♡Ichika♡

"I haven't heard of dragons eating lions yet." Erwin's lips quirked up into a grin, showing off his pearly white smile that always made impressionable young ladies swoon. 

Once the carriage came to a stop, Erwin's smile disappeared and he straightened up, casting him one last look before the door was opened.

He stepped out first, his bronze hair briefly glittering when the sun managed to peek out from behind a drifting cloud as his eyes swiftly swept over the courtiers and servants around. (Y/N) released a soft sigh and followed him out into the chilly air, the bottom of his feet hitting the gravel beneath and moving around the small grains. 

The Red Keep was equally as boring up close as it was from afar. In its prime, back when Aegon the Conqueror was still around, it may have been a sight for sore eyes; something that truly struck both awe and fear into the hearts of his enemies.

But now, with the tightened hold of the Hightowers, it was bleak.

Perhaps its beauty drained with the King's ailing health, forever entwined with the bloodline that'd built it. Perhaps historians and poets were simply sucking up to their rulers. 

"Thirdborn son of Lady and Lord Lannister, Your Majesty, Your Graces." Erwin's words sounded robotic and slightly practiced, the little armor he wore clinking together when he bent at the waist. Poised, proper, and with a hint of authority, Erwin had always been what every knight dreamed of becoming. "(Y/N) Lannister of Casterly Rock."

His eyes naturally glided downward to the pop of color sticking out against the stone. Her Majesty, Queen Alicent Hightower, stood before the grand doors with her children.

She was pretty, shockingly youthful, and dressed in a color that clashed with the house she'd married into but was every bit of Hightower. Floor-length, off-the-shoulder, and in a nice shade of green that reminded him of forest leaves during the peak of spring. It allowed for her ivory skin and auburn hair to stick out more.

Yet, despite her striking beauty, she was not all he expected. The Hightowers were known for plenty of things, but the woman before him appeared as frail as a withered flower. 

And so the charade began.

Allowing a smile to grace his features, (Y/N) stepped forward and dipped his head in respect before lifting it to look her in the eye. She stared back at him, the exhaustion in her eyes subtle yet he noticed it immediately. She had many duties now with her husband bedridden. How would she fare, he wondered, when he passed.

"Your Majesty, it is an honor to make your acquaintance." He recited the words his mother had ingrained in his head, the memory so clear he could practically see her glowering at him. "I hope my older brother has done House Lannister justice during his time here."

"Ser Tyland has done us a great service as our master of ships." Queen Alicent smiled politely, though the underlying tone in her voice spoke plainly: he was essentially useless without the need for a naval fleet, though most masters of ships were.

He imagined Tyland offered bits and pieces of advice now and again during meetings. He'd always been a little wiser than Jason.

"I pray the trip here from Casterly Rock wasn't weariful. Your apartments have been arranged already if you wish to rest."

"You are most generous, Your Majesty."

It was the bare minimum of a host but good manners and thankful words often went a long way, especially with prideful nobles. However, Queen Alicent hardly seemed keen on compliments, or his presence, for that matter.

"I'm afraid I have pressing matters to attend to but I'm certain the Princes Aegon and Aemond will be pleased to refresh your memory of the castle."

Queen Alicent tilted her head toward the three Targaryens lined up beside her, her smile notably falling when she eyed the eldest of the bunch before it returned just as quickly to bid them farewell. Four pairs of violet eyes tracked her movements, one pair with a little more longing than the other.

The eldest, Prince Aegon, stood a little shorter than his lanky brother and he lacked the rigid posture and poise of a young man of his station; his shoulders were lowered and his knees bent slightly, though, from the lazy smirk on his face, it was all purposeful.

An attempt to irritate his mother, (Y/N) assumed given the swift exchange between them. Prince Aegon was a curious fellow, (Y/N) decided then and there.

His hair was wavy like his mother's but unkept and messy, matching his disheveled clothes that'd turn any parent red with embarrassment. Pale violet eyes watched him, glinting with hunger, but for violence or affection, (Y/N) hadn't deduced yet.

Prince Aegon wanted others to fear him, to feel intimidated by his title, judging by the way his eyes narrowed challengingly. He reminded (Y/N) of the juvenile lions back home, the teenagers torn between proving themselves or running back to their mother's side.

Prince Aemond, on the other hand, was every bit of a royal son. His back remained erect and his shoulders were squared, the height he had over his siblings allowing him to appear as if he were towering over them. His hair was straight and reached past his shoulders, seemingly brushed regularly unlike Prince Aegon's.

His singular eye had unease settling in the pit of (Y/N)'s stomach, piercing and scrutinizing as if searching for a flaw or weakness to pounce upon.

Gossip and news spread like wildfire across Westeros, so when the King's son lost an eye to his own nephew during a scuffle, the news reached Casterly Rock within a few days.

It hardly surprised him Prince Aemond seemed guarded.

Beside Prince Aemond stood Queen Alicent's only daughter and perhaps the most beloved amongst the smallfolk, Princess Helaena. She pointedly stared at the cobbled floor beneath her feet, her lips pressed into a thin line as she shifted her weight from foot to foot with a slight sway.

(Y/N) knew her to be of a gentler, almost odd disposition, but her tender-heartedness won over the smallfolk more than her elder sister ever had. She seemed to be a mix of her two brothers with her hair not quite wavy yet not quite straight and her almost slouching stance.

A light pink had dusted her round cheeks from the cold and her nose crinkled ever so slightly with each breeze.

Princess Helaena seemed too gentle of a girl to bother and (Y/N) had an inkling Prince Aemond's patience ran thin, which only left the would-be heir as (Y/N)'s form of entertainment for the duration of his stay.

His gaze glided over to the prince in question, the corners of his lips threatening to twitch up into a smile. There was nothing more he loved than a lordling (or in this case, a princeling) to toy with. Lannisters were known for playing with their food.

Prince Aegon blinked, his adams apple bobbing with a harsh swallow. "I-"

"Your Grace,"

(Y/N) moved up the steps swiftly, amused at the way Prince Aegon's brows raised and his lips turned downward with a perplexed frown. His hands reached out to smooth his palms over the sleeves of Prince Aegon's coat, his ears picking up the faint sigh from his cousin behind him. Prince Aegon visibly flinched at his touch.

"I recall we once played together as children. I hope we can catch up in due time; you must have many stories to tell of your childhood here. You can tell me of the dragons housed in the Dragonpit, and if it interests you, I can tell you of the lions we keep in Casterly Rock." 

"I look forward to it, Your Grace, but I am dreadfully tired." The facade already began to crack. The prince seemed utterly baffled by his sudden attention. His fingers fidgeted at his sides and his posture straightened with uncertainty. "I hope to see you at supper."

At the very least, the chaos of the Targaryen family kept him from smashing his head into the nearest wall.

With each passing day, it felt as if the Red Keep were trying to suffocate him with boredom. The other courtiers were as predictable as expected, flocking to him with an eagerness to be favored by a Lannister whilst simultaneously hoping to hear anything they could whisper about in the halls.

Gossip wasn't new to him; he loved indulging in it back home, often while sprawled out over a couch with his giggling gaggle of friends. But the Red Keep... he simply despised it.

Perched on a stone railing overlooking the training yard, (Y/N) watched the lordlings and pages train under the supervision of Ser Criston Cole and other on-looking knights who had little to do.

His eyes tracked Prince Aemond's stride, his chin cocked upward and smile challenging, but the only one daring enough to step forward. (Y/N) hadn't cared to figure out whether his confidence was merely a charade to mask the wounds of a child once tormented by his peers or as real as the greed in everyone around them. 

He'd concluded the royal children were like bruises, purple and green with hints of yellow, fresh and tender. If he lingered on one for long enough, pressed and prodded with enough force, their pain would be revealed for his eyes to observe.

Prince Aemond hid himself well enough through cold stares and calculated words, but the days that'd passed had allowed (Y/N) to view the little boy beneath the young man. Whenever he passed the ladies of the court, he'd adjust his eyepatch and turn his gaze away from them to subtly hide his face from sight.

If Prince Aegon bored him, he considered Prince Aemond as his next plaything. 

The only one emboldened enough to step out to face the tall prince had been none other than his older brother, though, by the way he staggered and cackled as if everything were one big joke, it could only be assumed he'd had one too many drinks.

Prince Aegon's blatant disregard for their training had his brother rolling his eyes, his chest rising and falling with a heavy exhale. His antics were common enough for Ser Criston to stare at him with hardly disguised disappointment, his hands resting on his hips like a father ready to scold his troublesome child. 

"If only he were a jester and not a prince." (Y/N) murmured with a quiet sigh.

He could bargain for a jester, offer a trade to Her Majesty and the Hand so there'd be no losing side but princes were like the gold in the mines of the westerlands. They had to be shaped and formed, just as any other person, but they had to feel as if everything they did was of their own accord. 

A sweet Dornish red swirled around in his mouth, his attention locked on the stumbling prince that by all means should've been heir had it not been for his father's stubbornness.

Prince Aegon moved awkwardly in the chest plate and the sword swung clumsily in his hands yet his laughter continued bouncing off the walls. It was childish and carefree, unlike his brother's scowl which deepened by the minute.

Prince Aemond spared Ser Criston a glance and then charged at his brother, his movements akin to a fluid dance as swords clashed. Prince Aegon struggled to keep up, too inebriated to focus clearly, thus leading to his loss. 

Swiftly, Prince Aemond ended the brief spar by slamming the hilt of his sword into his brother's face, legs leading him backward as Prince Aegon fell onto the gravel with a pained cry. Ser Criston sprang into action, shooting the younger prince a disapproving look over his shoulder before he reached out toward Prince Aegon, his words lost to the wind.

The knights closest to them moved to help Prince Aegon onto his feet but once the prince found his footing, he shrugged away their hands and sneered at them. His cheeks, once pink from the many drinks, turned into a deeper shade of red that spread to his ears. Humiliated, though certainly not for the first time. 

(Y/N) swung his legs over the railing and slid off it, kicking up hints of dust when he touched the ground. He savored the last few droplets of his wine and set the cup aside with a satisfied sigh.

His legs carried him into the hallway and down a set of stairs, his mind still unfamiliar with the castle but he'd memorized the places he wished to visit the most. One being Prince Aegon's bedchambers, which he shared with his sister-wife and down the hall from the shared room of their little children.

He lingered by the railings overlooking the inner courtyard until Prince Aegon appeared, his figures disappearing into his bedchambers with a tentative young maester trailing after him. 

"What is it?" Prince Aegon questioned, wincing by the end of his sentence which only fueled his anger. 

The guards positioned outside the door allowed him in without so much as a glance, a monotone voice gruffly calling out his name before the doors rattled shut.

(Y/N) scanned the bedchambers but found nothing of interest apart from shrouds and other fabrics with embroidered insects and the maid cleaning a wine stain off the floor, so he settled his attention onto the silently fuming prince and the maester attempting to work around his pout. 

"I saw what happened, Your Grace." (Y/N) spoke gently, crossing the distance without much of a hurry and eyeing the blossoming bruise spreading across his cheek.

The hit had cracked open the corner of his lip, leaving it raw and speckled with blood the maester attempted to clean. (Y/N) allowed his hand to brush over Prince Aegon's shoulder in a comforting manner, his other hand dismissing the maester with a flick of his wrist.

"I wished to see if you were alright." 

"Obviously I'm not." Aegon spat, bristling like a cub and pouring himself a cup of wine to swallow down with a cringe.

His cut and cheek no doubt ached from his actions, and (Y/N) withheld the urge to snort. Foolish and impulsive, acting on his emotions without thinking twice about the outcomes. A funny little princeling.

(Y/N) settled down on the chair beside the prince and picked up the napkin the maester had been using, folding it over his index finger and dabbing lightly at Prince Aegon's lip. His brows, a darker shade than his snowy locks, furrowed again and his lips twitched, threatening to pull into a frown that'd certainly sting. 

"Bring us some sweets."

(Y/N) angled his head toward the maid, her scrubbing absentminded enough to tell him she'd been hoping to eavesdrop on the conversation between two noblemen. She raised her head at him, a red curl slipping free from her loosely thrown-together bun and tapping lightly against her cheek.

She stared at him for a minute too long, likely irked by a stranger giving her orders, but she stood up regardless with the stained rag in hand.

"Thank you, darling."

She paused, her irritation soothing over and her head dipping bashfully.

"Are all westermen as strange as you?"

"Aegon," He said quietly, uncertainty lacing his words. "Call me Aegon."

"Strange is one word for it, I suppose. Most people use 'kind' or 'empathetic', Your Grace."

(Y/N) leaned back into the cushion of his seat, withdrawing his hand and setting the napkin aside. His violet hues flickered elsewhere with a hint of guilt and annoyance at his words, his fingers releasing the cup to rest over his thighs in fists. 

"Aegon," (Y/N) echoed with a coo, studying the young man before him with hawk eyes.

He searched his body, his facial features, for movements and emotions, for any fidgeting or ticks that'd reveal things his voice refused to.

"It must be hard having the name of an ancestor as great as Aegon the Conquerer. You must feel pressured."

Aegon scoffed, and just like that, he revealed his pain. It'd been clear for (Y/N) to see since the first day he arrived, but the assumption slowly developed over the passing days; Queen Alicent's weariness at the mere mention of him, the heavy exhales from the Hand, the distaste that crossed the features of those who knew him well when he passed them in the halls.

He'd likely been under some pressure as a boy, but he'd fucked up enough times to be properly labeled a disappointment, a bother. He knew it, too. He carried it on his shoulders, masking it by attempting to appear unbothered and lazy. 

(Y/N) made no comment on it. Instead, he offered him a smile and caught the footsteps approaching the door.

"You're a pretty prince, Aegon. Has anyone ever told you that?"

The answer came in the form of two widened eyes staring at him as if he'd grown two heads. It was true, if one squinted past the excessive drinking and snarky words. He had his mother's beauty and the mystique of Targaryens.

The maid shuffled inside with a tray and approached the small round table they sat at, giving them the faintest of smiles as she gingerly set the tray down and began placing plates of sweets on the table. She'd even brought two teacups and a kettle, the faint smell of chamomile tea filling the air when she poured it into the two cups.

Smiling once more, (Y/N) stuck his arm out toward Aegon and held the piece of cake up to his lips. Aegon blinked, eyes flickering wildly between him and his fingers, his brows slowly furrowing. Aegon, too, debated his next movements, his hands unfurling to press his palms into his thighs and adams apple bobbing with a swallow. 

"That'll be all." (Y/N) said, ensuring his fingers grazed against the back of her hand when she set the teacup in front of him. Her freckled cheeks flushed and she gathered the now empty tray into her hands, sneaking glances over her shoulder as she left. "I hope you ate before you indulged."

(Y/N) ignored the small silver fork resting beside a slice of cake and broke off a piece with his pinched fingers, sticky and clinging to his fingertips. He debated his next movements, considering the possible outcomes and reactions before his unquenchable curiosity won. 

He learned with age that his words rang true.

When (Y/N) had been a boy, he inquired one of the lion-keepers about how they went about taming beasts. The wrinkled old man had chuckled at his questions, his hand lowering to affectionately pat the top of his head.

He'd told him, plainly, that certain beasts could never be tamed, beasts like lions or dragons. But, he'd added with a grin, beasts like humans certainly could. At his young age, (Y/N) found his words to be a riddle he couldn't be bothered to decipher, and so he'd forgotten the question in favor of watching the caged felines.

To tame any beast, two-legged or not, you had to have a certain amount of patience and keen eyes. A level of trust had to be built, whether through food, water, shelter, or gentle words, that would ease them into being comfortable around your presence.

You had to push, and really push, against the boundaries of the beast, threatening to cross the unspoken line until they reacted, favorably or not. Beasts were complicated creatures but the same across all species. And so the princeling before him made up his mind about the crossed boundary.

Tentatively, Aegon closed the space and opened his mouth, his eyes flickering with something familiar, a teasing hunger. His lips closed around his finger, that challenging spark returning and mixing feverishly with the hunger.

The tip of his tongue slid along (Y/N)'s finger, collecting crumbs and sticky residue. Honey, he assumed, tugging his finger back with a pop that had the corners of Aegon's mouth lifting. He winced again and unconsciously licked the cut.

"What will your mother say of what happened?" He asked, knowing it'd sour Aegon's mood immediately to bring up the subject of Queen Alicent, but he kept him from shutting down by entertaining him.

The same saliva-coated finger broke off another piece of the sweet treat, this time rising to his own mouth. He mimicked Aegon's previous actions, watched the delight and intrigue that briefly sparked across his face. Predictable but still entertaining. 

A hum rumbled in the back of his throat, a tickle in the back of his head eager to test the young man across from him. "Well, I should leave you to rest." He said, curling his hand around a napkin to dry his finger before he stood up. 

"Nothing," He answered, eyes locked on (Y/N)'s lips and ears twitching with the pop that followed.

Aegon slumped back into the chair and dragged his fingers over the bruise, his brows twitching involuntarily when he pressed on it. His shoulders drooped with a heavy, ticked-off sigh, and he reached for one of the tea cups. He brought it to his lips and then hesitated, inhaling the steam and deciding against drinking it. 

"Wait!" Aegon blurted out, his chair scraping against the stone floor when he shot up from it, the force nearly making him barrel right into (Y/N)'s chest.

Amusement curled around him but he held back the grin to tilt his head at him curiously. Those deprived of attention often sought it out in any way possible, so (Y/N) hardly found himself surprised when Aegon's hand curled around his wrist firmly.

"You- You wished to know about the Dragonpit, right?" His tone reeked of desperation. 

"I-"

"That can wait, Your Grace. You've had a rough evening." (Y/N) spoke soothingly, fingertips brushing along Aegon's jaw.

They crept upward toward his uninjured cheek, digging into his porcelain skin. He wondered how hard Aegon would break if he pressed hard enough, if he formed cracks or let him shatter. He watched the pale skin redden under his touch, a color that faded slowly. 

"It's alright, Aegon." (Y/N) assured him, soaking up the hopelessness in his eyes.

He leaned forward and ghosted his lips along the bridge of his nose before planting a kiss on the skin between his eyebrows. Aegon practically melted beneath his touch.

Such easy prey.

But why should he? You are beneath him.

"Cousin." Jacaerys greets with a nod. The title is formality you don't deserve, considering everything. He fixes you with a frown, eyebrows furrowed just that tiny inch.

Your father's accusation stands starkly. Where you are Valyrian, Jacaerys is not. His hair is brown; yours, silver. It catches the rising sun as well as the moonlight like a halo, like something to admire. His eyes are brown; yours, violet, otherworldly. Perhaps Jacaerys should despise you for this—the common folk tremble at your very presence, while he blends right in—yet here you stand: he, a prince; you, a disgrace.

"Cousin." You return, bowing your head for a moment.

Jacaerys is riding north. You are accompanying him. For all the differences between your families, you have worked well together. A professional relationship, Jacaerys' tutors praise. Only the two of you know there is more to it.

You only needed a couple hours to reach Winterfell, but you had left at an unfortunate time in the evening. The sun had set and you needed to make ground—nevermind the fact the night is lighter above the clouds, something easily reachable by dragons. One day's tardiness could be forgiven... or begged for. Whatever it takes for you to have this moment.

"A forest? You have stooped low today." Jace laughs, daring to mock you even as you walk him backwards into a tree, even as he wraps his arms around your neck like it is natural.

"I have been away at camp, where the ground is mixed into thick mud by a thousand men's boots. It tracks into the tents and never quite leaves." Though the tone in your voice is utterly serious, Jace laughs as you speak the words against his neck and between kisses. You pull back to look him in the eye, and even then he can't stop himself from cracking up. "You have been at Dragonstone, in your castle, treading carpet. You will have to bear with it."

"Oh how unfortunate you are!" Jace grins, then steals a kiss from you.

You part from it quickly, "You're not taking me seriously, Jace."

"Who would?"

You fix him with a glare, eyebrows furrowed and intense... that is, if they weren't silver. They're so light they're hardly even there. It's as if staring at a browless man—simply hilarious.

Jace throws his head back against the bark and laughs, and you take your opportunity to bite at his neck in revenge. It nets you a gasp, but nothing more.

"Ah," He sighs as you pepper more kisses over his neck. The bite is harmless enough—he hopes—and will fade within the hour. If it doesn't... well, the feelings he holds for you would prevent him from truly doing you any wrong. "I have missed you."

You return to his lips and press a kiss to them, sweetly, "As have I."

No possibility you will get caught, you think as you press him down onto the leaf covered forest floor, who would stride towards a dragon?

No, right now, you have the whole world to yourselves. It may even be safer than his own palace, for sounds escape the hallways where servants roam. Here in the forest, who's there to hear Jacaerys cry?

Jace clutches at your wrist—but he doesn't stop it, not when your fingers promise pleasure. For now, they tear at him, stretch him open.

You have not taken him in a long time, he's so "Tight."

"Shut up." Jace mutters, embarrased. It is clear in the flush of his cheeks.

"All the better for me." You snicker, and his cheeks burn an even brighter red.

There is dirt in this place, below his arse, beneath your knees. Dragons are ashy, too. It is filthy, this, pushing dirty fingers into him. His cries, sweet as they are, are filthy as well—but you don't care. All you want, all you care for, is him.

Pain has waned into pleasure and Jace clutches at your shoulder. He grinds down onto your fingers, a silent plea from his body for more, but his voice asks for something else, "I want you."

You want him too. As much as you make him wait as you prep him, you want too.

"I feel honored, Prince." You say, beginning the process of removing your loin guards... and trousers and pants and...

Jace sits up slightly to help you. Any other day, he would've bit back at the title and that little game you play, but today, "As you should, Ser."

You huff out your own laughs. "Did you perhaps sire for an uncle in your childhood, Prince? You are rather good at this."

He's good because he's done it for you several times, but he indulges you. "I did not have a good uncle to sire for, Ser."

"Ah, you are quite right. Then a Kingsguard or Queensguard, perhaps? Or any other honorable knight?" Two hands are faster than one, but you let him take care of the work for you, just so you can watch.

"I've an honorable lover."

"A lover? And an honorable one at that?" You gasp with feigned shock. "Then perhaps we shouldn't be doing this."

"Oh shut up, you." The last bit of the armor comes off, so Jace takes you by the collar of your underarmor tunic and pulls you in for a kiss. It's not the first kiss of the night, but it is the first long one.

For a moment, you get lost in it, his soft lips against yours in a well-practiced harmony, and for a moment, it feels forbidden—not because you are traitor's blood, but because the threat of a war roars on and now it is inevitable. This, right here, feels like you are stealing valuable time.

This, right here, feels like treason. Hours earlier in the North, at Winterfell, means more hours of negotiation.

Jace senses your worries in the stiffness of your lips. He pulls back, and pulls you back too, with his hand upon your cheek. It swipes over your cheekbones, caresses, as his eyes drift up from your lips to meet yours, to search for what ails you. "What's wrong?"

He finds his answer in your look before you even speak, but you confirm it anyway with sorrow, "We should be at Winterfell."

"No," Jacaerys replies immediatly, not like a protesting child, but like the logical man that you find him to be, "can we not have our time now? It has been weeks."

"We are squirreling away valuable time–"

"We have squirreled away plenty of time over the years." He cuts you off, words as sure and steady as stone. "And has it ever cost us something? I have never been late to my mother's summons, you have never been late for your excursions. Squirreling away has never brought us any harm."

You would like to say the guilt you feel dissipates, but it does not. It is quelled, perhaps, but then it is replaced by another guilt of taking away from your lover what he has missed from you.

Pulling him onto your lap and making him laugh with delight is a good remedy, however. "Sorry." You apologize briefly.

And what does Jace have to say to that? "I accept your apology, my knight."

He slides further up your lap until he is over where he wants to be, and then sweetness returns with another kiss that should distract you... if you weren't so in tune with your senses.

You whisper his name as Jace takes your tip inside, and he, in turn, whispers yours like confirmation.

When he has sunk down and taken your whole length inside him, you take a moment to hold each other, to dig your fingers into each other's curls and to bask in each other's warmth.

Your thoughts, which he had squirreled away with his actions, return to you. You question, "My knight?"

"Is it not sweet?" He asks in turn, suddenly nervous. It is funny to think that words are what make him nervous, rather than the act of taking you. He is already rolling his hips, albeit slowly.

