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[What Daemon has taught her is that boldness. She does not need to be so passive. As much as her father has been an influencing force on how to rule, and while he has ruled peacefully, Daemon has certainly taught her a sort of aggressiveness. As a woman she does not have the luxury of being so passive when her people already do not find her a suitable heir based solely on her gender. She needs the sort of push that Daemon gives her.

Even if he might not like it as much as he thought he did when it entirely aimed at him. He started this. He awoke something in her, and she cannot just let it go. It will linger far after he leaves. He's set something in motion, something she might not entirely be aware of right now, but it will build in his absence until he truly is hers, by her side and as her support. It is not just because he is in his own right formidable, a wild card the Greens will never truly understand, but because of this devotion to her that must have brought him to her tonight, even if it entirely can be self serving depending on his motives.

For now though she understands some of it. She understands this role he plays, the force that makes all the pieces fall into a row. She knows that without him things are less stable for her. There are already sides being drawn, especially with Rhaenyra's hand in removing Otto. Alicent may already know. So when he draws himself to her, it is like an instinct that she wants to touch him, hands moving to his sides as she gives in just a little and steps toward him when he moves.

She is pleased that he acquiesces, that she can push just as many buttons as he does for her, but she is not so hard headed to not meet in the middle. There can be some compromise.]

Skoros gaomagon ao jaelagon issa naejot ivestragon ao? [She can accept that he's leaving, but she does not like it. She knows she wants him, but he's the one that has pulled back. He isn't now, but he must know already. She followed him into the brothel. She knows there is something he is trying to pull from her, and she raises her head to look up at him as he crouches to make eye contact with her, demonstrating more of what she meant that he has the physical advantage of her.

It is not a bad thing. But perhaps that is the point he is making. Her gender does not predispose her to having to wait. Perhaps in standard rules of courting and the way she must take it in the marriage bed. But she has already learned this is different. Pleasure is different. She can be in charge of what she wants, who she wants. She's showed as much with Criston. There's a smile that plays on her lips, a little emboldened by the thought.]

Gaomagon ao jaelagon issa naejot ivestragon ao naejot daor henujagon sir? Bona nyke jaelagon ao kesīr. [Physically here now, in front of her and in her hands. Would that matter? Does it change his goodbye? She knows that part at least is inevitable.]

[ It is something to be staring down the consequences of his own actions, unable to pry himself away for yet another time. Now embroiled in the wake of a disaster that he created in the heart of a brothel. With a court of men who would not hesitate to call him out on his depravity to invite himself back into the room of the woman he's all been but forbidden to see. So easily he could be rid of the mess by simply backing away. Yet there is something to it to be tangled up in it all. In the way she's looking at him.

Many things were at play before, many excuses among them. Now it's just the two of them alone among flickering candles. His head remains tilted as he stops once he's engulfed her space so easily. Close enough to smell the perfumed oils combed through her hair and begin to feel the warmth becoming trapped between them. In a position where he might reach out and tip up her chin just a bit more, his hands remain tuck themselves loosely behind his back. It does not mean he doesn't think about it. Allowing the silence to spill and take in.]

Ao emagon issa kesīr sir. [ He offers a simple correction, gaze falling from hers down into the space between them. There's no use in looking for her to appease his ego by begging him to stay. That's not what he's looking for. It's not what he needs from her. His begging for validation is often no secret. Towards his brother it lashes out in petty wars and childish fits that ransack the streets of silk. But it's not the sort of thing he's looking for right now. He lacks the petulance, the teasing, the subtle deprecation.]

Iksis bona daor mirre bona jaelā? [ He asks, leaning ever so closer. Close enough until their breaths begin to mingle as he mirrors every little waver and sway. Knowing very well he is playing with fire in many ways but one. Giving her the room to step back if she ever so chooses, because once again there's nothing else he's waiting for at this point but permission.] IIā iksis konīr mirros jaelā tolī?

[Part of the appeal with Daemon is that they should not be doing this, and yet, they are Targaryen. Jaehaerys declared the Doctrine of Exceptionalism that allowed for this, proving that Targaryens could do what they want-- though it is likely it would not have stopped this from happening anyway. Targaryens cared little for the Faith of the Seven and what they thought. Certainly Rhaenyra was not thinking about the morality of this. She would wager Daemon thought less so of it.

But it still has that draw. He encourages that wild streak in her, the cleverness, the eagerness, the want and the draw for everything in this life that is hers by right and then some. She just needs to seize it. And once again he is reminding her of that when he stands so close to her. She is not just a girl learning, not when he stands so close to her as he did the night in the brothel.

