Work Text:
The torn gift wrapping paper and red tinsel ribbons have been put away. The fairy lights blink gaily for their audience of one, while slow renditions of Christmas carols croon from the speakers. She imagines her wine-drunk stepmother coaxing her brood of sugar-high toddlers into bed, her father nursing his two fingers of whiskey in the worn armchair by his bedroom fireplace. Meanwhile Rhaenyra hovers by the Christmas tree, a fluffy blanket from the living room flung over her shoulders.
“You’re under the mistletoe,” he says, and she turns, telling herself that she wasn’t waiting for him, that it’s only her last negroni that’s flushed her cheeks with warmth. He’s let his hair hang loose, starlight strands framing his familiar face. Beloved.
“Daemon,” she breathes.
Daemon steps toward her, cradling her face in his large palm. Rhaenyra nuzzles into his touch, humming low, a kitten purring. His thumb sweeps over the arc of her cheekbone. He smells wonderful—frankincense and oud—and her lips part when he leans down to kiss her, his mouth hot and urgent against hers. The blanket falls from her shoulders, a soundless surrender to the carpeted floor.
Her finger crooks in the collar of his silk shirt. Rhaenyra maps his skin by feel, throat, clavicle, sternum. Heartbeat. Daemon groans, his hands falling to the sash that holds her blazer together, tugging—
“We can’t,” she whispers between kisses, even as her blazer gapes open, her breasts emerging shy and pink like petals from their calyx. “Not here.”
“Yes,” Daemon insists. “Here.”
He takes one breast in his hand, squeezing gently, licking into her feathery sigh. His other hand slides lower, palming the curve of her ass and pulling her thigh over his hips. She folds into his body, solid, steady, and threads her fingers through his hair. It’s softer than she imagined.
Daemon releases her breast only to grab her other thigh. Not breaking their kiss, he takes her into his arms. In a moment she is in the air; in the next she is settled on the armchair of the couch. The blazer falls down her arms. Goosebumps bloom where the cold air hits her back, soon warmed by his roaming touch. Daemon kisses his way down her throat, across her collarbone. He chuckles when she bows her back, pressing her breasts to his mouth.
“Spoiled thing,” he says, closing his lips around a pert nipple all the same. Rhaenyra gasps. Her hips grind against his thigh; Daemon stills them with a stern grip. “And so needy. Giving me eyes all night. Weren’t you satisfied with your gift, little one?”
Opening the gold-trimmed box had done the opposite of slaking her want for him. She can feel the tennis bracelet swinging against her wrist, the diamonds—ethically sourced, he swore to her—by now blood-warm. “Don’t pretend you don’t want this,” she says, yanking once at the titanium chain she’d placed around his neck.
“Oh, I want this.” He unbuttons her pants. She is dripping when his fingers find her, soaked through the thin gusset of her thong. Her thighs attempt to snap together, but he doesn’t let her shy away from him, drawing the gusset aside and tracing the slick seam of her. “I want you, Rhaenyra. Very much.”
He pushes her back onto the seat cushions. She watches as he undoes the buttons of his shirt, slides it off his shoulders. His trousers and underwear follow. Her breath catches at the sight of his cock, angry and red. Water pooling on her tongue. When he joins her on the couch, on his fours on top of her, Rhaenyra raises her head to sink her teeth into the thick muscle of his pectoral, her fingers scrabbling at the ridges of his abdomen.
“Shh.” Daemon grabs her wrists and pins them above her. She keens at the blunt prod of him at her cunt, already weeping at the tip. He’s not going to prepare her, she realizes as he draws her thong aside.
“Daemon,” she says, “I don’t know if you’ll—”
Her voice breaks on a moan at the press of him, the easy give of her body. Too much. Not enough.
“I will,” Daemon says.
He pushes forward another inch. The drag of it, searing. Inexorable. Rhaenyra thrashes against his grip, her head falling back, silver hair spilling across the cushion. The fairy lights glimmer at the edges of her vision. She feels warm, molten. “Please, I need— kepus, ah—“
“Such a good girl,” Daemon coos. His free hand drifts to her cunt, his thumb finding her swollen-pink clit, rubbing gentle circles as her pleading unspools into dazed incoherence. She rubs her cheek against his jaw, rough with the beginnings of stubble. His cologne and aftershave marvelous in her nose. He slides that much deeper inside her. “So beautiful for me. Open up, darling, you’re so close.”
Rhaenyra pants, her back arching with the strain of accommodating him, her thighs spread wide around his hips. She licks at his ear, nibbles at the loud, presses her nipples against the rumble of his groan in his chest. His breathing has gone shallow, his patience fraying, his body shaking when at last his hips snap to hers, buried to the hilt inside her. Rhaenyra bites her lip over a scream, tears pooling in her scrunched-shut eyes. She has never felt so full.
Daemon lets go of her, taking her hips in his hands. He pulls her onto his cock, fucking her with aching slowness. “Gevie,” he breathes, mouthing at her lips, her cheeks, her neck. She presses herself into every thrust, one hand tangled in the hair at his nape, the other grasping at the cushions for purchase.
Rhaenyra can feel sensation mounting where her body embraces Daemon, her cunt clenching around the thick fullness of him. “Ahh,” she hisses, grabbing onto his bicep, hard and flexing in her small grip. It’s as though her body at war with itself, fearful of a pleasure so consuming it will overwhelm her, shatter her, transform her beyond recognition. But Daemon strokes her hair, unrushed, thrusting against her pulsing g-spot with languid—infuriating—patience.
“That’s it, sweet girl,” he tells her. “My only love.”
It’s this that tears her orgasm from her body, overcomes her lungs with wracking sobs. Her pleasure is blinding, impossible, too much for one body to hold. Daemon shoves two fingers in her mouth, and she sucks in a scream around them. Tears well at the corners of her eyes, sliding down her temples. All the while he has not stopped fucking her, murmuring praises into her ear. “Gevie,” he says again, holding her through it, “so good for me.”
Only when she stops shaking does he flip her over, covering her back with his chest. Rhaenyra gasps at the hot slide of his cock, almost deeper from his angle, her nipples sensitive against the pleating in the cushions. One hand caresses the slope of her ass. The other hand covers hers.
He is fucking her faster now, the wet squelch of it obscene amidst the tender notes of holiday ballads. Rhaenyra can do no more than take it, render herself soft and pliable against the inescapable fullness of his cock, the cunning slap of his balls against her thighs. She wants to make him come, she decides, squeezing more tightly around him, wants to make him come harder than he ever has in his life, so hard there’s no space for another person’s name in his mouth, in his heart—
Her second orgasm takes her by surprise, her anguished groan smothered into the upholstery, her feet beating helplessly against the cushion. Daemon follows soon after with a tight grunt, a last unforgiving thrust. Rhaenyra relishes the twitching of his cock inside of her, the hot spill of his cum.
She is still trembling when he feels his forehead fall to her shoulder, his hot panting against her skin, his chest heaving against her spine. He hasn’t let go of her hand.
“Come to bed with me,” he asks her, pleading.
Rhaenyra cranes her neck to kiss him, and breathes a sweet “of course” into his mouth.