My Wildfire
Visenya x sister reader
A little of Aegon x sister wife (I couldn't help it </3)
Request from an anon <3
{tw- targcest.. smut 18+ .. that’s about it}
Visenya Targaryen sat alone in her solar, sharpening Dark Sister with methodical strokes. The whetstone hissed against Valyrian steel, each pass revealing the rippled patterns beneath the oilcloth. Her hands moved with familiar precision. No tremor, no hesitation.
"Your technique remains flawless," Rhaenys observed from the doorway, leaning against the frame. She wore riding leathers still dusty from her morning flight. Visenya didn't pause her rhythm. "Steel requires maintenance. Unlike patience."
Your footsteps echoed softly in the corridor, hesitant as a sparrow's hop. Visenya's shoulders relaxed before you even appeared, the tight line of her jaw softening. "Little dragon," she called without turning, her voice warmer than the steel in her hands. "Come. Tell me of your morning." She slid Dark Sister into its scabbard with a final, decisive click, pushing the whetstone aside. The blade could wait. You never could.
Rhaenys arched an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on her lips as she watched you approach. "Our sister's been restless since dawn," she remarked, brushing dust from her sleeve. "Kept glancing toward you during breakfast." You saw Visenya's ears flush pink beneath her silver braids. A rare vulnerability reserved only for you. She extended her hand, palm up, an unspoken invitation. Her calloused fingers closed around yours, tugging you gently toward the cushioned bench beside her.
Visenya's free hand drifted to the intricate silver braids coiled at her nape. "These feel like anchors today," she confessed, her voice dropping low enough only for you to hear. "Too tight." Her gaze held yours, it was a silent plea veiled as casual observation. You understood instantly. "Let me?" you asked, fingers already reaching for the first silver pin. Her answering nod was almost imperceptible, but relief flooded her stern features as you began unraveling the complex weave.
Rhaenys chuckled, pushing off the doorframe to fetch a comb from Visenya's ivory-inlaid vanity. "Only our little dragon gets this privilege," she teased, placing the comb beside you. "She threatened to set Vhagar on the last handmaiden who tugged too hard." Visenya shot her a warning look, but her shoulders softened further as your fingers worked gently through the moon-pale strands. The tension bled from her frame with each loosened plait.
You focused on the rhythm of separating, smoothing, weaving as Visenya’s breathing deepened into something peaceful. The scent of dragon smoke and lemon oil clung to her hair. Rhaenys lingered, leaning against the window ledge where sunlight caught the dust motes dancing around her. "Aegon asks for you both at the training yard," she mentioned casually. Visenya’s eyes snapped open, sharp as Valyrian steel again. "He can wait," she stated, the command absolute. Her hand covered yours briefly, pressing your palm against her still unbound hair. "Finish."
Rhaenys’ laugh was light, but her gaze sharpened. "He grows restless when denied his wives." The implication hung thickly between them. Visenya’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, a flicker of protective fury in her violet eyes. "He forgets," she said, her voice dangerously soft, "that dragons are not doves to be summoned." She leaned back into your touch, a silent order to continue. The intimacy of the moment became a shield against Aegon’s demands.
Your fingers worked through another section of silver-white hair, feeling the tension coil beneath her scalp like a sleeping dragon. The silence stretched, comfortable only for you and Visenya. Rhaenys watched, her expression thoughtful. "He seeks you especially, little sister," she added gently, directing her words to you. "Says your laughter brightens the keeps gloom." Visenya’s hand tightened slightly over yours still resting on her shoulder. A low hum vibrated in her throat, neither agreement nor dissent. A dragon’s rumble of possession.
You giggled softly, the sound like chimes against stone in the heavy air. Finishing the final intricate twist of the braid you’d been weaving, you secured it with a small silver pin shaped like a dragon’s claw. "There" you whispered, leaning close. Your lips brushed the warm skin of her cheekbone, a fleeting press filled with affection. "Perfect." Visenya’s eyes drifted shut for a heartbeat, a sigh escaping her, the quietest surrender. "Don’t linger," she murmured, her voice rough edged velvet. "Be quick with Aegon. Come straight back." It wasn’t a request. Her fingers squeezed yours once, hard, a silent anchor demanding return.
