- CRAVING II,
A dinner date goes horribly wrong. cw: fluff, things get steamy; but there is no actual smut, lots of plot however; making out, groping, straight handful of cock, tits and ass; reader your fit is ass im sorry. kiera makes an appearance!
series masterlist.
wc: 5.6k
You stand there for another moment after he disappears down the corridor. The hallway feels too bright now, too loud, the chatter of passing students pulling you sharply back into the rhythm of the day. For a few seconds you simply breathe, pressing your lips together as you try to gather yourself again.
Fuck.
The womans’ bathroom is the first place that comes to mind.
You move quickly down the hall, keeping your eyes lowered as a group of students pass by, laughing loudly about something that feels miles away from your current state of mind - your shoes echo softly against the floor as you round the corner and slip through the door marked for the ladies, the quiet of the room wrapping around you the moment it swings shut behind you.
The bathroom is mostly empty, though not entirely.
At the long row of mirrors stands another girl, leaning slightly against the counter while she adjusts the strap of her bag. Her reflection catches yours the moment you step in. She has the most striking hair you’ve ever seen - thick curls the color of bright pink spun sugar, piled loosely around her shoulders in coils that bounce slightly when she moves. Beneath it, her eyes are a warm brown, lively and curious as they flick over you.
You pause at the sink beside her, reaching for the paper towels as casually as you can manage, though your heart is still beating a little too quickly for comfort. The mirror tells you what you already suspected - your hair slightly disheveled, your lip-liner mostly gone, your cheeks still flushed in a way that is definitely not subtle.
Wonderful.
You quickly turn on the tap, splashing a little cool water over your wrists before patting gently beneath your eyes, trying to erase whatever evidence might still linger there.
“You’re stunning, you know.”
A voice that can only be described as melodic spoke - however the comment comes out of nowhere.
You blink, glancing up at the mirror again in surprise.
The girl beside you is watching you now with a pleasant sort of smile, her head tilted just slightly as though she’s genuinely puzzled by something.
“What?” you laugh softly, immediately feeling your cheeks warm again.
“I mean it,” she continues easily, completely unbothered by your embarrassment. “The eyes, the hair, the whole thing. You look like you walked out of a painting.” She gestures vaguely toward you with one hand before adding, “Are you studying here? I haven’t seen you around before.”
You open your mouth, still a little flustered by the unexpected compliment. “Oh - um. Yes. History of Westeros.” Your voice comes out slightly softer than intended, though you manage a polite smile. “It’s my first day back this semester.”
“Well, that explains it,” she says with a small nod, as though that settles everything.
You glance at her again properly now, and the first thing that catches your attention is the hair. The color is so bright it almost glows under the bathroom lights, the curls thick and soft and impossibly pretty.
You can’t help smiling.
“Your hair is incredible,” you say honestly, gesturing slightly toward it. “It looks like candy-floss.” For a second she simply stares at you.
Then she laughs.
It’s a warm, easy sound that fills the quiet room, and she lifts one hand to fluff the curls slightly as if suddenly aware of them.
“Finally someone else sees the vision” she smiles with amusement.
“It’s really pretty.” You grin. It really was. No one around here seemed to show any sign of originality; it was refreshing to see a bright color in a place surrounded by beiges and sickly oatmeal colors.
“Well, thank you,” she says with an exaggerated little nod, clearly pleased by the remark. “I’ll accept that.”
She straightens slightly and offers you her hand across the counter.
“Kiera,” she says brightly. “Kiera of Tyrosh.”
You dry your hands quickly before taking it, returning the friendly shake. You introduce yourself in return, smiling a little more easily now that the initial awkwardness has faded.
“Nice to meet you,” Kiera says warmly.
There’s something very natural about the conversation, the sort of instant friendliness that makes the whole interaction feel oddly effortless. “So,” she continues, leaning casually against the sink again, “History of Westeros. That’s a heavy subject for a first day. You surviving it so far?”
You huff out a small laugh. The irony.
“Barely,” you admit.
