for Genya Safin (safine)

[firstbornstorm]

Both Tycho and Irran had been giving him no end of shit over his "obsession" with the "White Ravkan Witch". The last time they'd started, it had ended in a brawl, with Daemon taking on both of them, and leaving both of his friends soundly trounced in the dirt, to the others' absolute amusement. And even though he sported his own black eye, a wicked cut on one cheek, several bruised ribs, and walked with a limp for the next fortnight, neither the Bravosi or the Ghiscari had breathed another word about her.

Robert had already left for the Ravkan capital, thus Daemon and his companions were hard-pressed to catch up with the King of Westeros, but not for nothing were all of them excellent horseman, and besides, Daemon had a meeting. He'd asked his "Ravkan Witch" to meet him in the village outside of the palace, and she'd agreed. Two hours, and she'd given him precise directions. And he'd be there.

And the Baratheon Prince and his entourage rode into the village not a scant half hour before he was to meet her, their horses stamping and lathered, but still strong. Daemon had memorized Genya's directions, not needing the parchment to guide him as he dismounted and handed his reins to Agga. The others took themselves off, the local bar their destination; they knew their Prince would be blind and deaf to all else for the rest of the afternoon.

Still dusty from the road, and wearing his battle leathers and weapons (customary, when traveling these days), Daemon made his way to Genya's specific meeting place, pausing just before arriving to take a deep breath, steady his nerves, and, after a moment of realization, brush off what dirt he could. He was a Prince. The least she deserved was a bedraggled ruffian barging in like an uneducated barbarian.

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[firstbornstorm]

Daemon sat down beside her, not so close as to be stifling, but close enough that their knees touched. She still had a nice grip on his hand, so what choice did he really have? He understood her reserve, in her world she had to be. Not only for her country, but also for her own survival. He didn't envy her in that regard.

She asked her question, and he had to think for a long moment. Because there had been myriad scenarios that had played out in his head, mile after mile.

Blowing out his breath, he gently laced his fingers with hers, calloused thumb rubbing over her soft skin, and eventually said, "Well, if I'm truly honest, I imagined you opening that door, seeing me, and swooning right into my arms so that I could sweep you up on my horse and take you back to Westeros, safe from all this nonsense forevermore."

But there was a twinkle in his blue eyes, and the ghost of a smirk hovering over his mouth.

[safine]

She didn't mind the light press of his knee against hers. In fact, it felt quite nice.

As did holding his hand, and seeing the teasing gleam in his eyes.

Genya giggled at the scenario he described, a scene taken straight out of some poorly concocted romance tale.

"I would have had to stay swooned for quite a while for you to accomplish that, my prince."

[firstbornstorm]

Her amusement prompted his own small laugh, and Daemon again brought Genya's hand to his lips for a light kiss.

"That's quite true, which is why I didn't really think it that possible, no matter how enticing." He rubbed her hand with his other, hoping his rough touch wasn't too unpleasant.

"But tell me something: what do you want? Has anyone ever asked? Tell me what you desire, and if it's within my power, it's yours."

[safine]

His hands were rough, but his lips were soft, and Genya found herself rather captivated by the contrast.

As for his question... most of her desires really were not in his power to fulfill, though she didn't doubt that he still might try if she were to tell him about them.

So what could she answer that wouldn't settle like a dark cloud over what she wanted to be a happy meeting? What she needed to be something bright and good.

"Right now I want to get to know you better, and I want you to know me better too."

As charming as his intensity is, she can't help but wonder if it will remain once he truly gets to know her, or if what he adored was simply an idea of her of his own invention.

"And yes, people have asked me what I want before. As to how many of them truly meant it, that I cannot say."

[firstbornstorm]

That was fair.

"Well, you already know I'm the youngest of four brothers. Robert is king, because he bashed in Rhaegar Targaryen's head over a woman - so we get it honest, at least - and the next of us is Stannis, a grouchier goat you'll never meet, then there's Renly, who's too worried about his beard and trim to be of any real use, and then there's me, the only one with any sort of sense."

