Maegor's nose trails along your skin, from your shoulder where his branding sits, to your neck, and then up to your ear, "You've been quiet, songbird." His grip is soft, and his tone cold. "Did Lord Lannister upset you further than you let on?"

You shake your head, turning to him with as best a reassuring smile as you can, "No, his words were simple jests." A lie, but you could not stomach another impromptu execution so soon; Lord Lannister had been personally insulted when Maegor had picked you - a bastard of the Vale - over his daughter, a proper lady.

"Hmm," he says nothing else, but his grip tightens, and his hand trails back to your cock, "very well, then, sing for me." The request is common; he enjoyed the sounds drawn from you, and the louder the sound, the better. He pulled you closer, his other hand holding you in place as he jerked you off. You grip his arm, head hung forward as you moaned - your orgasm paints his hand, and he licks it off, savoring every drop before turning your head to share the taste. "Good boy."