Work Text:
Daemon is forever touching her.
Her uncle has always been physical in his affection, Rhaenyra recognizes now that she thinks back. It feels as though she’d spent half her childhood in his arms, in the days when she was young enough that no one thought it improper. As she grew into adolescence and the confining strictures of maidenhood, his touches had grown rarer and more clandestine – and weightier with meaning for it – but he’d never ceased finding excuses to indulge. She remembers his hands clasping Valyrian steel at her nape, holding her own as he lead her through the streets of King’s Landing and into a Silk Street brothel, gripping her neck at her wedding feast, and how even the lightest brush of his fingers over her skin had seared into her soul.
And now that they are wed and no excuse is necessary, he never ceases in seeking contact. Contrary to what some might assume, it’s not all sexual, nor even mostly. Certainly he is a lustful man (as she is no less, well-matched in the voracious appetites of dragons), but he spends more time simply holding her than debauching her. For all that glib wit, scathing criticism, and rousing speeches spill easily from his tongue, Daemon has never had much capacity for putting genuine emotion into words. It is instead through touch that he expresses his feelings for those he loves best, and seeks comfort and reassurance in turn.
If she’d thought he couldn’t keep his hands off her as it was, it’s nothing to when they discover she’s carrying his child. Proud, protective, and awed in roughly equal measure, he can hardly be swayed from her side. Though she’s minded to tease him for sentimentality unbefitting his reputation, in truth the devotion evident in his lingering touches warms her through.
Rhaenyra stands at her dressing table, brushing out her hair, when her husband’s arms wrap around her from behind. The press of his body is a steady warmth at her back, and he rests his cheek against the crown of her head.
Finding her movements constrained by the embrace, she sets down her brush with a mild huff. “I wasn’t finished.”
The looking glass before her reflects his impassive expression, amused and unconvinced by her half-hearted complaint. Weren’t you? the raised eyebrow seems to say.
“You think you can barge in whenever,” she grumbles, “demanding attention, as if I’ve nothing better to be doing.”
“Yes,” Daemon agrees, utterly unapologetic. “And you like it.”
Rhaenyra can find no ready response, because she does, gods help her. Hasn’t she spent her whole life craving his regard?
He dips his head to press a kiss to her temple and a breathy sigh falls from her lips.
“Or am I mistaken?” he taunts. “Is being an attentive husband an imposition now?” As he speaks, his lips trail down the side of her face and neck, interspersing his words with featherlight kisses. “I am at your command, Princess; tell me I’m unwelcome and I shall take my leave.” His hands slip inside her robe, cupping her full breasts through the thin chemise beneath, and she nearly moans aloud at the momentary relief from their weight.
“Kelītīs daor,” she hisses. Don’t stop.
“I thought not,” he laughs, while the calloused pad of his thumb rubs her nipple to a stiff peak.
His other hand leaves her breast to slide lower, turning his attention to the swell of her stomach. Her loosely tied robe parts to allow him access, exposing her growing bump to open view.
Their eyes meet in the mirror. “Gevie,” he murmurs, his breath hot on the shell of her ear. Beautiful.
The praise feels like a caress, sending a frisson of pleasure down her spine, and a needy mewl escapes her throat. It takes so little to spark her blood heat these days.
Rhaenyra remembers this phase well. After the lassitude that’s marked the early part of her pregnancies passes, the renewed invigoration found in the following moons is inevitably accompanied by near-insatiable hunger, her arousal on a hair trigger. In the past it had driven her to the verge of madness, living in a continual state of unfulfilled frustration as the demands of the court and the need for secrecy left her little opportunity to see her needs met.
Now everything is new again, it feels. She’s borne three babes before, the last little more than a year past, so the process is more than familiar to her. Yet the whole experience is different. She has nothing to hide now, with none of the shame and fear that had marred her earlier pregnancies to plague her, an unaccustomed freedom to order her life as she sees fit afforded by Dragonstone’s seclusion, and the man who’s held her heart before and above all others at her side at last.
This time, it’s almost enjoyable. Especially given Daemon’s dedication to ensuring her satisfaction.
She turns in his arms, tilting her head up to seek his lips. Tangles her hands in his hair as she seals her mouth to his, kissing him with unrestrained hunger.
“Something you want?” he inquires when they break apart. The eager slide of his hands over her curves belies his disaffected tone.
“I need you,” she breathes.
“You have me,” he says, hands not shifting from their path, and she rolls her eyes at his deliberate obtuseness.
“Don’t toy with me, husband,” she warns, dragging his fingers to her dripping entrance. “Your child is determined to have me burn.”
The reminder only serves to make him smug. “A proper dragon already,” he says approvingly, caressing her rounded stomach.
“But not the dragon you should be concerned with right now,” she says sharply, in no mood to beg or banter further, and reaches for him. He’s dressed down in shirtsleeves and loose breeches, making it easy to slip her hand beneath his waistband to fondle him.
His cock is hot in her grasp, half-hard already and jumping against her fingers as it fills. His mouth drops to her neck, and there’s a hint of bite to his next kiss. “You just can’t wait, can you?” he murmurs against her skin as the tips of his fingers dip into her.
