LOVE DROUGHT, Gwayne Hightower (18+)
Pairing(s): Gwayne Hightower x Niece!Reader
Description: Your uncle had arrived from Oldtown, hell ensues as an old spark yearns to become a flame.
CW: SMUT AND FILTH AND A LOT OF YEARNING. No physical descriptions of sweetling. Lots of inaccuracies in the details. A little self-degradation for plot. Aegon is already a warning himself. TargTowercest. Porn with plot. Gwayne loves to go down on you, he will stay there forever if he could! PinV. Breeding if you squint a little.
Note: I am so rusty guys, I’m so sorry, based this on SO many songs, I’d loveeeeee to make an entire mood board for sweetling hehehe
It had only been a few days since your uncle had arrived from Oldtown for your brother’s nameday, a gathering that had gained traction from all of the Realm, smallfolk, and brothels—but it was not of importance to keep him away from his knightly duties, which worried you.
You soon learned of his arrival through word-of-mouth from the servants through the familiar halls, the same ones that felt like closing in on you the second you see him.
Moons had turned since you last had seen him, it was a spectacle to see you survive mere seconds under his observant gaze and righteous gait, if it were possible you would have melted like steel under fire—softened and malleable. Almost as if you had forgotten your prayers and promises to the Gods to apostate yourself and build a religion in his body and his ribs your sanctum.
Everything had burst at the seams and everything burned in your limbs, the ever righteous princess finally became a slave to the very root of her house’s customs and the blood of the dragon was meant to withstand the fire. The fertile soil of an illicit kind encourages the growth of something verboten in your loins, it is only futile to abandon such scorching notions—especially for a princess brought up with dignity and … morals.
But your mother knew to keep at least one child away from it … right?
You had kept to yourself the entire day, the preparation of the nameday feast on the morrow was the least of your worries. Your only worry was to make a fool of yourself and expose yourself to everyone else. A simpering fool who lets her heart desire beyond the tangible. A point of inflection, a bend, a weakness.
The dress you had been wearing had felt increasingly tight, the bodice squeezing the conscience out of you and convincing you to snap out of it. Exasperated, you unknowingly reach for the window overlooking the training yard for some fresh air, only to see Gwayne engaging with other knights and visiting lords down below.
Your heart leapt out of its place. You could not breathe, the sheer intensity of it all was right at your fingertips, so close yet so far away, Gods help you live.
Before doing anything else, you hear a knock on your door. It was a timid Helaena seeking comfort in your chambers, which was not an unfamiliar occurrence due to the increasing amount of stress the Keep has caused, a beetle in her hand and rigid little Jaehaera holding her other one.
“Sister,” you clumsily stammered, forcing a smile on your face, cursing under your breath for being too taut, improper. You made your way to seek Jaehaera’s embrace and carried her. Helaena sat down on the settle, mumbling words as she blankly stared at you both and then the bug, you cooed at the child in your arms to lessen her fussiness, rocking her gently, calming her down.
“He … he wants to see you,” Helaena murmured, her soft gaze now on the green beetle that is crawling on her fingers.
“And who would that miserable lordling be?”
“ … he wept for you in the dark. Now the prayer has skin. It breathes.” She repeated it once more in a softer whisper, unintelligible at that.
Your brows furrowed, a deep-seated hum in your heart began to perpetuate itself, “you must be mistaken, sister. If it were to be that Lannister lord that has had a stick up his arse then I refuse to believe he has the ability to weep so you say,” you mused, recalling an earlier memory of you humiliating numerous lords who prided themselves on their ego and their riches during a tourney. That night you had much to drink and may have superseded your sense of propriety and lashed out to your heart’s desire. Rejecting betrothals left and right, further causing rust between your house and the others, the look of disappointment on Alicent’s face was forever etched into your memory.
Your sister shakes her head and takes your free arm to caress it.
“He wept in the dark for you. Now the prayer has skin. It breathes life … a wish that was wrapped in your bones before your birth standing right there. Do you not feel the skin of it?”
Laughs erupted from below had kept you from clarifying what Helaena had meant, like divine synchronicity, you only heard Gwayne’s voice before Jaehaera stirred from her lulled sleep and had begun to reach for Helaena. She took her daughter from your arms and quickly walked out of your chambers, it was like you had only dreamt of what happened, a hazy vision that erases itself when you finally gain sentience.
It breathes life … a wish that was wrapped in your bones before your birth standing right there. What could she possibly have meant by that?
