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King's Landing had not truly suited Daenerys when she was half-welcome there, and it suited her even less in the time that had followed Ned Stark's execution. He had been her only protector (and perhaps a grudging one at that) and his guardianship of her the only thing keeping her from being turned fully into the pawn she so dreaded being. It wasn't, she supposed, quite so horrible as the situation poor Sansa found herself in: she had gone through as many horrible things as balanced out the lovely ones she'd been promised when her family was still in the Baratheons' and Lannisters' good graces. She had never been in anyone's good graces, she had been in part a prisoner from the start, now the keys had just been given to a different, admittedly crueler, jailer.

It had always been hers to be polite and demure and apologetic, prove that her blood did not define her loyalty. It had always been hers to pretend where that loyalty did lie (and she had never truly been bothered by the Starks, they had always been, if not warm, then decent to her, but the withering glances she got at court -- to say nothing of the wild-eyed lustful ones -- were not a surprise either, and were not so hard to deflect). She had always been treated with suspicion, she had always been moved around. The talk nowadays was of marrying her off to a lord of the Lannisters' choosing, someone true to them who would temper any mild rebellious instincts that may appear (Lord Eddard had always been wary of allowing this, but now he could not stop it).

Until she was played, though, she stayed at court with the others. She wasn't often allowed to be properly alone, and she wasn't often allowed to keep private company with Sansa (who knew what they, daughters of a traitor and a madman, would dream up if unsupervised). She wasn't pampered (she was never pampered) but she wasn't kept uncomfortably. She also wasn't ignorant, though she was good at playing that up. As such, she knew it was only a matter of time before she received an invitation to be entertained by the new queen-to-be, the lithe and beautiful Rose of Highgarden.

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"Gods," Daenerys gasped out. She let herself luxuriate in that feeling a minute, that feeling she was already growing addicted to, and then sat up abruptly.

"Let me try," she demanded. "I don't want to be selfish."

She licked her lips and relished the taste of Daenerys in her mouth, but moved to accommodate her request (was it truly a request, she wondered with a smile?).

"Of course," she panted, "though I would never call you selfish.I will tell you, though, that you taste absolutely divine..."

At this point, no, it wasn't a request, it was Daenerys' complete insistence on giving back what she'd been given. This was quite plainly the most pleasant time she'd had in this city, possibly at all, and she both wanted to find ways to continue it and wanted to make it even better still.

So very carefully she leaned to trail her lips down over Margaery's belly, looking up with wide eyes.

She nodded and her fingers curled into the silvery hair, guiding Daenerys and also comforting her, in a way. To let her know that yes, she was doing well and yes, this was what Margaery wanted.

Daenerys was quite possibly the only person Margaery truly wanted. She was not happy with Joffrey as a suitor -- that was political and he was a monster. She secretly hoped something terrible would befall him. Sansa was the only other one who had been kind to her without wishing anything in gain.

Daenerys wanted nothing nor sought anything. For this alone, she was someone honest -- something rare in Margaerys life, and she wanted to keep her closer. "Yes, please," she whispered again before adding, "You're so beautiful."

Daenerys sighed contentedly against Margaery's skin before sliding a bit farther down. "Thank you," she whispered, nuzzling her thigh gratefully for a moment before pressing a kiss to the same spot. "For -- all of it."

This day, as wonderful as it was. She didn't know what tomorrow could bring, but right now, she was happy, and that was something worth treasuring.

So she took a deep breath before moving up to very gently kiss the flesh between Margaery's legs.

Margaery hissed in response immediately, then bit her lip as if to quiet herself. The gentleness was almost too much to bear.

"Don't.. thank me," she managed to tell Daenerys, but then all words were lost as her hips moved up to meet her mouth. The kiss was better than a lick or anything like that in a way; it was sweet and intimate. Tender.

"Don't be foolish," Daenerys murmured, playfully chiding. "Of course I ought to thank you. You're lovely." She dragged her tongue over Margaery's center, teasing and slow. "And you taste lovely. It's an honor."

The only technique Daenerys had to draw from was what had been used on her in those rare instances she'd been tended to thus, but it was easy to make it up with Margaery's reactions and taste urging her on.

"Oh...."

And then Margaery lost all ability to truly think or speak. Moans, sounds came from her lips because apparently Daenaerys was quite excellent and a natural at this. Who would have thought?

She didn't think it was an honor, she wanted to tell her so, but all she could do was move her hips against her mouth, hands tangled in her hair almost forcing her back into place, as she spread open her legs wider for Daenaerys...

Daenerys sighed at the feel of Margaery's hands in her hair, fighting the urge to push against just to get more resistance, a bit of a contrast to the utter softness of Margaery's womanhood.

Instead, though, she reached to grab onto either of Margaery's thighs, making tiny circles with her thumbs to mimic the ones her tongue was currently making over her nub. "So sweet," she whispered."

"Sweet" was not a word most people used to describe Margaery, but when Daenerys said it she absolutely believed her.

Somehow the touch on her legs made her try to still for Daenerys, which was difficult considering that she was touching and tasting all the perfect spots on her body. Margaery moaned her name again and then bit her lip to quiet herself.

She wasn't afraid of being loud, just afraid of how terribly good it was and how it could possibly be far more intense than she had originally planned...

Oh, Daenerys meant it -- the other woman was sweet, in her read, sweet to taste and sweet in behavior and sweet to look on and -- and all of it, and she'd be quick to swear this over and over again.

But she could sense Margaery's momentary hesitance, and so she lifted her head just slightly and whispered, "Is everything all right?"

After all, that was the concern.

