Jeoffrey: The Hedonist (SI)

Joffrey woke up with the sunlight spilling through the window, casting long, warm streaks across his bed. He groaned and stretched, his muscles stiff from yesterday's training, but a sense of accomplishment lingered in his chest. The yard had been lively, filled with the sound of clashing steel and laughter, and he'd made sure to let the men see him work. A prince should always be visible, approachable when needed, but also commanding. Today would be no different.

He tossed aside the blanket and dressed quickly, pulling on loose pants and leaving his shirt behind. He knew what the maids and knights' daughters whispered when he trained shirtless. His muscles had grown defined from the secret hours he spent honing his body, and he'd noticed the way their eyes followed him—some with blushes on their cheeks, some with glares of disapproval, others with interest they barely hid.

Once outside in the training yard, he grabbed a sword and started swinging, the early morning air cool against his skin. A few of the squires were already sparring, and he could feel their eyes on him as he moved through his forms.

"Your Grace," one of the younger squires called out, grinning from ear to ear. "How do you get muscles like that? We've been trying to train harder, but we don't look anything like you."

Joffrey smirked, not pausing his routine as he answered, "You have to put in the work. Every day. When everyone else is asleep or feasting, you train. Push yourself past the limits, and you'll see results."

The squire nodded, his admiration clear, while a few others standing nearby exchanged glances, clearly trying to decide if Joffrey was being serious or just messing with them. One of the older squires gave Joffrey a teasing grin. "Bet it's all the fancy food in the castle that's helping, too, Your Grace. Maybe if we had royal pies and roasts, we'd be bulked up like you by now."

Joffrey let out a low laugh, wiping sweat from his brow. "If royal pies were the secret, half the lords in Westeros would look like me. It's the work, lads. You'll see." His tone was light, but the authority was there, and the squires nodded, a few of them already back at their training with renewed energy.

As he hung out with the men—guards, squires, and a few knights who wandered over to join the morning practice—he made sure to crack jokes, throw in a few barbs, but always keep his tone approachable. These weren't his enemies, after all. They were his future supporters, and public opinion mattered more than anything when the throne was on the line. He had to be likable, even if he didn't always care for it.

One of the maidservants passed by, her eyes lingering on him, and for a moment, Joffrey caught her staring at his chest. She blushed, quickly looking away, but not before giving him a small, daring smile. Joffrey returned it with a wink, feeling the power of her gaze like a tangible thing.

---

Later, at the feast, Joffrey sat beside Cersei, his mood a mix of satisfaction and curiosity as he observed the room. Robert was his usual self—loud, laughing, already deep into his cups—and engaged in conversation with Lord Hoster Tully, talking about old battles and alliances. Joffrey ate quietly, his attention split between his own thoughts and the subtle dynamics playing out around the table.

It was then he felt it—a hand on his thigh, soft fingers trailing upward in slow, deliberate strokes. Joffrey kept his face composed, glancing to his side where Cersei was calmly eating her meal, her expression neutral. But her hand was anything but.

Joffrey smirked, his voice low as he leaned in toward her. "What are you doing?" he whispered, though the answer was obvious.

Cersei took a slow, deliberate bite of her sausage, her lips wrapping around it in a way that made Joffrey's cock stir beneath the table. "I'm eating," she replied smoothly, her eyes flicking to him with a wicked glint before looking back at her plate. Her hand, however, didn't stop moving, rubbing up and down his thigh, each stroke getting closer to the growing bulge in his pants.

Joffrey shifted slightly in his seat, his breath catching as her hand brushed against him. He chuckled under his breath, leaning in closer, his lips barely grazing her ear. "I'll find a way to give you what you need later."

Cersei's fingers squeezed lightly, her nails teasing against his skin through the fabric of his pants. "I'll be waiting," she murmured, taking another slow bite of her food, her eyes half-lidded as she did so. Joffrey could feel the heat building between them, the tension coiling tight as her hand stayed resting on his thigh, promising more later.

He grinned, pushing the thought aside as he turned his attention back to the feast. His eyes found Sansa and Myrcella sitting together a few seats down, both laughing softly as they ate. Something about the way they leaned toward each other, the way their gazes lingered on one another, made Joffrey pause. His stomach twisted slightly, the brief flicker of jealousy rising before he squashed it down.

*They're just being friendly,* he reminded himself. Sansa deserved a friend, and Myrcella… well, she had her own reasons for getting close to Sansa. But still, the way they looked at each other made him uneasy. He shook his head, refusing to let those thoughts creep in. Those were the old Joffrey's feelings, possessive and cruel. He was better than that now.

Instead, he focused on Robert, who was now laughing uproariously at something Lord Tully had said. Joffrey saw his chance and spoke up, his voice loud enough to carry over the din of the feast. "Father, I'd like to borrow Ser Barristan later."

Robert, half-heartedly listening, waved a hand in Joffrey's direction. "Aye, fine. Whatever you want, boy," he said, his attention already drifting back to Lord Tully as they continued their conversation.