"Well, it's quite adorable, just–"

"I wish you were my Kingsguard." Jace admits. You have exchanged 'I love you's before, but this is something else. This is admitting that he wants you with him every single moment of the day because he feels safe when you are protecting him.

"I wish I could be." You return, slowly pushing him onto the grass. It is not mud that you lay him onto, but rather, scattered wildflowers and weeds that look like a crown beneath him. You cannot wait for the day you do see him wearing a real crown.

You push him down so that you may service him yourself. You push him down so that you can move your hips and so that you may draw from him sounds of mindless pleasure.

You can only wish to be his Kingsguard, because you are most trusted out in the battlefield and never trusted, not fully, on Dragonstone or Driftmark. You could not be trusted as Kingsguard because your closely-held enemies whisper that you are simply biding your time until you can take revenge for your stupid father.

You wish you could showcase your love and prove them all wrong—but that is simply impossible.

"Hey." Jace whispers as your face nears.

"Hey." You mirror, before capturing his lips.

He is not being pleasured so well that he screams, at least, not yet. That is why you kiss him now before things get out of control.

And they do, sooner or later. Your impatience from not having him for weeks takes the better of you and your grip on his hips tightens. A gasp is the first sound you get from him that is now swallowed by your own mouth. It escapes his lips, into the air, as his head tilts back.

You let it fall back, then, to lean back yourself. Though he may whine that you are too far to kiss then, he will not whine that being further back allows you to fuck him better.

Whines continue to leave his mouth anyhow, but only because you make his nerves light on fire.

And despite the onslaught that barely allows him to keep his mind, Jacaerys wraps his legs around your waist to pull you closer—so your thrusts will force him to take all of you—because he wants, even misses, your cock.

He does not say it, but his moans imply it: this is the most fun he's had in weeks.

Your hard thrusts make his body scoot a couple milimeters across the ground each time. They smudge dirt onto his leathers and also make it harder for his hands to move. They do, anyway; one tears blades of grass from the earth, as though they might help him stay in place, whilst the other lands on yours upon your hip.

You find the love between all the lust to turn your hand and intertwine your fingers together, it makes his breath catch.

How silly, to think that he has all the pleasure he could want and more from the way you fuck into him, and yet he still wants to gently hold your hand.

Love is strange.

Love is strange, because instinct begs you chase your high and release inside of him, but love makes you fall, makes your thrusts go slow again, makes you lean down and kiss once more.

Initially, you had made to rest for the night in this forest because you wanted to fuck him desperately. Now, you take your sweet time.

Release will come eventually, that is assured, with the utter tightness of his walls around you. So you will take all the time you want to kiss him.

"You're still so sappy." Jace breaks the kiss to say.

You've no excuse to say back. You initiated hte kiss, you chose to hold his hand... "Is that a complaint?"

"Of course it isn't, you oaf." He grins. In fact, he leans up for another.

All the lights in the office are off. Some eco-bullshit rules the MT came up with to save energy. The only thing that illuminates the place is the mixture of white and red city lights coming in through the windows. Ground to ceiling, the windows don’t open at the top floor, but they give a spectacular view over Kings Landing. From behind the desk, his father has a splendid view over the city, their ancestors worked hard for it after all.

Not a view Aegon currently can enjoy. His mouth is opened, and his tongue is being held between her fingers. It is drying up and when he tries to pull his tongue back, her nails dig into it. He tries to close his mouth, but she refuses to let him go. Instead, she grabs his jaw, pulling his mouth further open.

“You tell so many lies with this pretty tongue of yours—so much wasted energy. There are better things you can waste your energy and tongue on, oh Aegon. Didn’t I teach you that the last time?”

Aegon can only nod and it makes her finally let go. Her fingers are wet with his spit, which she swipes clean on his pants. Her hand stays there, her long nails dark and moving to the inside of his thighs.

“You’re a slow learner, I think you need to redo that particular class.” She sounds more annoyed than angry. He can feel his skin colour red, as he shamefully nods a bit too willingly. It is pathetic how her annoyed tone and scowl get him aroused.

Aegon never saw himself as the submissive type. He knows he is handsome and that it doesn’t take him a lot to talk women into his bed. It probably is a mixture of his arrogance, money, name and looks.

Like the conqueror he was named after, Aegon finds his treasures just to destroy them. Leaving them emotionally unsatisfied, drained of their self-respect, and covered in his cum. He sees it as a challenge, to make even the toughest woman beg for him. And eventually, they all do, because, in the end, all women are the same.

They all long to be dominated, to be domesticated. Women only need to be strong and independent when they open their legs to give birth to a child. They’re only good for three things: to be fucked, to make him a sandwich after and to be fucked again.

At least, that is how Aegon likes to profile himself to the world. The wild Targaryen son, the boy who is overlooked in favour of his older sister. With a father who probably gave him the token Targaryen name so he wouldn’t forget his unwanted son’s name. A mother who probably regrets not using a condom and siblings who are much more interesting and deserving of the Targaryen name than him.

And all those insecurities he masks by drinking, sniffing and fucking his monthly allowance away. Pretending he is the alpha male that boys who long for female attention talk about in their podcasts. Aegon knows, because sometimes they use him as an example in their boring click-bait conversations they post on TikTok.

“You’re so pathetic.” She says as she moves her hand off his thighs again. She pushes her index and middle finger against his lips. “So, like a dumb, mindless, uninspiring child, you need to be taught this one simple lesson again.”

Aegon knows what to do, he opens his mouth to lick her fingers. She pushes them in his mouth immediately. He sucks her fingers off like it’s her cunt. His tongue swirls around her fingers. His pleading eyes look up to her barely illuminated face. Then she pushes her fingers deeper into his mouth, her long nail scraping over the back of his tongue. It makes Aegon gag, his body moves with recoil.

Her laugh is cold and cruel. “Pathetic boy, you want to hit the back of my throat with your dick, but you can’t even take two of my fingers.”

She brings her wet fingers to her mouth, licking Aegon’s spit off her digits. She makes sure to look him straight in the eye as she does so. Aegon had been a very bad boy, telling everyone at the party she had been his latest conquest. When the both of them know the only one who gets pillaged here is the one with the growing erection.

As an intern at the publishing company the Targaryen’s own, her reputation is at risk. She is a serious girl, a hard-working girl. she is everything Aegon is not. Perhaps that is why he keeps on coming back.

“Can you repeat rule number one to me?” Her hand strokes his right thigh. She leans in closer to his face, wanting to make sure she doesn’t miss his words.

“No one will ever know about what happens behind closed doors,” Aegon mutters, looking away from her piercing eyes.

Her stroking stops, and she pushes her nails into his pants. “And which rule did you break, my stupid little boy?”

Her lips are almost touching his when she speaks the words. Aegon swallows the pain that comes with her nails into his skin away. “Rule number one.”

She backs away from him again, her lips curved into a smile that does not reach her eyes.

“Do you know what they do with boys who break rules?”

Both her hands are on his belt, loosening it. Aegon does not dare to look away from her face. They barely did a thing (they didn’t even kiss, for fucks sake!) but he is so turned on already. He shakes his head, pretending he does not know what happens when he breaks her rules.

“No? Well, let me tell you then.” She unzips his pants, her hand immediately sliding into his opened trousers. With her palm she rubs over his erection, scraping the fabric of his black boxers over the sensitive skin.

“They are punished.”

Aegon his head falls back because of her torturous movements. “Yes, please punish me.” He is shocked by the words that so easily fall off his lips. He is shocked by the desperate tone, he is shocked by the want he feels in his body.

He wants to feel her skin against his, but at the same time, he enjoys this building up a little bit too much. Her degrading words made him angry and ashamed at the same time. He is ashamed, that he, the famous Aegon Targaryen, so easily gets walked over. Walked over by a woman even! He is ashamed for liking it so much and feels ashamed he wants to please her. He does not do the pleasing, he is the one who usually is pleased.

Her hand slowly wanders into his underwear, her fingers stroke his pubes. Aegon mentally scolds himself for not shaving. But all his worrisome thoughts disappear when her hand slowly strokes his shaft.

“Such a good boy you are, at least you remembered rule number two.” Her thumb finds his head, circling around it, making her and his skin coated with pre cum. “Manners are what keeps the world spinning after all.” Aegon wants to argue and tell her that strong and rich men keep the world spinning. But for once he is smart and keeps his mouth shut. He knows she’s not happy with him, and he does not like it when she becomes cruel.

“How shall I punish you tonight? Will I make you come so many times you’ll remember who the real conqueror is? Or will I give you nothing at all?” Her hand curls around his cock, her nails pressed harshly into the flesh. Aegon lets out a pained yelp, tears well up in his purple eyes.

“Please don’t, I’ll be good.”

“If only you had thought about being ‘good’ sooner.” She does not loosen her grip, on the contrary, she presses her nails deeper into his sensitive flesh. Aegon his cry is filled with agony, he is afraid she will draw blood.

“I am sorry, I promise I will never do it again.” His voice comes out desperate, he hates himself for being this weak. The humiliation of it colouring his cheeks a rosy tint. She lets go of him and movies off him. Aegon resist the urge to touch where it hurts, instead he watches how she lowers herself. Her bare knees hit the carpet. She pulls his pants down to his ankles, his legs forced apart by her hands.

“No, you will indeed never do it again. Or this will be the last time you’ll be in my mouth.”

She kisses his upper thigh first. Her lips hit the spot where she had been hurting him before.

Her left elbow leans upon his knee, her cleavage pushed against his legs, as she leans forward to touch him again.

Aegon watches how her hand moves down from the tip to the base. His skin is still a bit sore, but Aegon forgets about the pain when her lips are wrapped around his head.

Aegon brings his hands to her head. His neck snaps back, and his eyes close, as he revells in the feeling her warm, wet mouth brings him. But the feeling doesn’t remain there for too long, because only seconds later she releases him from her mouth again.

“Don’t move, or it will be over.” She warns

She takes him slowly, her eyes locked with his. His cock is shiny with spit, her low moans vibrating against his skin.

Aegon really hates it when people are loud chewers. Hates the sound of people eating apples in the office, and despises the sounds girls make when they ‘seductively’ try to suck their iced coffees through a straw. He dislikes it so much it gives him goosebumps and makes him want to snap out to the ones making the disgusting eating sounds.

But the sounds that are produced as she sucks him off, are sounds that no matter how nasty they are, will never annoy him.

He feels like a true king, the way how her head moves up and down between his legs. He will never be able to sit in front of his father’s desk again without remembering what is happening right now. And it feels so good, the way she takes him deeper and deeper. Her tongue slid against the sensitive skin where her nails were before.

His hips buck up, pushing his cock deeper into her mouth. He can feel it hit the back of her throat. The gagging sound she makes, makes him moan.

She presses her nails harshly into his thigh, changing his moan into a yelp of pain. For a moment, Aegon almost forgot who the real power had. Her teeth scrape against his cock as a final warning.

She only sucks the tip now, her tongue swirling around it, to let it pop out of her mouth only a second later. She looks up to his face, brows furrowed. “I told you not to move, Aegon.” The way she says his name makes him feel like a small child and he hates it.

He almost wants to cry when she stands up, ignoring his cock completely. He was so close to coming, painfully close. The tip of his cock is red and leaking with precum. “Not fair.” Aegon groans. “I was so close to making your mouth into a daycare.”

She ignores his disgusting joke. “Why did you break the rule, Aeg?” Her hands move beneath her dress, pulling her panties down in one motion.

Truth be told, he did not like how the other men were talking about her. He was not sure if it was him being possessive, or his ego that needed stroking. There is nothing better than letting dull people know you’re having (or fucking) what they want.

“I guess I didn’t like the way they talked about you.” Her eyes grow larger after his sentence, she clearly did not expect this answer. She climbs on his lap, her hands hold his face, her thumbs stroke over his burning cheeks. Her fingers move into his hair, to the back of his head. This moment feels strangely intimate, and it makes him more uncomfortable than her degrading words do.

“What were they saying?”

Aegon swallows.

“Filthy things only I am allowed to say.”

She kisses him for the first time this night and Aegon is grateful for it. He tastes himself in her mouth, her lips still wet with spit and him. He is fully aware of the fact she’s not wearing panties. Now her dress had ridden up her legs, he can finally feel her warm and wet core against him. Oh, how he wants to be inside her, to feel her cunt clench around his cock when he takes some of his control back. His painful erection hits her leg, as she moves up to deepen the kiss.

“Let me make it up to you.” He is almost willing to beg for it at this point, his hands stroking her back in an attempt to convince her he deserves it. “Please, I want to make you feel good.” She laughs hard at this. “The only thing you want is to fuck me. To spill inside me and to go back to your ‘dominant’ self after.”

She of course is right, but Aegon is too desperate and horny to fight her. “Please, I think I learned my lesson. I want you so bad, please, I would do anything.” She grabs his shoulder, leaning a bit back. The hand that is not holding onto his shoulders moves between her legs.

She’s touching herself, Aegon can’t see what exactly she’s doing beneath her dress, but he knows he wants to be the one to do it. “Anything you say?” Her head tilted to the right, her eyes finding his purple ones.

“Anything.”

She loosens up his tie, pulling the green silk fabric from his neck. His mother had made him wear it, said it belongs to his father.

“Hold your hands together.” Aegon raises his brow. “What?” She slaps his tie against his chest. “Do you want to fuck me or not Aegon?” There, she does it again. Saying his name like he is a piece of trash she needs to clean up. He does what he is told, pushing his wrists against each other.

She ties his hands together with the green silk. Making sure he cannot touch her and control what is about to happen.

She sinks down on him, her skin slapping against his. Aegon’s groans are filling up the office, as she sets the pace. Finally, he is inside her, but he can’t move, he can’t do anything. He is completely at her mercy. He hates that he loves it, to be commanded and tied up by her. She takes him so well, every inch of him filling her as if she was made to do so.

Her right hand is around his throat, pushing his head back. He is so stimulated, so embarrassingly close to his release already.

“You feel so good, baby.” His voice is low, and his eyes are closed.

“You better don’t come before I do.” She says then, but it is too late. Her words make him give in to his release.

In a way it is to punish her, Aegon hates that he likes what she does to him. Hates she is the one who can dominate him. So he climaxes, curses falling from his mouth. Her eyes narrowed, as his hips thrust upwards in the last moments of his aftershock.

He expects her to pull him out, to slap him maybe. Instead, she keeps on moving, in a frantic, rough manner.

It hurts so much, his soft flesh being ridden like this. Her moans are loud, drowning out his moans of pain. “The fuck you thought, coming before I came?” She slaps him.

“Shut up, I hate it when you act all silly and hurt when you get what you deserve.” Aegon his head falls back, feeling a bit foolish for liking the pain.

And when she finally comes, Aegon is panting as loud as she is. She kisses him on the mouth when she finally allows him to slip out of her. “I think you learned your lesson now.”

He can’t help but smile, for the game is over. They can go back to who they are now.

“Keep fucking me like that and I’ll tell father to hire you,” Aegon says. “And when I take over, you can be my assistant.”

He wants to fuck her on every surface in this office. Fuck her against the window while they watch the cars drive by. Fuck her on the plush couch his father always makes him wait on. Make her suck him off while he has online meetings, and let her ride his face while she makes important calls.

“Assitant?” She says in a mocking tone, destroying his fantasies. “I am made to lead, Aegon. Never to serve.”

She loosens up the tie, freeing his hands. She puts her panties back on and straightens her dress. “Clean up your face, it’s covered in my lipstick.” She advises him before leaving him alone.

Aegon grins as he watches her leave, oh, this is just the beginning.

--

Aegon is definitely a sucker for public stuff, and there are few greater pleasures on earth than watching him squirm and bite his lip trying to keep quiet.

I mean, he loves what you do to him and he hates attending to his responsibilities so interrupting an uninteresting meeting or tournament with a bit of discreet fun seems like a win win.

Whenever you attend events together, you're steadfast by your husband's side, and it's something you enjoy taking advantage of.

Sometimes it starts when you're both bored or just in that particular mood or one reason or another.

Like at the jousting tourney when you'd noticed him almost nodding off, more than likely nursing a hangover from the previous night. Objectively, this was an embarrassment. The two of you sat in the very front row of the upper observation gallery behind the barrier, so although you were only visible from the chest up, anyone who glanced over could see the next in line to the throne struggling to keep his eyes open. It should have been an embarrassment, but you often found it was difficult to see Aegon's behavior as anything but endearing.

When it was time for the two of you to give your favor to one of the knights, you had to nudge him and he'd startled awake, clearing his throat and quickly taking your hand. The two of you stood to look over the edge of the balcony, where four knights sat atop their horses all in a line with their lances held high in waiting.

You could feel Aegon squeeze your hand and when you glanced up to him you noticed that he was locked in a stare with Ser Corryn, the young handsome knight who he'd first pointed out to you just about two months ago.

At another equally dull tournament, Aegon's attention had been caught on the man, and he told you offhandedly later that day how he wished so desperately that those knights weren't sworn to celibacy. You were sure to take note of that, and a few weeks later you surprised your husband with that very knight in your shared bed.

You'd run your fingers through Aegon's hair and kissed his forehead as he laid back in your lap, all while Ser Corryn fucked him senseless. As you listened to his gasps and moans while he squirmed against your body, you knew this was a gift he would truly appreciate. You'd seen him cum three times that night, and you cherished the taste of the tears you kissed away from his cheeks as he cried from the overstimulation.

Now almost two weeks later, Aegon blushed and gave a coy smile as he threw the floral wreath onto the knights lance. He looked between the two of you, smirking playfully before blowing a kiss and trotting away to begin the game.

Aegon was certainly awake now, nearly leaning out of his seat with his elbows propped up on the barrier to follow Ser Corryn with his eyes.

You placed a hand high on his thigh and squeezed, leaning in. " Be careful Egg, if you can't even meet the man's eyes without giggling like a maiden you may raise suspicions."

He shot you a look of faux irritation, rolling his eyes dramatically before sinking back into his seat again. his eyes wandered the space absently, but you noticed how his knees fell open a bit wider as he relaxed into the chair, granting you access.

You continued rubbing small circles into his inner thigh, pretending not to notice how he tried to suppress the twitch of his mouth as he shifted in his seat to and his breath began to hitch in his throat.

You kept your eyes forward as you ever so slowly slid your hand the rest of the way up his leg, over his stomach and down the front of his trousers and finally wrapped your flingers around his leaking cock.

Out of the corner of your eye, could see his jaw tense as he clenched his hands around the arms of this chair, nails digging in.

Poor baby, that probably hurt :(

It's a wonder that the crowd was so lively, otherwise someone would surely have heard Aegon's poorly concealed whimpers and moans.

You'd managed to string him along for the entire remaining length of the match, which had to be close to an hour. By the end, you watched him bite the inside of his cheek as he bucked his hips up into your hand and made a mess beneath the layers of clothing that concealed the two of you.

At other times, your fun was more of a tool to keep your husband in line.

You had been at a grand feast, part of some festival honoring one god or ancient hero or another. You hadn't yet gotten quite familiar the never ending fanfare and pageantry that the Westerosi clung to.

Though as the eldest son he probably should have been seated toward the middle of the long table, Aegon occupied the chair at the far left end of the setting. He always wanted a clear escape route at these things, and you of course found your space directly next to him.

This position also effectively cut him off from the rest of the table; and this combined with the heavy cloth which draped all the way to the floor made it an incredibly opportune position to stroke your husband beneath the table until he begged and whispered curses under his breath.

Aegon stared straight down at his plate, trying to keep his hands from shaking as he rolled his hips back and forth, cock rock hard and slick with sweat and precum and it slid against your hand. Suddenly you withdrew, pulling back quickly and wiping your hand discreetly on the napkin beside you.

"Be a good boy and go wait for me in the hall."

He'd looked to you with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Like this??" He hissed back, shifting in his seat and glancing down toward his lap.

You tilted your head and gave a mock sad expression, poking out your bottom lip. "Oh pity, is my boy so bashful now?" You leaned in a bit closer, assuring that he would feel your breath ghost over his ear. "You might have thought about that before contradicting me in front of your sister, love. You know how important it is that your family respects me and accepts my place here."

You could see him clench and unclench his jaw, he'd probably forgotten all about the little incident but you'd warned him about mouthing off in the company or others a hundred times. This was his punishment, and as he sighed and rubbed the crease forming between his eyebrows you could see that he understood.

"Right." You said flatly. "Now run along husband. Be careful not to embarrass yourself in front of all the guests." You ran a hand down his cheek before placing a chaste kiss there and giving him another soft smile.

He looked worried, but you could see him swallow the emotion as he reached down again to adjust himself. Just as he'd begin to push back his chair and leave the table you stopped him gently, placing a hand on his arm.

"Oh, and Aegon?" He looked to you nervously, blinking fast. "No touching until I get there."

With that you gave his arm a squeeze and turned your attention back to your wine and the chattering crowd before you. Soon enough you could see Aegon weaving his way through that crowd, eyes cast down and hands dutifully clasped in front of his body to conceal any evidence of your activities. You watched with amusement as he gradually sped up as he walked, nearly breaking into a run as he approached the door.

Not long after you saw Lady Baela break away from the crowd and approach, giving you a small bow. You'd intended to take your leave fairly quickly, not to be too hard on your boy but it looked now like he might have to be a bit more patient. "May I sit my Lady?", she asked, gesturing Aegon's empty seat, and you gave her a polite nod.

"I do hope you're enjoying the party, we're all so happy to have you at court." "Is your husband feeling well? I saw him rushing out of the room a few moments ago."

"Oh yes, he's fine just a bit tired" you lowered your voice and whispered playfully "and you know him, possibly a few too many plates of food and a few too many cups of wine". Baela giggled, nodding "Yes, to be quite honest I was a bit worried he might be sick there on the dance floor. I'm thankful you keep such a caring watch over him."

You gave her a small thank you and smile, but when she shifted slightly closer and placed a hand over your own, her face was just that more serious.

"I truly mean it, my Lady. If you don't mind my saying, my cousin was in a bad way before he had you. I'm sure you must know that, but we all saw him straying down a dark path. Now that you're here it's.." she paused, searching for the words. "He's a better man, we can leave it at that. That means something to us, our families won't forget this."

You smiled brightly and gave her hand a squeeze. "Well I'm sure you know Baela, some men just need the right lady to whip them into shape.", you remarked, winking.

That earned a heartier laugh from the silver haired woman, and you felt a glow of pride in your chest as the threw her head back and swatted at your arm.

You joined her in idle gossip for a bit longer before deciding it was time to go attend to your prince.

"If you don't mind my Lady, I think I'll go and check in on him now."

When you escaped the overwhelming chatter and footsteps which filled the ballroom, it wasn't hard to follow the echoed heavy breathing that travelled through the silent stone halls.

You made sure your footsteps clicked slowly and loudly against the floor as you approached, and you couldn't say you were surprised to find him tucked into a windowsill, eyes closed and mouth hanging open as he rubbed at the bulge in the front of his trousers. He always was a glutton for punishment

"Need me to take care of you again?" Aegon replied with a small nod. He's ashamed of that. You shake your head, "No, it's alright."

You settle onto one of his couches comfortably. Any servant would say you are behaving in a way unbecoming of a royal servant, a King's Guard. Neither of you care. "Come here, Your Grace."

Aegon takes his usual spot upon your lap. He doesn't even need any instructing for it.

You'd call your lap a second throne, if it weren't for the fact it was not glorious, not in his eyes. You're his respite, someone to fall back to time and time again, but he can never forget what it is that brings him to you. He can never forget how dependent he is on this.

And, despite all that shame, he always keeps crawling back with every slight inconvenience.

"They're not listening to me, Ser. Not my mother, not my brother, not my Hand. Not my Masters." Aegon huffs, trying to keep his emotions down. It's a valiant effort, for the man you know that he is. "It's so frustrating, Ser."

"You know you don't have to call me Ser." You say, already holding the back of his head and tilting his head up towards you.

"Yes, but..." It almost looks like he's pouting. You're trying to change the subject, he knows. "well, it feels wrong, you know."

Of all the manners lost on him, you're surprised this is what sticks. You suppose it's the fact you've been a knight well before he'd been born. You've always been "Ser".