“Good,” she says immediately, grinning.
The two of you talk for another minute or so, the conversation light and easy, drifting briefly toward classes, schedules, and the general chaos of the first week back - Kiera seems the sort of person who talks to anyone without hesitation, her warmth almost contagious.
Eventually she glances toward the door with a small groan.
“Gods, I actually have to get back to class,” she sighs, pushing herself upright again and adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder.
Before leaving, though, she pauses and turns back toward you.
“We should hang out sometime,” she says simply, as though the decision has already been made. “You seem nice.” You blink once at the sudden suggestion, then smile.
“I would love that.”
“Perfect,” Kiera says immediately, pleased. “Fastest friendship I’ve made all semester.” She gives you a small wave before heading for the door, the bright pink curls bouncing softly behind her as she disappears back into the hallway.
The bathroom falls quiet again. You stand there for a moment, staring at your reflection once more before letting out a small breath.
Right.
Now the real task begins. You lean closer to the mirror, quickly fixing what you can. A little concealer beneath your eyes, a careful swipe to smooth the smudged edges of your eyeliner, fingers combing through your hair until it falls into something resembling order again. Your long-sleeve is tugged back into place, the fabric smoothed down carefully over your waist, and your black jeans adjusted until they sit properly again. You try to ignore the pain between your legs;
You pause, studying yourself critically.
Not a perfect attempt to regain dignity; But atleast you look far less like someone who had just been thoroughly fucked in an office.
That will have to do.
Satisfied enough, you grab a final paper towel to blot your lips, then toss it into the bin before heading for the door. Your hand rests briefly on the handle as you take a quiet breath, steadying yourself once more.
Then you push the door open and step back into the hallway - the hallway feels longer than it had earlier. Perhaps it is simply the way your thoughts keep drifting back to him, to the feel of his lips on yours - to the burn of his beard; to the whisper of his promises. You push through the glass doors that lead outside, the cold afternoon air cool against your face as you step out onto the path that winds toward the university car park.
You walk quickly, though not quite rushing. Your shoes tap softly against the pavement, the sounds of campus fading behind you as the open lot comes into view. Cars sit scattered across the rows, most students already gone for the day.
Your gaze lifts almost immediately, searching without much thought – you find him at once.
Baelor stands beside a dark car parked near the edge of the lot, tall and unmistakable even from a distance. One hand rests lightly against the roof as he speaks to someone near the driver's side door; the man beside him wears a simple fully black suit, posture straight, expression watchful in the way of someone clearly employed to be so. You definitely do not miss the gun that is attached to his hip.
A bodyguard, you realize after a moment. Of course.
You slow slightly as you approach, suddenly aware of how ordinary your own little car looks parked several spaces away. Baelor notices you before you can decide whether to wave or not. His attention shifts easily, conversation with the other man ending with a quiet word you cannot quite hear. Baelor looks positively beautiful. It was strange almost, how attractive he looked in his.. fancy ass suit.
The bodyguard gives a small nod and steps back.
Baelor’s gaze settles on you as you close the remaining distance. There is something warmer in it now, something that perhaps was not there prior; surrounded by a classroom. You knew how wrong this was, a student with their teacher. But you had met prior to knowing he was your teacher.
“You found the place easily enough,” he says, voice calm as ever. You laugh softly, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “It’s a car park, professor. I think I managed.”
A faint smile touches his mouth at that. He reaches forward then, opening the back door with an easy motion before glancing back toward you. “Come. I will take you home.”
You blink, stopping short of the door.
“Oh-” you begin, glancing back over your shoulder toward the row where your own car sits. “What about mine?”
Baelor follows your gaze briefly, then looks back to you again as though the matter hardly requires thought.
“It can be handled.” You hesitate another moment. “Handled how?”
The bodyguard beside the driver’s seat steps forward slightly, “I can bring it round later, sir,” he says calmly. Baelor gives a small nod in acknowledgement before turning his attention back to you, expression steady.
