sound.

"Shut up. Are you in or not?"

"Aye. I'll go."

Dany beamed and kissed him on the cheek.

Spirits renewed, she bounded off to make her calls. The major tabloids of Westeros— the Flea Bottom Tattler, The Dragon's Herald, and even The King's Landing Sun— all wanted the young couple's version of events before the dust could settle on that morning's excitement.

Together, she and Jon crafted a hasty, rough version of the official statement the publicist sent out. Vague and crafty, it dodged any of the hard accusations and avoided any added drama with a simple dismissal of the so-called 'source'.

Then, she tracked down the savviest of the Baratheon brothers to figure out a classy establishment that wasn't too stuffy but had a reputation for top-notch exclusivity.

Renly knew just the spot, of course: Tango for Two, an up-and-coming nightlife destination doubling as a pop-up, which made it young, fresh, and impossible to get into. Reservations required twenty-four hours notice, but Renly knew the owner and figured he could get them in.

So, Dany and Jon hit the charming town of Storm's End for their outing. Their presence in the sleepier community drew crowds. Aside from the usual paparazzi and gossip writers, the streets hosted avid fans of the social elite and casual bystanders drawn by curiosity.

Their security detail hung back but weren't completely out of sight and Dany concealed her hair under a scarf— an old trick from the family playbook.

They walked along, arms around each other, an intimacy they rarely displayed.

According to royal protocol, absolutely no PDA was to be shown between royal couples. The Targaryens made the rule and stuck to it with fierce loyalty. But the loophole of private outings was one Dany exploited the hell out of.

Being 'off-duty', the two opted for casual clothes— well, more casual than usual. The skirt of Dany's simple black dress was well above the knee and the halter neckline plunged below acceptable. Jon's fitted white tee was standard for him, but he wore jeans— something Dany never expected to see him in. And she had to admit, she never saw anyone else wear denim so well.

Tango for Two was impressive and impossible for a place that changed location every night. Existing for the night between a laundromat and tattoo parlor, it had a full bar, dance floor, pink and purple mood lighting, and the obligatory photo ops manned by someone with a polaroid camera, as all phones were confiscated at the door.

Dany tied her scarf around her neck as she and Jon surveyed the club. The patrons fit seamlessly into the laid-back atmosphere, their chatter a content murmur over the low music. Renly, experienced in sneaking around the nightlife, conveniently left their names out of his conversation with the proprietor, leaving the young couple free to do as they pleased.

"Remember the last time we were in a bar?" Jon said, just loud enough for Dany to hear.

"Oh, Gods," she scoffed as they approached the bar and claimed a couple of stools, "I promise to be much nicer this time."

"Do you plan on drinking me under the table too?"

Dany shook her head and held her hands up in casual surrender. "I've changed my ways. No more drunken mishaps. Only tipsy ones."

The menu— displayed on a blackboard and cluttered with calligraphy and chalk art— was an uninspired one. Cocktails with puns for names and complicated jumbles of words for the wines. The club was exclusive, but it missed the mark on classy.

"I don't think they have Northern Ale here, so what's the next best thing?"

"You're asking the wrong girl."

"Not a beer person?"

"Nope. I wouldn't know a stout from a lager if they introduced themselves by name."

The bartender swept by and they ordered whatever was highly recommended.

He chuckled, "That'll have to change."

"Why?"

"No one lives in the North and doesn't drink Ale. Even Sansa does."

"Sansa can keep her ale, I'll stick to my wine and fine liquors."

"Try it."

"What? No."

As though hearing the turn in their conversations, the bartender reappeared with their drinks. Dany's was served in a coupe and contained what looked like champagne, and Jon's ale was in a tall glass.

He sipped it and Dany watched to gauge his reaction. He was neither impressed nor disgusted as his tongue darted out to wipe the resisting foam off his upper lip. Whether it was intentional or not, Dany flushed and thanked the Gods for the low lighting to disguise it.

She took a long swig of her cocktail without a second thought, needing something to do besides stare.