"A-And you don't have to call me Your Grace." He stuttered. Was it exhaustion? No, he was nervous to say that.

"I should refer to the King with utmost respect." You say, proudly, and that makes Aegon scoff.

"You don't really mean that. I'm a shadow compared to you!" His eyes stray from yours.

You, of many feats. You, of many stories. Yes, you know he respects you, you know he admires you, but you have to make sure that crown doesn't fall from his pretty little head.

"You cast the shadows upon Westeros." You say, gripping his jaw so that he looks at you, correctly. "You, Aegon Targaryen, are the King. Not me, not your mother, not your brother."

You can see that your words are of little effect. You sigh, lifting one of his legs to make him straddle one of your thighs.

The usual position has his cock rising in his pants already.

"Go on." You coo, cupping his cheek. "Take what you need."

It's an art, almost, being able to cum just by grinding down against your thigh, clothed even. It's another art to be the one to arouse him enough for such a thing. With anyone else you'd imagine there is a little shame to this, but Aegon humps your leg like it's the best prize in the world.

What a selfless little dog, he is.

He tries to hide his face into your neck, but you won't have it. You tug his hair to stop him, causing a wince to fall on heedful ears.

"Ah ah," You tut disappointedly. "I'm sorry, my King, but I'll have none of that. Let me see you."

"Y-Yes, Ser." Aegon says shakily.

"There you are, sweet thing." You cup his cheeks, brushing your thumbs over his eyelids to make sure he knows that you do not need him to see you, that he can do anything he wants so long as he sits pretty.

The little gesture makes his cock twitch in his pants, against your thigh. Or maybe it isn't the gesture?

"Good. You're doing good."

Aegon whimpers. His teeth clamp down onto his lip soon after, to quiet himself.

He can't see the amused look on your face, with his eyes closed. He can't even hear it in your tone, mind numbed as it is. You sneak a thumb under his teeth and pry his mouth open. "Don't hurt yourself, my King."

He shakes his head. No, he'll continue biting down, hurting himself. Or..?

"No, not my King?"

Aegon's lips close around your thumb. He suckles lightly, as if in affirmation. No, probably not in affirmation, just sheer instinct and comfort. Maybe you just know how to read him.

"You'll make yourself bleed one day, sweet thing."

That gets a reaction out of him. So it's the nickname, or maybe it's how caring you sound, or maybe it's both.

Whatever it is, Aegon's hips do not stall. He has humped himself dumb on your thighs in much worse cases of exhaustion and fatigue. Tonight, he will do just fine.

Aegon has felt dragonfire before—well, at least near him; close enough to boast at taverns. Though he has never been burned, he knows the feeling of heat upon his skin.

It is not the same as heat in your muscles, not the same as the heat in his thighs begging him for a break.

He'll endure, though, wrap his arms around your neck to stabilize himself and keep going. Not because of the pleasure, no, though it numbs all rationality, but it is because that is what a King should do: endure, because he must.

"There you go."

Aegon's mouth falls open, and though it is a loss to not pacify himself with your thumb, he can't help the moans that befall him.

"Thank you."

He's all but humping your thigh. Selfish in the way he's using your body for it, selfless in the way he does not ask for more.

He's good for you, Aegon the Magnanimous.

Head tilted down, his neck gone slack, Aegon finds himself further undone the closer he gets to release. His hands don't lock together behind your head anymore. Instead, they find themselves upon your shoulders, which he grips tight to push himself closer.

The friction of his cock against each layer of clothing is like dragonfire too. It makes his cock, hard all swollen, he can feel it, burn with rough friction, but he can't get enough, anyway. In contrast, your armor is clean and smooth, befitting of your white cloak yet also making it easier to hump against. He yearns to spoil it, one day.

It burns so bad, but it also burns so good.

Aegon is so so close.

"Please what, lovely?"

Had he said something?

"Please." His lips follow along like they know what to say better than his mind does. "Please, I wanna finish." He blabbles on.

You're amused, if anything, that he thinks he needs permission. "Go on, you've been so good. You deserve it."

The praise, the permission–he is borne of ash and fire, but his nails do not dent your armor as they dig into your shoulderplates, nor do his thighs squeeze like a vice around yours, nor are his teeth upon your flesh.

He's a soft thing, a good thing. You wonder, when the Gods flipped his coin, which side he landed on.

Aegon moans one final, strong time, hips jerking then halting abruptly, then stuttering. He pants, regains his breath, your sweet thing to dote on.

"There. Feels good, sweet thing?"

He'd just finished in his pants, like dirty dog, humped you to release, like a dirty dog; but all he can think to do is collapse in your arms. "Yes."

You had been informed he had wounded a guard while being taken, but ultimately they had overpowered him and forced him in chains, to be brought to the royal chambers for his king’s pleasure. Aegon had not informed you of this sudden change of events, and your throat was tight with it.

Struggling against his shackles, his eye looking up murderously at Aegon, Aemond did not intend to let himself be subdued so easily. Standing above him, boots firmly planted into the carpet, Aegon looked agitated and visibly upset. 

You approached him slowly, your eyes set on Aemond, and put a hand on his shoulder, leaning against him slightly. “My love, what is the meaning of this?” you asked hesitantly.

“Should I tell the extent of your treason to your queen, or should you?” Aegon nearly barked at his brother. Aemond snarled behind his gag, his elbows twisting painfully as he gave another strong tug, the chains and shackles clinging loudly in the otherwise silent room.

“Treason?” you whispered, knowing it was not a word neither brothers took lightly, given the circumstances.

Today was a day for victory—the traitor had lost one of her dragonriders, and instead of celebrating, your brother-by-law, and king’s trusted sword was bound like a common thief and various instruments of torture were waiting to be used. You could not make sense of it.

“Aemond?” you asked even though you knew he could not answer you. His eye flitted from the king to you, but he could not withhold your gaze too long—he gave another tug, another snarl, but it sounded defeated, and he looked aside to the great door that he knew was locked.

You understood then, that it was no mistake or misunderstanding. Your grip tightened on your husband’s arm. “My dear brother thought he could strike me down as he did Meleys,” Aegon said, sounding strangled. “Burn me and watch me fall as we did Rhaenys, but Sunfyre was quicker.”

Your heart rose in your throat, dread settling in your stomach. “Aemond, no,” you whispered, and still he did not look up. Never in the years since you had married Aegon, could you have imagined this, and the first sentiment that rose in you before fury was profound sadness.

“How could you betray me in this way?” Aegon screamed, taking a step forward and striking Aemond across the face. “Did you think that you could cross me so without consequences?”

Aemond looked up once more and his eye was full of rage—a small trickle of red appeared from beneath the gag, running down the side of his pointed chin. “What would you have done after you had killed me, brother?!” Aegon raged. “Taken my throne, my crown?” 

You stood there, speechless and frozen. Never before had you seen Aegon so undone, even at his lowest moments or in the throes of the drink. Never before had you seen heartbreak so plain on his face, beneath his obvious anger, and you knew that the road to forgiveness would be paved with greater obstacles than even you could imagine in that moment.

“I should have you killed for this,” Aegon hissed, tears clouding his vision.

Aemond’s eye fluttered close and finally—finally, a single tear rolled down his sharp cheek and his shoulders shook with more than a pained shudder.

Aegon’s face contorted in anguish as well, the two men mirror images of one another. He turned around, finding comfort in your presence. Your arms came around him and he rested his forehead against yours, saying a quick prayer for you in the privacy of his rushing mind, grateful that he was still here to enjoy your warmth. 

Desire was boiling under his skin, and he knew he would need your touch until he could feel settled once more, but it would have to wait. Instead, he sniffed his mounting tears away and turned to face his brother again, pulling the dagger from the sheath at his waist. With his free hand he undid the belt and clasps of his doublet, and attentive as you always were, you pulled it from his shoulders and arms, setting it aside without a word.

The curved blade was a thing of beauty, Aegon thought, sharp and pointed, the handle a true show of craftsmanship. 

“I think you have forgotten your place, Aemond. I believed you were loyal to me, but from the start you sought to take what was mine,” he said, pacing in front of him. “I think the hound has forgotten who his master is,” he added with a dark chuckle.

Aegon turned to you, who was still looking pale and shocked. “You should leave, my love, it won’t be pretty,” he warned. To his surprise, you shook your head. 

“I will stay,” you replied calmly, walking towards the seating area in front of the fire, turning one of the armchairs and pushing it until it was between the door and the scene, the perfect view of what was to occur. Hands shaking, you sat, hiding them in the lapels of your dress. 

Your eyes were full of tears, sad and disappointed, watching Aemond as though a reason for forgiveness was etched on his face.

Aegon felt his anger spike at Aemond’s betrayal having caused you such distress. “You’ve always loved this dagger,” he continued, turning to his brother again. “I could feel your eyes on me with envy every time.”

He swirled it around playfully, walking fully into Aemond’s space until the young man recoiled, struggling against his shackles. He started panting anew, twisting away from his brother’s presence. Aegon twirled it until it landed on Aemond’s shoulder, and slid it into the tie holding the collar of his shirt closed, and with a sharp motion, severed it. 

With quick lashes, precise and almost soft, a testament to how sharp the blade truly was, the shirt fell in tatters until it slid off his skin and down to the floor. Aemond’s skin was pale all over, flushed at his breastbone where he was panting, his stomach contracting. 

It was a thing of beauty, you then thought, to see the prince bound as such and his king standing over him, blade in hand. The focus on Aegon’s profile was just as handsome, his short hair highlighting the beauty of his angelic face. Your trembling abated and you grew curious of what your husband would now do.

Aegon observed his brother for a while, for once enjoying some patience. Aemond thrashed again and a growling sound came from behind the gag when Aegon ran the back of the blade across his cheek, following the line of his scar. Then, the eyepatch was cut neatly.

The leather fell and revealed a sapphire of a deep, shiny blue lodged into Aemond’s eye socket. Aegon pressed the tip of the dagger into it, making him hiss. 

“I should take your other eye,” he said, cold as ice. 

Aemond shuddered, a high whine coming from him rather than a snarl, and for the first time he looked panicked rather than angered, like a hound caught in a hunting trap, yelping, and biting at its restraints.

“Aegon—” you protested.

“Is my wife inclined to pity?” Aegon asked, looking almost wild

Aemond could barely see or hear the two of you over the rushing of his own heart in his ears. His stomach roiled and he heaved behind the gag. The prospect of utter darkness froze him down to his core and a desperate wave took hold of him. He thrashed until the metal of the cuffs dug into the skin of his wrists.

For a moment he had thought it was a simple show of force from Aegon, and that you would soon have him removed from his chains. Now he knew you intended to watch, and Aegon’s fears and anger would carry him farther than he had anticipated. It had been a split-second decision, one he had almost regretted as soon as he had made it, but it had been too late, and it was not in his nature to be for forgiveness.

Now, with the threat of blindness, he lamented his mistake. He clung to the self-righteous idea that Aegon was not made for the crown, lacking the spine and intellect for it. It should have been him in his place, he thought, standing over a prisoner. Although perhaps now Aegon would let the dragon inside of him loose, proving them all wrong.

Aemond’s heart seized in his chest and his entire frame froze when Aegon gripped his hair, and forced his face up. Aemond looked into his eyes for the first time since he had been brought here, and saw the heartbreak beneath his anger. 

“Perhaps he needs reinforcement, rather than punishment?” you suggested.

Aegon grinned, and it was ugly, to see such a lovely face twisted with anger. “Like an unruly pup.”

“Quite,” you said with a small smile, but it was not reassuring to see you smile in such a moment, with such a suggestion on your lips. “He needs to be reminded who his master is.”

Aegon had always known he had no hold over his brother—Aemond had always been the one in charge, the one he trusted implicitly, and now he had turned against him in the worst way possible. The thought made him ache more than it made him angry. 

It felt like a dagger to the heart, like a thousand cuts to his very bones, to be betrayed by his own flesh, the man he loved more than any other in this world. His beautiful brother, turned murderer. 

“I am your master, my sweet little brother,” Aegon said, trying and failing not to let his heartbreak show. “I am your eldest and your king. It’s my fault that you’ve forgotten to fear me. I shall remedy that.”

He trailed the blade along his brother’s face, watching him watch back. His face was trembling with the effort of appearing strong but his shoulders were straining, his stomach quivering. Aegon made the back of the blade dance on the edge of his cheekbone, then twirled the tip and slid it along until a crimson line appeared, following the sharp line of his face.

Aemond grunted through the gag, his nose flaring.

“I ought to hurt you as you hurt me. I ought to carve your heart out of your chest,” Aegon spat as the back of the blade followed a line from between his collarbones, down his sternum, to his soft, flat stomach. “I ought to slice into you and have you watch your guts spill on this floor.”

He then wielded the dagger back up under his chin, the blade snug with it. Aemond’s skin prickled when he swallowed, the slight movement cutting a thin line into the soft skin under his chin. 

“That is how it felt, in that last second before Sunfyre got away, knowing I would die by your hand,” Aegon murmured. “My heart carved out of my chest. My guts spilling out.”

For a frightful moment, Aegon saw himself slicing into Aemond’s throat, but the prospect shattered him into pieces. “I loved you, and you betrayed me!” he howled, ripping the dagger away, a ghost of the gesture he was too weak to perform.

“You shall never forget who you belong to,” he continued. “Every time you look at yourself in the mirror, you will see it.”

Aegon brought down the dagger to his chest once more, pressing the tip into Aemond’s left pectoral and flipping it until the serrated edge was to his skin once more. Trembling despite himself, he watched the smooth drag of the blade from one side of Aemond’s chest to the other.

Aemond heaved, hissing as the knife traced a line straight across his chest. Although it was not deep enough to need stitches, Aegon knew the Valyrian steel must have hurt. The satisfaction that it would likely scar was enough to soothe him.

“I think I shall hear you for this,” he said, unclapsing the gag and setting it aside.

“Aegon,” Aemond panted, his ragged breath leaving his chest in great heaves of air. 

“The next words out of your mouth better be pleads of forgiveness,” he warned. “I shall remind you that I hold the knife.”

Aemond’s lips opened and closed a few times. His eye was murderous but he did not say anything. 

“Take your punishment with dignity and I might show you mercy.”

Aemond gritted his teeth. He trembled as two other lines were drawn downward, carving an inverted triangle between his pectorals, the tip joining at his sternum. Muffled grunts came from him, and out of sheer will, he kept his eye on Aegon—he had not broken him yet. 

He started to sweat as his brother continued, drawing another triangle to face the first, intertwined with it like lovers. Beads of sweat were dripping from Aemond’s temples and now his chest, along with the rivers of crimson that disappeared into the dark fabric of his trousers. After what seemed an eternity, Aegon took a step back, admiring his work.

The rune sat in crimson, the size of a man’s hand. Etched across his chest, was his name. “There, now you’ll have my name carved into you for the rest of your days,” he said triumphantly. “What do you say to your king?”

Aemon trembled, raising his shoulders defiantly. His eye was wild, and he looked beautiful, you had to admit. You trembled as well when you thought he would disobey, spit in Aegon’s face or curse him out.

“You will pay for this,” Aemond finally said, the first words he had spoken since being freed to speak, except for his king’s name.

Aegon laughed mirthlessly. “Oh but I already did pay for your resentment,” he said, pushing the sleeve of his cotton shirt up, revealing the drag of a superficial burn on his arm. 

“I hate you,” Aemond rasped, struggling against his shackles once more. “I am only sorry that I missed!”

Aegon roared at that, throwing the dagger aside, which clattered onto the stones. He raised his hand and struck his brother across the face once more, then again. Aemond laughed, spitting out blood and grinning through the pain. His teeth were tainted red, drool dripping down his chin like a rabid dog.

“You think you can break me, brother,” he said with a twisted smile.

“Oh I know I will break you, you pathetic little cunt,” Aegon snarled, and at that you interjected.

You jumped from your seat, hurrying to their sides. “I think maybe you have exhausted yourself, my king,” you said gently. “Let me take over for a moment?”

Aegon stepped away with a bow to you and the flourish made you smile, but Aemond did not like that smile on you. He watched as Aegon went to pour himself a cup of wine, sipping it slowly, contemplating you, no doubt curious of what you would do. He was still shaking with rage, but surrendering to your will soothed him rather.

Without a word, you took a cloth and dipped it into a basin of water, wetting it completely. “Should I muzzle him again?” Aegon asked as you approached Aemond again—both men were still panting in anger, both wary of the other.

“No, he will behave. Won’t you?” you asked softly. 

In truth, Aemond had no wish to hurt you. He allowed you to clean his wound, hissing as you dragged the cloth onto the cuts perfunctorily, neither lingering nor soothing.

The way you were looking down at him was severe, and he knew he did well to be on his guard when you reached up, curling his hair behind his ears neatly. He started to pant through his nose again despite himself, bracing for what you would do.

You smoothed the cloth over his mouth, wiping the blood from his chin. “Shame that such a beautiful face hides such hatred,” you commented, and something twisted in his chest. 

He loathed looking so diminished in front of you, but he could not blame you for your anger. He had tried to take the man you loved from you, to make you another widow of this war. 

“You are undeserving of this,” you finally said, your tone oddly pleasant.

Before Aemond could realize what was happening, you had set the cloth aside and reached up for his face. 

He screamed as you pulled the stone from his eye socket, your small fingers digging into the side of it and pushing it, forcing it to roll on itself until finally it popped. The pain was sharp and left an excruciating throbbing, reminding him of the night it was taken from him.

A ragged, dry sob broke from his chest as you stepped aside, looking pleased, rolling the sapphire between your fingers. 

“Cease your whining, it’s only fitting,” Aegon retorted placidly. “I think you should know what it feels like to be betrayed by the one you love.”

A curious gasp came from you, and turned to look at your husband intently, but his eyes were still on Aemond. You clutched the sapphire in your palm, a question on your lips. “Do you think I do not know? Do you think I do not notice how you look at her?” Aegon taunted. 

Aemond wanted to let his wrath loose once more, to struggle against the chains until his ankles and wrists bled, but under your bewildered gaze and Aegon’s cruel one, he felt flayed open in more than his skin. 

“Is that why you wished to replace me? To have her?” Aegon asked, tilting his head.

At that Aemond finally looked up at you—his empty eye socket was throbbing, but so was his heart. Your face did not betray any sort of feeling, beautiful even in its impassibility, and shame burned bright beneath the cuts at his chest.

The empty cup of wine clung on the table when Aegon put it down sharply, betraying the way he had just made a decision. Slowly, he walked around the cross and outside of his field of vision. Aemond heard the clicking of a metallic buckle, like a belt, then something smooth and cold was being put around his neck—his breath was forcefully cut off and he could only choke. 

“Make the slightest attempt at freeing yourself and you shall regret it,” Aegon hissed in his ear, his breath hot over the side of his face. “I still have half a mind to take your eye.”

Aemond coughed when the pressure at his throat relented while the clasp to the leather collar Aegon was putting on him was fastened. When he dropped it, it rested loosely at his neck, with just enough pressure to remind him that it was there, and that it was vicious enough to take his breath away in a split-second.

Next he heard the shackles being unclasped, and understood why he had just been warned—the chains came loose and the excruciating pressure between his shoulders finally lessened as his elbows fell at his sides once more. He couldn’t help the deep groan of relief that poured from him.

However the comfort was short-lived, pain radiating down his back and arm when Aegon picked up one of the chains and clasped it on the opposite side of the cross, forcing him to twist on himself lest his socket popped off. “Turn around,” he ordered.

Aemond complied and turned on his knees to face the wooden cross, the loosened chains at his ankles dragging on the stone floor. Soon the other chain was clasped again, and Aemond rolled his shoulders, testing his range of motion. While he was still bound, now his arms were raised in front of him and he could grip the edges of the cross if he wished, but he doubted he would be comfortable for long. 

Aegon tested the claps, pulling on the chains a few times, and when he was satisfied, walked back to the table. “You wanted to have her attention, her touch perhaps?” he mused out loud, obviously a threat of what was to come. “Well, you shall.”

Aemond forced himself not to peek over his shoulder and instead he braced himself, wondering what you were about to inflict on him. He forced himself to breathe, willing his mad heartbeat to slow down, imagining you carving his back with the dagger, or heating a poker on the fire and branding him.

“How many, your grace?” he heard you ask, and he swallowed a frightened grunt.

“As many as it takes for the lesson to sink in,” Aegon replied. Aemond heard him sit on his blind side, lounging in the armchair with a sigh, and it made his skin prickle.

Finally, the crack of a leather whip registered, a whole second before the pain did. A hot line burst across his back, taking his breath away even more viciously than the collar had—his whole chest was alight with it, the pain of the cuts barely a faint thrumming. His breath returned to him in the form of a cry tearing out of his throat. If the strain of being bound with his arms backward had been painful, then a simple strike of the whip was excruciating. 

He shifted on his knees, his thighs shaking with the effort. “That was one,” Aegon announced laconically. “How many do you think he can stand before he starts to beg?”

The second one hit him just as fiercely as the first one did, lower on his back, catching the bones of his spine rather than the muscle of his shoulders. It was worse in a way, his hips rocking despite himself, trying to ease the unbearable pain. With each stroke of the whip the air was taken from his lungs, only to return with more and more force.

One by one, you watched as red, angry lines appeared on the prince’s pale skin. Despite the effort it demanded, you were glad for it. At first you poured your anger and residual fear into it, but as you built a steady rhythm and Aemond started to shake, even in-between lashes, you started to find it oddly soothing. The young man was a sight of pure beauty, you thought to yourself—from his silver hair falling over his shoulders, to the lean muscles of his back shifting under his skin, to his strong yet slender legs that struggled to him upright.

There was an elegance to it all, and you relished the power you had over him.

Finally, Aemond’s strength gave and he fell forward, his weight resting on the shackles, his legs trembling with the mere effort of resting on his knees and ankles. His head was buzzing too hard for him to hear his own screams, and he wondered if he was still making any sounds. By the end of your strength, Aemond’s throat was sore, his chest tighter than before, and his back felt as though it had been set on fire, the skin prickling like it was struck by a thousand needles.

“That is enough for now,” you panted, sounding exhausted, and Aemond heard the whip clatter to the ground. 

“Thank your queen, or I shall pick up the whip,” Aegon ordered.

Aemond swallowed, his head hanging between his limp shoulders, his eye screwed shut in agony. “Thank you, my queen,” he rasped, barely a murmur, and Aegon made a pleased sound. 

Aemond’s heart was beating against his rib cage, his blood rushing in his ears so fiercely that his head was spinning, but two warm hands came to him, tilting it back until the crown of his hair was resting against the sturdiness of a corset.

“Hush now, my prince. You took your punishment well, and I am sure it pleases your king,” you soothed him with your words and your palms cradling his cheeks.

Shame still heavy in his stomach, Aemond loathed himself for the way he leaned back against you, wavering on his knees. Tracing circles on his face with the pads of your thumbs, you made another croon, much like you would in the presence of a pup. He gritted his teeth and you smoothed the trembling line of his lower lip. 

“It pleases your queen as well,” you whispered furtively, as though it was meant to be a secret between the two of you. 

From your towering position over him, Aemond knew you surely noticed the shudder that ran down his front at your words and touch, his stomach quavering and a lick of heat bursting at the base of his cock. It was such a relief from the agonizing throbbing in his back that he wanted to chase the feeling.

One of your hands slid around his neck until it found his throat and the leather collar wrapped around it. A simple pressure was enough to make another dry sob escape from his lips, a subtle reminder of who was in control. Aemond heard Aegon rise from the chair and walk towards him excitedly—to his surprise, a kiss was pressed into his hair. Then and only then, did the black take him.

That first night, Aegon had Aemond’s chains loosened so that he could lay down on his side without too much added injury to his back. He was given no shirt to cover himself, no blanket of any kind, and the cold stones were his only comfort. For a while he laid there shivering, bitter regret cloying at his throat, his eye still throbbing, but then exhaustion took him under.

The dark was thick when he awoke from his fitful sleep. He could not tell what hour it was, only that dawn must not be far away, judging by the state of the fire across from him. He could not see anything beyond the embers illuminating the carpet, not even the shapes of the armchairs facing him.

