halfyeared | ( open post )

[ 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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