“There,” he says simply. “No cause for concern.”You stare at him for a second, processing the ease with which that solution had appeared.
“You’re just… sending someone to drive my car?” you ask, digging into your pocket to retrieve your keys - begrudgingly passing them to the Bodyguard - who nods out of respect.
“If that troubles you,” Baelor replies mildly, “I could have it brought to my building and left with the valet instead.”
That somehow feels even more absurd. Fucking wealthy people. Your mouth opens, then closes again as you glance once more toward your car, then back at the open passenger door waiting beside him.
He watches you with quiet patience, one arm resting lightly along the top of the doorframe. There is no pressure in the gesture, no impatience either. Just the calm expectation that you will step forward when you’re ready.
Your cheeks warm slightly again. “Oh,” you say faintly. “Right.” shaking your head.
“Your life is ridiculous,” you murmur under your breath as you slide into the seat.
Baelor closes the door gently behind you, the quiet thud sealing you inside the car.
A moment later he moves around the other side and settles into the seat beside you, the faint scent of his cologne filling the small space between you once more; was it weird to admit he smelt really nice? It probably was.
“You will grow accustomed to it,” he says calmly; eyes meeting yours. You huff out a small laugh, folding your hands together in your lap as the driver starts the engine.
“I’m not so sure I will.” You jest, and he smiles at you. Baelor’s hand found your thigh almost without thought, fingers resting there with a weight that was both grounding and intimate. You felt yourself stiffen for a fraction, then relax when his thumb began to trace slow, idle circles over the fabric of your jeans – his hand was placed respectfully. Thank the gods. You could have jumped him right there.
“History of Westeros,” he murmured, glancing at you with one eyebrow arched, lips teasing the corner of a smile. “Why that subject?” His voice wasn’t formal or commanding here - there was an ease to it, a curiosity.
You fidgeted slightly under his gaze, playing with the rings on his hand that lay on your thigh - if it bothered him, he did not say anything.. “I… I guess it just fascinates me,” you said, voice careful but firm. “The politics, the wars, the mistakes; Modern days ability to fix most of them. Kings, queens, the power struggles. Why people do what they do, and why history remembers it the way it does.” You paused, glancing out the window. “Not the dragons. Though dragons are cool, sure.” You smirked to yourself - a light reference to the Targaryen past.
He let out a low chuckle, one that brushed against your ribs like silk and made your stomach do a little flip. “Refreshing,” he said, thumb brushing over your knuckles where your hand had found his. “You’re not like everyone else. Most people glance at history and see dry facts; you… see the cracks. It’s compelling.” He leaned back slightly, fingers curling over yours, palm warm, thumb stroking in small, deliberate circles. “You’re… invigorating.”
Your cheeks warmed and your hands fidgeted, curling around each other for a moment before he leaned in and brushed a kiss over the back of your hand. That simple, deliberate gesture made your heart skip. It was intimate without being overbearing. Though you doubt any of him could be over-bearing. It seemed to be going all too fast. Going from a club last-night to here, now, in his fancy car – to him kissing all over you..
After a moment, you hesitated, then let the words tumble out. “Was… last night a one-time thing?” The question felt both absurd and necessary, and your pulse sped up in response to the weight of it, and the brush of his hand still lingering against yours.
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he studied you, eyes soft but steady, his fingers playing with your hand like a quiet anchor. “No,” he said finally, and there was nothing abrupt in the word – only certainty. “You’re… unlike anyone I’ve met. There’s something in you that… revives a part of me I hadn’t realized was asleep. I want to know you. Not just last night, nor earlier today; not just in a single glance or a single touch. I want…” He paused, searching for the words without seeming like he needed them. “…I want to see what we could be. Whether that’s friendship, more… or something entirely new.” He interlocks his fingers with yours.
You blinked, startled, cheeks burning hotter, because the candor wasn’t flustered or performative - it was genuine. “I… I want to know you too,” you admitted softly, fire flickering in your chest despite the flush in your face. “Tell me about yourself,.”