You mulled it over, along with the gravitas and baritone of Gwayne’s voice that could be heard from your window. If only you had the ability to ignore everything, then you would have visited the Gods and asked for it yourself.
A knock on your door startled you, expecting your sister once more, it was your lady-in-waiting, Marei, who had bought you your silks for this evening’s supper.
“Princess, the Dowager Queen had ordered you to wear these silks for tonight,” she explained to you, it had not occurred to you about this evening’s sumptuous repast, it completely slipped away from your mind. Marei placed the dark green dress on your bed as she scurried to find your coveted jewels, seeing to it that she presents you exceptional options.
Taking notice of that, you corrected her, “I … the necklace with the emerald pendant will be my only choice, Marei.”
She nodded as she stopped scouring your drawers for your jewels and trinkets as she already had found the necklace you were referring to, its fine chain was in gold and the beautiful pendant had completed it, a gift Gwayne gave you for your nameday, the last nameday you saw him physically, before he faded into letters and hopeless wishes. Marei assisted you in your state of undress, changing into the new dress and wearing the necklace which complimented your complexion. You looked in the mirror, you looked more a Hightower than a Targaryen.
“Should we keep your hair down, princess?” she asked, brushing your hair.
“If it were possible, yes, I would like that.”
You answered without thinking, you were too deep in thought, you could not bear to go through supper. Marei noticed your discomfort, her handiwork transitioned into a gentler one as she untangled the knots in your hair, she stopped as she felt content with your looks.
“We are finished,” she whispered, a small encouraging smile on her face as she looked at you, tucking away loose strands of your hair. You peeked at the mirror, a small smile crept on your lips, “thank you, Marei, this is enough.”
Marei tidied up with a watchful eye as she urged you to leave before you did anything, like skip the dinner and walk through the gardens instead. You quietly scoffed as you took your leave and made your way outside your quarters.
The Keep was buzzing around you, it was until only now that it felt … full, complete. You slowly walked to the small hall, your hands were shaking, a few attempts to miss the dinner were definitely made but a headstrong Marei would have stopped you before you threatened to melt into your bed and sleep until sun up. Along with a few servants, you entered the room, it was well lit up with more torches and the atmosphere more welcoming than before. Your mother was at the head of the table, Aegon and Helaena, along with their children followed along with Aemond and then … Gwayne, the seat facing him was unoccupied, unfortunately, you sat there and instead, took solace beside Helaena’s children who were squabbling about which toy was which.
Everyone at the table were engrossed in different conversations, it only left both you and Gwayne alone with your thoughts, you on the other hand, snuck a few grapes to sweet little Jaehaera’s plate as Helaena was too busy feeding Jaehaerys his meal.
You could feel Gwayne’s stare burn into your press, but you were mulish enough to dedicate your attention somewhere else. The food was served, you attempted to savour the food but you didn’t have the stomach to eat as the nervousness enveloped you the more time you spent in the same place as him.
Aegon, ever the drunkard, had already too much to drink before the food was served, nitpicking at every little thing possible and slurred his words which was not an uncommon happening in this household—he is either drunk or passed out drunk, you preferred the latter, less of the talking the better.
But Aegon had other plans.
“Sister, sister, … did you know that the Lannister’s cock was hard as a rock when he fawned over you, it was a repulsive sight but I think he would be a perfect match for you sister … in bed! Both cowards too!” Aegon laughed nearly maniacally as he played with his food and ordered a servant nearby him to pour some more wine.
“Aegon, enough,” Alicent warned, her gaze placed on you as the entire room fell silent, except for Aegon, making a spectacle of your misery.
“No! No! Mother, I was only jesting, however the only jest is that my sister would rather wed a tree than an actual man,” he bellowed, spewing out nonsense between laughs. You looked around the table, Gwayne had grown tense, an apologetic expression had shadowed his face. You immediately tore your gaze from him and expected nothing less, there was no one else to protect you but yourself and it had pained you that none of them had the spine to speak against him, the lesser heir, the mindless man, the useless husband to your sister.
There was a weight on your chest before standing up, your chair scraping the floor, “you are right, brother, a tree would have more morals than a ‘man’ such as yourself,” you sneered, turning away to leave the room before you heard any of Alicent’s protests.
You briskly walked through the corridors of the Keep, tears had threatened to spill from your eyes, a coward, a cowardly princess, you scorned to yourself. Sobs wracked at your chest and lungs, the cries were already at your throat. Composure was one thing you prided yourself for, but unraveling discomposure was something you were ashamed of.
