Bottomond Week

He didn’t think any Targaryen was, because simply they were made by Gods to be different. Made to rule, to bond with dragons and control them. He knew that, and he always tried to make the most of that privilege the Gods gave to him. 

So when his mother required him to marry, he did so without fuss. A lady of a great house, and he did it dutifully. She was a graceful lady, elegant yet with a strong personality. He had seen her scold men at court as if they were mere kids who needed a spanking from their wet nurse. 

And Gods forgive him, but he liked that. It spurs something in him that he didn't acknowledge completely. 

“You’re skinnier” You notice, as you both lay in bed together. He wore only his short breeches, mid-thigh as he was hot from the warm bath he had taken. 

“I’m not”

“Yes, you are” You insist. “I know my husband’s body”

He cannot argue with that, as he looks away a bit caught. He didn’t understand how could you notice something so small like that. 

“Here, you are skinnier” you say, pressing your hands in his waist, your hands a bit more cold against his skin, and he blushes slightly, feeling how you grab his waist. 

“Stop it”

“What?”

He feels your hands, caressing softly the sides of his waist, as if he was some kind of maiden. He had seen it in court, when a knight did so with the lady he was courting. It was borderline lewd, to do so in public and at court. But here, he was in his marital chambers, alone with his wife. 

“You’re tickling me” he murmurs between his teeth. 

“I’m holding you”

It is foreign, the feeling of being held. He doesn’t even remember being held as a kid, less more as an infant. Why would he want to be held as an adult?

“Here you are skinny” You murmur, kissing his cheek as your lips remain close to his face. “Your stomach is flat, doesn’t even look like you’re a prince who can have any food he wants to stuff his belly full. Of dornish wine, or the finest meat” You say, moving your hands to his abdomen. 

“I train with the sword. I ran around the yard of the Keep. I am not letting myself go as did Aegon. I doubt he could lift a sword.” 

“You talk too much” 

He raises one eyebrow as you manage to fit him in your arms, pressing soft kisses on the side of his face. Aemond couldn't understand you sometimes. It was utterly confusing. 

“What about it? Am I lying, you imply?”

“No, but it’s always a complaint. Your mother this, Rhaenyra that, your father this… That Jaehaerys pulled your hair, that Vhagar took a small flight, that Aegon is a whiny cry baby…” You say absentmindedly as you caress his stomach.

“He is” he insists, a bit grumpy now. He doesn't like being called out so accurately.

“So are you” You retaliate to his words, almost pinching his skin to reprimand him as well. 

He grumbles something about being unfair, the least he needs now is to be scolded by you. He wanted to relax, to calm himself with a bath and then be comfortable and lazy for once. 

“What, are you mad?”

Silence.

“Aemond. Are you mad?” The more quiet he is, the more amused you are “Is my love upset?” You say in that tone that it is condescending enough to make him turn around and frown at you, his cheeks red as his embarrassment kicks in. 

“Stop it”

“What?” You ask again, moving your hands to his breeches now. Your tone is the same as the one when you first held his waist. “Let me take care of you… hm?”

He hates his traitorous cock because it eagerly reacts to your touch, as if he was a puppy in need of affection or else he will perish. Even if he remains grumpy, he doesn’t move away from your touch and he doesn't plan to. 

He pulls his breeches down to his thighs as you accommodate to sit, rather than lying in bed. Aemond knows that you’ve taken interest in this. 

“You’re sweet like this” You say, your hand moving to grab his (embarrassingly quick) hardening cock. He grits his teeth as he sighs, enjoying the feeling of being touched. 

He hates to admit it, he is too prideful for that. But he likes when you take initiative, as you toy with him however you want and see fit for the day. When you boss him around, telling him how to behave. 

“Shut up” He murmurs. 

You smile, as his cock feels heavy already, hard, leaking and larger. You’d always admit he has a nice cock, and he was very careful with his appearance, too vain not to trim his pubic hair. It makes you smirk a bit. 

“What?” 

“You’re a brat”

“I’m not”

You don’t fight with him like Aegon does, as they would soon be in a childish fight of ‘yes’ and ‘no’. It frustrates him, because he remains upset and you, as always, so calm. He looks at you, trying to sit up. 

“Gods, can’t you be still?” 

He remains frowning, leaning on his elbows to see exactly how you start caressing his cock. Aemond tries not to whimper as his shoulders seem to shake, and he bites the inside of his mouth as he decides to watch. 