His hand tightened over yours, just slightly, and then relaxed, brushing against your fingers again. “My favorite color is purple– I have two sons,” he said, searching your eyes for a flicker of anything other than interest; and shockingly he found nothing but interest. “Valarr- he’s just a little younger than you- and Matarys, who’s just turned eleven. They’re staying with my brother and his children whilst I’m here, teaching. I… wouldn’t leave them alone, not really, but I needed to be here for this semester. For a change of scenery.” He looked at the road for a moment, hand absently brushing over the rings on his fingers, then back at you. “ I have three younger brothers. Regretfully, I’m not very close with them. Only the youngest, Maekar. He’s… dependable in ways the others aren’t. He makes life a little easier.”
You blinked, absorbing the flow of information, a small smile on your lips. “It sounds like you have a nice family, Baelor, a sweet one.” He grinned; interlocking your fingers once more.
You swallowed, feeling the warmth of his hand, the softness in the brush of his thumb over your knuckles. You dared to glance up at him, heart thudding. “What do you do outside of teaching – or your other responsibilities.”
“Outside?” he murmured, tilting his head, eyes locking with yours, a flicker of humor threading through the seriousness. “I’m… still figuring that out. Perhaps I’ll find out with your company.” He squeezed your hand gently, thumb brushing along the curve of your knuckles once more, a small, intimate gesture.
You huffed, a small laugh breaking through your nerves. “You make it very hard to get to know you casually,” you said, the words sharp with teasing, but softer beneath the surface.
“And yet,” he said, voice low, a flicker of amusement still there, “You’re trying. That’s something I like about you.” He leaned back slightly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your forehead with a hand that lingered longer than necessary, thumb stroking lightly.
The car eased to a stop outside the hub for his apartment. The two of you walk together toward the elevator, the soft click of your shoes on the polished floor echoing lightly in the lobby. He doesn’t speak, but the hand he slips over the small of your back; that trails around your waist as you approach the doors is grounding, rather possessive, yet gentle. When the elevator hums to life, and shuts behind you - he moves close, brushing his lips against yours in a slow, deep kiss that leaves your knees just a fraction weaker. You breathe it in, caught somewhere between exhilaration and nerves, feeling the warmth of him pressing close, and you cling to the edge of composure, flushed from the contact, aware of how much space he claims without even speaking.
The elevator dings softly, and the doors slide open to the final floor. You step out, following him down the narrow hallway - and even though you’ve been here before, the view always steals your breath. He opened the door; revealing the large window that showed the entirety of King’s Landing stretched below, gold and gray and alive with the hum of the city. You linger for a moment, gaze fixed on the horizon, letting the quiet awe wash over you.
A shadow falls over your back, and you feel him before you see him - Baelor’s arms sliding around your waist from behind, pulling you into the familiar warmth of him. The subtle pressure of his chest against your back, the tilt of his head so that his lips brush against the corner of your neck, sends a shiver down your spine. He leaves soft, feathered kisses, trailing slowly up to your ear, murmuring in that quiet, commanding tone that seems reserved for moments like this.
“This position…” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin, he places another kiss. “brings back… deja vu.” The memory is clear, sharp - you standing in the same spot, the night prior; the same closeness, except this time you were sober. You smile, pressing back lightly into him, letting your hands rest over his forearms, feeling the familiar tension and ease in one.
You inhale sharply as he leans slightly closer, eyes glancing down at your hands still resting on his arms. “Dinner,” he says suddenly, voice low, intimate, and measured. “Would you join me tonight? Out, somewhere… just us.”
Panic flares instantly - you glance down at your black jeans and long-sleeve, mentally kicking yourself for not picking something even slightly flamboyant; you're flustered at the thought of public eyes - even if fleeting. “I-I don’t know. I’m not exactly date ready..” you start, but he cuts you off with a soft wave of his hand, amused by your hesitation.
“The restaurant,” he says, voice calm and assured, thumb tracing the line of your jaw, “will be empty - except for the waiter and front of house.” He doesn’t elaborate, but there’s a certainty in his tone that leaves no room for argument.