It took Aemond a minute to realize what had woken him. It was not the pain nor the cold, but a steady creaking of wood. He slowly came to recognize the rhythm of the bed rocking under a rocking motion, soon accompanied by your sighs of pleasure.

Aemond’s cock started to fill despite himself, the more the creaking and sighing went on. The memory of your hands on his face and his throat was enough to make it twitch, bringing it to life entirely, and he loathed how he clung to it, desperate for comfort in his misery.

“What would you have done, if he had succeeded?” Aegon’s voice rose in the dark, so loud Aemond flinched minutely—your voice came next, a whisper hushing him. “Would you have married my murderer?” he asked.

You laughed lowly, muffled by what must have been a hand, and Aemond wondered what Aegon was doing to you to earn such a reaction to that morbid question. More than anything, he wished to hear your answer, to know the truth of your heart.

“Perhaps,” you replied, enigmatic and teasing, your answer cut short by a pleased gasp.

“Gods, you’re tight,” Aegon marveled, wet sounds rising louder and louder in the otherwise silent room. Aemond bit his lip and curled his hands into fists, bidding himself to stay silent and motionless, save the clinging of the chain reveal him. “What shall we do with him on the morrow?”

“Whatever you wish, your grace,” you moaned.

In the end most of the following days were spent waiting. Aemond watched from his kneeling position at the cross, as Aegon bathed and got dressed, the servants instructed to ignore him, to act as though he was not another man in the room, but a piece of furniture. While it offered him a respite from the pain Aegon liked to inflict if he’d had a bad council meeting, Aemond dreaded being left alone with his thoughts and his hopes for the coming evening. 

At night, Aegon took pleasure in tormenting him, running his hands along the marks he had left, choking him until his vision was turning black whenever he displeased him by his silence or his noises, depending on what the king had asked of him.

One evening, he came to him after supper, a cup of wine in hand and a gleaming in his eyes. Sitting at the foot of the bed, you were braiding your hair in a loose tress, observing the scene with obvious enjoyment and curiosity. 

Aemond had been chained facing the room again, which likely meant the whip would not come to meet his skin once more, but the knife probably was an option. While he had taken pride in resisting at first, now Aemond found it tiring—leaning into the pain and obeying his king served him better and earned him comfort, all the while fueling his wrath.

A carpet had been brought and put under him, and even though he was still not allowed a shirt during the day, he was covered at night. Better rest meant better endurance during Aegon’s fits.

Setting the cup aside, Aegon observed him carefully, no doubt planning his next move. Slowly, he reached to tug the collar still sitting at Aemond’s neck, toying with the buckle. Aemond braced himself, knowing his breath would be taken any coming second, but instead Aegon stretched his other arm and took hold of something on the cross and the back of Aemond’s neck was pulled back slightly.

It took a breath or two and a careful shift on his knees to realize that his range of motion was restricted, and he could not lean forward unless he choked himself, putting pressure on his core. He prepared himself to hold the difficult position for a while, setting his knees firmly apart and clenching his stomach.

“Do ease up, brother, I am offering a night of pleasure instead of pain. Tonight, you shall watch,” Aegon said triumphantly, reaching blindly behind him  and gesturing for you to join him. You happily jumped from the bed and sauntered to his side. 

Tonight he seemed inclined to torment instead of torture, and Aemond did not know whether he should rejoice or dread it. “Shall we show him what he never will have?” Aegon crooned to you.

After a moment of hesitation, you complied to your husband’s order, pulling at the laces of your gown and dropping it to the floor, followed by your undergarments. You shivered from the cold and Aemond’s followed the rise of it over your skin, from the peaks of your breasts down to the patch of hair at the apex of your thighs. His eye was dark and hungry, and you bit your lip when he visibly spread his knees and swayed his hips, wincing when the movement tightened the collar at his neck.

“Tell me, do you lay awake and listen to us at night?” Aegon asked, his thumb tracing the curve of your breast and making it bounce gently, then pressing into its plush flesh, amusing himself with how sensitive you were.

The prospect excited you, but Aemond stayed silent. “Answer your king,” you tried, and to your greatest pleasure, Aemond complied instantly.

“Yes,” he said with obvious difficulty, adjusting his stance once more. 

You felt the need to adjust yours as Aegon followed an invisible line down to your belly and dropped a thumb between your folds, gathering wetness and pressing it back up to your pearl.

“How does it make you feel, listening to me fuck her?” Aegon asked, and at that his brother snapped.

Aemond’s face turned furious and he raged, much as he had done on the first day, before you had taken the jewel from his face and the whip to his back. “Have you not taken enough? You’ve taken my control, my dignity, now what else would you take?”

Aegon slowly stepped away from you and walked towards him, menacing but calm. Slow enough that Aemond perfectly knew what was coming, he took hold of the buckle at his nape and pulled, choking him while he looked into his eye. “You wished to take my life,” he reminded him. “I shall take everything but that from you if I wish.”

“No,” Aemond murmured, panic seizing his chest, his sternum burning with the lack of air. Still, he used the last of it to choke three words out. “I wanted retribution.”

Aegon released him suddenly, making him cough and inhale as deeply as he could. “For what? Haven’t I been a benevolent king to you?” he asked, hooking his fingers in and pulling again, more viciously this time. “I gave you my trust, a position at my side but it wasn’t enough, was it?”

Aemond turned flushed, his wrists struggling against the shackles, but his eye was calm, steady on his king’s face. “You are a greedy little thing, aren’t you, love?” he asked, making Aemond shudder. “It was my fault, as older brother. As king. I should have seen it.”

He released him once more, and as he breathed in fitfully, Aemond felt an odd sense of calm wash over him. Gone was his earlier anger, now all that mattered was the air the king was giving him, his mind was blissfully empty save for the instinct to please and be awarded life.

“The hound bites the hand that neglects it, doesn’t it?” Aegon crooned.

His hand fiddled with the buckle at Aemond’s neck once more, and for a mad moment, he thought it would be a worthy end to die here, at the hand of his brother. “Behave and you shall be rewarded,” Aegon promised him with a swipe of his thumb to his bottom lip—Aemond’s tongue came to lick the salt he had left there, barely a trace of the wetness he had gathered at your core.

You had watched the entire scene with fascination, sipping the light, sweet wine you favored and eating some grapes that had been served with it. You watched as Aemond licked then bit his lip sharply, his chest rising up and down so quickly you feared he would work himself up into a fit once more. 

His mouth must have been dry, and his throat sore, you thought. Still bare, you approached him, preening under his hungry eye. You rolled a grape between your forefinger and thumb, and then extended your arm towards him until the cool, smooth surface of the fruit was pressing against his lips. 

He parted them, his tongue pushing against the pad of your thumb. You loved how he usually reacted to your hands on his face, and you enjoyed it all the more knowing he would have never allowed it if he was not bound to your mercy. Aemond had always been a proud man, and despite his lingering glances, you knew he would have never asked anything untoward of you.

Now, chained as he was and unable to keep his usual iron grip on his inhibitions, he melted into you at every occasion. It had been what he had needed all along, you reasoned—to be stripped from his control and forced to submit, when his ego would never allow it.

“He’s yours for the rest of the night, what do you say?” Aegon murmured into the back of your shoulder, curling around you and pressing a kiss to your soft skin.

Aemond watched, visibly envious, as you turned in his arms and let yourself be swept up into a deep kiss. Aegon took your mouth slowly, with obvious practice and knowledge of your touch. You melted into his arms, arching your back and pushing your hips into his.

Aemond’s nose flared, the chains clinging once more as he no doubt shifted his stance. It made you laugh into the kiss. “What of you?” you asked your husband when he retreated, picking up a cup and dropping into one of the armchairs. 

He lifted the cup as though to make a toast to the scene unfolding in front of him. “I truly don’t mind watching,” he explained, then his eyes turned to his brother again. “Remember your king’s instructions. Please her, behave as she commands and you shall be rewarded.”

Aemond shivered, suddenly frightful. So far, since you had let go of the whip that first day, you had been the gentle touch that soothed his wounds, the hand that had poured water past his lips and held his head upright when he could not. However, now that Aegon had relinquished his lead, Aemond wasn’t so sure you wouldn’t use the opportunity to hurt him again. 

For a while you kept silent, considering, and he yearned to know what thoughts were coursing through your mind. He could see them at the back of your eyes, rushing and turning, and it filled him with the lovely sort of dread he had recently discovered. His breathing grew deeper despite his endeavor to ground himself, and he spread his knees to settle himself more solidly. 

From time to time you would push a grape past his lips and he would take it gratefully—he would need his strength if you planned to make use of him. “Bring me a stool, would you?” you suddenly asked Aegon without tearing your eyes from Aemond’s face, and there was no doubt that it was an order.

Aegon hummed, visibly curious. “To what end?”

“I want my pleasure with him,” you explained as though it was the most natural proceeding. “Such beautiful features should not go to waste,” you added, pushing your thumb on his upper lip, enjoying its lovely curve.

Aegon grinned, and rose to retrieve a four-legged stool that had sat in the corner of the room for days, untouched. “Features, indeed,” he commented, glancing at the length between Aemond’s legs, which had slowly filled with blood under your touch.

Without a word Aegon pushed the stool between Aemond and the cross and forced him up and backwards by the hook at the nape of his neck. The pressure of the chains relented as he sat down, planting his feet into the floor, but he did not have time to enjoy the new position before you stepped forward again and straddled his hips.

“Spill inside of me and I shall make you regret it,” you said, pulling on the side of the collar. You rocked against him once, slowly, a sigh falling from your lips, inches from his. “You will behave for me, will you not?”

“Yes, my queen,” he vowed.

The delicious pressure of your core against his cock would have made him swear to anything. It had been too long now since he’d had release, and the promise of your sweet heat around him was too much to resist. The weight of your bare body atop his and the way your breasts were brushing against his chest were making him lose his senses.

Aemond bit back a moan when you reached between your bodies, expertly pulling his waistband aside, and lowering yourself onto his length. His breath caught as though you were choking him as he felt you, wet and unbearably hot, stretch around him. After days of pain, it felt incommensurably good to have a taste of pleasure. 

However he had no leverage to grind up against you, lest he choke himself, and all he could manage was to rock his hips side to side. It provided some angle but not much, and all he could do was sit there and take whatever you gave him.

The pressure of your walls around him was heaven, and the sight of your face scrunched in pleasure was making him spiral. “Please,” he breathed before he could think better of it.

“What was that?” you whispered, lost to your own mounting ecstasy. 

“Please, my queen,” he repeated, groaning when it made you clench around his cock, unbearably tight. 

You nodded wordlessly, rocking against him with more vigor, chasing a peak that would soon come, if the blissful expression in your eyes was anything to go by. Aemond’s resolve broke—he tilted his chin up, chasing your mouth that still you refused. 

“I beg of you,” he rasped.

“Oh, Aemond,” you said in marvel, one of your hands reaching behind him to grip the edge of the cross, your other palm settling at the curve of his jaw. 

Finally, you granted him your kiss and something inside of him gave way. All the pain, rage and frustration of these last few days poured out of him and he felt incommensurably grateful. The collar choked him but it did not matter, the only thing at the forefront of his mind was your lips on his and your body curled up atop him. For days now he had cried at the altar of his king’s revenge, and now he found himself worshipping you, his queen.

Never before had he wanted to pray for forgiveness so badly, for mercy and a chance to kneel at your feet once more.

Incensed by his pleads and the sight of him trembling, chained as he was and devoted to your pleasure in utter disregard for his own comfort, you arched your back, crying out, as your release tore through you. Aemond heard himself whine through the thrumming of his heart—he could feel his own release at the base of his spine, his core tensing to the point of pain—all he would need was a few thrusts.

“No—” he gasped weakly as you pulled away, choking himself fully when he was careless with the collar, chasing your heat.

Aemond cursed himself—in the end, he had forgotten why he even was here. However no matter his anger, no matter his hatred that had brought him here, he would not make this mistake again. You had shown him what he could have, if only he could reign in his impulses and his anger. He swallowed the curses he wished to scream and suffocated his own ego.

“Aegon, please,” he whispered, looking up at his brother pleadingly. 

“You’ve taken it all beautifully, perhaps you deserve a reward,” Aegon conceded, rising and coming to him, kneeling on the cold stones where Aemond had been forced to kneel himself. 

Aegon wrapped his hand around Aemond’s cock, his palm slightly rough from swordtraining, the metal of his rings slightly uncomfortable, and Aemond wanted to weep. The glide was made smooth by your wetness and within a few strokes his head was spinning, that tell-tale feeling of urgency rising in him. For a second Aemond thought he would be denied again. 

However it seemed his king really was benevolent—pleasure burst at the pit of Aemond’s stomach and he spent himself in hot, desperate ropes. His eye throbbed with the force of his, his entire body straining into his shackles, but all pain was forgotten, replaced by a bone deep sense of satisfaction, and peace. 

“See what your king can give you, when you behave?” Aegon murmured, pressing a loving kiss to his forehead.

“Yes, your grace,” Aemond answered, honest for what perhaps was the first time since he had been put in chains. 

The scene was as beautiful as one of worship like the holy texts told, you thought. Wrapping yourself in a silky robe, you lingered by the foot of the bed where a small box laid open, revealing a metal key.

“Has the hound learned its place?” you asked, twirling the key in your hand.

Aemond’s throat clogged with unshed tears and he closed his eye, nodding wordlessly. It wasn’t until the sound of shackles behind unclasped that he opened it again—the burning pressure at his arms lessened once and for all and his wrists slipped free from the cuffs. The key was set down in his lap and you returned to the bed, sitting on the gilded covers and silk sheets, Aegon standing at your side, resting his chin atop your head.

His king and queen watched in silence as Aemond took the key and freed his neck from the collar and his ankles from the loose chains. Without a word, Aemond rose and took his rightful place. The sheets were soft under the flayed skin of his back.

Dividers by @/saradika. Requested by anonymous.

A/N: I could not find the exact High Valyrian glyph that would spell Aegon's name. I don't think there is one, but I found one that spells āegion, meaning iron, and I thought it would have to do.

It looks this like this:

Kinktober taglist: @emerald-jade1 @venusbylineblog @rax-writes @multyfangirl @triscy

Despite your eye following the pathway of High Valyrian ink splashed on the weathered pages of your book, your brain takes forever to process the words.. It is a story you had enjoyed since the days of your wetnurse but now you are focused on the utter injustices occurring by the dinner table before you. You always found your nose nestled in a book throughout dinner, all save for this one.

The Queen mother is bent over her plate, forgetting her table manners in the vehemence of her passions, while Aemond assumes a hostile glare from his perch at the head of the table. Aegon sits slumped in between you and Helena, with his half lidded eyes so painfully tedious as he prods at his food, while these fake gods scold him from above.

"And to make matters impossibly worse, you failed to display even a shred of sympathy towards his condition-" Despite the nature of his mother's tone, it does not stop Aegon from rebutting where necessary, with a quick, sharpness on his tongue.

"This 'condition' you speak of, being the imprisonment of a wealthy merchant's stupid son." Aegon releases a short, winded chuckle, one that you share behind the concealment of your book. "Perhaps he shouldn't have gotten himself captured."

"He is apart of your battalion, Aegon- fighting your war-"

"I am not at war. As I sit here, I am not harbouring any ill feelings towards any party-"

Aemond interrupts, "All you think about is fucking and drinking-"

"Precisely brother!" Aegon proceeds to turn to his mother, with his hands splayed outwards he reiterates, "All I think about is fucking and drinking,"

A loud, unladylike snort escapes the confines of your throat which you attempt to sheath with a cough as you study the words in your book. Aemond rolls his eyes while Aegon throws a blatant smirk beside you- "See Mother! Now our dear cousin has fallen ill as a result of the animosity stirred by your incessant scolding!” Aegon’s voice is doused in sarcasm as he rubs his hand into your shoulder, “All because of your nagging, mother," Alicent’s eyes darken as her voice descends into caution "Aegon. Tomorrow you are to formally apologise to that Knight. He is a seasoned member of your Kingsguard-" The politics was becoming far too much on him. His grip has yet to leave your shoulder.

"Why the complete and utter fuck should I be pandering to my subjects?"

Aemond is the first to inject "Have you not a shred of Diplomacy, you fucking imbecile?" You eye Aemond from above your book, and you cannot begin to imagine the younger brother would ever inject himself into Aegon's business, no reason except perhaps, jealousy?

Aegon promptly ignores Aegon, and, with his eyes on Alicent, he leans over the table and whispers:

"If Rhaenyra wishes to have the crown, she may gladly take it-"

"AEGON!" The queen's thunderous voice settles over the table like a tempest, injecting all those present with a sharp, instinctive flinch, all except Aegon, who remains lax and unaffected by her outburst, only fueling the Queen's anger to first born tenfold.

"I cannot rely on you for anything, Aegon, NOTHING! For a mother to be so utterly embarrassed by her son- her eldest son," there is venom in her incredulity, one that has your brows curving as you send a sympathetic gaze at the Usurper. You lower your novel and lean slightly closer to the battlefield that has befallen the dinner table. Aegon’s hand drops from your shoulder, landing in your lap. You clasp his trembling hand in both of yours.

How a simple visit to see your cousins in King's Landing had turned into a public execution of Aegon's dignity, is utterly beyond you. You decide that you simply will not allow it, you cannot allow it, and solidarity is all you hope Aegon feels radiating from your clasped hands under the table.. You look up at him, thinking you might look up to find anguish in Aegon's eyes, but all you find there is a sly, almost secretive smirk dancing along his visage.

"You govern this country like a child-" Aemond begins but you're quick to snip back,

"Perhaps we should be mindful, cousin of the fact that Aegon still is a child. He is but 20 years in age!" You exclaim, with your own incredulity coating your laughter, "Aegon's destiny was pre-written when you were barely able to wipe your own shit, Cousin." Aegon fails to conceal his crass bought of laughter.

"I've no time for this," Alicent says, pushing herself out of her chair before rising in silent anger, "Helena, come," she commands before leading a slightly aloof Helena out the dining hall without another word. Helena mumbles something about broken unions in iron castings before disappearing.

The silence is deafening as Aemond's one eye studies the two of you - he is not able to see your hand underneath the table, you don’t think…

"Before you think about fucking our cousin, at least think about fucking your wife." Aemond announces, to an amused Aegon who keeps his amused gaze lowered to the table. It is then that Aegon squeezes your hand, still seated on your lap. His fingers encircle yours in what you initially deduce is acknowledgement of your solidarity, but what you quickly realise is something much more sinister.

"I cannot say I will heed your counsel, brother," It is then that Aegon grabs ahold of your hand, guiding you until your palm is cupping his hardened cock. "But you can trust that your council is solemnly heard."

Aemond watches you from above the rim of his chalice as he empties the final traces of his wine before placing his chalice back on the table. His exit is a slow one, one that has your anticipation expanding and Aegon's patience waning. In all honesty, hearing your valiant defence to preserve his dignity raised an intense feeling of desire in Aegon. Even though Aegon's only feeling ever, always seemed to be desire.

"Come here," He says once Aemond footsteps have echoed away, "I need your mouth," Despite his command, Aegon is already leaning in with his hand cupping the back of your skull. Soon, all you can smell is him. All you can feel is him. All you can taste is the drunken and sunken taste of him.

His tongue forces its way into your mouth, ripping a fresh groan from inside you as he twirls you into his lap. He has you arrested on him, his front to your back, with your arse pressed on his crotch. His hand on your face cranes your neck backwards and forces his mouth on yours, promising that even if you wanted to free yourself, you may never be able to.

"I love how you see me," He whispers, never breaking away too far, in fear of you disappearing, "How utterly pleased I am with the version of myself I see living in your eyes," His words spill out of him and slip inside your mouth bridged by your shared saliva.

"He is not useless. He is not pitiful," Aegon breaks away from the kiss, to lay a palm on your cheek.

As one hand lovingly strokes the side of your face, Aegon’s other hand is ravenous, as it palms your sensitive breasts through the bodice of your dress.

"Thank you for not judging me," He all but whimpers as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. He breathes you in until his hips attempt to grind into you like a touch starved adolescent boy, while he ventures under your soft skirts.

"You don't have to thank me, Aegon." Your hands reach backwards to cradle his head into the crook of neck just as Aegon's fingers reach around to hook into the seat of your underwear. You aren't nearly as aroused as him, but somehow that fact has Aegon spiralling even further into arousal. His eyes are squeezed shut as he leans into you, smelling you, while his fingers drift over your pussy, searching desperately for a reaction.

"It is very rare that I find myself wanting to give any woman pleasure," Aegon's admits, with a low, dense drawl. His actions steal the breath from your very lungs as you feel the first sign of wetness begin to coat your underwear. He is in utter awe when he feels it. Quickly descending into a level of pleasure that he was not even sure existed, "I fucking love your cunt," He murmurs in his desperate drunken haze, "I wish to play with it and taste it and fuck it until you’re barely able to speak-"

"God's, Aegon!" Your voice is hoarse and your cries reach the highest rafter of the dining hall. Despite your degenerate wails, Aegon does little to stop them, in fact he encourages them, as his fingers push your underwear aside.

"When did you get so fucking wet?" The warmth of his breath fans against your cheeks, as he presses his front against your behind, "Did I get you this wet?" He asks, before getting the strongest surge of arousal as he whispers, "Did your King get you this wet?"

All you are able to accomplish is a nod as your mind explodes with vibrant visions of your near release. Soon, you're moving your hips in tandem with Aegon's fingers squeezing sloppily at your clit before rubbing with vicious surety.

"Please-"

"Call me by my title," He whispers, completely stripped from his sensibilities. "Tell your King to make you come," Aegon's brain is filled with what he suspects is determination. He is determined to see the most lecherous parts of you crack, and have it done by his design. He rubs your cunt with furious passion while he pushes up from underneath you, utterly destroyed by the idea of having a monopolised control over the workings of your body.

"Fuck- please my King!" The ache between your legs is as warm and erratic as Aegon's hands. "Please let me cum-"

"Tis only I, who can get My Lady this wet and needy," He murmurs, quite literally to himself, as he pushes his hips against your arse.

"Only you, My King." You decide to humour him, seeking the quickest way to your release, "Only you can make me cum," Throughout his tirade, Aegon's other, unoccupied hand has reached around and clasped itself against your throat. He is violent in his actions, squeezing deliriously until your throat is vacuumed of all its air. It's an utterly depraved situation you have both found yourselves in.

Anyone could decide to walk in at any moment and Aegon affirms as much. "You're such a pretty little whore, making a mess on my fingers like this. Fuck, The servants could decide to walk through at any moment," His grip on your throat relaxes, allowing you gasp hungrily for air while the first spots of your organs threaten to surge through you.

"P-Please, My King-"

"What would they think if they find you humping my hand like such a needy, little whore?" He is rubbing rough circles against your cunt until finally, you're unable to resist teetering on the edge much longer. As your orgasm washes over you, and your body shudders above him, Aegon's own orgasm is triggered as he forces your hips further onto the seat of his pants.

"My Lord," your voice is shallow but a restless tremor settles on your limbs, "Have you no shame," you're partially jesting, as you try to come back from your previous delirium.

"I've already been branded a devil," He says, "There is no Grace left to fall from."

<3

"You are to marry the King's second son. Prince Aemond Targaryen."

Those were your father's words. Your sister had looked at you almost with pity and a hint of relief since that fate had befallen you and not her. You had simply nodded, accepting the fate decided by your father, just as thousands of other daughters before and after you would have done.

Your mother had come to comb your hair before going to bed, and without much ado, she had told you what would happen after the wedding, after the banquet.

"All you have to do is try to relax your nerves, and I promise it will be less painful.”

The thought had stuck in your brain until the wedding day. And the aura emanating from the prince didn't help. He was stoic to the point of looking like a statue, his posture rigid as a spindle, and there was something unsettling about him that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand when he took your hand to recite the wedding vows. Fear, but also a foreign giddiness prickling your skin upon feeling his calloused fingers around yours.

The banquet had not helped either. Prince Aegon had behaved like a court jester, drinking to the point of wondering how he could stand upright, poking his brother with cruel jokes about his eye and a whore who had made Aemond a man many years before.

You didn’t know what kind of unpleasant memories your good-brother had just summoned in his brother’s mind. That woman and her cheap perfume, that way it had clung to his skin, to his thoughts for days after his only ever trip to Flea Bottom.

Then the elder Prince had approached you with his breath stinking of Dornish and it was then that Prince Aemond broke his icy silence, standing up abruptly and looking down at you. "Come, wife. It is time for us to retire."

Prince Aegon had clapped his hands as if in front of a hilarious show, saying "Finally some fun! The bedding!"

The entire crowd present at the banquet had escorted you to the prince's chambers. The servants had removed your dress, leaving you in your underskirts; you had unconsciously covered your chest, crossing your arms to hide from the greedy eyes of the men peering in the doorway, Prince Aegon in the front row with yet another cup of wine clutched between his fingers.

Master Mellos invited you to lie down on the bed, and you obeyed, swallowing, while a host of servants shielded you from view as the Maester made his humiliating inspection.

"All is in order, your Graces," the Master informed the Prince and Queen. And that was enough for Aemond to completely slip the iron mask off his face and go straight to the door. "The show is over. Get out."

"Oh, come on, little brother. Let me watch, at least. I could give you some tips."

Aemond had towered over his brother, and from your seat on the bed, you were able to see the eldest brother shrinking by the moment. "This is not some common whore you're speaking of.” Aemond seethed “She is my wife, and you will owe her the respect she deserves. One more lewd word from your mouth, and I will rip your tongue with my bare hands. Am I being clear?”

"Gods, brother, are you already so cunt-struck?"

He never got an answer, only the door being slammed right into his face.

You stood in the middle of the room, torturing your hands as he looked at you from the door. He seemed unsure of what to do, until he cleared his throat and took a few tentative steps in the room.

“You could have some wine, if you wish. It may…help you.” He said, but as he said this, he seemed to regret his own words, given how his mouth twitched as if he had just tasted something sour. Memories could come just like that, sudden and sour.

“You must relax, my prince. Have some wine, maybe? No need to worry, I will take care of you just as a prince deserves to.”

“I’d like to keep my mind clear, my Prince.” You said, keeping your gaze down, hearing his fast and deep sigh. “Fine.” he said, straightening his back as a soldier. After all, wasn’t this just another duty?

It wasn’t just that though. You were his wife now, the future mother of his children. It was his duty and his right to claim you as his own.

“Lay on the bed.”

With your heart pounding in your ears, you did as you were told but when the mattress dipped under his weight, you did not expect to see him with his clothes still on, the eyepatch firmly in its place. More so, you did not expect the harshness of his gestures as he held your waist to turn you around. The air hitched in your throat as your face met the mattress and a strange sorrow gripped your heart. Did he not want to look at you? Did he not like you?

“Try to stay still and it’ll be over shortly.” he said. He was trying to sound reassuring, but his voice came out cold and flat. His fingers latched on your underskirts, hiking them up, filling you with embarrassment as you grow completely exposed beneath him.

Aemond knew what to do. He may not have been as depraved as his brother, but he was still a man. And once in a while, when his hands would not suffice, some maid or servant girl would’ve had to bear, quite keenly on their part, his intimate attentions.

As his hands began to glide on your thighs, you shivered and said “Wait…”

Slowly your head turned to look at him, cheeks red and breath slow and anxious. “Am I not allowed to look at you?”

Your words seemed to stun him for a moment. The mere thought of you wanting to look at him made him realize how wrong he was behaving. You were his wife, not a common whore to bend over and have his moment of bliss. He had even told Aegon. That was not his intention, but there was a gap between how he felt and how he acted, a limb severed by years of pity looks and feelings trapped in his mouth and swallowed.

Almost gently, he made you turn but once you were facing him, he pinned your wrists on the mattress, unable to touch him even if you had gathered enough courage to do it. You tried to brace yourself for what your mother had told you. But she had not told you that he would touch you there, that all your senses would go numb except for that one brand new feeling between your legs. But he seemed enthralled by it just as you, his mouth parting to let out slow puffs of air as you grow wet and swollen against his fingers.

Your breath was labored, coming out in soft pants that made your cheeks purple. More so because he kept circling his deft fingers on your core while looking straight into your eyes, reveling in the way you were answering to his call, in the way he was shaping your need, your desire.

“You never touched yourself, did you?” he asked in a husky voice.

You barely shook your head and his eye glinted with something dark as he brought his face close to yours “Good. I shall be the only one inside you.”

He swallowed your shaky breath with this mouth, kissing you for the very first time, apart from the shy, almost prude peck exchanged after the wedding vows. Your lips moved shyly, trembling with the coiling pressure between your legs. And just when you thought this heat, this delicious aching couldn’t grow more unbearable, he sticked a finger inside you, spilling a loud moan right against his mouth.

One of your wrists twisted in his harsh hold, willing to touch him, to grip on something, but he didn’t let you. “Easy…” he blew on your lips “Relax. It’ll feel good, I promise…”

It surely felt good to him, to feel the tightness of your cunt squeezing his finger. He curled it and you squinted your eyes, choking a gasp that made him smirk proudly against your jaw. “Gods, you’re so tight…” he breathed as he kept rubbing slowly against your walls.

“It’s—it’s too much—“ you cried out with pain and pleasure running together, breathing his scent of ash, leather and a hint of something minty.

“How will you take my cock if you can’t even take my finger?” He whispered with benevolent cruelty, moving his finger faster and deeper.

Certainly your mother had not told you of the obscene wet sounds you would hear, of the uncontrollable moans coming out of your mouth, of his soft growling next to your ear when his breeches became too tight.

He had lined the tip of his hard manhood to your entrance, catching your breath away as tried to still your nerves, but the pain came altogether. You felt like he was cutting you from the inside. Tears filled your eyes, squinting for the painful stretching. You knew he was restraining himself; he didn’t want to hurt you more than he already was. And you almost felt affection for him, most men would not have bothered.

Then he had started to move, you felt that stranger body rubbing over and over against your walls, and finally the pain soothed, but not completely. You could tell he was enjoying it, his ragged breath and faint moans told you so, as well as the curses hissed through his teeth in a language you guessed was Valyrian. And then he had stilled completely, gripping your hips hard and firm while you felt a hot wave pulsing through your core.

The next morning, you could barely sit down for breakfast, and your aunt had looked at you with concern and a hint of amusement in her eyes. She was a veteran at court, a long-time widow, and quite happy to be so. It was her who suggested your betrothal to the Prince.

"How are you feeling, sweet niece?"

"Awful." you said promptly, shifting your weight on the seat.

"Well, this is the kind of anguish all women must go through."

"I thought that was giving birth to another human being."

"Oh Gods, no. That is the ugly part. This is the good one," she said with a sly smile "I suggest you enjoy it as much as you can."

At the time, you didn't really understand what she meant. The first night with the prince had gone...well, you thought. But he certainly enjoyed it more than you.

The second time was better. Your muscles were still sore, but the pain was but a faint discomfort compared to the pleasure you felt for the very first time in your life.

The third time he went down on you, bringing you so close to the edge only to deny your release, with cruel enjoyment on his part, making you whine with shame at the loss of his mouth and tongue on your folds.

The fourth time he bent you down on the breakfast table, all things falling in a mess of cutlery. He had pulled up your skirts and lowered his breeches just enough to thrust in, unraveling a special spot deep inside of you that had you mewling like some primitive beast.

The fifth time he had you writhing in bed, hair stuck to your head with sweat and hands clenching the sheets while he had you peak three times in a row.

It was then that you started to think your aunt was right.

That was indeed the good part.

“Are you afraid?” he asks, with a soft taunt on the tip of his tongue. You drag your eyes away from the gigantic beast before you and almost scoff. That is enough for him to laugh, quietly, but still not quietly enough for you to not notice and wonder at the view.

It’s been merely one moon since you’ve been married to Prince Aemond, and you could count on the fingers of your hand the times you have seen him laugh. It was eerie at first, you feared all the things you heard about the One Eyed Prince were true. That he was cold as stone and just as hard. And he was. But the more you spent time together, the more you were able to make cracks, and let light through.

“I’m equally afraid as any little mortal of right mind would be in front of the largest dragon in the known world, my dear husband.”

His lips stay quirked up, but his eye widens, as it always does when you call him that. He steps close to you, a few of his long strides are enough for him to tower over you, and the ground below your feet shifts.

“Come.” He says, taking your hand, “I promise she won’t eat you.” This time you deliberately glare at him, and he raises an eyebrow. “Do you need some other kind of persuasion to trust me? Perhaps like the one I used this morning?”

The early afternoon sun makes his face almost hurting to watch, or maybe it's just his bold gloating that makes his appearance so exhausting.

“That was not persuasion.” you remark, hiding the tinge of red on your cheeks “It was coercion.”

“Hmm. You didn’t seem so hostile when I made you come twice before breakfast.”

"I was hostile to the chance of the maid assisting with what we were doing."

"The maid should know better than to enter while my wife is undressing."

His eye roams over you just as he had done that morning, hunger clouding it, making your insides shrink. "Perhaps it's best if she knew. Someone must be aware of how cruel my husband is." there's a soft tease in your tone—something you are still learning, but true nonetheless.

He had ripped your nightgown with his bare hands when the maid entered to help you dress. She fled hastily, but you barely spared a glance at her, already lost to the fierce claim of his hand between your legs. He had taken you, twice, and then ordered you to dress, forcing you to have breakfast with the Queen and the Princess with your thighs still sticky with sex, sticky with him.

And he had been there, sitting just in front of you, with a piercing and delighted gaze.

He pulls your hand, and you follow, getting closer to that living relic that is Vhagar, Queen of All Dragons. She raises her monstrous head and looks straight at you with her amber eyes.

It is the first time you step so close to her, and even if you thought about it a lot, your heart is pounding fast, and your breath comes out slow and labored. She's a dreadful wonder.

She flares her nostrils and smells you, making a low rumble which results in a gust of hot wind that ruffles your hair and skirts.

“Lykirī, Vhagar.” Aemond says quietly “Issa ñuha ābrazȳrys. Kostā pāsagon zirȳla.”

You look at him questioningly, and he answers. “I told her you are my wife. And she can trust you.”

You cast a curious look at the dragon and then back at him “Is that all it takes? You tell dragons to trust you, and they resist the urge to turn you into their meal?”

Aemond curves his lips and makes you step closer, standing behind you and guiding your hand on the old green scales. “It takes much more than that.” he whispers in your ear “You have to surrender to them, completely. A dragon is no slave.”

You feel the heat beneath your palm, but it’s not that that makes you swallow; it’s the heat of his breath on your neck, right into your ear, scorching his way into your brain and inflaming every thought.

“What does Lykirī mean?” you ask, and you hate how your voice cracks on the edges.

He smirks because he knows, he always does. But he does not answer. Instead, he pulls your hand again, and you follow, circling the beast until stopping before the intricate ropes that lead to the saddle.

“Aemond, I don’t think—”

“You are my wife and you will ride with me on dragon back.” He said, commanding.

Truthfully, you gladly want to obey; there is just a slight difference between picturing riding a dragon and doing it.

Even the climbing to get in the saddle is a challenge on its own, but he helps you until you firmly seat yourself in it. Aemond sits behind you, and you look around with widened eyes, as if you are looking down from the highest tower ever built, except this is a living one, made of fire and breathing fire.

He leans over you to grab the reins, and you tense, waiting with bathed breath.

“Dohaeras, Vhagar. Soves!”

She lets out a loud screech that makes your ears hurt, but you have no time to even register it because she's already moving. You grip Aemond’s arms and brace yourself against his chest when Vhagar lurches onward and opens her huge wings to take flight.

She goes up and up, above the clouds, and your head is dizzy, with fear, with euphoria, until you are laughing like a child, like you never did in your entire life. Aemond lets go of the reins and laces his arms around you, angling his head to look at you, his silver hair violently ruffled by the wind. “How does it feel, my sweet wife?”

There are no common words to describe it. Now you know why they say Targaryens are closer to Gods than men. No man could claim a dragon or rule the skies.

“I feel like I’m close to the Gods.” you say, and he tightens the hold on you “Dragons do not answer to Gods.” he says, burying his nose in your hair “Where does this leave us?”

You turn your head to look at him, and you feel like you are looking at one of them. And yet he looks like he’s beyond any God.

“Above them. Above the Gods.”

“Hmm.” He croons, breathing your scent through his nose, and then his right hand grabs your skirt and dips underneath, until you feel his cold fingers grazing your skin. “I will make you feel like one.”

He cups your core through your small clothes, and you whimper, gripping his arm harder. He feels your heat through his palm, hotter than Vhagar’s own fire, and he sets the fabric aside to properly touch you. “My sweet wife.” he whispers, sliding a finger between your folds “Always so ready for me.”

“Aemond.” You say, holding your breath, trying to oppose but your voice cracks, and your body with it, already answering to his call. You see clouds before your eyes, but it’s all a blur, all your senses are enslaved by his touch, rubbing lazy circles on your bud. Too slow for your liking, for your need. Your hips arch and buck, chasing his hand for more friction, and he laughs, darkly. “What is it? What do you need, sweet girl? Tell me.”

He takes your chin with his free hand and forces you to turn your head and look at him. His hold is ruthless, but his tone is almost pleading. “Tell me.” he orders and you feel like he’s smothering you, sweeping away all the air from your lungs. “I-I need more…”

“More of what?” he asks, stopping altogether. “Show me.”

You look him in the eye and swallow, heat inflaming your cheeks, but there’s no place for shame, not here. It is just a faint ghost passing through you, and then it’s gone. Your hand pulls the gown up, and you place it on his, like a feather. “Here.” You breathe on his mouth “Inside.”

The howling wind does nothing to muffle his growl, and then he’s kissing you, harshly, teeth clashing and biting your lips as he accepts your plea, sliding a finger inside of you.

A strangled moan escapes you, and he swallows it, darting his tongue in every corner of your mouth. He releases your chin only to grab your leg to further open them and then he adds a second finger, moving them deftly until reaching that special spot. Your head falls back on his shoulder, gasping loudly, digging your nails into his hand.

Your breath is ragged and fast, and you uselessly try to stifle moan after moan even if there are only the skies to hear.

“Don’t.” he says grazing your lobe with his teeth “I want to hear you. I want you to scream for me.”

Your mind goes blank, as does all your restraint. You feel the tide coming to crash you, hips moving on their own accord, chasing and chasing. And then you’re drowning in it, mouth falling open and flesh and bones clenching and trembling.

He grunts softly when your nails scratch his skin and his fingers slip out, glistening; he raises them to his lips and tastes every drop of you. Still panting, he takes your chin once more with his sticky fingers and licks your lips, so you taste yourself on his tongue.

Your head is still dizzy when Vhagar lands in a clearing in the King’s Wood, but this has nothing to do with altitude. Your limbs are heavy when he helps you dismount, your legs buckle. There is a tautness knotting your bones, itching your fingertips.

You wish to touch him, because you have never, not as a wife would touch her husband, not as he has done with you.

It is only a moon and yet he has taken you almost every night and every day. He has touched you everywhere, he has molded you to his liking, and you let him do it with giddiness, undoing yourself like clay in his hands. He had put his mouth on you, and you have discovered he particularly enjoyed it, because he has done that at the most inopportune times, even in some dark corner of the corridors.

And you wondered if you could do the same with him—not because you have to, but because you want to. You want to claim him just as he claims you, relentlessly.

And he really is. He is relentless, he doesn't give you the time to wander with your hands, to discover, to touch. Fire burns him quickly and you are ashes before you realise you are burning with him.

“I didn’t know my wife had claws.” He says at one point, while you are going back to the Keep.

You wake from your thoughts and turn, watching him raise his hand to show the red marks on the back of his hand, and the sight makes you almost proud—proud to have left a mark of you on him. But you want more, and he wants more. You know it; it takes a brief look at his breeches to know that he wants more.

You dart your eyes around, but there's no one. So, you stop. Trying to gather all the boldness you never had, you step closer to him and take his hand in yours. Your eyes look up slowly, glinting with uncertainty and bravery. "Then let me soothe your pain, husband."

Aemond’s eye widens, and the air around you turn heavy, forcing you to open your mouth to breathe. You take one more step and bring the back of his hand to your lips, kissing it gently while your eyes stay fixed on his face. The other hand goes tentatively to his chest and then slides down, and for once, just once, he’s the one answering your call. His eye darkens and his lips part when your hands bashfully grab the laces of his breeches.

But you should have known better. Targaryens and their desires. Doomed to take whatever they want, whenever they want, answering neither Gods nor men.

You barely blink and he grabs you by the wrists and forces you to the ground. Cold grass and bushes stinging your back make you gasp, but Aemond is already on you, watching you like a century-long thirsted man who takes a glimpse of a water spring, as if you could evaporate from his sight at any moment.

“Aemond, please.” you beg “let me—“

But his tongue is in your mouth, hot and scorching you alive. Your eyes flutter shut, and he hikes your skirts up, taking hold of your hips. You feel his bulge against you, hard and ready, and you can do nothing else than wait, pinned down like prey, all bravery a distant memory.

Suddenly he lowers himself down, lifting your skirts with haste until you’re completely bare half down. “No—Aemond, please I want to—”

“You want what?” he asks with a wolfish grin “Deny me your sweet taste? Iksā ñuhon, ābrazȳrys.” He said that already, you know what it means. You are mine.

“You belong to me. And this…” he swears placing your legs on his shoulders while looking at your aching core as a man who found the greatest treasure in the world. “This belongs to me as well.”

He runs his tongue up and down your wet folds, humming with delight as he tastes you and sees you squirm, arching your back on the stingy bushes. You moan loudly when he slowly swirls his tongue, not able to keep track of your hips starting  to move on their own, thrusting into his mouth and the sight of you like this, makes him even wilder, pushing him to open his mouth and put it entirely on your cunt, sucking harshly until anything before your eyes becomes blurred.

Your legs on his shoulders begin to shake and curl, caging him further against you, but just when you are about to come straight into his mouth, he pulls back. A weak sob leaves your mouth as your hips keep bucking against nothing and he smirks at that, untangling your legs from his shoulders, running his tongue over his lips, to taste what's left of you on him. You look at him through dazed eyes and a tinge of annoyance for the denied release. “What?” he has the boldness to ask with a sly smirk “Did you not enjoy it?” he runs his thumb on his glistening chin and swiftly licks it. "Hmm. I most certainly did."

“Aemond, please.” you claw desperately at his shoulders and forearms, forcing him to lie on you, feel something that could soothe the aching between your legs. He seems keen to grant you this mercy, molding his crotch against you so you can feel how hard and desperate he is.

“Please.” you beg in a thin voice.

“Speak it plainly, my love. I want to hear it from your pretty mouth.”

You look at him straight in the eye and what you say next is not a request nor a plea. Your mother would be ashamed of you, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

You are not begging. You are demanding. “Fuck me.”

He doesn’t need more than a few moments to get his cock out of his breeches, and not a moment later he’s pushing inside of you, your back arching on the bushes and your throat fighting for breath. He groans and starts a relentless pace, lifting his weight from you just enough for him to look at his cock going in and out, the sight only pushing him to thrust harder and harder. “Look at you.” he croons, sweet and rough “You were born to take me, to be mine.”

Your face twists with pleasure, teeth biting your lower lip while he takes you higher and higher, higher than any sky a dragon could ever take you.

He soon becomes messy and sloppy, cursing under his breath, but you can barely hear him. Your mind is sluggish and everything comes muffled: him, the birds chirping on some tree, your wet flesh slapping against his in the lewdest and most blessed way.

He curses some more, and then he’s spilling inside you, his arched mouth opening and his eye closing like a man absolved.

And yet, he does not stop. He has not claimed enough.

“Māzis, dōna ābrazȳrys. Come for me.”

Your hand clutches something on the ground, something with thorns that pierces your skin with pain, but you can’t even feel that, because you are falling, legs trembling around him, and heart stopping for an endless moment of pure breathtaking bliss.

“Gevie.” he coos with his lips on yours, falling with his body on you, still clenching and pulsing around him. He stays right where he is, nesting inside of you, and now it is the only chance you have been granted to touch him. You put an arm around his shoulders, catching your breath, and look at the skies above, thinking you are indeed above them.

It was easy to explain the dirt and grass stains on your dress. It was a little less easy to explain the twigs in your ruffled hair when you and Aemond returned to the Keep only to meet the Queen Mother along one of the corridors. Alicent merely smiled at you with a tight smile and did not spare from giving a look full of daggers to her son.

"Seven Hells" you mutter when you go back to your rooms and catch a glimpse of the mess you are in the mirror.

Aemond stays on the threshold to close the door and grins, or rather, gloats.

You step out of your muddy shoes and start to pull the laces of your dress.

"What are you doing?" he asks, and you playfully glare at him. "Am I allowed to take a bath now? Or do you want me to go around all sullied? I fear there are no believable excuses for the state I’m in."

"You can tell them the truth." he says, walking to you and replacing your hands with his to help you pull the intricate laces.

You smile softly with your back turned before raising an eyebrow, asking "Which is?"

He keeps his eye focused on the dress, a slight furrow in his brow, and stoically serious, he says "That your husband fucked you in the King's Wood."

"I could tell the maid. I'm sure she won't be stunned after what she saw this morning."

He makes you turn so you can look at him, and the sight before you makes your heart sing. His eye roams on your face softly, a rare sight on him, always stoic, always sharp, like all the angles composing this beautiful sculpture of black glass.

You always thought of marriage as a strategic deal for men, and a way for women to prove their value to the world, giving those same men sons and daughters. But you care for him. And he cares for you. That look on his face is enough for you to know that he cares for you, not merely as a brood mare.

“Gevie.” he says, quietly, and he touches your cheek, softly, making you wonder how those same hands can be so delicate and yet so merciless at the same time.

“What does it mean?” you ask, even if you are sure he will not answer. You observed that when he speaks in High Valyrian he does it almost to himself, as if to protect something he does not wish the others to know.

But this time, he meets your eyes and lowers his hand. “Beautiful.”

You look at him with your heart pounding in your throat, and then you stand up on your toes, crashing your mouth against his, almost catching him by surprise. But he is all too deft at turning the game on his side, and a few seconds later, his hands are gripping your hips and his tongue is licking the roof of your mouth.

When the door suddenly opens, you pull back, spotting the same maid from that morning who, this time, can do nothing but suffer the Prince's wrath.

"Can't you just fuck off for once?!"

You hold back a laugh against his chest and the poor maid flees in a hurry. But when he pulls you to him, tilting his head to pick up where he left off, you step back and say, "I'm afraid the Queen has requested your presence. You should go, my dear husband. I promise that by tonight I will be completely clean."

"Tonight?" he asks, raising his eyebrow. "What is happening tonight?"

You shrug your shoulders and hold back a smile. "Innocence doesn't suit you, my Prince."

"Neither does you."

"I'm afraid this is your fault. You are sullying my soul as well as...everything else."

"You won't be of the same mind when you have my child growing in your womb," and he smirks, looking at you as if he's taking a sacred oath, and then walks away.

You finally manage to take a bath and change clothes, and then you go to visit your aunt. She spends most of her time alone, sipping tea in the gardens, partly because she can't stand the other court ladies, partly because the court ladies can't stand her. Truthfully, you cannot blame them, your aunt speaks plainly—too plainly at times.

You sit down with her for tea, which you end up swallowing like salt, because your aunt takes it with a whole squeezed lemon, and no sugar.

"I saw you with your husband earlier. I may be too old for new fashion but mud on your skirt and twigs in your hair seem a bit too brazen, even for me."

You stifle a smile, recalling what happened. If only she knew he was brazen enough to have you utterly undone on dragon back, thousands of feet up.

Your eyes go distant while you fumble with some tablecloth threads, but your Aunt stares at you piercely, and grabbing her cup of tea she says "I love that look on you."

"What?"

She sips the sour liquid and puts the cup down. "That look. The I'm in love look."

"I am not!" you counter, cheeks going red.

"Of course you are. I've watched you two. I dare say he's falling way faster than you."

You look at her puzzled. Many things have changed in a moon. And you are sure you are utterly infatuated with him. But you did not know what to think of what he actually feels for you, if he even feels something. You know he cares for you, you know he loves spending time with you. You know he's passionate, possessive, almost soft at rare times. But in love? That seems too soon to consider, or to hope for.

"It is too soon to talk about love."