Your hand is slow enough to tease him, you always did everything so slow. From the base, slowly caressing its way to the top, and as soon as it catched his tip, it was already back down. Slow, but not enough to make him enjoy the feeling completely. 

Aemond wasn’t patient, and you knew it too. As you caress his cock, he lets out a little whimper, softly as you start caressing the sensitive head, already red and leaking under your soft touch. He was a slave to your touch, no matter how it came. 

“Did you say anything?” 

“No” he mutters, trying to feign his facade of stubbornness and disinterest. 

“Mhm, Okay…” You say with a smirk, as your other hand comes to cup his balls. 

You were killing him. 

He didn’t know why he had to be so sensitive, as if the mere touch of his balls was enough to get him whimpering and shuddering. He bites his lower lip as he turns to face the ceiling, enjoying how delicious it was to have your hand stroking him and fondling his balls softly. 

He can feel the heat on his groin, all he feels is how the pleasure inside him starts to boil. Turning down to see his cock, he was leaking, coating your hand as the drag of your hand was delicious, and made him raise his hips to follow your motion. 

“Ah, ah…. Fuck” He hisses under his breath, not helping the whimper following. He tries to ignore it, even if he sees how you smirk widens. 

Your hand on his balls was as excruciating, because both hands worked independently to have him a moaning mess like this, and it worked. He was sensitive with his balls, and the small tug would…

“Ah!” 

When you look up to see him, he moves his gaze away, embarrassed. 

“You sound so pretty, love”

“Shush” he says. “Keep going” he says, referring to his balls. He can feel your knees brushing against his right thigh, as you were sitting comfortably, as if you were not torturing him. 

“Pff, those manners? I ain’t doing nothing but a favour to you”

“That’s completely rid-” 

Aemond gets cut mid sentence when he feels your hand lower than his balls. His head immediately turns to see you, his cheeks red. 

“Wha-”

“I’m teasing” you say simply, as he feels your fingers brushing against his rim. 

“Keep your focus here” He practically demands, moving his legs softly. 

“You start to sound like Aegon, you know”

“I don’t” he says, the redness of his face not going away. He tries, again, to sit straighter, extending his elbows to make his presence known. “You’re baffling, and you are… you make me…” 

“Keep being this insufferable and I might bend you on my knee and force it out of you”

He frozens, mid sentence and looks at you with an expression almost as a deer caught in a hunt. You see his thoughts forming behind his eye, as if he tried to understand. 

You only seem amused at how red he is at a mere jest. The tip of his ears were red, from embarrassment, no doubt. His paleness only made it more obvious, plus his platinum hair. 

You’d never done so before. Sure, you sometimes would tease him around, even get him to allow you such delights rarely. Touching anything related to his rear, for example. 

“You’re being…” he starts, almost insulted.

“I don’t wanna hear it”

“You’ll have to”

You roll your eyes exasperated. “You’re making this impossibly difficult”

“Is you the one that…”

The soft slap in his face shuts him up. It was not harsh, at all. It barely even had a sound, no sting at all, it was mostly to move his face and stop him on his tracks. 

He could feel his cock heavy and practically hurting, demanding attention. He would have gotten his orgasm if he knew how to shut up about his secrets when you had your hand on his cock. 

“Stop whining” you repeat. “I am going to stroke your cock however I want, and I’ll do whatever I want until you cum. Understand?”

He feels a bit self conscious, and most small in comparison. A bit ashamed even, but it only creeped like a bit of horniness too.

“Yes.” He murmurs.

“Yes what”

“Yes ma’am” 

He feels like a dog saying it, but feeling your hand back at his cock is worth it.  He wonders why he is so needy, to the point where a single command of yours, or your hand on him could make him a fool, following your every word. As if he was Mushroom, made to entertain your whims.  

Aemond sits up better, leaning on his hands, as your right hand moves to separate his thighs to have better space between his legs. He feels like a maiden, which makes him feel embarrassed but… he doesn’t care now. He lets out a simple sigh as rests his head on your shoulder.

“Y-yes, fuck” he stamers, his nose nuzzling the naked skin of your neck, his breath warm and starting to become quicker by each drag of your hand. 

He sees your hand, moving up and down with such grace and elegance, as if it wasn’t the lewdest of acts. It made his head spin, his eyelids fluttering at the feeling of your hand rubbing his tip in circular motions. He bites his lip, feeling his cheeks pink and his balls heavy with lust. 

“How does that feel,honey?” 

He tries to answer, but he doesn’t trust himself enough now. He opens his mouth, only for a moan to come out. Aemond was so turned on, feeling his cock burning with desire as you caress it. 

