Chapter Text
The air in Illyrio Mopatis’s manse was thick with the scent of perfumed oils and anticipation. Servants moved like ghosts through the opulent halls, their arms laden with silks and exotic gifts meant for the Khal. For Prince Viserys Targaryen, the last male heir of a fallen dynasty, the luxurious surroundings were a gilded cage. Today was the day Illyrio would finally deliver on his old promise. Today, Viserys would meet Khal Drogo.
Yet, a deep-seated anxiety coiled in his gut. This was not how he had envisioned gaining his army. The clothes laid out for him were an insult—thin, flowy layers of lace and silk that would look more appropriate on a perfumed courtesan in Lys than on a king. The neckline plunged indecently, baring the pale skin of his chest and collarbones. He looked delicate. Vulnerable. He cursed the fate that had made him an omega instead of an alpha, like his brother Rhaegar or his wretched, hidden sister Daenerys. But the promise of an army outweighed his pride. With ill grace, he dressed in the humiliating ensemble.
A mirror was presented to him. The reflection showed a creature of ethereal, indecent beauty, not a conqueror. The image made his skin crawl.
The Northman, Ser Jorah Mormont, found him then. “Prince Viserys,” he said, his tone a mix of caution and condescension. “It is well the Khal has sent his bloodriders outside the room. He does not wish the others to see you.” He paused, adding, “Were you a princess, my lord, he would have taken you to wed. There would be more… ceremony to it.”
Viserys sneered. The idea of wedding a Dothraki was beneath him. “I’m ready to meet him,” he said, his voice tight. He was not a princess.
The meeting chamber was long, with benches lining the walls and a heavy stone table running down its center. The Khal’s entrance was like a thunderclap. He dismounted his great horse with a ground-shaking impact and strode inside. Khal Drogo was a mountain of a man, taller and broader than any knight, his strength seeming to make plate armor redundant. He was all coiled power and dark, amused eyes that scanned Viserys with a look that was both appraising and dangerously playful.
“You. Here,” Drogo grunted, his voice a low rumble. He didn’t wait for a response, drawing Viserys into the chamber with an undeniable force. “Come.”
Viserys stepped forward hesitantly, his annoyance barely masking a flicker of fear. The Khal looked at him as if he were a choice cut of meat. He refused to speak, assuming the savage knew neither Common Tongue nor Valyrian.
Without preamble, Drogo’s calloused hands were on him, pulling the flimsy pants down his slender hips. He thumbed the sharp edges of Viserys’s hip bones, his large, rough palm sliding between pale thighs. Viserys struggled instinctively. “Get your hands off me!”
Drogo snorted, effortlessly controlling his struggles with one hand. “No.” He hissed the word, his intent clear. He was inspecting his purchase. His fingers slid against Viserys’s sex, checking, feeling to ensure the old cheesemonger hadn’t tricked him into buying a mere beta boy. He then motioned for Viserys to remove the clothing himself, to bare his privates fully. It was a test of power, and his dark, unwavering gaze promised he would not leave until it was met.
Panic gave way to a cold, calculating understanding. The Dothraki had no omegas among them. This was an inspection. With immense reluctance, Viserys pulled the lacy garment up, revealing the physical difference that made him so valuable. Drogo felt his clit between thick fingers, more gingerly than expected, before pulling back with a pensive look. He leaned against a bench, his expression unreadable.
“Are you satisfied?” Viserys bit out, itching to cover himself again, unsure how to mime the words.
In response, Drogo uttered a guttural word that sounded like Valyrian or the growl of a beast, and pulled down his own leggings. He showed off his genitals in a strangely casual, almost humorous gesture, as if to shock Viserys out of his fear by making him laugh. He was impressively, intimidatingly large.
Viserys couldn’t help but stare, his throat dry. He had seen cocks before, but the Dothraki was not average. He forced himself to look away, dismissing the man. He was just a well-endowed beta. The Targaryen alphas of old had true knots, reminiscent of their dragons. This was nothing special.
