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You’d thought you’d find him here.
Amongst the rocky cliffs of Dragonstone, Jacaerys looked more like a bird perched for flight than a dragon.
The grass whispers around you. There are small pops of color in the green, wildflowers that seem to thrive in spite (or because) of the isle’s volcanic climate. They frame your lover beautifully, as if they blossomed to life in hope of receiving his admiration.
You pick your way amongst the rocks in the grass.
He had flown Vermax all the way across the island to brood.
You had walked. The hem of your dress was slightly damp from dew, bits of grass and petals clinging to the sodden fabric. Your hair was loose about your shoulders, plaits undone by the wind.
You knew something has been on Jace’s mind the past few days. It was true that his mind was rarely quiet, but with each raven that arrived from King’s Landing it seemed the furrow between his brows would only deepen. He tries to pretend he is unaffected. He believes the farce is for your sake, to keep you free of the dark clouds plaguing him. He thinks it better to weather his storms alone.
But you know better than that. That is why you have followed him.
You take a moment to admire him while he thinks he is unseen.
You can only make out the side of his profile, but that is enough to send butterflies through your stomach. His tresses are wild, falling across his temples and forehead with every caress of the breeze. Your eyes take in the pout of his plush lips, the slope of his nose, the set of his jaw. He wears a doublet of light gray-ish blue, matching the cloudy sky. The cloak around his shoulders is a bright Targaryen red. He leans back against his hands, legs out in front of him. His eyes track his dragon’s swooping arcs in the distance.
“I thought you’d be somewhere around here, my prince.” You muse, making your presence known.
Broken from his reverie, he turns his head to find you.
Jace’s umber eyes are warm. He gives you the best smile he can muster at the moment, though a particular tension unwinds from his shoulders at your presence. His gaze flickers down to your dirtied hem and then dragging back up to your face.
“My lady,” The prince’s tone is amused. You’d both shed the need for formal titles long ago, especially when alone. To use them now was more a jest than a respect. “Did you walk all the way here?”
You can hear the surprise in his tone. You also pick up on the tinge of concern, something akin to guilt. It’s as if he thinks he’s forced you to walk such a distance just to check on him. You can practically hear his thoughts- you should not have walked so far just to see me. Your legs must be sore and you’ve soiled your dress.
“I did.” You confirm his question easily, making your way to his side. Jacaerys’ eyes never leave you. You settle beside him easily and he lets you into his orbit with just as little resistance. You sit, your knees pressing into his thigh and a shoulder notched against his own. His warmth seeps into you where you touch, even more so when he subtly leans into it.
“I’m fond of walking and the day is nice enough. I figured I might find you pouting along my path.” A playful inflection dances in your words.
He scoffs, sending you a sidelong look before shifting his eyes back to the gray waters of the distance.
“I’m not pouting.” But the defense is weak, even on his own ears. You can clearly see the small jut of his lower lip, a bit chapped from the wind. Other signs of his glowering mood include the tick in his jaw, the nearly visible tangle of his thoughts, and the fact that he’d flown all the way across the island for his solitude. (A solitude you’ve come to wreck.)
“Of course not.” You agree easily. “Now that I can see you, I can see you are brooding, not pouting. How could I make such a mistake?
With the force he rolls his eyes, you’re a bit surprised they do not fall from his skull.
Your eyes catch on his brunette locks that whisper against his skin with the breeze.
Jace’s hair has grown a bit longer than he usually keeps it, curling about his ears and brushing his nape. It is something you’ve relished in the past few weeks. You’ve made it a private habit to braid together little strands at the bottom of his hair. They do not last long without proper fastening, but it gives you all the more excuse to replace them when they unravel. He lets out an exasperated breath every time he feels your fingers fiddling with his hair, but you can always catch the tail end of a private smile. You hold them close like a secret.
Jacaerys does not bat your hands away when you reach your hands to the tawny tresses at his nape. In fact, he tilts his head so you can braid without fear of tugging. You bite back a pleased smile. His hair was soft… exceptionally so. You can even smell the rosemary oil he uses on the gusts of wind blowing past you.
“Alright,” You begin, still working on your task of weaving small, loose, braids into his hair. “What is it then?”