Rhaenys watched the exchange, a knowing smile playing on her lips as you rose. "He awaits his sunshine.." she teased lightly, though her eyes flickered with a hint of caution toward Visenya’s impassive face. You offered Visenya one last reassuring smile, your hand lingering on her shoulder for a moment longer, feeling the coiled strength beneath silk. "I’ll be swift" you promised, turning toward the arched doorway. The scent of lemon oil and dragon clung to your fingers. Visenya’s gaze followed you, sharp and unwavering, a silent guardian until you vanished from sight.
Hours stretched like shadows across Dragonstone’s volcanic stone corridors. When you returned, the scent of rosewater and steam clung to your skin, your damp hair loosely braided over one shoulder. You paused at Visenya’s chamber door, left slightly ajar. Inside, candlelight flickered against dark tapestries. Visenya stood before her tall, silver-framed mirror, clad only in a thin shift of ivory silk that clung to the lean lines of her shoulders and back. Her own silver-gold hair, freed entirely from its earlier braids, cascaded like a moonlit waterfall down her spine, almost reaching her waist. She was meticulously folding her discarded riding leathers, her movements precise, economical. The air smelled faintly of cooled embers and the lavender she used to scent her linens.
You slipped inside without knocking, the familiar creak of the heavy oak door announcing your presence. Visenya didn’t turn, but her reflection in the mirror caught your gaze. A flicker of something softened the sharp planes of her face – relief, perhaps, swiftly masked. "You bathed," she observed, her voice low and raspy in the quiet room. Her hands smoothed the leather with unnecessary force. "Good" She finally turned, her violet eyes sweeping over you. "Aegon?" she asked, the single word clipped.
You giggled softly and moved to sit on the edge of her massive, carved bed, sinking into the plush crimson coverlet. Tucking your legs beneath you, you tilted your head, watching her with open affection. "He fell asleep after… as always," you confessed, a playful smirk touching your lips. The implication hung warm in the air of Aegon’s predictable exhaustion following his attentions. "So I bathed and came back." You gestured vaguely towards the corridor. "Left him snoring amidst the furs."
Visenya’s hands stilled on the folded leather. A low, almost imperceptible hum vibrated in her chest, a sound you recognized, a sound of pure, unadulterated satisfaction. She turned fully towards you, the thin silk shift shifting with the movement, catching the candlelight. Her violet eyes, sharp and assessing, traced your face, lingering on the damp tendrils escaping your braid. "His loss" she stated, the words clipped but carrying a profound weight. Her gaze softened infinitesimally as it met yours. "Our gain." She abandoned the leathers on a nearby chest and crossed the room in three purposeful strides.
She sank onto the bed beside you, the mattress dipping under her weight. Her scent of dragon smoke, iron, and faint lavender enveloped you. Without preamble, her cool fingers brushed a stray droplet of water from your temple, tracing the path it had taken down your cheekbone. The touch was possessive, grounding. "The scent of him clings less," she murmured, her eyes searching yours. "Good." Her thumb stroked the delicate skin beneath your eye, a silent claim. "You belong here my sweet sister."
A shadow crossed her face, sharp and fleeting as a dragon’s wing across the sun. Her gaze dropped to your abdomen, hidden beneath the folds of your gown. Her fingers stilled against your cheek. "Once he gets you with child," she said, her voice low and rasping like gravel underfoot, "perhaps he will call on you less." The words hung, heavy and cold, in the candlelit air. It wasn’t hope; it was a grim calculation, an observation steeped in the bitter reality of their shared existence. Her violet eyes, when they lifted back to yours, held a fierce, protective fire. "His attentions are… much sometimes."
