Striding into the bedchambers, Yara brushed off the handmaidens that greeted her, pushing open the vaulted doors dramatically.
“Your Grace,” she bowed exaggeratedly, words tipped with venom.
Dany, engrossed in one of the large tomes that had been brought from the still-preserved library, lifted her head to reprimand Yara for her mocking tone when she noticed her state. Yara was covered in mud, from head to toe. Mercy overtook her instead, “You’re filthy.”
Yara didn’t mind being filthy. She had spent most of her adult life covered in the sea, the mud, and the earth in general. But, this… this was principle.
“I was very warm in this bed, you know…” she huffed over to one of the ornate tables near Dany’s bookshelf, pulling the stopper from a crystal carafe and drinking a large swig of wine as a clot of mud fell from her shoulder. “Laying on your perfect tits, just about to fall asleep.”
“But the people trust you, Yara. No doubt, this is why you were summoned to assist.” Dany tried to reason, slipping from the bed that was, in fact, quite warm and padding over the cold floor to where Yara stood.
“It was Tyrion's spawn, awakening me to go on a wild goose chase for a lost pup! Getting me out of bed with a squire hollering as if we were under siege!” She slammed the carafe harder than she intended, causing Dany to jump. “Do you know the little bastard was curled up under the bed, scared by all of the commotion, and shaking like a leaf? And I’m not talking about Tyrion.”
So many years, and yet so many things remained unchanged.
In boots, she was even more dwarfed than usual, so, undeterred by the mud, Dany reached up on tip toes to undo the cloak clasped beneath Yara’s chin. The handsome cloak had been made as a special gift for Yara on their wedding day- if one could call the clandestine ceremony that. The fur was a rare white, but now… a murky gray, caked with mud. Dany wrestled a twig free from the matted fur and tossed it aside, calling for one of the women waiting beyond the door and explaining the garment needed to be tended.
The maiden left with the cloak as quickly as she had been summoned.
“I rather liked that cloak,” Yara said with a frown, which seemed to be emphasized by the streak of mud across her face.
“And how did this happen?” Dany’s face fought to remain neutral as she gestured to Yara’s muddied form with one hand, hoping that the other hand stroking against her cheek would be enough to calm the irate woman.
“I fell from my bloody horse, that’s how it happened.” Yara shrugged out of Dany’s touch.
Dany’s eyebrow shot up in reaction. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” Yara barked in reply.
“Mm, perhaps cold then? Shall I have a bath drawn for you?” She paused, looking up at Yara through her lashes. “I could join you.”
“I am not a babe, Daenerys. I am able to care for myself.”
Biting back a sharp retort about acting like a babe, Dany nodded once. “As you wish. But do know you will not be getting into my bedding with this mud all over you. So, I suggest a bath or you can sleep with the horses.”
Yara scowled and stormed out of the room, with the carafe in hand.
Not like a babe at all… no.
Knowing better than to reward bad behavior, Dany slipped back into bed, gathering up her book again. She skimmed over the information that she had read dozens of times before, errantly turning a page, reminding herself that things had calmed so much since her arrival and dramatic overtaking of the Iron Throne that they had time to fuss about falling off of horses and looking for lost domesticated pets. Another part of her was grateful the dog was found, and not in the belly of one of her dragons.
Her eyes grew weary after a few more pages, and she deposited the book on the floor beside the bed, blowing out the candles that illuminated her side. She fell into a dreamless sleep, awakened by a familiar sensation shortly thereafter.
“My queen,” came the much softer, much more wine-soaked croon of Yara, her hands roaming up the front of Dany’s bedclothes.
Dany stirred awake, then rolled over upon realizing what was occurring, back toward Yara. “I am in no mood for this.”
“I had a bath,” the Greyjoy defended. “I even let them brush my hair.”
“I’m glad. You stunk like the forest.” Dany swatted her hand away, but smiled to herself, grateful for the darkness. “And now, you reek of wine.”
“Is this really what you wish?” Yara scoffed, in disbelief that her advances were being rebuffed.
When they had met, Yara was a wild animal. She was all teeth and claws and control. She refused, for so long, to even share sleep with Dany, thinking it weak. Thinking it unfit for one so used to taking salt wife after salt wife. And now…
Dany sighed, closing her eyes again, tucking further away from Yara. This did not deter Yara’s advances.
A strong hand found purchase underneath Dany’s bedclothes, stroking up her thigh, playing with the hem of her smallclothes. Dany did not budge. Yara’s hand slid further upward, tracing the underside of those beautiful breasts. Her wife cleared her throat.
“You will get nowhere,” Dany warned.
Yara smirked to herself in the darkness. “Is that so, your Grace?”
“I decree it,” the Targaryen enunciated as she slid her body further from Yara’s, grinning into her feather pillows.
“I don’t believe you,” Yara followed closer, her lips against the shell of Dany’s ear, her tongue flicking against the lobe. “I think you should prove it to me.”
Dany’s skin prickled at the sensation, but she continued to convincingly feign ignorance. “And how on earth do you think I would do that?”
“Let me feel you,” Yara cajoled, hand sliding back down toward the apex of Dany’s thighs before moving back up toward her breasts once more. “That seems fair.”
“You are feeling me, all of me, always.” Dany put on her best perturbed tone, though this banter was eliciting the arousal Yara sought. She would fight like hell to keep that fact to herself, though.
“And you choose to complain now?” Yara chuckled, as she moved her lips down Dany’s neck, pinching a nipple between her thumb and forefinger. “This morning you were not complaining. Or last evening, if I recall. Instead I believe you screamed so loudly that your chambermaids thought I was harming you. Again.”
Fighting against the thrill that memory caused her, the Targaryen shifted away from Yara once more but found herself quickly underneath those wandering fingertips again.
