#targets

A smile crept at your face from at the memory, of the way his silver hair fell against your forehead, breathing out sweet nothings of your beauty, you breathing back how you loved him. Upon realising Maekar's side was empty, you grimaced, sitting up onto your elbows with a knowing glance, turning to him in the doorway where he stood adjusting his cloak, ready for the day's duties on the estate before it had begun.

"Be safe out there," you mumbled, feet reaching down to the floor and padding to him as you wrapped your arms around yourself, stepping close enough to press your body against his. Your fingers traced the line of his jaw as he rolled his eyes, muttering about how he could 'care less to be up at this godforsaken hour'. The smile didn't leave your face as you pulled his face down for a heated kiss, tongues tangling in a lazy echo of the night before, and he obeyed gently with a groan. His fingers let go of the clasp to his cloak, one hand cupping your ass through thin linen, squeezing possessively. "I'll return before dusk, my love" he promised, his voice rough, as he parted from you reluctantly, eyes darkening with that familiar hunger. But duty called, his fingers rubbing at your hips, and with a final nip at your lower lip, he strode out of the door, leaving beside the squires, and leaving you yearning.

With a contented sigh, you began to get dressed, making no use to call on your maids,they'd arrive to find your chambers empty by the time they gathered in with your dresses. You had made use of your home, no matter by your husband's side or another's, you weren't going to wait on anyone. Instead, you laced the ready made bodice at your dressing table yourself, with a little difficulty, pulling the silver and white finery over your head and evening out your hair into a braid you had learned as a girl. Simple as it was, it was fine enough to be presentable, and you gathered your skirts, making your way through the dark halls, across the sun-dappled garden to the small library amid the cloister. It was a cozy haven of shelves lined with leather-bound tomes, a wide hearth for those rainy afternoons, and a pair of overstuffed armchairs that invited hours of quiet escape. It was your own sanctuary, where you often lost yourself in tales of old Valyria and herbal lore, away from the endless rounds of household tasks.

It was a welcome escape from the tangle you had found yourself in more particularly, the recent trysts tugging at you though none of it had been talked about. And you'd hoped they would never be.

--

So as you pushed the heavy door open, bidding a 'good morrow' to the kingsguard, you were left cold against the frame. Pausing at the sight of your nephew, Valarr. Baelor's son prowled the room as a young mad would, proud and careful, his boots soft on the rug as he pulled a volume from the shelf, flipping through its pages with feigned nonchalance. At about Aerion's age, he carried the lithe grace of youth, his dark hair tousled, tunic unlaced at the collar to reveal a glimpse of smooth chest. He hadn't noticed company yet, but you took him in, eyes gentle as they watched his, his brow furrowed in concentration— or perhaps distraction.

Such similarity in his look to his father's. 

You shook your head at your lingering thoughts, stepping forward into the room.

"Valarr?" you called out softly, the door clicking shut behind as you rested lightly against, quirking your brow at his presence. He startled, the book nearly slipping from his grasp, violet eyes widening in surprise as they landed on you. A flush crept up his neck, boyish and endearing, so obvious it made you pulse quicken.

"Aunt," he replied, voice catching just a touch as he set the book down. "I didn't expect... I mean, good morrow. Father sent me to fetch some maps for the Keep's boundaries, but this place..." He gestured vaguely at the shelves, stepping closer into the middle of the room, his voice smooth. "It's peaceful. Easy enough to draw a man in."

You smiled then, moving to the hearth where embers from last night's fire still glowed faintly. The room was quiet, save for the distant trill of birds outside and the soft crackle as you stirred the logs, coaxing fresh flames to life. "It does. Sit with me? The day is young. We can talk while you search. And it is rare I ever have company here." He hesitated only a moment before nodding, pulling up the armchair opposite your own. You settled at last, smoothing your skirts underneath you, and he shifted, dragging his seat an inch closer until your knees nearly brushed.

