Chapter Text
Days followed days and lonely nights. Who do you think about before the gentle priestesses of sleep take over your body and lead you to this alternative reality that has only ever existed in your mind? Who will haunt your dreams if you’ve been in love for a long time now and haven’t even realized it?
Daenerys was troubled, lying flat on her bed. She found herself wishing for Jorah’s presence.
That evening they spoke into the late hours about the matters of the Seven Kingdoms, and he offered to walk her to her chamber. He guided her through wide, dim corridors, lit only by a few torches and the moonlight seeping through spaces between columns on the castle’s square. They stopped right by her door and said their goodbyes. Jorah leaned into her, and she stood on her tiptoes. They gave each other a soft, chaste peck on the lips. It must have been only natural for them? As if a mysterious force redirected their faces, and a kiss meant for the cheek landed somewhere else. It was quick though, it couldn’t have even been called a kiss. Jorah lowered his gaze, pulled on an abashed smile, and marched away, his pace quicker with every step. His long cloak was waving behind him and glittering where the moonlight reflected silver on the patterns embroidered with a shiny thread. Daenerys lingered by the door, marveling at his tall frame, and she licked her lips unconsciously. Finally, very pleased, she crossed the threshold, and a maid undressed her in the darkness of the room, with only one candle lit.
Lord Varys’ ever present little birds hadn’t missed anything. The Lord Hand Mormont never stayed the night in the Queen’s chambers, nor have they engaged in any other activities that would indicate crossing a line they were not supposed to cross.
But what was this line, in their case? At this point, nothing more than a line in the sand on the shores of Dragonstone. Grey, shallow, and easily blurred by the forces of nature.
It wasn’t until Daenerys laid in her bed that she had discovered a hint of longing somewhere in her heart, demanding to be noticed. That moment between Ser Jorah and her felt natural, as if a kiss on the lips was something they could do every day, without feeling guilty or embarrassed. At the same time, it didn’t deprive it of this magical spark of pleasure. She bit her lip. The memory of it felt nice, when he held her, and his beard tickled the tip of her nose, for a short moment. Maybe next time it would last a little longer?
Unfortunately, Daenerys still had to wait to find out. Chaste kisses on the cheek would soon become their own little tradition, practiced every evening when they parted by her chamber’s door, but such incident wouldn’t repeat soon. Even though their eyes would wander down to their lips, neither of them would dare to act on the feelings slowly igniting the fire within their hearts.
Daenerys smiled to herself and rolled her eyes, turning on her side and hugging a pillow. Why would I even want to kiss Ser Jorah? He was her friend. He was her many things. Because he tasted good? Somewhere in her lower abdomen she felt warmth gathering. She closed her eyes and tried to silence the thoughts going through her mind. She wanted to let sleep take her to its peaceful realm.
She’d see Ser Jorah tomorrow.
Unless she saw him earlier, in one of her dreams, gifting her with a more generous sample of the taste of his sweet lips.
***
The air was heavy with the scent of warmth and fresh, green grass. It wasn’t hot, not just yet, but summer was one step closer each day.
West of King’s Landing, miles away from the exotic royal garden, the plainlands of grass laid on both sides of the King’s Road. Horses were glancing at the marvelous deep shade of green, chewing at the metal between their teeth. Sometimes they would pass by small villages and the landscape of marvelous juicy pastures changed into hilly strips of freshly ploughed fields. When the fields ended, time came for the orchards.
During this time of spring, shy green leaves on fruit trees were already starting to replace the millions of white flowers that were slowly giving up their existence. The soft petals were ready to be stolen away by wind, to swirl and finally rest on the ground, much like the snowflakes a few months earlier. They would lay there like a silk rug until they disappear, unnoticed by those who come to check on the ovules of apples, pears, and cherries.
For now, the aspiring fruits were still to be created and no one was more interested in this process than bees. They liked a certain grove in particular, down in the valley of a stream, one of the many minor tributaries of the Blackwater Rush. The trees here were wilder, bigger and the pink and white petals still held themselves strong, unwilling to give up to the wind. From the King’s Road, those bright flowers, with swarms of bees buzzing above them, were as much visible as audible.
“What is this noise?” Daenerys asked curiously, sitting on the back of a glorious, silver mare. She was glad about the trip they organized for the whole court, a welcomed change from everyday life. She had already forgotten what clean air smelled like, but the sound that kept disturbing her every time they passed by an orchard wouldn’t let her fully enjoy being on horseback again. “I’ve been hearing it for so long that I can’t tell if it’s real or if it’s just in my head?” she wondered with pretended wistfulness, and her Lord Hand smiled at her with kindness.
“It’s very much real, my Queen,” he answered when his horse approached the silver mare close enough for their legs to touch. “Swarm of bees are collecting the last bits of the spring pollen,” he explained and thought for a moment before he continued. “Would you mind stopping here? The horses could use some grass.”
