Chapter Nine – Targaryen Wildfire
Jon wanders through Dragonstone, walking meaninglessly with no intended direction. The straightaways and turns passively guiding him along. Darkness coated a majority of the walls and floors like they were hiding from his approach. He would stride past abandoned rooms and halls, some collapsed due to its *abandonment*. Jon stared at the ground while he roamed, the passing stones placing him in a numbing trance. His mind was whirling over the past hour and its jarring events.
It is like he had been ripped into a dream. The previous cold restraints that guarded and prevented his emotions from coming through were no more. Everything came rushing in, like he had not felt anything in years. His cold center was thawed and the mental fog had lifted. But the dream felt so real. The soft breeze tapped at his face, the smell of lilacs and grass embraced his nose. He saw her, saw them. His mother. His father. Bran. His gut wrenched at the thought of it. The very sight of the shadow minion dunked his body back into the frozen depths. There was something else bigger going on.
There was something else that refused to leave the forefront of his mind. The moment he fell out of whatever dream like state held him, the cold and dark came pouring in. He was drowning again, unable to fight back and keep his head above the swelling tide. Then she happened. Daenerys. Danny. He did not understand how but she calmed the thrashing wildness. Pulled him out before he could be buried again. Though he was not completely rid of the leeching entity, he was able to remain present because of her intervention.
He paused briefly beside a doorway containing a downward spiral staircase before selecting to take the unusual route. It was absent of any torches or windows to aluminate the path. The dark gently hugged his shoulders, compressing down on his restlessness. The further he descending the more calm and at ease he became. The blackened surroundings were something he had grown complacent to and compared to the prior events, was a welcoming one.
The bright blue glow of his orbs glistened in the dimly lit space. His feet slap the sodden ground beneath as the cobblestone is masked with dampened moss. Jon shifts into the room adjacent to him, slowly putting one foot in front of another. Head pivoting, not really searching, not for anything in particular. Jon comes up to a table covered in cob webs and littered trinkets. A brief glint of something underneath the dust and abandoned silk draws his attention. Using a hand to brush the object free of what once confined it, gave him a clear view of the blade that sat a top the table. Jon grasps the sword with one hand at the hilt and the point elegantly balanced over his fingertips.
Overall it was lightweight and about half the length of Long Claw. Valyrian steel composed the blade with a three headed dragon etched into the fuller of the metal. The glow of his eyes were reflected back at him, showcasing the ravaging blizzard inside. Fine darkened leather coiled around the hilt with crimson rubies lining the pommel and crossguard. It was a exceptional blade by Jon Snows standards. He stored the sword with a sheath he found on the ground nearby, deciding to take it with him.
Jon saunters in to find Daenerys in the same place he left her, positioned near the window admiring her child from afar. He releases the sword on the wooden slab with a resounding thud. Daenerys startles at the unsuspecting sound, oblivious to his entry and causing her to spin around. Her eyes fall down to the object he dropped on the table, his hand drawing back to his side.
"What is this?" Daenerys asks, a hint of anticipation in her voice. Jon grasps the case and hilt of the sword, giving it a quick jerk and unsheathing half of the sword. His eyes looking down on it before moving up to Daenerys, registering her reaction. The complete bewilderment expressed on her face only brought what he could remember as joy. Though it would fail to filter through, it would normally emanate a smile. This feeling was so addictive, every part of Jon wanted more.
Her eyes glistened with wonderment, a hand slowly extending to touch the blade. "It is a Targaryen blade." She beamed, exchanging quick glances from Jon to the blade. Daenerys grabs the hilt, pulling the sword from its sheathe. Light bounced off the blade, displaying the whitish tint of classic Valyrian steel. She studied the detailed and intricate design at the base. "I thought they all had been destroyed during Roberts Rebellion." Daenerys ogled the blade, eyes still overflowing with awe like a child during their first snow fall. Every last part of her family history had been destroyed through Roberts Rebellion, but here sits one of the remaining memories from her lineage.
"It should be wielded by a Targaryen." Jon says, fixed on the sword. Daenerys whips her head around at the sound of her family name but Jon leaves before saying anything else.