You barely noticed the sound of another set of steps following behind you as you entered your chambers.
You froze in place. No one else had called you that in years. Only by your name, princess, sister, never sweetling. You’ve long for this for what felt like ages.
“Aegon has been escorted by the guards to his chambers, please, let us come back now,” he gently said.
“The night is ruined, do not let this ruin yours as well.”
“Nonsense, we have much to discuss, you and I, is your heart open to it, sweetling?”
Your eyes met his, weighing his intent, you gave a single, decisive nod and swept the chamber door open.
“I see you have not changed a thing here,” Gwayne commented, closing the door behind him.
“Nothing worth changing if no one notices,” you replied coolly.
“I notice the little things.”
“It does not count if you are leagues away from me.”
A half-smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, an arrogant one, “but you forget that I know the fire in your blood than you know yourself.”
You mused at that, attempting to look unimpressed at the back and forth, the dancing around, the hesitancy of asking what this really is. This … tension? Strain? You quickly shut those thoughts down as you looked at him, really looked him in the eyes.
“ … I missed you, uncle,” your sugary tone was sickly sweet to the ears, but most of all, an invitation, an opening.
“As have I,” he tersely replied, somewhat close to a rejection but you had to take your chances.
“The ride here must have been tiring,” you commented, “you cleaned up well, I suppose?”
“I have, the journey was long and dreadful but I am here now.”
You haven’t taken your eyes off of him, taking his presence all in, savouring it with fervour and longing.
“I wasn’t well acquainted earlier but … how … have things been in the Keep while I was away?” Gwayne asked suddenly.
“Aegon is always at the Fleabottom, Aemond as well, no matter how discreet he thinks he is, word gets around fast in the Keep. And Helaena … she is busy with her kids, Aegon barely pays any mind at all, to his family and the Realm it seems.”
Gwayne should have known Alicent would not be able to control him, at least Aemond had the decency to attempt at being discreet, however, as soon as you mentioned Helaena, his demeanor softened.
“How … how is she? The kids?”
You smiled, it softened up the nervousness that settled down your stomach, “they are well, noisy and playful at times, Helaena says I am quite good at taking care of children, I think the latter.”
Gwayne’s mind started to wander, he could imagine children that had inherited your beautiful looks and strong personality. Though the thought of you, his sweetling having children of her own … it made his heart clench, your uncle kept his eyes ahead somewhere else but tried to ask as casually as possible: “is that something you really want? Children of your own?”
“I do, someday, why?” You replied cautiously, you had refused to give everything away just yet, yet. If you only knew his heart behaving exactly the same as yours then you wouldn’t have been blind simpering fools right now.
If you had looked up, you would have caught the flash of sorrow and … almost despair in his eyes as he had to face the fact that one day you will have children of your own, with someone from another house, further away from you, Oldtown and King’s Landing were already far enough, what more if that lord takes you some place else? He swallowed thickly once more, a nervous habit of his, trying to mask his emotions behind his suave and casual tone.
“Just out of sheer curiosity. Nothing of importance.” He lied through the grit of his teeth, by that point he’s having a hard time maintaining his composure.
Your eyes zeroed into his soul, nearly, and scoffed, “I know you like the back of my hand, Gwayne, do you seriously think I do not know when you are lying?”
‘Gwayne.’ Sounded so absurd coming from you, it’s like you owned him, he tenses up from even a whisper of his name from you but it was different this time around.
“I have a looming fear of losing you, sweetling,” his voice was hoarse and quiet. “I will miss you, truly. Once that you are wed and happy, having children of your own,” he added, hesitantly.
You heard the reluctance in his raspy whisper, right then and there you could not control the words that came out of you next:
“And you think I would choose another, when my heart demands it be you?”
“Sweetling, you know it is not practised in our house, it is forbidden by law, by the eyes of many,” your uncle warned, he was serious and that tone was not one you could challenge without a fight.
“And what of my half-sister Rhaenyra and Daemon?” You asked, using them as an example, the words leaving out of your mouth like it was the easiest thing to bear, the easiest thing for the realm—it had affected Gwayne, the casualness of your voice, the ease, he particularly envied that.
“That is different and you know it,” Gwayne scolded hastily, perhaps too hastily than he’d liked.
“Mother and Father made Helaena and Aegon wed, are they not Hightowers by blood?”
