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“Fuck,” Daeron says, jerking off so near to Raymun’s face that his eyes go crossed trying to focus on the pink of his cock. “I’m close-“
Raymun’s brain is buzzing like it’s filled with angry bees, a tree under attack from the hive. He sticks out his tongue and Daeron’s breath hitches, before he rests the head of his cock against Raymun and ruts against it, like a boy and his fist.
“You’re so good,” Daeron says, and Raymun’s not an idiot, he knows that Daeron is a Targaryen, and an alien, and evil, but he’s also got a big cock and seems to think Raymun is interesting, so he’s running with it. “Fuck, I’m going to come down your throat-“
Raymun draws back, salt heavy on his tongue. “You can come on my face,” He says, voice hoarse from sucking cock. “Or on my tits.”
“Tits?” Daeron says, and gives a little silvery laugh. “I’d hardly call them tits.”
Raymun flushes pink, because yeah he’s not exactly a busty maid, but something soft crosses Daeron’s face. With his other hand he reaches out to gently stroke Raymun’s chest, squeezing the little buds of his nipples, and Raymun moans, pressing his thighs together tightly. He’s never gotten off from blowing anyone before, but then again, he hasn’t really done this much. Steffon takes his mouth when he wants it, and he prats about with the stable boys, but he’s never cum from it. Maybe Daeron’s an outlier.
“Barely a mouthful,” Daeron says, hands still exploring Raymun’s chest, and that does something to Raymun’s belly, pleasure sparking.
“Please,” Raymun says, and his voice is whiny. “I haven’t asked you for anything else.”
“You got a knighthood out of Lyonel, what more is there to give?” Daeron says, and rubs the head of his cock against Raymun’s nipple, smearing precome. “Push them together, let me see what I can do.“
Raymun forces his hands together, creating the tiniest sliver of cleavage. He’s not like serving girls, or any of Manfred’s women, but Daeron fucks against him, eyes fluttering shut. Raymun takes the opportunity to stare up at Daeron, his sickly complexion, stringy blonde hair, mouth chapped, ear half bitten off. He smells of alcohol and his own sweat, and Raymun knows he should take the opportunity to kill him. Targaryen’s are like hydra – you cut off one head, and another two grow in its place.
“Fuck,” Daeron says, tipping his head back. “Fuck, yes, Raymun-“
“Please,” Raymun says, staring up at the Prince, “C’mon, I want it – So fucking bad.”
Daeron cums with a whine over Raymun’s tits, splattering them with white. Raymun feels his own cock pulse in his braies, and he ruts against his thighs, once, twice, before he’s spilling too, hips furiously stuttering forward. Hot pleasure floods through his body, and he pants greedily, aware of the mess that he’s made, the mess that he is.
“Shit,” Daeron gasps, and collapses onto his knees in front of Raymun. He’s breathing heavily, and with no warning, kisses Raymun hard on the mouth like a lover. He tastes of cheap ale and soot, and Raymun shoves him off.
“You taste like a fire pit,” He says, and Daeron licks his face instead, a wet stripe from jaw to just below his eye. “Get off.”
“You’re a prissy thing when you want to be,” Daeron says, but pulls away. His eyes flick down to Raymun’s chest, and then back up to Raymun’s face. “But what a pretty sight you make.”
“Don’t be weird,” Raymun says.
Daeron laughs breathlessly and squeezes Raymun’s tit. He squawks, hips jerking, and Daeron smirks, because he’s a horrible bastard. Raymun feels a bit stupid now, and sticky, forced to sit with the fallout of what he’s just done. He’s let a Prince fuck his mouth. Steffon’s going to kill him.
“I suppose I should thank you,” Daeron says. “You have a sweet tongue. Better than most squires.”
“S’alright,” Raymun says, wondering how many squires Daeron has fucked. “It was a thank you – for playing dead in the trial of the Seven. Dunk’s grateful.”
“So kind of you, to offer up your body for a man you barely know.” Daeron says, raising one eyebrow.
Raymun shrugs his shoulders. “I guess I’m that kind of person.” He says, and wipes slick off his face with the back of his hand. He can taste salt at the back of his throat and if he wasn’t in polite company, he’d try and spit it out.
“I must confess,” Daeron says, voice light. “I knew you were going to let me.”
Raymun blinks. “What?” He says, because Daeron had seemed very surprised when Raymun got on his knees. For all of five seconds however, before he was pushing his cock into Raymun's mouth.
“I had a dream,” Daeron says, running fingers through his sweaty hair. “About a apple tree felling a great dragon.”
Raymun rolls his eyes, because of course Daeron is a mad Targaryen bastard who thinks dreams are prophecies. He probably studies tea leaves and refuses to let a black cat cross his path. No wonder he spends so much time drinking, it gives him less time to worry his pretty Prince brain.
“Dreams don’t come true.” Raymun says. “Even I know that.”
“My dreams always come true.” Daeron says, and looks at him with an unreadable expression. “The apple tree crushed the dragon from behind and made him bleed, only the blood was milk and tasted sweet like honey.”
Raymun’s not a learned man, but he knows men nor dragons can bleed milk. He looks at Daeron suspiciously, and Daeron blinks back at him innocently. Then he leans forward and takes hold of Raymun’s hand, pressing it between his legs where his cock is soft. It feels like velvet against Raymun’s skin, and he automatically closes his hand around it, feeling the blood pulse underneath.
“Do you want to figure out what the dream meant?” Daeron asks, “I think it must be very important, don’t you think, Ser Fossoway?”
“Oh.” Raymun says. “Ah. Uh-“
“And it’s very bad luck to disobey dreams,” Daeron says, “Especially ones that came from the mind of a Prince.”
His cock twitches against the palm of Raymun’s hand, and Raymun feels the wet stickiness of pre-come drool from the head. It makes his belly hurt - He wants to put his mouth on Daeron’s cock again, or beg Daeron to return the favour.
“I suppose not,” He says slowly, and Daeron leans forward to kiss him again, his mouth still tasting of ash and smoke.