Daenerys arms shook as she swung the sword, clumsy and awkward in her movements. This sword deserves the respect to be handled by an experienced swordsman. Flashes of horrid scenes; thrashing corpses rushed through the night and smoke. Their movements erratic, you would think their arms would snap under the force. Swords and axes ripped back and thrusted at her and Jorah. Her sword, her shield. Every cut he received never lessened his protection that night and he stayed with her until her safety was assured. He never left her, even when great distances separated them. Maybe if she knew then he would still be alive. She was far from a skilled fighter. She would need a trainer.
Brans cool, pale body laid on a stone table in the maesters workshop. Sam had already proceeded to remove any clothing, cleaning the body of dried and crusted blood. He let out a sigh, his limp bottom lip rattled under the labored breath. One by one, tears trickled down his cheeks. It was not his fault. There was nothing he could do to prevent it but endless guilt rotted in Sams stomach along with its accompanying sense of failure. The water in his dish was diverging to a translucent maroon color causing Sam to gag at the copper smell wafting into his nose. He had to move away, clamping his eyes shut which spilled the accumulating tears.
Kinvara enters the workshop seemingly burdened by the progress in preparation for the upcoming funeral. She crinkles her nose at the smell of decay, a hand floating up to cover her nose. With the Kings misfortunes and unexplained disappearance of the right hand, left the kingdom and council in shambles. The final order dissipated, vanished from existence. Every ear it fell upon, scorched. From the lips it flowed, departed. To the mind that kindled suspicion, to ashes. Kinvara was free of her chains, sentence and future judgement. All indecent souls oblivious to the unfolding plan. "Sam darling, why do you not head down to the market and pick up some fresh Tuberose. Help give our king some dignity in his last few moments on this plane."
It takes a moment for Sam to collect himself but without much dispute he quietly gathers a satchel and some coin, leaving Kinvara with Bran. The door creaks shut trailed by the pattering sound of Sams footsteps down the hall. Circling the lifeless corpse, Kinvara glides her hand over the pebbled stone slab. Even a predator evaluates its imminent prey. Reaching the head of the counter, Kinvara pinches a single strand of hair between two fingers and yanks it from its root. She leans onto the counter with her elbows, bringing the hair to eye level. "You will serve the Lord of Light, one way or another your Grace."
The floor boards groaned underneath Daenerys as she reached the highest tower in the keep. Jon would retreat to the secluded space upon their arrival back to Dragonstone, avoiding her due to the words of Kinvara. Tattered window coverings waved in the frigid draft. The tower reminded her of an old crypt with its dire appeal and lack of furnishings. It was empty.
Daenerys placed heavy footsteps on the winding stairs. He was so difficult to locate, even more difficult to talk to. But she was putting a visible dent in his armor and could see his walls breaking. Something large caught the corner of her eye, bending back to see a dragon perched on the beach. Its light sky blue scales contrasted against the darkened black sand of the surrounding beaches.
To her satisfaction, Jon was standing nearby. One hand cradling the dragons chin while the other gave smooth, downward strokes over the snout. He was so attentive and immersed in this dragon who was barely half the size of Drogon. Daenerys could not help but see her oldest brother in him, how he would have possibly treated a dragon of his own. She admired at how content he was, a fleeting characteristic of Jon nowadays.
She was reluctant to disturb the blissful moment. "Jon?" She waits for his response but watches as he continues to soothe his dragon. After a few more breathes, she makes another attempt. "Jon, I want you to train me." Adding a hint of authority, hoping it would draw his attention.
Jon drops his bottom hand, a single brow raised at Daenerys. "Train you in what?" He calls out. The tide was coming in, smashing against the jagged rocks that were just off shore. The roaring waves were deafening and made conversation difficult even from two feet away.
Her jaw hung there, confused by his lack of association. Jons uninterrupted stare only flustered her further. Only half pronunciations and muddled sounds left her mouth in response until she felt the thump of the sword against her thigh, inspiring her next sentence. "Teach me how to use this." Her body bent around the sword with her head and arms directed at it, emphasizing its importance. "How to fight." Daenerys yelled back.