"Not bad. Here," Jon reported, offering his glass to her.

Dany made a noise of uncertainty. "You're not supposed to mix alcohols."

He gave her an incredulous look. "Come on, Dany."

"You're going to get me in trouble," she teased, accepting the glass.

"Then we'll be even."

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly and summoned her courage to take a sip. It tasted exactly as she expected, and she screwed up her face as the amber liquid slid down her throat.

Jon laughed at her, a true chesty sound that had her giggling along.

"Shut up. That tasted like piss."

"There's an orange note in there," he defended.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Orange-flavored piss." She sipped her bubbly cocktail to chase the acrid taste from her mouth.

"We'll work on it," he promised.

"Try all you want, there's no way you're converting me."

Not being a traditional club, the DJ opted for tracks with less thumping bass and more atmosphere— tracks that were, for the most part, undanceable. So, they were stuck at the bar for the time being.

Their conversation blended with the shapeless murmurs of the room, unintelligible and unremarkable. The longer they talked, though, the more people glanced over. Some patrons abandoned subtlety and outright stared, and the once deserted bar grew curiously crowded. The young royals tried to pay them no mind but even the bartender overstayed his welcome.

Finally, once Dany and Jon were sufficiently lightheaded, a steady beat and electric guitar trickled from the speakers. The two took to the sparsely populated dance floor like it was a breath of fresh air, wrapped in each other's arms.

Jon's hand rested at the small of her back, fingers lazily tracing patterns through the thin fabric. Sometimes he chanced to glide his thumb over her bare shoulder blades, lightly brushing her hair out of the way, or dance his fingertips through the light gathers of her skirt. And when he did, Dany felt it echo through her.

She was sure he felt her hammering heart with how close they were. Looking up at him, his profile enchanting in the oversaturated violet light, she saw the hallmarks of a future that wasn't theirs: moving boxes, house keys, cooking dinner together, and nights staying in after declining invitations out; an endless list of mundane things that belonged to other people, something she might have had with someone else.

Perhaps it would be easier if they were miserable, avoiding each other like the pox and only exchanging a few words here and there. Then she wouldn't be tempted by something so trivial. But the thought of being without Jon broke her heart. Did the tabloids know that?

That she fell for a man who exceeded her expectations at every turn? Someone who took one look at her rough edges and understood? Someone who made her crave the softness and vulnerability she was denied?

Jon looked down at her, smiling as though he heard her thoughts. She tilted her chin up, inching closer and glancing at his pretty lips when a white flash broke them apart.

Dany stared at the outline of a person and their instant camera with wide eyes.

"Oh, sorry! You guys just looked so— seven hells, you're them! You're—"

"Time to go?" Jon asked, humor in his eyes and voice.

"Yep," Dany agreed and snatched the printed photo from the employee.

With Jon's hand wrapped protectively around hers, they sprinted for the exit, attracting the attention of the other guests— who now had their wild suspicions confirmed. The small space filled with cell phone flashes as the security team closed ranks around them. Sheltered, they slipped out the entrance.

"Are you alright, Your Royal Highness?" one of them asked Jon.

"Yes," he answered, "Yes, we're alright. Probably scared the poor people in that club."

"What should we do about the employee?" he questioned.

"It was an honest mistake," Dany assured them, "They're harmless. Though, I think we should head back now."
The officers confirmed with each other and made the appropriate signals before guiding the young royals away. They rounded the corner of the building, the street empty save for a few loitering people and their idling car. Dany undid the scarf around her neck, the smooth fabric irritatingly warm in the humidity, and tied it loosely around her head.

The behavior of the club patrons was an indication of how their night was meant to go, a reminder of who they were. As soon as they stepped into the street, the peaceful night erupted in flashing bulbs and shouts. Their team jumped into action and formed an ineffective wall around the royals.

Jon threw his arm around Dany's shoulders, pulling her under its limited protection. She threw her own up to block the cameras from any lucrative shots, but it didn't stop their shouts from growing scarily close despite the efforts of their team. All the jostling caused her silk scarf to slip, the reveal of her signature Valyrian hair setting the paparazzi into even more of a frenzy. She tucked her head closer to Jon.