Drogo laughed, a warm, careless sound, and pulled his clothes back on. He sat, poured Arbor red wine—a dry vintage fit for a Westerosi lord—and gestured. “You drink here,” he said, his fingers doing most of the talking. Viserys, after pulling his own clothes down, approached warily and drank, the wine sour on his tongue. He waited, tense, for the brute’s next move.
Then, the Khal surprised him. “Do you speak Valyrian?” he asked, his accent a rough, dark sibilance from Qohor. “Or do you just have the name Prince Viserys?”
Viserys, more used to humiliation than he cared to admit, masked his surprise at the atrocious accent. “I do.”
“Is there something you have to be afraid of about me, Targaryen?” Drogo pressed, a mocking glint in his eye. “You have your bad magic… I think I could be in danger.”
The man thought he had ‘bad magic.’ For a fleeting moment, Viserys wondered what it would be like to possess Drogo’s raw, unchecked power. “You mistake my caution for fear,” he retorted, refusing to admit to the lies of his virginity or mythical power.
Drogo was condescending. “I know fear when I see it. You bray like a whipped mule. Do not think such easy things are hidden from me. I’ve hunted real animals.” He leaned forward. “If I was a thinking man I would ask what sort of magic makes the Targaryens. And the man-woman people. It is a mystery to everyone respectable.” He gestured around them. “This is the day you drink wine with a Khal. Thanks to the man Illyrio Mopatis. What have you to say?”
Viserys steered the conversation back to his purpose. “I’m told your people have no alphas or omegas amongst you.” To someone like Drogo, he should be a prize.
“These are your words. They don’t mean anything to me,” Drogo dismissed. “But I have heard the tales. Old legends of the Dosh Khalleen… And I will need a Targaryen like you. Unless I marry a Targaryen and make one of Dragon blood.” He seemed to be blathering about superstitions. “It is something I want to see. They say you have the blood of a dragon.”
“You want a child of my blood?” Viserys pressed, wanting to specify the terms now. A child for an army.
Drogo looked genuinely surprised, his formidable presence seeming younger for a moment. “What in the hell do you speak of? You can’t be a real dragon. I wanted to know if you are of the dragons who all died. Or the Dragons who were pretend. I am not going to fuck you unless I have a reason. I’m sure you would cheat me if you had a chance.”
“Why come all this way if you do not believe? Why waste my time?” Viserys shot back, exasperated. Did the fool expect him to turn into a dragon on the spot?
“The dragons are dead. I’ve seen Valyrian pillars upside down. Dragon bones covering a meadow larger than the thousand room palace,” Drogo stated, his voice hardening. “And you are not dead. Dragons are a part of a dead world. I don’t like things to hang around past their time.” His eyes narrowed. “You really came down all this way to fuck me. When you know Dothraki are not men such as you. I am interested in finding a man of dragon’s blood. Not a dragon. But that does not mean I like male whores tricking me to do things I would not do by myself.”
“I am no male whore!” Viserys’s anger finally broke through. “I am the rightful king to the Iron Throne!”
“Then why do you ask me to fuck you when I did not ask?” Drogo smirked, taking far too much enjoyment from this. “I don’t think I like that. You could have something wrong with you. It is not what you should say. No man has said such a thing to me. I’ve watched hundreds of men of a hundred people die, and no one has said such to me…. am I supposed to be flattered?”
Viserys stood, a volatile mix of anger, humiliation, and desperate want churning within him. He needed that army. “Blood is binding. I would sooner fuck a goat than you. But a goat will not give me a heir. Or an army. I can not take back what is rightfully mine without men at my back. It is why Illyrio called you here.”
Drogo’s demeanor shifted instantly. His nostrils flared. “I came in friendship. To see this thing which Illyrio Mopatis has shown me. You think I drink wine and rest in the house of a man I fear.” His voice rose. “Illyrio Mopatis is a fat little worm who I do not trust. He does not whistle for me and I come. What world would Illyrio Mopatis have Khal Drogo as a servant? Who even are you?”
He was deeply insulted. He threw his cup on the floor, shattering it and denying hospitality, then lifted the heavy stone table and broke it at its base. Outside, Jorah Mormont drew his sword. “It seems that Viserys has the Khal in an expected temper. He will not be around us long.”