“As you wish, my Lord Hand. Everyone deserves a rest.”
“Thank you, my Queen. I’ll be right back,” he said with slightly crouched eyebrows, visibly engrossed in an idea. He dismounted his chestnut stallion and momentarily vanished between the knights and servants assisting them on the road.
Daenerys couldn’t put her finger on why, but she had come to enjoy those little formalities they exchanged. It gave her pride and satisfaction, addressing each other with due respect. At the same time, it amused her, that being around other people she had to be so official with him. But when in the evening, for a mere second, they closed the distance between their faces for a traditional peck on the cheek, and Jorah would address her as my Queen, and she would call him my Lord, there was something so tender and intimate about the common titles…
Daenerys wondered about it, gazing at the valley. The royal caravan stopped, and the horses were content as they finally had a chance to taste the lush grass. People were laughing and talking while the Queen lounged underneath a soft canopy. She was sipping wine when she heard Jorah’s footsteps behind her. When he stood in front of her, she smiled upon a peculiar sight.
There he was, her Lord Hand and Lord Superior of the Queen’s Guard, in his fine clothes and silver cloak, all covered in dirt and dust. Little sticks of bark were stuck in his hair, also decorating his sleeves and legs. In his left hand he was holding a painted bowl with a spoon. She could easily guess what was inside, even though she was yet to see the contents. Jorah’s right hand was all covered with a shiny, sticky, gold substance.
“I’ve brought you some fresh honey, Your Grace,” he declared proudly, lifting his head up.
“I see, thank you my Lord Hand,” she laughed, “Have you taken it straight out of a beehive, with your bare hands?” she asked, expecting a bashful smile of negation, but...
“Of course, just taste it, my Queen,” he encouraged her. Jorah looked confident and agitated, standing firmly on both feet with a spark of excitement shining in his eyes.
“But how did you do it?” Daenerys inquired, her eyes following every move of his glistening hand. It was covered in honey, and he had to turn it up or down from time to time, not to drip on the carpets laid out for her. She wondered if the honey would taste different on his hand than from the elegant bowl.
“The honey from Bear Island was the best I’ve ever tasted. But if you want to get it before the bears, you must know your ways,” he smirked at her. A long time must have passed since he had last had a chance to get honey like this and still, he remembered all his tricks. Jorah bowed and gave her the bowl. She accepted it with admiration gracing her features. “Now, if you permit me, I will go to the stream, to wash my hands.”
“I’ll go with you,” she offered with a flicker of mischief in her eyes and got up, holding her bowl, and followed Ser Jorah down the slope to the buzzing bosque.
They walked away from the main camp, under the enchanting trees that were giving forth the sweetest scent of flowers. They could hear the splash of water more clearly now and soon enough they descended a small glen, finding themselves alone on the shore of a clear, shallow stream. It was flowing fast through a wide riverbed, filling their ears with its never-ending song.
“I appreciate your gesture, but they could have hurt you,” Dany said with affection when she jumped down on the ground, helped by Jorah’s clean hand. She didn’t let it go.
“What, bees? I’ve been cut by blades more fearsome and lethal than a bee’s sting,” he said dismissively, gently rocking their joined hands.
“Let me taste this honey, then,” she declared, putting the bowl she was holding down on a stone beside the water. Jorah followed it with his gaze and arched an eyebrow, sending her a questioning look. The one he got in response, he didn’t dare name.
Daenerys took his honeyed right hand and holding it gently with both her palms, she brought it to her lips. She licked the base of his thumb and then took the finger into her mouth, closing her lips around it. Her tongue circled it gracefully, cleaning the skin of any sticky drops of the honey. Her eyes narrowed from pleasure when sweetness filled her mouth, a rare delicacy spiced with the taste of the leather reigns her Lord Hand had held on his way here. Without haste, she took the finger out, barely brushing it with her front teeth, just enough to make Jorah’s breath hitch. Their eyes locked, mesmerized and taken aback by the feelings and fantasies coming true, overtaking their minds, and separating them from the rest of the world. Daenerys took the second finger and sucked on it a little stronger.
She liked what she was seeing on Jorah’s face. When she put the third, longest finger all the way into her throat and caressed it with her tongue, any woman would be able to tell it excited the man in front of her. But only Daenerys knew how much willpower it cost him to keep breathing evenly. After all, they were both aware of how seductive it was. She gently stroked his palm with her thumbs. Their eyes sparkled and Jorah had to clench his jaw when she reached the last two digits, caressing them and making quiet noises with her lips. Finally, when every finger was clean, she slowly pulled the last one out of her mouth. He could barely hold her gaze, unsure how much desire his eyes revealed.
“Here,” Daenerys said, giving Jorah his clean hand back and softly stroking its back with her nails on the way. The honey from it tasted very different indeed.