A laugh. A laugh was his response. Daenerys did not realize how long it had been since she heard him laugh. The way the corners of his mouth curved up into a smile, pushing his cheeks into his eyes. Her ears were seduced by the carefree melodic tone. It was so refreshing in so many ways, but given the context she only felt mocked. Did he think she was not capable of such a skill? The questioning thought only seared in her mind.
"You think this is some kind of joke?" Her displeasure oozing through her words. The rawness of her motives bled into her soul.
"A bit." Jon reverts back to his dragon. Clearly content with neglecting her request, but Daenerys would refuse anything but a yes. She took an assertive step forward, able to feel the warm air seeping from the dragons nostrils and well within Jons peripherals to the point she could lean onto his shoulder. Ziemas showcased their hundreds of charcoal colored needle-like teeth as a hiss pushed through, warning her.
Daenerys made sure she was making direct eye contact with Jon before speaking. His blank expression was difficult to discern from surprise and his usual withdrawn self. "I am serious. I want to know how to wield that sword." She wavered, "And how to protect myself." Her voice subtlety cracked. She felt Jorah would have taken comfort in Daenerys providing her own protection with no one left to do so.
She had Jons full attention now, completely turning his body in her direction. Something deep had triggered her, an unhealed wound torn back open. She did well hiding it for the most part. Training an individual to fight though, was setting the expectation that one would be placed in harms way. The thought made him uncomfortable. Jon scanned down her short stature. No amount of armor would mask the curves of her delicate body that had a shortage of a good days work. "You are not ready." He says forthright.
Disdain spoiled her disposition, "I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. I have the blood of the dragon and I tell you, I am ready." She was adamant and his skepticism did little to sway her. Neither moved, stares fixed upon another. Steeled violet eyes against fine blue orbs.
Jon let out a fat sigh, annoyed by her headstrong temperament and knowing full well she would not leave the subject alone. Nevertheless he allowed himself to revel in the unwanted but captivating display before grunting, "Very well." He marched back to the keep, unaware of the pace he set. Daenerys had to trot to keep up. She did not realize that the additional weight of the sword would have such an effect on her over this relatively short distance. Her huffs almost drowned out the sound of their combined footsteps but this only exasperated Jons innate apprehension of her training.
The armory was longer than it was wide with columns stretching to the ceiling. Light leaked through the open vaulted ceiling, yielding enough to illuminate the center of the room. Majority of the weapon racks had been stripped and broken down under the weight of time. The hint of iron wafted in the air, coating the room with an unpleasant musk. What was left had been piled into a corner, metal scraps and all. Why the Unsullied or Baratheons never occupied the armory was unbeknownst to Daenerys. Jon shifted through the various swords, hunting for notable practice swords. After finding two suitable enough for their purpose, he offers one to Daenerys.
"Why do I not just use my blade?" Daenerys inquires.
Jon jabs the practice sword flat against her chest. "It is not safe." Turning away from her.
"I thought Valeryian steel could not hurt you?"
He still had his back to her, "It can not." He unbuckled his belt that held Long Claw, placing it against a pillar.
A curious yet somewhat defiant idea peaked when she decided to drag the sharp edge of her Targaryen blade across Jons back and between his shoulders, slicing open the multiple layers of clothing. A high-pitched gasp reacted to the swift turn around of Jon as he captured the hilt of her sword in his hand, bending her wrist back till the point of the blade just touched her neck. It happened so fast, her body had not registered the counteraction and tensed in response.
"I guess I should have been a bit more clear. Not safe, for you." Jon spoke in such a soft tone, it was neither threatening nor comforting. He face was not strained to suggest irritation with her. Daenerys wondered if she was now accustom to the paralyzing sense of death or if his cold, piercing presence had become less pronounced as in this moment she felt no fear. Even with her tightly secured, no harm would come to her.
She hastily nodded and was released from his constraint.