You leaned into her touch, seeking the familiar warmth beneath the coolness of her fingers. "He speaks of heirs" you murmured, tracing the intricate embroidery on her silk shift. "Always heirs." Visenya’s scoff was a soft, dismissive puff of air. "He speaks of legacy" she corrected, her thumb brushing your lower lip. "Aegon sees sons as extensions of his conquests. Not children." Her gaze drifted past you, towards the window where the dark silhouette of Dragonstone loomed against the starless sky. "He forgets the cost."
Her hand slid down to cradle your jaw, tilting your face towards hers. The candlelight caught the molten silver flecks in her violet eyes. "You are not a broodmare" she stated, each word sharp as Dark Sister’s edge. "You are mine." The possessive rumble in her voice vibrated against your skin. "His seed may take root, but the child will be ours."
A knock shattered the quiet, firm, impatient. Visenya’s gaze snapped to the door, her expression hardening instantly. "Enter" she commanded, her voice regal ice. The heavy oak swung open to reveal Aegon, still in his sleep wear. His gaze swept the room, lingering on your closeness to Visenya, a flicker of annoyance crossing his handsome face.
"Rhaenys said you were here," he stated, ignoring Visenya entirely. His eyes settled on you. "I woke alone." The implication hung heavy. Visenya’s fingers tightened imperceptibly on your jaw, her thumb pressing against your pulse point. "She bathed" Visenya answered for you, her tone flat. "You were asleep."
Aegon stepped fully into the chamber, the door swinging shut behind him. His gaze swept over Visenya’s near-translucent shift, her unbound hair, then back to your damp braid and flushed skin. A muscle jumped in his jaw. "Come" he commanded you, extending his hand. "The hour grows late."
A frown tugged at your lips, sharp, fleeting. You whined softly, a sound like a wounded dragonling, turning pleading eyes toward Aegon. "Must I?" The words were barely a whisper, thick with reluctance. His expression didn’t soften, though his eyes flickered with annoyance. You sighed, the breath shuddering out of you as you leaned into Visenya’s space. Your lips brushed hers, not a kiss of passion, but a vow pressed against her mouth. "Tomorrow" you breathed against her skin, the promise warm and desperate. "I’ll stay with you all tomorrow." Visenya’s hand slid to the nape of your neck, her grip firm, anchoring you for a heartbeat longer.
Aegon cleared his throat, impatient. "Now." His command sliced through the charged silence. You pulled back reluctantly, your fingers trailing down Visenya’s arm before you rose from the bed. Her violet eyes tracked your every movement, sharp and unblinking, like a dragon watching its treasure being carried away. Aegon’s hand closed possessively around your wrist, pulling you toward him. You stumbled slightly, casting one last glance over your shoulder. Visenya hadn’t moved. She sat rigid on the crimson coverlet, her expression carved from obsidian, the candlelight catching the cold fury simmering in her gaze.
You loved Aegon and the fierce warmth of his embrace, the way his laughter rumbled like distant thunder during feasts, the pride in his eyes when you mounted your dragon.
He loved all his wives, but his jealousy was a living thing, coiled and restless. He hated seeing Visenya’s calloused fingers brush yours as she passed you a goblet, or Rhaenys whispering secrets that made you giggle into your sleeve.
He hated seeing Visenya cling to Rhaenys and hated the way she flushed at the slightest touch. His possessiveness flared brightest when he returned from council to find you braiding Visenya’s hair or curled beside Rhaenys by the hearth, your heads bent close. "Do you forget whose bed warms you?" he’d growl later, nipping at your neck with bruising intensity. "Your smiles belong to me." Yet his own absences were long, filled with conquests and councils, leaving the three sisters to weave their own intricate tapestry of solace and steel. They had helped him conquer and rule, but he often left them to themselves when handling matters of importance.
