Viserys Targaryen, his first time with a woman, any rating welcome!

He entered the brothel in the cover of darkness, the rancid smell of a filthy butcher's shop across the alley just underneath the cloying perfumes of the scented candles. His eyes drifted to the alcoves shrouded by cheap silks hung from the walls. Taking in the slick movements and interlocking limbs, the soft breaths and grunts seeming hardly louder than the faint crackling of the fire inset upon the back wall.

Finally he allowed himself to look beside the fire, to the soft cushioned seats where they sprawled wantonly. Whores. A chord of distaste rippled through him, and he could hear his fathers voice beside him, whispering of of those filthy women, that trash, and would a dragon spend himself upon scum where a thousand lesser beasts had been?

Viserys closed his eyes. But I am a failure already father, and what dragon would sell pieces of himself to simply find enough to eat? A true dragon would burn those that dared deny him, and feast upon their crackling flesh. He could still feel his mothers crown clutched between his hands, and how afterwords finding them empty he had closed them tight around Daenerys, hard enough to draw blood.

He could feel himself walking blindly over to the whores, knowing their eyes would find his silver hair and violet eyes and mark him as VIserys Targaryen, rightful King of Westeros and honored guest of their most generous benefactor. Would they name him The Beggar King, given a chance?

He chose the lightest, a whore with ashy blond hair and deep blue eyes that flashed almost indigo in the firelight. She was silent as he led led her along a curtained hall, fingers digging hard enough to bruise to fair skin. He thought of his mother's silence upon Dragonstone, as she lay in bed for days on end and the storm lashed it's fury upon the land.

He entered the whore wordlessly, her hands clenched to the sheets on either side of him after he had slapped her when she tried to touch his face. He pumped into her, and felt for a moment the rush of power Aegon must have felt within Visenya, when he had taken her with their dragons to either side atop the walls of Harrenhal.

But within a breath the feeling was gone, and as he spilled himself inside her he imagined for a moment he was looking upon Daenerys' face, watching it crumple as it had on the day they had left the house in Braavos, where Ser Willem had died. I want to go home, she had said.

I want to go home.

This was perfect! Exactly what I wanted!

Thank you so much, anon!