Fic: The Sweetest Song
Title: The Sweetest Song
Author: mrstater
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Characters & Pairing: Daenerys Targaryen/Jorah Mormont
Rating & Warnings: M for sex
Format & Word Count: ficlet, 956 words
Summary: "The Bear and the Maiden Fair" doesn't mean exactly what Dany thinks it means. Jorah educates her. [HBO!verse, AU]
Author's Notes: Follows Love in the Eyes and Bride's Cloak in affair!verse, but all you really need to know is that Dany doesn't assert herself sexually with Drogo and eventually he loses interest in her, thus she embarks on an adulterous relationship with Jorah. Written for the Get Lucky porn battle at gameofships, for the prompt but he licked the honey from her hair.
The Sweetest Song
Daenerys has persuaded him to do all manner of foolish things in the secrecy of his tent--bed her, and wed her--but at this moment, the request Jorah is most glad to have caved to is teaching her the songs of the Seven Kingdoms.
"You must sing me this one," she says, kneeling beside his sleeping mat facing him. The corner of the book he gave her for a bride's gift jabs his hip as she opens it on her lap, the aged pages crinkling like autumn leaves as she thumbs through it.
He lifts his head slightly from where he reclines, fingers laced together behind his neck on the bundle of rags that serve as his pillow, and makes out the title with some difficulty from upside-down and in elaborate calligraphy that is far too much for this song. He lies back with a grunt.
"I'm surprised 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair' made it into a book."
"Surprised? Why?"
"It's more a tavern bawdy than a fine example of Westerosi musicianship."
"A tavern what?"
Jorah raises his head again, perplexed by her perplexity. Or perhaps she misheard? "Bawdy," he enunciates carefully. "As in, a lewd--"
"I know what bawdy means," Daenerys says with a huff not unlike her brother, though the pull of her eyebrows as she looks down at the song book is far more endearing. "What I don't understand is how it applies to this song. It's just silly nonsense about a bear and a blonde girl. And I thought--"
She catches her lower lip between her teeth, and Jorah just glimpsed a flush on her cheek before her hair fell to hide her face as she leaned farther over the book. "It was a silly thought. I thought since your sigil is a bear and…well, my hair is more silver than honey, but--
Before Jorah can stop himself, a laugh rumbles out of his chest. He rocks to sit up on his sleeping mat, drawing his knees, and sweeps her hair back from her face as he cups her chin so that he can meet her wide, innocent eyes.
"That's not the sort of hair the song means, love," he says, not managing to keep the quiver of a chuckle out of his voice. "Nor the sort of honey."
Daenerys' forehead scrunches as her gaze drops again to the book to re-read the words and try to decipher the meaning she has missed. Letting his hand trail down her cheek and neck and breast covered by her sandsilk bed robe, Jorah pulls the book from her lap and sets it aside, then touches her knee, sliding his fingers beneath the robe and upward over her smooth bare thigh. When the tips reach the warm v between her legs, Daenerys draws in a sharp breath, her lips forming an o to match the rounding of her eyes in realization.
"He licked the honey from--"
"Her hair," Jorah murmurs, and though she continues to peer up with uncertainty, her trust is evident in the way she lies back in the Pallet of skins and blankets as he lowered himself over her.
"Men pleasure their women so in the Seven Kingdoms?"
"I thought bears were the subject of this discussion."
His beard scratches against the soft skin of her inner thigh as he nuzzles at her, coaxing her legs apart; coarse curls tickle his nose as she opens to him. He does not begin at once, but pauses to peer over her mound and finds Daenerys looking intently down the length of her body at him. Her stomach dips inward and, realizing she is holding her breath, Jorah runs one hand up over her hip and slips his fingers beneath the loose silk sash of her bed robe to rest on the bare valley of skin, stroking it. Her small hand covers his and he feels the swell of exhalation beneath his palm. He raises an eyebrow, and she answers with a nod, returning the smile he gives her as he bends his head to taste her.
One touch of his tongue makes her belly retreat from his palm as she sucks in her breath. Her head falls back, her mouth opening, a squeal starting to push from her throat. "Shh," Jorah reminds her, his breath making goosebumps prickle up on her leg against his cheek, ever mindful that she must not be caught taking pleasure by a man other than her khal, no matter that she calls him husband in her heart. He smiles as he returns to her, because she tastes of want.
Want for this…want for love…want for all he can give…and for him…
Her fingernails carve half-circles into the hollows between his fingers as she drags it up to her breast, and she bites her lip against a cry. She cannot stop it, no more than he can stop doing what makes her sigh, and kick, her heel driving into the ground for purchase as he brings her to the edge, so he pushes up to smother her cry with a kiss, the taste of her still sweet upon his lips.
When she has finished shuddering against him and caught her breath, she says, "I'm afraid I must disagree with you, my love."
"Disagree?"
"I think 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair' is a very fine example of Westerosi musicianship."
A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, but before he can speak, she adds, "And one I shall expect you to sing often."
