my doomed targaryen dark haired princes. they both deserved to be kings and would’ve easily made the best kings their house had ever produced. GRRM when i catch you!!!!
✧ summary. After weeks of pent up frustration, your sister-in-law Dyanna suggests you and your husband, Baelor, have a brief escapade, and what better place to blow some steam off than in Dorne?
✧ word count. 6.5k
✧ warnings. MDNI/NSFW established relationship. no use of yn. reader is described as non dornish, but aside from that no other physical description. for the sake of the fic maekar and dyanna live in king’s landing. probably slightly weird timeline and maybe not-canon asoiaf? reader is described as having female genitalia. oral f receiving. piv.
✧ author note. in a nutshell everyone is trying to get them to fuck except baelor is cockblocking himself for some unknown reason lol 🤕 the end is kind of rushed i’m so sorry i was just really wanting to wrap it up but breakspear in dorne you will always be special to me.
Truth be told, the entirety of your and Baelor's trip to Dorne had been Dyanna's idea.
The gardens of the Red Keep were in full bloom. The smell of fresh flowers and pastries wafted through the air. The lemon cakes were arranged on a plate in front of you as a servant brought out the scorching hot tea.
Shrieks of children's laughter rang in the air. Daella and Rhae were playing in the open sun, close enough so their mother could keep an eye on them.
Dyanna sat across from you, her youngest son, Aegon, cradled in her lap. She rocked the babe gently, as he cooed up at her. His little finger twisted and clung to the sleeve of her dress.
This had become your little routine. You and Dyanna would sit in the gardens, at least once a week. You discussed your difficulties, household duties, and court gossip while sipping tea. You exchanged advice and listened to each other. In a sense, you had become each other's rock.
In a court full of snakes and vipers, wandering eyes and listening ears, it was a comfort to have someone like her. Someone real. Someone you could speak to without having to measure every single word before it leaves your tongue.
Over the course of time, you and your sister-in-law built a familiar and honest relationship. It was a great comfort to know you could always rely on her.
A servant poured you a cup of herbal tea as you straightened your back. "Thank you." You replied curtly. The servant nodded and quickly scurried off.
Dyanna cleared her throat, adjusting Aegon in her hold. "Would you like to hold him?" She offered. The babe was drooling and shoving his fingers into his mouth.
"No." Your reply came out sharper than you had intended. It was not the child's behavior that repulsed you — you had gone through your fair share of drool and spit and other bodily fluids while raising Valarr and Matarys. It was something else that unsettled you—a turmoil furrowing deep in the pit of your stomach.
Dyanna seemed taken aback by your response. She knew how much you loved to play with her children, especially Aegon, since he was still a small babe, only a few moons old. Alas, she did not push the matter.
She eyed you carefully, noting the tension in your spine and the rigidness of your posture. Your brows were slightly pinched, and you were mindlessly fiddling with the rings on your fingers.
"What is the matter?" She questioned gently. "It is unlike you to be in such a state."
You sighed, leaning back against the plush pillows. You bit your lip before answering her. "It is Valarr's nameday celebration," you started. "There is so much to organize and prepare, I do not even know where to begin…" Your mind ached at the thought.
Dyanna cocked her head to the side; her motherly instincts kicked in, telling her this was not the whole truth. "And?" She pressed on, fairly certain a feast was not the main cause of your agitation.
Your cheeks flushed red, debating if you should tell her.
"Dear, I cannot help or advise you if I do not know what it is that troubles you." She looked at you expectantly.
You let out a breath, and concluded there was no reason to hide such things from her. She had been there when you gave birth to Matarys for the sake of the Seven; she had seen you in much worse states.
"I just…" Your words were failing you. "Baelor and I barely have time to see each other anymore. I mean, do not misunderstand, we still pass each other and share a bed, but…" Dyanna hummed at your words, a knowing smile spreading on her lips.