"In fact, I did not, my sweet niece. Falling in love and love are beasts of different species. Why do you think we say "falling"? You can't stop from falling. To love a person is an entirely different matter. Love is a choice."

You let those words sink but you prefer not to question your heart right now. There is a reason you have come here to talk to your aunt, even if you don't know how to address the matter without melting from embarrassment.

But in the end, who could you ask for advice? Your squeamish maids? The Queen Mother? Definitely not.

"Listen, I...I wanted to ask you something..." you start "It is uhm...a matter of somewhat intimate nature."

"Ah, my favourites." your aunt says, beaming "I am all ears."

You shift uncomfortably in your chair and swallow another sip of that dreadful tea "My mother...she explained to me what would happen between husband and wife to...consummate the marriage. But she didn't tell me...well, everything else."

Your Aunt is quick to raise her eyebrow "I gathered that your marriage had been consummated by now. Thoroughly."

"Y-yes, of course. But I...discovered...that there are other ways for a husband to please his wife...and I was wondering if...if I could…do those same things to please him."

Your aunt looks utterly puzzled for a long moment, and then, almost stunned, she says "Oh Seven Hells, child. You are telling me you never sucked your husband off?"

A few court ladies walking near turned their heads, going white as sheets, while you, on the contrary, take a nice purple shade.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, prissies. We all did it eventually." she dismisses them, waving a lazy hand, and looks back at you. "You should do it, if you wish. Men love it. Your uncle used to ask—"

"I don't want to hear that, auntie, I'm begging you." you say squinting your eyes.

"Listen to me, child. Men love to think they rule everything, everywhere. But it is not always like that. And if you want to rule your husband's heart, you must rule in his bed first."

That evening, Aemond wanted nothing more than to lock himself in his room with his wife and forget all the hateful political talk he had had to endure at dinner.

You had not attended, and that had bothered him. Never would he have thought of marriage as anything more than a duty, yet there he was, wondering where you were, who you were with, and why you weren't in his rooms when he set foot in there.

"Where is my wife?" he asks the maid, and she keeps her eyes glued to the floor, saying "The princess spent the evening in the library, your Grace. She told me that she would be—"

"I am here," you say, appearing behind the young maid.

You see his chest sag as if a weight is leaving him, and he casts an icy glance at the poor maid "Out."

He is rarely kind to servants, but you can tell by his tense shoulders that something is wrong.

"Aemond, what is the matter?" you ask as soon as the door closes, walking up to him with a hand behind your back.

"Where were you? Why weren't you at dinner?"

"I was in the library."

"For four hours?"

"It was a tough read—"

He grabs your arm, gripping hour wrist harshly, and you flinch. "Aemond, I swear to you.” you say watching his eye on fire and a sneer twisting his mouth “You can ask Maester Mellos." 

Suddenly he lets you go, and looks down, closing his eye for a moment. But he doesn't apologize, he never does, and not because he is a Prince. It's just the way he is. He doesn't apologize, he doesn't say thank you, he doesn't say please.

"Aemond, what's going on?"

"I don't want to talk about it now. In fact, never. Not here."

You watch him carefully, and you nod as he moves to pour wine into a cup. You watch him gobble it up greedily, which is unlike him. So, you get close and move your hand from behind your back and say, "Anyway, I wasn't lying. I really spent four hours in the library...trying to decipher this."

You show him an old book, and the title catches his eye, cup held in midair. "Tales of the Dragonlords?" he asks frowning. "This is in High Valyrian."

"It is." you confirm as you move closer, and you steal his cup before saying, "Would you read it to me?" and you take a sip, of wine and courage.

He watches the liquid flow down your throat and then accepts the invitation, taking the book—the one he has read so many times he can recite it by heart. He opens it to the first page, but you say "No. Page 72."

There is a slight imperative tone in your tone of voice, and it thrills him, given how his eye glints under the candlelight. He drops it on the table, looking at you from head to toe, and says, "I'll read it to you later, sweet wife."

He steps closer but you back away saying, "Fine, then. I'll tell you what I understood so you can correct me or not." and at the same moment your own hands go up on your corset and you start pulling on the laces.

The gesture catches his eye like a moth to a flame and he stays silent as you pull all the laces and then slip off your dress, remaining in your underskirt. His gaze roams over you slowly, and with a soft smirk, he decides to play the game.

“Page 72, you said. How Dragonlords claimed Dragons.”

“Yes.”

"And why did it capture your interest? Do you wish to do it? Do you wish to claim a dragon?"

"I wish to conquer, not claim."

He comes closer and looks at you, breathing through his nose, restraining, always restraining, and then he's raising his hand to reach a lock of your hair falling on your shoulder, but you stop him, air as heavy as moss.

"The Valyrian sages say a dragonlord must surrender himself completely to the dragon. But it works both ways. The dragon must submit his will to their rider."

He looks at you without blinking, and you take his arms, guiding him closer until you turn and push him lightly on the bed. He sits and you slowly climb on his lap, knees caging his hips, heart is pounding in your throat like a hammer. You hear him taking a swift breath and pride pools in your bones because for once you have caught him off guard.

You can feel his crotch hardening by the moment, but the look on his face is not one of hunger or lust. It is pure and blessed devotion.

You wonder at the view, and your eyes roam on his face until...

"Can I take it off?"

There's no need to say what. His face goes hard as stone, eye looking away with discomfort, with shame.

"Please, Aemond." you whisper. "I want to see all of you. I want you to bare yourself to me as I did to you."

"It is not pleasant."

"I don't want pleasantness. I want you."

He stares at you for an eternal moment and then he caves.

A flash of sparkling blue catches you completely and you can do nothing but watch with lips parted, while he keeps his eye down.

You wrap an arm around his shoulders and lean your head against his to breathe one single word in his ear. "Gevie."

His arms are all around you, holding you so tight you might gasp for air. Instead you are smiling, breathing through his long silver hair. You are not sure if you aunt is right, if love is indeed a choice. You can't bring yourself to care because you are doing it already.

And then he's kissing you, seizing your tongue with his in a fierce consuming way. He slightly hikes up your hips, and his hand tries to slide between your legs, but you lace your fingers around his wrist, breaking the kiss with panted breath.

"No." you whisper, and he looks at you almost questioningly, mouth open and chest heaving.

"Lykirī."

His eye widens and you smile, secretly. "I know what it means now."

He smirks at this and does not miss the chance to be the ever diligent scholar. "But you said it wrong. The R is hard."

“Lykirī.” You say again, following his lesson, and in the same moment your hand leaves his wrist and goes down to his breeches. He dips his chin to look at it, at your hands unsure, and he too looks unsure.

“You don’t have to—“

“I want to.” You say, and your voice comes out firm and clear. “Please, Aemond. Let me…let me touch you.”

He realizes now that in all the times you have been lying together, you never managed to lay a hand on him. He likes to keep people at distance. Too many wrong hands have been on him. The Maesters’, inspecting, debating, healing without healing. That whore, taking what it was not hers to take, not yet.

But he wants you to touch him. He has dreamed of it, in any way a man could dream of a woman’s touch.

He looks at you for a moment, chest rising slowly, and then, without taking his eye off you, he pulls the laces of his breeches and guides your hand around his cock. You look down, exhaling a long breath at feeling his hard and hot flesh already pulsing.

He knows you don’t know how to do it, so his hands guide you at first, going slowly up and down, and the air comes out of his mouth slowly and labored. You look up at him, his eye is pitch black, lid growing heavy with pleasure, and your core clenches, desire pools in your belly and flows down.

He must hear the call of your body, because he releases your hand, still stroking him, and goes right between your legs. You gasp loudly, and he hums, delight dripping from his voice just as you are dripping on his fingers. He starts to pump his fingers and you can do nothing but moan, clutching his shoulders with your free hand, the other still around his cock, but the act is growing lazy, your mind can’t focus properly on what you are supposed to do.

“Listen.” he orders you, fingers moving faster and faster, and you do listen. Your soaked flesh coming undone at his scorching touch. “Who else has you like this?”

But this is a question he’s asking himself. Because no one else will ever have him bare like this.

“You. Just you.” you say hoarsely, eyes closing and hips rocking on their own accord.

“And who am I?” he whispers just as hoarsely, and yet his voice is like a whip on all your senses.

“My husband.” you cry, feeling the wave ready to drown you “Ñuha zaldrīzes.” My dragon.

You cannot care less about how you said it, because then your mouth falls open, nails digging into his shoulder while your trembling hips keep riding his fingers, clenching them like a vice.

Your head falls onward, leaning against his forehead, and you try to catch your breath. You watch his wet fingers go straight into his mouth while he looks at you, humming with pleasure. “You look so pretty like this.” he says with the ghost of a smile on his lips “I should fuck you in Throne Room with the whole court watching, so they know how pretty you are when you come for me.”

You laugh with your cheeks flushing, and he slides an arm around you, and you know he wants to pin you down on the bed and fuck you until you are muffling nonsense in the pillow. But this is not his game. This is yours, and even if you don’t know how to play, you will win.

“No.” you say, climbing down from his lap, and he looks at you with hunger and a tinge of thrilling curiosity. “It is my turn to claim.” You say with all the bravery you possess.

Not a moment later, you are going down on your knees.

Another small victory, because his eye widens as he had never done before, and you can see that this, the sight of you on your knees before him, is something he has been craving for, even dreamed of it.

His breathing is slow, and you are not even touching him.

You place yourself between his knees and you lean closer and closer, anxiety twisting your insides, but you want to do this. “Lykirī, nuha zaldrīzes. Surrender.” you take him into your hand, tugging slowly, and your lips linger on the tip, heart pounding in your ears and eyes fixed on him. “Lykirī.” You say one last time and then you are swallowing him.

He hisses loudly and his lips part, hands clutching the covers until his knuckles go white. He’s like burning metal inside your mouth—hot and hard. At first, you just taste him, running your tongue over the head, and he’s cursing under his breath. His hands twitch on the covers, restraining and restraining, but there’s no need. You take his hand while looking at him and you release it from your mouth to say “Teach me.”

It’s like you have just poured fire on more fire. His eye goes wild, he takes hold of your head and starts to guide you again, making your mouth engulf him once more and deep down to the base and then up to the tip again, filling the room with a wet gagging sound. You get the gist of what you’re supposed to do, so your head starts going up and down and up and down, and he actually moans for you, head falling back for just a moment before looking back, he can’t help but watch as you fiercely claim him.

You watch his chest heaving fast and your jaw is starting to hurt but you don't care, you are too absorbed by the view before you. You are too thrilled by the fact that, for once, you have made him speechless.

He's always so bold in the bedroom, so cruel in deciding when and how to give pleasure, and now he's utterly speechless. He can only curse without breath, and gasp and groan.

“Kelītīs.” he manages to say at one point, voice all husky and cracking. You don’t know that word, and you have no time to ask because in a blink, he’s slamming you onto the bed and he’s hiking up your skirt, but you get on your elbows pushing him on his back and climbing on him.

“I’m not done, valzȳrys.” you say feeling his hard length inflaming your core, so you lay your hips on it as firmly as possible. “I claimed, but I did not conquer.”

“You are fucking torturing me.” he points out, bucking against you.

“Conquests could last for centuries, dear husband. You above all should know that.”

“All I know now is that I need to fuck you.” he says placing both hands on the sheets to pull himself up.

“No, I will.” you promise, rocking your hips once more “This is my conquest, not yours.”

You keep rubbing your drenched core on his length until a sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead, and he's so hard he's leaking from the tip. "You are twisted, wife." he says with a dazed tone and you smile even if you can't take it anymore, but you rock some more, saying "I'm a quick study. And I'm learning from the best."

Finally, when you are so wet you are dripping on him, you raise just enough to slide his cock inside of you.

You gasp together and you brace on his shoulders to start moving. You both know you are not going to last long, so you start rocking your hips slowly, taking him to the hilt until you struggle for air.

“Move…” he orders but you just take the opposite road, slowing your hips in a delicious torturing way. “Do you know what else the Sages said? A rider must know their mount, feel their heat below them.”

But Aemond does not have a single drop of blood in his head right now to give you an answer, let alone play your game; he's just fire that burns and burns and burns and just like the Sages said, you can feel his heat, burning below and inside you. He grips your hips and starts to thrust inside you like the wild beast you are supposedly claiming, until you are moaning so loud your throat hurts.

“Yes—” he growls as you bounce on him “Just like that—you’re gripping me so well—fuck"

You both turn sloppy, a mess of sweaty limbs and teeth biting, clutching at each other with bruising grips, pulling at the roots of his hair when you’re about to fall from the highest sky.

"Come on, my sweet girl. Let go for me." he breathes into your mouth, forcing you to move even faster "Let go fro your dragon. Seal your conquest." And you do.

He follows right after, spilling inside while digging his teeth into your neck like fangs on a prey, muffling his loud groaning.

And you are smiling like a fool, a lovestruck fool, but most of all, a conqueror. 

It was your first family dinner with the queen and her children. Aegon had arrived already tipsy and was being exceptionally loud. “You think me immoral? For having some fun?” he asked, drunkenly smiling as he leant forward.

Alicent let out a sigh and opened her mouth to speak but you spoke before she could, “I think punishment will find those who deserve it,”

“Whatcha gonna do?” he slurred, putting his elbows on the table which you glared at, “Spank me?” he teased.

You smiled sweetly at him and just as he went to sit back in you gave the table a quick jerk causing the wine, he reached for to spill across the table. The red liquid instantly covered his frame, “You bitch!” he jumped up as he tried to shake the wine of his tunic, “This is new!” his whines were almost drowned out by Heleana’s giggles and Alicent’s attempt to hide her laugh.

“If you squandered your money less this wouldn’t be a problem,” you said but it fell on deaf ears as he went to storm out the room.

-

You weren’t shocked when the guards informed your sister Aegon had taken to the silk streets after dinner. He was shocked to find you leaving his room as he got back, “You’re waiting for me?”  he smirked when he saw you, “Need me that badly?”

“You’re driving your mother mad,” you sighed, crossing your arms.

Aegon ignored you, his gaze instead lower to how your breasts threatened to spill from your dress, only exaggerated by your crossed arms. You glowered at him as you lowered them, “If you’re worried, pray for me,” he said as he stumbled to his chamber door.

You rolled your eyes as you walked away. However, you still vaguely heard his cries of ‘what the fuck’ when he discovered you’d taken all the wine from his chambers.

-

Each day went the same. Aegon did something that would make a septa blush, you reprimanded him, he hit on you, you made him regret it. “As if you’re perfect,” he’d scoff at you when no one else could hear, “Bet you’re up to all sorts when no one’s looking,” You internally smirked but would just remind him of the sins of the flesh eating away at his soul. He didn’t need to know the truth. Not yet.

Slowly he was beginning to learn, beginning to behave better, but no amount of your scolds would stop his eyes from wandering your frame. Hell, the one time he came to the sept Alicent nearly leapt for joy. You didn’t want to break it to her he’d knelt beside you and kept looking down your dress when he thought you couldn’t see.

You also weren’t willing to admit you’d enjoyed it.

One-night Aegon came to your chambers. He was drunk and begging for your touch, so you sent him away. Your blood went Firey hot however when Aemond later confessed to seeing Aegon in a brothel with a woman who may as well be your twin.

Maybe it was time to punish him on his level.

-

You wanted him to be sober for this. You wanted him to remember his mistakes. So, you waited in his chambers while he was out to morning sword practise. He opened the door with a heavy sigh and let out an even heavier. “What did I do now?” he groaned as he made his way to his wine.

“Leave it,” you said, your voice calm, “And sit down,”

“I’m really not in the mood for a lecture,” he huffed as he grabbed a chalice.

You tutted as you crossed the room, grabbing his wrist gently. Aegon span around, ready to argue, but you stepped forward. Your lips ghosted over his and his breath got stuck in his throat, “Don’t make me ask again,” you said slowly before sleeping back, pointing at the bed.

He nodded softly before slowly making his way to sit on the edge of his bed. His eyes stayed glued to you as he took his place. You followed him slowly, standing between his legs as he gazed up at you, “Better. It’s good when you listen,”

“What are you gonna do?” he mumbled as his hands went to reach for your hips.

You grabbed his wrists softly before he could, “I’m going to give you what you deserve,” you smiled, pushing his hands back to step away.

Before Aegon could protest your hands found the ties of your dress. He swallowed thickly as you unlaced them, allowing the heavy fabric to pool to the floor. Left standing in your thin shift you felt a rush of energy go through you as his eyes drank you in.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he mumbled.

“Blasphemous,”

“I don’t care,” he was too distracted by your figure to notice your smirk.

You stepped closer, lifting his chin with your finger. You smirked as his cheeks tinged pink. Your hand stroked gently over his cheek. A quick glance down and you could see he was ready. “Get rid of those,” you instructed and instantly he obeyed, “And lay down,”

Without moments Aegon was laying naked, on his bed, an excited look on his face. You moved to straddle his lap, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips. He tried to follow them when you pulled away, but you kept a hand on his chest.

“Patience,” you chastised, “Good things come to those who wait,”

“I don’t think I can wait,” he mumbled.

You ignored him as you leaned down to kiss his cheek, then along his jaw. Just as you began to kiss his neck you lowered your hips, pressing your clothed core against him. He moaned softly as you began to grind against him.

You felt his hands on your hips and pushed them away, “Not yet,” you said, pinning them softly down onto the bed.

“Sorry,” he moaned, gasping when you pressed harder.

After all good behaviour got rewarded. You released one wrist, taking him into your hand. He moaned softly; eyes fluttery shut as you worked your magic. You enjoyed the little sounds he’d make as your kisses moved lower.

Eventually you released your grip on his other wrist as you kissed softly down his chest. However, when you felt his hand move to your hair, you let him go. “What?” he whined as you moved back up his frame.

“You haven’t earned it yet,” you smiled softly, running a hand over his soft locks.

“What do you want?” he asked, his eyes desperately searching yours as his body craved release.

You let your fingers trail down his face till they graced his lips, “I think you know,” you said, and his eyes turned hungry.

Slowly you moved further up till you hovered over his face, “Can I touch you?” he asked, his cool breath fanning over you making chills run down your spine.

“Yes,” you said as you gently lowered yourself down. You couldn’t help but gasp when his tongue began rubbing over your clit. His hands found your thighs, pulling you further down as you grabbed onto his headboard.

Curses fell from your lips as his tongue worked wonders on your bundle of nerves. He moved his head, his tongue now curling inside you as his nose nuzzled your clit. Your hips began to buck, grinding against his face. He let out a low groan, vibrations shooting up your spine.

“Good boy,” the small whisper seemed to egg him on as his movements grew faster. His moans grew louder. It was becoming impossible to hold on as a knot tightened in your belly.

your nails dug into the wood of the headboard as you let out a loud gasp when your peak crashed over you. You kept riding his face till you milked every drop of the pleasure.

Slowly, once you could move your legs again, you moved down his frame again. “You’re amazing,” he said, face wet as his eyes gazed at you with stary like wonder.

“I think you’ve earned a reward,”

Fire sparked in his eyes. He watched with bated breath as you positioned yourself over him. You lined him up, rubbing him against your slit and watching his eyes flutter shut. “Fuck,” he groaned as you slowly sank down.

Your hips moved slow at first, riding him at a tortuous pace. He went to grab your hips but stopped himself. He looked up at you, silently asking permission. You gave a curt nod, a simple smile, and suddenly his fingers dug deep into your hips. “you feel so good,” he mumbled in bliss.

You felt him start to twitch and just as quickly as you brought him to the brink, you pulled away. “What-?” his eyes shot open, searching the room as if someone had caught you, only to discover you’d stopped for seemingly no reason, “Why-?”

“Do you really think you’ve earned that yet?” you chastised, “After all your stunts?” your hand brushed against his cheek as his eyes went wide. You smirked gently, “Oh sweet one, I want to enjoy this,”

You moved down his body till you were between his legs. Your hands reached for the edge of your shift and Aegon watched with bated breath as you pulled it off. “You better not forget what happens to boys who don’t behave,”

You took him in your hand again, leaning down to place a soft kiss to his tip. Aegon hissed at the feeling. He groaned loudly as you began to kiss down the shaft, “Don’t worry,” you told him, “I’ll let you finish,” you licked up the side making him moan, his eyes shutting involuntarily, “eventually,”

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"Oh fuck," Aegon's head tilted back against the throne once he felt your tongue swirl around the leaking tip of his cock.

"That won't do, your grace." Aerion’s voice, sharp edged and with a mocking tilt, cut through the haze as he gripped Aegon's jaw and made him meet his gaze, "Eyes on me while my beloved ruins you."

With you kneeling in between Aegon's spread knees, his cock throbbing in the hot confines of your mouth and Aerion making him hold his gaze, Aegon couldn't help but feel pathetic. He's the king and yet here he is, all miserable and needy, whining under you both.

"Please..." Aegon whimpered, voice low in the empty throne room, his hand on the back of your head while his hips bucked up instinctively into your mouth.

You let out a muffled noise of surprise, gagging when Aegon's cock slipped deeper down your throat. A few tears slipping down your eyes so you pulled away for a breather with a coy smile. A string of saliva connecting your lips to the tip of his cock.

"She's a sight for sore eyes, is she not, dear cousin?" Aerion purred as he moved Aegon's face to look down at you.

"Yes," the king breathed out, his heart skipping a beat when his eyes fell upon your face, "yes she is,"

Aegon's cock ached from how hard he still was, especially at the sight of you kneeling in between his legs while he still sat on the throne.

Your name left his lips in a broken whisper making Aerion smirk with a hint of sadistic pleasure in his violet eyes, "why don't you ask her nicely, cousin? Ask her to relief you of this pathetic state you find yourself in."

You teased Aegon by licking the tip of his cock, your palm wrapping around his base meanwhile, "hmm, go on, your grace." You purred, "Tell me what you wish me to do,"

Aegon’s chest heaved as he struggled to find his words, too caught up in the moment. With a gulp he said, "let me finish down your throat," his fingers tightened in your hair, moving your face closer to his throbbing cock, "Please," he added.

Aerion hummed, still standing beside your kneeling form yet all the same mindful of the swords surrounding the throne. Seemingly satisfied at the response before looking down at you with one of those smug smiles of his, "go on then, service your king,"

You took Aegon's cock in your mouth again, letting him slide down your throat as you hollowed out your cheeks, "fuck!" You heard Aegon curse as your tongue pressed flat against the underside of his cock, his eyes closing as he lost himself in the sensation.

Aerion tutted, his fingers tightening on Aegon's jaw, "what did I say, cousin? Eyes on me." His violet eyes gleamed, "or I'll make her stop and we'll leave you here all by your lonesome. You wouldn't want that, would you, your grace?"

Aegon's eyes flickered open at that, meeting Aerion’s gaze layered in cruel amusement as the king clearly struggled to maintain eye contact with your mouth working him to his impending orgasm.

His breathing grew quicker as did his low whimpers before you felt his length pulsing on your tongue and soon he erupted in your mouth, the salty taste of his cum filling your senses as he came down your throat.

"Swallow now." Came Aerion’s command from above. His hand replacing Aegon's at the back of your head. Your vision, blurred by tears, met Aerion’s as he looked down at you with a smirk, "do not give me a reason to punish you, beloved."

You swallowed around Aegon's softening cock, making him wince and whimper a bit at the overstimulation of your throat working around him.

"Good girl" Aerion praised, his hand dropping from your head, letting you pull away.

You coughed a bit, catching your breath but Aerion’s hand soon wrapped around your throat, pulling you up to your feet and before you could realize, he was spitting in your mouth and with your lips still parted, it landed right on your tongue.

"Swallow." He demanded.

Aegon could only watch you both as he slumped against his throne, cheeks flushed, eyes a bit teary from his powerful orgasm.

You swallowed and Aerion hummed, pleased. He leaned forward and you closed your eyes, expecting to feel the soft press of his lips on yours but instead his hot breath met your ear,

"now give your king a farewell kiss before I take you to my chambers and ruin you on the bedsheets while he's still attending council meetings,"

A shiver ran through your spine at the promise of what's to follow. You turned to face Aegon and leaned forward, your hands bracing on the armrest of the throne before your lips met Aegon's parted ones.

His hand settled on the back of your neck, the other on your waist as he pulled you closer, his tongue moving against yours and a low groan escaped him at the taste of his own seed on your tongue combined with a hint of Aerion’s spit.