“Feels good?”

“Yeah…” He says softly, his hips moving softly to follow your lead. He breathes out, trying to keep calm.

You keep going, moving your hand as he moves his hips to his own rhythm. He was getting needy, you knew, and he was insufferable when needy. 

He presses somewhat reverent kisses on your neck, whimpering and trying to hold himself as he attempts to do everything he wants at once. He’s an overachiever like that. 

“Wanna use my thigh to cum? Hm? Would that be better?” you ask sweetly, and he hates how he immediately nods. 

“Yes, please” He even begs for it, but at the moment he doesn’t think about it much. 

He has to change the position, holding himself better for when he rubs his dick into your thigh. It was crumbs of what he truly needed, but he was thirsty for anything. And most because he knows he’s making a show out of it for you; if he was turned on, so were you. 

He practically ruts himself against your thigh just as he gets the green light, his hand gripping the bedsheet to hold himself as he moves his lips. 

His mouth falls open, he can smell the scent you used for your bath earlier, and everything he can feel around him is you; overwhelming him, guiding him, pleasing him, loving him. It’s all he needed, deep in his soul. 

You can feel his tip smearing precum against your thigh, and you watch how hard he was as his cock rutted against your skin. He moans, he trembles, and it’s all an indicator of his pleasure and how close he was to his peak.

“Good boy” you murmur, to which he whimpers. “You wanna mark my thigh, darling?”

He nods, his expression almost a needy pout, begging for you to say yes. 

“Wanna cum on my thigh?”

He nods once again, and he politely says “Yes, please. Please” He adds the last one out of pure desperation to cum, his balls feel heavy and his spine practically shivers at the impending orgasm that he has been trying to delay. 

You drive him to the edge, which you know he enjoys. At least afterwards, because you know that when he’s not allowed to cum, it is pure and animalistic desperation.

“Very well then, you can cum” you say, your hand moving to his face, cupping his cheek so his eye can see yours, assuring him as always “It’s okay, I got you” you say to him, as he whines, yet you know he’s about to cum. “Go on, cream on my thigh”

Aemond doesn’t need to hear it twice, practically squealing as his orgasm hits him before he can truly process it. He knows he’s making a mess on your thigh, his cock pumping his cum out as if he was milking your pussy. It doesn’t feel the same, of course, but the mere thought has him letting out a groan as he tries to get it out of his system. 

He takes his sweet time, making almost sure his balls are empty before laying by your side, without more energy for anything more. Not for now, at least. He snuggles closer; needing that warm embrace and forehead kisses that, as predicted, you give to him. 

“Hm. I’ll need to have another bath, it seems” 

He doesn’t answer, just humming as his face was pressed against your clothed breast. He sighs dreamily, relaxing as he feels his cock softening. 

“Look at that mess, darling” you say, teasing him. He opens his eye, and sees what you mean,, his cum on your thigh and surely it is a mess. 

“Hmmm… you let me do it” he protests weakly, hiding his face on your chest.

“I did, didn’t I?” you ask softly amused. “You did good, my love. Why don’t we sleep now? Would you like that?”

He hums, nodding, but not really moving. He was practically boneless by now, and he can only say “Yes”, and knowing you will, once again, indulge him. 

  “Which one do you think would suit me better?” She asked, holding two sets of earrings close to her ears. The blue one, matching her gown, and the white ones looked like small snowflakes cascading down almost to her shoulders, a fine match with the season. “Is it too much, these white ones?” She reiterated, turning to the gilded mirror on the wall to see herself with a piece of each set in her ears.

  Aemond sat in the corner of their chambers by the fire, almost fully undressed, a chess set abandoned beside him, he had lost with her, again. The prince stroked his chin, gazing at her and quite uninterested in her question. “I believe both are suitable," He turned his head towards the bed where his own clothes were lying for him to dress, feeling depleted of will and energy to finish such a task in his hands.

  His wife was not satisfied with his answer. She turned slightly, facing away from the mirror, looking directly into him, demanding the attention of her dear husband that she so rightfully deserved. Without any more words from her, he added, “but the blue ones are better on you…I do prefer sapphires."

  “You know how much I hate indifference as an answer, husband, glad you could be helpful, thank you.” She finished placing the jewels in her ears and walked close to Aemond, cupping his face in her hands. She looked at his chest and wrists, still red from the marks she left him with. “Oh dear, I was rough this morning, it’s still a bit red, sweetheart, you have such delicate skin, such a precious lil prince.” Her fingers traced the small marks with a playful expression.

