Categories > Original > Fantasy

the altar is my hips (even if it's a false god)

by peitho_x 0 reviews

Daemon interrupts Rhaenyra's me-time and is more than happy to enhance the experience. Daemyra oneshot.

Category: Fantasy - Rating: R - Genres: Erotica,Fantasy - Warnings: [X] [Y] - Published: 2022-10-26 - 2063 words - Complete

It was late in the evening, the candles were burning low, and Rhaenyra laid back in bed, closing her eyes as she bunched up her nightgown and slipped a hand under it. Her slender fingers grazed and caressed the sensitive nerves between her legs. Her other hand slid over the thin white fabric of her bodice and pulled the neckline down her shoulders, exposing her breasts. As she increased the intensity of her ministrations between her legs, she palmed her breast, tweaking the nipple with her cold fingertips.

She let out a satisfied sigh, eyelids fluttering open to the sight of the gauzy canopy over her bed. If she kept her eyes closed, she knew what images would rise unbidden behind her eyelids. Strong calloused hands instead of hers, touching her in her most secret places. Eyes the same colour as her own, watching her every reaction with rapt attention. She used to try to imagine others during these evenings she spent on her own – a knight or courtier who had caught her eye – but always found them transforming into a familiar platinum-blond figure looming over her.

As she pressed two fingers inside of her, she moaned quietly, eyes closing again, her back arching. Her free fingers found the Valyrian steel at her throat and she remembered the feeling of his breath on her nape, his fingers on the soft skin of her neck.

Rhaenyra was not blind; she knew how her uncle looked at her – and how others reacted to it. Alicent’s wariness. Even her father sometimes looked displeased at their interactions. But she was also not naïve. She knew that men lusted after those they never intended to couple with, let alone marry. From what she heard, he had his pick of women who would gladly break their marriage vows for him. And if Daemon’s frequent absences from court were any indication, her fantasies would be the closest she would ever come to a night like that with him.

Daemon Targaryen was sprawled over a couch in his chamber, bored out of his mind. He rose and paced the room like a caged wild animal. He had half a mind to go for a late-night ride on Caraxes, or perhaps visit one of his favourite establishments on the Street of Silk. He leaned against the windowsill, looking out into the night, and noticed that there was still light burning in Rhaenyra’s window. Perhaps she would be open to a late-night chat with her dear uncle.

He found the same knight who always seemed to be around her standing watch at the door of her chambers.

“Your highness,” Ser Criston said, inclining his head respectfully, but not moving aside.

“I would like to speak to my niece.”

“The princess has asked not to be disturbed,” he said. “She is at prayer.”

“At prayer?”

“Yes, your highness.”

He did not look like he was going to budge. Daemon sighed. “It is a matter of some urgency,” he lied.

Ser Criston looked sceptical but was not exactly in a position to refuse him. He turned and pounded on the door twice. “Your highness, your uncle is here to speak to you on an urgent matter!” he called.

Rhaenyra froze, then sat up. “Just a moment!” She tugged her dress up over her breasts and down her legs, stumbling out of bed and nearly falling in her haste to grab a robe. She wiped her hand on her rumpled bedsheets and glanced in the mirror as she patted at her hair and wished it was literally anybody else at her door.

"Come in!” she called.

Daemon had lost count of the number of times Rhaenyra had intruded on his dreams. Now his steps nearly faltered as he entered her room, as it felt like he had somehow found himself in one of those dreams once again. Because there she stood, face flushed and eyes dark, in a flimsy nightgown that he could nearly see through.

She cleared her throat and pulled her robe tighter around her when she caught his eyes roaming her body. Normally she allowed herself to revel in his attention, but now she was afraid he would be able to tell what she had been doing – and what she had been thinking about.

“My apologies for disturbing you at this hour,” he said.

“What is it?” she asked.

Daemon shrugged. “I was bored.”

He walked toward her, and Rhaenyra found herself holding her breath as he neared her, but then he stepped past her. She swallowed and willed her voice to be steady and light. “I did not realize that was considered an urgent matter,” she said.

She turned and found him standing still, looking at her curiously.

“You weren’t praying,” he said. “What were you really doing?” For as he had passed her, he had caught a hint of her scent, and as he looked around the room, he noted her mussed bedsheets, the low light, and the perfume of burnt incense.

“I was praying,” she insisted.

“What were you praying about?”

Rhaenyra sighed. “I was praying to the Maiden to ensure that my father does not remarry.”

“I do not believe that would fall under her authority.”

“Is this what you wish to discuss, uncle? Theology?” she asked, moving to the table to pour two glasses of wine.

“No,” he said, coming up behind her and reaching around her to take a glass. He took a sip from it. “I want to discuss what it is you really do when you’re alone in this room and do not wish to be disturbed.” His voice was barely above a whisper and made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She could feel her skin tingle with his proximity, the heat of his body at her back.

She downed her glass, leaning her head back so it rested on his shoulder as she caught the last few droplets of wine. “I do whatever I wish,” she said, setting her glass down, neck still bared.