Thunder rumbled overhead from invisible clouds; their presence turned the sky into an endless void threatening rain.

The driver had the door open, standing guard beside it as Dany, ungracefully, threw herself inside. When the door slammed behind Jon, an awkward shifting ensued but the clamor outside sounded miles away.

"Are you okay?" Jon asked, his hands on her shoulders, cradling her face as he searched it.

"I'm fine."

"They didn't hurt you, did they?"

She placed her hand over his, "No, they didn't even get close."

She rested her forehead against his, "And you? Are you okay?"

"Aye. I'll be fine," he assured her, then scoffed, "So much for normal."

Dany couldn't help it, she laughed and after a moment, Jon's furrowed brow relaxed and he joined her. In a swift, surprising move, Jon pressed his lips to hers, insistent and soft. Dany melted.

"That was crazy," he whispered when he pulled back.
"I know," she said and kissed him again."

"Where did they come from?"

"Someone at the club tipped them off, most likely. But at least I got this." Dany held up the little instant photo.

The underexposed lighting managed to capture the intimate tenderness in hazy detail, a moment of fleeting freedom frozen forever: Dany, in her short skirt and bare back, pressed against his classic, casual form, gazing at each other like two kids who just discovered that marvelous thing called love.

"Oh, that is a winner." Jon plucked the photo from Dany's hand to examine it closer.

"We'll have to send them a thank you note."

The halls of Storm's End castle were silent when they returned. Their voices carried as they tried to stay quiet, but their giggles, stumbles, and whispers echoed endlessly, no doubt disturbing the sleeping court members.

"I get a little lonely—" she sang as they entered their room, voice breathy and off-key.

It was the song from the club—what she remembered anyway—and they certainly weren't the right notes. Someone drew the heavy drapes over the picture windows while they were out, casting the room in near darkness except for the singular lamp in the sitting room.

"Get a little more close to me—" she spun under Jon's arm, inelegantly bumping into his chest.

He didn't complain, only snaked an arm around her waist and held her there.

"You're the only one who knows me, babe—"

The way Jon's eyes gazed into hers, near black in the dimness of the room, fogged her already hazy mind and she dropped her heels, the clattering muffled on the carpeted floor.

"So hot you're hurting my feelings…can't…"

Jon didn't just kiss her then; he claimed her mouth and she inhaled sharply as he enfolded her even closer.

She wasn't sure if it was the excitement of the day, or the heat that persisted in spite of the storm, but everything was different. Dany wanted his kisses on places other than her lips, wanted his hands to slip under her skirt and touch her in ways he hadn't yet dared. She felt the air crackling with it— the anticipation, the craving— and knew all it would take was one spark for everything to catch flame.

His lips moved from hers to the spot below her ear, the crook of her neck, the winged tip of her collarbone. Heat rose beneath her skin, searing blood rushing to answer his attention.

Just like earlier, he brushed her hair away from her bare back, but this time he toyed with the bow of her halter top.

"May I?" he whispered into her ear, breath sultry as the air outside.

And there it was, the spark. The very thought sent a rush between Dany's thighs, her knees comically weak as she mumbled her answer.

A shaky breath left her when the bow came undone, Jon's lingering fingers setting her skin on fire. Dany nipped at his lower lip as he guided the fabric away. His fingers brushed along the soft skin underneath her breasts, unhurried thumbs grazing over her peaked nipples, and Dany eased into his touch.

Blindly, her hands glided along the waistband of his jeans, untucking his tee and slipping underneath. The defined lines of his abs passed under her palms. He was so warm, practically burning to the touch, and she still wanted to melt into him.

Jon pulled his shirt off, allowing Dany free range, though she was much more interested in threading her fingers through the black curls at his neck. His index finger traced the depression of her spine, a chill rippling in its wake.

His kiss swallowed her shuddering sigh, each move of the tongue deliberate and assuring. She gripped his arm to steady herself but got distracted by the muscle rippling under her touch. The sensation of Jon palming her ass brought her back, his fingertips playing with the hem of her skirt and sliding under, tracing the line of her panties.

Jon abandoned them for the delicate zipper holding the dress together but when he tried to pull it down, it stuck.

"That was a lot easier in my head," he chuckled.

"Here," Dany giggled, reaching behind her to deal with it.

Jon pulled her against him, delving his hand into her hair and kissing her soundly again. Dany swept her hands across his back, searching lower until she found the round of his lovely ass. She didn't like the denim barrier between them, rough and uneven with seams, but gave an experimental squeeze anyway. His groan fueled the fire at her core.

Her impatient hands fumbled with his belt, but his own appeared to brush hers away. She didn't know Jon's thoughts on the matter but knew having sex on the antique Myrish carpet wasn't an option. So while Jon rid himself of his pants, she backed toward the nearest bedroom. She posed in the doorway, with her hands up on the doorframe.

There was no stopping her stunned expression when she saw Jon.

She really had no right to be surprised; her husband was undeniably handsome and, to use a less eloquent word, downright hot. But admiring a man with most of his clothes on and seeing him completely naked for the first time were two entirely different things.

Highlighted by the dim light he stood like a hero's statue— the kind studied in art history and that lined museum exhibits. Smooth skin, cool in the late light of the room, tempted her to warm it; to follow every line and vein to its source. She let her eyes linger on his erection, proud and indicative; the very thought of having it made her whine.

She met his gaze, feelings deeper than carnal convenience easily recognizable. But he made no move toward her. A thousand thoughts coursed through Dany's mind, but she forced them away, refusing to entertain uncertainty.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, masking her insecurity with sincerity.

He came closer and stole her breath with his dark eyes. Dany had stared into the eyes of many lovers, all of them dark and lustful and craving, but none possessed the same profound adoration, amazement, and softness in his.

"Am I not allowed to admire my beautiful wife?" came his cheeky reply as he cradled her face in his hands.

She softened. "You can do whatever you like, my dear husband."

Husband. Every time she saw the word, thought it even, it was foreign— distant and unreal. But now, it was the best word in her vocabulary.

Jon had a shy— if a bit self-satisfied— grin on his face that she wanted to kiss off. And his eyes were just as hungry and dazed as hers. He didn't make her wait, advancing with smooth prowess and striking an embarrassingly desperate urge through her.

"Oh, I plan to."

He made the promise to her buzzing lips and caught them in a searing kiss, backing her farther into the bedroom. They tumbled onto the gaudy, metallic duvet and over each other until his weight rested on top. And Dany blushed like a wide-eyed maiden. Then she laughed.

"What?" Jon questioned, eyes flickering to her face before kissing her sternum, hands caressing her sides.

She sighed into his touch, "This reminds me of that song. Gods, how did it go?" Letting herself relax a little more, the melody came back. "Like a maiden, whew."

A peek at Jon's shoulders revealed his silent laughter, encouraging her as his forehead came to rest on her chest, curls tickling her skin.

"Touched for the very first time," she continued, her nasal impersonation of a retro popstar broken up by buoyant giggles.

"I can't believe you," he mumbled, trying to sound disgruntled but failing miserably.

"I thought it was pretty good," Dany admitted, proud of herself.

"It was."

"Best you've ever heard?"

He hummed in agreement but clearly wasn't too put off by her terrible vocal stylings as he pressed another open-mouthed kiss between her breasts.

"Gods, you're gorgeous," came a reverent whisper.

"I could get used to that." She closed her eyes and softened farther into her satin surroundings.

"Pretty words?" he wondered, "Or my mouth on you?"

He didn't wait for a response to take a pink peak into his mouth.

"Both—" a stifled groan released from deep within— "Definitely both."

Jon switched his attention to the unattended breast. Dany whined and arched into his touch shamelessly as he dared to skim his teeth over the unbothered skin. Desirous eyes locked on hers and another wave of heat surged.