“That was for the sake of keeping your bloodlines pure,” he said, not daring to look at you, Gwayne knew that if he did, he would lose what remains were left of his will-power. A Hightower could only bend so far before they break.
“Almost everyone in my life sees to it that I have no prospects to my name, no use in any of the politics … and I … I willingly want you,” you, his sweetling, challenged him, and it was no fair fight.
He nearly choked on his own breath at the words you had just spoken, you were already fueled by the adrenaline and spite from the events earlier and he must make sure you were not acting on your emotions and clouded judgement. His mind raced with what you had just said, Gwayne was trying his damndest to hold himself back, to pretend that he did not want, need, what you were giving him so willingly.
“We are no use for each other, sweetling, love is a privilege and a scarcity, especially for people of our standing.”
“I have not mentioned the word love,” you cornered, backing his courage up against a wall.
He was stronger than that, your uncle squeezed his eyes shut to force away the temptation, to slightly erase you from him, “do not speak to me like that, niece.”
It is like your world crumbled at that word, that scathing tone of his, the spark and incessant hope died along with you, trampled by his foot, that was how easily pliable you are to him. For so long you were starved of his attention, love, and acceptance, the one person who knew who you are, what you liked and disliked, what you needed even without speaking your mind—a settled feeling in your bones that you wanted to keep all to yourself.
“Then let us both forget this conversation ever took place, uncle.”
You retaliated, the cowardly princess, as other nobles say, reining in the blood of the dragon that flows through her veins.
Gwayne could not stop the snort of disbelief from coming out of him. Forget? He repeated inside his mind incredulously. He could never forget this. He could never forget you, and how could he when you had just offered yourself to him? Your uncle shook his head, still refusing to look at you, like you were forbidden, yet he couldn’t resist because of the small fear that you may disappear from his life, for good.
“As if I could,” he replied back, his voice still low, his gaze now on you.
He replied immediately, his mind going into panic, he was starting to be unable to think straight. You were offering him the one thing he wanted most and yet he had to reject you. He feared that if you openly spoke of your feelings then he would lose you forever but losing you now would hurt just the same. The feeling was closer to denial than of shame.
“Gods grant me mercy, sweetling—do not weigh this burden heavier than it already stands,” Gwayne pleaded once more, in hopes that you give up but he knows that his attempts were futile, you were stubborn like him.
“You are young. You will find someone else, I am sure of it,” Gwayne reasoned with you, but also himself as well.
“You cannot even speak those words and intend them true, have at least the grace to dull the blade before you strike.”
Gwayne gritted his teeth, knowing that he could not deny the facts to you without lying to you and himself. His fingers ran into his disheveled hair, at this rate he was practically pulling at his hair at the overwhelming mixture of his emotions—it complicated everything in him. Gwayne was not built for situations like these, he always knew that his life would end in serving his house until his very last breath, that was it … or so he thought.
“Please, sweetling. Have mercy on me. You do not know what you are doing to me.”
“It deals me a mortal blow nonetheless, I pray that you are aware of that. You are the tyrant of my heart.”
That broke his heart, he took a deep shuddering breath as his entire body went rigid at your words, he refused to become yet another villain in your life, he knew what it felt to be like that, unwanted.
“You don’t—“ his voice cracked so he stopped himself, trying to regain his voice.
“You do not know what you are asking of me.”
“I understand, you cannot grant what my soul truly desires,” you spat back, the tears seemingly making the words stuck in your throat as if they betrayed you, “ … it is fine, it seems that no one does.”
Gwayne could very well provide whatever you wanted with all his heart, riches were a second, material things were not of much use, and love held multitudes yet the irresponsibility weighed down on him, betraying what he had known his entire life. It was not a matter of what he was able to do but what he could not do for you. He wanted to protect you from the horrors, the stigma, the suffering—even if it meant twisting the dagger on him.
He hissed, suddenly losing his patience, it was new, it felt new.
“Stop this nonsense, sweetling! You’ve no idea what you are doing to me,” Gwayne pleaded, he barely knew how to but for you he would try.
“I do not want a life without you!”
“You cannot have me, it is improper!” He roared back, there were two voices in his head, one that refuses and one that insists, his body was completely trembling from the overwhelming emotion that he felt.
Gods, he needed you. He craved you. But that just made this whole situation even worse. He wept many nights for you, shamelessly begging the Gods to hear his pleas just for you. His face was hot and his chest hurt, his body ached for you, Gods the ache, his soul ached immensely for you.