Her breath catches when he asks what all she wants. It is a many layered question, eyes drawing up to his as she pulls herself closer with her hands on his sides still.]

Nyke jaelagon ziry ry.

[Her answer stands alone, but it is telling. She wants the throne, she wants the kingdoms, she wants the power, she wants him. She wants all of him. Rhaenyra isn't being vague when she says this, she's realized that literally she wants everything. Her voice does not waver as she says it. It is hers by birthright. Her eyes lock onto his, feeling more sure of herself in this moment than she has probably ever. Viserys probably has never felt as sure as she feels now considering how he has never once wanted or fought for his position.

But now that fire just seemed to burn hotter, staring up into his eyes. He must feel that heat, too, she thinks. The space between them starts to disappear as her hands curl into his shirt. It gives him some kind of warning before she is leaning in and rising up on her tiptoes. She is the one to make that move, the one he is likely waiting on her to make. He may have started this play in the brothel, removing their disguises as a point, but it has taken them much farther, and it may, indeed, be a long play now. It has the potential to solidify a future that still seems out of reach for her though.]

[ There it is. Sparking in her like dragonflame. Long since he's known their bond shared in blood, the desire to reclaim their namesake's legacy. Where those like his brother had fallen into the fattened complacency of Westerosi rule, he longed for someone with some might filling that seat. He had spent many years anticipating filling that seat, a desire that might not have truly faded away.

But to hear it from her now. After placating her fears of what she might become by submitting to her place in court. After watching her struggle brunt the weight upon her shoulders once she took place as heir. He can see that flame stoking now through the conviction in her voice. Maybe he could give it all to her, he could have it all, what an intoxicating thought.

The glimmer of amusement in his eyes is short-lived in the time it takes for their lips to meet. Allowing himself to be drawn in by her fingers twisting into his shirt, weight swaying forward to curl around her. It's not quite like the slow lull of a kiss chasing after a kiss. At last he releases his hands from behind his back. Thankful to no longer be tethered by his own insufferable patience. They snake up between them to gather the sides of her face between them, fingertips tangling into the wisps of hair cradling the base of her neck.

They are no longer treading a shallow territory drawn out long between them. She gives, he takes. Drawing each out one in a savoring way to enjoy her taste. Enjoy her heat and the way her breath catches in her mouth between each one. It's still a goodbye, even if he doesn't anticipate it becoming a long one. ]

[Rhaenyra had never wanted to be heir, had never asked for it. She grew up in the shadows of Viserys desire for a son. Rhaenyra had dreamt of adventure upon the back of Syrax, of being a knight, wild and free. Much of that has come crashing down since the death of her mother, but that desire for more still lives inside of her. It has always been there even if it's been buried beneath duty and the weight that the throne does put on her.

But that desire lives in her still, flourished at the hand of her Uncle as influences and shapes her similarly. They are more similar than they are not, and it is why she has always looked up to him, admired him. Maybe it has always been hard to think of a suitor when no man can live up to him. It is not something she had thought of until that night he led her through the streets of King's Landing. And now it is hard to think of nothing else.

Rhaenyra is eager when he dips down, his hands around her face again. She smiles into the kiss, not thinking about the goodbye this is meant to be, but the life it gives her in all her desires now. It feels deeper, more connected than the show he might have put on before. This is longing, a connection beyond herself. It isn't just playful or wanting, but driven and purposeful as she kisses him back, tilting her head just a little more to taste him. She wants to sear this into her memory, not knowing when next she may see him.

She wants to remember the way she fits against him, his fingers in her hair. Her own hands slide up a little higher as she holds her body against his. She will take whatever this moment is, remembering the way it burns inside of her as it swims through her veins and heating her to her core.]

[ Her fervor is all the conviction he needs. To allow himself to get lost in it, pulled deeper into her. Justified now in his wanting.

It solidifies the reckless propositions he'd uttered on a stony floor. Ones so swiftly rejected in his audacity. Even though he'd been denied them once, he would find some way now. Create a perfect storm in which his brother cannot tell him no again. No one else was worthy of her. For all the positing of seeking her own freedoms beyond the confines of an ill-fitted suitor. For how easily it might have been to be the one she comes to outside of a marital bed. He wanted it to be him.

He'd not meant to stay, or maybe he'd at least not considered it before he'd arrived. Now finding it difficult not to let it get carried away. Feeling the press of her against his chest and absorbing in all her heat. He may have the physical advantage, but she is no less demanding to make up for her stature. A breathless laugh creeps out of him as he tips back to let her mouth chase his and captures it again. Teeth bearing down on her bottom lip, testing. Tasting. Teasing. Not concerned with being too careful. She's proven more than once how they're cut from the same cloth. Able to take as much she's willing to give. It shows in the way she moves now emboldened with newfound confidence.

