Owl

“Since I have been with child, you have been cold to me,” you tried to coax him with the reminder that under your nightgown, his babe was growing, shaping your body as they gained in strength and making your insides flutter. 

“It isn’t that,” he replied with a sigh, unbuckling his belt and setting it down on a dresser.

“Oh yes it is. You were ecstatic but as soon as I started showing, you started to recoil as though I disgust you!” you pressed, pushing yourself up from your seat and shoving the robe aside. 

Aemond turned to you, watching your sorrow and anger play out on your face. It pained him to keep you at a distance, but it was the best course of action. He had faltered in more than one way recently, lost his temper above Storm’s End, lost the respect of the Hand and the Dowager Queen, and now he could only watch as his own actions were costing him harmony within his own marriage.

However it was the only way he could carry on and keep the last shred of his dignity. You had always known his true nature, that of a twisted–at times, cruel man–tormented by the shadows of his own childhood, but you had only ever seen the resulting fury. You knew not of the more sinful beast that curled like a serpent in the pit of his stomach, of his fears and his shame, of his desire for comfort.

“Do my round stomach and swollen breasts disgust you so?” you accused, and Aemond shivered at such a forward mention of your changing body. “Is seeing me as the mother to your future child so appalling?”

“It is not, and you know this. I am proud that you are carrying our child,” he defended, but he knew it was a weak argument in the face of his treatment of you. He hadn’t been unkind, simply colder and reserved with his affections, trying to hide behind councils of war and patrols on Vhagar.

However he had an inkling he would not be able to hide, not tonight.

“Then what is it? The Maester says there is no issue with us continuing to be intimate, that my womb is strong,” you pleaded, taking a tentative step towards him, and as he did not answer you, he saw the emotion fade from your face.

His heart was beating furiously against his chest, and the taste of disappointment was still bitter in his mouth—tonight’s outing had failed to soothe his flayed nerves and to tame the shameful creature in him. The sight of your body under your thin gown, round and soft with life, was threatening his resolve.

He was contemplating taking you when you spoke again—he thought that perhaps attempting to channel his desperation into the normal, carnal desire of a husband for his wife would work, only ever for one evening, but your next words reduced that hope to ashes.

“What do these whores have that I do not possess?” you asked, strangely calm, but he could see the raging storm of your pain behind your eyes and in the trembling of your body.

His heart sunk into the pit of his shame, embarrassment turning into an anger that he repressed, swallowing the bile that rose in his mouth. He would not subject you to his fury, the one that rattled his bones whenever he felt he had lost the upper hand.

“How do you know?” he asked behind gritted teeth.

“I asked my maid to follow you,” you confessed, your voice wavering as tears flooded your eyes and you blinked furiously, clinging to your composure. “I know where you go to seek your comfort.”

Finally your voice broke and your shoulders shook, and he forced himself to put his sentiments aside for your sake. He stepped into your space and you melted into his touch despite yourself, burying your face into his chest.

Aemond trembled, caught between his humiliation and his love for you, and he measured the odds.

He could save his dignity and maintain the lie that he sought pleasure in the arms of whores as you believed, or he could allow you a peek behind the veil, to see the twisted, sinful nature of his desires. He swallowed his bitter grief and braced himself, preparing to sacrifice your love and respect for the sake of the truth.

“You misunderstand,” he finally said. “I do not go there to find this sort of comfort, as you put it.”

Your shoulders relaxed under his hands but you pulled away, looking up at him in confusion. “I may not know much of the world, but I know what men do in these places. What else could you possibly find there?” you asked as he reached to wipe your tears away.

“I am your husband, my duty is to protect you. Some … weaker aspects of a man are not for his lady wife to see,” Aemond confessed, hoping this simple explanation would be enough for you, but it was foolish, and he knew deep down that nothing but the plain truth would do.

“I would see all of you, without shame or judgment,” you replied, and he wished it would be the case, but he knew you to be pious and gentle, untainted by the unnatural desires that coursed through his veins.