His unbearably light touch navigated her stomach, fingers catching the waistband of her panties. Soft, warm lips pressed to her hip bone, and, with another flash of his heated gaze, Dany shivered at the thought of what he planned.

Fabric slid down her legs, trailed by his tantalizing fingers and an adoring kiss to the inside of her thigh. Dany sunk deeper into aroused mindlessness, all of her focus attached to his efforts.

"Dany?"

His voice pulled her from the reverie, and she pushed herself up to meet his dark eyes. He grinned at her and ghosted his fingers along her bare thighs. Dany used her knee to nudge him over, straddling him. She leaned forward to bestow a kiss upon him. Jon tried to meet her halfway, but their noses collided, and he hesitated. Dany giggled and kissed his apology away, sliding her hands up his torso to ease his shoulders back against the bed. Then, she guided his hand across her rosy skin to the glistening between her thighs.

"Yes."

At her confirmation, his finger brushed carefully over her folds, and she shivered in anticipation. She hadn't expected to be so sensitive— so on edge. As the next passed with more determination, she moaned. He traced the outline of her folds, finger stopping at the bundle of nerves with a curious press. Dany ground encouragingly into his hand.

"There."

The high, breathy pitch of her voice was shameful if she cared to dwell on it. Promiscuous and wholly unbecoming of a princess. She never considered herself someone who needed another person to be satisfied and yet, there she was, falling apart on his fingers.

She wanted to blame the weather, the stress, or even the fact that she hadn't had sex in a while, but Dany couldn't. Jon was simply too good at this. Any attempt to deny the feelings he roused in her was pointless.

She admired the way he looked beneath her. Their host's decor was a travesty, but Jon made their overwhelming poor taste look enticing with his dark looks and fine skin.

Dany's reactions encouraged his diligent exploration of her body: a gasp when his fingers surged into her suddenly, a moan when he dragged them along her front wall. She recalled the stifling silence in the halls and all their effort in keeping quiet, only to ruin it with her unabashed noises.

He eased a third finger inside and her legs quivered, resisting the natural roll of her hips. She knew she was ready to take him; she was so wet the insides of her thighs were slick.

"Jon?" she panted.

He responded with a concentrated "Hmm?"

Dany bit her lip. "I want you."

"I know," he said, drawing his fingers out for a moment to circle her clit.

Dany hummed low in her throat and delicately felt behind her for his hard cock.

"All of you," she corrected breathlessly, giving him a languid stroke.

His steady attentive work stopped as he let out a groan and shifted.

She couldn't help but chuckle and continued her stimulation, taking a moment to rub her thumb over the head. He arched, his slick hand gripping her thigh as he gasped, flexing his muscular torso. He looked so beautiful Dany wanted to leave vicious bites along his neck and back— something to mark the end of their so-called chilly marriage bed.

She positioned herself over his cock but before she could go any further she paused, a moment of clarity breaking through. All the insecurities about timing and feelings hit her in a brief moment of what if.

She shook her head, ready to move past her uncertainty when Jon squeezed her leg with a reassuring hand.

"Dany?" he coaxed, "Are you okay?"

"Yes, of course, why wouldn't I be?"

"You looked checked out."

"I'm fine," she assured him, placing her hands on his chest and pretending to be intrigued by the way her fingers spread on his burning skin.

"Do you actually want to have sex with me?'

"What? Yes, of course, I don't think I would've made it this far if I didn't."

"This is the second time we've taken a pause. Do you want to go slower or…"

"Gods, no. I want to. I really, really want to but…"

"But?"

Dany worried her lip with her teeth before finally meeting Jon's eyes. "I'm nervous."

"You're nervous?"

"I know, I know but this isn't a one-time thing. It's kind of important that we do this a lot so I want it to be good—"

She was interrupted by Jon's laughter, his torso shaking beneath her as he hid his face behind his hands.

"What?"

"Can I be honest with you?"

"I would hope you're honest with me all of the time—"

"Dany, I have not slept with anyone in years."