If he could turn his head to look at you without ruining your handy work, you’re sure he would. You can see the returning furrow of his brows, the downturn of his lips.
“What’s what?” Deceptively innocent.
You tug a little on one of the tiny braids you’ve made, not enough to hurt, but enough to irritate.
“Don’t play coy with me, Jacaerys. I can see something is on your mind. The cloud hanging over your head is almost tangible.” You chastise gently.
He huffs in annoyance at your tug on his hair but you can see his demeanor soften like a ripple across tall grass. His eyes no longer track the cresting waves of the distance, or Vermax’s arcs through the clouds. Instead, they fall to your dress. Absent-minded, his fingers reach out to fiddle with the lacy hem of your skirts.
“I would not burden you with my worries.” The timbre of his voice is quiet and hushed. The words cause your heart to ache.
Being a future heir to the Iron Throne, being raised a prince, being the eldest son… You’ve come to learn that Jacaerys has taught himself to hold his anxieties to himself. He hides behind clenched jaws and straight spines, wishing for his eyes to not reveal even half of what swirls through his mind. You can see that he wants to be seen as the epitome of perfection (not as the bastard boy with dark hair).
To show his nervousness would be to bare his throat, practically rolling over to prostrate a vulnerable underbelly to the hungry maws of courtiers.
But you are not a sneering lord or scowling lady, you are his betrothed. You’ve been promised to him since childhood… living with him upon Dragonstone for most of it. You spent most of your day with him and then thinking of him when he was not at your side (as he always thinks of you). At this point, the word love does not feel like enough to describe such a connection.
“I know you wouldn’t.” You sigh. The sound is tinged with fondness only he is attuned to hear. “Which is why I must come track you down to get you to put voice to your thoughts.”
Jacaerys is quiet for a long moment. For so long, even, that you fear he might not even speak at all.
“A raven from King’s Landing arrived this morn,” His voice is only a muttering, mostly taken by wind. “My grandsire only grows weaker. He can hardly leave from his bed, nor stand on his own…”
Jacaerys’ voice tapers off.
“In his weakness, he cannot see the unrest he has spread, naming my mother heir and then bearing a son.” Jacaerys sighs. “And every lord and lady is holding their breath for the moment his soul is taken by the Stranger.”
He gets to the crux of his worries, words tumbling in a rush.
“I worry… that my mother will not be able to take her throne without challenge. That others will vie for the chance-”
“You think there will be conflict? A usurper?” You interject. Your voice is gentle, not incredulous or disbelieving… just, is.
He lets a breath out his nose. His eyes flick away, as if looking at any piece of you would be revealing too much. That, itself, is answer enough.
A kind hand finds his cheek, guiding his eyes to meet yours once more. It’s then, when you can fully look at his eyes, that you realize the weight of his anxieties. Jacaerys is not only a prince, worried for his queen’s ascension. He is also a devoted son, brother… a gallant young man.
If Rhaenyra’s throne is challenged, or even stolen, his family is put at risk. The years and years upon Dragonstone’s rocky shores; the sparring with his brothers on the beach, flying dragons with his mother, and the peaceful nights shared with you… It would all be cast away like a rock tossed to the ocean. His family would be thrown into war, the lives of everyone he holds dear would be threatened, their fates uncertain.
It is at times like this that you silently compare Jacaerys to the likes of a doe. He is not overtly prideful like a stag. He was… sensitive, even if he did not like the word. He was soft, delicate, and beautiful… There was something about his hazel eyes that made you want to behold him with reverence but at the same time you wanted to wrap him up in your arms and never let him go.
It was that same feeling that made you want to whisk him and Vermax away to a place like the Vale, where you could live among mountains and forests. You could forage for berries and send his dragon hunting and tumble in the wildflowers under open sky. You both would never worry about a throne made of thousands of swords, you would never have to bear the leering gazes of men at court, and Jacaerys would never have to pay heed to the word ‘bastard’ ever again.
“Jacaerys, my love,” You begin. “I cannot blame you for these worries. But the great houses have sworn to your mother. Viserys has only supported her ascendance-”
“But her claim is tarnished by my dark hair.” Jace mutters bitterly.
