[ There are no telltale footsteps to herald Daenerys' arrival - just a rush of air, the creak of an unlocked door, and there she is in front of him.
For a long moment, Valmont just stares. What she must think of him, gawking at her like an idiot, but he can't stop himself. The dragon traits he'd glimpsed on the communicator's small screen and promptly tried to forget - well, there's no forgetting them now. Horns, scales, wings, all proudly displayed and part of her. The sight should make him recoil, but perhaps he's simply in shock, because as she walks toward him he finds he can't tear his eyes away. Does she have any other draconic attributes that he doesn't know about, he wonders? A forked tongue? A tail?
And then she speaks, and all that starts to matter a little less. ]
...Am I - what do you think?
[ It's supposed to be sarcastic, but it comes out sounding more desperate than anything. Yes, he's aching, and it's rapidly getting worse - his cock, which had seemed like it was finally beginning to settle down, is instantly fully erect and pulsing seemingly harder with every word she speaks. It rubs almost painfully against the fabric of his pants, and he bites back a groan.
At that moment, though, Daenerys begins to disrobe, and that's both distraction from and addition to his torment. Now he's glad he hadn't taken his eyes off her, because even in his hopelessly confused state, even with the way a part of him still cringes when he sees the scales snaking down her body - this is worth seeing. And suddenly he's on his feet, overcome by a need to touch those scales, no matter what his brain might be screaming at him not to do. If nothing else, he has to know they're real -
Well. He runs a finger across two or three, marveling: they're certainly real, and they don't feel quite like any scales he's felt before. Not that he's ever touched a dragon like this before, or wanted to. But he wants to now, quite badly actually, and his hands run down her sides as he leans in to kiss her. ]
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For a long moment, Valmont just stares. What she must think of him, gawking at her like an idiot, but he can't stop himself. The dragon traits he'd glimpsed on the communicator's small screen and promptly tried to forget - well, there's no forgetting them now. Horns, scales, wings, all proudly displayed and part of her. The sight should make him recoil, but perhaps he's simply in shock, because as she walks toward him he finds he can't tear his eyes away. Does she have any other draconic attributes that he doesn't know about, he wonders? A forked tongue? A tail?
And then she speaks, and all that starts to matter a little less. ]
...Am I - what do you think?
[ It's supposed to be sarcastic, but it comes out sounding more desperate than anything. Yes, he's aching, and it's rapidly getting worse - his cock, which had seemed like it was finally beginning to settle down, is instantly fully erect and pulsing seemingly harder with every word she speaks. It rubs almost painfully against the fabric of his pants, and he bites back a groan.
At that moment, though, Daenerys begins to disrobe, and that's both distraction from and addition to his torment. Now he's glad he hadn't taken his eyes off her, because even in his hopelessly confused state, even with the way a part of him still cringes when he sees the scales snaking down her body - this is worth seeing. And suddenly he's on his feet, overcome by a need to touch those scales, no matter what his brain might be screaming at him not to do. If nothing else, he has to know they're real -
Well. He runs a finger across two or three, marveling: they're certainly real, and they don't feel quite like any scales he's felt before. Not that he's ever touched a dragon like this before, or wanted to. But he wants to now, quite badly actually, and his hands run down her sides as he leans in to kiss her. ]