Her chambers are silent, only filled with the sounds of soft breathing and the echoes of waves crashing against the shore down below. Rhaenyra opens her eyes to take in the scene before her, watching Mysaria as her eye lashes flutter in her sleep.
She looks like a goddess. Dark hair fanned out on the pillow as though it is her own version of a halo, chest rising and falling with the tempo of the waves, the sunlight peeking through the curtains to leave golden patterns on her skin.
The bed is warm, with furs and blankets askew across its surface, white linen sheets tangled around her waist.
Rhaenyra is not sure what prompts it. She is usually not so insatiable, but she can’t control the way her breath hitches when Mysaria shifts a little in her sleep, the movement dragging the fabric of her robe open with it. The queen slowly sits up in the bed, leaning over to press a soft kiss to the bare skin of her lover's shoulder before she intends to take her leave.
The gentle sound that leaves the back of the sleeping woman’s throat is enough for Rhaenyra to disregard the thought of leaving bed at all. She moves closer, her hand moving to rest where the fabric of the cream colored robe has fallen open as she kisses her shoulder again.
It brings another soft sigh from the sleeping woman, and the sound of it makes Rhaenyra smile fondly against her skin.
She shifts again, kissing her cheek, then along the path of her jaw, then down the side of her neck. She runs her mouth along the jagged line of the scar there, only moving on when she is satisfied she has kissed her enough. For now at least.
It is not a difficult task to map her way over Mysaria’s body, lips touching every inch of bare skin she can find. The woman lying beneath her seems to be at peace within her dreams, not so deep in them that her body can not recognize and react to Rhaenyra’s touch, but deep enough to not make her stir from the movement around her.
Rhaenyra is down to her belly now, fingertips running along the folds of fabric that have congregated around Mysaria’s hips and tangled between her legs.
She can hear their hearts beating in synchrony when she begins to slowly shift it down, stopping only to toss the offending fabric to the other side of the bed before she returns to her task of kissing every part of the woman before her that she can reach.
Her thighs are soft, still peppered with a few fading marks here and there from Rhaenyra’s eager mouth the night before. The queen cannot help but to press her lips to each one, letting her hands move down to settle at Mysaria’s waist once she finally brings her mouth to the crease of her thigh.
There is another sigh then, louder than those she has made before, but a quick glance up confirms to Rhaenyra that she is still sleeping, her eyes shut and her body relaxed.
In Mysaria’s dream, there is something warm against her, holding her waist ever so gently and keeping her still. It feels comforting, like a familiar presence has found its way to her bed and made a home between her thighs.
She cannot help the sound that tumbles from her lips when she feels something even softer trace the crease of her thigh. She thinks there is a noise of soft shushing then, a quiet chuckle as one of the hands holding her waist moves up to lace their fingers together.
That too is just as pleasant.
Nothing in the dream has truly solidified, it is only a feeling instead of a vision, but it is a nice one. She can feel her heart beating in her chest, her hips moving to chase the soft touch that moves away every so often.
The dream begins to piece itself together when a tongue presses against her, incessant and determined, tracing the length of her flushed sex before settling at the top.
Rhaenyra
She thinks she whispers the name into the air as that mouth closes around her, sucking gently just to make her belly tighten. It’s the right amount of pressure, but it is maddeningly slow, almost frustrating her with each pass of their tongue. A whimper manages to leave her lips, and in response she feels someone smile against her skin, a soft laugh that sounds achingly familiar.
When the teasing within her dream has nearly pushed her to madness, Mysaria slowly blinks her eyes open, gaze adjusting to the bright room.
She hardly has time to register that space next to her is empty before the pressing of two fingers inside of her steals her attention entirely.
The half moan-half gasp that escapes her throat prompts another smile against her skin, fingers curling up to make her thighs shake when their gazes finally meet.
“Did you sleep well, my love?” The cocky smirk on Rhaenyra’s shining lips makes Mysaria smile back, reaching down to grab Rhaenyra’s silver hair in a gentle fist to prompt her upwards.
The queen hardly manages to settle above her before Mysaria flips their positions, pressing a bruising kiss to Rhaenyra’s mouth just to feel the woman’s moan reverberate through her entire being.
“No more talking.” Mysaria chastises when they part, rising up to take hold of the ornate wooden carving of the headboard in one hand, still holding Rhaenyra’s hair tightly in the other. “Finish what you started.”
Rhaenyra laughs then, barely nodding her head before she grabs Mysaria’s waist again to urge her down.
It is as though the entire world goes silent when the woman starts up again. Mysaria cannot bring herself to think of anything other than the queen that lays beneath her, and the feeling of her tongue pressing inside over and over again until she can hardly breathe.
She feels a heat surge in the pit of her stomach when Rhaenyra starts kissing every part of her that she can reach, breaking in between to trace her tongue up and then down before starting the process again.
The shaky sound that comes from her mouth is what makes Rhaenyra moan against her, and suddenly Mysaria is incapable of doing much other than breathing her name as though it is a prayer meant to reach the old gods and the new.
It happens then— burning hot pleasure building in her before another gentle hum from Rhaenyra’s mouth manages to bring it all crashing down. The carved wood creaks beneath her tightening grip as she holds herself up, crying out into the air of the room while her thighs tremble against Rhaenyra’s cheeks.
When she opens her eyes again, she is still panting, trembling periodically where she straddles her lover's face. She can’t help but to laugh when she gazes down and those violet eyes look back up at her, bright and eager.
“May I ask what prompted this?” She asks tiredly, finally moving to settle beside her again on the bed.
“You looked so beautiful.” Rhaenyra confesses, nearly melting into Mysaria’s touch when the woman pulls her in closer.
“So so beautiful. It is as though you bewitched me in your sleep.”
“Well it was quite an incredible way to wake up.” Mysaria breathes, making Rhaenyra laugh too.
“Yes, well it certainly looked like it.”
“You’ll find out soon enough.” The brunette kisses her before she can say anything else, tracing her tongue along the seam of her lips before pulling away to sit up. “You should ask the maids to strike up the hearth tonight, your grace. You will be wearing very little come morning.”