…
Daenerys suddenly had her feet lifted into the air with her head and shoulders jerked to the ground, her blade ejected from her hands. The ringing in her ears and blurry vision caused by the stone floor was disorientating. Her mind fogged over from the relentless beating, but one lesson recited in her brain over and over again. Never lose your sword. Through the daze, she fought to locate her sword which was not more than four feet from her. She quickly scrambled to regain control of the blade, but was cutoff by another shoved between them. A foul glare was shot at the one directing it, Jon. Forcing herself to her feet, she pushes Jons arm out of the way and stomps over to her sword to pick it up.
"We have been at this for days and I am still barely lasting longer than a couple seconds against you." Daenerys sat down on a chair, partly due to frustration and exhaustion. Her chest rose and fell with each successive breath. Feet and hands were raw and ached as tender calluses grew where she held her sword. The thin cloth wrapped around her palms did very little to ease the pain and her feet slid around in her boot, leaving opened blisters. Her multiple failures and setbacks kindled self doubt.
"You state you have not learned nothing, but you know more now then you did when we started." Jon was not trying to lift her up, he was stating the obvious. Daenerys did not grace him with a second look as she tried to catch her breath, hunched over in her seat.
Jon just stood there quietly, marveling at her strength and resilience. "You are focusing too much on yourself." She still denied him any feedback. Jon clamped his jaw, forcing air through his nostrils. He could see her dissatisfaction pushing her down the slope to uncertainty which was dangerous in a fight.
"Try focusing on your opponent. Observe how they move, how they swing their sword. Alter your fighting style to counter theirs." He nudges her foot out from the chair, ensuring her recognition of his statements. "Again." Tapping his sword on his shin guard, drawing her from the seated position.
Jon takes a few paces back, allowing for room between them. Daenerys grumbles as she stands, the many bruises lining her body hollering against her. Was it possible to grow tired of ones voice? She would love nothing more than to be able to land a solid hit on Jon. She scrutinized how he maneuvered around the room. He transferred weight from one foot to another so fluidly. Even his undershirt was barely soiled from the lack of take downs he had endured. The only minor indication of possible dishevelment was the partially untucked tunic which only resulted from her hands grabbing ahold as she fell to the ground. It all tickled her chest. She twirled the hilt around her hand, signaling she was ready to begin again.
Jon patiently lingers in reserve as he waits for her to approach. Thud. Daenerys lowers her stance, staggering her legs. She bounces back and forth trying to curb the twitching muscles in her thighs and calves. Long and quick strides are made towards Jon before launching herself at him and swinging her sword down, angled across Jons torso. Jon simply takes a step back and avoids the charge entirely. He flashes a smirk at her, goading her to carry on. Thud.
Daenerys let out a forced yell as she twists rapidly, shoving her sword into his gut with a back handed grip. It stops short, blocked by Jons. Thud. The wrappings on her hands gradually became soaked, blood drenched the fabric and ran down her forearms. Hands stung from the torn skin beneath.
She shuffles her feet to the side, hoping to gain a better angle. Daenerys rips her sword downward, attempting to yank Jons out of his own hands but he counters her effort. Driving up and out causing the hilt to be pulled slightly out of her grip. Her now programmed instincts scream at her. Fear rises as the expected collision with the ground grows more and more likely. Mind in a flurry as she rushes to come up with a solution.
Every one of her attacks was unnatural, conscripted and easily matched. They needed to be pure and in the moment like a shadow to its maker. Instead of forcing it, Daenerys flicked her wrist prior to releasing her faint hold on the hilt. Her sword tumbled down to a better height and she re-established contact. She cranked her arm across her chest before charging her sword at Jons now exposed chest, with her elbow leading the way. Thud.
Daenerys was halfway through the stunt when something unforeseen clutched her forearm. A quick tug whipped her around with both of her arms stretched above her head. They were clamped together by just one hand and she had been hoisted from the ground. It was not until the movement had stop did she comprehend what had happened. Jon, again, had reciprocated her attack. He was oddly breathing heavily, eyes darting from side to side. Their faces were so close Daenerys could count the number of lashes that lined Jons eyes.