"He is so overwhelmed with duties and grain taxes and managing the Realm, which I understand…" You felt guilty for saying such things, but…
"But sometimes you wish he were your husband and not only the Hand of the king." Dyanna finished for you.
"Yes…" You breathed, an invisible weight lifting from your shoulders.
She moved the babe to her chest and swayed him, as he was becoming fussy. "I know. Familiar conditions have befallen me before." She revealed with a curious glint in her eye.
"Have they?" Your voice was more skeptical than it should have been. Maekar was a prince of the Realm, yes — he had many duties even if he was not the heir apparent and Hand. But then again him and Dyanna had six children. And having lived in Summerhall for almost ten years, before returning to King's Landing, meant they had more freedom and luxury than you and Baelor could likely ever afford.
"Yes." She laughed at your disbelieving expression. "Believe it or not, even my lord husband sometimes forgets he has a wife to tend to…" She admitted.
"Hard to believe." The words slipped from you. Nonetheless, there was truth to them — six babes did not simply come from a husband neglecting his wife.
"Oh, hush." She waved a hand at you, suppressing a smile. "You know what I mean." She reasoned.
You hummed in response, a playful smirk on your lips.
"What I am trying to say is you should… speak to him or better yet…" she shrugged. "Try to show him." She suggested in a hushed tone.
You huffed a little laugh. "I have tried… believe me, I have." You complained, brows squinting at the thought.
"And?" Dyanna leaned forward expectantly.
You recalled your exchange with Baelor vividly, from a few nights ago. You had purposely put on his favorite night gown, expecting him to falter, expecting him to finally pay some attention to you. But still, he would not drag his eyes away from that stupid report from the Vale.
You had whined like a child and begged him to leave the rest of it for the morrow and return to bed with you. He gave you an infuriatingly apologetic smile and kissed the top of your head, promising he would make it up to you.
It had been days, and still nothing.
At times, you wondered what invisible force willed your husband to be so dutiful and devoted to the Crown. He was certainly above average in that respect. But then again, he was the future King; he carried a duty only a few men ever come to know.
Most of the time, you admired him for it, but on occasions such as these, you despised it more than anything.
"Nothing." You did not try to mask the disappointment in your voice.
"Oh…" Dyanna bit her lip, unsure how to respond. "Well, I suppose Baelor has always been more… strong-willed than Maekar." She reasoned.
"You do not have to introduce me to my own husband ." You countered, bringing a lemon cake up to your lips and biting into it.
"You know what I think?" She suddenly perked up.
"What?" You asked, covering your full mouth with a hand.
"I think you and Baelor ought to take a break." She announced.
Your eyes immediately squinted at the suggestion. "But Valarr's nameday…" You began to protest, swallowing the bite of sweet cake.
"After." She cut in, not accepting the excuses.
"I am certain a trip to Summerhall or Dorne would do both of you well." She proclaimed, clearly very pleased with her solution.
"Dorne?" You wondered aloud. You had never been to your husband's motherland. Alas, he had spoken of it fondly to you many times, and you had heard various stories of the beauties and wonders of the South.
Dyanna nodded. "Yes, you have never been, correct?" Dyanna herself was from Starfall, of course. She was Dornish through and through.
You shook your head.
"Well, you ought to go. You will see, it is a… completely different land. Different people and different ways of life." She spoke fondly of her homeland, and you suddenly wondered if she missed it often. The Crownlands must be so very different.
"I am sure you will like it." Her tone was sincere."And let me tell you one more thing, the warmer days are always better for letting loose." She explained.
Aegon stirred in her hold, babbling and kicking his feet. "Oh, hush you." She chided softly.
"Now, not to say that Summerhall is exactly warm, but it is a great place for, when the storms roll in—" A mischievous smile tugged at her lips.
You had a feeling this was going somewhere incredibly personal, which you did not want to know about. Such an explicit matter would only concern Maekar and his lady wife.
"Alright." You cut in. "I take your meaning." You assured her.
