one would need to be deaf to have slept through the ruckus made by lady tully in the mornings, be it within their modest keep or their assigned rooms in riverrun, and he was not so foolish as to believe that her tendency to rise with the sun would fade with the change in scenery ─ even so, to the travel - weary soreness of his limbs, she was being quite rude indeed to rouse him from a well - deserved slumber with her fussing at the foot of their shared bed. an eye cracked open at a particularly loud noise, worried that he had somehow irritated her with his persistent refusal to shake off the drowsy remnants of half - wakefulness but there was no tension in her limbs as she moved with purpose, arms laden with clothing and maps alike. imitating a rather smug and predatory feline, he stretches across the mattress with the languid laziness of a second son with nothing better to do with his days, watching through a half - shut eye as his wife pattered around their room in various states of undress until she is forced to approach the bed, both to shake him awake and to demand his assistance in her dressing, undoubtedly.
the paper is coarse across the bare expanse of his chest, folded corners poking into skin lightly and he huffs out a breath of false annoyance as the mattress dips in one corner with her additional weight. naturally ( and rather quickly ), an arm winds itself around her waist, pulling her closer to his torso with little mind for the large map, now carelessly crushed between them. ❝ mhm … no. ❞ he could pretend that he had reached out for her in concern, not wanting her to entangle herself in the length of his sprawled limbs and fall over on the mattress but benjicot cannot be bothered to feign remorse for his actions, deliberately trapping her further by throwing a leg over her own. ❝ and they wonder why we do not need a maid to wake us up … how can such a small person make so much noise in the morning, hmm ? ❞
with myranda in his arms, warm and snug and squirming delightfully, he sees very little reason to actually rise even if he is more awake now than he had been a few minutes prior, verdant hues brightening in the morning glow as he noses his way through her hair to her cheek and the side of her neck. ❝ stay in bed, sweetheart. your adventuring can wait till later. ❞
it is by little that she does not burst in a stream of giggles at the very much expected position he cages her in, but even if it bubbles in her chest, myranda knows better than to feed his lethargic endeavors ( at least not at first ) so, with a vile experience, she places a hand upon his sternum, ignoring the sweaty hairs and calm heartbeat under her palm as she seeks to add breathing distance between them. "you're going to rip out my parchments, you big piece of —" myranda cuts herself off with a hitch of her breath in the struggle to reach over and push the map out of the way and out of the bed, its soft rustling noise of heavy paper spilling over the floor.
amusement is masked with a soft groan as she falls back on the oddly comfortable bed, and she can not help but to grumble a "how can you sleep so much?" it was a waste of time, after all, but to utter this when his nose is trailing at a dangerously sensitive spot in her skin is a much hard task, and she has to struggle with stifling a moan instead. the pressure of her hand on his chest grows to a less than gentle rate, pushing so his own back is upon the mattress, and she can nudge his leg, in a way she is the one straddling him, hand still pushing him down ( she does fool herself he can not switch them over to the original position with but a sudden movement, but myranda also blames it on him for indulging her into being so spoiled as the commander in the bedroom and in their relationship ).
"don't tell me you're enjoying these targaryen sheets that much." a brow raises, well matching to the tease in her voice. "that's a disgrace to the cause, longbow."