The air shuddered as it left his mouth. His heart feverishly knocked at his rib cage throughout their spar, set off by every hostile assault towards him. Body trembling; she was phenomenal. Mesmerized by her vibrant violet eyes, his momentarily sliding down to her lips. How much he yearned to take her here and now but pulled back once again, leery of himself. He released her arms from above and immediately increased the distance between them.
"That is it for today." Jon turns on his heel and escapes out the door. The weight of leaving her there, standing alone in the armory, was confounding. Still, he did not trust himself. The slightest trigger could send him sliding down into the pit of his subconscious, surrounded in darkness. His own soul bathed in death and filled with terror. Powerless against whatever stalked in the back of his mind. Watching. Waiting.
Daenerys enters her chambers noting the floating dust particles caught in the moonlight. The faint snapping of the fewly lit fire basin occupied the room, adding to the somber mood. Her clothes were marinated in sweat with numerous layers of built up grime, acting like an anchor dragged by her body. She sauntered over to the tub, arranging the coals underneath to warm the water to a relieving temperature. Sitting on the edge Daenerys found herself staring off into the distance, mind running blank. She could picture Missandei gathering her evening attire and placing it on her bed for when she was finishing with her bath. Her silky laugh and coy smile when thinking about Greyworm. Ser Jorah approaching, kneeling before her and saying 'Good work today Khalessi.' All the voices she wanted to hear, the family she briefly had, was only in her memories now. Her daze dissipated as she turned to check on the bath.
The embers beneath showed to be fulfilling their role as steam swayed off the waters surface. Daenerys was sluggish to stand, her body relinquishing into the recovery state and begging for rest. She winced, reaching up to pull the opposite sleeve from her arm, shoving her shoulder through the neck of her shirt. The shirt dropped to the ground, so drained to the point its removal took considerable amount of work. She held her breath as she loosened the band of her pants, forearms burning under the fine movements.
Gradients of purple bruises littered her body, revealing the abuse she had put it through. One foot eased into the water with the other following quickly behind. Daenerys savored the feeling as her body sank into the warmth, coating every part and lifting the soot that held her down. She could feel her body take in the moisture and delve in its pleasure. Drowsiness slid her eyes shut.
…
A salted breeze blew the hem of her tiffany blue dress and peach sash to the side gracefully. Daenerys could see the waves tumbling in Blackwater Bay as the sun sheltered everything in bright light. Metal weaved in and around itself as it wrapped around her head with three dragons looking up towards a reddened ruby held between their heads. Deep green leaves of a lemon tree rustled together. She could not remember the last time she was this blissfully content. Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. A genuine smile emerged from her face, raising an arm up to glide her fingers over a lemon that hung just above her crown.
"Your grace?" A female voice with an adorned accent makes Daenerys twist to see Missandei offering her a bowl of dried plums. "I thought you would appreciate some dried fruit on this lovely day, your grace." Daenerys could not contain the surge of elation as her best friend stood there with doting eyes, pulling Missandei into a warm hug. She did not want to let go, worried that she would vanish any second.
A slight giggle came from Missandei, speaking a soft tone. "Uh oh, here comes trouble." Daenerys could hear playful laughter getting closer as two children, one girl and one boy came running from inside the castle.
"Mama!" They both sprint up, each squeezing one of her legs. She swoons over hearing that word. The word every mother yearns to hear. The younger boy had curly bleached white hair that covered his eyes in a messy fashion while the older girl had charred black hair that hung down to her shoulders. Both decorated with stunning lavender eyes. Daenerys could feel their unconditional love canvas her, filling her with insurmountable joy. She was told she would never be able to bear children. Never be able to feed or hear the soft coo of her baby. Never be able to hold a crying child after they scuffed up their knee from a fall. But here were two perfect children, claiming to be hers.
"I think they like you better than they like me." Daenerys glances up to find Jon waltzing out from where the children had came from. He was adorned with a stylish blackened royal uniform and a deep red sash draped across his chest. A dragon styled crown elegantly sat a top his head, offering additional inches to his stature. He approached her with his stupid boyish grin. His chocolate brown eyes beamed at her with his jet black hair competing against his tunic. It all left her breathless, defenseless against what his display does to her.