Illyrio, sweating nervously, agreed. “Patience, Ser Jorah. He will not withstand the Khal’s wrath. We’ll be rid of him soon.”
Before another word was spoken, Drogo grabbed Viserys. “Your hair so white. They say the dead walk from the North and wander around. Are you some dead thing?” He gripped his wrist like a vise. “That has no place. Some bad magic creature. There is not such evil left in the world as dragons. And you would not wish to see such a world. Only men are in this world.”
“Have you have seen the whole world? If you did not believe you would not be here,” Viserys goaded, his own pride and anger overriding sense.
“I come here to look at what I want to look at,” Drogo snarled. “Because it is my choice.” He tore Viserys’s shirt off, then gripped him by the shoulder, pinning his arm behind his back at a painful angle and twisting his hair. “I believe what people think you are. What are you but what weak little men think you are? Are you strong? Are you quick? Are you wise….” He pressed harder, causing excruciating discomfort. “Are you anything, Dead man?”
Viserys struggled, the bitter truth echoing in his mind: without an army, he was nothing. He focused on wrenching his arm free, overbalancing and falling in a futile attempt to escape. This was not working. Drogo was nothing like Illyrio had promised.
Drogo looked down and laughed. “You are funny.” He gripped his wrist and yanked him up. “I am going to take you. They cannot control me.”
He let out a sharp shout. His bloodriders returned. A high-pitched keen was his order: “Kill the first man you see then get me my horse before we get bored.” Jorah crossed swords with one, the old sellsword pulling a dagger from a Dothraki belly. It was a message, not a full battle.
Illyrio watched, red-faced and nervous, as Viserys was tossed over the knob of Drogo’s saddle like a sack of grain. He might have called out to Jorah for rescue, but the knight was occupied. Within moments, they were galloping away, outstripping the Unsullied guards, arrows thudding into the walls behind them. Drogo gave Viserys a sharp slap. “No,” he commanded, reminding him to be quiet.
The ride was an eternity of discomfort and indignity. Viserys’s face was pressed against the Khal’s legs, the smell of horse, leather, and man overwhelming. He realized with a sinking heart that no one was coming to save him.
They rode past the outskirts of the vast Dothraki camp, men cheering as their Khal passed by with his prize, heading for a dark, quiet place at the edge of the grasses. Finally, Drogo reined in and unceremoniously tossed the dizzy, nauseated boy onto the ground.
Viserys heaved, losing the meager contents of his stomach. Drogo dismounted, took out a waterskin, and stared down at him—his clothing torn, his white hair matted with sweat. He threw the skin to him. When Viserys didn’t catch it, Drogo knelt, more tenderly than expected, and poured water into his mouth, even smoothing back the hair that stuck to his face.
“Why have you brought me here?” Viserys finally gasped, the world still spinning. The Khal had refused his offer. They had no more business.
“Because. Those who think they might keep their prize possessions away from me… must be proven wrong,” Drogo said, his eyes intense. “And They wanted me for something. I will take what I like. And I will do as I may. You would understand being the great prince.” He leaned closer. “I came not to play you your tune. What is going on in their heads? Why would they give up their prize to me?”
“I sought to make an alliance with you. You refused. There is nothing else,” Viserys stated, irritation flaring again as the man still held a handful of his hair.
‘I said I do not fuck men who beg me. I never had such a thing happen,’ Drogo needled him, smirking. ‘What would happen to my reputation? You made demands of me before I knew anything about it. It is not for Dothraki men to do such bad magic. It might be witchcraft. That is why your world lies beyond the sea of poison water.’
The confusion and nausea returned. Drogo didn’t understand alliances or blood promises; he saw only magic and trickery. “You need not fuck me. I have no more business with you. Release me immediately.”
“If you had not been such a mean animal. I would have probably done it,” Drogo mused. “Pick any direction to run, my dead man. You are unlike other men. I might keep you around because you make me laugh… If you did not call me unfuckable. Why would you mix your blood with Dothraki? You seem stupid and blind. Why would you have such good taste?”
Viserys wasn’t going to run. “I believed you were an honorable man. I was wrong.”
