prismatica | (Video; UN: motherofdragons)

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(Video; UN: motherofdragons)

(Sanguis has blessed her and no one can tell her differently. Daenerys is standing before a mirror, running her fingertips over the horns protruding from her head. However those additions do not thrill her as much as the leathery wings on her back.

If her smile makes you feel a bit uncomfortable, that is understandable. The scales on her cheeks and the fact that her blue eyes are anything but human don't help matters, however there is an undefinable quality about her. Perhaps this isn't a blessing after all.)

Am I a monster? (Her hands shake as she presses her talons against her cheeks.) Is this...me? Have I always been this?

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[ ...Well. It had to happen sometime, didn't it? He's noticed more and more dragon people, both on the streets and on the network, as the months have gone by - tried not to notice them, but noticed just the same. It was only a matter of time, then, before this dragon bug afflicted someone he actually gave a damn about. And with the whole "Mother of Dragons" bit, it's really sort of surprising that Daenerys hadn't caught it sooner.

Better her than me, isn't it, comes the thought from one of the more ungracious parts of his brain, but one that he can't really argue with. He wouldn't have wished this on anyone, and certainly not Daenerys, but if he'd been made to experience waking up to a dragon's face in the mirror even one more time...

This isn't easy. Valmont cares about Daenerys, in ways he doesn't entirely understand. But he also doesn't think he can look at her right now. ]

In order: no; no; and no. This world is merely playing one of its sick pranks, and one which, like all moonblessings, ought to be temporary. It takes more than a few scales on one's face to turn one into a monster. And I do speak from experience.

(She can put power in her voice, an ability that might help him overcome any discomfort he has over her appearance. Thus Daenerys switches to audio only, pitching her words seductively, drawing him to her even if he is digging in his heels.)

I wasn't speaking solely of moonblessings. I did the unthinkable before I was revived in Lunatia. It is that burden that haunts me.

(Come... Come... She summons him, awakening his baser instincts.)

Am I a monster inside and out? When did I lose my humanity?

[ Voice chat. All right. He can live with voice chat. It's actually oddly comforting, hearing her voice coming through his communicator. That part of her, at least, hasn't changed.

Or... has it? He can't put his finger on it, but there does seem to be a subtly different quality in Daenerys' voice. He sits up a bit straighter as he listens. ]

I...

[ She's sharing some very personal problems with him right now. He knows he should say something to allay her fears, to comfort her. But it's hard to focus on what's making her so distraught when he's also suddenly finding himself extremely, bewilderingly aroused. ]

I don't know what you did, but - ngh -

[ He's floundering to put words together, distressed and distracted. This is not at all a good time, he thinks reprovingly at his inexplicable erection. It doesn't listen. ]

...Is this perhaps a conversation we ought to have in person?

[ Why did he ask that? He doesn't want to see her, and he certainly doesn't want her to see him like this. Except he does, somehow. Today has suddenly become very confusing. ]

(Heat rises within her, settling as a dark blush on her cheeks. Her heart is pounding loudly in her ears and she feels...almost...intoxicated. She remembers the planes of his body and her fingers curl, her talons pressing into the palms of her hands.)

I think you should come over directly. (Can he walk? She tilts her head, smiling slowly, seductively, though he cannot see her.) I will come to you. My wings can carry me well.

(Forget the confusion and go with it, Valmont. There is nothing for him to fear from this dragon.)

I think perhaps you'd better.

[ No, he isn't at all sure he can walk like this. Maybe if he gave himself a few minutes to cool down - but that strikes him as time he doesn't have. He wants to take care of this, and he wants to see Daenerys as soon as possible. Even the thought of her dragon wings doesn't fill him with anywhere near as much revulsion as he would have expected a minute ago. He sort of wonders what it would be like to touch them. ]

I trust you know where to find me. And - hurry, won't you?

[ He hadn't intended the plaintive whine that creeps into his voice at the end there, and he ends the call quickly before he can embarrass himself further.

When Daenerys does make it to his apartment, she'll find him waiting for her as patiently as possible under the circumstances. That is, he hasn't left his chair, still perched straight upright, hands gripped tight to the armrests in lieu of other things they might be gripping. He's drawing on all his British powers of self-restraint, but it looks like they might not last him too much longer. The man's in bad shape. Prolong his misery? ]

(Flight comes to her naturally after a few initial fumbles. It feels good and right and she breathes in the open air, cleansing herself of the thoughts that have plagued her endlessly. Later she will come to some conclusion on where she stands - on who she should be - but for now, she wants to give into her instincts. She wants to wear herself out, spending her energy on passion instead of anguish.

She lands before his building and makes her way to his door. The obstacle is open and she grins, letting herself inside.)

I've left you in quite a state, haven't I. (Daenerys's voice purrs appealingly and she walks towards him gracefully, her eyes bright with a light all their own.) Are you aching?

(She loosens her dress, undressing before him. In her full, glorious nudity, scales in silver, blue and black trail down her sides (and her arms) before ending at her thighs. Her wings have the same hues and she seems a delicate mixture of woman and dragon.)

[ 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. ]

(He will need to find out for himself! Daenerys obviously isn't afraid of sharing - she finds a new sense of confidence from her draconic features - but she likes his hands. They are warm and strong and he can do delightful things with them that make her want him.

Yet she can pretend to have the upper-hand - ironically - with her voice. He will never know of her desire until she shows him. Daenerys laughs at his query, giving him some hope that he won't remain hopelessly aroused for much longer by ridding herself of her clothes.)

Let me free you. (She bends, giving him an eyeful of her breasts, working open the fastening and zipper of his pants. Zippers, in particular, are strange to her, but useful! Modern advances come in so many forms.

Not that she is thinking about zippers at the moment. He is hard and ready for her and she meets his kiss with heated enthusiasm, wrapping her slender around around his neck. With just a shift, she will be on his lap. The idea is tantalizing, but she has to tease him a little more.)

Are you sure you're not scared of me? I'm covered in scales, my teeth are sharp...

[ Well... on the one hand, he's absurdly scared right now. On the other, he's not planning to admit to that. On the third hand, he's also absurdly turned on. Which is understandable enough considering the view he's being treated to, but there's still something underlying it, something more... ]

Y- your teeth?

[ He'd thought that kiss had felt pointier than usual. The image of those sharp teeth coming near his sensitive parts swims into his head, and he should be repulsed, but - there's another swell of arousal as he thinks about it, and he moans a little, pressing his body closer against Daenerys, scales and all. ]

...You wouldn't hurt me.

[ He hopes. ]

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