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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[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.