It's odd, Daenerys thinks; she's been feeling excited and the slightest bit needy practically since this afternoon, but while it seems as if men are prepared in no time, it apparently takes a bit more effort for women's minds and bodies to match up. Not for the first time tonight, she wishes she'd had a bit more education in these matters, though she can't imagine where it'd have come from. Lady Stark is polite enough to her (if grudgingly), but Daenerys can hardly imagine her having this talk with her daughters, let alone a fostered once-princess.

But every single though seems to fly from her mind when Jon's mouth reaches her center. She's heard mention of men doing this in passing (they seem to quiet in respect when Sansa or Arya or Lady Stark pass by, but if it's Daenerys on her own their voices seem to get actually louder, as if their bragging would get her eager to transgress with them) but she's not paid it much mind, she couldn't have known how utterly -- wonderfully --

"Oh," she sighs, fisting a hand in the blankets they're laid out on.