  “Hmm, indeed…But I do love it when you mark me like this. You always know my limits so well, you do take such good care of me after…”

  “Sweetheart…don’t talk like that to me, you’ll make me undress again, and we are already scandalously late.” She kissed him and picked up his clothes from the bed so he could get ready as well. Dowager Queen Alicent was in the mood for having more dinners as a family, with her sons and daughter and her grandchildren, the refined dinners were more of a constant of late and it was expected of them to take part.

The small event was no different from the others. Except for one thing. The one eyed prince gazed with his single eye far away from the small crowd, as if he was not really there. He did not seem into eating or drinking, much less talking, and for once his wife thought he was even quite dizzy.

 When the dinner was over and the couple came back to the chambers, the wife stood looking into her husband as he undressed to his night clothes. She stepped closer to him, placing a palm on his temple. “You don’t look like your usual self ”, his cheeks unusually pinkish. “You seem quite feverish, do you feel ill?” Her expression turned to genuine concern as she sat beside him on the bed with his face between her palms.

  “Nonsense…it’s just the fire, it felt like Vahgar’s fire down there, with how hot it was burning, and it was tremendously boring too” he dismissed her concern, bringing her hands into his chest.

  “And yet you did not take off your coat, my husband..”

 “My wife worries too much. I am well, but if I feel…unwell, I surely will inform you, my lady,” he assured her, pressing her hands to his chest. She took the opportunity to look at his own arms and confirm the marks she left him with were now almost all gone, phantom lines of their last lustful session. 

  The winter night came with small flakes melting by the window, and the young couple embraced each other in bed, her head resting on his chest, listening to the sound of his heart, which seemed more anxious than usual. Rest did not came for Prince Aemond, and with that, rest did not come for the lady as well. The prince turned and turned, more furs, fewer furs, nothing seemed quite well. Then, coughing, the unease breathing settled in. She turned him over to his right side and cuddled him in a little spoon, planting soft kisses in his hair and scratching his back and chest softly with her nails under the heavy blanket. For a while, the prince did sleep, but by morning break, he could not deny he was feeling very unwell. 

  “My sweet angel…” she said softly to him, “you ARE sick, very sick, I must say.” Without him saying a thing she sends the maid to fetch the Maester.

  “I do not possess the courage to deny that statement, wife.” Even his voice sounded weaker and strained. The prince’s skin, now clammy and feverish, looked like wet marble with the red veins in his eye shining a bit too much from the fever. And as much as he tried to conceal it, the coughing and the shortness of breath were just impossible to hide. “By the Gods..I feel disgusting, this sickness on my skin and lungs, I can’t breathe well, and I just feel…needy.” he added with an embarrassed expression.

“Worry not, I’ll make sure all your needs are met” After sending for the Maester and demanding fresh water and linen to be delivered, she also commanded the servants to bring simple foods for the prince. He tried to avoid it, hunger was not really in his mind right now, but his wife was adamant that he needed to eat and drink something nevertheless. She propped Aemond carefully in bed, placing some feather pillows for him to rest his back and ease his breathing. She did it so delicately and so tenderly as if he were made of fine glass.

  “You’re not so gentle when you tie me up in this bed to ravish me,” he tried to lift the mood with the comment, giving her a slight smirk. 

  “I am not, dear husband, you’re also not sick like this when I do that.” She lifted the blanket from his chest and cleaned it with a cloth, doing the same with his arms and shoulders, giving him a new and clean night chemise to put on. Then she took care of his face, cleaning and refreshing every inch of it. She knew how much her husband despised feeling unclean, especially in bed, covered in his own sweat. “The maester will be here soon, I hope, I'm sure he will give us something to ease your pain, my love.”

 “You must not worry this much, wife…” Aemond held her hand on his own. “Just a simple cold most likely, it’s not a cause for such commotion, there was no need to send for him"

  “Even if it is, in the deep winter, you know colds can turn into difficult situations, and illness…” She immediately recalled Lady Ary, her late friend, who had died months prior from a prolonged respiratory illness. “...is a serious matter, husband. Your health is of the utmost importance to me.” So she could not have a bone, a hair in her body that was not worried about it, better safe than sorry, she thought. 