"I wish your smiles reserved for your king," he growled, steering you toward the massive bed piled high with furs. His jealousy was a familiar beast, prowling just beneath his charm. You stumbled slightly on the thick Myrish rug, the damp ends of your braid brushing your collarbone. "We are all married, brother," you murmured, the words muffled against his chest as he pushed you down onto the cool silk sheets. Moonlight streamed through the high window, catching the silver threads in the embroidery. "You do not wish us all to love each other?" Your voice was small, tentative, as you tucked yourself under the heavy weight of his arm, seeking warmth in the vast, cold bed.
He loomed above you, his silhouette blocking the moonlight. A calloused hand brushed the damp hair from your forehead, the touch unexpectedly gentle before his fingers traced the line of your jaw, tilting your face up. "I wish," he breathed, his voice rough with sleep and something darker, "for your sighs to be mine alone." His thumb pressed against your lower lip, possessive. "Your laughter, your whispers in the dark… these are my treasures." The intensity in his violet eyes was unnerving, a conqueror surveying what he deemed rightfully his. "Visenya has her steel. Rhaenys has her songs." His other hand slid beneath the thin fabric of your gown, warm against the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. "You, little dragon… you belong here." The possessive rumble vibrated through his chest into yours.
You nuzzled into the hollow of his throat, breathing in the familiar scent, a scent that was both comfort and cage. "Why," you murmured, the words muffled against his skin, "do you get three wives…" Your fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his tunic, "…but we can only be with you?" The whine was soft, plaintive, but you didn't push him away. Instead, you pressed closer, seeking the heat radiating from him, a silent concession wrapped in the question. Your eyes lifted, wide and violet in the dim light, holding his gaze. "Doesn't it feel… unfair?" The question hung, delicate as dragonfly wings, daring to challenge the king's decree.
Aegon's chuckle was low, rumbling through his chest against your ear. His hand tightened possessively on your hip, fingers digging slightly into the silk of your gown. "Unfair?" he echoed, amusement lacing the word. His thumb traced idle circles on your lower back, a gesture both soothing and claiming. "It is the way of kings, little dragon." He leaned down, his breath warm against your temple. "My strength protects the realm. My blood unites it." His lips brushed your hairline. "My wives…" His gaze intensified, locking onto yours. "…are its greatest jewels. Each unique. Each mine." The possessive rumble vibrated through you. "Visenya's fire shields us. Rhaenys' song charms our courts." His hand slid up to cradle your jaw, tilting your face up. "And your light…" His thumb stroked your cheekbone. "…warms my bed and my heart. Where is the unfairness in that?"
"But we," you whispered, your voice barely audible against the pulse thrumming in his throat. Your fingers traced the strong line of his collarbone beneath his tunic. "Visenya finds solace in my touch. Rhaenys finds laughter in my company." You dared to lift your gaze, meeting the fierce violet of his eyes. The moonlight caught the silver flecks within them. "Why must our comfort be confined only to you? Why must we share, while you hoard?" The whine was softer now, woven with genuine confusion and a hint of longing for the easy intimacy you found with your sisters. "Doesn't sharing strengthen the bond?" You traced the embroidery on his sleeve, a delicate dragon motif. "Doesn't it make us stronger… together?"
Aegon stilled above you. The possessive grip on your jaw loosened slightly, replaced by a thoughtful intensity. His gaze searched yours, probing the sincerity beneath the challenge. For a heartbeat, the conqueror's mask slipped, revealing a flicker of something else. Perhaps surprise, perhaps a dawning consideration. His thumb resumed its slow stroke along your cheekbone, softer now. "Strength…" he murmured, the word tasting unfamiliar on his tongue in this context. His gaze drifted past you, towards the tapestry depicting Balerion soaring over conquered lands. "Strength is forged in fire and tempered in loyalty." His eyes snapped back to yours, sharpening. "Your loyalty is to me. Your fire…" His hand slid lower, resting possessively over your heart. "…is mine to command."
