Fic: Choirs in My Head (Game of Thrones)
Jul. 4th, 2012 05:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
keep_countingTitle: Choirs in My Head
Characters/Pairings: Dany/Jorah
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Bondage, slight sexual themes
Genre: Romance/Drabble
Word-count: 432
Disclaimer: I don't own anything in relation to this
A/N: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
gameofships ' Ships in a Fortnight Day 9 prompt, which can be seen here
Summary: In her dreams her hands are tied behind her back.
In her dreams her hands are tied behind her back.
Not… not tightly. She can break out of this anytime she wishes, she knows this. It is rope, coarse and itchy against her skin but somehow not uncomfortable. It is not making her squirm, making her panic like perhaps it ought to, because she is tied up and that cannot be an entirely good thing: and she feels that thrill, the excitement that comes with the unknown and she is not scared, merely apprehensive, and yet still in a good way.
She is breathless. That is perhaps the best way to describe it. The rope, while only winding around her wrists, is somehow cutting off the air that is supposed to fill her lungs and it is making her head spin. She feels irrational, like what is about to happen is not supposed to happen, but she wants it to anyway.
That is possibly what should leave her frightened or at least… not as excited as she feels. But she is the Mother of Dragons, and she does not get frightened, does not get scared.
She can get out of these bonds anytime she should wish to. She is very determinedly ignoring the glaring question of why she is not doing this already. Why she isn’t tugging and yanking at the rope, the restraining force that is keeping her in one place.
She is a dragon. She can burn the ropes, the chair, everything around her, should she so wish it. She is a dragon, and she cannot be restrained like this.
The only conclusion is that she is, for some reason, allowing it.
Yes, yes, it is alright. We can pretend.
His hand is on her shoulder and she realizes that she knew he was there, all along. Of course. Who else would she do this for, who else would she trust enough?
His other hand is reaching out, reaching under her chin with hard, dexterous fingers and tilting her head up. This is a dream, she thinks – but his eyes are as alive as when she sees them awake and then she cannot see them anymore, or see anything, because her own has slid shut as he kisses her, and it is a familiar and welcome sensation, familiar because Jorah has had the nerve to kiss her before, and welcome because…
Dany wakes alone among soft skins, a cool breeze finding its way into her tent and touching her skin where it is laid bare, making her shiver. Yes… yes, it is the cold that is making her shiver.
Nothing else.
Characters/Pairings: Dany/Jorah
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Bondage, slight sexual themes
Genre: Romance/Drabble
Word-count: 432
Disclaimer: I don't own anything in relation to this
A/N: Written for
gameofships ' Ships in a Fortnight Day 9 prompt, which can be seen hereSummary: In her dreams her hands are tied behind her back.
In her dreams her hands are tied behind her back.
Not… not tightly. She can break out of this anytime she wishes, she knows this. It is rope, coarse and itchy against her skin but somehow not uncomfortable. It is not making her squirm, making her panic like perhaps it ought to, because she is tied up and that cannot be an entirely good thing: and she feels that thrill, the excitement that comes with the unknown and she is not scared, merely apprehensive, and yet still in a good way.
She is breathless. That is perhaps the best way to describe it. The rope, while only winding around her wrists, is somehow cutting off the air that is supposed to fill her lungs and it is making her head spin. She feels irrational, like what is about to happen is not supposed to happen, but she wants it to anyway.
That is possibly what should leave her frightened or at least… not as excited as she feels. But she is the Mother of Dragons, and she does not get frightened, does not get scared.
She can get out of these bonds anytime she should wish to. She is very determinedly ignoring the glaring question of why she is not doing this already. Why she isn’t tugging and yanking at the rope, the restraining force that is keeping her in one place.
She is a dragon. She can burn the ropes, the chair, everything around her, should she so wish it. She is a dragon, and she cannot be restrained like this.
The only conclusion is that she is, for some reason, allowing it.
Yes, yes, it is alright. We can pretend.
His hand is on her shoulder and she realizes that she knew he was there, all along. Of course. Who else would she do this for, who else would she trust enough?
His other hand is reaching out, reaching under her chin with hard, dexterous fingers and tilting her head up. This is a dream, she thinks – but his eyes are as alive as when she sees them awake and then she cannot see them anymore, or see anything, because her own has slid shut as he kisses her, and it is a familiar and welcome sensation, familiar because Jorah has had the nerve to kiss her before, and welcome because…
Dany wakes alone among soft skins, a cool breeze finding its way into her tent and touching her skin where it is laid bare, making her shiver. Yes… yes, it is the cold that is making her shiver.
Nothing else.
