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Prompt 29: Dirty Talk

Summary:

A bored Tywin is a dangerous thing, especially at a garden party

Notes:

Okay but hear me out: if that man ever found out you were actually attracted to him, you would never hear the end of it. And as someone who values his own mind as much as he does, he would be insufferable if he found out that his words were enough to drive you over the edge. (yes I have given this too much thought)

Work Text:

“How do you think all these lords and ladies would react if they knew I had you screaming my name in pleasure last night?” Your lord husband’s voice was barely more than a rumble in your ear and yet he had you furiously looking around, making sure no one could neither hear him nor notice the deep blush that stained your cheeks.

You knew it had been a mistake the moment the words had left your mouth and now, still a week later, he continued to torment you. It had been in the heat of the moment – or rather the throes of passion – when he had commented how good your body squeezed around him and you had mindlessly moaned and pleaded him to keep talking to you.

His movements had slowed and he bent down so he could talk directly in your ear, “I’m going to fill you with my seed until you can’t walk and keep you in my bed as you swell, carrying my son in your belly.” You had already been close to your climax but hearing his deep voice so close and the images they conjured up, had sent you head first into one of the strongest orgasms you had experienced. You had clawed at his chest, your back arched and your cunt had clamped down on him so hard he had no choice but to follow you, spilling his seed deep inside of you.

Well, that’s certainly information worthy of keeping in mind,” he had said, slightly out of breath but with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

He had wandered away from you, allowing some lesser noble to talk his ear off about this or that trading deal, and you attempted to draw your focus away from the strong back of your husband and onto the party going on around you. It was a beautiful day and the gardens of King’s Landing was filled with noble men and women from all over the continent – and probably beyond. You had to hand it to the Tyrell’s: they knew how to throw a lavish but tasteful party.

You passed a group of minstrels gently plucking at their instruments as you made your way to a table ladled with all manner of sliced fruit, presented in artistic swirls according to their colour. A young man – you assumed from one of the southern houses, based on the cut of his tunic – greeted you with a smile and offered you one of the small silver plates from the table. You thanked him and started to make your selection, commenting on the favourable weather as you scooped up a few pieces of what you assumed to be some kind of melon.

You looked up and saw the young man about to speak when something over your shoulder made his eyes widen and he hastily made his excuses. You were about to turn around when the unmistakable arm of your husband reached around you, plucking a piece of fruit from your plate.

“Still not as sweet as when I have you sit on my face.” He said it like he was commenting on the weather, his face betraying nothing safe for the slight smirk when he saw the blush return to your cheeks.

“Tywin, please, not here; people will hear,” you whispered hurriedly and once again checked your surroundings.

Beside you Tywin merely scoffed and moved around you, stealing another piece from your plate. “No one listens to anything anybody else have to say at things like these. All of them,” he nodded discreetly at the nobles milling around you, “are mere peacocks, prancing in the garden.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his grumblings. “Not enjoying the party, my lord?”

“No,” he answered firmly, rounding you completely and looked you dead in the eyes. “There are about a hundred letters on my desk that need answering and about a hundred more that needs to be drawn up.” He moved closer to you and for the first time you saw him actually make sure you were alone before he ducked down to whisper in your ear: “I would rather be at my desk – or better yet, have you on my desk – than spend another minute in the company of these insipid fools.”

You were sure your face was about as red as your husband’s coat of arms and yet you couldn’t help but reach up and discreetly play with one of the many buttons lining his expensive coat. Your eyes swept over the crowd behind him, all of them laughing, some even dancing despite the early hour, and none of them seem to pay any attention to the two of you. Finally your gaze met his and with small smile you said, “better take me home then, husband.”

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