“Let me feel that this is not arousing you, and then I will leave you be. That seems simple.”
“This is not a tavern game we’re bartering for, Yara. You will respect your queen.”
The brunette rolled her eyes, laughing again. “I always respect my queen. As many times as she wishes in one night, frequently.”
“And, should you wish to have another night doing so, you will obey now.” Dany curled her knees closer to her own chest, though she felt her pulse quickening in tandem with the throbbing between her thighs.
The Greyjoy’s hand slipped down from Dany’s breast, to her small clothes again. Yara had seen her fair share of small smallclothes, but sometimes she wondered why Dany even bothered to wear any at all, the fabric of these so scant.
“Yara Greyjoy,” Dany reprimanded sternly.
“Daenerys Targaryen,” she whispered back, nipping at the flesh of the neck she just kissed. “First of her name.”
“You are incorrigible, utterly incorrigible,” Dany seethed.
“And yet, you know full well that you could leave if you’d like and I would let you go,” Yara whispered as she moved her hand past Dany’s fine curls, teasingly. “But that’s not what you want. You want me to take you. Just like this.”
Dany shrugged out of the touch, heart racing. This game was enticing her more than it should. “Go to sleep, Yara.”
“I see,” Yara sat up in bed, emboldened. With one arm hooked under Dany’s waist she heaved her to the middle of the bed. Pinning her with her legs, Yara pulled up the ridiculous nightshirt, tossing it aside to expose the smaller woman to the night air. “You want to be taken.”
“What on earth!” Dany balled her hands to fists, pounding against Yara’s shoulders, exhilarated by this behavior but still desperately trying to keep the charade going with her captor. “Take your hands off of me.”
Wrestling both wrists as best she could into one strong hand, Yara moved her way down Dany’s body, releasing the palms when she had removed her smallclothes. As Dany started to squirm, Yara easily flipped her onto her belly.
“You are an incredible actress, your Grace,” Yara said as she nuzzled into the nape of Dany’s neck. Her hands slid down Dany’s lower back, past the slope of her delicious backside and along the backs of her thighs.
Dany clenched her thighs together tightly, but was so aroused that she cried out from the increased pressure this inadvertently caused to her sex.
Yara attempted to slip a hand between those thighs, fighting against the tense muscles before she grabbed at sleight hips, pulling Dany up to her knees. This position would be much more favorable, she figured. Grasping a fistful of white-blonde, Yara yanked.
Dany let out her first moan.
“I bet you’re dripping wet,” Yara panted as she tugged again at the hair wound in her fist once more, pulling Dany’s head up so that she could speak directly into her ear, uninhibited. “Or will I be wrong?”
Stuttering some, Dany managed, “You are wrong.”
Yara nipped hard at Dany’s earlobe. “I’m rarely wrong about your cunt.”
Dany bit back a gasp as Yara’s teeth sunk next into her shoulder, in tandem with two fingers pushing deep inside of her.
“Oh, you are a terrible liar,” Yara chided as her fingers sunk further. “You are sopping wet.”
Dany reached behind her, trying to get more of the sensation, grinding her hips in counter pressure against those fingers. So much for being steadfast. So much for not rewarding bad behavior. But, who could blame her? Especially when she knew of the pleasures that awaited her.
“And, let me guess, you want it harder, yes? More?” Yara slipped in a third finger.
The other woman could not speak; instead she dropped her face to the pillows again, unleashing screams as she felt Yara driving into her. She had made the mistake of thinking Yara had become tame, like a pet, a kitten, when in fact she was, and always would be, a wild lioness. A warrior, and so skilled at knowing just which angle to slip her fingers, just when to push harder, or to retreat. The feeling she elicited was a spiral of pleasure; one Dany hoped she would never grow immune to.
Yara would always be her animal, and Dany would never complain.
“Yes, Yara. Please. Yes,” Dany hissed, gasping into the quiet of the night. She was fleetingly upset with herself, giving this up so easily. And yet, she continued to pant to encouragement.
Yara’s brow broke with sweat at the effort as she continued her ministrations, feeling arousal dripping past her knuckles. The sight before her was thrilling, but her victory could not be satisfactorily enjoyed; so focused was she on ensuring Dany reached the pinnacle of pleasure. As she felt walls tighten around her fingers, tellingly, she curled against them. “Release, your Grace. I can feel it…”
“Oh, Yara…” Dany groaned as she climaxed, shuddering at the aftershocks brought about by those ceaseless digits, until they stilled within her.
“I told you I am rarely wrong when it comes to matters of your pleasure,” Yara said as she slipped her fingers from Dany.
“That is not what you said.”
“Close enough,” Yara shrugged.
When her heart had stopped racing inside her breasts, Dany shifted, turning so that she could straddle her beloved this time. Yara craned forward to capture those lips in a searing kiss, tongue sliding teasingly against her wife’s.
“You are awful,” Dany panted in between kisses to Yara’s lips, fingers sliding through hair damp with the bath and now, sweat.
“And you love me for it, your Grace,” Yara grinned against the other’s mouth. “But I will apologize for stomping in here, and getting mud all over the floors.”
“I will forgive you soon,” Dany resolved, biting Yara’s lower lip.
“Shall we quicken progress?” Yara asked as she tossed Dany onto her back once more, parting her thighs as she bowed her head toward her penance.
Dany’s hand tugged Yara’s head closer toward her sex, back arching at the first swipe of that tongue against her sensitive clit.
“You can t-try,” the Targaryen tried again to summon her eariler façade of toughness but the attempt crumbled rapidly when she caught Yara’s eyes flicking up toward her, while that very talented tongue began its work.
Yara only smirked knowingly as a reply.