He smirked as he said it.

"When I was twelve, I traveled to Essos with one of my family's retainers, and our convoy was attacked by the Dothraki. I was taken captive and kept as a war slave, because I was tall for my age, and looked, according to them, 'exotic'." Daemon gestured to his face. "Light colored eyes, lighter hair." After the briefest pause, he went on. "I learned a lot from the Dothraki, both their men and their women. When I was big enough, and seasoned enough, I challenged one of the Kals to mortal combat, and I won. Both my freedom, the friendship of the clan, and the stallion I now ride."

It was a succinct tale, but he still carried scars from those brutal years of slavery. Scars at his neck, hidden by his collar, and around his wrists, hidden by leather cuffs.

"When I made it home, I found out my brother was king, and as a welcome-home gift, he put me to work. Typical Baratheon."

[safine]

He didn't have to tell her the details for her to know how much he must have suffered.

In a gesture mirroring his own from before, she lifted his hand to her lips and pressed a gentle kiss to his knuckles.

"I'm sorry."

For his pain. For the loneliness and isolation he must have felt both among the Dothraki and among the family he barely knew anymore.

"I have no siblings that I know of, but I also have not been in contact with my family since the testers found me and I was brought here. I was given to the Queen fairly quickly after that."

A gift. A pretty thing to be cherished and pampered until she grew old enough to draw the King's eyes.

[firstbornstorm]

Daemon bit his lip when Genya kissed his knuckles, digging in his teeth to keep from following up on what was clearly intended as sympathy. He didn't want to burden her with his own problems, but she had asked. Which was why he'd glossed over things as smoothly as he could.

In an effort of levity, he offered, "I can loan you a few of mine, if you'd like." A small smile, hoping to bring hers back again.

"Where are you from? Originally, I mean." It had to be a different sort of imprisonment, living in such a gilded cage, bound to servitude. At least he'd been able to escape.

[safine]

"A small village in the countryside."

It had a name, but it wouldn't mean anything to Daemon anyway, and she doesn't really want to think about it.

"Not the sort of life I would want, now, if I'm to be perfectly honest, even if it would be a freer life in many ways."

[firstbornstorm]

It was a little surreal to be sitting here together holding hands, but Daemon relished it.

"Well, what sort of life do you want?"

He couldn't imagine she wanted to remain in the palace, serving the royalty of Ravka for the rest of her life.

[safine]

"A life where Ravka is at peace, in a world where no Grisha need to fear persecution."

Yes, it was quite a strange situation, but Genya was starting to relax into it, feeling less lost with each passing moment.

"And one where I have tons of fabulous clothes, a gigantic library and an endless supply of cake."

[firstbornstorm]

Unfortunately he couldn't do much about the first - not without starting a war, anyway - but the second was no issue at all.

"I can't fix Ravka for you, unfortunately. Well, not without my brother murdering me in the aftermath, anyway. But the clothes, library, and cake I can definitely provide."

Daemon shifted a little, tilting his head to look at her a little closer, and reached up to tuck a wayward red curl behind her ear. "You'd look ravishing in Bravosi silk. Blue and silver, I think."

[safine]

"Of course I would. I could look ravishing in a potato sack."

She smirked a little at him, but also leaned into his touch, letting him know she didn't mind it.

"What sort of life do you want?"

[firstbornstorm]

Daemon laughed, letting his touch linger, smooth from her hair down across her cheek. "You would." And without it, he bit his tongue before adding. His thumb smoothed the soft skin beneath one vibrant blue eye, and the others curled around her chin, holding her still.

"A simple life," he replied honestly. "Freedom, honesty, gods willing a good woman and perhaps even children, one day. No lies, no treachery, no politics. Just...a family, I guess." A touch of maudlin caught him and he lowered his hand. "And to know that those beneath me are safe, and have the same. I might despise the nobility, but as one of them, at least I can do some good in the world."

[safine]

His caress made her cheeks flush again, her heart hammering in her chest.