“You believe there can be honor between horses and little animals they trample,” Drogo growled, gripping his wrists again. “There can be no peace because one does not accept their nature. You do not know me and who I am but you would have my child? How can I bed such a whore? When I can just beat one and take it into my bed? What man would fuck a stranger and give his son life with a weak person’s blood? Just on a whim.” He was speaking aloud, and to Viserys’s fury, he had a point.
“One smarter than you. One who knows who I am and what they gain by joining their blood to mine,” Viserys retorted, though the argument felt hollow now.
Drogo’s patience snapped. He pulled Viserys’s wrists over his head. “Who are you even? Some dragon?” He pinned him against a tree, his hand a heavy weight on Viserys’s belly. “I could tear you to pieces. I could eat you in a bite.” He snapped his teeth. “I could have you squeal for me to keep going like a little maiden.” He grunted in his ear, a crude, mocking sound. “What do I get from you I could not get myself if I were to kill you here?” He twisted a silvery curl around his thumb, his grip iron-tight, locking Viserys’s joints so he could only whimper and squirm. “Give me what you would give me… without your hands or feet or arms…”
Viserys had planned to give the Khal his cunt, enough times to conceive a child. But now, Drogo seemed to be asking for a reason to keep him alive, to treat him as more than a whore. Any argument felt humiliating. He could not lower himself to appeal to a lord of horse thieves. He stayed silent, his pride a final, fragile shield.
Drogo grinned down at him, a dark, slashing gesture too quick to follow. He grabbed Viserys’s hand and bent his fingers back, listening to the choked screams with a cold intensity. “You say such cruelties.” He waited for his pride to break. “To say such things to a stranger… and not apologize for making him angry.” He was so close his breath was hot in Viserys’s ear.
Viserys had no pride left to speak of, but he refused to be cowed. “I offered you the honor of mixing your blood with my own. You refused and then you stole me. In my eyes that is cowardly. I have not lied to you since we met. Your threats do not impress me. Do what you will and be done.”
A strange grin spread across Drogo’s face. The defiant speech had an odd effect on him. “My my. I think the dragon is so fierce.” He gripped Viserys’s buttocks, then forced a kiss on him. It was not tender; it was a domination, a growl pressed against his mouth, breathless and overwhelming, somehow more consuming than the pain in his hand. The Dothraki, it seemed, liked to kiss. He left Viserys dangling and helpless.
As Viserys began to melt under the shocking assault, Drogo turned him around. The pain in his hand receded. “Fuck you, you dumb little shit,” Drogo said, but his tone had changed. He dropped him to the ground. “The pain is for my anger… but what if you are right. I can’t go killing the men who tell me right.” He held their faces together, his smell of leather and male sweat enveloping Viserys. “I could ruin you. But not kill you.”
“Ruin me?” Viserys breathed, catching his breath. Did he mean his non-existent maidenhood or something more?
“I am a coward for not asking you to fuck me… because you might say no,” Drogo admitted, gripping his hips and grinding against him, his own arousal evident.
Viserys wasn’t interested in fucking for sport; it had been a means to an end. “Is that what you plan to do now?” The other option seemed to be death.
“I would not wish the great dragon to think I am a coward,” Drogo chuckled, pressing Viserys’s back against the ground. “Forget your stupid plan. It will not work. Seek your own happiness. You are a fool.”
What sage advice. “You are very wise,” Viserys said, a sarcastic smile touching his lips.
Drogo chuckled again, a richer sound now. “I have known armies. Sellswords, metal clad knights, slave soldiers. They do not follow kings. They do not like kings in their heart. Only kings themselves and the little commons love their kings. And both of them love to eat small kings.” He snapped his teeth playfully. “Of course they will love you. When they plan to fuck you they won’t be sweet or use perfume.”
“From whore to small king, you flatter me,” Viserys retorted dryly.
“I am a Dothrak. I know what I am,” Drogo said, his voice losing its edge. “If you are a whore, so what. Worse and weaker have had better in this life, Little dead man… you look at the world backwards. I learn. Do you want to learn? Or do you want to be right? I do not think you have thought this plan through.” His hands began to wander again, his touch different. “Lay with me. On the ground under the stars. In a silken bed of Tyroshi pirates. In the burning ruins of a magic castle. And do not look for things you didn’t know.”