A hand slips past her hair, cradling the side of her face as his thumb slides over her lips. "My queen." He gingerly gives her a kiss on the forehead, causing the children to snicker and bury their faces into her legs.
Daenerys looks around at the happy and loving faces that surrounded her. The feeling of home slowly becoming more real. It is a feeling she only dreamed of experiencing, but never really able to obtain. She struggles with this emotion, unsure if she was worthy of such a pleasure. She was Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. The Red Keep was her home. Her best friend was at her side. Jon was there to rule beside her and the father of these two beautiful children. Then why did it all seem wrong, seem so amiss.
A black ice sword ruptures through Jons chest causing black blood to flood out of his mouth. She watches in horror as life empties from his eyes. He is tossed away, revealing an entity standing behind him. Cold fills the air as frost savagely covers the lemon tree, killing the tangy fruit. Daenerys breath indicates the drop in temperature as she stares at this individual to only feel death and absolute terror.
"Mama?" The little boy whispers. Daenerys turns to find Missandei and the two children huddled close behind her. Fear reeking havoc on their faces and rigid bodies. They scream as flames engulf them whole. Daenerys wails at the sudden combustion, one by one they were being taken from her again. Her outburst was quickly silenced and replaced with more terror as another entity steps from the flames. A sword bathed in fire was held in one hand, the heat radiating from it caused her to take a step back.
She peeks back to see the other being coming closer, sword drawn. Daenerys starts to hyperventilate as the two charge at each other with her in the middle. She ducks just before their swords clash.
She awakes in her bath, trembling and clammy. The water had grown temperate. It was unknown how long it had been, whether a couple minutes or a couple hours. What few fire basins were left had now resorted to a dull flame. It was only a dream. She was glad to be rid of the nightmare, but still wished for certain aspects to have remained true. Now she was left in a darkened room, alone.
Daenerys pulled a loose shirt over her head, granting her freedom under the fabric. She ran her fingers through the length of her hair as it slumped over her shoulders. Needlessly removing any knots and kinks present. Then a knock forms at her door.
The soles of her bare feet slap against the stone as she goes to meet her visitor. Her heart fluttered followed by the growing unrest in her stomach when she opened the door to find Jon standing on the other side.
His arms held up her Valyrian sword, "You left it in the armory. Thought you might want to keep it close." Jon stammered through his sentence, awkward in his demeanor. He had been standing at her door for the past thirty minutes, contemplating his actions. What he might say. Jon knew this woman had an effect on the man he was before, and he was finding those effects intoxicating.
Daenerys stepped aside giving Jon room to enter her chambers, inviting him in. Jon delayed, suspicious of the implications and his underlying fear bubbling to the forefront of his mind again. He proceeds through the doorway with Daenerys closing the door once he had passed the threshold. The muscles in his chest and shoulders cramp at the sound of the door latching shut. His nerves white knuckled the sheath of her sword, tormenting himself over her safety with the unruly demon that hid inside.
Daenerys elevates her arm, directing Jon. "You can place it next to my nightstand." Jon peers over to the location she indicated and strolls over, leaning the hilt upon her nightstand.
Jon turns back to find Daenerys standing at the foot of her bed, hand tenderly gripping the bed post. She stood unafraid, composed. That intoxicating feeling was muddling his brain, accompanied by the familiar burn in his groin. Their eyes were locked on one another and the air was becoming thick. One would never think an oversized shirt would strike him as so arousing. She wore it with such finesse. Strands of leather barely tied the V neck together, exposing her sternum and the bottom hem skimmed over her upper thighs. The free hair framed her face, highlighting her soft jaw line. Her beauty put him in a stupor, unable to remove his smitten gaze. She reminded him of the smell of spring mornings, how the sun rises standing at the top of the Wall. She reminded him of all the things he once loved in this world.