You were not helping this situation by being here, your pout, your stubbornness, your tears. You were his prayer, so alive and so beautiful. Oh, how he wanted your pain to vanish, to make you whole once more, but that door lets in more horrors and he fears nothing but the possibility of you suffering because of giving into selfishness and greed.
All the while you thought to yourself, he was pushing you away, he didn’t want you.
Something within you reared its ugly head.
Your chest heaved, tears glossed your eyes as you looked at him, betrayed, anguished, who do you run to now? The sound of you trying to bite back your tears struck something within him, it nearly deafened him, he was at a loss for words, and for the first time, Gwayne Hightower did not know what he should do.
His ‘anger’ melted away instantly, but it was replaced with guilt, sadness, and something so close to longing, you were so close yet so far away, Gwayne thought to himself.
His shoulder sagged, his walls crumbling down around him, your chambers felt colder than the night.
“Sweetling … do not cry, please.”
Gwayne’s voice was soft, hoarse once more, the Gwayne you had known and loved fell through the cracks of his imperfect disguise, desperation lacing his tone.
“I understand, I apologise for acting so … so childish for not getting what I … for not considering what you feel—” you sighed as you sat down on the edge of your bed, feeling defeated, you distanced yourself from him.
You were so understanding, so perfect, his sweetling but Gods, you had no idea, did you? Rightfully so, he hid them very well.
Unfortunately for Gwayne: it was torture, to hear those words come out of your mouth, like you were undeserving of it, it sounded so wrong, especially coming from you.
“You are not being childish …”
Gwayne tried to speak to you reassuringly, but failed considering how his own voice quivered, but in the Faith, he must be strong, for you.
“I just … Gods, sweetling … ”
Gwayne could not focus and could only see you, in front of him, upset and crying. Everything in him retaliated as he refrained from giving it his all, Gods, he was aching all over. His blood was boiling beneath his skin, his prayer was alive, and it was breathing. He needed to touch you, to hold you, to never let go—his life was chaos without you grounding him.
Gwayne’s eyes darted to your face, taking in your tear stricken cheek, slowly, he sank down to his knees before you, his legs giving in beneath him—like he was praying in the Sept and you were his god, and him your only devotee.
Over your skirts, his hands found their way to your thighs, his hot fingers splaying over your skin. His breathing was uneven as his hands trembled against you, he lost his composure, his vulnerability laid bare for the taking. He wept. He prayed for forgiveness. He had asked for mercy, if you could at least lessen the torment beyond the flesh and the Seven. To seek repentance in between your legs while your wanton whispers and sighs were the first scriptures of his religion.
His eyes met yours, wet, staring up to you from where he was slumped, all that could be seen in his eyes was desperation, luckily, it matched yours. It surprised you, to see that expression on his face, the hope that, thankfully, lingered, is fully back.
Gwayne’s fingers dug into your skin as if he was trying to keep himself from passing out, his thumbs rubbed along the soft skin of your skirts as his hands moved up and down, almost shakily.
His grip on you was tight and nearly bruising, he closed his eyes, his head tilting up towards the ceiling as if he were praying to the Seven above.
His hands were sliding up your legs again, and his face followed your movements. He moved closer to you, inch by painstakingly inch.
You gathered the courage to speak your mind, this was your chance before he does anything else to sever the connection, to rub more salt into your wounds, to excommunicate you from letting you worship him any further.
“I can’t—I do not want to live the rest of my life wedded to another and … lie to myself, I cannot do it, I cannot do it Gwayne, not to you,” you confessed, your voice, raw and genuine. You wiped your tears as they fell, your gaze down on your lap as you waited for the final blow.
Your heart in your throat as you waited for his response. Anything. Anything.
Gwayne was so desperately trying to keep himself from falling forward, to have him completely in your arms. His head hung forward, forehead now resting in your lap. He leaned his entire upper body against you, his hands still clutching at your legs. His entire form was shaking, every inch of him was trembling.
“The mere thought of losing you kills me, it angers me that I could not have you sweetling,” Gwayne admitted immediately.
His face then pressed itself against your stomach, hands clenching the fabric so tightly his fingers were turning white, almost as if it was getting in the way.
His shoulders heaved as he whispered low against you, almost prayer-like and full of adoration. Gwayne wanted more. His greed was bred by desire, its jaws stay clenched to his throat, waiting for the warm blood to trickle down—to mull over his want and reassure him that his faith in the Seven will salvage him.