There’s no way this could possibly go wrong. You swallow, nerves settling slightly. Finally, with a small, reluctant nod, you give in. “I would love to join you for dinner,” you murmur, voice quieter than intended, but firm enough to carry intent. Baelor’s smile broadens at your answer, quiet triumph in his eyes. “Then it’s a date..” Before you can fully process it, he bends just enough to press a soft, lingering kiss against your lips.
The restaurant was quieter than you expected.
Not empty exactly, but close enough that the low murmur of the room barely carried past the soft music drifting from somewhere unseen. Candlelight glowed against dark wood and polished glass, the sort of place where every table seemed deliberately placed, every movement slow and deliberate.
Baelor’s hand rested lightly at the small of your back as the host guided the two of you to a table near the tall patio overlooking the city. King’s Landing stretched out below in scattered gold lights, the streets still alive despite the late hour; a festival glowing in the dark streets below.
You slid into your seat, smoothing your sleeves down automatically. Baelor noticed; his lips tweaking slightly. Yeah, to him it was humorous..
“You’re thinking about the outfit again.” He declared, as though he could read your mind. “I’m not,” you said quickly; it was a lie. He gave you a look that made you sighed. “Fine, maybe a little.”
“You look perfect.” He mused, fingers tightening around your hand; assuring you with his touch. “Baelor, I am wearing a long sleeve and jeans to dinner with a Targaryen.” You protested, you were not even wearing your good jewelry.
“You’re wearing a long sleeve and jeans to dinner with me.” He smiled; and for a moment it stunned you entirely. “That is significantly worse.” You could not help smiling back. He chuckled lightly as he sat down across from you.
Dinner came gradually. Wine first, then the quiet rhythm of plates arriving and disappearing again. The conversation moved easily in a way that surprised you both, drifting between light teasing and long pauses that felt comfortable instead of the awkward that fills most first dates.
At some point you leaned back in your chair slightly, studying him over the rim of your glass.
“This is strange.” He raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “This.” Baelor waited for you to continue. “You realize,” you said slowly, “that this time last night we hadn’t even met.”
He did not look particularly troubled by that.
“You’re aware of that, yes?” You smiled sheepishly. “I am.” He defined - it really did not bother him.
You leaned forward a little, lowering your voice though no one was close enough to hear anyway. “And now we’ve had…” you paused, clearing your throat slightly, “drunken sex, an awkward lecture, followed by office sex, and now.. dinner.”
“An efficient timeline.” He chuckled - followed by a sly smirk. You narrowed your eyes at him; “That wasn’t meant to be flattering.” You chirped; eyeing him.
“I didn’t take it that way.”
A small laugh slipped out of you despite yourself. You rested your elbows on the table, fingers loosely around your glass.
“I’m serious though,” you said quietly, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “What is this?”
Baelor didn’t answer immediately. Instead he watched you in that thoughtful, steady way of his, like he was actually considering the question rather than dismissing it - it was an admirable trait of his.
“We met yesterday,” you continued, softer now. “And somehow we spent hours this afternoon sitting on your couch talking like we’ve known each other for years.”
You remembered it clearly; arriving at his apartment – sober this time – and then sitting for hours; the two of you sitting on the couch with coffee growing cold while the conversation drifted from your studies to his sons, to your plans after graduation, to things that had nothing to do with either of you being professor and student.
“I told you things I don’t usually tell others– hells, not even my friends..” you added.
“I noticed.” he quipped; you watched him carefully; his fingers twirling a ring around his fingers. “And now we’re here.”
Baelor finally spoke– “I don’t have a precise definition for it.”
“That’s not comforting.” You frowned slightly; eyebrows knotting.
You leaned back slightly. “Do you at least acknowledge this could go horribly wrong?” Your stomach twisted with nerves; His brow lifted slightly– “You are my professor,” you continued. “Technically- Which I’m fairly sure breaks several rules.”