The back of his knuckles trailed from your face to your neck, down to your breast, and your breath hitched—they were sensitive these days, aching for a relief you did not know how to find.

“I have not betrayed our vows. I would never lie with another woman in this way,” he said, his eye finding your gaze and holding it, and you knew he was speaking no lie.

“What do you go there for, then?” you asked, your brow furrowing. “To watch?”

“No.”

Aemond pulled away, choosing the lesser humiliation of a demonstration rather than an explanation—he knew words would stay with you, echo in your head endlessly, and he couldn’t bring himself to voice his needs or to explain them.

You watched as he undressed slowly, solemnly, draping his clothes over the back of a chair. You shivered despite yourself, a warmth spreading in your core at the view of his tall, lean frame.

He was all muscle corded around sharp bones, shifting with precision under silky skin as he moved, ever graceful. You smiled as he untied his hair and lifted the eye patch, standing bare before you, but before you could say how much you had missed the sight of him, he spoke again.

“Sit on the bed,” he instructed, and there was an edge to his voice. You shuddered, a question threatening to spill from your lips, but the dark, heated look in his eye silenced you, and you obeyed.

“Unlace your gown,” he said as he worked on the laces of his own smallclothes. 

Your fingers were trembling as you pulled the ribbons, the silky gown opening fully from your chest to your navel. You pushed the fabric from your shoulders and let it pool around your waist—your breasts were swollen, streaked with red and silver as your skin stretched with their growing weight.

Aemond looked upon you for a moment, shame curling in his stomach, and he loathed the reaction of his treacherous body. He dreaded being caught under your gaze in this condition, but as your eyes traveled from his face to his hips, your lips parted and your cheeks flushed when you noticed he was hardening.

“Lay back,” he instructed again, and you obeyed, propping yourself on the plush pillows, your eyes not straying from between his legs as he climbed on the mattress.

You were so distracted by the sight of his arousal that you had forgotten the purpose of this moment. You gasped slightly as he sat beside you, then rested his head upon your chest, pushing his loose hair over his shoulder. Your arms instinctively came around him, one of your hands resting atop his head, confused.

You stayed in uncomfortable silence for a moment, holding his folded frame against your chest, questions swimming in your head. “I don’t understand,” you breathed.

“Your body, although changed, does not repulse me. Quite the contrary,” he shifted, his head coming to your shoulder, his face angled towards yours. 

He looked younger and softer than ever before, his skin trembling over the coiled muscle—he was tense, no doubt waiting for your judgment to be passed.

He had never been rough with you, even in your moments of shared passion, but to see him curl his tall body into a quivering frame rattled you. It was different from his bouts of tenderness, of softness and adoration, as this time you felt you had the upper hand, somehow.

“You are a mother now…” he whispered, his fingers trailing the rivers of red that painted your breast and a shudder went through you as a terrible realization dawned on you.

“A mother’s touch… is that what you seek in that place?” you breathed, and he pulled away suddenly, sitting up with his back to you.

Aemond felt his heart sank and his face burn with utter humiliation as you put words to his most intimate need, and he realized now that the line had been definitely crossed—you would never see him as the man he had built himself to be, there would always be the shadow of the quivering child, yearning for a soft touch and a praising word.

“This was a mistake,” he snapped, pushing himself up.

“Aemond, no!” you cried out, reaching for his arm. “I can do it.”

He threw you a cautious look over his shoulder, the tension in his body unbearable, but his very soul sang as you said those words. He bit his lip, his stomach tightening at your pleading look.

“I can do it, husband, please,” you promised, and your use of the word husband softened his fears slightly. “You do not need to seek them out. I can do it.”

You kneeled on the bed, pulling your gown off fully—Aemond swallowed, his gaze taking in your swollen stomach and stretched thighs, the perfect image of the mother, full with life. 