Any other words are stifled with a push of your lips against his own. He sucks in a breath, too surprised to reciprocate before you pull away. He blinks owlishly at you. You’re privately pleased at the pretty flush of pink about his cheeks.
You hold his face in your hands, a touch firm.
“Do not begin with that. I will not hear such things from you.” You brush your thumbs across his defined cheekbones. “Alicent’s eldest shames his whole family with his drunkenness and whore-mongering. Silver hair does not make anyone a good heir, their character does. And you, Jacaerys Velaryon, are the most honorable and compassionate man I have ever known. I am lucky to be promised to you, and proud that I will one day call you husband-”
Your words are cut short by him surging forward to capture your lips in another kiss.
It was messy, impassioned.
You make a quiet noise but press into his touch eagerly. One of your hands slides from his cheek to the hair at his nape, the other holding tightly to his shoulder. The hand that had been fiddling with your hem flits up your calf and smooths over your knee. You can feel the heat of his touch through your dress, it ignites a spark in your stomach.
Every touch was clumsy but wanting. It was what came with having too much desire and only just learning how to deal with it.
“You do not know what you do to me.” He murmurs against your lips as he pulls back. He does not go far. You feel his lips skim across your skin, worshiping. “Speaking as you do… You kindle the fire in my blood.”
The words make your cheeks warm. A hand comes to cradle your jaw, tilting it so he may pepper kisses along your throat. He leaves you breathless.
You want to make him feel as delirious with lust as you do.
Jacaerys whines, truly whines, as you tug lightly at his hair. The sound strikes you directly between your legs and your thighs twitch with the urge to press together. You angle him exactly as you like, letting hunger guide you. He lets you.
The little sounds he makes is enough to goad you into kissing him once again. Your mouth slots against his own and you nip at his plush bottom lip. His mouth flushes so prettily when you do that, it's a guilty pleasure of yours.
This is how it usually progresses. A simple kiss or two is enough to light a conflagration of desire between the both of you.
It's far from your first coupling, nor will it be the last.
The first time had been in your chambers a few months past, during a particularly vicious storm. He had just as much experience as you did, which was none. Jacaerys stood apart and proud from his uncles, never having even stepped foot in a brothel, despite being well of age
The embrace had been shy and tender, smiles pressed against skin and embarrassed laughter intermingled with sighs of pleasure. It was a joining of giddy desire and young love. And now, you've made it quite the consistent habit. There was so much of one another to explore.
The way you saw it, you would be married soon enough anyhow. What was the point of waiting all that time if you would have Jacaerys anyways?
Now, you do not think twice before swinging a leg over Jace's lap.
You settle easily, not parting from the kiss for even a moment.
Kissing Jacaerys was it's own type of bliss. His mouth was always soft and pliable beneath your own. He never pushed, never commanded, just let you take what you wished. You could spend hours drunk off of his lips without a single regret.
Jacaerys shudders as your tongue swipes across his bottom lip but he parts his mouth for you anyhow. You waste no time, licking eagerly into the space given. It's messy, debauched. A reflection of your appetite.
One of your hands tangles in the hair at his nape, holding him steady as you steal kisses. He makes a needy, keening noise which you swallow. His nimble hands steady you at your hips, fingers digging into the fabric of your dress to ground himself.
The touch encourages you to rock your hips down against him. It's a testing cant, a reach for more. At the pressure, he bucks up against you and he makes a broken noise into your mouth.
Jacaerys breaks from the kiss, gasping for breath. His head comes to rest against your shoulder as his hands tighten at your waist, guiding you to grind down against him. The pressure is just right and it makes your breath catch in your throat. The slick gathering between your thighs makes itself known.
"Gods," Jace rasps, "you are a vixen."
You simply hum, sliding your hands along his shoulders. It's impossible to bite back your pleased grin.
A shiver runs down your spine as you feel how the tip of his nose trails along your bare skin. Warm, plush lips push themselves wherever your dress doesn't cover. It's a quiet request for more. You've learned to read his tells with expertise these past few moons. You know the meaning of each breath, each groan, each press of his hands…
Teasing, you let your touch skim down his chest, feeling the fine material of his doublet under your hands. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your palms. It's tangible evidence of how expertly you unravel him.
