Setting off

The days that followed Jon’s wedding were spent mostly in luxury, as the king had deemed that the newly married couple ought to be allowed some peace together as the new alliance cemented itself. Much of those days were spent abed, with Jon taking Margaery every way he could think of and his wife moulding herself perfectly under his direction and command. The sense of true submission she showed him was intoxicating and Jon felt that he was growing to love the power he felt from their couplings.

Eventually life returned and he was required to attend Small Council meetings with his brother and father, getting a sense of the current state of the realm. The bandit problem had not abated, and Rhaegar was growing more and more frustrated.

“With the the increasing frequency of these attacks I wouldn’t be surprised at all if these criminals launched an attack on Riverrun itself,” The King hissed, his body trembling with anger and ailment, “I cannot afford to let this...plague...continue within our realm. Something needs to be done about it.”

Ser Arthur bowed his head. “Your Grace, I know how these types work,” his hand moved over Dawn’s hilt, “they rally the disenfranchised and unlucky into their service with lies and silver tongues. We need to send a **** down their to not only strike at the enemy, but to win the hearts and minds of the people.”

“Would that I was ten years younger,” Rhaegar lamented, “But I fear I am no longer the heroic prince the people once thought I was.”

Jon did not hesitate in volunteering. “Let me go then,” he looked at the people in the room, “I will take a collection of knights and ride through the Riverlands, hearing the people’s grievances and doing what I can to stamp out these traitors, you have my word.”

“Jon,” The King complained, “You’re only a week married, I can’t risk you making Margaery a widow.”

“I have spent every day and night for the last week at her side,” Jon said, “if the Gods are good then I have already conceived a child with her,” he looked at his father and brother, “besides, Aegon is Heir to the throne, it is better if I do this.”

Rhaegar did not seem pleased, but eventually he relented. The next day Jon found himself marching from the city with two hundred knights, one of which wore a White Cloak. Jon had been so busy with his duties to his wife and to the crown that he had not seen much of Loras, and he understood that the Tyrell was falling into the groove of being part of the Kingsguard. But once night fell and the group made camp, Jon found a visitor in his tent.

Loras made no sound as Jon walked in, merely went to work removing his armour and white cloak before standing naked and waiting. Jon walked over to him, grabbed a fist full of his curls and pulled the Tyrell into a fierce fierce kiss. The roughness of it made Loras cry out, whimpering as Jon moved down to kiss his exposed throat.

“My King,” Loras pleaded, “Oh, My King...”

Jon pulled away and lowered Tyrell to his knees. Instinctually he undid Jon’s straining breeches and began to suckle on the crown of his cock. Jon closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation for a time, occasionally giving encouragements that had Loras working faster.

“Does your Queen’s mouth please you?” Tyrell asked, drawing his mouth away from the cock long enough to speak, his eyes locked onto Jon’s with a strange intensity. “Surely It is better than what Margaery can give you?”

Jon grunted. “You’d be surprised.”

Frowning, Loras rose to his feet and took Jon’s hand, leading him over to the makeshift bed. Gently he pushed Jon down into a seating position and then took his place atop Jon’s cock, his ass gratefully taking the hard manhood like a welcome guest. For a moment all Loras did was sit there, leaning back into Jon’s chest and pulling him into a kiss. Tongues mingled for a moment and then Loras began to raise and lower himself. Jon groaned at how snugly his manhood was lodged inside the Tyrell.

“Can Margaery...sit in..such a..regal position?” Loras gasped, working his ass harder, “Can she...take cock..as well, ugh” he was thrust upwards, “...as this?”

Jon got up with a low growl, he gripped Loras’ hips and began to pound into him with abandon. Loras stayed on his hands and knees and mewled like the bitch he was, his ass rushing back to take more of Jon in. His whole body was perfectly pliant for Jon, as though it was made for nothing more than his cock, crafted by the gods to receive Jon’s seed.

The Prince grunted as he released a load into the hungry ass, enjoying the way it desperately milked him for every drop of cum. Both took a moment to recover, Jon’s cock still firmly lodged up Loras’s gripping ass. The Knight Of Flowers turned slightly and looked over his shoulder at Jon.

“I am your true Queen, and you know it,” He heaved, “Only I am suited to your power.”

Jon caught his breath, “My power?”

“You are strong, you are skilled,” Tyrell looked at him in utter adoration, “and you are loved by the people. If only you’d accept your strength...you could do great things,” his velvety ass clenched once more, “you need only _take _what you want, like a true dragon.”

The two them coupled again before losing themself to exhaustion, and when Jon dreamt his mind’s eye told a tale of him as king of all creation, with men and women bound before him, offering themselves to him and praising him as a dragon.