Author's Notes:
Hey! It TinyStitch again. I got bored and wanted to try doing an explicit scene, given that it is a common thing in the Game of Thrones show. Feel free to skip it if it's not for you, but if it is, please feel free to let me know how good or how bad it was.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
King's Landing did not wake gently the morning after the tourney.
It stirred like a man nursing a hangover—slow, irritable, and eager to pretend nothing had changed. The Copper Gull smelled of spilled ale and burned fat, the floor still faintly sticky despite the best efforts of the serving girls. Voices carried differently too, stories repeated with exaggerated gestures, names sharpened by retelling.
Mine came up more than once.
I ate in silence near the wall, back to stone, watching reflections in the bottom of my cup instead of the room itself. That was when Marra approached—not with a smile, not with teasing, but with intent so clear it cut through the noise.
"Upstairs," she said. "Now."
No flirtation.
No audience.
I followed.
Her room was warm, the shutters half-closed against the late morning light. The sounds of the inn faded quickly once the door shut behind us. She didn't turn right away. Instead, she leaned against the table, arms braced, shoulders rising as she drew a breath.
"You're leaving soon," she said.
Not a question.
"Yes."
"After this city bleeds you dry," she added lightly.
"Before," I corrected.
That finally earned a smile—sharp, knowing, and unoffended.
"Good," she said. "I don't like lies before breakfast."
She crossed the room and stopped a step away from me. Close enough to feel heat, close enough to notice the faint bruising beneath my armor where steel had kissed too hard.
"This doesn't turn into letters," she continued. "It doesn't turn into regrets. And it doesn't turn into you staying because it's easier than moving on."
"I wouldn't insult either of us that way."
Her eyes held mine for a long moment, measuring. Then she nodded once, decision made.
"Then take the armor off," she said. "You're tracking dirt on my floor."
It wasn't rushed.
It wasn't tender.
It was intentional.
Hands slid over skin, over scars that hadn't existed days ago, over muscle still warm from remembered exertion. Kisses were exchanged without ceremony, mouths meeting because they wanted to, not because they meant anything beyond the moment.
She tasted like smoke and wine.
Marra quickly made her move, taking my shaft into her mouth. She didn't hesitate, as she planned to drain every last drop.
Soon, I was as full mass, veins popping. Nothing less for the body of the Commander of the Dauntless Vanguard. Marra was more than happy to hold it with both hands as she moved her head sending me to the moon.
Ten minutes into her mouth game, and I could feel my load building. I could come anytime, but since Marra seemed to be enjoying it, I let her have her fun.
"I am coming."
A few seconds later, my load was rushing through my dick, shooting down Marra's throat, painting her mouth white.
Marra smiled through it all as she massaged my balls makinggg sure I shot every last drop of my load. After the last drop came out did Marra gulp and smile.
"Satisfied?"
"Yes… But we're not done yet," she said, blushing.
"Then why sit there?"
I reached for her, raising her onto my lap. Gently lifting her and, using my finger to slide her panties sideways, positioned her hole at the tip of my shaft. Slowly lowering her until the full length of my dick was inside her.
Once I was sure she was alright, I began moving her hips. It took a few seconds for Marra to adapt to my tempo. When she did, she then picked up the rhythm and began moving her hips, making her butt slap my lap as she rode me.
Our moans filled the room, sealing everything in.
Marra kept moving her hips, making my thick rod slide in and out of her lower lips. Her pace quickened, growing faster - a clear indication of how aroused she had become.
20 minutes went by with us trying out different positions in different parts of the room, before we both reached our peak.
Afterward, she lay with her back against my chest for exactly as long as she wanted—no longer. When she moved away, it wasn't with reluctance, just inevitability.
"Well," she said, pulling the sheet up around herself, "that was overdue."
I exhaled slowly. "No regrets?"
She glanced back at me, amused. "I don't regret things I choose with my eyes open."
She stood, unbothered, pulling on her dress with the same confidence she wore behind the bar.
"You'll be gone in a week," she said. "Maybe less. You'll chase something louder than this city, and I'll still be here, charging men for ale and pretending not to listen."
"And that's fine."
"That's ideal," she corrected.
She paused at the door, hand on the latch.
"One thing," she added. "You're interesting. Not special. Interesting. Don't confuse the two."
"I won't."
She smiled at that—quick, satisfied—and opened the door.
"Good. Now go let the city make demands of you."
I dressed in silence, armor settling back into place like it belonged there. When I stepped downstairs, the inn swallowed me again—noise, eyes, whispers.
Marra didn't look up when I passed the bar.
She didn't need to.
Outside, King's Landing stretched wide and hungry, already deciding how to spend the man it had just discovered.
And I was ready to move on.