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 The North won its independence by backing Daemon's claim and Stannis had withdrawn to Gods known where with his army and his Red Priestess.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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

"Very satisfied," Sansa says softly. She feels a little shy now and tugs the sheet up a bit so she doesn't get cold. She reaches her hand out and traces idle patterns against the skin of his back. She's utterly fascinated with him - how he looks, how he moves, how he feels under her hands. She thinks she's very lucky to have him for a husband, king or not.

"Are you? Satisfied?"

It seems that he very well is, if his smile is any indication. He seems relaxed and happy so far as she's concerned and that's overwhelmingly important to her in a way she cannot explain.

"Very." His voice was lazy and laconic, and his crooked smile was true. Daemon didn't stop her from reaching out to touch; his skin was nice and warm under hand, if marred with the hardships of his life, written there in leather.

He hadn't come to King's Landing to rule it, but rather to exact justice, or vengeance, either one; it didn't matter with him. But rather than stand by and let lesser men squabble over power they'd never be able to control hadn't really been the best option either.

So here he was; a bastard-born King, with a wife from the North, both of them brought together by fate. And while there might not be love, not yet, there was at least companionship, and life really wasn't so bad, judging by his current mood.

"Not so bad, is it?"

No, it isn't bad, and Sansa enjoys herself many times over in the next little while. Still, Daemon wants a tour and Sansa spends a lot of time preparing for it. They're to head to Highgarden first and meet the Tyrells in all their glory. Sansa knows a bit about them, having been in King's Landing under the reign of the Lannisters, but she'd like to know more about them and their home.

It will take a week by the Rose Road to get to Highgarden and Sansa knows traveling will be less comfortable than it is in the Red Keep; she well remembers the trip south from Winterfell. She has her own horse this time and she's not riding on The Black with Daemon, which makes her long for him all day.

At the end of the first night, she dismounts and rubs a bit at her lower back. "Have I told you how much I hate riding? I think I'm sore from top to bottom."

All of his councilors had been against this idea, but Daemon had insisted. He was going to make a state visit to every major city in all Seven Kingdoms, and his advisors could just shut up whining about it. He had his reasons, and while he obliged their opinions on the matter, he was still determined to follow his own agenda.

Highgarden was the closest House, and it was there that the King's party headed; no gilded carriages or frivolity. This was business, and as such it required long days in the saddle to make decent time. He'd invited Sansa along, thinking she might enjoy the excursion, and he had to grin as they stopped to make camp that first evening, saying as he unsaddled his own horse, "Well, you did agree to come along. I warned you there'd be no carriages or soft accommodations on this trip, Your Grace."

"I know, you did. I think it's better than spending a lot of money on a wheelhouse and all these followers. You shouldn't empty the treasury in order to see the people. You should...I think you're doing well. I think the people will appreciate a king who is less about the show and more about the work."

Still, she is sore and she reaches for Daemon's hand. "It's too bad I cannot have a big, warm bath here on the road. If we were going to an inn tonight, yes, but not tonight. All I get is a river if I choose it."

Sansa bites her lip a bit. "If I rub your back will you rub mine?"

Daemon took the offered hand, lifted it to kiss her knuckles, and squeezed it briefly. "Of course I will. But first, there's the horses to feed, the tents to strike, and supper to cook. Irran and Agga are setting up our tent now, sweetling, and I'll join you when the chores are done." Not content with just a kiss to her hand, Daemon tugged his wife close so that he might kiss her lips, lingering a little.

"Now off with you, and we'll eat within the hour, then we'll see what we can do to hasten Her Grace's comfort, hm? I won't be long, I promise."

He'd brought damn few servants along on this trip, and had never been shy about pulling his own weight. Even though the idea of an early-evening romp with his wife was appealing, Daemon put his responsibilities before his pleasures, and expected all of his subjects to adhere to the same mindset.

Sansa feels badly that everyone is working other than her but she doesn't know where to start. She cannot put the tents up, she doesn't know about feeding horses, and she doesn't know how to cook.

She ends up lingering around the cooks and asks one if there's something she ought to be doing. They seem a little shocked that Her Grace is asking for a chore but one eventually gives her a pile of vegetables to skin and chop and while the work is something she's not used to, it isn't difficult.

"I'm slightly less useless," she says to the cook who laughs softly and shakes her head. "Queens aren't supposed to cook but I'm glad for the help."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

a storm from the east

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject