CLOSED | prompt eight | RUIN

[dondarrion]

prompt eight | R U I N dressing-room style. closed to rog.

 

Comments

[eyed]

[ A number of responses immediately spring to life upon his tongue (who will keep my bed warm when you are gone) but he keeps them to himself, humming just once as he continues his ministrations. Cersei would have his head, he knows (and more of him, if she had her way), if she ever found out, and the risk alone is enough to make the act sweet. But then, too, is the pleasure that the warbird takes from it, a demigod at the mercy — though never completely, he is not such a fool as to believe that — of the joys of the flesh.

Each shudder and each twist of her body is enough to send new thrills down his pine, his ardency burning ever more apparent in the way that he kisses her. And yes, he aches, too, but there'll be time for that later on. ]