theladyofwinterfell: (put me in my place)
Sansa Stark ([personal profile] theladyofwinterfell) wrote2021-01-30 08:21 pm

a storm from the east

The combined might of the Northern army and the sellswords rallied behind Daemon Storm (Baratheon now, in truth, as who is going to let a king have a bastard name?) had easily trumped the Lannister and Tyrell forces, the latter of which had turned toward the end of the battle when they knew they'd lost. The North won its independence by backing Daemon's claim and Stannis had withdrawn to Gods known where with his army and his Red Priestess. Sansa had no idea and she had the sneaking suspicion that everyone was fairly relieved about it; he would have been a poor king.

Daemon, however, seems a fine king thus far and he is enough of a swordsman and a charmer that every house rallies for him. He's what Robert had been when he was younger, the people whisper, and is popular in that regard. Sansa herself has a more or less positive opinion of him - he'd liberated her from the Lannisters and while he'd taken the Red Keep for himself, there'd been no raping of the women there and it seemed his men were sticking by that order. They weren't out to hurt the people of King's Landing and after years of Lannister rule, it seems it's turning for the better.

For Sansa's part, the alliance to make Robb King in the North had come with the price of Sansa's betrothal to Daemon. He's no Joffrey, she thinks and he's not Tyrion Lannister. The latter had been kind to her, though, and she'd been quick to vouch for him when the Lannisters were put to the sword. Still, the marriage hadn't been binding because it hadn't been consummated and Tyrion graciously hadn't pressed the issue, wanting Sansa free to make her own choices. She's not free, exactly, but the man she's betrothed to doesn't seem to be a bad one even if he's rough around the edges.

Sansa had been moved to nicer rooms since the coup and they're close to the offices where the King and the Hand work on the business of the day. She has none, really, but her curiosity does cause her to linger around when she ought to be making a wedding dress or walking in the Godswood or doing anything with her newfound freedom. She slips into the king's office and gives him a quick curtsy.

"Robb's with his men and I'm tired of sewing. Is the business of running this place harder than winning it, Your Grace?"
firstbornstorm: (pic#14619005)

[personal profile] firstbornstorm 2021-01-31 11:33 pm (UTC)(link)
"Uncomfortable chair," Daemon mused, finishing with that dagger and tucking it away. He wiped the oil from his hands on a clean cloth and casually tossed it aside. "I wonder if anyone would faint if I put a cushion in it..." Giving a snort at his own mild joke, he shook his head and turned back to his betrothed.

"So you're tired of sewing. And that was the last of my smaller weaponry I had to clean. But, I was considering taking a ride in the Kingswood this afternoon, before the weather hits. Want to join me? The Black needs the run, and it gets boring, shut up in this dismal stone pile all the day long."
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[personal profile] firstbornstorm 2021-01-31 11:44 pm (UTC)(link)
Daemon quirked an eyebrow, but he wasn't really surprised. "You're welcome to ride with me, if you like. The Black can easily carry us both." The stallion probably wouldn't be happy about it; since the death of his previous owner, the large horse had little tolerance for anyone else who wasn't Daemon. "And don't worry," the King assured her, sharing his slanted grin, "I'll never let you fall."

He took her down to the courtyard and asked Jhotho to bring The Black, saying to his Kingsguard, "No, I do not need an escort, nor do I want one following along behind. The lady and I are going for a leisurely afternoon ride, no fanfare required." His gaze suddenly turned hard and he gazed at the white-cloaked knights. "And I mean it."

Jhotho brought the snorting, stamping horse into the yard, and Daemon spoke to him briefly in Dothraki, after which the bloodrider nodded, handed over the reins, then melted from sight, leaving Daemon to assist his fiancé aboard the massive black animal. Which he did with casual ease, swinging aboard behind her, one arm settling possessively around her waist, the rest of her snug against his chest as he legged The Black down the causeway leading out of the city.
firstbornstorm: (pic#14619072)

[personal profile] firstbornstorm 2021-02-01 12:14 am (UTC)(link)
The Black's gait was silky smooth, even on the roughened cobblestones of King's Landing, and Daemon had to chuckle at Sansa's remarks. "No, not really. I trust myself more than someone else paid to keep me alive, because men can always be bought, my princess. But I know that I can't, and in any case, it's a fool's errand, coming after me." Egotistic bravado, perhaps, but he'd learned the hard way to be lethal all the time, and there was no second chance for the loser.