She laughed at your flustered reaction. "All I'm saying is… none of our children were conceived in this suffocating red fortress…" Her voice lingered.
You gave her a look. "Fine. I will ask him." You relented, and Dyanna gave you a triumphant smirk.
"Mark my words. Upon your return, you will be thanking me." She seemed dangerously sure of herself, and your stomach flipped at the thought.
---
A few weeks later a warm welcome greeted you after your long journey from King's Landing to Sunspear.
The seat of House Martell was decorated with the most beautiful exotic flowers. The court had been carefully prepared to host your royal arrival. The visit, this time strictly one of comfort and not duty, had been anticipated for weeks by the Dornish nobles.
Everything in the South was different, from the very air to the landscape and the people who inhabited it. The breeze carried the smell of unfamiliar spices and vegetation. Trees bloomed with nectarines and fruits you had never seen before, and the wines tasted sweeter than it did in King's Landing.
Sunspear was filled with colorful markets and people who moved through it with a leisure that the smallfolk of King's Landing did not possess. They did not hurry; they did not rush; not to say that they lacked passion — it was merely that they did everything in their life with a certain rhythm.
Perhaps the most unbearable thing in the entire place was the scorching hot sun, which you still couldn't come to terms with. Alas, you decided not to let it irk you too much.
Your first few days in Sunspear were spent exploring Spear Tower with Baelor and being shown around the vast castle. It felt more like a labyrinth than a holdfast.
The gardens were beautiful in an other-worldly sense, incomparable to the ones in the Red Keep. The ones here in Dorne were much larger, filled with lush greenery and hidden hot springs. At every corner, there was a tray with various fruits. There were oranges, figs, lemons, nectarines, and almost always a bowl of glistening honey carefully placed beside them.
That is how, on the fourth day of your journey, you found yourself sitting in the Water Gardens with your husband's lady aunt and the princess of Dorne, Daenerys Targaryen.
The Gardens were located on a beach next to the Summer Sea; Maron Martell had built them for his bride, and they remained a symbol of the union of Dorne with the rest of the Seven Kingdoms.
Pale pink marble paved the gardens and courtyard, and you were seated on one of the terraces overlooking the numerous pools and fountains. Blood orange trees offered a comforting shade as you observed the naked children playing and swimming in the waters. Their laughter and shrieks easily carrying on the afternoon air.
"How fare your days in Dorne, princess?" Daenerys' gentle violet gaze found yours. "I trust the spirit of Sunspear is to your liking." She offered a gentle smile.
Her snow-white locks cascaded down her back, the full embodiment of her Valyrian ancestry. She was clad in a light purple dress, and the silver bangles on her arms jangled as she moved about.
"I know it is very different from King's Landing…" Her tone was quieter now. "I must admit, it also took me a while to get used to it."
You eyed her carefully; it must have been very hard for her. To be wed off in such a different land, a different culture, so far away from home. From everything she had ever known.
"But I have learnt to love it." Her voice was sincere. "It has become a part of my soul, and when you have children…" The corners of her lips turned up in a soft smile at the thought of her babes.
"Yes, I understand, everything is very different then." You nodded, thinking of your own boys back in King's Landing. "I know, it is a great luck to be married to an honorable man."
"Indeed." She hummed.
She was very beautiful you noted. And sitting like this in front of you she did not look one bit out of place in the Dornish scenery. It was hard to imagine she was king Daeron's sister; fore they did not resemble one another much, except for their shared Valyrian features.
"Oh Gods, I almost forgot." Her voice perked up, suddenly remembering something. "I have a gift for you."
Your eyes widened at her words but you quickly masked it with a polite cough. "That is very thoughtful of you princess." You bowed your head slightly, offering her a smile. You had come to sincerely enjoy her company in the last few days.
Daenerys instructed a servant to bring out the present, and the man immedieately obeyed, scurrying off to find the item in question.
Curiosity suddenly bloomed in your chest. What could it be? Perhaps a porcelain tea set or a specially binded Dornish book? Whatever it was, you were certain it would be to your liking.