The Khal confused him utterly. “I want what is mine. But I have waited years. I can wait a little more.”
Drogo gripped him, his voice a low rumble. “I have been a brave man and put my head in a dragon’s mouth. You say very mean and hurtful things. So will you take this back. And make it up to me by fucking me into this ground until the gods tell us we are too loud?” He kissed him again, his passion undeniable. “The stars look down on you, I’d have to say. In jealousy.”
An actual request. An apology for what he wasn’t sorry for, and a compliment as strange as everything else. “You would fuck me to soothe your pride,” Viserys stated, his body tensing unconsciously at the Khal’s earlier promise to ‘ruin’ him.
Drogo scoffed. “You should not worry about my ego. You should worry about your ass. You are a mean creature and I like to be treated carefully. I am but a humble horseman.” He gripped the clothes at Viserys’s neck coyly. “So full of bad magic.”
He wondered if the Khal would use oil. “I will treat you carefully if you act in kind.”
“Let me fuck you then,” Drogo said, his breath hot against Viserys’s skin. “I want to see if you can even ride.” He kissed him again, his kisses becoming breathless and demanding. It was like being smothered by a heavy, determined mattress.
This was taking an odd turn. Viserys squirmed in his grip, a curious feeling growing in his gut—not quite arousal, but not aversion. He had never ‘ridden’ before, not like this.
Drogo manhandled him, pulling him onto his lap. “You ever do such things before? I would think you a terrible virgin.” He held him there. “Do you want grease or nothing? I am not dripping with perfume. That greasy old fuck probably uses everything on you. He probably has pounds of rose oil and honey and myrrh.”
Illyrio had never touched him, but others had. They had used lubricants. “What manner of grease?” Now was not the time for pride.
“If you think that one does not fuck you, you are delusional,” Drogo said, producing a stone pot covered in wax. He began rubbing a thick, unscented grease into Viserys’s skin.
The substance should have left him filthy, but instead, Drogo kneaded it into his tense, touch-starved flesh with a surprising tenderness. “Hmmmm.” He gripped and smoothed, his heavy thumbs leaving no bruises thanks to the slickness between them. “Good boy.” His thick, rough fingers, now slick with grease, began to work their way into him.
Viserys stayed still under the unfamiliar attention. This was far from cultured perfumes and sweet honey. Why the Khal had shifted from hurting him to this was beyond him, but he accepted the change. The touch wasn’t as repugnant as it should have been.
Drogo’s thumbs were strong and clever, working past tense rings of muscle. It was hard going. He took a break only to lift Viserys’s ankles toward his ears, finding the Dragon long and limber like a snake. “You are tight. I have yet to see how you are different. I felt it before.”
Viserys blinked, avoiding his gaze, his entire body tensing as thick fingers pushed inside him. The soft, ridged covering that protected his cunt remained tightly closed.
Drogo slipped his thumb deeper, probing for a spot he clearly expected to find. “Aye. Are you like regular men? Do you not have a sweet spot?” he muttered, probing deeper, as if fearing the gods would be so cruel as to deny these strange people pleasure.
Viserys, not understanding, stayed quiet, a low burn beginning to smolder in his belly. He started to relax incrementally, the discomfort becoming negligible under the persistent, careful probing.
Drogo shook his head, wondering. “Hmm. How does that feel? There is a spot inside, hard to reach for men.”
It felt—good. A warm, sweet pressure building deep inside him. Viserys made a small, soft, involuntary sound.
Drogo chuckled at the sound. “It is known men are harder to fuck. You are a very bad virgin, who has happened to forget virgins don’t bed people. You who pay for love and expect it to be stronger than a lie. Have you ever had a lover you didn’t pay?”
Viserys was no virgin, and he did not pay whores; in recent years, he had been the whore. “You have more experience than I. So does any common whore.”
Drogo became more tender. He pressed a kiss next to Viserys’s temple. “I need to teach you how you need to be treated.” He gripped his thighs, his touch possessive yet almost gentle.