Finally, your fingers find the laces of his breeches.
You pull back, just slightly, so he can meet your gaze. He blinks up at you, almost dazed. He'd been so caught up in pressing kisses along your throat that he hardly realized the shift.
Your eyes ask a question, hands still and waiting for permission.
Jacaerys nods, palms skimming up over your ribcage. He's greedy to feel all of you.
"You know I will never say no to you." He murmurs. The way he peers up at you through his long lashes makes your heart do funny things in your chest.
"The choice is always there, anyhow." You huff as you begin to unlace him.
A kiss is pressed to your jaw in silent gratitude.
You feel the full body shudder that wracks him when you expose him to the open air. His cock is flushed with arousal, pretty and swollen. He's already leaking for you. The sight makes your mouth water.
Jace's chest shakes as your hand wraps around him, sucking in a quick breath. His hips jerk but do not get far with your weight spread across them. His fine hands flex just under your breasts.
You love him like this. Jacaerys' expression melts and his cheeks flush so wonderfully when he receives even the smallest bit of pleasure. His eyes are caught between gazing up at you and drifting down to your skilled hand.
Unhurried, you set a rhythm you know well. You give him long, slow strokes. It's an almost torturous pace. Your hand squeezes as it works up to his weeping tip before sweeping back down.
A piteous whine catches in his throat and his head tips forward to rest against your collarbone. His curls tickle your jawline. Every stroke of your hand across his cock earns a choked noise. Jace's lips are parted and they skim over your skin with every pant.
He tips his head up for another kiss and you grant his wish gladly.
When you pull back, his lips are slick and swollen. A heady, possessive feeling curls through your stomach at the sight.
Jacaerys struggles to meet your eyes through his fluttering lashes but he manages it. His pupils are blown wide, almost no traces of hazel left within his gaze. The hands at your waist sink to your hips and nudge, urging you off his lap.
"Please," he swallows down another moan before finding his voice again, "let me have you properly. I… I am too close like this. I do not want to finish.. mm.. before giving you your pleasure."
"As my prince wishes." Your words float in the small space that separates you. Your free hand cups his chin and you kiss him once more. It's a greedy habit.
You only release his cock when you've nipped his lips red.
Jace is quick to lay you on your back in the pliant grass, though no less gentle than he always is. He shifts above you and you gladly part your thighs to make room for him.
The grass below you tickles your neck, kissing your face with every shift in the wind. In the far distance you can hear Vermax's roar intertwined with distant waves upon rock. The scent of sea salt and pollen hang heavy in the air, along with the oils Jacaerys uses when he bathes. Here, in this weightless existence between sky and sea, little else matters. Only the press of bodies and twin souls bending towards one another.
You shiver when warm hands begin to slide the hem of your lacy skirts up, up, up, so they gather at your hips. At the sight of you, Jacaerys' eyes flutter then open once more. As if he was overwhelmed by the vision but can't bear to look away for even a moment.
Then, those molten eyes meet your own.
"No underclothes?" His tone would be amused if it wasn't so intensely wrought with lust.
Taking your lip between your teeth, you bite back a coy smile.
"I'd had high hopes when I came to see you."
Jacaerys ducks his head, lips sliding against yours once again. Your arms wrap about his neck and tug him closer. Your tongue swipes against those kiss-swollen lips before you lick into his pliant mouth.
He makes an eager noise and he lets you.
One of his hands is planted beside your head, ensuring he doesn't completely crush you with his weight. His knee notches under your own, nudging your legs farther apart. Jace's other hand begins a warm trail up your leg.
His thumb brushes the back of your knee, fingers skim along your inner thigh, then the curls at the apex of your thighs, before they finally reach their destination.
It's only a tease, a swipe through the wetness at your center. Testing. But it's enough to have you gasping against Jace's mouth. The ache inside of you throbs between your legs, hungry for more.
A slight smirk tugs at the prince's mouth, a rare hint of smugness. It seems it's his turn to make you smolder with need.
Your hand skims across his shoulder to grip at his bicep through his doublet.
"Jace." The word is a grunt. A command and a plea.
Your prince huffs but cannot, does not wish to, deny you.
Two long, dexterous fingers sink into you with no further prelude.
