trimming Maekar's beard
Maekar I Targaryen x unnamed ofc | domestic fluff | ~270 words | ao3
a/n: inspired by this ask, the brain will rot when it wants to rot idc.
"You think me a pet?"
Maekar's grunted question adds to the soft pops of the fire and the whispers of her dress. For a moment her fingers stop stroking his beard.
He blinks open his eyes and catches how she tries to hide a smile. "A kitten, perhaps? You think your prince a kitten, wench?"
She shakes her head and instead of her fingers there are the teeth of a comb raking through his beard now. Slowly they slink through the silver-white until they meet the silver of the scissors.
"No, Your Grace, never a pet," she whispers and the blades hiss when they cut the ends of Maekar's beard.
The comb moves again, more fabric whispers and blade hisses, cut hair snowing into his lap.
"What then?"
He looks up at her, her fingertips smoothing the hair above his lips. "Hold still," she says instead of answering. The cool metal rests on his skin, another hiss, more fine whisker ends fall. Another cut, "All done," she murmurs and brushes his lips clean with the pads of her fingers.
He snorts incredulously and tugs her between his spread thighs. "What then," Maekar repeats and draws her even closer, and closer still, and down, until her mouth is only a breath away from his.
"A man." She kisses him silent, preventing his sighs and groans by sealing his lips with hers. "Just a man." Another kiss follows, quietly spelling out my man with no words.
A grunt escapes him—in spite of her efforts—when he pulls her down on his lap. "Insolent," he murmurs, and smiles below the trimmed edge of his silver-white whiskers.
reblog or comment to have Maekar call you a wench too, alternatively I could call you one 😌 thank you for reading, leave me some love!
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