The gesture didn’t soften Viserys. Drogo was simply strange. His fingers kept probing and rubbing, feeling good more often than not, which put Viserys on edge. “You afraid of making noises now?” Drogo asked, nipping the skin on his kneecap.
“What are you doing?” Viserys asked, impatient. The man was spending an inordinate amount of time just touching him.
Drogo bit down on the tough, springy flesh over his knee. “I did ask. Aren’t I the brave one?” He dug his thumbs into the back of Viserys’s knee, causing his toes to curl. “For asking you what you would… You could have killed me with dragon flame.” His voice softened. “You are a beauty.” He smoothed his hands over him. “And you feel good to touch.”
If Viserys could command dragon flame, he wouldn’t be here. Each compliment felt like a jape. The pleasure was building, becoming harder to ignore. A flush spread across his cheeks. He wanted to pull away. If he wasn’t careful, the man would find the right hole.
“Am I going too hard, sweet Viserys?” Drogo asked, rubbing his cheek against Viserys’s leg like an affectionate pet cat, confused by the mix of anger and fear on his face. It was a matter of pride.
“You are taking a long time,” Viserys pressed, putting a hand on Drogo’s arm, hinting he should withdraw. He was wise enough to know he couldn’t force it.
“You make love too fast,” Drogo chided. “I like to take my time with only the most beautiful… I make no time for trash. I am not a boy who has to prove my cock still works. I can’t make love with just my body.” He carded his fingers through Viserys’s hair. “Do you have much to do?” He kissed his cheeks, wanting to maintain control of his slender, delicate boy.
He liked the control. “No,” Viserys admitted, trapped until an opportune moment arose. “I don’t doubt your skill.” He just wanted him to hurry. A slick wetness was forming where it shouldn’t, and he didn’t want it examined.
Drogo gripped his shoulders. “I want to hear what you like… I liked those noises better than all these lies.” He nibbled his neck, thumbed his earlobe, and kissed him. “Can’t you be kind?”
He pulled Viserys onto his lap. The boy was leaking, a slick trail left on his thigh. Drogo was visibly pleased. “You are wet between your legs like a woman,” he observed, rubbing the slick into Viserys’s skin. He placed his sticky fingers against Viserys’s lips. “This is why you take your time… to make you wet and ready for a thick cock. I will ruin you for other men and you’ll have to close your eyes to forget me.”
If the gods were kind, he would be the last. Viserys’s outrage was dissipating, replaced by a tepid, weary acceptance. “As you say,” he murmured, playing the virgin.
Drogo gripped his own cock, annoyed by the passivity. “You know if you have no fire I might become insecure.”
He wanted fire?
He had wanted fire? Well, Viserys was tired. And he was annoyed. And he was wet from places that should not be wet, at least not for strange men who had threatened to kill him one moment and were touching him like this the next. He felt completely vulnerable and stated, "I am at your mercy. Are you not pleased?"
"Everyone else is at my mercy, dead man..." he said, listing them off, "Illyrio, Ser Jorah, the archon..." Then he posed a crude question, "should I go fuck the archon?" He started to jerk Viserys off. How could this man, this strange man, dare to expect him to be passive.
If it meant they would take Viserys' place... he thought about it. "Why would you?" He felt placid enough to play along now, he decided. He settled one of his own hands on Drogo's thick shoulders. The corded muscle there was impressive to touch.
"I shall fuck Illyrio into the ground," he declared. "He sold his sword... why not another sword." He liked to nip at Viserys's skin like a bird. "You are roused to jealousy," he teased.
Viserys was roused to many things, but jealousy was not one of them. He pushed the thought of Drogo fucking Illyrio from his mind; it was mildly disturbing. He drew a hand over the flesh of Drogo's shoulder, curious to see if the man would react. He seemed to enjoy touching Viserys anyway.
He smirked at him, knowing he was desirable. It made him even more irritating and arrogant, and he drew Viserys on top of his lap. "Do you think you like me, Dead man?" he asked. "I am better than a dragon? To ride?" He teased him.