"Ah, here it is." One of the servants placed the unopened box on the table between you. It was decorated with sun emblems and a silken bow was tied to it.
"Open it." Daenerys urged eagerly.
You leaned forward, taking the offering into your arms, and carefully untied the bow decorating it.
As you removed the lid — your eyes fell upon a gorgeous piece of, what you could only assume was Myrish silk. It was the color of sunset and it glimmered under your gaze. You moved to touch the material with your fingers and the softness of it took you by surprise.
"It is beautiful…" your voice was stunned as you carefully appreciated the cloth.
"Take it out. The entirety of it." Daenerys leaned forward, eyeing your reaction.
You followed her order and removed the piece of garment from the box. Your eyes widened when it fell to its full length; you realized just how sheer and see-through the material truly was.
Looking at it now, in the clear sunlight, it resembled less a dress and more something a whore from the Street of Silk might wear. You felt a heat creep up your cheeks.
Daenerys gauged your reaction. "You don't like it." She stated, observing your startled gaze.
"No! No! It's beautiful… it is a very generous thought." You immediately countered, afraid not to turn out offensive. Alas, you could not hide your flustered expression.
Daenerys coked her head to the side, clearly amused by your reply.
"I understand it is not something one would traditionally wear in the Crownlands." That was to say the least — you thought. It looked like something straight out of a brothel.
One thing you had particularly taken note of, in the past few days, was the open manner in which people here dressed. Of course the warm climate called for much lighter and breathable clothing. Yet observing how see through and skin showing their garments were, both for men and women, it never ceased to startle you.
Another thing the Dornish were very different in you thought; and much less strict about.
"It is a nightgown." She explained, testing the material between her own fingers. "It is incredibly breathable and good to sleep in."
"Oh..." Well this made much more sense — to wear such a garment publicly would be utterly scandalous.
She chuckled at your expression. Clearly you were not used to the Dornish being so straighforward.
"Forgive me for saying this…" she began, a glint of mischief in her purple irises. "But I am sure if you do not come to appreciate it, prince Baelor certainly will."
You felt the heat spread from your face to your entire body at her words, the afternoon sun doing nothing to aid you. In the last fifteen minutes you had managed to transform from the composed crown princess into a flustered teenage girl. How wonderful.
You took a deep breath, cleared your throat, and attempted to compose yourself. "I… sincerely thank you for this sentiment, princess." The grace finally returned to your tone. "I am certain your present will be highly appreciated…"
She grinned at your words. "Oh, certainly. Of that I have absolutely no doubt."
---
The candles cast a dim light in yours and Baelor's temporary quarters. The shadows cascaded down the walls, creating a serene glow in the room. One of the curtains had been left open, letting a fresh sea breeze into the dhqmber. It filled the space with an unfamiliar salty smell.
Your things were strewn about the place. The servants had not yet come to organize them.
The room was as grand as your own bedchamber back in King's Landing, with high ceilings and wide corners. Prince Martell had made sure his guests got only the finest treatment. You were the future rulers of the Seven Kingdoms after all.
You were just returning from supper with the Dornish prince and his wife, feeling content and full. Alas, you looked forward to finally spending alone time with your husband.
Baelor entered the chamber behind you, the guards shutting the doors closed with a soft click. You were left encapsulated in your own little world.
"The princess and his wife are very pleasant company." You stated, walking over to the vanity, which stood on the opposite side of the chamber. You were keen on finally undoing the braids in your hair; as the strands had begun to pull at your scalp.
"Indeed." Baelor hummed, entering the room after you.
He was clad in a gorgeous gold-white robe; intricate twists and coils of gold decorated the pattern of it. There was a tiny sunspear under the column of his neck, holding his undershirt together.
Like this, clad in the colors of his mother's house, he looked nothing like a Targaryen prince. He looked Dornish thoroughly from head to toe. One might have mistaken him for the Prince of Sunspear, were it not for the three-headed dragon emblem stitched into the belt of his garment.
