ℒearning High Valyrian 〳 Aerion Targaryen
◟ content ! ୧ he teaches you high valyrian , and you learn to use it to your advantage ⸝⸝ brief smut!! word kink? idk ! ♡
𝒴our Husband sees himself high above most , equal to some , and beneath no one.
You ― equal , of course. Well , only because you carry his name , that is.
Your Husband is a Dragon , after all , carrying the blood of old Valyria , and seeing himself as something sacred. And you , an addition to himself.
And God’s is he a prideful one.
He's learned the tongue of his ancestors with burning pride. Speaking the old language came easy to children of the blood , he was taught and been praised. And in his mind , his wife , shared not only name , but also tradition. And so he taught you , with the patience of a Husband , the firmness of a Teacher , and the desperation of a man seeing in the practice more than just some simple words…
Because it were the words that used to command the faithful dragon of a rider , and riding a dragon you are ….
"Go on ... say it ," his lips are a breath away from yours , his warm body underneath your own , legs folded to seat you a bit higher. You're both in the middle of your grant canopy bed , tangled in between thin satin sheets and each other limbs. And a gentle summer breeze carries through the opened windows of Summerhall , resulting in a light sheen of sweat covering your exposed skin. Not that Aerion minds it.
"Please ..." you swallow thickly , and his violet eyes watch your throat work.
Not what he wants to hear , but also not entirely unwelcome.
It grands you an open-mouthed kiss , more tongue than mouth , and with the sharpness of his teeth nipping at your bottom lip.
"No ," he breathes , "i want to hear the words i taught you. I need to hear you say it."
You quickly correct, "Kostilus." And from your mouth it sounds more like a question than command , unsureness clings to it , and it's not entirely what he wants from you either. A soft laugh rumbles through the man , vibrating against your chest , making your heart race.
He adores the way your tongue rolls when you try to please him with the High Valyrian he taught you ― the pronunciation is never quite right , but it's endearing nonetheless.
His thumb slips between your lips and into your mouth , pressing gently onto your wet tongue with a sweet hum , "the other word."
Your brain goes blank , tasting the saltness of his skin.
"Jās ," you request then , it means 'move'. And a shudder goes through his body , and his hips shift into yours , if only to make you feel how hard it gets him when you speak his ancestors tongue.
His toned arms wrap around you tighter , until your chest is flush with his , and the hammering of his heartbeat becomes undeniable. He is excited.
"Again." It's no request , but a quiet command.
"I said again !" His voice tilts to something more dangerous , possessive. Lips tracking your jaw until his teeth press into skin , meant to make you obey him. His fingers press into your warm flesh , but it isn't soft , bordering on becoming bruising.
And perhaps it's where you take the courage to command him in such way , as your fingers twist into his short silver hair , tugging him by it until he isn’t invading your space anymore. "By the seven , Aerion , Lykirī !" The words slip out of your mouth from memory , and it is all he needs to go utterly pliant.
As if he is truly just a Dragon meant to be commanded with a firm hand.
He is hard , from just your words alone. And the realization holds you captive with quiet satisfaction. His cock strains against your soft thighs , stirred by something primal. And oh he knows you feel it too ... , as he mentally notes the way your own body shifts towards him.
Aerion purrs , as if you've not just tugged him by the hair like he was some brute, "ñuha Jorrāelagon" he mouths at your jaw again , but this time with no teeth , "my love , so good at learning ..." you feel him drag your body over his length , as his arms remain around your waist. "Ñuhon."
And he does it again , and again. Restless palms knead at the flesh of your hips , and his warm tongue slips over the swell of your breasts , tasting your skin with a laziness that has your fingers tighten inside his hair.
He doesn't let his tip slip inside you yet , doesn't really need to do it either.
"Zaldrīzes ," you stammer the only other word you've mastered yet. The meaning not lost to you. "Ñuha ... Zaldrīzes ... oh Gods ―" Your brows knit together when he angles himself towards your clit , dragging you a bit more roughly over his flushed tip.
"Fuck , that's it ..." his tongue slips back into your mouth , and you're half moaning , half tasting him.
And when his orgasm threatens to crash over him , he sheathes himself fully inside of you , rubbing at your clit with measured intensity so you have no choice but to follow him over the edge. None of his spent goes to waste , and you hear him groan into your ear with deep satisfaction when your cunt pulsates around him ...
In the aftermath , he holds you tightly despite the heat. And your skin sticks to his in a way that makes everything feels like it's burning.
And maybe that's the beauty of it all.
ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 something about Aerion behaving like a Dragon makes me feral, sry
