theladyofwinterfell | a storm from the east

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 The North won its independence by backing Daemon's claim and Stannis had withdrawn to Gods known where with his army and his Red Priestess.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?"

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He chuckled behind her, feeling her clench down over his hand as she rode out her climax. Good, for a start, but her King wasn't nearly finished with her yet. Daemon kept his hand where it was, letting her milk as much pleasure as she wanted from it, and when she eased, he covered one of her hands with his and drew it down between her thighs, pressing her own fingers against her heated wetness.

"Feel," was his low command, guiding her fingers up and down. "Soft and warm, isn't it? That's very good, Sansa...very, very good, sweetling." He had little qualm about denying his own pleasure to give her hers; it was so much sweeter that way. Her other hand Daemon guided to her breast, teaching her how to cup the heavy flesh, how to stimulate the hard nipple all while gracing her flushed shoulders and neck with nipped kisses and amused little huffs of breath.

"It doesn't bother you? That I'm doing it?"

It breaks the no talking rule but Sansa thinks since she's been good this long and she hasn't said one word to stop him, he might let it pass. Besides, it's a genuine question. It doesn't feel nearly as good when she touches her own breast or when she passes her fingers between her legs but she suspects it's because she's clumsy at it and he has far more practice. Still, her breath comes short and she's starting to feel warm all over again.

It's taking longer, yes, but it's still working.

"Never," he assured her, keeping his hands over hers light, just bare touches. "It's a heady thing, Your Grace, watching a woman pleasure herself. Bespeaks that she's bold, she's sure, that she wants." She'd learn. "Does it feel good? Your hands on your own body?"

Daemon knew that it had to, and he also knew that she'd never pleasured herself before. Which was why he was taking his time, teaching her that she had nothing to fear. Had he been any other man, any other King, she'd have been ploughed in that bed across the room, no care given to her well-being or her own pleasure.

Moving his hands to her hips, he deliberately pressed her ass into his groin, giving a soft, stilted little moan as his cock responded eagerly. "I'll give you that a little later," he promised. "For now, just move a little in my lap. Just enough to tease. Just enough to drive me mad, slowly..."

"It feels nice," Sansa says, brow wrinkling a little as she assesses it. She does feel good, wet and warm, but it doesn't make her burn the way it does when Daemon touches her. She doesn't think it's something she'll want as often as she'll want him to touch her, that's for certain. "It feels better when it's your hands."

She loses herself in touching until he presses her down into his groin and he feels her hard beneath her. That puts her off balance for a moment and she cries out before regaining her rhythm and rocking in his lap the way he'd asked.

Sansa turns her head a little and whispers up against his jaw. "I want to kiss you. Please?"

"Turn around then." Daemon allowed her to leave his lap only to turn about and slide right back into it, ripping the rest of her shift away and tossing it aside. Now, she was naked atop him, and he grinned like a cat up at her, blue eyes twinkling.

"Kiss me, Sansa," he ordered, tilting back his head and parting his lips just enough. His mouth slanted slightly, amusement mingling with slow-burning desire, and Daemon returned his hands to his wife's body, sliding around her waist and down further to grip her cheeks, squeezing the soft flesh a little lecherously.

Kissing is something she truly enjoys (not that she doesn't enjoy the rest of it, not at all) and she doesn't feel shy about kissing the way she feels about other things. Sansa kisses him deeply and when Daemon's hands go down to cup her bottom, she rolls her hips against him in approval. Yes, that was very nice.

Her own hands she slides into his hair and slips one down to cup the back of his neck both for balance and just to touch him.

Daemon kissed her back, letting her explore his mouth and vice versa, and passion was a soft cloud between them. He was content to take things at her pace; he knew she feared, but there was no reason for it. Not with him. He was also willing to guide her atop him, letting her body become acquainted with his, and when she lifted her head a long moment later, he couldn't help but smirk.

"You've been a little remiss, Majesty," he glinted, corner of his mouth tilting upwards. "Your king is still dressed, and that simply will not do."

Sansa reaches between them and pulls at the hem of his fine shirt, pulling it up and off so that she can bare his chest. He has all the scars she'd seen the day that they kissed in the woods and she touches a few lightly before squeezing his shoulders. She likes that he has scars, that he's a king that will go to the front of the fighting and fight for his people instead of stay back behind the lines and not mount a horse.

"Am I allowed to move to take your trousers off?"

Again, more words than just his name but Sansa has never been very good at following rules exactly as proscribed. She stays within the bounds, yes, but keeps her own self true beneath the constraints of them. It's survival that's served her well.

A sharp eyebrow arched. "Do you want me fucking you right here on this couch?" Because if his breeches came off, that was what was going to happen. There was only so much a man could take, after all. "If so, then yes. If you'd rather wait, play a little, and explore further, then no."