The material flowed naturally and freely behind him, creating a strangely free-spirited feel to his otherwise composed and controlled movement. He, for the first time, you concluded, resembled more a Martell than a Targaryen.
And you found that you liked him very much in this state; you could sense the dread and worry of appearing too Dornish, leave him while inhabiting the South. Here, he did not have to hide the love and pride he harbored for his heritage.Here, he did not have to worry about the whispers behind his back. Those doubting his claim to the iron throne. Here, he could be free from all the prejudices of the Crownlanders.
And you couldn't help but admit, you loved how the silver-gold colors suited him. It was a sharp contrast to his usual crimson and black attire. You loved how the warm shades brought out the little white streaks in his beard. It filled your belly with a familiar warmth.
"They are most gracious hosts." He added, falling into the chair that was set in front of a large wooden desk. The woodtop was scattered with scrolls, papers, and quills. The ink sat in a little bottle beside all of it.
Even now, Baelor couldn't bring himself to abandon his duties of being the Hand, as he had insisted on bringing along his workload. He promised you it wouldn't occupy too much of his time, since this was meant to be your shared break. But clearly, he had forgotten his promise.
You pulled at the strands of your hair, undoing the work of the Dornish handmaidens. You carefully eyed your husband through the mirror in front of you.
Baelor took a parchment into his hand and the quill in his other.
You tugged the last piece of hair with a little bit more force than necessary and let your hair fall from its neat, styled look into a more comfortable and free manner.
You returned your gaze to your husband, who still seemed not to be paying you the least bit of attention. An ugly, irritating beast curled its way into your chest, and your nostrils flared in discontent.
What must you do to get this man to pay attention to you?
"Baelor dear," you called for him. "Don't you think it is too late for you to be going over those scrolls now?" You didn't want to call him outright, but your patience was wearing thin.
"Just a few moments, my heart." He did not even bother to move his gaze from the parchment. Which infuriated you even more. "I must finish this, and then I promise I will join you." His voice was so annoyingly calm.
There you were, seething with pent-up frustration, waiting for him, and all he could do was read stupid Realm reports.
"Fine." Your words came out sharper than you had intended. Alas, Baelor was not moved by the anger in your tone.
You decided you were going to play your game. With your rules. If that's what it took for your husband to pay attention to you.
You shuffled through the chamber, moving towards the space divider you used for changing. Baelor remained seated in his place, muttering something under his breath.
Your silhouette disappeared behind the tall screen, and you quickly worked to undo the simple laces of your dress. Thank the Gods, it was an easy garment. Otherwise, you could have never gotten out of it without the help of handmaidens.
Once they came undone, you let it pool at your feet.
In front of you, sitting on a hanger, stood Princess Daenerys' gift. The pale silken material was calling to you, both a promise and a risk. You moved to take it off the hoist and cover yourself with it.
As you took it over your head, the material felt impossibly gentle and soft against your skin. The expensive fabric clung to your curves. It was almost like a lover's caress, stroking your skin, and not a piece of clothing lying against it.
You silently thanked the princess for such a thoughtful gift. It will be highly appreciated. Your own words rang in your ears. Oh certainly. Of that I have absolutely no doubt. Her reply had carried a mix of mischief and intrigue.
You looked down at your frame through the fabric and noted how your entire chest was visible. Gods, this really did not cover anything.
You took a sharp inhale of breath before daring to step out from the changing place.
Baelor was still lost in his texts, and he did not move his gaze to notice you had changed.
You cleared your throat, hoping to gain his attention. You leaned a hand against the column of the bedframe, steadying yourself against the wood.
You felt your heartbeat slowly pick up.
Baelor sighed. "What is it, wife? I told you—" He began, but he was cut short when his eyes landed on your frame standing beside the bed. His mouth parted, as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out. His eyes drank in your form, which by all accounts was on full display. Not covered one bit by the dress.
