Work Text:
Rhaenyra didn't like believing in fate.
That made what had happened to her mother particularly cruel.
Her father promised she was destined to be queen, that her bloodline was destined to save the world from ice with fire. But destiny felt fickle when she didn't even know if she would be queen—wouldn't know for sure until she sat the Iron Throne herself.
But maybe fate was sweet. One whispered wish, "I want you," in the ear of a man she'd wanted for so long, a man who she knew wouldn't let her down, and then his lips were on hers—fated, perhaps. Or lucky. Or perhaps, simply, Rhaenyra Targaryen saw what she wanted and finally claimed it.
Her body ached less than it had a month ago, the last time she'd seen Harwin. Her soul ached less too, but that was entirely for seeing Daemon. Even that morning before she'd arrived on Driftmark, she'd had to hide her grief from Alicent's all-seeing eyes, had to convince Jace to say he grieved the aunt he barely knew.
She thought she might feel like a girl again, seeing Daemon. She thought her pulse would race with fire, that she would challenge him like the dragon rider she was. But instead, it was like putting on an old and comfortable pair of shoes—one you lost, but had been under the bed the whole time. She didn't feel like a young girl at all. It was hard to when her body still carried signs of Joffrey: her breasts ached even though he suckled a wetnurse; blood still dripped daily from her cunt, though thankfully it was getting lighter by the day. Her cunt was sore still, but that hadn't stopped it from clenching when first Daemon had locked eyes with her, before they were alone and could say anything to one another.
I want you, she told him as she kissed him. It wasn't a girl's challenge, a demand that he come and claim her for his own, that he steal her off to Dragonstone, wed her, and have the wicked way with her he'd promised on the streets of King's Landing, but hadn't been able to commit to. I want you, the statement of a woman, a mother, a princess—weary and frightened perhaps, but also comforted for there he was.
There was Daemon.
Daemon never let her down, even when he was letting her down.
He always came back to her, one way or another.
His hands wrapped around her waist, thicker than it had been when they'd explored the city and Keep together. With every pregnancy, it had gotten less slim. She wondered if she'd ever lose the weight she'd put on for Joffrey. She didn't care so long as Daemon was there.
And there he was. His lips were still on hers, his tongue tracing the corners of his mouth. How delicious he was, how delicious he always had been. Slowly, he was walking them backwards towards the wrecked ship on the beach, for even if they were Targaryens, even if they could do what they want and fuck whoever they wanted, perhaps some cover from the sea wind and moonlight might be nice.
"When did you have Joffrey?" he asked when the curved bow of the ship reared over their head like a sept, like a dragon's wing.
"I don't want to think about Joffrey," she told him fiercely. If there was one thing that would cool the fire in her veins right now, it was thinking about her children, birthing them, raising them.
"I don't want you to think about Joffrey either," Daemon whispered, his lips at the top of her neck now, just below her ear. "Which is why I'm asking."
His fingers were tracing fine circles on her rear. With each circle, her skirt rose slightly. It was at her ankles now, and she was sure in moments it would be around her knees. Vividly, she remembered him turning her around and pressing her to a wall, his cock out and sliding between her legs, but not inside her. Just in and out of her thighs. How delicious that had been. And yet how unsatisfying. How not enough.
What if he had just fucked me then, and I had never fucked Ser Criston. Would Criston still be her friend? Would Laenor had never lost Joffrey? Would she be wed to Daemon who had despoiled her so soon before his wife died?
"Rhaenyra." A groan of pleasure, a plea to continue, a complaint that she hadn't answered his question yet, so lost was she in thought, in the heady memory of him and all it meant.
"A month ago," she replied. "A little more than." He paused. "Don't you dare leave me again," she growled more forcefully than she intended. But she was too old to be left behind, and losing his nerve because she was too young was different from him losing his nerve now. She was not a little girl. She wanted this, and she wanted it now. If some foolishly chivalrous corner of his brain would seek to deny her because he thought she wasn't ready, couldn't handle it, she would give him a piece of her mind. Yes, she was sore, yes she was tired, yes if it were anyone but Daemon she'd tell them to go get stuffed, but some things were worth wanting and it was her choice to want it.
But his response was to keep circling her skirt up, and his voice was soothing when he replied. "I won't. I promise." He sealed the promise with a kiss.
"Promising isn't doing," she goaded. That was part of what she liked about Daemon—goading him. He was softer than people realized, and he liked a challenge. She liked to be his challenge.
"Isn't it?"
Quick as a snake, the ties that held her gown together were undone and the fabric was slipping down into the sand below. Nearly as quickly, he was tugging her underdress up over her head, leaving her in jewels and a loincloth in the moonlight. Her nipples puckered against the cool of the wind.
He stared at her, his eyes drinking in her larger breasts, her wider hips, her thicker waist. When at last his gaze returned to hers, he stepped forward, hefting one of her breasts in his hand. It wasn't painful but it was sensitive and despite her best efforts, she hissed slightly when he brushed a thumb across her nipple.
"Too much." He wasn't asking, he was observing. Then he gave her a half smile, his eyes suddenly wicked. "Something to look forward to on another night."
Damn him that he could make her forget how chilly the evening wind was. Suddenly she was aflame, stepping forward to feast on his lips. He tasted of wine and Daemon, just as he had that night in King's Landing, but this time, he wasn't afraid—and neither was she. This time, when his hips pressed against hers, arousal tenting in his trousers, she knew he wouldn't run from it. He would have already if he was going to. And besides, what was there to run from this time? It was just them.