“I want to do it,” you whispered, leaning back against the pillows again, and Aemond’s cock throbbed at the inviting sight. He followed your gaze as you looked down at your chest. “They’ve been quite swollen and what the Maester gave me doesn’t soothe the ache…”

You seemed to hesitate, afraid you had crossed a line, but the proposal was too tempting to resist. His most shameful desire was being offered by no less than his lady wife, willingly and with honest eagerness.

There always remained an itch no paid woman could reach, a pit of hunger deep in his stomach, and tonight had been particularly disappointing—his urge was fierce and still pulsing furiously under his skin.

You watched raptly as Aemond climbed back on the bed, this time curling around you so that he could nestle his head in the crook of your elbow, his face pressing against the swell of your breast. He parted his lips around the peak, his tongue coming to press it upward, his lower lip bowing slightly as he sucked at it, gently first, then firmer.

You sighed, tipping your head back against the pillow. “That feels nice,” you admitted, your frame trembling as you settled into the strange act.

“They have been aching…” you trailed as you searched for your words, your hand curled around his shoulder as he leaned into you, his eye fluttering close. His own hand was resting on his hip, fingers twitching as he shifted, his cock leaving a trail of wetness on your thigh.

“Aemond…” you murmured, and he leaned into your gentle guidance. His free hand finally curled around your other breast and you encouraged him, your palm coming to press it harder against your swollen mound.

“They did not give you what you needed, did they?” you whispered as he played with your stiff bud, rolling it under his thumb and shifting the weight of your breast in his palm.

“They never do,” he admitted, pulling away for a breath, and the hot air against your wet skin made you shiver. 

“Of course not, how could they. They don’t know you as I do,” you said, uncertain but emboldened by Aemond’s obvious arousal. “I’ve seen all of you, my husband… Your glories and your faults. Your strengths and your weaknesses. Out there you are a prince, but behind closed doors, you belong to me…”

Aemond’s eye closed again and he allowed himself to fall against you fully, his weight held up against your body as he suckled at your breast with hunger. “My dearest love,” you whispered, and his hips stuttered against your thigh. “Does my sweet prince need relief?”

“Please,” he breathed, pulling at your breast harder, his hand trembling with restrained desire. “Fuck,” he then cursed, and you both realized that it wasn’t sweat trickling down your breast and between his fingers, but a trail of milky liquid coming from your nipple.

“Oh gods,” you flushed, but Aemond was quick to shift, his tongue pressing forward, licking the trail until it found its source, and his mouth suckled fully at your neglected breast. Sweet relief coursed through you as the pressure eased.

“Oh, my darling boy,” you moaned, and his hips stuttered.

Finally, you reached for him, curling your hand around his weeping cock—you could tell he was quite far down the spiral of pleasure, from the way the silky skin was stretched over the throbbing length, and the abundant wetness that spilled from the head.

Aemond rocked up into your touch, his whole body aflame. Sweetness spread in his mouth as he pulled at your breast furiously, hard enough to make you hiss, but the rhythm of your hand didn’t falter. If anything, you rocked back against him, cradling his head against your chest.

“Good boy,” you praised as you pulled at his roots, and it made him dizzy for a moment, the sting pushing him over the edge. He sobbed into the supple skin of your bosom, his cock pulsing hotly over your fingers, an incredible release spreading down to his very bones. 

As the rush of his peak vanished, an easiness spread over him, different from the coldness that usually came after he was done. This time his breath settled into a calm, easy breeze and his slightly bony frame uncoiled, becoming loose and pliant. 

You loosened your grip and he shifted, nestling onto your lap, his face tucked against the underside of your swollen belly. Delightful shame curled in your stomach as you realized your core was pulsing with heat; the ache in your breasts had abated but another had started at the apex of your thighs, your folds wet as your pearl throbbed.

You threaded your fingers through your husband’s hair and he hummed.

“You shall never set foot in that place again,” you said, pulling slightly, a silent warning that made the beast inside him purr. “You shall come to me, and I shall tend to your every need.”

“Yes, wife.”

Dividers by @/saradika

Beta read by the amazing @arcielee and @targaryen-dynasty ♡

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