The movement pushes the air from your lungs. You let your head sink back into the grass, a keen leaving your throat. Molten pleasure blooms in your tummy.
You rock your hips against his palm. You want to feel him deeper, want to encase this feeling in your flesh to remember. Your betrothed, your prince, your Jacaerys. Yours.
Hazel eyes are trained on your every expression. You make a picture of a goddess, hedonistic and pliant in the grass and flowers. They frame you perfectly. He wants the image burned into the back of his eyelids.
"You've no idea how beautiful you are." Jace's words shake as they fall from his lips.
He doesn't hesitate to give you more. The pump of his fingers is slow but searching. He feels the way you squeeze around his digits, sucking him in. The tangible evidence of your want for him makes his head spin. He's not sure he'll ever fully adjust to the feeling.
It takes every effort within him not to grind against your leg like an animal.
Each roll of your hips syncopates with the thrust of his fingers, creating a easy symphony of pleasure. The slow waves of feeling is quick to become more. A familiar coil in your stomach is tightening and your thighs twitch and shift. You want to close your legs about him and rock onto his hand until you find release.
But you're hungry for more.
One of your hands finds his wrist between your legs. He stills immediately when you wish him to.
"I want you inside of me," You murmur, batting your lashes up at him. "Don't make me wait any longer."
Your words are like a whispered spell. A shudder of lust passes over his frame and he's ducking down to press a quick kiss to your mouth.
The withdrawal of his fingers is slow and all the more torturous for it. What a shame it is to be so empty. However, the sight of your prince sucking your essence off his fingers is almost enough to make up for it.
"Now, Jace, please." You command. The desire for him has reached a fever pitch. You might die if you don't get him inside you this very instant.
He nods, taking a shaky breath to steel himself against the same onslaught of lust.
There's a moment of awkward adjusting. A shift of your hips, Jacaerys planting his arm beside you so he might position himself correctly, and an embarrassed giggle caught between you.
And then, he's pushing into you.
You don't think you'll ever grow used to the feeling, even when you and Jace are married for many winters. It steals your breath, the slow stretch that almost stings. Jacaerys was always a gallant lover and went slowly, gently. Though, you could see how his expression twitches with restraint.
Your hands find purchase at his shoulders and you dig your nails into his doublet. When your cunt flutters about him, Jacaerys shudders. He hooks his chin over your shoulder. You can feel the way his chest shakes, body practically flush with your own.
Tilting your head back into the grass, you gaze at the clouds overhead through your lashes as he bottoms out with a final push of his hips. You bask in the carnal simplicity of it. It's a tethering, the pinnacle of intimacy and closeness. (Though, if you could make a home for yourself in Jace's ribcage, you would).
You lie like that for a long moment, breathing together as one. It feels as if you could almost feel him in your chest, he's so deep. A gentle breeze pushes a wildflower against your cheek. It's petals are softer than silk. Only the plants, sea, and the wind are witness to this union, to your souls merging into one.
When the sting fades to something akin to a roiling pleasure, you shift against your prince. Leveraging your hips against the ground, you push up against him. The movement guides him deeper which works moans out of the both of you.
One hand sweeps up to tangle into the hair at Jace's nape and you whisper; "Move."
And he does.
He hardly separates from you at first. Jacaerys only grinds deeper into you, he can't bear to part from your heat for even a moment. Your fingers tighten in his tawny tresses and he moans.
Breath fanning across your skin, Jace tilts his head to press gentle kisses to your skin. You can't see his face but you can imagine the love struck expression he wears whenever you're intimate like this. You cannot blame him. The feeling is better than being drunk off of Dorne's finest honey wines.
A hitch stutters through your breath when he truly draws back his hips and pushes forward. You keen at the delicious friction of him dragging through your cunt. He covers you so completely you could drown in him. You would, willingly and without complaint.
"Gods, Jacaerys." The words are wrought from you, breathless. Your hands tighten where they have hold of him, a possessive gesture.
He sets a true rhythm, then. Drawing back just so before thrusting back into you with tenderness. It's swift without being rough or hurried, borne from a desperation for closeness. Every thrust wrings a moan from Jace's throat.