Nothing was better than a dragon. A dragon the size his ancestors used to bring Westeros to its knees would be worth several of Drogo's armies. But Viserys did not say that. Drogo could make tonight very pleasurable if he played along. "I wouldn't know," he said. "I have never ridden a dragon. Or a man."
"You should get out more," he said. "A man of your looks and spirit, you might have what he will without his father's name." He continued, "You could have what you want if you knew what that was." Drogo did not think he would see a shy side to this one who had demanded a baby of him. "I don't think you know what a child is," he said. "You have not had a child."
He drew him close and threw his arms around his neck.
Viserys struggled weakly. He huffed, disgruntled. The man had already refused him; what was he going on about? Why did he care?
"You could be the favored consort and plaything of princes," he told him. "You could have had your keeping. You would not be the first." He gripped his round, small ass. They were facing each other. "You could have a life as a wealthy pet. And do what you like."
Viserys is a prince and the rightful king. Why would he bend to lesser princes? The Dothraki did not know the glory of the Targaryens in their prime. That is why he speaks this way, Viserys soothed himself. Even his father had been great, mad as he became. With such ancestry, how could he reconcile being some minor prince's plaything.
He bit him on the neck. "If you do not behave..." he warned, "...I will fall in love with you and not let you have a baby. I will want you for my own." He cooed the words into his skin. "But you are also mean and full of yourself. So I might be safe."
His countenance changed and he pulled away from the bite. Drogo couldn't be serious. He may not have been fond of the idea at first, but he knew how binding blood was. What was the point of being what he was if he was unable to use it to his advantage? "I have nothing that you want," he said.
"So what," he replied. "Do I need you to get what I want? That I am so weak I cannot have what I desire?" He toyed with his ear. "I desire you," he stated.
So he did. Pity he wasn't willing to trade something worthwhile for it. "Return me. I cannot give you what you want." If there was ever the chance of him escaping the Dothraki...
"I want to please you," he said, and bit him again. "And you are obvious to me." He added, "Though if you think..." He separated his cheeks. "I don't have plans for you... You would be naive."
Plans beyond fucking him? He didn't think the Dothraki kept witches.
He said, "You are pretty but so mean." He continued, "Can't you be kind?" He licked the hickey he had already made.
'No' was on the tip of his tongue. The sensations from earlier were finally catching up to him. Drogo licked and bit and prodded until his irritation became frustration.
"You are getting so wet..." He pried him open and pressed the tip of his cock against him. Drogo is not above pleasuring a slave if they are obedient. They are more obedient and do his bidding if they are happy. And they are happy with him. It gives him an arrogant pleasure. He assumed it would be so with a quality person, even one of confusing quality like the dragon man/woman, this witch, this sassy little bastard. He enjoys him and will not let his impulses go out of control. "You are still so tight," he observed.
His instinct was to clench, to stop the intrusion, but he knows from experience he must relax, or it will hurt more. He let out a soft keen; it would hurt anyhow.
He grabbed a handful of his thick, long hair and moaned. He gave a little distraction as he worked his hips into the Targaryen boy.
He's played with him enough... Though he could go all night, he knows the boy is nervous. "Relax," he said, and held his head in the crook of his arm, petting him. Drogo is soft and strong. And he is well acquainted with male and female bodies enough to go fast, and he hopes there is not too much difference to harm the Dragon in his clutches.
While Drogo's cock buried inside him, the man seemed to be all around him: his breath, his body, his smell. It amped up the strange, lurid pleasure, made him dizzy, perhaps from the pain.
He held up his chin and gave him a pepper-light kiss on his nose and on his eyelid, a little bit off-center to kiss his lips. "You are so warm... My fiery little dragon," he said, starting to revert to his Dothraki tongue so Viserys is left confused.
The feeling of being penetrated, being full—Viserys doesn't like it. He doesn't control it either. Drogo moving at his own pace, murmuring in his own tongue. It is bearable, better than bearable if he's honest.
He shushed him and petted his arm, trying to ask him if he was going too fast... even though they don't share a tongue.
He doesn't understand what the man is saying anymore, and it's hard to be quiet or unaffected now. As the fucking continues, there's even less pain to focus on, so all that's left is intermittent but growing pleasure. The slick wetness hasn't stopped, making more of a mess.