At least she'd relaxed against him, which was a good sign. For all of her Northern beauty, Daemon had observed that Sansa Stark was also as chilly as a marble statue when it came to physical intimacy. She deliberately held herself aloof, reserving only a smile when it came down to it. Even with her family, she seldom engaged in hugs, kisses, or confirming touches.

But no matter. The Storm King was a man skilled with women, thanks to years of training by Dothraki warmaidens, madams of exquisite brothels in Mereen, and pleasure slaves of Pentos, all powerful women in their own way who knew how to educate a feisty blue-eyed warrior from Westeros. And Daemon had learned his lessons well.

They left the city proper and reached the cool gloom of the Kingswood, the stallion's hooves making only dull thumps on the fauna-carpeted floor. The sun could only penetrate marginally, leaving the land below the canopy shrouded in green and gold, and a soughing breeze rippled the leaves as it passed.

"And further," Daemon spoke after a few minutes had passed, "I'm something of a jealous man." He made sure to speak right against her ear, his lips brushing against the delicate flesh. The hand at her waist drifted slowly but boldly upwards, his thumb resting directly beneath her breast. "I'll never share what's mine, Sansa..." His dark chuckle followed the words. "Best you learn that now, princess."
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[personal profile] firstbornstorm 2021-02-01 12:32 am (UTC)(link)
Sansa skittered and Daemon laughed, finally slowing the horse to a halt when he'd discovered what he'd been looking for. A nice quiet glade near one of the many brooks that ran through the woods on their way to the sea; yes, this would do nicely. The King dismounted, helped his lady do the same, then tethered The Black so that the horse could graze.

"Never seen a forest like this one in Essos," Daemon remarked, gazing about at the canopy above. "The Grass Sea and the Red Wastes, yes, but never a wood as thick as this." A further brief perusal brought him to a small hummock rising out of the forest floor, and the Storm King flopped down with his back to it with a sigh.

"Come on, Sansa, come sit with me," he invited, patting his thigh. "It's too nice of a day to stand around doing nothing, after all."
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[personal profile] firstbornstorm 2021-02-01 12:46 am (UTC)(link)
Before she'd even finished speaking, Daemon snaked a long arm around Sansa's waist and hauled her over and astride his lap, quickly situating one of her legs on either side of his hips, and shoving her voluminous skirts high to her thighs. Did women here really need all these damned layers?

"I think I could handle it," he rumbled, exhaling another pleased sigh as he settled back with Sansa's pleasant weight in his lap, both of his arms looped casually but firmly behind her, keeping her from bolting away. To that effect, the King bent his knees, slotting them even closer together, and Daemon's smirk slowly slid over his lips, satisfied.

"There," he stated. "Much better. Don't you think?"
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[personal profile] firstbornstorm 2021-02-01 01:09 am (UTC)(link)
"Yes," Daemon replied simply, just letting her sit atop his crotch for the time being. He wasn't aroused enough for her to notice it, but if all went according to plan, that would change and fairly soon. "That's why we're out here, instead of back in the Keep where interruptions seem to be a way of life." His eyes rolled with his derisive snort.

"But listen to me, Sansa, and listen very well. I'm to be your husband, but I'm not your master, your jailor, your nightmare, or your tyrant. I don't need a woman's fear, but I do desire her pleasure. And that's all you'll ever experience from me, do you understand?"

He shifted a bit, pulling her closer so that their noses were perhaps two inches apart. "Now, princess," and Daemon let his voice lower and go gutturally primal, "kiss me." Rough fingers brazenly squeezed her rear, and he gave just a small buck of his hips, a teasing enticement. "Kiss me, Sansa.."
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[personal profile] firstbornstorm 2021-02-01 01:19 am (UTC)(link)
Again, he wasn't surprised. But this was a start, after all.

"It's a start," he told her, lips quirking in his grin. "Let me show you... Close your eyes, Sansa." When she did, Daemon told her, "Open your mouth, just a little." Then he leaned to her, nudged her head lightly with his until he could slot his lips over hers, gently sucking her lower lip before flicking just the tip of his tongue against her upper in a delicate tease.