But Aerion’s arm around your waist pulled you into his chest from behind making Aegon whine almost pathetically. Aerion smirked before adding,

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. 

Aegon’s hysterical laugh resonated below the high ceilings—the night had been long and particularly enjoyable, wine and ale flowing easily and the sweetest company to soothe the bite of the drink. His chest was sore with laughter and even though his bones still felt heavy, the gnawing pit at this stomach had gone.

However his laughter died in his throat when he stepped over the threshold of his chambers, and found you, his queen, waiting for him in the middle of the room, arms crossed over your chest and your expression profoundly displeased.

“Where were you?” you asked, cold as ice, and at least his men had the decency to look ashamed. The squire stumbled back, catching himself on the arm of one of the kingsguards. 

“To the city,” Aegon replied, splaying his arms in a theatrical display. “I thought you did not concern yourself with me anymore.”

He took a few, stumbling steps then sat heavily into one of the armchairs in front of the fire, almost missing the seat and sprawling onto the floor. Laying back against the backrest, his eyes wide and glassy, he struggled with his doublet before giving up, realizing he could not pull it off his shoulders as he had sat on it.

“You should go, boys,” he then giggled, throwing a glance over his shoulder. “I’m about to get proper— properly chastised.”

“Leave us,” you confirmed, still standing straight, your expression oddly blank.

The kingsguard bowed from the neck and left without a word, one of them pulling the doors shut while the other dragged the squire away, all of them eager to avoid your rage. “Is this a laughable matter to you?” you immediately accused, your voice barely a hiss.

“No need to be so angry,” Aegon retorted, confused as to why you were so furious over such a common matter as his nocturnal habits—your marriage had initially been one of love, but the burden of the crown had soon driven you apart, and now Aegon had resorted to turning back to the poison of his youth.

“I am your wife, and you are out there whoring, exhibiting a behavior that’s unbecoming of a king, and of my husband,” you explained, prompting Aegon to rise, albeit clumsily, in the hopes of reaching you.

Finally, he was able to rid himself of his doublet, throwing it on the floor and coming to stand in front of you, a gleeful smile on his face. “Fury suits you so well, wife,” he complimented—in truth he was endeared and amused by your anger, as it was the most emotions you had shown him in days.

You swatted his hand away when he tried to reach for your face, and he laughed openly. “Might you take this matter seriously for a second in your miserable life?” you countered, slamming your palm on his chest and giving him a shove, hard enough to send him stumbling back a step.

Aegon gave you a pinched look at that, saddened again at your insistence to be unpleasant. The drink was making his head swim, the floor tilting under his feet, but it was not enough to mute his sorrow and make him forget why he had been so eager to drown his worries in bad wine. 

“If you must know, I was out because I could not stand to be within the same walls as you,” he murmured, and while it should have been accusatory, it was instead miserable, barely a murmur.

“Not again with this ridiculous theory of yours,” you scoffed.

In recent weeks, the young king had buckled under the weight of the war of succession and subsequent conflict and bloodshed that had crippled the realm.

Since assassins had come into the castle one night with the intent to harm him, he had grown suspicious of those around him, doubting every one of his advisors, even those closest to him. He resorted back to drinking heavily despite your protests, and soon he started to see shadows on the wall, and fear for the worst at every turn. 

He imagined enemies at every corner, until that fear had reached your marital chambers. 

In one of his drunken hazes, he had hurled terrible accusations at you, suggesting that you were not as loyal a wife as you appeared, and that soon you might stab him in the back as well, and join his half-sister’s side.

Such accusations were ludicrous but in that moment, he had been convinced of them, and when the alcohol had lifted from his mind and reason had come back to him, he had not taken his words back nor offered any apologies. 

In truth Aegon loathed the pathetic king he made, and he had hoped you would turn away, so that he would not be subjected to your looks of pity. He had eventually apologized for his drunken misconceptions, once your absence had tugged at his heart too long, but you had not been so forgiving. 

“I cannot afford to be too prudent, but my words went beyond what I believed,” Aegon attempted to defend himself once more, but you could tell he did not heartedly mean it. 

“This idea was ludicrous to begin with,” you replied—you wanted to scream and rage but instead your voice came out quiet, almost a regretful murmur. “Do you think I would remain here, watching you whore yourself out every night, if I did not wish to be here and share the burden of the crown with you?”

Aegon turned to a nearby table, hiding his face from your eyes and drowning his mounting tears into yet another goblet of wine. It was stale and bitter but he drank a cup full, swallowing the rising bile in his stomach. 

“That word is ugly in your mouth,” he sneered, turning to you once more, cup in hand, hoping a mean jest would distract you from the bottom of the matter. “Perhaps we could replace it with something more pleasant.”

The slap that stung his cheek also took his breath away for a moment. The cup flew from his hand and spilled on the floor, turning the edge of the golden-trimmed carpet crimson. Warmth bloomed on the side of his face as tears spilled from his eyes from surprise and sorrow, and a touch of something dark and hot he could not name spread in his chest. 

“I will call you a whore if I wish it so, because it is what you are!” you spat in his face, and he knew then that he had lied—that word sounded heavenly in your mouth and he could not pinpoint why. “You are my husband, and you defile me by acting this way. Perhaps I should put you in your place.”

Aegon’s wide eyes turned dark at this—he suddenly looked elated, perhaps even dizzy with it. His chest was heaving and his hands twitched at his side, a heavy blush crawling from his neck to the bridge of his nose. He was aroused, you realized, and it excited you. Your palm was itching with the force of your slap and you resisted the urge to strike him again.

“Perhaps you should,” he answered, breathless, and another night you would have chastised him for his lustful ways, but tonight you could not cast the first stone.

“Do you wish to atone?” you asked, almost musing out loud, your hand rising to his face again. He flinched minutely and yet did not turn his cheek away, instead leaned into your touch when you stroked the back of your knuckle where you had struck him.

He hummed, more of a whimper than anything else, and nodded. 

An idea, twisted and forbidden but impossible to resist, came to your mind. You steeled your voice, made it cold and emotionless. “You are not to leave your chambers for the rest of the night. Consider this an order from your queen and your penance for your behavior tonight,” you said

Turning on your heels, you left the room without a look back. Your instincts were telling you he would obey. Instead of going to your own chambers, you chased the mad idea that had come to you, eager to see it come true as quickly as possible, and you knew exactly who you could turn to, to make a device worthy of your endeavor. 

You took the stairs down to the bowels of the castle in search of the Master of Whisperers.

Morning came quickly, and when you stepped into your husband’s chambers at dawn, you were pleased to see he had seemingly obeyed you. His clothes were thrown on the settee at the foot of the bed, his boots discarded not far from it, and there were no signs that he had drunk more after you had left—the fallen cup still laid, discarded, on the stained carpet. 

“Wife, have you returned?” Aegon asked, his voice muffled with sleep. His face was buried into his plush pillow, the supple curves of his bare body on display, the covers having been kicked aside. 

Under your gaze, he lounged on the bed, delightfully aware of the path of your eyes on his exposed shoulders and back, his firm buttocks, the firm lengths of his legs. You bit back a smile when you noticed how his muscles clenched and his skin rippled in shivers when you approached in quiet steps. A sigh was breathed into the pillow when you reached out, indulging in the beautiful, creamy expanse of his skin, and ran a knuckle over the back of his thigh, then around and up his hip.

“You shall bathe and scrub yourself clean of the filth,” you instructed in the same distant, measured tone he had obeyed the night prior. “However, before you dress, I have a present for you.”

Aegon’s mind was reeling, his heart thrumming in excitement beneath his breast, however he did as you instructed and refrained from asking what you had brought him. The servants brought hot water and he scrubbed every inch of his body and his full head of hair in silence, biting his lip against his own curiosity. He washed away all traces of his transgression, although shame burned his cheeks to do so under your watchful gaze. 

Finally when he was done, clean and worthy of your touch again, he stood bare in front of the tub, loosely wrapped in a soft linen. More of his pale skin was on display, the entire front of his body that had been hidden from your eyes earlier, and you did not conceal your pleasure as seeing him bare, from his round shoulders to the meat of his thighs, his flat but soft stomach leading to a thick cock. 

The scent of soap clung to him, the water curling the ends of his hair, you noticed as you stepped closer, and he let himself be enjoyed. “You did well,” you complimented. “You deserve a reward.”

Your nightly endeavor had been successful, and you had procured the device you had come to request. Delighted as you were, you had not asked why he already possessed the device you were looking for, and Lord Strong had the discretion not to ask what use you had for it.

From a fold of your skirt, you pulled out a velvet pouch, and Aegon’s heart quickened, eager to know what was inside. From it, you procured a steel device Aegon immediately recognized—a great shudder went through him, surprise at your boldness, and sudden fear of what you wished to subject him to.

“No,” he protested weakly, his voice merely a whisper.

“Do you still wish to earn my forgiveness?” you asked—whether it was for his drunken accusations weeks prior or his comportment the night before, you did not say, and he did not inquire.

Shame burned behind his breastbone, and to his horror, his cock started to fill. “None of that,” you chastised, not unkindly, as he appeared far less excited than he had been a moment prior.

You twirled the device in your hand, admiring it. It was a prowess of craftsmanship—rings of steel held together in a curve large and long enough to hold a soft male appendage, attached to a leather belt and thin chain that closed with a heavy lock. You smoothed your thumb over the tip of the cage, the metal clinking softly in your grasp, the sound awakening something dark and desperate in the pit of Aegon’s stomach.

“What will you do with that?” he asked, frightful and hopeful in one sentence. 

He brought his hand down to his cock, stroking himself lazily in slow, loose motions. He was hoping to negotiate one last release before you put him in the cage, perhaps even a touch from you, but you quickly obliterated that idea. 

You slapped his hand away, in the same motion hitting the head of his cock. He yelped and cried, curling in on himself. “Cease this. From now on you will only be allowed release at my will and pleasure, if and only if I deem you deserving of it,” you ordered, watching with delight as his whole frame shuddered, his shoulders hitching with a contained sob, and his cock throbbing. “We are not off to a good start.”

Aegon wanted to weep—he was so very eager to please you, to appease you. He had behaved horrendously and instead of turning away from him you had come back with a token of your devotion to him. You wished to own him, and mind him almost as a master would a hound. 

The prospect both elated and frightened him and yet he trusted you completely. He would happily surrender to your will, only for the utter reassurance that as long as you were exercising control over him, you remained at his side.

“I am sorry, my queen,” he whispered contritely, to which you instantly mellowed, a hand reaching out to wipe the tear that pearled at the edge of his jaw, waiting to drop.

“Do not fret, my love, you will learn,” you replied, in such an awfully patronizing tone. He closed his eyes and willed himself to soften again, conjuring the most gruesome thoughts he could to chase away his excitement. 

Aegon forced himself to breathe, but he could not help the hiss that shook his chest when you slid his length into the row of steel rings. The metal was cold against his skin, and the pressure around his cock rather uncomfortable. The leather belt fit snugly around his waist, held in place by a chain and lock that kept him from removing the cage.

He yearned to please you and therefore reasoned with himself that he could bear the discomfort for the price of making you proud.

“Will you obey your queen’s orders?” you asked, but the both of you knew it was not truly a question but a threat. Still, he nodded eagerly. 

“I will,” he whispered, earning himself a firm, lingering press of your lips on his, which he melted into.

To his regret, you did not take his mouth fully, and instead were quick to step back, your kiss a mere seal to your unspoken pact of obedience. “I will keep the key to the lock on myself at all times. If you wish to earn my forgiveness, you are not to have this opened by anyone but me,” you instructed. “I shall call on you whenever I require your presence in my chambers.”

With those rules laid out clearly, you turned on your heels again, much like you had done the night before, fully expecting him to obey. “I thought—” he called after you, tears rising to his eyes at the prospect of you leaving him alone again.

You glanced at him over your shoulders, an endeared smile pulling at your mouth. “It is not required for you to think, your grace. All you have to do is follow my orders. As I said, I will call on you when I have need of you,” you repeated, forcing your voice to be cold and distant, and it made him yearn to be needed.

Aegon’s cheeks burned at the implications—it was custom for husbands to send for their wives whenever they desired them, and now he was the one put in this position, to be called on and expected to answer, lest the consequences would be dire. The mere thought of punishment for his disobedience made him shiver violently.

Such a night came, much sooner than anticipated, but you could hardly resist. The idea of your husband and king in the cage at your will and pleasure, proved too much for you to ignore. The first time you called on him was during the darkest part of the night, when the castle was asleep.

A thrill went through you when you sent your servant to fetch him, and you could tell she was anxious at the idea of summoning the king. 

However, Aegon came willingly, in nothing but a night robe hastily fastened, cheeks already pink with arousal. “You asked for me, my queen?” he asked, almost meek, but he could hardly contain his excitement.

“Yes, my love,” you confirmed, tangling a hand in his hair. It was still wet from a bath he had no doubt taken before bed, and it pleased you to know he was keeping himself clean for you.

“I’ve missed you,” he confessed.

“Have you?” you inquired, doubtful. “Or have you missed the free use of your cock?”

Aegon bit his lip, a shiver following the line of his spine when you tugged at his hair forcefully. It had been a few days now since you had put him in the device, and the pressure on his skin and weight at his pelvis grounded him. He was more aware of his own skin than before, and every touch was almost overwhelming.

“Tell me the truth,” you suggested harshly.

“I miss my cock,” he admitted, a lovely shameful blush creeping across the bridge of his nose.

“Do as I say and I might let you play with it,” you offered, and yet it sounded more like a threat than a gift. “Lay on the bed, against the pillow,” you instructed while you free hand undid the tie of his robe and pulled it off his body, letting it fall to the floor.

The sight of him, laying back on the pillows, leather belt secure at his waist, made a lick of heat light up your core. You settled with your knees on either side of his head, your thighs framing his slim shoulders, towering over him. The key at your neck dangled slightly, settling between your naked breasts.

Despite the inability for his cock to harden, arousal was coursing through him, and a strange pleasure of all his senses took over instead. His eyes relished in your curves and his hands in the softness of your skin under his touch.

His mind went blissfully quiet when you took hold of his hair again and pressed his face at the apex of your thighs—much like when he was inebriated, he felt himself float in this comfortable state, relieved of all his worries. He had no other purpose but to be used by you, and he was confident in his skill.

“You are lovely,” you praised easily at the first lick of his tongue on your pearl.

Aegon’s mouth was heavenly against your core, his skillful tongue the softest touch in comparison to his firm lip. You rocked against his face unashamedly, steadying yourself on the headboard and with the grip you had on his hair, working relentlessly towards your own pleasure without a thought for his. 

Within minutes you grew heavier atop him, the rhythm of your hips against his mouth less coordinated, and a strange rush took over Aegon—he was desperate to see it through, to be the one leading you to the other side.

Pain radiated at the back of his head where your hand pulled at his roots at the same time as your release washed over you, triggering an odd shiver that spilled from pleasure into hysteria. Your moans broke into choked-off sighs and you rocked lazily into him until finally, your release abated, and you sat back on his bare chest.

Such a sight was glorious, and the feel of your wet cunt against his bare chest made his cock want to throb, but the cage kept him from filling out, and his arousal having nowhere to go instead settled, heavy and painful, at the base of his spine.

“Please?” he begged, but he knew it was useless. It was agony, and yet it was making his skin tingle deliciously, oddly excited for your impending refusal. Authority suited you and it appealed to him.

“You may go, your grace,” you dismissed as you dismounted, almost blasphemous in the use of his title. 

Aegon wanted to protest, but he remembered you had not promised for certain that you would grant him freedom from the cage. He swallowed his protest and picked up his robe from the ground, deciding on compliance, and walked back to his chambers with a feeling of pride despite his frustration. 

It was the sweetest sort of torture you could have put him through, and after nearly a fortnight he felt more tormented than ever. The constant feeling around his cock stimulated him as well as it kept him unable to perform.

His stones felt heavy and a low thrum of arousal was constantly flowing through him, heat licking up the base of his spine whenever his thoughts drifted. He didn’t dare ask when you would take him out of the cage, for fear that he would hear your refusal.

Several nights you summoned him for your own pleasure and he held on to the promise of the first night, that you would take him out when you would be fully satisfied with his act of penance.

Despite his mounting frustration, he somehow rested easy in the knowledge that you were in charge and he trusted you to know his own limits—you knew him, intimately and perhaps more deeply than anyone else, and as such it gave him the confidence to let go of his fears. 

During the day, the belt grounded him and served as a constant reminder that you were at his side, holding onto him firmly, and it gave him the assurance he needed to face his courtiers. The men of the council would agree, the king was much calmer and more assured these days, and he had to thank you, his queen, for it.

The simmering arousal beneath his skin, as frustrating as it was, also gave him a sharp edge he summoned whenever a decision needed to be made for the realm. He felt more assertive in his governance, as though this mark of ownership was propping him up and steadying his steps as king.

However at night, Aegon reverted to a desperate, pleading supplicant at your feet, relishing in the way you reacted to his begging and his tears. This night, a fortnight into his torment, was no exception. 

“Please, my love,” he whined, unable to bite back his plea. “This is cruel.”

“Have you sufficiently atoned for your transgressions?” you asked, towering over him where he was kneeling on the carpet at the side of the bed, his cheek resting against the inside of your thigh. His lips were pink from kissing your pearl, bringing you to your release while you clutched the bedpost.

“I have done all you have asked of me,” he replied, reverent.

His lashes were clumped together with tears, his hips rocking back and forth absent-mindedly, yearning for a release he could not get in his condition. While such a sight was a delight to you, you could not deny you missed the sight of his hardness, and the view of him in the throes of pleasure. It was almost as awe-inspired as him in the throes of torment.

“Indeed you have, my love,” you confirmed. “And you have exceeded my expectations. I did not expect a whore such as you to hold on for so long without release.”

Aegon closed his eyes, his hands twitching where they rested on his thighs. His whole frame was quivering in desperation. “Vow to me,” you said, threading your fingers through his hair, pulling slightly until he blinked up at you in adoration.

“Anything,” he promised in a breath.

“That I own your pleasure, and that you are never to find it in another’s arms.

Aegon’s long lashes fluttered and he looked up at you, his bright eyes blown black with arousal. His pink lips parted on the sweetest of promises, his voice rough with emotion. “I swear it. I belong to no one but you, my queen.”

“How magnificent you are,” you murmured. He visibly shuddered, a whimper pushing past his lips when you let go of his hair and reached at the back of your neck and undid the clasp that held the chain. The key fell into your hand and you twirled it a few times as if testing its weight. 

“Oh, please,” Aegon sobbed, heat curling at the base of his cock, desperate to fill, his hips jerking in aborted motions.

“Hush, now,” you soothed. Your wicked grin should have worried him but instead it incensed him. “You shall take whatever I deem you deserve.”

“Thank you, thank you,” he sobbed when the belt came under—a moan tore through his throat when the rings of metal finally slipped off his cock and freed it. For a moment he floated in that sudden empty feeling, kneeling naked at your feet, his wide, glassy eyes looking up at you in wonder.

“Kneel on the bed,” you said, following him atop the sheets when he complied. “Go on, my love, show me,” you encouraged.

Aegon bit off a hiss when his own hand closed around his soft length, the direct contact sending a shock of heat at the base of his spine. His cock filled with blood quickly, the simmering arousal of this last fortnight roaring to life. His skin rose in shivers from the inside of his thighs to the back of his neck, sensitive and raw. His whole body was shaking with it, whimpers and moans falling out of his lips despite himself. 

“Touch me, please?” he moaned, but you shook your head gently.

“That needs to be earned, your grace,” you explained with a pointed look. 

The rhythm of his hips quickened at that, although he could not picture what he would have to do to earn it. Within a minute, his release was close, his stones tightening at the base of his cock, a mad feeling taking hold of him, the breathless fear that he would convulse if the tension inside him would not snap.

“Please?” he gasped, a sudden anxious feeling crawling down his spine, that you would not grant him release, and he sped up the movement of his hand, tightening his grip further, desperate to reach his release before you could deny him.

However you did not, and that relief was the last push he needed. “Go ahead,” you confirmed, and pleasure tore through him, his cock throbbing in hot pulses over his hand. 

Aegon’s lips parted on voiceless cries, his body curling in on itself, shuddering in time with the throbbing of his cock, his release coursing through him in hot bursts, his skin erupting in raw heat. Finally, as the pulses eased, high-pitched whimpers came. Aegon sagged forward on his knees, catching himself with the flat of his free hand on the mattress. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

“Save your praises, my love, we are not done,” you then said, and you came to kneel in front of him. Your hand replaced his when he took it away, curling around his wet length, your thumb swiping over the sensitive head.

Aegon’s mind took a few seconds to catch up to your meaning, and when it did, the gentle waves of lingering pleasure were turning sharp under the steady rhythm you started, quick and vicious as though he was still chasing his release. 

It dawned on him what torment you were about to inflict on him. “What— no,” he choked, his hips angling away from your touch.

Your other hand came to hold the back of his head, your lips pressing to his in a soothing kiss. “Hush now, you’ll take what I give you,” you said as though it was certainty.

“No, it’s too much,” he protested, a searing pain rushing through his cock with every pass of your hand, followed by a lick of the sharpest pleasure, and he could not help but lean into it. He wanted to weep, to beg for you to continue and to curse you for it at the same time. 

“You begged me for a fortnight to be allowed release, and now you refuse it?”

“I’ve already spent,” he lamented, wondering if his body could even reach such a high so soon, or if he would collapse in pain before it did.

“A whore like you needs more than one, your grace,” you said, sweet as ever.

Aegon sobbed out loud, shame burning bright behind his breastbone. If his eyes had been rimmed with pink, they were now red and brimming with tears. His whole body was tense as though he was fighting the pleasure your touch was inflicting on him, but soon he had no choice but surrender. You felt him sag in your hold, his shoulders seizing with sobs.

“Please,” he begged, rocking into your touch despite himself. It felt as though he was suspended at that very second when pleasure tipped into the unbearable tension that led to release, and every time he thought he would finally reach his climax, his torment continued until he was breathless with it.

A cry erupted from his chest and a searing pain shook his very core, and finally, his release was pulled out of him with force, tearing through the tension in his stomach much like imagined a knife wound felt. The pleasure was so sharp he thought he would fall into unconsciousness, and it seemed he did for a moment.

Unable to keep his eyes open, his sight blurred with tears, he fell sideways onto the sheets, utterly exhausted. The sort of contentment that fell over him was heavy, his mind dulled and blissfully void of any worries and concerns. 

“Now, now, rest easy, my king,” you soothed, pushing his sweat-soaked hair from his face. You pressed a kiss to his pliant lips and he responded with a sweet whimper. “You were magnificent, my love,” you praised, laying down at his side, uncaring for the state of his skin.

Etched at the back of his mind, only one thought remained, the utter certainty that he was owned, body and mind, and that there was no deeper show of devotion. On the bedside dresser, the belt awaited, and with it the promise of your loyalty.

Dividers by @/saradika. Not beta read. Based on this ask ♡

Kinktober taglist: @emerald-jade1 @venusbylineblog @rax-writes @multyfangirl @triscy

The gardens were your favourite place in the Red Keep, it was often quiet. And not to mention the beautiful view of the sea. You sat at one of the table’s in an alcove, it was nice and tucked away, giving you your own private space.

You read some book for a while and enjoyed your wine and lemoncakes. Because you never knew when it would be the last time you could sit here. You had been of age for two years now, and even though you have avoided marriage for quite a while, you never knew what your grandsire Otto Hightower had in mind. 

Now you had at least some security since your eldest brother Aegon was now king and everyone was distracted by the war that loomed over Westeros like a black cloud. Only a few more drops of rain to form before the whole thing came crashing down. 

Frustration and anxiety filled everyone's hearts and it was hard to pretend nothing was wrong. But the person you feared most right now was Aemond, he seemed to lose control everyday and he shocked the realm when he killed his own fourteen year old nephew at Storm’s End. However he was now to marry too, to some Baratheon girl and you knew that soon they would use you too, to make alliances with houses. Binded by a meaningless marriage.