His hand at the small of her back pressed her closer, and the other casually cupped a soft breast in its palm, teasing the nipple with the heel of his hand. "...or I can touch you a little more. Bring you more pleasure and teach you how to both take and give it back."

Sansa sputters, shocked by how crude his words are when he's her husband and she's his wife. He hasn't done anything she's misliked, of course, and she very much likes what he's doing with his hand just now but the idea of losing her maidenhead on a couch has her a little panicked.

"It's not supposed...I don't want it that way!" Sansa insists. "I want it to happen in the bed. It's how it's supposed to be with a maiden." Or she thinks it is, anyway, and she's distracted now.

She closes her eyes, embarrassed at the outburst. "Don't...be angry. I didn't mean...let's just continue."

Rather than explode all over the room, Daemon simply took a deep breath, never pausing in his work. Though his nostrils did flare with the effort to keep his temper, because really. "The Dothraki fuck right in the dirt," he told her casually. "In the middle of the entire clan, because why not? And you're not a maiden, you're a woman, and I'm going to treat you like one."

Daemon took Sansa's chin in a light grip, mouth tilted but eyes serious. "Those days of shame and embarrassment are over, Sansa. The old traditions are nothing but memories. This is my kingdom, and you are my wife. And I won't have you thinking that I hold any of those idiotic customs dear, because you'll quickly find that I don't."

He made her look down at him, never raising his voice or his gentle tone. "Understand? Good. Now, kiss me again."

Sansa wonders if she ought to say "yes, Your Grace," and decides that's probably hearkening back to the old traditions that he's trying to tell her to leave behind. She does hope he doesn't intend to fuck her in the dirt like a Dothraki any time soon because being a woman or not, she's not going to do that. Not ever.

Instead, she kisses him again and tries to get back to the place she'd been before their little misunderstanding. It doesn't take long before she's rocking in his lap again, trying to get relief for her own arousal by rubbing up against his. Gods, but he feels good.

Her fingertips are light against the skin of his shoulders and neck and she slips a hand back in his hair before leaning down to kiss along the length of his neck to the crook of his shoulder as he'd done to her before.

Daemon held still and let her explore, obligingly tipping back his head when she began running her lips along his neck and shoulder. He exhaled a low rumble, encouraging, and dropped his hands to her hips to guide her further. He wanted her shaking with need before he'd take her completely, because she was going to learn that he meant what he said, and she was going to learn that there was nothing to fear between men and women. Ever.

Calloused fingers squeezed handfuls of Sansa's ass, providing another delicious distraction even as he ground her down over his still-clothed cock with every other roll of her body over his. And he enjoyed it, this tactile teasing, determining how long he could last before he lost all shreds of control completely.

Sansa's tongue swipes out to lick her lower lip and she feels sweat beading on her forehead as she moves against him, hips rolling and grinding down against Daemon's as she kisses him. She thinks kissing like this is her favorite of everything (other than what he'd done on that dinner table, of course, but this gives him pleasure too so it's different).

She tips her head back and shows the hollow of her throat to him. "Kiss me," she says lowly, hands coming up to grip his shoulders a little tighter than before. She's getting breathless and even though she'd lost a little momentum when she'd gotten upset, she's gained it back and then some.

She didn't have to ask him twice. Daemon met her lips easily, eagerly, slotting his mouth to hers and invading her mouth with a low groan. Her weight was a pleasant friction in his lap, and thank the gods he was experienced enough to keep a tight leash on his libido, else she would have found herself fucked, and fucked well, right there on the rug in the middle of the floor.

But he sensed she was getting more and more heated, which was perfect and exactly what he wanted, so Daemon kept up his careful tutelage, pleased that Sansa was getting a little bolder with every passing moment. He wanted her begging before he went any further, and the easiest way to achieve that was to let her work herself into that frenzy.

Edited 2021-02-27 03:24 (UTC)

Sansa kisses his mouth for a few more moments before pulling away to kiss his neck and then lower, running the tip of her tongue around a curved scar on his chest. His body is littered with scars where hers is smooth and unmarked and she's fascinated by it, fascinated by all the battles he surely must have been in to accumulate such a collection.

After tracing a few with her tongue, she has an idea she hopes he'll like. She pulls one of his hands away from her hip and tugs it across her, lifting so she can place his fingertips between her thighs where she's dripping wet.

"Touch me here?"

It was a tantalizing sensation, feeling his wife's warm wet mouth ghosting over his skin. The scars littering his hide had no further feeling, but seeing her red head moving over his flesh was a heady sight. When she lifted back to him, taking one of his hands and moving it between her soaked thighs, Daemon lifted an eyebrow at her request, but indulged her without hesitation.