The desire for more of it demands the release of his hands cradling her head. Fingertips swooping back over the softness of her gown to scoop her at the waist and draw her up against him. Give her a bit of ease in the craning of both their necks. Ambling not yet towards the direction of the bed, but considering it. He'd already been condemned for actions he'd yet taken. What should stop him from taking them now? ]

[It is easy to chase after the kisses, the want bubbling up over in her. Her sole attention is on him. While he is still plotting things out far more along than she currently is, Rhaenyra is in the moment. Her eagerness is apparent. The way her hands hold onto him, hoping that she gets more of him, and the way she kisses him back after he laughs. The lightness of it is also contagious, like she's found this desire in her that simply will not relinquish, but she wants to still tease and to explore more-- getting more of a chance now than she did before.

It is hard to lose that sort of giddiness of being with someone for the first time, it still feels sort of new and fresh. The desire can feasibly burn right through her, and it comes through simultaneously with a soft noise when he picks her up, lifting to give her that leverage. Hands hold steady to his upper arms, and her smile flickers as she looks back in his eyes. She knows where this could go, the bed is only a few steps behind her, but this time she doesn't press in words, but in actions.

Her mouth finds his neck this time, fingers tracing the expanse of his shoulders. She could get drunk on kisses, the way he teases and bites, but she wants more. She wants everything. She's established that already. She nestles in to the crook of his neck as he holds her up to him, her mouth finding purchase that soft spot before the ear that dips under the collar of his linen shirt.]

[ It's not all too complicated once he gets out of his head. He knows pleasure as well as he knows breathing or killing. A freedom he's been granted easily since before her age. It's all the same until it's different. She is different in a couple ways, he handles her differently than he would a common whore. Than he might have with any mistress. It'd almost been like that before, at least going in he assumed he would have treated her so simply until he hadn't. Until she had shown him how much more she had wanted it.

With the grace he's giving her now, his head dutifully tips aside to allow her mouth to roam. His head seeking to rest against hers whenever its able. Soaking in every bit of her. The drag of her warm mouth on his skin, the sound of her breath. It's in short order that he begins moving. His breath is heady as he wades forward with their legs wrapped in some graceless tangle until the shin of his boot finds the frame of her bed with a dull thud. Giving no warning before dropping them both onto the bed in a clumsy affair. One knee catching the edge somewhere between her legs and a hand at her side to prevent complete chaos.

It's not his best, not like he cares, not like she would either. A musing noise sounds in his throat as he draws his gaze back up at her from looking down between them. Slowly he pulls his other hand out from underneath her to begin drawing himself upright. ]

[Rhaenyra is acting on pure instinct, what feels good and what she wants to do. She knows just a bit more about bodies from the first time they moved like this, but even this is different. Criston was fun, Criston was a want to fill the gaping hole Daemon left in his place. But having Daemon carry her to her bed himself is an entirely different level of intimacy than even she was expecting. She can feel his forehead against her head as she kisses along his skin, sucking gently where his neck meets his shoulder.

The warmth between them seems to spread in her body, that pressure between her legs mounting. She's ready to try and lift her legs or move them between hers until she feels him hit her bed. Rhaenyra hadn't realized they had gotten that far, though it really only took a few steps. To her, she's been so wrapped up in him, wanting only more.

It's not the most ceremonious, being all but dropped on her bed. It gives her a little bounce as she lands, propped up on her elbows to look up at him. Her hair is a little fussed already, cheeks flushed, but wearing a wide smile. The warmer months mean her gown is thinner, though of course nothing too scandalous. It sits softly over her, still revealing enough. She lifts her chin to look up at him, but does not wait long before she's trying to pull him to her, unable to let too much time draw past. Part of her is too worried that if he stops and thinks again, he'll leave her there like before.]

[ Her worries aren't unfounded, that part of Daemon's nature cannot be overlooked. Fickle and untamed, driven only by the course he sets. Not even Rhaenyra has the power to pry him completely from that, even though her pull to him now has become almost unquenchable.

This moment is more of pure of desire than heedless ambition, but a thought continues to haunt him. Looming over him like a shadow unable to be entirely shaken away. He can close his eyes and allow her to pull him in stay tangled up in the heat of it, but it's not releasing its grip. As the desire mounts and draws at him in further, so does that shadow follow.