“What is it you wish?” Daemon asked, a growl creeping into his voice.

Rhaenyra took a somewhat shaky breath and turned around to face him. Daemon looked down at her, her lips slightly parted, desire laid bare in her eyes, only marginally tinged with uncertainty, and wondered how he had been able to resist her this long. He took her face in his hands, but it was she who leaned in first and pressed her mouth against his. He kissed her hungrily, crowding her against the table, gripping her face tightly.

What Rhaenyra lacked in experience, she made up for in enthusiasm and ferocity. She tasted the wine on his lips and chased the flavour into his mouth. She was not afraid of using her teeth, not afraid of pulling him closer to her by any fistful of clothing she could get her hands on.

Daemon’s hands moved down her neck – he smiled when he felt the necklace – and began pushing the robe off her shoulders. Rhaenyra was loathe to take her hands off of him but let go long enough to let it fall to the floor. His hands roamed her body shamelessly, the thin fabric letting him feel the heat of her skin through it. He got his hands on her ass and lifted her, so she was sitting on the table, pushing the glasses out of the way and hearing them smash to the floor. She spread her legs immediately, letting him stand between them as he devoured her.

Rhaenyra tried to wrap her legs around him, wanting him closer, but he placed a hand on each of her thighs, keeping them apart, as his mouth moved around her jaw and down her neck. Her head fell back against the wall, letting out a small whimper as he sucked at a spot beneath her ear. He smiled against her skin. “Tell me, princess,” he murmured, lips buzzing against her skin. “When you do pray, what do you pray about?”

“Hmm?” She found it difficult to think about anything other than his mouth and his large hands, which still gripped her thighs, though now they were under her nightgown. “To the– to the Mother, I pray for peace throughout the kingdom.”

“How unique,” he said, hands coming up to pull at the laces that did up the front of her nightgown. “Continue.” He trailed kisses down her chest as he opened up her bodice.

Fortunately, most of her prayers were ones she repeated often. “To the Father, I pray for him to look – ah – past my womanhood and offer me the same justice as a male heir.”

Daemon looked up at her and she didn’t look away. He nodded and slid his hands up her thighs again.

“And to the Maiden–” Daemon suddenly knelt in front of her, spreading her legs farther apart as he trailed open-mouthed kisses up her inner thigh. “The Mai– oh!” His face was between her legs now, tongue doing things to her that she could not have imagined. “Fuck.”

Daemon pulled away, much to her displeasure. “Surely that is not what you pray to the Maiden,” he said.

“Don’t stop,” Rhaenyra exclaimed before she could stop herself, fingers tangled in his hair.

He smiled but acquiesced. Rhaenyra pulled her skirt up farther so that she could see his face and found him looking up at her. He pleasured her, his eyes never leaving hers, and she felt like she might swoon. “Gods above,” she sighed.

Daemon pulled her closer by the hips, not letting up until she was shuddering with pleasure. Then he sat back, still gazing up at her. As Rhaenyra came back to herself, she noticed how he looked at her. “What?” she asked, breathless.

“You are quite the sight to behold, princess,” he said. “I’d worship you if I were a pious man.”

She nearly laughed until she realized he was being serious – or, at least, more serious than not. “When you do pray,” she said. “What do you pray for?”

“I pray to the Warrior for strength and victory in battle.”

Rhaenyra sighed. “That is what everyone prays to the Warrior.”

“I pray to the Smith to help repair my relationship with my brother.” He was quiet for a moment, then looked back up at her. “And to the Maiden, of course, for forgiveness for what has happened tonight,” he said, trying to appear serious, but not able to prevent a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Rhaenyra laughed and swatted at him. He hauled her off the table, throwing her over his shoulder and she struggled in vain against him, giggling all the way. He deposited her on her bed, but before he was able to pull his shirt off, she was already pulling him after her, her mouth on his.

The seriousness evaporated somewhat after that. They were nearly gleeful as they undressed each other and took each other apart, laughing when they came, wrestling and getting tangled in the sheets. More wine was drunk, and spilled, and Daemon regaled her with tales of his adventures while they lay naked together, unable to keep their hands off of each other. The sky was turning gray by the time Daemon began collecting his clothes from the floor.

He kissed Rhaenyra sweetly at the door. “Don’t forget to say your prayers,” he whispered to her.

“The same to you, uncle,” she said.

Ser Criston looked distinctly uncomfortable as Daemon left the room and closed the door behind him. “Your highness.”

“How quickly time flies when one is at prayer,” Daemon said, and made his way back to his chambers.

It was at dinner a few weeks later that Viserys turned to Daemon and said, “Is it true what I have heard, that you are often seen going to Rhaenyra’s chambers to pray?”

Daemon heard a cough across the table and saw Rhaenyra who appeared to have nearly choked on her wine.

“Yes, brother,” he said. “Your daughter is well-educated in the Faith of the Seven, she may make a pious man of me yet.” He looked at her, resisting the urge to wink.

Rhaenyra shook her head at him, then smiled at her father. “It is to be hoped.”
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