You took a nervous gulp, doubting yourself for a fraction of a moment. Had this been a bad idea? Would he be cross with you?
"What is this?" He quickly regained his composure, snapping out of the brief trance. He slowly rose from the chair, finally discarding those stupid papers and scrolls behind him.
You straightened your spine as he approached you, a surge of confidence ccoursed through you.
He tilted his head, standing fully in front of you now. His mismatched gaze shamelessly wandered over your body, and you swore you could see his pupils widen.
"It is a gift," your voice came out breathlessly. "From the princess Daenerys."
Baelor huffed in response. Eyes still raking over the sheer material, how it hugged the curve of your body. How it brought out all your most beautiful features. How it accentuated all those little details he loved about you so much.
He knew your body like the back of his own hand. He could trace it blind, and he would still know all the spots that made you moan and sigh and squirm in his hold.
"A gift," he parroted, moving to touch the nightgown with his fingers. You flinched as his large palm traced the curve of your waist. "You call this piece of…cloth, a nightgown?" There was a hint of amusement in his tone.
You chewed on your bottom lip, pausing before offering a reply. But he cut you off before you could get a word out.
"You look like a whore from the Streets of Silk." His eyes darkened and his words caught you off guard.
You stiffened under his gaze, both ashamed and exhilirated by the remark.
"What would they say, hm?" His large hands encaged your frame and pulled you flush against his body. His metal rings felt cool against your skin.
"If they saw you like this." He tutted, as if berating a child. "The future queen of the Seven Kingdoms dressed like a broodmare."
Something had overcome your Baelor; your sweet, kind, gentle Baelor. Who had always treated you with such care and tenderness, handling you as if you were made of the finest porcelain. Both outside and inside the bedchamber. And now, you could barely register the words leaving his lips.
"All for me…" he croaked at last.
You felt your blood race impossibly warm in your veins, and you could not hold yourself back any longer. You crashed your lips against his own, catching him by surprise, and you felt him groan into your mouth as you caged his face between your hands.
You felt your hardened nipples rub against the white material on his chest as he pulled you closer to himself, not leaving an inch of space between the two of you.
His hands explored your body over the lace, twisting and gripping the fabric.
"Baelor," you let out as he maneuvered you and pushed you towards the bed. You fell onto the crisp sheets with a soft thud. He immediately leaned down toward you, caging your body with his own.
His hands were on either side of you. He resumed his ministrations, fingers tracing and kissing your body. Worshipping every inch of you.
He was gripping the front of your gown when all of a sudden — the sound of cloth ripping broke the air.
You felt it before you saw it.
"Baelor!" You shrieked as you looked down at the ruined front of your dress. It was torn in two, the delicate material ripped at the seams. "What have you—"
He cut your protests off by tugging the entire thing off your body, leaving you in nothing. Completely bare and naked under his hungry gaze.
"I will buy you a thousand more nightgowns, and I will tear every single one of them if I must. If that means I get to have you." He silenced your objections, and you quickly closed your parted mouth.
You let out an impatient huff at his words as your hips buckled to meet the growing bugle under his robes.
"Impatient are we?" He teased. "Have I been neglecting you, sweet girl?"
You shied away from his gaze, feeling the heat creep back to your cheeks.
"Look at me." He commanded. "Hm is that it? Has your husband not been paying enough attention to you?" He clicked his tongue softly, as if scolding you.
"All you had to do was say so. The next time my sweet wife feels unattended, you will come to me. You will open your mouth, and you will use your words."
He was pressing soft kisses to the place just above your chest. "No, instead you dress like a whore and beg for my attention." There was no true malice behind his words, but you still felt the arousal pool in your lower half.
"Baelor—" you attempted to sit back on your elbows, but he pushed you down.
"Hush, let me take care of you." He whispered against the skin of your neck, his fingers finding your breasts and caressing them softly. Pinching and twirling your nipples in his hold.
You sighed at the sensation and felt shivers of pleasure run straight to your core.
He resumed placing kisses and pecks all over your body, his beard scratching the soft skin. He worked all the way from the column of your neck, to the valley of your breast, to your bellybutton and all the way down to your thighs.
When he finally leaned between your legs, he resumed pressing soft kisses to the insides of your thighs. The scratch of his beard a familiar and welcome sensation.
Your hands clutched at the cold sheets beneath you, attempting to brace yourself somehow.
He kept placing teasing pecks dangerously close to where you needed him the most. His teeth softly nipping and biting the skin of your thighs as he smelled the glistening arousal seeping out of your hole.
"Please…" you whined, strained and desperate for him to finally press his lips against where you needed it the most. For him to finally do something with you.
He chuckled from his place between your legs, and you felt the vibrations through your own body.
"Alright, sweet wife, I will not keep torturing you any longer." And with that, before you could get a single word out, he dove between your legs like a man starved. You let out a violent moan as his tongue plunged into your core.
Your back curved and arched off the bed as you felt one of his fingers come to rub soothing circles into your clit.
"Gods Baelor!" You moaned, fisting the sheets beneath as your legs trembled.
He placed his other hand over your hips, keeping you locked in place.
His tongue explored your insides, and you felt his nose rub against your clit. You were mewling and melting from that sensation alone.
"Please…" Your words came out strained.
You were begging for what? You weren't sure, for something, for anything, for him to do something more.
"Don't stop." You finally turned your gaze to where he was placed beneath you, and a groan almost ripped from you.
He was lapping up every single drop of juice that fell out of your sweet cunt. Swallowing and savouring it as if it were the sweetest nectarine.
You felt the familiar tight coil beginning to strain in your belly.
Baelor could sense it too. The way you started to writhe and how your breaths became shorter, your moans whinier. His tongue found that delicious spongy spot inside of you, fingers still rubbing circles into your clit, and you almost screamed at the overstimulation.
You felt tears of pleasure well in your eyes. "Baelor!" You could not hold your release — the pleasure took over you entirely, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. You swore you could see stars as the white-hot relief flooded you. Your toes curled at the sensation, and a few tears escaped your eyes.
Through all of it, Baelor did not pause for a single moment. He merely adjusted his pace.
He kept his nose pressed against your cunt, lapping up everything and not wasting a single drop of your release. He guided you through the entirety of your climax.
And still he would not stop — you could not tell how long he spent between your thighs. Pleasing you and making you forget everything apart from his name on your lips and the feel of his mouth against your mound.
By the time he was done with you, your skin was slick with sweat and your brain mushed from pleasure.
He raised his head from between your cunt, his face glistening in the dim light, covered in your arousal. His eyes were gleaming with lust as he panted.
Somewhere along the way, between your second and third climax, he had come up to kiss you. You had torn at his robes, and that was how he was left bare-chested.
His upper body on full display as he dove down once more, to seal your lips with his own. Your legs instinctively locked around his hips, his breath mingling with your own as you tasted yourself on his tongue.
He quickly worked to remove his breeches, discarding them somewhere beside the bed. Presumably, in the pile with your destroyed nightgown and his white robes.
Now; the both of you were fully naked, fully bare as the day you were born.
Baelor gazed down at you sprawled beneath him. The pleasure coursing through his veins fogged all else; the sole thing he could focus on was your breathing, the lines of your face, the halo of messy hair, the sheen of sweat on your brow, the way you trembled from pleasure.
Pleasure which he had bestowed upon you. He suppressed a groan at the thought. He lived to please you, and he would set his own needs aside any day if it meant he got to see you like this.
"Gevie." He rasped, the ancient words seeping like honey from his tongue.
Your cunt clenched around nothing; the term of endearment filling both your heart and insatiable body.
Baelor moved to line himself with your entrance, but you caught his arm.
"No." You firmly replied.