Much to your delight, he's surprisingly vocal in bed with you. You savor every sound like you would the finest music. They're treasures, evidence of your effect on him. You replay them in your mind late at night, alone, when you must imagine his touch instead of feel it.
The world narrows down to only Jacaerys above you. The shared breath, every twitch of his cock inside you, his hair that brushes your jawline, the whisper of the wind against your bare legs.
You hook your leg over his hips, urging him to drive deeper. Closer.
That earns you your name moaned into your skin. Jace's hand curls into the grass beside your head. He moves with renewed vigor. You can feel the way his pelvis presses hard against your own. The sounds of skin meeting skin are filthy, slick. You can feel where your arousal has grown tacky on the insides of your thighs.
Slowly, the heat that's been coalescing in your stomach starts to build into much more. The combined previous efforts of Jace's fingers between your thighs with his cock, the pleasure mounts quickly. You rock your hips along to the rhythm he has set, mewling every time the blunt tip of him meets that sweet spot within. It makes your lashes flutter.
"Come on, Jace." You urge. "I'm so close."
He groans against your skin before lifting his head to meet your eyes. His pupils are blown wide and dark. Jacaerys drinks in every aspect of you; the way your hair is fanned out in the grass and the flush along your cheeks, your pretty plush lips and those gorgeous eyes.
He leans his face down to press his forehead to your own. Your lips brush into a not quite kiss. It's more your breathing the same air, existing as one. Subtly, he shifts his weight onto one arm so the other can snake between you. Deft fingers find your pearl, rubbing efficient circles there.
"You're so beautiful," He murmurs into the air between you. "Nuha ābrazȳrys."
His purr of Valyrian is a shock to your system. That, combined with everything else, is enough to have the coil in your abdomen snapping.
When you come, it's like a bow string has been cut. You bow into Jacaerys with a gasp, hand tightening in his hair enough to make his scalp sting (not that he minds). Your other twists in his doublet. You rock your hips up against his with desperation, cunt squeezing and milking him for everything he has. Your leg is locked to tightly about him he can hardly pull away.
Jacaerys is not far behind. His eyes squeeze shut at how tight you've clamped around him. His hips stutter and he finds, startlingly, he's going to fall over the edge. His breath shakes with a groan as he pulls out, though just barely, and finishes on your thighs. His spend is warm and sticky. It fills you with a perverse sense of accomplishment.
His body covers your own again. Jacaerys practically goes limp, chest pressing into your own as he slumps. His nose presses against your throat as he catches his breath. You tilt your head into the grass below, letting the scent of dew and milkweed fill your senses. Gently, you begin to card your hand through his soft, but mussed, hair.
Minutes pass before plush lips press against the hinge of your jaw. Another kiss is pressed under your ear, then on your cheek, and finally to the corner of your mouth. When you shift your gaze, you find your beloved's kind eyes starting back.
"Are you alright?" It's the question he asks every time.
A smile tugs at your lips. His worry is endearing, though unnecessary. You reach up to cup his face in your hand, and your heart melts when he presses into it. He places a kiss into your palm.
"More than alright." You tease.
It takes you many long moments (and many shared kisses) before you decide it's time to move. You feel pliant and lazy in the grass, warm with the heat of your lover draped over the top of you.
When Jacaerys moves to clean his come from your thighs, you stay his hand.
"Don't," You murmur, hand warm on his wrist, "I quite like this keepsake you've given me."
The flush that spreads across his cheeks reaches his ears but that doesn't stop him from smiling into the next kiss he gives you.
He helps you to stand, helping to brush your skirts back into place. They're covered in bits of grass and petals. You look utterly debauched. So does Jacaerys, with his rumpled doublet and cowlicks in his hair. It won't take more than a glance to guess at what you both have been up to… Hopefully, you'd manage to sneak off to your separate rooms before being spotted.
"We should head back," You propose. "I'm sure supper will be served soon. We will look even more suspicious if we miss it."
Jacaerys hums, distracted. His gaze wonders over you. He brushes a his knuckles across your cheek before plucking a petal from your hair.
"Well then," He offers his hand to you with a cheeky smile. "Allow me to escort you back on Vermax, my lady."
You don't hesitate to place your hand in his own.
You'd follow that smile anywhere.