Satisfied, Joffrey finished his meal and excused himself from the table. He had plans for the rest of the day, and they started in the training yard.

---

The clang of steel filled the air as Joffrey walked toward the training grounds, his mind already set on the task ahead. Ser Barristan was waiting for him, his calm, composed demeanor a stark contrast to the younger knights practicing their swordplay nearby.

Joffrey approached with a grin, giving a slight nod of acknowledgment. "Ser Barristan," he greeted, "I need your help."

The old knight raised an eyebrow, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "What could the prince need from an old man like me?"

Joffrey rolled his eyes, but the banter was light. "I want to learn how to joust. Properly. I want to be good."

Barristan's smile widened, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Didn't I teach you to joust when you were twelve? I seem to remember you doing just fine back then."

Joffrey smirked, shaking his head. "I want to learn how to joust *well*. It's one thing to know the basics, another to truly master it."

The old knight chuckled softly, nodding in agreement. "Ah, so you've come to me to learn the art, not just the sport. Very well, but don't expect me to go easy on you."

Joffrey's grin widened. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

They spent the next hour preparing, Joffrey calling on one of the squires to help them don their armor. The banter continued between them, each throwing barbs, though Barristan's replies were always graceful, never losing that edge of respect despite the teasing. Joffrey enjoyed it—this was different from the stiff courtly conversations he had to endure. This was real, honest.

Once they were suited up, they mounted their horses and rode out to the field. Joffrey felt the weight of the armor, the shift in balance, and focused on everything Barristan had been teaching him. Jousting wasn't just about brute force. It was about precision, timing, and knowing exactly when to strike.

They charged at each other, the sound of hooves pounding against the ground, and Joffrey braced himself, his lance aimed true. The impact was jarring, but he stayed steady in the saddle, his lance striking Barristan's shield with a satisfying thud.

They went again and again, each pass teaching Joffrey something new, something he hadn't considered before. By the end of it, he was drenched in sweat, his muscles aching, but a sense of accomplishment filled him. Jousting might not be the most practical skill in war, but it was a spectacle. It showed the realm who was truly a knight, who was worthy of admiration. Public opinion mattered, and if Joffrey wanted to secure his rule, he needed the people on his side.

"Not bad," Barristan said as they dismounted, his voice carrying a hint of pride. "You've come a long way since you were twelve."

Joffrey grinned, wiping the sweat from his brow. "All thanks to you, Ser Barristan."

The old knight chuckled, clapping Joffrey on the shoulder before heading off. Joffrey watched him go, a sense of

 satisfaction settling over him. He had more work to do, but this was a good step.

---

Joffrey moved through the dimly lit corridors of the castle with a purpose, his body still humming from the exertion of the day. The training, the jousting with Ser Barristan—it had all been a performance, something to remind those around him of his presence, of his strength. But now, as he reached Cersei's chambers, his thoughts were on something else entirely. His mother had a way of grounding him, pulling him back to what truly mattered, and tonight, he intended to return the favor.

The heavy wooden door creaked open as he slipped inside, shutting it behind him quietly and sliding the bolt into place. The room was warm, a few candles flickering softly on the bedside table, casting long shadows over the stone walls. Cersei lay sprawled under a blanket on her bed, her blonde hair a golden halo against the pillow. She was still, the rise and fall of her chest the only indication that she was asleep.

Joffrey smirked to himself, his eyes lingering on the curve of her body beneath the blanket. He quickly shed his clothes, letting them drop carelessly to the floor as he moved toward the bed. The cool air against his bare skin only heightened his anticipation. He slid under the covers slowly, careful not to wake her just yet, and immediately felt the warmth of her body against his. His fingers brushed over her soft skin as he settled in behind her, his chest pressed against her back.

Joffrey's hand started slow, tracing a path along her side, feeling the smoothness of her skin, the gentle curve of her waist. He knew she was naked beneath the blanket—he could feel the heat radiating from her bare skin. His fingers grazed her breast, teasing lightly, as his lips pressed against the back of her neck. He let his hand drift lower, sliding over the flat plane of her stomach, but before he could get much further, Cersei stirred, her body tensing under his touch.

Without turning to look at him, she reached back, her hand finding his hard cock and gripping it tightly, making Joffrey hiss in surprise. Cersei's fingers wrapped around him firmly, stroking him once before she pulled him toward her, lining him up against her entrance. Her voice was low, husky, laced with sleep and impatience.

"Where have you been?" she muttered, her tone more demanding than curious.

Joffrey grunted as he pressed into her, feeling the wet heat of her body envelop him in one smooth motion. He buried himself to the hilt, his breath catching in his throat at the tightness. "I was jousting," he managed to say, his hips pressing harder against her as he began to move inside her, the slow, deliberate thrusts making both of them groan softly.

Cersei sneered, her voice dripping with sarcasm even as her body responded to him, her hips moving in sync with his. "No wonder you stink." She shifted beneath him, pushing her ass back against his hips, forcing him deeper. The movement sent a shockwave of pleasure through him, and Joffrey grunted, his hands moving to her breasts, squeezing them roughly as he fucked her from behind.