"No?" A flicker of confusion in his eyes, perhaps even fear. But before he could question it, you moved your entire body, flipping the two of you and switching positions.
Truth be told, you had no idea where the strength had come from, but nonetheless, you were positioned above him.
He began to protest, but you placed a finger on his lips, silencing him. You shook your head softly. "No, Baelor. Tonight you are the one who lets loose."
He was clearly not exhilarated by the idea. "Wife—"
But before he could get you to switch your mind, in one swift motion you began to sink onto his rigid length. You both moaned in unison, his hands found your hips, steadying himself. You clawed at his chest, feeling as if you were on your wedding night once more, being split open on his cock. The stretch was painfully delicious.
Your cunt squeezing him as if you never wanted to let go. When he was finally sheathed inside you, his manhood pressed against your cervix, filling you to the brim, you thought you could feel him in your very throat. Your head dizzied from the pleasure.
Baelor tentatively leaned back against the pillows, digits leaving indents from how hard he was gripping the flesh of your hips. Containing himself; willing himself to not just flip the two of you around and have his way with you.
Before he could entertain such a thought you carefully moved up his length before sinking down once more, mouth parting in a barely contained moan. You quickly found a steady rhythm as his hands helped guide you.
"Gods, how long has it been?" He wondered through a shaky breath.
You both felt it, the familiar stretch you had grown so accustomed to in the many years of marriage. You laced your fingers through his own, guiding them away from your hips and settling them somewhere beside you as you found your balance.
"Too long," you huffed, and he managed a tiny smile at that, silently agreeing with you.
With Baelor, everything was passionate; he did everything with careful intent and precision. So to be the one sprawled beneath you this time, barely doing anything, both irked him and brought him a strange sense of gratification.
And that is how you spent your entire evening: exploring each other's bodies in the way that you had come to love so much.
He rubbed gentle but firm circles into your clit before you came crying on his cock; he could only last two rounds before taking over the situation. He took you in each and every position one could think of, worshipping your body as if it were the holiest shrine. And to him it was; his sole temple; his damnation and his salvation.
By the end of the night, you were utterly spent; his milky release dripping from your ruined cunt. It was too warm to think of draping even the thinnest sheet over your naked, glistening bodies.
Instead, you placed yourself on his chest, laying your head against his ribcage, where his heart beat steadily. You sighed in contentment, mewling like a tired, well-fed cat.
"I hope we didn't disturb the castle too much…" you joked, alas, there was a hint of embarrassment to your words. You pressed a small kiss to the corner of Baelor's lips.
Your limbs were still tangled as he softly caressed your bare back. "Well… I would be slightly worried if we weren't in Dorne." He let out with a small chuckle.
You giggled at his words. "Am I hearing this correctly? Is Prince Baelor admitting to enjoying the freedom of the South?" You teased him.
He shook his head playfully, leaning up to silence you with a kiss. "If it's with you — yes. Always yes." He breathed as you pulled apart.
And in that singular moment, you felt the happiest and fullest you had in a long time. You could spend the rest of your life happy and content like this; in his arms. Nothing but the breeze from the outside sea intruding on you and the moonlight witnessing your shared passion.
You sighed quietly. This is what heaven or paradise, or whatever they call it, must feel like. You could not imagine anything greater.
After a brief silence, Baelor thought you had drifted off to sleep, exhausted and spent from your coupling. But all of a sudden your voice sounded up.
"Remind me to thank Dyanna when we get back…" You muttered against his skin, a part of your mind already shadowed by sleep.
"Hm?" Baelor paused his touch on your back, for a moment he was certain you were speaking nonsesnse.
"Oh… all I mean is… she said Dornish nights tend to be quite… short… or long… or I'm not quite sure which it was…" You murmured, your eyes already droopy and glazed over with tiredness.
"What…" Baelor huffed a laugh. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing…" Those were the last words that managed to leave your lips, before you drifted off to the land of dreams, utterly content and pliant in the hands of your lover.
