Tomboy101: so I've recently been introduced to Game of Thrones and though I have not yet watched all of season 1 I have fallen in love with Drogo and Daanerys. I think they are wonderful together. Now before anyone thinks to enlighten me with how their canon ending is not so much Happily Ever After as something out of a Shakespearean Tragedy let me assure I already know. And I don't care. Enjoy this little one-shot and please message me the location of more Daenerys/Drogo fan fiction!

Drogo watches his Khaleesi. She is standing at the edge of camp, her small, pale frame outlined against the dark green of the tall grass. She is not where he would have expected her to be. Every night since he married her she has retreated to her tent almost the moment the khalasar has made camp. Not tonight. Tonight she is standing away from all else and she is not looking at him or anyone. Her back is to the camp and she looks so fragile standing there all by herself.

He wonders at his wife. Last night she insisted at looking upon him as he fucked her. Drogo has never taken a woman in that way but as his little Khaleesi ground her hips against him a fire flickered to life inside him. Thinking of it even now made his loins grow tight. Her violet eyes never wavered as she looked at him and even when he could not take it anymore and surged up, grasping her hips and pressing her into him she had not looked away. It was strange, wonderfully strange.

A voice calls Drogo's name and his head jerks around but none of his bloodriders are looking to him. Drogo growls deep in chest but as there is no one near he cannot take his anger out anyone. The Khal looks back to where his Khaleesi stands but she is gone. An emotion he is unfamiliar with, hot like rage but not, constricts his chest.

Drogo strides to where his Khaleesi had been standing. This close he can see where the grasses had been broken by a body passing through them. He scowls angrily, shoving his way along the path his Khaleesi has taken. He does not have to go far into the grasses. She stands barely one hundred strides into the tall grass, just as still as before. He wonders if she is listening for something only she can hear.

Drogo stops a yard from her. Her paleness in the growing dusk makes her into a spirit woman. She looks like a sliver of the moon that has fallen to the earth. Slowly so as not to startle her Drogo steps forward and places a large, callused hand on her bare shoulder.

She whirls, her arm shooting up. A cold line presses into his throat. Drogo's dark brown eyes flicker down. His Khaleesi is gripping a small dagger in her delicate hand, the blade turned back to run along her forearm, the sharp edge held against his throat. She stares up at him, fire burning in her pale eyes. She blinks and whatever demon she has conjured in her mind's eye leaves her and she see him as he is. She stumbles back, the dagger dropping to the ground, suddenly no longer the Khaleesi willing to defend herself but a young woman scared of what her husband might do to punish her for holding a weapon against him.

Drogo frowned. He does not want his wife to be scared of him, has never wanted her to fear him, especially not after the night before. "No," he says quietly in the Common Tongue. In the months since they had wed Drogo has been learning the Common Tongue from Ser Jorah so as to better communicate with his Khaleesi. Carefully he reaches up and pushes a lock of her silver hair back behind her ear. Usually she keeps it at least partially pulled back by braids but she has let it down since the khalasar has stopped and Drogo prefers it hanging loose and wild to her waist.

His Khaleesi stands frozen to the spot as he gently cups her face with his massive hand. He strokes his thumb across her cheek. She closes her beautiful eyes and leans into his touch. Drogo's lips twitch; he is pleased that his Khaleesi seems to enjoy their closeness.

Drogo moves his hand, sliding it back so his fingers twine through her hair to the back of her head. His other hand lifts to splay across her back. His Khaleesi's waist is so small his huge hands can probably wrap around her fingertip to fingertip with room to spare. He pulls her to him till they are flush against each other. Desire burns through Drogo's veins. He wants her, wants her more than he has ever wanted any other woman.

Drogo tilts her head back and angels his mouth to cover her full lips. For a moment his Khaleesi is frozen, her lips unmoving against his, then, slowly she begins to kiss him back, her small hands rising up to his bicep and shoulder. She clings to him and he pulls her up higher so her feet are barely touching the ground. He can't get enough of her. She is small and soft in his arms, molding to her womanly curves to his muscles. He nips gently at her bottom lip. She gasps and his tongue slips inside. Her plunders her mouth, taking his time to explore every bit of her, drinking her in. She tastes sweet but with a hint of spice. To him she is perfect, the moon of his life.