"A simple life, he says, and sets his sights on me of all women."

She couldn't help teasing him a little, because no matter what she would most likely never be an uncomplicated life partner.

[firstbornstorm]

"Well," Daemon said, corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk of his own, "I never said life shouldn't be a little exciting, now did I?"

The flush on her cheeks caught his eye, and broadened his smile. Almost unable to help himself, he lifted his hand to her once more, reverently cupping her cheek, fingers sliding just enough to hold her still. Leaning in towards her, Daemon paused, gaze falling to her mouth, but instead of simply taking what he wanted, he murmured, "Will you let me?"

Because by all the gods that had ever existed, he wanted to.

[safine]

She did stiffen a little when he leaned in, some small part of her still afraid that he would prove himself to be just another royal who thought of her as little more than property, something he could do with as he wished.

But he stopped, and he asked, and she allowed herself to really think about her answer. Would she let him?

Should she?

Probably not, in all honesty. But did she want to?

"Yes."

[firstbornstorm]

To him, she could never be property. Or some paltry plaything to roll about with then discard until the urge rose again. To him, she was a goddess. A warm, lovely woman caught in life's trap, doing her absolute best to survive what fate had dealt her, and that was what he respected. Adored. More than her beautiful face, more than her enticing woman's body, hidden beneath that idiotic white sack.

But she gave her assent and a lump of relief washed down his throat, and Daemon hesitated no longer. Holding her with one light hand at her neck, the other seeking and tangling his fingers with hers, he tilted his head to kiss her just lightly, a mere brush of lips. That became more in the next heartbeat, as he shifted again and took her mouth in a deeper kiss, entreating her to part her lips for him.

[safine]

He kissed her gently, sweetly. She had half expected a wild surge of passion from him, but again he surprised her with how well he seemed to understand what she needed from him in this moment.

Not that she was opposed to wild passion, mind, but right now she was too raw, too unsure of what she was getting herself into here.

Her lips parted in answer to his unspoken plea, her mouth soft and inviting against his, offering him to taste and explore to his heart's content.

[firstbornstorm]

Daemon responded to that sweet offer with a muffled groan, licking at her sweet, sweet lips before daring to slip his tongue between them, nearly reeling to at long last have her flavor in his mouth. Intoxicating. Better than even the sweetest Dornish wine. He kept his hands where they were, save perhaps to reverently stroke his thumb across her cheek, guide her head a little aside to better meet his mouth.

He gave her just a little of that "wild passion", simply because it ran so hot beneath his skin, so very close to the surface that he couldn't help it. But it was always slow, lingering, allowing her to agree or change her mind. Either way, he'd always respect whatever boundary she required.

Only when the absolute need for air demanded he lift his head did Daemon pull away, and then only to rest his forehead against Genya's, lips still parted and wet. He gently nudged his nose against hers, still reeling in her scent, her taste, and her entire self, so close and so soft. His mouth quirked, and he whispered foreign words between them: "Davra yeri," before touching her lips again with his.

[safine]

His taste filled her mouth, the sweet caress of his tongue against hers sending a delicious shiver down her spine, and the sound he made ignited a fierce need to draw more of them from him.

Her curious nature combined with the hot flare of desire, shoving caution aside in favor of experimentation, finding out what he seemed to enjoy especially, and discovering the things that made her moan against his lips.

She nipped playfully at his lower lip, grinning.

"What does that mean?"

[firstbornstorm]

That impish little nip to his lip nearly had Daemon forgetting the question, and he blinked it back with a slow grin. Seeing the warm smile on her face stirred his loins, again, but this wasn't about that, so he shoved back his libido with an iron will. "...means thank you, in Dothraki," he finally replied, gently tilting her head so that he might place a line of kisses along her jaw, down the lovely slope of her throat, and upwards again, meeting her mouth in another long, slow kiss.

She was slowly filling his senses, leaving him reeling in a maelstrom of want that he knew he have to deal with come later. He couldn't have her - not right now, at least - but Daemon knew he'd rather have a little than absolutely nothing at all.