Out of his doublet she pulled him, then off with his shirt. She traced every scar that crawled across his body like spiderwebs as she sank them both down onto the pile of their clothing—finer than any bed she'd ever laid on.
She wanted the weight of him to be delicious. She wanted every breath to leave her body as he pressed onto her, into her. Fucking was like dragon riding—your breath trapped with exhilaration unless you made your lungs move.
But Daemon wasn't crushing the air out of her. He was hovering over her on his elbows, his head dropped into the crook of her neck as he ground himself against her hipbone—far away from her cunt.
"Daemon," she breathed, trying to pull him closer. But instead of acquiescing, he pulled away from her. "If you are—" she meant to say leaving her again, but he kissed her stomach, kissed the marks on the skin that had stretched to accommodate her three boys, kissed the hipbone he'd just been grinding against. Then he slid his fingers into her loincloth and tugged it down, and kissed a spot just above her cunt too.
She let out a hiss.
There were plenty of carvings in the Red Keep of this. It was hardly the first time she'd had a man's lips to her cunt. Harwin had quite delighted of feasting upon her. My favorite dessert, he'd grin at her with those twinkling eyes of his.
She didn't want to think of Harwin when Daemon was flicking his tongue across just the right spot. She both longed for him to slip fingers inside her and could weep with relief that he wasn't. Rhaenyra was the sort who would rather die than admit defeat, but now that he was as close as he was, she didn't want anything inside her. She wanted the sweetness without the pain. But she shouldn't have worried. His hands massaged her thighs, his tongue the spot between her pubic bone and her slit, and Rhaenyra let her head fall back into the sand, her eyes open for the stars and moon overhead.
"Daemon," she sighed. "Gods—"
A hand came up to rest upon her stomach, and he paused in his licking. She looked down her rolling body at him. He was licking his lips, traces of blood fading before his tongue. She opened her mouth to apologize but stopped herself. He was smirking at her, and she refused to apologize when he was smirking.
"You taste good," he told her. "One day, I'll give myself more than just a taste. One day I'll dine on you until you forget your own name." Her heart stuttered over his words. "But for now, a little taste is the perfect way to experience the sea." And he dropped his head again.
The tides rolled, water crashing over sand. She didn't know how far or near the water broke on the beach, just that she was starting to be able to hear her ragged breath over it. Her throat—not her mouth—was making noises of pleasure, and she was rocking her hips against his lips. She always had loved fucking. Daemon had showed her that. She left everything behind when her heart raced until she was flying and it was just her and the stars overhead and the sea somewhere nearby.
And then the worst part of flying—when everything was too sensitive and she pulled away before she really wanted to. She wanted to fly forever, but eventually, her body always made her pull away. Today perhaps more than usual because the way her cunt was clenching—there was more discomfort than she'd like mixed with the sweetness of it. She tilted her hips away, her thighs moist from her own essence—and possibly some of the blood that Daemon had managed to taste.
"Worth the wait?" Daemon asked her. She could hear his smirk. She laughed and held out a hand. Her eyes were still closed so she couldn't see him, but a moment later he was shifting back up her body. His hand was trailing down her arm, making its way slowly towards the hand she'd held out to him. But even as his fingertips passed her elbow, she felt his cock through his trousers against her hip again and reached for the drawstrings instead.
And then he was thick and warm in her hand, his breath hitching and hot against her cheek as she began to pump along his shaft, letting her fingers toy at the tip for just a moment before continuing to stroke. She liked how ragged his breath was and how when it reached her nose, it smelled a bit of her. When she opened her eyes, it was to find that his were closed now, that his lips were trembling. "And is this worth the wait, my love?" she whispered to him.
He half-hummed, half-groaned, but did not answer, instead burying his face into her neck as he continued to do his best to breathe. "I want you," she whispered to him again, just as she had out on the beach. "I want you."
For one horrible moment, she thought he was going to shove into her as he pushed her hand away and fumbled between her legs. She opened her mouth, though whether it was to say "wait" or "no" or "fuck my mouth instead, please," she didn't know. It didn't end up mattering, though, because he didn't push into her. His cock stayed between her thighs as he rocked his hips against hers. One of his hands found the outer part of her leg and pushed it closed around his cock and she understood. She sucked on his neck, kissed his earlobes, his nose, his lips, his jaw—anything she could reach as he rocked his hips with a heat that reminded her of a heady night in a brothel, the first time his cock had slid itself between the flesh of her thighs.
It had been sweet then; she'd forgotten just how much. And it was sweet now. She was wet still from earlier, and her cunt was locked away safely. All she could feel was hot wet heat and pressure. Even the way that Daemon was holding himself on his elbows right now, her breasts only lightly touched his chest, sending delicious curls of pleasure towards her belly, towards her cunt. She wouldn't fly again but this was only sweetness and she would delight in it as long as she could. She couldn't remember the last time she'd only felt sweetness.
The sea smelled of salt, and Daemon did too when he came with a choke and rolled off her to collapse. She didn't know where the sea ended and Daemon began in her nose as they lay there. Even their breath faded into the tide. One of his hands traced circles on her bared belly.
"It was, by the way," she whispered.
"Hm?" he sounded half asleep, but his fingers kept toying with her skin.
"Worth the wait. I wanted you, so it was worth the wait."
He opened one bleary eye to look at her in the moonlight. She'd never seen that look in Daemon's eyes before. She'd seen lust, amusement, infatuation, bemusement—even respect.
But she didn't think she'd ever seen love until now.
There it was.
Maybe this is fate.
Maybe, for all it could be harsh and cruel and unforgiving, fate could briefly be kind too.