He leaned forward, his mouth finding her shoulder, licking a trail of sweat that had gathered there. The salty taste of her skin only spurred him on, his tongue dragging down to the curve of her armpit. He licked her there, slowly, deliberately, earning a surprised laugh from her as the sensation tickled her, making her squirm.

"Bastard," she muttered breathlessly, but her hips bucked back harder against him, her body betraying her words. Joffrey laughed darkly, his teeth grazing her skin as he licked her again, enjoying the way she reacted, the way her body clenched around him with each teasing touch.

Joffrey's hands roamed freely now, one still gripping her breast, the other sliding down between her legs to find the slickness waiting there. He rubbed her clit with rough, circular motions, feeling her breath hitch, her body shuddering in response. She was wet, soaking wet, and each thrust into her sent waves of pleasure through both of them, the sound of their bodies slapping together filling the room.

"Harder," she growled, her voice thick with lust, her nails digging into the sheets as she pushed back against him. "Don't hold back."

Joffrey didn't need to be told twice. He grabbed her hips, pulling her back roughly as he pounded into her, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. He could feel the sweat dripping down his chest, mixing with hers as he fucked her harder, faster, the blanket tangling around their legs as they moved together, the rhythm growing more frantic.

Cersei moaned loudly, her body arching against him, her back curving as she pressed herself harder into him, urging him deeper. "Gods, Joffrey," she breathed, her voice trembling as he hit that perfect spot inside her, making her gasp with every thrust.

Joffrey's lips found her neck again, his teeth grazing her skin as he growled against her ear, his voice rough and filled with desire. "You're mine," he muttered, his words possessive, primal. He bit down on her shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark, and Cersei cried out, the mix of pain and pleasure driving her wild.

She twisted her head to look at him, her eyes blazing with that same hunger, that same dark, twisted need. "Yours," she whispered back, her breath coming in sharp gasps as her fingers reached back to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. "But you're mine too, Joffrey. Always."

Her words sent a jolt through him, and Joffrey grunted, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more forceful. His hand slipped between her legs again, rubbing her clit harder, faster, until Cersei's body tensed, her muscles clenching around him as she came, her moans muffled by the pillow as she writhed beneath him.

Joffrey wasn't far behind. The feel of her body tightening around him, the sound of her pleasure, pushed him over the edge. He groaned, his hips jerking as he spilled himself inside her, his release hot and overwhelming. He stayed buried deep inside her for a moment, riding the waves of his orgasm, his breath ragged in her ear.

When it was over, they both collapsed onto the bed, their bodies still tangled together, the sweat cooling on their skin. Cersei was the first to speak, her voice low and satisfied. "You should come to my chambers more often if this is how you intend to make up for it."

Joffrey chuckled, his fingers trailing lazily over her skin as he caught his breath. "You're insatiable."

Cersei rolled onto her back, her golden hair splayed out around her on the pillow, her chest still heaving slightly from their exertion. "I've had to deal with your father for years. I deserve better than that oaf."

Joffrey shifted, propping himself up on his elbow as he looked down at her. "And you think I'm better?" he asked, his voice teasing, though there was a sharp edge to his question.

Cersei's eyes gleamed as she looked at him, her lips curving into a slow, dangerous smile. "You're a Baratheon and a Lannister. The blood of kings and lions. You'll always be better, Joffrey."

Joffrey leaned down, pressing his lips to hers, kissing her deeply, possessively. When he pulled away, he whispered against her mouth, "I want you pregnant."

Cersei arched an eyebrow, her fingers trailing down his chest. "I've taken moon tea," she reminded him, her tone matter-of-fact. "I won't be carrying anyone's child."

Joffrey frowned slightly, his hand resting on her stomach as he spoke. "I don't care. I want you to carry my son."

Cersei sighed, her fingers gently brushing his hair back from his forehead. "The realm will care, Joffrey. They'll question it. And you're not king yet."

Joffrey smirked, his eyes darkening with determination. "Once I'm king, no one will question anything. You'll get pregnant then. And they'll believe it's Robert's."

Cersei's smile widened, her eyes glittering with pride. "You really are a dangerous man, Joffrey."

He grinned, kissing her again before pulling back to lie beside her, the weight of their shared plans, their shared future, settling over them like a blanket. It was twisted, dark, but it was theirs. They both knew how the game was played, and they would play it together—until the end.

After a while, Cersei's breathing slowed, and Joffrey could feel her slipping into sleep. He stayed there for a few more minutes, watching her, his mind racing with thoughts of the future. He knew what he wanted, and he knew how to get it.

Eventually, he slipped out of bed, moving quietly as he dressed. His muscles ached pleasantly from the day's exertion, the weight of his body reminding him of how far he'd come. He'd jousted, he'd trained, and now he'd had his fill of Cersei. Everything was falling into place, and soon enough, the realm would be his.

Before leaving the room, he glanced back at Cersei one last time, her figure half-hidden beneath the blankets. She looked peaceful, but Joffrey knew better.

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