The next morning found you not in the training yard, nor the great hall breaking fast, but in Visenya’s solar. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, catching dust motes dancing in the air. You sat on the wide cushioned bench beneath the window, the plush velvet soft beneath your thighs. Visenya knelt before you on the thick Myrish rug, her silver-gold hair loose and spilling over her shoulders like molten moonlight. Her violet eyes, usually sharp as Dark Sister, held a softness reserved only for you. She leaned forward, her hands sliding up your calves beneath the thin silk of your summer dress. Her touch was deliberate, possessive, tracing the lines of muscle and bone with a reverence Aegon never possessed.
Her lips brushed yours, not demanding like his, but gentle, a slow exploration. A soft sigh escaped you as her kiss deepened, her tongue tracing the seam of your lips before slipping inside. The taste of her – dragon smoke, lemon oil, and something uniquely Visenya flooded your senses. Her hands roamed higher, pushing the hem of your dress up your thighs, her calloused fingers tracing patterns on the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, moving inward with agonizing slowness.
You tangled your fingers in her hair, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss. Her low hum vibrated against your mouth, a sound of pure contentment. She shifted, settling herself more firmly between your legs, her knees pressing against the bench on either side of your hips. Her hands slid beneath the silk now, finding the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, mapping territory she claimed as fiercely as any kingdom. Her lips trailed from your mouth down your jawline, nipping lightly at the pulse point in your throat before soothing the spot with her tongue. "He calls you his sunshine," she murmured against your skin, her breath warm. Her hands slid upwards, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through the thin fabric. "A fool." Her gaze lifted to yours, fierce and protective. "You are wildfire." Her fingers deftly loosened the laces at the front of your bodice, pushing the silk aside. "Contained only by my will."
The cool air kissed your exposed skin, but it was quickly replaced by the searing heat of her mouth. She lowered her head, her lips closing over one peaked nipple, sucking gently before swirling her tongue. A sharp gasp tore from you, your fingers tightening in her hair. Her free hand continued its exploration, sliding down your belly, tracing the sensitive skin just below your navel. Her touch was deliberate, possessive, a stark contrast to Aegon’s demanding urgency. She worshipped with her hands and mouth, each caress a silent declaration. Her teeth grazed your nipple, sending a jolt through you, before she soothed it again. "Every sigh," she breathed against your skin, her hand slipping lower, beneath the waistband of your smallclothes, fingers seeking the damp heat between your thighs. "Every tremor… belongs to me."
You arched against her, a soft cry escaping as her fingers found your slick core. She explored with intimate knowledge, her thumb circling your clit with agonizing precision while two fingers slid deep inside you. Her gaze locked onto yours, violet eyes blazing with fierce tenderness. "He thinks he owns your laughter" she rasped, her fingers curling, finding that spot that made you gasp her name. "He owns nothing." Her rhythm was relentless, deep strokes punctuated by the maddening pressure of her thumb. Pleasure coiled tight in your belly, sharp and urgent. You writhed against her hand, the velvet bench beneath you forgotten. Her mouth returned to your breast, sucking hard as her fingers drove deeper, faster. The world narrowed to her touch, her scent, the possessive rumble vibrating low in her chest.
Suddenly, her fingers stilled deep within you. You whimpered, straining against her hand. She withdrew slowly, deliberately, her fingers glistening. Before you could protest, she captured your mouth in a searing kiss, letting you taste yourself on her tongue. Her eyes held yours as she slid her wet fingers down her own silk shift, between her thighs. A sharp gasp escaped her lips as she touched herself, her gaze never leaving yours. "Watch" she commanded, her voice thick with need. Her fingers worked with practiced urgency, her breathing turning ragged. You watched, mesmerized, as her head fell back, silver-gold hair spilling over her shoulders. Her hips rocked against her own hand, chasing release with the same fierce determination she wielded Dark Sister.