Author: mrstater
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Characters & Pairing: Daenerys Targaryen/Jorah Mormont
Rating & Warnings: M for sex
Format & Word Count: ficlet, 956 words
Summary: "The Bear and the Maiden Fair" doesn't mean exactly what Dany thinks it means. Jorah educates her. [HBO!verse, AU]
Author's Notes: Follows Love in the Eyes and Bride's Cloak in affair!verse, but all you really need to know is that Dany doesn't assert herself sexually with Drogo and eventually he loses interest in her, thus she embarks on an adulterous relationship with Jorah. Written for the Get Lucky porn battle at gameofships, for the prompt but he licked the honey from her hair.
The Sweetest Song
Daenerys has persuaded him to do all manner of foolish things in the secrecy of his tent--bed her, and wed her--but at this moment, the request Jorah is most glad to have caved to is teaching her the songs of the Seven Kingdoms.
"You must sing me this one," she says, kneeling beside his sleeping mat facing him. The corner of the book he gave her for a bride's gift jabs his hip as she opens it on her lap, the aged pages crinkling like autumn leaves as she thumbs through it.
He lifts his head slightly from where he reclines, fingers laced together behind his neck on the bundle of rags that serve as his pillow, and makes out the title with some difficulty from upside-down and in elaborate calligraphy that is far too much for this song. He lies back with a grunt.
"I'm surprised 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair' made it into a book."
"Surprised? Why?"
"It's more a tavern bawdy than a fine example of Westerosi musicianship."
"A tavern what?"
Jorah raises his head again, perplexed by her perplexity. Or perhaps she misheard? "Bawdy," he enunciates carefully. "As in, a lewd--"
"I know what bawdy means," Daenerys says with a huff not unlike her brother, though the pull of her eyebrows as she looks down at the song book is far more endearing. "What I don't understand is how it applies to this song. It's just silly nonsense about a bear and a blonde girl. And I thought--"
She catches her lower lip between her teeth, and Jorah just glimpsed a flush on her cheek before her hair fell to hide her face as she leaned farther over the book. "It was a silly thought. I thought since your sigil is a bear and…well, my hair is more silver than honey, but--
Before Jorah can stop himself, a laugh rumbles out of his chest. He rocks to sit up on his sleeping mat, drawing his knees, and sweeps her hair back from her face as he cups her chin so that he can meet her wide, innocent eyes.
"That's not the sort of hair the song means, love," he says, not managing to keep the quiver of a chuckle out of his voice. "Nor the sort of honey."
Daenerys' forehead scrunches as her gaze drops again to the book to re-read the words and try to decipher the meaning she has missed. Letting his hand trail down her cheek and neck and breast covered by her sandsilk bed robe, Jorah pulls the book from her lap and sets it aside, then touches her knee, sliding his fingers beneath the robe and upward over her smooth bare thigh. When the tips reach the warm v between her legs, Daenerys draws in a sharp breath, her lips forming an o to match the rounding of her eyes in realization.
"He licked the honey from--"
"Her hair," Jorah murmurs, and though she continues to peer up with uncertainty, her trust is evident in the way she lies back in the Pallet of skins and blankets as he lowered himself over her.
"Men pleasure their women so in the Seven Kingdoms?"
"I thought bears were the subject of this discussion."
His beard scratches against the soft skin of her inner thigh as he nuzzles at her, coaxing her legs apart; coarse curls tickle his nose as she opens to him. He does not begin at once, but pauses to peer over her mound and finds Daenerys looking intently down the length of her body at him. Her stomach dips inward and, realizing she is holding her breath, Jorah runs one hand up over her hip and slips his fingers beneath the loose silk sash of her bed robe to rest on the bare valley of skin, stroking it. Her small hand covers his and he feels the swell of exhalation beneath his palm. He raises an eyebrow, and she answers with a nod, returning the smile he gives her as he bends his head to taste her.
One touch of his tongue makes her belly retreat from his palm as she sucks in her breath. Her head falls back, her mouth opening, a squeal starting to push from her throat. "Shh," Jorah reminds her, his breath making goosebumps prickle up on her leg against his cheek, ever mindful that she must not be caught taking pleasure by a man other than her khal, no matter that she calls him husband in her heart. He smiles as he returns to her, because she tastes of want.
Want for this…want for love…want for all he can give…and for him…
Her fingernails carve half-circles into the hollows between his fingers as she drags it up to her breast, and she bites her lip against a cry. She cannot stop it, no more than he can stop doing what makes her sigh, and kick, her heel driving into the ground for purchase as he brings her to the edge, so he pushes up to smother her cry with a kiss, the taste of her still sweet upon his lips.
When she has finished shuddering against him and caught her breath, she says, "I'm afraid I must disagree with you, my love."
"Disagree?"
"I think 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair' is a very fine example of Westerosi musicianship."
A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, but before he can speak, she adds, "And one I shall expect you to sing often."