“You have me, Gwayne,” you took his face in your hands, your touch soft and welcoming.
And finally, he gave in, the thin thread of self-control he had left eventually snapped.
His grip on your dress, the other hand quickly unlacing the bodice that you hadn’t noticed your dress loosening from your body, Gwayne had to see you.
You went pliant under his touch, your body ran hot to the touch, your hands reached for his doublet and helped him take it off. Once your dress had eventually left your body, you were left in your smallclothes, Gwayne groaned at the beautiful sight presented to him, he couldn’t help himself but kiss your stomach to your thighs, worshipping you the way he wanted to during the cold nights he spent alone thinking about you.
His mouth is wet against your clothed slit, pressing open-mouthed kisses right to above your clit. He was oh so careful not to lick, not without your permission, not yet. His hands pull at your thighs, lifting you a little off the bed with his battle-worn hands, pulling you closer to him.
“Sweetling, please,” he pleaded, a pathetic pout on his lips, a rare sight that invigorated something in you as you nodded, an eager and breathless ‘yes’ was the one that did it for him.
A breathless moan escaped Gwayne at that, feeling the fabric between his fingers. His nose was still pressed to the insides of your thighs as he slid your smallclothes down your legs, with slight difficulty due to your position, but he managed, tossing them somewhere in your chambers. His hands found your legs again, holding them open as his mouth met your exposed core, finally letting himself lick a slow stripe up your clit.
Victory has never tasted so sweet to Gwayne before.
He groaned against you at the feeling of warmth between your legs against his face. His hands gripped your legs, fingers digging into your skin. He couldn’t think straight, it was pure instinct, it felt so right, that it had him grinding his face against your wetness, pressing his mouth against your slit. Something so feral took over him and the animalistic urge to have more of you consumed every thought and action he had.
Gwayne groaned again, the noise muffled against your skin. This time, he pushed his tongue in you and let himself taste you, this action earned him a wanton whine from you, your hand gripping his hair as he licked and licked.
His hands moved up to gripped your ass roughly and pushed you more against his face. His tongue pressed against your clit and then to your weeping hole, in alternate strokes to not neglect you, he made sure that your pleasure mattered more above all else.
It sounded melodic, it was music to his ears as he moaned at the sound of his name coming out of your lips, and his grip on your legs tightened.
There was this distant feeling coiled in your belly, you could not help but close your thighs, squeezing them around Gwayne’s head as the feeling became unbearable to control. He was careful and careless, nothing in between, as he pleasured you with reverence.
Your moans nearly made him lose his patience and mind, his hands kept your legs spread wide enough and your back arched a bit with the way he held you. Gwayne hummed, sending vibrations to your core as he continued to lick at your clit, tongue swirling in a way that made your hips twitch as moaned and panted out his name. A muffled sweetling could be heard from him, his tongue relentless at the taste of you, he wanted to be here forever.
“G-Gods—” you stammered, you could feel it, it was so close.
Gwayne doubled his efforts, his eyes were on you as you whimpered unintelligibly before tensing up, crying out to him once more.
You could not control the salacious whine that had escaped your lips as you reached your peak, you ground your hips against his face, earning a small whimper from him as he doubled his efforts.
It had felt degrading, humiliating, debasing, Gods, you could not help yourself but offer more of yourself to Gwayne—you’ve given so much that there is almost none left for the Seven. Instead of offering prayers on your knees, you look up and see his debauched face staring back at you, and you have never seen something so sacred before.
The sounds that were emitted from Gwayne’s hunger mixed with your arousal were both lewd and sloppy as he helped you come down from your high, carefully placing kisses on your inner thighs, devoting himself to you.
“I need you,” you choked out, feeling slightly overstimulated from what had occurred prior, in bated breaths you attempt to ground yourself to this moment, to the present, to him—he was yours, finally.
“Are you … you are certain, sweetling?”
“I choose you, wholly, no one else.”
Your words ignited a flame within him, lighting the way towards ecstasy and bliss. Gwayne guided you to the pile of pillows that sat perfectly on your bed as he stripped the rest of the clothes that clung onto his skin until he was left with his smallclothes, he then drops them, cock springing free, which was thick and flushed with heavy balls.
There was a certain energy to him that completely changed, he was unashamed and fully yours.