You felt like it was all you were good for, and you saw how it affected Helaena and Aegon. Your heart broke for her, she wanted nothing more than to be left alone and live in peace, yet she must be queen. Aegon was of course also affected by this, ever since he became king he drank more than ever before and had even grown a bit of a belly. Still he remained of a nice physique. 

You couldn’t even remember the last time you rode your dragons with him. He didn’t have much of a relationship with Helaena, seeing her more as his quiet sister than his wife and queen and for some reason it seemed better that way. She would be left alone more. 

But you and Aegon were a different story, you liked to sneak around and have fun with him. He might not be a great king or a good man but he was a good brother to you. And you saw things in him that no one else seemed to. The crown seemed to only stress him out and you knew that he just wanted to live out his days drinking wine and relaxing but your mother and grandsire had other plans. 

As of late you couldn’t see him much, council meetings took a great part of the day and he would always hide in his chambers afterwards. Your mother seemed to keep you away from him, for what reason you didn’t know. Your days went from watching Aemond train, flying around KIng’s Landing with Aegon and running around the Red Keep with friends to praying at the Sept, locked inside your chamber or helping Helaena with embroidery. That is why the gardens offered a nice escape.

Soon you would pay a visit to your elder sister and her twins. After a morning at the sept with your mother and sister you needed some alone time. But Helaena was always a calming and nice presence and it was good to keep her company.

After reading the last sentence of a chapter you closed the book, and decided it would be nice to sow with Helaena. As you walked through the halls of the red keep numerous ‘your grace’ and ‘princes’ surrounded you, staff getting out of your way. You ascended the stairs in the throne room, it was empty. Soon it would be supper time but there was enough time.

When you reached Helaena’s door you could already hear your niece and nephew playing, which put a smile on your face. You knocked twice and a handmaiden opened, letting you inside. Helaena was sitting on some blankets and pillows, already embroidering what looked like a blanket. She looked up and slightly smiled when you joined her side, children playing on their own blanket. 

Getting handed some thread, a needle and a new fabric, as was the routine, you began to work on something for Aegon and if you worked hard enough you could bring it to him tonight. When you were about finished, a servant came in to fetch you and Helaena for supper with the family.

But when you arrived only Aemond, Alicent and Otto were there, Aegon’s seat was empty. Silently you both joined them and began eating without him. Supper was tense and silent as it had been for about a month now. When you had finished, you excused yourself and fetched the doublet you had finished before supper, wanting to bring a gift to your brother. 

When you had fetched it you hurriedly made your way up to the king's bedchambers, you knew something was wrong with Aegon, all the stress had probably gotten to him. When you had almost reached the door Ser Criston Cole stood guard there. He bowed his head before he spoke; “Princess, the king does not wish to be disturbed right now.” He said politely. 

“I understand, but I have something to cheer him up, so please, let me enter.” Ser Criston seemed to think about it, before releasing a sigh and opening the door for you, very softly as to not disturb his grace. You stepped inside and Cole just as softly as he opened the door, closed it again. It was now dark and Aegon’s fire was lit as he sat in a chair in front of it, you could hear the sobs coming from him. It broke your heart. 

You quietly made your way towards him. “Aegon?” You called out. He didn’t lift his head. You walked around him so you were standing in front of him, he looked up with red stained cheeks, and red, tear filled eyes. “Oh Aeg- what happened?” You asked him, instead of answering he buried his head into your stomach, his hand gripping your dress as he sobbed into it. The doublet falling on the ground.

You caressed his messy short silver locks and he continued to sob for a while, in your embrace. Then he seemed to speak up; “They- don’t care about- me-” He choked against you in between sobs. “Who doesn’t care about you?” You were confused but he lifted his head from your now tear stained dress. “The- the- council- mother- my own hand- they don’t- care-!” He sobbed as he looked at you desperately. 

But to your surprise he pulled you in his lap as his hands were still clinging to your dress. You gasped as you landed on his thighs, he buried his face in your chest instead and continued to cry, the doublet on the ground, forgotten. “Aegon they do care, especially mother, they just want the best for you. To help guide you since they have knowledge of war-” “No! They all hate me- everyone of them!” His breath on your skin gave you goosebumps. His hand now rested on your hip, keeping you in place. 

“You’re the only one who loves me- I see that now- my beautiful smart sister.” He seemed to have exhausted his tears as they now stopped, he breathed heavily against your chest, nuzzling his face against your breasts. He must have had wine. “You love me? Right sister?” He mumbled against your breasts. “Of course I do, so incredibly much. I would do anything for you.” You soothed him, hand still grazing through his silver locks. His purple eyes stared up at you and he smiled slightly.

“Anything?” He asked softly. “Of course, you are not only my brother but my king.” You smiled, placing a kiss on his forehead. This stirred something in him and he breathed heavier again. His face and especially his nose grazed your neck and jaw, lips ghosting over the warm skin. Your own breath hitched in your throat at the feeling. “Aeg-” He ignored you and started to kiss and nip at the soft skin. You lightly gasped at the feeling, and then you felt something hard against your thigh. 

“Brother I don’t think we should-” He stopped and looked at you with teary eyes. “I need this- I need you. Please- just- just let me make you feel good. To thank you. Please mummy.” That last part was whined against your chest where he let his hand graze the low neckline of your dress. Since it was warm earlier, it was quite thin and loose. Your body felt hot at his words, your lower stomach filled with an ache you didn’t understand.

His hand started then at the bottom of your leg, underneath your dress, as he caressed your leg moving up and up where you didn’t know you needed him. “I’m so hard for you mummy. All because of you.” He whined. His hand had finally reached your core, two of his fingers rubbing over your smallclothes, which were already wet with your slick. “Aegon-” You moaned, sparks went off in your body at his touch, you had no idea what he was doing to you but seven hells did it feel good. You hoped he would never stop, but still it felt wrong and guilt consumed you. Yet you didn’t stop him.

His other hand that didn’t tease your clothed clit was still busy with your neckline. The dress was loose enough for him to pull it down so your tits would fall out. He wasted no time in sucking on them. The feeling of his warm wet tongue sucking on your nipple made you release a moan. It felt way too good, it had to be a sin. Aegon himself moaned around your breast, bucking his hips up in need for friction. All your will to stop him had left you. Desire clouding your mind. You moved so that both of your legs were now on either side of his lap, the chair was big and comfortable enough to allow this. 

Aegon released your nipple but never moved his hand from teasing you. But when you sat down, his hand trapped, he removed it and pulled at your dress, eager to remove it. You didn’t know why you did it, but you needed him. You helped him remove your dress and shimmied out of your small clothes as well. “Need to be inside you mummy.” You gasped at his fingers sliding through your now bare slit. His fingers then stimulating your clit. Your breath hitched when he put a finger inside you, going deeper until he found that spot that would make you see stars. He stretched you out a bit for a while until he got too impatient and grabbed your hand to place between you, over his bulge. 

You instinctively squeezed it making him gasp. He moved your hand and quickly undid his breeches himself. He then reached for your hand again and helped you stroke his thick veiny cock. Pre cum started to dribble out over both your hands. And Aegon groaned at the sight. When he was almost about to cum for your hand alone, he removed it, as he did, he removed his fingers inside your cunt as well. Grabbing your hips instead, his cock was so hard it hurt and the feeling of his tip hitting your warm slick entrance almost made him cry out. He used one hand to guide his cock better inside you and you winced in pain. “It’ll be better soon, I promise.” He said softly. 

You whispered okay and he buried himself deeper inside until he was fully sheathed inside you. Your clit hit his pelvic bone and a bolt of pleasure shot through you. You felt so sensitive and weak. When you felt like the pain went away you slowly started to grind and bounce on his cock, testing the waters. He whimpered in response, it just felt so good for him. He held on to your hips so you could start a steady rhythm and he knew he wouldn't last long. “So tight mummy- feels so good.” He sobbed. Squelching and slapping noises filled the room and you both forgot all about a certain guard outside. 

Both of your moans filled each other's mouths as you held on tight to each other. Lost in pleasure you chase your release and started riding him faster, Aegon started to fuck up into you in response chasing his own high. “Mummy- I-I’m close- please- gonna fill you so good.” Aegon whined. This only spurred you on and soon you clenched down on his cock, fire striking through you, you had never felt such insane pleasure in your life. Aegon did not stop fucking into you though and only moments later he cried out as his warm seed filled you. He squeezed you against him tightly to hold you in place. 

So as we all know, Aemond has a praise king the size of Vhagar. All his life he's been fighting for any scrap of approval and praise that he can get, and when it seemed that nothing would be good enough he became quiet, withdrawn and very very dangerous.

When he meets you, his praise kink hadnt been in action for years, but then you smile at him and thank him for meeting you before the wedding, telling him how much you appreciate it and suddenly it's like his eyes light up? He's more relaxed for the rest of the conversation, and when you genuinely say you enjoyed talking to him, he actually seems like he doesn't want to leave you.

From that moment onwards, Aemond was utterly captivated by you, desperately searching for any excuse to be with you and to please you. The entire of the red keep is beyond confused at how Aemond seems to have fallen in love almost overnight.

He also stops looking for approval from anywhere else, stops trying to please anyone else. When you give him something to do and you praise him after, sometimes even pulling him into a hug before you even got married, he was obsessed. He wanted nothing else. He would never look at another ever again.

The first time you properly realise just how much praise can affect him is the first time you do anything really sexual. You're just kissing him while straddling him, and he's falling apart in your arms so beautifully. No matter how many times Aemond is touched by you, he still gets so overwhelmed. He can't think of another thing, can't even form a full sentence when you've got your hands on him.

At one point you tugged lightly at his hair and the moan he let out was positively sinful. You tell him how pretty he sounds, how hot he is, how you can't wait to ruin him. He whines and shakes in your arms, hiding his head against your shoulder. You stroke his back then, slowly grinding down against him and whispering in his ear that he's such a good boy.

And he's done. Completely and utterly done. No more Aemond.

He cums so hard with no warning, whimpering out your name as his hips buck up. You're stunned, utterly speechless at how fucking perfect he is.

For as long as he could remember, Aemond Targaryen had pined after one person. You.

His entire childhood was filled with you. You, his only friend and only comfort. He worshipped the ground you walked on. And you loved it. Every second of it, of him following you around whenever your family visited Kings Landing, waiting for you to gift him your attention. And you gave it to him, you loved how he worshipped you. How he came to you after every insult his brother gave him, after every silly little prank his nephews pulled. 

He saw you as his friend, his saviour, his everything. Until he didn't. 

The day of your mother's funeral, everything changed. You had withdrawn from Aemond, stood with your sisters and avoided Aemond's longing gazes. And he, desperate to win your approval, sure that your recent claiming of Silverwing had caused you to move away from him, to not view him as worthy of your time, had decided to claim his own dragon. Vaghar, the very dragon your mother had taken you on countless times, and the dragon you had been trying to get your sister, Rhaena, to claim. 

You were awoken in the middle of the night, your sister and cousins shaking you awake, “Someone's trying to steal Vaghar!” 

“What?” you asked, rubbing your eyes as you tried to wake. “You can’t steal a dragon,”

“Someone has! Please!” Baela insisted, dragging you from your bed and through the halls of Driftmark. Vaghar landed before you, Aemonds form atop her and a proud smile on his face as he dismounted from her and was met with your face. “It's him!” Jace called out. 

“Aemond?” you spoke softly, approaching him slowly. “You claimed my mother's dragon?”

“Your mother's dead”, he replied, the smile he had on his face fading and a frown replacing it. “ Vhagar has a new rider now.” You should be proud of him, happy that he has claimed the biggest dragon, and yet your frown only deepened at his words. He had expected praise, joy even. But instead, he was met with disappointment.

“She was mine to claim!” Rhaena called, her hand reaching for yours. The frown on Aemond's face deepened at the action, “Then you should've claimed her!” his eyes flickering between Rhanea and Jace, “ Maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride…It would suit you.” 

A scowl rose to your face at his words, your hand leaving Rhaenas, as Baela launched herself at him. After that, it was a blur of screams and hits, as your cousins launched themselves at Aemond. 

You had stayed out of it, watching from the sidelines, begging for them to stop. It wasnt until a rock was held to Luke's face that you intervened. A knife dropped to the floor amid the chaos, “Aemond,” you called, the knife in your hand, as you approached him, drop the rock…" Please,” His eyes locked on yours, the rock faltering at your voice, but the throw of sand in your and Aemond’s eyes had you drop the knife into Luke’s hand, causing Aemond to lose an eye. 

That night tore Aemond away from you, you were blamed, and Aemond decided to hate you. To push you aside and forget whatever friendship had been forged. He tried to hate you, to resent you entirely. But Aemond found it impossible. All he wanted was you, to have you by his side, helping him as his eye healed. To be a comfort and a friend. But no matter how hard he tried to hate you, it never happened. 

You, however, had no issue hating him. He grew from a dear friend to a man you pitied. A man you didn't deem worthy of your time or attention. Years spent on Dragonstone, ignoring his letters begging for forgiveness.  And the few visits you had throughout the years were spent ignoring him and detesting him entirely. 

The words said during the incident hurt you, but the words he spoke after, in anger, hurt you. Blaming you for everything, his eye, the secrets you had told him, hurt you had told him in confidence, twisted against you. Calling you names. After that, you resented the years you spent as his friend, the years you spent fighting your father and his hatred for the hightowers, the years of’ telling him he wasnt the pitiful prince Aegon said he was. But after that day, he became the annoying, pitiful prince you always insisted he wasn’t.

Every visit to Kingslanding, where he couldn’t resist staying away, were he followed you through the halls, begging for the company he insisted he no longer craved, begging for you to acknowledge him. But you ignored his company, and any words from his lips were met with cold disdain, the roll of your eyes and the turn of your head, dismissing him entirely. 

You spent years ignoring him, hating him and with him trying to hate you. But you, every time he tried to ignore him, chose to give him attention. A stare, not longing,  just a simple stare in his direction, causing him to falter in his faux cold demeanour. You played a game with him, each time he thought he was making efforts toward hating you, to losing the love he held for you, you turned around and sat next to him at dinner. Your hand would brush his at the table. Sometimes you were cruel in your games, coming to his chambers and throwing the endless letters he had written you into the fire. Saying no word say you turned and left him stewing. 

You hated him, deemed him unworthy of your time. Your friendship burned to ashes the day he insulted your sisters, cousins and you. 

But Aemond, whose crush and love for you had started small, had grown into an obsession as the years passed. He relished every glance you gave him, every brush of your finger against his. Every time you acknowledged his presence through a scowl and a scoff of disapproval, he grew more and more pathetic and entirely obsessed with you. 

But then you disappeared to Dragonstone, for three years straight, he didn’t see you not once. Yet his obsession still lingered, just now, he learnt how to hide it. Using the betrothal set with him and Floris Baratheon to hide.

Your family had been summoned back to court after years away, with Luke's legitimacy as the heir of Driftmark being called into question, and you were forced back to Kingslanding.

“Prince Aemond,” you greeted, seeing the man standing in the training yard, swinging his sword with his hand, a cocky smile on his face.

“Princess”, he greeted, his voice and face cocky, his eyes trailed up and down your body, taking in the sea green dress you wore, the neckline that dipped low enough to show the cleavage of your breasts, something that caused Aemond's eyes to snag on. 

 “How gracious of Ser Cole to allow you to win.” his smile faltered at your words, his back straightening at your words. 

He clicked his tongue, prowling towards you, “and how gracious of you to attend my bethrothal feast,” he smirked, waiting for a reaction, some jealousy. 

You scoffed, “Who would marry you?” You walked towards him, circling him, “Someone so entirely pathetic?” you spoke, stopping to whisper in his ear, your hand sliding to his shoulder. Aemond's eyes snapped to your hand, words forming on his tongue. Your hand gripped his bicep, nails digging into him, stopping him from speaking. Face to face with him now, you scowled, eyeing him closely, “I pity her,” you drawled, walking away to leave Aemond to stew. Aemond, who had been so ready to face you, to act nonchalant and ignore you, now wanted nothing more than to chase after you.

You found Aemond easily the next day. He sat in the gardens, outside the windows to your chambers, his eyes focused on anyone but his would-be betrothed, waiting to lock eyes with yours the second you noticed him. 

“Floris, is it?” you asked, walking towards the table where she and Aemond sat. Aemond's eyes locked on yours, his hand moving to grip the table as you approached. 

“Yes, princess,” she nodded, a nervous smile on her lips as she looked between you and Aemond, her lip twitching as she noticed Aemond's gaze, and how it never once left you. “I hadn’t expected to meet you, princess,” she smiled, her voice wavering as you moved to sit. 

You laughed, your eyes following Floris,  hand as she moved to grip Aemonds, kissing your teeth as a feeling of envy rushed through you. Aemond smirked,  his eyes flickering between you and Floris, slowly pulling his hand away from her. 

“Why's that?” you asked, ignoring Aemond's gaze. 

“Do you not…” she faltered, gazing nervously at Aemond as she spoke, “ hate each other?”

Aemond chuckled, “I could never hate her,” you scoffed at his words, your hand reaching under the table to grab his hand.

“How sweet,” you cocked your head, waiting for Floris to speak. 

“My betrothed and I had plans.” She stated, her eyes turning to Aemond, waiting for him to dismiss you, but his eyes were focused entirely on your hand and his.

“Oh,” you gasped, running your over hand up the length of Aemond’s arm. “betrothed? So it's official,”

“Not yet,” Aemond dismissed, his eyes drawn to your hand, “just discussed,”

You nodded, feigning understanding, “so not betrothed,”

“No, but we are-”

“You should leave,” you cut her off,  your hand moving from the length of his arm to his thigh. 

A sharp breath left him as you did, “leave us,” he snapped, slamming his hand on the table as your hand reached further up his thigh, towards his crotch. 

She huffed, standing quickly and leaving, glaring at you and Aemond as she left. 

Your hand moved from his crotch and pushed Aemond away from you. “You don’t hate me?” 

“Aemond leaned forward, hoping you would touch him again, “no,” 

You rolled your eyes, “You're pathetic,” you scoffed, “you do hate me, admit it,”

“I tried, I don't hate you,” he pushed his hair closer to yours, his hands reaching for yours, “I wanted to, but I can’t”

“As I said, pathetic”, you stood from the table, pushing his hands from you, “after everything you did, you have the gall to not hate me? Pathetic!” You turned towards your chambers, ignoring Aemonds as he followed you. 

Reaching your doors, you turned to face him, “You're to be betrothed to another woman, and yet you still follow me around like a lost little puppy, as if nothing has changed.” You shook your head, pushing the door open behind you. 

“You're jealous?” he asked, smiling in victory.  

“Jealous?” you said, turning around quickly. “Oh, you pathetic little thing.” You laughed, “You think I’m jealous of her? That I desire you even after everything?” Aemond swallowed roughly, following you into your chambers.

“I could have anyone, I have men begging for my hand, and you think that I would want someone-eyed prince for a husband?” you scoffed, walking further into your room, settling on your bed. You laughed, your eyes moving down his body as he prowled towards you, “You do? Don’t you?” Your hands reached to play with the neckline of your dress “Why would I marry you? hmm? What could I possibly gain?”

“We were friends, I love you,” he pleaded, his hand going to the growing tent in his crotch. 

“Friends?” you scoffed, “you blamed me for loosing you eye, pushed me away,” you stood from the bed, standing face to face with Aemond, your hand reaching you grab his jaw, moving his face down to yours. “You were cruel,”

“I'm sorry,” he breathed, his mouth itching closer to yours.

“Get on your knees and beg for forgiveness.”

He swallowed, stepping back and dropping to his knees. 

“Please,” he begged, “forgive me, please…please, I'm sorry, please forgive me. I've only ever wanted to be worthy of you, to please you.”

“Good,” you whispered, moving behind him and pulling his head back, “now tell me how pathetic you are” Your hand moved to caress his neck, pulling his hair to the side as you joined him on the floor. 

“I am so pathetic,” he near moan, “I am nothing without you,” he groaned, your mouth coming to his neck, placing a teasing kiss along the column of his neck.

“Keep going,”

“Without you, I am pathetic, nothing more than a one-eyed disgrace,” you nodded, sucking on his neck softly. “Kiss me,” you muttered, moving around to kneel in front of him. 

The kiss was messy, desperate. Groans fell from him as your mouth met his. His hands reached to grip your face, only to fall away as your hands reached for his hair, yanking him back.  “So eager”, you muttered, placing a gentle kiss on his lips.

“Please, he begged.

“Do you love me?” you asked, smirking as he looked at you, eye wide. 

“More than anything, I want you to be my wife. ” His hands reached for you again, begging to touch you.

“Why would I want to marry you?”

“Because you love me,” Aemond stated, his breath heavy as he gaved up at you, desperate for you to admit it.

You faltered, your back straightening. Your hands came to grip his face, forcing his face closer to you,” You're not worthy of my love.”

“I am, please,” he breathed.

“Show me,” you placed a kiss on his lips, “show me your worthy of my love,”

“Yes, please, please,” he begged, his lips hovering over yours, begging for you to kiss him again. You huffed a laugh, your mouth taking his in a heated kiss. Your lips took his, your mouth dominating his in your heated kiss. Your tongue entered his mouth, your tongue dominating his, as your hands gripped his tunic, pulling him up with you and towards the bed. 

You pulled back, breaking the kiss and pulling your dress and small clothes off with it, leaving you entirely bare before him as you crawled back onto your bed. 

Aemond groaned at the sight, crawling towards you, placing desperate kisses from your ankles up to your thigh, waiting for your permission to place kisses on your inner thigh and towards your heat. His licks were slow at first, testing and tasting you and to see your reaction. A groan fell from him as moans began to spill from your lips. His mouth moved to your clit, his hands gripping your waist for leverage as he began to feast on your heat, his fingers teased at your entrance, his mouth focused on your clit as he began to finger you. A loud moan escaped you as he entered, your hand reaching to grip his hair, your legs wrapped around his head and pushing him further into you. His fingers began to fuck you, thrusting in and out of you at a testing pace, desperate to find a pace you liked. 

Your back arching off the bed as his fingers began to curl into you, your hips bucking into his face, riding it as his fingers fucked you, his mouth sucking on your clit as you felt your high begin to wash over you. a loud moan escaping your mouth once again as you came. Your hand in his hair, tugging him away from you as you rode out your peak. 

“Get on your back,” you commanded, pushing him onto the bed. Your hands reached for his breeches, practically ripping them from his body as his hands worked on his tunic. 

Your eyes traced his body as you threw his clothes to the floor, your eyes gleaming with lust as you took in his naked form and his pulsing, hard cock. 

Crawling over him, you took his mouth into a slow, deep kiss, your legs falling on either side of his head, one hand reaching for his cock and your other reaching behind you to steady yourself, as you slid it between your wet folds, before slowly easing down onto him, pushing his cock slowly into your heat. “Fuck,” you moaned, your head falling back as you eased down onto him. 

His hands flew to your hips, steadying you as you took a deep breath, a moan falling from your lips as his cock stretched your walls, your hips rocking forward. Your head fell back as you began to bounce on his cock, setting a hard pace. Your peak was fast approaching, as you focused entirely on your pleasure, your moans filling the room as your peak began to wash over you.

You fell back breathless against the bed, your hands reaching for Aemond, pulling him over you and down for a bruising kiss. “Fuck me,” you commanded, your hand reaching to tug his hair. 

His cock pushed into you slowly, his hips stuttering, pathetic moans falling from his lips as he thrusted in you, his eyes boring into yours as his own peak washed over you. He collapsed onto you, breathless and limp, his hands desperately clinging to you. 

“Tell me you love me, please,” he pleaded, pressing desperate kisses to your face. 

You sighed, playing with his hair, “No,”

A whimper fell from his lips, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you closer to him, whispering pleas into your skin. 

You turned to face him, studying him closely, “I-” The door swung open, your father's loud steps echoing, and he brisked into the room.

“The fuck is this?” Daemon mumled, scowling at the sight of you and Aemond. A chuckle fell from him, his hands reaching for the pile of clothes on the floor and tossing them at you both, as he turned around “Fetch Rhaneyra,” he called, his eyes flickering to Aemond, his scowl deepening, “and the fucking queen,”

“Do you think they'll marry us?” Aemond whispered, a smile on his face as he pulled you back into him as you tried to move away, kissing every inch of you he could reach.