Jon advanced gradually, his eyes never leaving hers, never leaving her face. He made his movements slow and direct, as to not startle her. Daenerys tried to stifle her breathes while her heart rate climbed as he progressed closer. She remained still, trusting herself and the man she believed was still behind those blue eyes.
He stopped within an arms length, pausing again to take in her fortitude. She did not waiver from his approach, certain in her decision. Jon's body was running rampant with voracity growing numb to their surroundings, yet the room did not drop in temperature by the untamed emotion. He was fastened down by his own Targaryen anchor.
A moment passes as Jon envelopes an arm around Daenerys waist, pulling her close. Her palms reactively land on his chest with her eyes darting between his captivating blue eyes and lips. Jon drops his gaze before colliding his mouth upon hers. The hunger only increased with every brush of their lips and taste of their tongues. Jons impatience aggravated the fire shearing through his pants, as he seizes the collar of Daenerys shirt and pulls outward, tearing it down the middle. His arm grazes her breast as it returns to her waist, spiking his already immense intoxication and forcing a deep-seated grunt to leave his throat. A free hand moves up to cup the back of her head as his tongue dives deeper.
With the change in Jons positioning, Daenerys had to snake her arms through, fumbling as she unfasten his leather cuirass. Its removal created a thud as it hit the ground. Her fingers found the bottom edge of his undershirt, rolling it up for a better grip as she shoved it up over his head. They quickly resume their entwinement while she explored his now unveiled chest, his skin was cool to the touch. It sent electric jolts surging through her body. She could feel her heart race, shaking a breath as it left her lungs.
Daenerys had never felt more alive with his hands greedily combing over her body. Seemingly in a frenzy like they could not control themselves. But finally, she could touch him. Actually touch him. The never ending walls he put up were finally crumbling or at least dismissed for the moment. She could feel the deep longing that he had been stifling in his fevered behavior. His desire to feel something real, to have something rekindle the extinguished flame within his soul over shadowed hers by an oceans length. Daenerys relished at being the center of his untamed hunger which only encouraged her appetite.
Jon bent down, clutching her thighs in his arms and lifting her into the air. Her bare chest now more accessible, giving him the opportunity to tend to the nape of her neck, massaging it with his finer features. This sent sparks down Daenerys spine while she raked her fingers through his hair, clamping down on his scalp. She oscillated her hips, rubbing her pleasure spot up against him. Jon crawled onto the bed, still holding Daenerys with her legs tightly wrapped around his waist. He placed her down on the sheets, pressing down on her and grinding his hardened self against her in response.
Jon had never felt more alive. Any whispers or meddling fingers were void from his mind, completely forgetting about the entity that sat in the shadows. He could feel blood flushing his skin and emotions flourishing under the new found freedom. She was his torch in the dark, driving the cold away. He regretted the days he held her at arms length, wishing he had only pulled her closer sooner.
Jon hovered over Daenerys, delving into her starved gaze. Daenerys swore his eyes were glowing brighter than they had been previously, illuminating her face. He broke contact, delicately tracing his lips from her collarbone to just above her pubic bone, kissing every so often and paying extra attention to her favored assets. He built upon her mounting pressure as he indulged every curve of her breast and nipple. Taking in as much tissue possible, allowing his tongue to massage her bosom. Daenerys closed her eyes, savoring the sensation. Her neck naturally arched back while she clenched his hair like it would minimize the overwhelming stimulation.
A pleased purr arose at Jons realization that Daenerys was not only absent of pants, but undergarments as well. He shifted off the bed, ridding himself of his own trousers. He took a moment to appreciate the radiant Targaryen girl before him. He bowed at his hips, embracing one of her thighs while he tends to it. With each delicate kiss, Jon inches closer. She could not help as her body squirmed under his tortuous taunting. It screamed, begged to be released. He landed at the edges her entrance, poised to satiate her excitement.
Jon decided to neglect the opportunity, further drawing it out. He crawled the rest of the way till their eyes were level, fixated on one another. Memorizing each other's features, the color of her eyes, the arc of his brow, and the shape of her nose. One by one Jon dropped down to his elbows, closing the distance between. He slowly filled her, abiding to her every request for the remainder of the night.