“Several.” Baelor drawled on, his tone dripping with lack of care.
“And if someone found out-” You tried to caution; but he cut you off.
“To the seven hells with teaching,” he said calmly; a small smile on his face as he looked at you; a look of admiration on his face.
You blinked, once. And then twice.
He folded his hands loosely on the table.
“You have treated me with more decency in the past twenty four hours than half of my colleagues have in the last five years of me teaching,” he continued. “If the university finds itself scandalized by that, I can survive their disappointment.”
“That’s easy for you to say.” If the University kicked you out; you would have nothing. You would have to move back home and sell fucking oranges.
“If it comes to it,” he said quietly, “I will return to the company.”
You frowned slightly.
“I thought you wanted to stay away from it.”
“I do.” His voice softened a fraction. “I would prefer my freedom a while longer.”
The waiter returned just then with dessert. Tiramisu.
Proper tiramisu – the faint scent of coffee hitting you as it graced your table.
One plate, and two forks. You smiled at the waiter and gave him your thanks as Baelor pushed it slightly toward you.
You raised an eyebrow as you took the first bite. It was different.
Then, without really thinking about it, you scooped a forkful and held it across the table.
“Here.”
He looked at the fork, then back up at your smiling face. He raised an eyebrow. “Are you feeding me?”
“Yes.” you grinned.
“You’ve known me less than twenty four hours.” He smirked.
“You’ve already seen me naked. Eat the tiramisu.”
He leaned forward and took the bite; you enjoyed watching him, especially when he knew you liked to watch him. Drawing it out by licking the cream off his lip whilst making eye contact. Curse him, you swore.
The moment lingered just long enough to feel almost strangely domestic; You took another bite, then held one up again.
“Open.” You teased; fork steady in your hand.
He shook his head with a smile; but accepted it anyway.
That was the exact moment the first camera flash exploded through the window.
Bright, sudden, blinding.
You froze mid-laugh – Another flash followed instantly.
Baelor turned toward the glass; a scowl on his face.
Outside on the pavement two photographers had appeared with cameras already raised.
Another flash lit the room.
And there you were – feeding baelor fucking targaryen.
Exactly the sort of photograph tabloids lived for.
“Mr. Targaryen!”
“Who is she?”
“Is this your new girlfriend?”
More flashes burst against the glass.
Baelor stood immediately; shaking the table - the wine falling over at the sudden movement.
“Damn it.”
You glared at the window.
“Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.”
He moved around the table quickly, taking your hand.
“We’re leaving.”
“But I didn’t finish the tiramisu.”
“We are leaving.”
The staff were already moving to guide you toward a side exit as the cameras outside continued firing.
By the time you reached the waiting car the driver had the door open; Baelor ushered you inside before sliding in beside you. The car pulled away almost immediately – For a few seconds neither of you spoke; the driver cautiously pressed a button - the privacy window separating him from the tension of you two.
Baelor ran a hand through his hair, frustration clear across his face – you felt bad for him.
“I am so sorry.” You looked at him. “Those photos-”
“Baelor.”
He stopped.
You sighed and leaned your head back against the seat.
“I do not care that they caught us together. I promise. I care that they caught me in a long sleeve and jeans.”
He blinked.
“No necklace. None of my good rings. Not even my best earrings.”
There was a long pause; you hoped he’d laugh. Then he did; Baelor laughed - a hearty one that made your damn heart clench at the sound.
“You’re upset about the outfit.”
“Obviously, people are gonna think you’re dating a tramp..”
“You are no tramp, however they may print those everywhere.”
“And now they’ll think this is how I dress all the time.” You groaned; rubbing your hand across your face.
He leaned back slightly in his seat, one arm resting along the door, his other hand loosely folded in his lap, though his attention remained entirely on you.
You, on the other hand, had become distracted.
Your hand played with his rings - with his sleeve, rubbed his arm; practically groped his unseemly large biceps; Baelor was entirely aware; he glanced down at your hand briefly, then back at your face, and tried very hard not to smile. The effort failed after a moment.