He climbed onto the bed, his body slotting between your legs, your body was trembling, still sensitive.
Gwayne’s hands are everywhere again, palming your thighs, sliding up your hips, gripping your waist to pull you down toward him. You let out a soft gasp, hands scrambling to hold onto him. Gwayne is careful as he lines himself up with your slick core, letting the head of his cock drag through your folds before just barely nudging your clit, deliberately teasing you. You whined at that, nails scratching his arms as he chuckles right before aligning himself to you.
With one deep, slow thrust that feels like splitting you open, Gwayne sinks into you, he was home, complete, fulfilled. Gwayne bottoms out, his hips press flush against yours and he feels your cunt fluttering around him. He pressed himself even closer to you, he needs to be closer, to feel you more, his groans and pants went straight to your ears as he praised you for taking him so well, “you are doing so well, sweetling, so good for me.”
As soon as he felt you go lax, he started to rut into you with long and deeper strokes, to let you feel him inch by inch, helping you adjust to his size and let your body get acquainted with his own. Gwayne is precise as he rolls his hips, his eyes locked on yours in every thrust, his pelvis rolling against your clit.
Your moans were wanton and genuine, deliciously mixing with his own, your hands gripped Gwayne, holding him closer to you, your vision spotty from the sparks of pleasure coming from between your bodies. You were in a daze as he fucked you with fevour, your cunt devouring his cock, your arousal welcoming him further into your womb as he moved methodically against you.
Gwayne was in bliss, his groans mixing well with your own, he was unable to help himself as he placed kisses on your neck and parts of your face. You could not stop the whines that spilled from your soft lips as he shoves himself deep inside you, stroked harder and rough enough to make your tits bounce in each movement. Gwayne panted as he thrust into you, eyes closed shut at the way your walls clamp down on his cock.
You could not stop the pleas that left you, whole was an understatement, you needed more of Gwayne, needed him like you’ve never done before, needed him like you did all your life. He does something again with his movements, you keen, pussy creaming around him even more as your nails dig into his biceps to try and keep yourself upright on your bed, undoubtedly struggling to keep your gaze focused on Gwayne’s eager ones.
Gwayne keeps you interlocked with himself, he could tell you were a whisper away from your peak, he is so deep inside of you, and his balls slapping against your swollen clit is starting to make your head swirl even more, his movements gaining more purpose, surprising you with a cacophony of sensations.
“Gwayne!” You cry out, your sheets shift beneath you both as he drives forward, Gwayne throbs inside you, watching the way your cunt sucks him back in every time he tries to pull back. Your walls are closing in on him, like he was made for you to complete, the mere thought makes him feel elated at the notion of having more with you, his sweetling, his only sweetling.
Gwayne kept fucking his cock against that soft spot inside you that certainly had felt like seeing the Gods almost immediately, he was so attentive, so afraid of seeing you in discomfort. But when his rhythm changed and angled his thrusts at a certain angle, he saw you livid, within seconds you came around him, your reflexes pulled him closer to you, a loud whine leaving your lips as your arousal coat his thighs and cock.
Gwayne loses it as he thrusts a little more to reach his own, his breathing faint as he moves methodically against you, he reaches for that spot once more, wishing to gain yet another peak from his sweet sweetling.
“One more sweetling, please sweetling, just one more.”
He notices your reflexes once more, he pounds into you, encouraging your peak again, and it does. Your walls clamped down on him and that triggered his own, Gwayne’s cock filling your pussy, hitting the barrier of your womb with every other thrust, the overstimulation was affecting you in more ways than one. You cry out and peaked again, and he groans and finishes inside of you, filling you up to the brim. He fucks both of your mixed essences into you after stuffing you full, breeding you, slowly.
Gwayne leans down to press open mouthed kisses against your cheek, then kisses you on the lips with a subtle smile, a pompous one you could feel it. He pulls away to admire your wanton state, adores it wholly and fully.
“I love you, sweetling, you are so good to me,” he whispers.
You smiled softly at that, pressing a sweet and soft kiss on his lips, “I love you too, Gwayne.”
His prayers and cries in the dark were finally heard. The prayer has skin.
It breathes life … and the breath yours.
© 2026 𝙂𝙒𝘼𝙔𝙉𝙀𝙎-𝙎𝙒𝙀𝙀𝙏𝙇𝙄𝙉𝙂! i condemn plagiarism of any kind and feeding my work to ai, NO AI here! my writing may be shit but it is my shit.