“Why should I have to?” Rhaenyra snaps back, provoked by the laughter in his voice. “I was told I had an attentive husband in attendance.”
He hisses as her grip tightens, thrusting into her hand, and offers no retort.
With his free hand he pushes her robe from her shoulders. She releases him a minute to let it slide off, the fabric falling in a silken pool at her feet and leaving her in only the sheer chemise. She tugs at his shirt in turn, and tosses it away to run her hands over the landscape of muscle and scar tissue beneath.
Daemon lifts her like it’s nothing, gathering her into his strong arms to carry her across the chamber to their bed. He strips off her chemise as he sets her down and his eyes don’t stray from her body, sweeping over her exposed flesh in a slow once-over, as he kicks off his breeches and settles himself beside her.
“Gevie,” he murmurs again. She doesn’t particularly feel beautiful – feels swollen and ungainly, her body seeming to grow larger faster with every babe since her first – but when he says it with such heat in his gaze it’s hard not to be convinced. She can feel him hard and throbbing against her thigh as he pulls her close.
He urges her atop him, guiding her to straddle his thighs. “That’s it, take me, ñuha zaldrīzes gevie,” he groans as she sinks down onto him. “Ride me. Take what you need.”
His hands roam ceaselessly over her skin as she rides him hard: cupping the curve of her hips, her rounded belly, her pendulous breasts.
“You’re so good for me,” he praises, brushing her loose hair out of the way when it falls between them to impede his view. “Taking my cock like you were born for it.”
“I was,” she swears breathlessly. “I’m yours, Uncle, I was always meant to be yours.”
His pupils are blown already, but they darken even further at her words. He reaches up to curl a hand around the back of her neck, pulling her down to claim her lips in a kiss full of possessive hunger.
Rhaenyra quickens her pace when she straightens up again, reveling in the way his hips strain to meet her and his breath comes in frenzied pants. She leans back to find a new angle, tossing her head and arching her back as she shifts, and she could swear she sees his eyes roll backward for a moment.
“Fucking gorgeous,” he growls. “So bold and glorious in your passion, using me for your pleasure. You need nothing more than to be stuffed full, don’t you? Full of my cock and full of my child.”
“Kessa,” she gasps. “Kessa, valzȳrys….”
One of his hands slides from her hip to skim the crease of her inner thigh and over the silver down covering her mound. His fingers find the sensitive bud half-hidden within her folds, compounding her pleasure as she moves more urgently against him.
An intense climax soon overcomes her, and she’s left boneless in its wake, slumping forward against his chest. Daemon wraps his arms around her, holding her close and kissing her until her mouth is no longer dry. He’s still hard and buried inside her, and he rolls his hips against hers as she recovers, slowing but not stopping in fucking her through it.
Once Rhaenyra has caught her breath, his hands urge her upright again. He holds fast to her hips to guide her motions, grinding her down against the base of his shaft where he’s seated deep within her.
In time she pushes his hands away and takes control again. He tucks them behind his head at first, content to lay back and watch her move over him. But when she leans forward and her breasts hang down towards him, he reaches out to fondle them.
His hands are calloused, rough and eager on her delicate flesh. Her breath catches at the way they drag over her skin, and her nipples stiffen at his touch. He rolls one between thumb and forefinger and she bites back a cry.
And then she feels an unexpected wetness blooming on her skin, and looks down to see creamy drops seeping out. Fuck, she’s leaking, Rhaenyra realizes, recoiling in shame.
But Daemon surges against her, dark fire flaring in his eyes. Any objection she might have made dies in her throat, for the next thing she knows he’s tumbled her flat on her back, his hands pinning her shoulders to the bed as he bends his head to her breast.
His tongue traces circles around one nipple and then the other to lap the errant droplets from her skin. And then his lips close around the pebbled tip and suck, drawing forth a prolonged trickle.
She’s tender enough that the tug of his mouth at such sensitive flesh straddles the line between pleasure and pain, making her gasp and curse. Tendrils of fire shoot through her, and her cunt clenches as though there were some tether running straight from her nipples to her core.
Her response only spurs him on. His mouth moves to her other breast, suckling roughly, while his thrusts grow harsher, taking on the frantic rhythm that says he’s chasing release. The prospect of making him spill for her excites her as much as the way he’s pounding her, and she cries out as her peak crashes over her again.
“Fuck!” he grunts. His hips stutter against her, burying himself deep one last time, and she feels the hot rush of his seed spreading within her.
Daemon rolls off of her, careful not to lay his weight on her stomach, but remains close, his legs still entangled with hers and an arm slung across her chest. She nestles closer, contentedly laying her head on his shoulder and enjoying the heat that radiates off him, the fire in her blood blessedly calmed for the time being.
In the quiet that follows, Rhaenyra tries to remember what she’d been doing before he distracted her, and decides it doesn’t matter. There is nothing more important in this moment than the comfort of her husband’s embrace, his fingers idly carding through her hair and the kiss he presses to the top of her head.
Nothing more important, that is, until the fluttering sensation that has her dropping a hand to her stomach with a gasp, the new babe rousing to greet her with its movements for the first time.