A bemused chuckle rumbled between them, and Daemon leaned back enough to gaze into his betrothed's now-open eyes. "How was that?"
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[personal profile] firstbornstorm 2021-02-01 01:32 am (UTC)(link)
Daemon let her learn and play, giving kisses when necessary and taking a few here and there for his own. He wasn't shy about letting his hands wander, and they did; calloused fingertips ghosting over Sansa's exposed skin, over her knees, along her thighs, and even between them, but not high enough to make her shiver. Not yet.

But the ties to her dress were quickly becoming irritating, and it was with a disgruntled grunt that the Storm King gave a sharp yank to the laces, snapping one, but achieving his goal of baring her lovely torso to his eyes.

"There." Said in a tone of sheer satisfaction, and then he cupped her breasts, still hidden by her irksome shift, but she was ripe enough for him to roll the nipples between two fingers, all while he kept her mouth busy with his own lips and tongue.
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[personal profile] firstbornstorm 2021-02-01 02:09 am (UTC)(link)
Daemon jerked back, nonplussed, at Sansa's vehement outburst. A sharp eyebrow went up, and he stilled his hands, staring up at her, confused.

"...what are you talking about woman? I'm not ruining you, I'm just touching you." He blinked at her, a little concerned. "Do you think me such a craven bastard as to just fuck you right here and now? Now stop your shrieking. I much prefer the noises you were making a moment ago."
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[personal profile] firstbornstorm 2021-02-01 02:29 am (UTC)(link)
Daemon ducked his head slightly to catch her eyes. "You can trust me, Sansa," he told her quietly. "I'm not one of those dimwitted brutes they call lords here in Westeros. When I tell you something, believe it. And I'm telling you that you're safe, you never have to fear me, you simply have to enjoy me. That's all."

And he gladly kissed her again, putting a little more heated desire into it than he had previously. Her hands he guided to his leather Dothraki jerkin, bidding her untie the laces so she could touch him herself. Still bold, Daemon cupped Sansa's breasts, pinching the tight nipples a little roughly, but from the unconscious rocking of her long body he gathered she was enjoying his attentions.

"Feel good, princess?" It was a rough rumble, given against her smooth neck, even as he began to rock beneath her in time with her own untaught movements. "You feel good to me."
firstbornstorm: (pic#14619011)

[personal profile] firstbornstorm 2021-02-01 02:47 am (UTC)(link)
He carried scars from the remnants of his former life; collar marks around his neck and wrists, the latter of which he customarily covered with leather cuffs, and his torso bore the marks of whips, blades, and other weapons here and there, the dusky skin decorated by a life of hardship and struggle.

But her hesitant touches were pleasant, and Daemon rumbled his satisfaction against her skin, coaxing Sansa's tongue from her mouth with broad strokes of his own, hands leaving her breasts to shove that cumbersome dress off of pale shoulders to pool at her waist, an unwanted barrier. But probably prudent, given how high his passions customarily ran.
firstbornstorm: (pic#14619004)

[personal profile] firstbornstorm 2021-02-01 10:04 pm (UTC)(link)
"A Dornishman's pike," he murmured as her fingers ran over a particularly jagged mark. "We were raiding a border patrol down in Sunspear, and I let him get a little too close." A huffed laugh warmed her neck, and Daemon gently squeezed Sansa's breasts, rubbing the tight nipples with coarse palms. Then he said, "A Braavosi dagger," to her next gentle exploration. "She didn't take kindly to having her strongbox looted." Again, he chuckled. "Qotho had to pry her off of me, I thought she was going to take out my throat with her teeth."

He lifted his head, smirking up at his soon-to-be wife. "All of them have a story," he shrugged. "Some more interesting than others. I'll tell you about them as we go along, if you like." Then he turned his attention back to her clothing, quirking an eyebrow at the ridiculousness of women's garments. A twist of his wrist, and Sansa's shift vanished, leaving her beautiful breasts bare for his eyes.

"...why do you hide behind all of these layers, princess? You're a beautiful woman. You aren't a treasure to be hoarded, but a vision to enjoy." That said, Daemon didn't waste any other words, but instead leaned his head to her breasts, boldly sucking a pebbled nipple right between his lips, tongue teasing her shamelessly.

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