“You’re very affectionate tonight,” he said quietly. “I was last night too, and If I remember correctly – as were you..” You smile swiftly.
A second later you leaned in, pressing a quick, almost careless kiss against the corner of his jaw.
Baelor exhaled softly through his nose and turned his head slightly toward you, studying your expression as though trying to determine what exactly had come over you tonight.
You seemed perfectly content. By the time the car slowed outside the apartment building your grip had tightened just enough that when Baelor shifted forward to open the door you were pulled with him slightly.
He glanced down again.
“You’re aware you’ve attached yourself to me, darling.” Your head spun at the usage of a domestic petname. Gods. Any other man could not have gotten you like this within twenty-four hours of meeting him. It was almost dangerous.
You looked at your hand as though noticing it for the first time; then you shrugged.
“I don’t see the problem, do you?.”
He chuckled, shaking his head.The driver had already stepped out to open the door.
Cool night air drifted into the car as Baelor stepped onto the pavement first, then turned and offered you his hand. You accepted it without hesitation, letting him guide you out after him.
The moment your feet touched the ground his other hand settled automatically at your waist,
You crossed the pavement holding his hand, close enough that your shoulder brushed against his with each step. The building’s entrance was quiet at this hour, the lobby nearly empty except for the distant hum of lights and the quiet ticking of the front desk clock.
The elevator arrived with a soft chime. Inside the enclosed space the quiet deepened further.
Neither of you spoke.
You simply stood beside him, one hand still gripping his bicep whilst the elevator began its slow ascent. Baelor watched the numbers above the door change one by one, though he could feel the warmth of your shoulder against his arm and the heat of your hand through his clothes.
If he wanted you to move he did nothing to show it; If anything, he shifted slightly closer.
The elevator stopped with another soft sound – the hallway outside was dim and empty.
Baelor unlocked the apartment door, pushing it open with one hand while the other remained at your back as he guided you inside.
The moment the door shut behind you something switched within you. Baelor had barely turned the lock before your hand pulled lightly on his jacket, drawing him toward you.
His hands moved to your waist almost immediately, pulling you the rest of the way in as your mouths met halfway between you.
The kiss landed with none of the hesitation that had existed the night before. It was familiar now, warm and eager, your fingers sliding under his shirt; placing them on his waist as he kissed you back. But you didn't stop there - a hand dipped lower, boldly massaging the growing bulge of his cock through his pants, squeezing firmly as you pressed your body against his.
Baelor groaned softly into your mouth, his own touch turning more insistent. One hand slid down from your waist, gripping your ass and pulling you tighter against him, kneading the flesh there with a respectful firmness that made your pulse race.
He walked you backward without quite meaning to; step by step.
Your hands moved from his jacket to the back of his neck, holding him there as the kiss deepened, your palm moving up to grab his shirt - or his bicep; it needn’t matter aslong as you had your hands on him somehow.
You were laughing softly against his mouth when the back of your foot caught the edge of the living room rug. You nearly lost your balance anyway, catching yourself by grabbing his shoulders.
“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. The laugh that escaped you then was quieter, breathless. Baelor kissed you again before you could say anything else – slower this time.
His hands tightening slightly at your waist as the two of you drifted further into the living room, the city lights spilling faintly through the windows behind you. Then, with a gentle but deliberate motion, he slipped one hand up under the hem of your shirt, his fingers tracing up your side and under your bra until they found your breast. He cupped it softly at first, thumb brushing over your nipple before pinching it lightly, tweaking with just enough pressure to send a spark through you.
A surprised gasp escaped your lips, muffled against his as your body arched into his touch; That sound seemed to urge him on - his tongue slipped past your lips, exploring your mouth with a deeper, more insistent rhythm, tasting and teasing as the kiss grew hungrier.
Another kiss followed.
And another.
The apartment had grown very quiet. The door to the rest of the night closed quietly behind you. comment if you want to be added to the taglist, also request box is open!