She blinked at him, "You're joking."

He continued to laugh, peeking at her between his fingers.

"You're serious?"

"And I was a teenager, so the bar is pretty low. Can't say the same for you…"

Dany rolled her eyes but smiled all the same.

"You know—" she leaned forward to rest her forehead against his— "I never would've guessed."

His hands returned to roaming with gentle, lingering touches as he took her mouth in a renewed passion. She pressed a kiss to the place just below Jon's ear, nipping the skin lightly before sitting up— ready to resume what they had started.

She stroked his cock with a measured, confident hand before re-aligning herself and sinking down. Their breaths caught as she did, slowly descending until he was completely inside her. Feeling the fullness of him, Dany realized she would be sore tomorrow. A small price to pay for the pleasure of now.

"Fuck," Jon sighed.

She paused to give herself time to adjust, mildly entertained by Jon's cinched brows.

"Dany?" Jon breathed.

"Yeah?"

"Can you—"

She circled her hips slowly, testing the waters and moaning. Planting her hands on his chest, she continued to grind against him. Jon's hand drifted from her thighs to her hips, fingers sinking into the flesh hard enough to bruise.

She placed her hands over his, sitting upright to ride him properly, increasing her tempo from gentle, restrained ease to the one her body craved. Deeper and only a little faster, she wouldn't be satisfied until they were merged.

But Jon held back. Whether that was because of his inexperience or simply not wanting to embarrass himself, Dany didn't know but she knew what she wanted. She placed her hands on either side of his head and kissed him, still grinding her hips atop him. Then she whispered, "I'm not breakable, you know."

His dark eyes searched hers and, for a moment, it looked like he had some cheeky response. Instead, he sat up, cradling her and pulling her in for a kiss. Her hands slid up his arms and shoulders before sinking into his curls, keeping their mouths fused. She wanted to hold him impossibly close, to feel every inch of his skin against hers, and never let go.

Jon moved with her, answering each roll of her hips with one of his own. His teeth pinched the skin of her collar bone and she hissed in response, nails digging into the muscle of his shoulders.

He dipped his head lower, nipping the top of her breast before taking an aching nipple into his mouth. Arching into him, Dany's head lolled back and she knit her fingers deeper into his mess of hair.

Dany cried out when he thrust up into her, leaning against his bent leg, and clutching his corded thigh. The beginnings of sweat glistened on their bodies as they danced ever closer to completion. With every kiss, pinch, thrust, and grind, they chased whatever fulfilled their need.

"Gods," she cried, "Yes!"

"Dany," he panted as she ground particularly hard, "I'm close."

In between heavy breaths, Dany murmured me too and slipped her hand to the place where they joined. She rubbed the bundle of nerves quickly, bearing down on it. Jon's hand brushed hers away, taking over the job.

"Let me."

When she opened her eyes, she met his dark gaze. He was enraptured, irises dangerously dark and searching her own as though commanding her to finish with him.

His hips stuttered and with a shout he came. The sensation tossed Dany over the precarious edge; her walls fluttered around him as chesty moans soared from her throat.

The dark room lightened for a moment, Dany's head fuzzy with relief in the aftershocks. Jon slumped against the ruffled duvet, curls a wild halo around his head and bare chest heaving as he threw his arms above his head. Dany collapsed on top of him, ignoring the uncomfortable heat of his body, the stickiness of their sweat.

"That was…" Jon trailed off, seeking her hand and entwining their fingers.

"Great," Dany finished, a breathy laugh following.

"Yeah," Jon chuckled as well, the sound rumbling against the ear pressed to his chest.

"And it only gets better," Dany promised, shifting her head to look at him.

He smiled that gorgeous smile at her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She lifted her hips carefully off him, the two groaning as he slid out. She settled next to him, Jon's thumb rubbing across the back of her hand.

"Stay with me?" he requested, his voice suggesting it was as easy as asking about her day.

"Trust me—" Dany kissed his hand— "I'm not going anywhere."