He soothed him with warm touches and didn't say his name. He was hip-deep into him in a few moments, buried to the hilt, and remained there for as long as he could, feeling the warmth and wetness and tightness. His breath was barely leaving his body while the little omega was ragged and heaving... "Sweet," he murmured.
His hole fluttered around the intrusion, and a new wave of slick dripped from his cunt. The odd covering was half loose. Viserys closed his eyes and focused on breathing.
He was a little shocked. He is not used to the little bit of difference. But he got worked up feeling him ejaculate on his cock. He tweaked his nipples. "You... goooooooood," he groaned.
The release surprised him; he didn't expect to actually—. The Khal moved faster now, and the strange pleasure turned painful. He keened louder.
He was shocked. "Blaaa," he sounded a bit angry... But he was more confused, and that tone filled Viserys with a sense of foreboding. He asked him his problem. He stroked his arm and had a soothing look in his eyes, but it was not enough.
Drogo stilled inside him, and Viserys was glad for it. The man was big everywhere, and his cock pressed deeply into places that hurt when pressed.
He started to pull out. "Viserys... Are you good?" he muttered in a mélange of weird languages.
He mumbled something, wheezed, and then tried again. "You promised to ruin me." The pain was starting to fade some. It wasn't quite unbearable, just a shock from the previous pleasure.
He pulled himself together. "You are..." He pulled out, a little crestfallen. "Ha. Viserys." He looked a little disappointed. "Are you well?" he asked.
No. He was wet in places he shouldn't be, like some common whore, and Drogo had just made him come on his cock. Like he promised. "It hurt," he said.
He pulled. "Did you... what?" He stroked his own cock. He kissed his neck. "My boy. Are you okay?"
"I am well," he replied. He was. Drogo hadn't needed to pull out entirely. Viserys could see how hard the man still was. This would not end until he was satisfied.
He held him for a brief moment and then let out a fierce curse, enough to send a saner man into a panic.
Viserys was confused and faint from release, still in Drogo's embrace. Why had the man stopped? Surely not because Viserys was in pain. "You have not finished yet," he stated.
"You are killing me. Maybe I should have you suck me off then? If you care so much about it." He was a terrifying sight to behold when wild and fierce, like an animal. He pulled out of him. "I swear. If you so much as look at me with that face... I will tear out your eyes." He was quite cranky.
Caution bade Viserys to be careful, though his pride chafed at being told what to do. He looked away. Why was the man annoyed that his "virgin" catch felt pain at their coupling? Wasn't that the norm?
He said, "Why are you looking like that? Did I beat you?" He hissed. He was incredibly hard.
He tried, for the first time and against his own natural impulse, to soothe the Khal's temper. "It hurt. I am unused to this." The man's anger made no sense to Viserys.
"I am not used to having my lover leave me to mock me, unsated." He gripped his thick, red cock. "Gods."
Viserys hadn't told him to stop. The damage was already done anyway; why stop? But he couldn't quite bid the man to continue.
He gave him a shove. "You came. Why not me? Haven't you had to pleasure people?" he asked.
Not really. The men he had slept with had been content with worse service than the cheapest back-alley whore. They certainly hadn't stopped on account of his pain. "I did not bid you to stop," he said. He hadn't said much in the way of 'no' since Drogo made it clear he would be bedding him.
He said, "It was pointless. You had come already. Perhaps you only like women." He said it as if it were an insult. "You know how to use your tongue?" he asked him. It was strange that he asked.
No. He had bitten one of them men who used his mouth before. He had no patience for it. He hated the taste. It didn't befit a prince or a king. He doesn't say any of that now. Instead he shifts into a more upright position. concious of the mess of slick from both his holes now.
"Come now. Are you Afraid You will have to fuck me to get my stallion under control."
He gripped him. "That is a cruel trick.
"I do not know how to use my tongue." Why would he? He had been a virgin after all.
"Well you have to train at it for years and years." He was being sarcastic. He was not in the mood. He looked over at him "You'll be kind to me won't you beautiful boy?" He Pet his hair "You could try."
He didn't want to try.