"Gods, yes, everything is wonderful, don't stop, please, Danaerys, please..."

And Margaery just didn't beg for anything, not typically, but seven hells, she'd beg for Daenerys and her mouth and hands and yes, she thinks, yes anything, yes please, yes in my bed, yes will you stay?

Could she somehow get our of marrying Joffrey and stay with Daenerys instead? Bring her home to Highgarden, where their relationship would not seem as strange as it would here? Would Daenerys even wish it?

Daenerys took a deep breath, then, nosed against Margaery's thigh for just a moment before moving back in, murmuring pleased nonsense as she kissed and licked at Margaery's center.

And gods, how the entire rest of the world seemed to disappear when she was tangled up with Margaery like this. How peaceful she felt, how pleased and pleasing she felt in turn. She'd never jump to thinking this was any more than a brief reprieve (she was too far down the path to think that way) but if it was suggested, she would jump to letting it be fulfilled as best she could manage.

Whatever noises she made only made Maergaery feel better, too. She finally shut her eyes and thoughts to the rest of the world and just allowed herself to feel, to bask in the glow of Daenerys, and soon enough Margery felt the warmth spread throughout her until she wasn't quiet any longer.

Once she had a more clear head, she might ask Daenerys anyway...

Right at this moment, though, she couldn't think. She only felt, moved, moaned, grabbed the silvery hair within reach and gasped out her name...

Daenerys' sole focus was bringing Margaery pleasure, making her feel as nice as possible -- this intriguing woman, half a stranger to her before this day, now her very first priority. (Maybe she was throwing her loyalty about too casually, but she'd had nowhere to throw it at all for some time.)

She whimpered when Margaery's hands found her hair, tugged against her for the extra bit of force as she kept at it, tracing shapes against Margaery's center with her tongue.

"Please," she whispered.

"Oh gods."

And the whispered "please" was all that was needed t send Margaery over the edge, her fingers tightening into the silvery strands of hair as Daenerys worked magic with her tongue somehow. Margaery tried not to hurt Daenerys but her hips lifted up, trying to get closer to the sweet wetness, the softness/hardness against her center, and she cried out Daenerys' name as her legs shook. Her mind went blank as she tried to come back to her body and her being but she doubted it worked.

She was lost to this beautiful woman, and glad of it.

[hi sorry I have been on a family vacation and on top of not having much time to tag I just... cannot bring myself to write smut tags when I'm sharing a hotel room with my parents]

Daenerys was so caught up in the moment that she had to remind herself to take a breath, to loosen her grip on Margaery's legs, to pull back just enough.

Everything about this felt perfect to her, and she was suddenly too deathly afraid to lose that that all she could manage to say was, "All right?"

"Mmmmmmm......."

It took her a moment to recover, and then she gave a half-smirk, very lazy and pleased smile to Daenerys.

"Oh yes. It's perfect. You are perfect." Margaery moved to get closer to Daenerys and sit upright, pulling her tighter until their lips touched and she could taste herself on her mouth.

Daenerys flinched ever-so-slightly at that word, murmuring, "I'm not, really." Perfection was for stories, not for lost daughters of deposed royals with too-blonde hair and too-wide eyes and eerie countenances.

But it was meant as a compliment, and she understood that, so after a moment she nuzzled at Margaery's throat and added, "Thank you, though."

Frowning, Margaery stroked Daenerys' hair. Why would that word give her such a strange reaction. She was determined to get to the bottom of it, so she yanked on her hair and raised an eyebrow at her, her lips a half-smirk.

It was one of her infamous "looks", but she meant it this time.

"Now, you'll tell me exactly why I cannot compliment you so if I choose to." It wasn't a question.

Daenerys shrugged slightly, tensing and trying anything to get back to relaxing. Maybe that was just something that people told their lovers, the sort of compliment that got bandied about, but she'd spent too long reminding herself of her flaws to believe it.

"I appreciate your saying it," she finally managed. "I just find it difficult to see myself so, I suppose."

She frowned, but actually liked this feeling of being able to speak so openly with Daenerys. She let her head rest on her hand and watched her, chewing on her lip as she struggled to find the right words to comfort. (Comforting was not something she excelled at....)

"Could... could you explain to me why you believe that to be so?"

Openness was not, in general, something that had been too much a hallmark of Daenerys' life -- she'd been able to talk to Jon, and occasionally shallower secrets had been heard by Sansa (nothing this intimate, nothing this personal, of course) over time, but this was a whole different matter.

So finally, very quietly, leaning into Margaery how she could, she attempted, "All my life, I've known what -- what it was I came from, and the ways that it made me somehow wrong or different. Even if nobody said it I'd have known."

"I don't understand... how can you be "wrong"? How can you think this?"

Margaery was truly puzzled. There were several people she knew that she would call "wrong" (Joffrey being one of them) but Daenerys had never been one of those...

"Do you mean, this? Us? Being together, being intimate?"

Immediately, vehemently, she shook her head. "It's nothing to do with you!" she exclaimed, frowning. "I -- I don't know what others would say if they knew we'd been intimate, we're intimate, and I don't care."

That was true, in the abstract sense. That she'd been intimate with the future queen of the realm was perhaps not something she wanted known, but while she knew many considered lying with someone of one's own sex a sin, theirs were irrelevant opinions to her.

But that reassurance given, she had to turn to the other matter. "It's -- my family, they'd fallen out of fashion, as it were," she murmured. "Out of their minds, to hear tell. There's always someone looking at me wondering if I'm one of the mad ones. Always growing up there was someone looking at me thinking I didn't really belong there."