  The Maester arrived shortly after being called. He started the examination by observing the prince, asking some simple questions about his symptoms, and asking his wife as well. Then he took his wrist, felt his pulse, and looked into his healthy eye. “Could you please remove the chemise, my prince?” The young prince obeyed him reluctantly. When he needed to close his ear to the prince’s chest, to listen to the breathing and heart, his skin crawled in protest. He did not say a word, but his expression did, it felt odd to him to have someone who was not his wife so close to himself.

  After the careful examination, Maester Orwyle gave his verdict, “It seems Prince Aemond is indeed afflicted by illness affecting proper breathing, and he does have a severe fever.”

  “I think that much I could tell…” Aemond responded, waiting for the Maester to actually tell him a miracle solution to his problem. 

  “My prince” Orwyle, always calm, polite, and wise, took notice of his patient impatience. “You must remain in bed rest until you recover properly. It would be unwise to place stress on your lungs and heart when they are fragile. I’ll prepare an infusion and mixture to help with the cleaning of the body. Some steamed water with these herbs could also help to gently ease your breathing. Heavy coughing is expected during the next few days, your body needs to clean off what is causing the illness…But I believe you’ll feel much better after all that comes out. 

 The lady made sure to give the prince every potion and infusion that the Maesters and the healers delivered to their room. And the prince? Behaved like a child while drinking most of them, but felt a sense of pure happiness every time his wife was so attentive and over cautions with all his treatments and symptoms. She also made sure to have a maid present at the door all the time, should an emergency occur. As the Maester said, the coughing was constant, and nothing seemed to ease the prince’s affliction. In one particular bad fit, his wife braced him in her arms until he threw up what he had taken to break the morning fast. The prince looked absolutely defeated, embarrassed, mortified, and so small he could not say a word. With all the ease and grace his wife took care of the situation, cleaning it all and setting him in place once more, cleaning him the best she could. “My love, don’t worry about anything, drink some more water with the infusion, I’ll send the maid again to fetch the Maester to prepare some more sourleaf and willow bark”

 “I’m sorry, love…and thank you for your patience and care,” his healthy eye looked into her like a poor baby animal, desperately thankful for her presence and touch. She did not sleep much during the night, vigilant to her husband’s every detail. The prince did manage to sleep for a while after the Maester induced him with a small sedative. 

  When the morning defrosted the windows, and the first sun ray hit the prince, his wife was already preparing a warm tub of water with herbs. He had sweated profusely during the night, but his fever did break, and the Maester thought it wise to allow a bath not just to clean off the illness but also to lift the spirits of the prince.

  She started unlacing his night chemise after kissing him good morning. His pride was struggling with the situation, but it was not the first time they shared such moments after 3 years of marriage. It still felt alien to him sometimes, to have that feminine presence at all times by hi side.

 The lady told her maid to bring new and soft cotton and furs too to cover him when he got out of the water. With one of them, she started cleaning his shoulders and chest, the soft scent of eucalyptus and bergamot filling the atmosphere, and the warmth and softness of the mist of the water was helping the prince to breathe more easily. However, to be like that, feeling so powerless and naked, made his pride bruised. He craved to be touched like that, yearning for it with his heart and soul, but his instincts dictated otherwise.

  “I’m…I’m not a child.” He added, not unkindly, not rude, just simply stating the fact, struggling with the feeling of desperately wanting her care and feeling ridiculous in needing it. “I can clean myself…” His hand was moving her own into the water again. 

“I know you do, husband, but wouldn’t it feel better to let me take care of you right now? My dear husband, I ask you, do only children deserve care? ”

“I suppose not…It does feel great in a way, but also… I don't know how to say it, but you understand what I mean, wife.”

“I can just stop if you wish me so. But intimacy comes way deeper than just sex. This is intimacy, too, isn't it? I am your wife, illness is part of life and a part where it’s expected to feel vulnerable and depleted” His hands became softer on her, inviting her to continue her ministrations on his body. “ Besides…you know I love spoiling you rotten,” she brings his wet hand to her lips, showering him in kisses and devotion. 

  “You have such kind words…and hands. I cannot resist your ways.”

  “I don't want you to resist,” the warm water soothing the prince's aching body and his breathing, he felt comfortable even in illness, he felt his heart full with the love he received from her. 

Later, at night, Aemond was laying in the feather pillows covered in brown furs, his cheeks slightly pink but less clammy, his eye less feverish. His wife was sitting beside him with a tray of food for him.

“Thank you, for taking care of me,” he said after finishing his dinner and disposing of the tray.

“No need, I’m sure you’d take care of me too with the same diligence.” 

“You can be sure of that, but fortunately by God’s will I won’t need to, I do not wish you ill.”