The smile curling his lips still mirrors her amusement, but the brief flicker in his demeanor can surely be felt. There is resistance setting into his bones as she reaches for him again. Allowing her to snare him from retreating back any further but not enough for her to drag him back down completely. Instead, he meets her somewhere in the middle and kisses her again. Allowing her to take him back into the fold once more.

As his weight sinks back down on one arm, freeing up a hand to wander her. Fingertips mapping each curve through the cloudy linen until the length of his reach is met. Grasping at the fabric and gathering it up to find the heat of her bare thigh. Lightly calloused fingers finding purchase along warm skin with a subtle squeeze.]

[She can feel his hesitation just behind every touch and every kiss. It's not outright like he's stop himself, for he isn't, not when his hands move the expanse of her side, traveling over her nightgown to seek out the heat of her thighs. Rhaenyra spreads her legs enough to give him room to explore, her own hands pulling at his shirt to seek out his own skin.

She tries to pull him down, take her into this void that she is never looking back from. Maybe he knows more, maybe he has reasons, but she does not think it is some sort of morality. She wants him, and there's nothing that's going to stop that, and she is too desperate to just let him pull away this time. The silent 'please' is in every action, the way her hand slides up as she tries to touch whatever is offered to her. It's evident in the way she kisses him again, hungry and begging to not leave her again. She is not a needy person, and certainly if he pulls away, she will do as she's done before, but her want is and has been for him. Her desperation is in wanting him to fill it.

She tries to entice him, to mask the need. It is not a feeling she is used to, but instead brushes her calf up against the side of his leg, hoping he presses in further. She wants that space to close again, hands moving to try and get him to do that. It was easier when she was pressed to him, when she could remind him of what all he could have by physically feeling it. That feels easier and better than the neediness that pulls at her, that she might watch someone else leave again.]

[ He came to her room tonight with an intention, a curiosity. Something that he'd hoped carried with her blooming confidence and that spark of determination he'd seen in her. A confidence now seeded with doubt. What she thinks might make things better is slowly making it worse. Like some cursed utterance he continues to deny which seems to come back tenfold. While she can no longer ignore his urge to step away, he can no longer ignore her desperation to keep him there.

So lovingly trapped between her legs as he's slowly losing the fight in the way she drags him down. As the press of her leg against his side rises higher, his hand sinks lower and deeper beyond the tresses of her nightgown and the widening of the back of her thigh. The kisses shared between them grow coarse and feverous enough to leave him catching breaths in between. She's clambering for the control. One he'd been so easily ready to give her now sours in the taste of his mouth. Her strength can hardly match his own but manages to bend him further down at the waist. Only so soon he realizes she isn't going to give up this fight.

Daemon releases his hand from her thigh to press back down against the bed before she can tip his balance. His weight shifts back again so far as her reach allows, breaking his head away from the kiss to dip his chin down in a way that grazes his forehead against her cheek.]

Rhaenyra. [ The way he speaks her name says everything and nothing. Exhausted, reprimanding, regretful. At least this time choosing to speak first instead of storm away. Not yet trying to disentangle himself, but it's now inevitable.]

[She is trying to bring him back, but she can feel him slowly unraveling himself from her. Lying back she looks back at him, somewhat grateful that this time he hasn't just disappeared into the night again. She's still left breathless and wanting. He cannot come so close to touching her and then leave her empty handed.

She still tries to touch him of course, sitting up just enough that her hands try and pull at his hips to bring him back where he was. He says her name in such a way that she the look she returns him with is both confused and almost hurt. There's a half shake of her head.]

Don't-- [Not again. She sighs, trying to not fight, but still willing to fight for what she wants. He cannot bring her so close only to pull away again.]

What is it that keeps you from me when every fiber of your being wants this as badly as I do? Do you think I cannot feel it, too? [She is sure he is about to give her a lesson or something, and she's already attempting to subdue the eyeroll that is about to happen, but she tries to plead again with him, her hand taking his once more. What could possibly be so important to him to stop the inevitable?]

[ There is no lesson. No pre-equipped droll of aloofness that he tends to muster up even in the worst of situations. Ready to launch even at the risk of a dagger to his neck. No danger, no consequences. He plays with everyone and everything, it's in his nature to remain untouchable. at the arm's length of a blade. He acts unburdened by the words of court, of anyone, of his brother. And yet here he has nothing.

He can't even look at her.

His head remains hanging from where she'd pulled back, hair flopped over one of his eyes. Maybe he could try and spurn doubt hin her, push her away, but he can't deny what she said. At the instance she says it he even what's left of her on his lips. Allowing her fingers to twine with his a moment but the touch finally spurns him into action. He only scoffs bitterly instead of say what he might want to say, what he knows is true. It's not something he can explain or for her to understand. She's a woman grown, but she's still a girl in many ways. Her desire is just desire, meant to be left at that.