A choked cry tore from her throat as she shuddered, her body tensing, then collapsing forward onto your lap. Her forehead pressed against your stomach, her breath hot and uneven against your skin. You stroked her hair, fingers tangling in the silken strands. She lifted her head after a moment, her violet eyes dark and satisfied. She kissed your bare stomach, just below your navel, her lips lingering. "All morning," she murmured against your skin, echoing your promise. "He will not find you." She rose fluidly, pulling you up with her. Her hands smoothed your dress, re-lacing your bodice with swift, efficient movements. "Come," she said, her voice regaining its usual steel, softened only by the lingering warmth in her eyes. She led you towards the heavy oak table strewn with maps and scrolls. "Help me plot the patrols for the Gullet." She fixed your dress best she could before she settled you onto a cushioned chair beside hers, her arm draped possessively over your shoulders. Her finger traced a coastline on the map. "Tell me where you think our ships should guard." Her gaze held yours, fierce and tender. "Show me your wildfire."
Hours later, the scent of parchment and ink mingled with the fading warmth of the sun. Maps of conquered kingdoms lay weighted down on the table, Westeros, fractured but yielding under the dragon banner. Visenya pointed to the jagged coastline of the Stormlands. "Orys reports unrest near Bronzegate," she stated, her voice crisp, the strategist fully engaged. Her finger tapped a small castle symbol. "Baratheon banners, but whispers of Durrandon loyalists still linger. They need reminding." Her eyes, sharp as Valyrian steel, scanned yours. "A swift flight on Vhagar. A single burst of flame upon an empty field near their strongest holdfast. Enough to scorch earth, not villages. Fear is sharper than swords." You nodded, tracing the route with your own fingertip. "Avoid the rainwood," you suggested softly. "The canopy hides archers." A rare, approving glint lit her violet eyes. "Wise," she murmured, her hand briefly covering yours on the map. "Very wise."
When the war talk finally ceased, the strategic fire banked into embers, Visenya clapped her hands sharply. Maids scurried in, bearing steaming copper tubs and ewers of rose-scented water. They filled the large bath near the solar’s hearth, the steam curling lazily in the afternoon light. As the maids withdrew with bowed heads, Visenya shed her gown with swift efficiency. You followed, slipping out of your own. The warm water enveloped you both as you sank into the deep tub, the heat easing the tension from shoulders hunched over maps. You settled back against Visenya’s chest, her strong arms encircling your waist, holding you securely against her. Her skin was warm silk against your back.
A giggle bubbled up unexpectedly as you lifted your hand beside hers, resting on the tub’s edge. You traced the calluses ridgeing her palm and fingertips. Marks from Dark Sister’s hilt, the reins of Vhagar, the rough stone of conquered castles. "Like dragonhide" you murmured, pressing your soft palm against hers. Your own fingers were smooth, unmarked, accustomed only to embroidery needles, harp strings, and the soft mane of your dragon. "The spoils of peace" Visenya remarked dryly, though her thumb stroked your knuckles with surprising gentleness. She turned your hand over, comparing the delicate blue veins beneath your translucent skin to the faint white scars crisscrossing hers, a map of battles fought while you remained safe on Dragonstone.
"You bled for our throne," you whispered, tracing a jagged line near her thumb. "I merely warmed it." Visenya’s fingers tightened around yours, pulling your hand beneath the water to rest against her thigh. "You preserve it," she corrected, her voice low and resonant against your ear. Her chin rested atop your damp hair. "Your softness is the balm after the blade." Her other hand drifted lazily through the water, fingertips brushing your stomach. "Aegon burns kingdoms. Rhaenys charms them." Her lips grazed your temple. "You… you make them livable." Her fingers slid higher, brushing the underside of your breast, a fleeting, possessive touch. "My reward."
You sighed, sinking deeper against her, the water lapping at your collarbones. Her heartbeat thudded steadily against your back, a counterpoint to the distant roar of Vhagar echoing from the Dragonmont. Her hand remained beneath the water, fingers tracing idle patterns on your inner thigh, circling higher with deliberate slowness. The calluses scraped deliciously against your sensitive skin, a stark reminder of the steel she wielded. You arched subtly, pressing into her touch. Her breath hitched against your hair, her fingers dipping between your thighs, finding the slick heat waiting. A low groan escaped her as she stroked you, her touch rougher than before, urgent with the privacy the bath afforded. Her thumb circled your clit with bruising precision while two fingers slid deep inside you, curling expertly.