Lifting his head again, he drew back just enough to meet her gaze, his half-lashed and hazy with desire, and whispered, "I could also say, Yeri arre zheana. It means 'You're so beautiful'." Especially like this, flushed and well-kissed.

[safine]

"Well kissed is right."

Daemon seemed plenty pleased with himself as it was, and with good reason, but it couldn't hurt to let him know with words as well how much she was enjoying his kisses.

She cradled his face in her hands, placing feathery kisses on his nose, his cheeks, his forehead, his eyelids, as if wanting to give affection to every minute detail that made up his person.

He deserved that just as much as she did, and she thought perhaps that he needed it too. To be seen and wanted down to the core of him, not just the parts he showed to the world at large.

"You have my heart, Daemon Baratheon. It has been yours for quite some time now."

[firstbornstorm]

He held still beneath her touch, lashes closed, simply reveling in her tender affection. Gods, but he'd dreamed of this: to have her in his arms, lips on his, and her sweet, soft touch soothing his inner demons. Genya was correct that Daemon was indeed starved for affection - the rough-and-tussle "brotherly love" he shared with his siblings could never compare to this: being in a woman's arms and being held so close.

Hearing her whispered words set his own heart to thumping, and Daemon honestly thought he might explode, hearing that soft little admission. His first instinct was to sweep her up into his arms, swoon or not, and carry her off somewhere away from both of their worlds, but he quickly swallowed that one and went for the second, which was to gently coil a strong arm around her and coax her into his lap. He'd never hurt her, but he wanted to hold her, however he could.

The kefta was a cumbersome irritation, and he gave it a derisive snort, but didn't insist she slide it off. If she needed the shield, so be it. Daemon situated her astride his lap, both arms winding around her waist to hold her close. Safe. Protected.

Cherished.

"I'll keep it safe," he promised, gazing up at her, clear blue eyes bright. Sincere. "I protect what's mine, Genya Safin. A large hand cupped her cheek, slipped fingers into deep red locks. "...let me love you. Please."

[safine]

The kefta was not a shield, it was a constant reminder of how little she was worth in the eyes of so many, which was why it wasn't a very difficult decision to unbutton it and let it slip from her shoulders. Beneath it she was wearing a linen shirt neatly tucked into a pair of trousers.

She leaned forward to rest her forehead against Daemon's, her eyes closing as she let out a gentle sigh, tension easing out of her body little by little.

"Yes."

[firstbornstorm]

Daemon Baratheon wasn't just another entitled royal brat that believed he owned everything within his vision, which was why he smiled at Genya's quiet assent, just holding her close and breathing in her unique scent. She was a pleasant weight in his lap, and now that the irritating kefta was out of his way, he could absolutely smooth his hands slowly up and down her back, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath the thin linen.

His forehead still rested against hers, their noses gently touching, and Daemon just stroked her, warm hands brushing over her ribs and down the outside of her slim thighs, cradling his waist. "...I don't have enough time," he admitted in the quiet, "to show you everything that I want to." His sigh this time carried a tinge of frustration. That he swallowed, because this was about her.

"So, just let me..." A mild grunt of effort, and he deftly tugged her shirt from her trousers, giving another slow sigh when his calloused hands at last met her skin. Daemon continued his gentle caresses from before, though this time flesh stroked flesh, and he gently pressed against her back to arch her further against him.

sorry for the delay!

[safine]

Her skin had the look of alabaster, but there was nothing stone-like about the way it felt under his hands. It was warm, and incredibly soft. Genya had put considerable effort into making it so.

She moved with his careful, urging touch, her back arching as her hips tilted forward, pressing more firmly against his as a quiet little gasp broke the trembling silence that felt like it was making the air thicker by the second.

"What exactly am I supposed to be letting you do?"

It's a bit of self-defence, really, teasing him about his unfinished sentence. She is feeling raw, and exposed, and she doesn't have any good experiences of this kind of situation. All she's known is fear, hatred and humiliation.