The Lord Hand’s cheeks were red, but he never looked away from her eyes. When he swallowed, his lips parted slightly, and a heavy huff of air escaped them. The silver haired beauty before him had always been full of surprises. He didn’t think it was possible for a man to love a woman more than he loved her. The soft wind rustled between the trees’ young leaves and the stream kept rushing, loud as ever, but not half as loud as the sound ringing in their ears when they devoured each other’s presence.
“You have sticks all over your hair,” Daenerys whispered, grabbing the nape of his neck, and leaning his head down. He made a questioning rumble noise but didn’t move away when she brushed his golden locks gently, picking out the small pieces of bark. “And you have a scratch, right here,” she claimed, caressing his throat.
“It’s just a scar,” he lowered his voice to a whisper too, unable to get anything else out of his mouth.
“Aye,” she agreed in the Northern style, making him lift the corners of his lips again. This scar was a reminder of the past troubles and dangers. A reminder of how fragile life was. She didn’t want life to slip away from their hands, she decided. She didn’t want love to slip away from them.
Daenerys’ fingers traced the way down to his shoulders and squeezed them lightly. She brought her lips to the scar a Dothraki screamer had once given him and Jorah closed his eyes, reveling in the feeling of her slightly sticky mouth on his neck.
He could see her mood had changed since they wandered away from the rest of the group. Much like every time when they were left alone for the past few weeks. Now, he found he could no longer resist. A moan, or rather a rumble, managed to escape his lips when his Queen's mouth traced the line of his jaw, getting further away from the place where the scar ended. Her wet kisses made him feel weak, vulnerable, almost out of his mind, but how could this ever be considered a weakness, being cherished by such a woman? His hands drifted to follow the line of her spine and rested on her hips. With a tremble, she exhaled a breath on his wet skin.
“Daenerys,” saying her name, Jorah opened his eyes, and she stopped in her tracks. “Do you remember the time… when I told you about a beast that was in every man?” Daenerys stepped back to look at him.
“You said it stirred whenever a sword was put in his hand,” she recited dreamily, not letting go of his shoulders.
“Careful, now, Daenerys,” he warned her. “Other parts of men stir when you do things like that,” he whispered slowly, deliberately, in a hoarse voice that tingled her very existence. He gazed into her eyes. He could see that they were dark, the pupils dilated. His pupils must have already swallowed all the blues of his irises.
They were challenging each other, their hearts beating like in a stallion’s chest after a race through a desert.
I won’t let you go, my bear, she thought and slowly, so deliberately slowly she leaned towards his lips, stopping an inch away. She enjoyed every second of this, and so did he.
When you’re completely sure that nothing will stop you from taking the greatest pleasure you’ve ever dreamt of, then prolonging the waiting can make for the sweetest aphrodisiac.
Daenerys exhaled through parted lips and Jorah stole her breath, inhaling it. He gave it back to her and gently as a feather, he brushed his lips against hers. They were soft, tasting of honey, concealing a magical secret of an ancient House, built upon fire and blood. Just like he had always imagined.
When their mouths met, there was no coming back. There would never be. Not after all the desire they put into the kiss. It was undeniable, even though they had never explicitly put it into words before.
Jorah pressed her whole body to his, emanating with want and trying to satiate it with her closeness. Her passion matched his, when she held the back of his head, almost forcing his lips on hers. After such foreplay he didn’t need any further teasing, but he welcomed this eagerness. Securing her back with his hands, he swirled her and made her step backwards, until they were stopped by a tree. Now she could lean against it, when Jorah kissed her face a little bit more gently now, a little more seductively then lustfully. His hands were going up and down her body, pressing her to him, pleasantly caging her between him and the tree. He sucked on her lower lip, which she reciprocated whenever she wasn’t overwhelmed by his ministrations, melting from pleasure with her eyes closed.
They smelled of sweetness. The taste of the spring honey sharpened their senses when Jorah licked it off her tongue much like she licked it off his fingers before; carefully, thoroughly, and sensationally.
“I’m so glad I haven’t made you say any of those stupid King’s Guard’s vows…” Daenerys moaned.
“Why, do you think I would break them?” Jorah asked, smiling teasingly, and stroking her sides with one hand, while his other hand was resting at the small of her back.
“I know you would break them. If I asked you… I would make you break them all,” she said before he shushed her with his lips once again.
Delicate petals of bright pink flowers were falling around the two lovers leaning against the dark bark of a cherry tree. The little green leaves would soon dominate its picture, but for now, in the softly whistling rosy crown, a swarm of bees was busying itself above two blonde heads caressing each other with affection. The buzz of flying insects was mixing with the rush of the river, creating an ever-lasting melody which sang of highs and lows, of devotion, of time, and life, and love.
Time is love, so let it live.