"Quietly," she breathed, her voice thick against your ear, her teeth grazing your lobe. Her other hand clamped possessively over your mouth, muffling the cries threatening to escape as she drove you relentlessly towards the edge. Your hips bucked against her hand, water sloshing over the tub's rim. Pleasure coiled tight, sharp and blinding, before shattering through you in silent tremors. She held you through it, her fingers working until the last shudder subsided, then withdrew slowly, her palm still covering your mouth. Only then did she remove it, replacing it with a searing kiss that tasted of steam and shared release. Her violet eyes burned into yours, fierce and satisfied. "Mine," she rasped against your lips.
You caught her wrist beneath the water, your fingers wrapping around hers. The water lapped warm around you both as you turned in her arms, facing her. Sunlight streamed through the steam, catching the droplets on her collarbone. Your gaze traced the faded scars on her shoulders, the strength in her neck, the possessive hunger still smoldering in her eyes. You wished to return her favor. To claim her with the same fierce tenderness she bestowed upon you. To show her that her wildfire wasn’t merely contained but answered.
Leaning forward, you pressed a kiss to the hollow of her throat, tasting the mingled scents of rosewater and her. Your hands slid up her arms, over the corded muscle earned by swordplay and dragon flight, until your palms framed her face. Her breath hitched, it was a rare sound of vulnerability from Visenya. You kissed her slowly, deeply, exploring the heat of her mouth as she had yours. Your tongue traced hers, a deliberate mirror of her earlier worship. Her hands gripped the tub’s edge, knuckles whitening.
You pulled back just enough to see her eyes. Violet flame softened by steam and surprise. Your lips trailed down her neck, nipping lightly at the pulse beneath her jaw. She tilted her head back, a low groan escaping her as your mouth found the scar crossing her collarbone. You kissed it with reverence, as if it were a sacred rune. "My blade," you murmured against her skin, echoing her claim. Your hands drifted lower, skimming her ribs, the taut plane of her stomach. Beneath the water, your fingers brushed the inside of her thigh, and she parted her legs instinctively.
Her breath came sharper now, fogging the air above the bath. You felt the tremor in her muscles as your touch moved higher, finding the heat between her thighs. She was slick and ready, her hips lifting slightly off the tub’s floor. Your fingers circled her entrance, mimicking the rhythm she’d used on you.. slow, deliberate, possessive. Her hand shot out, gripping your shoulder, nails biting flesh. "Do not tease." she warned, voice raw. You obeyed, sliding two fingers deep inside her with a single thrust.
A choked gasp tore from her lips. Her head fell back against the tub’s rim, silver-gold hair plastered to wet stone. Her thighs clamped around your wrist, trapping your hand. You curled your fingers, seeking the rough ridge within her, pressing hard. Her body arched like a drawn bowstring, water sloshing violently. "Yes—" she hissed, the word sharp as Dark Sister leaving its sheath. You watched her face, from the fluttering eyelids, to the parted lips, and the sweat beading her brow despite the steam. This was Visenya unraveling. Not in conquest, but surrender. Your thumb found her clit, rubbing tight circles as your fingers pumped. Her breaths became ragged pants, echoing in the tiled room.
Her hips lifted off the tub floor, chasing your touch. A low, guttural cry ripped from her throat as her climax hit with a shuddering, violent wave that made her dig her nails into your shoulder. You held her through it, fingers deep, thumb relentless, until the tremors subsided into heavy, gasping breaths. She slumped back, chest heaving, water dripping from her chin. Her eyes opened, violet and dazed, locking onto yours. A slow, fierce smile touched her lips that was triumphant, possessive, and utterly sated. She pulled your wrist from the water, bringing your glistening fingers to her mouth. Her tongue swept over them, tasting herself, her gaze never leaving yours. "Wildfire" she rasped, sucking your fingertips clean. "Answered."