In one motion he pulls himself away, back onto his feet where the cool air of the room hits his face. Finally parted away from her enough to feel it. It disorients him as he tries to keep his cool, soothing a hand through his hair to push it away from his eyes.]

I have to go. [ he says at last, tone cold as turns away. Sorting out the damage shed done upending his shirt from his trousers. ]

[She almost expects this, when he does pull away. Of course she wants more, but this feels a bit more final. She tries to get her fingers to tangle with his, wanting to fight against it, but the more she pushes against him, the more she may lose him. She closes her eyes a moment, trying to push away the heat that’s still raging through her.

What’s more important is that she doesn’t want this to end like this, simply because of her stubbornness. It doesn’t mean she wants him any less, but she still doesn’t want him to just go. Small fingers tug at him lightly, trying to get his attention.]

At least kiss me goodbye. [Maybe that last one was meant to be her goodbye, but she can’t just let it end like this, with him in a hurry. Maybe she could accept it this way, if it was truly final.]

[The heat continues to fade from him but he's no less frustrated than he was before. At himself, less at her. Embarrassed. Foolish. It'd be less difficult if she were mad, but he can't expect that. He can handle a flying goblet and venomous words. Call him a whoreson or anything else. But instead her voice is small and sad and disarming.

She draws his hand and he lets it hand there among her fingertips before he turns to look down at her over his shoulder then to their hands. His tongue presses against the roof of his mouth, jaw tightening as he considers whether to indulge her request or not. Thinking he shouldn't. All the while the thumb of his captured hand moves to stroke whatever finger its wrapped around.

Without giving her an answer he turns to face her again, freeing his own hand from hers to reach up and cup her face between his hands again. Footsteps wading closer again to close this distance. The moment he stares down at her feels like it lasts longer than it does before he bends down and kisses her again. This one is more simple. An apology, if he's even capable of such a thing. Truly indicative of the last one.]

[His reciprocal touch, the feeling of his calloused thumb sweeping over her fingers, is enough of a confirmation. She doesn’t understand the internal struggle, but is aware he’s battling it. She offers a sincere if not sad sort of smile in turn. It’s okay, it says. Even if it’s not. Even if nothing about this is okay on any sort of level.

She’ll be okay, she knows. If there’s one thing about Rhaenyra, she perseveres. She must. She finds some way. And if it is not right now, then she will make some way of finding what she wants in the marriage with Laenor, because she cannot imagine a passionless marriage. She would also hope Laenor is happy, and she already doubts that physically she probably cannot make him happy.

The kiss she responds with is softer than the others, one that probably speaks more in truth. She wants him of course, that fire within her begging to come out. If her fingers curl against his hand, it is to physically stop her from trying to pull him down again. He’s made it clear, and she has to respect it even if she doesn’t like it. She has to content herself with these final moments, as hard as they are to let go.]

[ It somehow makes everything more awful. The bitter notes and the sweet ones. Almost as though he'd much rather now have left hours ago. Daemon's never been the one for goodbyes. He is more often there and then suddenly he isn't, blowing down his own path in and out of the city without so much a word. If there's any word, it's delivered by foot from whatever inconvenienced soul that might be last to see him.

He's no better at them now. Parting from her only after a moment and not looking to linger. He releases her from between his hands with a fleeting graze of his thumb along her cheek. The disentanglement is swift but gentle. Not giving her the breath of another opportunity. Once he turns away and starts heading back for the secret panel he'd come through earlier, he doesn't speak a word nor look back. ]

Edited (dont mind me, i just broke all my icons but i can fix this one) 2022-10-20 19:44 (UTC)

[She sits on the edge of her bed, holding his hand until the very last second she could, as if she could will him to not leave with her touch alone. She has tried this entire time to get him to stay, but it was futile. It hurts seeing him leave, but at least she got something out of it, even if she no more understands his leaving now than she did the other night when he stormed out of the brothel without her.

She still feels worked up, more saddened now. It is a sort of completion, a resolution. It's not what she wanted at all, but it doesn't feel so empty or hanging over her. She feels like she's never wanted something more than she wants him now, but she has no way of making him feel the same, or act on it anyway. She knows he does. He could not deny that fact, not even in front of her. So her shoulders just slump as his figure slinks further and further away, never looking back or saying another word. She's gotten her goodbye after all-- as empty as the pit in her chest feels now.]

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