"Liiiiiike...this?" Damon's grin slanted as he moved his fingers up and down, easing the first two between slick folds and gently pushing inside. Though she squeezed around them, he pushed further, slowly pulsing in and out, in and out, hissing a heated breath at the ripple of slick muscle around his hand.

"Like that," Sansa says softly, tipping her head back as she feels his fingers sliding into her. It'd been strange earlier, having something inside her, but now it just feels good. It feels so good and she whimpers a little as he starts moving his fingers within her.

"Just like that. Over and over." It's nonsense, the things she's murmuring now, but if it means he won't stop she's happy to keep saying it until she reaches another one of those delirious peaks he seems so capable of bringing her to. She bites down on her lip.

"Oh, Daemon," she breathes out and she feels the heat of a blush coloring her skin.

When she shuddered and melted all around him, Daemon smirked and, after giving her just a moment to catch her breath, surged up from the couch with Sansa still cradled in his arms. Four long strides brought him to the King's royal bed, and he deposited his wife in it, pausing just enough to shuck his trousers, then smoothly insinuating his body between her slack, damp thighs.

It was only a matter of moments before he was easing inside of her, trusting that by now she was slick enough to take him without pain, and he ducked his head to her breasts even as he did, tongue rolling a hard nipple in his mouth as his cock sank inside her slick sheath. Even with all of his experience, Daemon still huffed a flared breath, because being wrapped in that smooth silk was always exquisite.

And his wife made a pretty picture beneath him; flushed, pale, and lovely, reeling from her own pleasure.

It doesn't hurt. It doesn't hurt.

The thought is fleeting before Sansa realizes how full she feels and how good it feels to have something thicker than his fingers to clamp around. It is a little strange, having someone fitted inside her, but she isn't afraid of it and not afraid of Daemon. Not one bit. She runs her fingers through his hair while he kisses her breasts and sighs his name softly.

"Oh, Daemon." Another breath and she experiments with moving her own hips under him, whimpering at how good it feels. "Daemon, teach me how."

He lifted his head enough to murmur in a low, ragged voice, "Put your arms around me." Then, "And your legs, around my hips." When she'd done so to his liking, Daemon planted his hands on either side of his wife's body and slowly began to move, instructing her to meet him shallowly, to start, just little stilted motions of his hips against hers, letting her body tell him what it wanted.

"Slow," he insisted, pulling back almost all the way before stroking back inside of her, his body meeting hers flush with every stroke. "Like this...lift your hips, squeeze me tight." He tipped back his head and hissed when she did, fingers curling into fists against the sheets. "...good girl..."

"I like when you call me that."

Sansa quiets, though, and focuses on what he's told her to do and how much better it feels when she moves with him, how it feels that he goes deeper on each pass. She buries her face in against his neck and when it feels particularly nice, the soft kisses she'd been laying there turn into nips of her teeth.

He'd promised her that she'd like it and honestly, she does. She really and truly does like it even if she's not brave enough to do this where others might hear or see. She's his wife and she thinks this is special enough to be shared only with him and that she's only for him. Just him and just her until their last days.

His scimitar grin flashed, hearing that, and filed it away for later perusal. She was learning quickly, and that pleased him, which in turn smoothed out his temper and kept him on a relatively even keel. And fucking his wife for the first time hadn't been as difficult as he'd anticipated, particularly when she'd been a virgin.

"You are a good girl," Daemon assured her, lowering his head to kiss her even as they moved together. "This is what it's like, Sansa...between men and women." But his breath was coming a little faster; even he only had so much tolerance. And she was soft and slick and wet all around him, and pressure was beginning to build at the base of his spine.

"...move a little faster. Not too much, but just enough...like that."

There's just enough friction where they join that Sansa has another orgasm but it's different this time. Instead of a quick rush like it'd been before it felt more like a deep wave and she moves her hips through it, trying to make it so Daemon might feel as much of it as possible while he's inside her. She has no idea how that must feel for him but for her it's absolutely extraordinary to have his cock to clamp down on while her body fluttered in pleasure.

"Daemon!" she cries out, a little sharper than some of the other times she's said his name, and she screams out the rest of her pleasure before falling back against the bed.

Gods, is it always supposed to be like this?

He'd felt her oncoming climax five heartbeats before it hit, and Daemon had to clench his teeth and his entire body to not immediately tumble over after her, but instead he gave her enough time to relax before taking his own. While not quite as intense as he'd had before, it was satisfactory enough, and the point wasn't his pleasure in the first place.

But hearing her yell his name was reward enough, and it was with a rough chuckle that the King of the Seven Kingdoms dropped to his stomach beside his spent wife, feeling his heartbeat finally start to slow and his breathing begin to even. Daemon flopped to one side, tugged a pillow beneath his head, and sighed low and long.

"Satisfied?" It was a lazy inquiry, and he already knew the answer.

a storm from the east

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