The conversation began with simple, lighthearted things— the weather turning mild, the harvests promising well, his training with the sword under his father's watchful eye and his victories of the season. Valarr spoke humbly, his hands gesturing, laughter light and unforced, as he listened t you intently, face gleaming against the reflection of hearth.There was an a gentleman's curiosity to him, a eager spark that made the air between you both hum, the quiet of the library wrapping you in something others may mistake as more intimate.

"You've changed since last I saw you at supper a few nights ago," he said after a pause, his gaze lingering on your face for a beat, then dropping to the curve of your neck where the pulse beat steady. "More... radiant. Is it the summer air? Or something else?" His tone dipped, curious, probing, and you felt the shift— like the first warm breath of spring turning the conversation toward hidden gardens.

You met his eyes, the firelight dancing in them, or his own, you couldn't tell you but somehow the flattery heated your face. "Perhaps it's the peace of settling in. No prying eyes, just... freedom." Your fingers toyed with the edge of your sleeve, it was habit, but it drew his attention to the way the fabric clung to your arm, and he leaned in, the space between shrinking.

"Freedom," he echoed, his voice carrying something deeper that before, the faint scent of him brushing your nose. "I envy such a thing. At court, everything is a game, but here..." His hand reached out, tentative, brushing a stray lock at your shoulder. Careful, but bold. The touch lingered, his thumb grazing at collarbone, light enough to send a shive at your spine, but you let him continue, "You make it feel real."

The timber in the fire crackled through the air, mirroring the heat building low in your belly in anticipation. You were no stranger to his affections, the looks he'd give you from across the fields or halls, his passion was evident from the beginning. Though you'd brushed it off at first, allowing boys to be, but his hand pressed firmer now, and for some reason , you didn't pull away; instead, you turned my palm up, inviting his fingers to lace with your own. 

Valarr's eyes darkened at that, noticing it instantly, that boyish eagerness flaring into lust, something stronger. He rose slightly, closing the gap to perch on the arm of your chair, his thigh pressing into your side. "Aunt, I do not wish to be.." But words failed him as he bent, watching your expectant and curious eyes that matched his, and he leaned in over you, capturing your lips in a kiss that started soft, those hesitant presses, tasting of morning mint— only deepening with his urgency. The very thing he'd dreamt of since laying eyes on you for the first time.

You kissed him back without another moral thought, hand sliding up his firm chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath the thin shirt. He was almost clumsy in his hunger, tongue sweeping into your mouth with a groan that vibrated into your throat. His free hand roamed, tracing the swell of your breast through the gown, thumb circling the hardening nipple until you arched into him. "Gods, you're so soft," he whispered against your lips, shifting to straddle the chair's edge, pulling you closer as he closed in.

Emboldened, his fingers trailed downward, bunching your skirts as you let him take control, he wedged his hand between your thighs. And you parted them instinctively, a soft gasp escaping as he cupped your mound through the dampening linen of undergarments. "Valarr," you breathed out at his mouth, warning laced with encouragement. You didn't want him to stop.

Your hips began rocking into his palm, as he rubbed in circles, pressing harder, the friction igniting your core with need. His kisses grew fervent, nipping at your jaw and down to your throat, while his other hand tangled into your hair hair, holding you both steady against the chair. He hadn't known where to put his hands, yet they found your clit between silk, pressing his fingers to run through your folds as you gasped, tugging at the hair at the back of his neck.

You were both so lost in the moment, you hadn't heard the door open.

There was no preamble, as you felt Valarr freeze, looking up with his hand still wedged between your legs, slick with you. Baelor, your own brother in law, his father, stood in the threshold, his broad frame silhouetted against the hallway light, expression shifting from surprise to a knowing intensity. He shut the door as quickly as he came in, looking from you both to the window. You recoiled into yourself at being caught, your cheeks flushed and shameful. "What is this, boy?' His voice was low, not angry, but laced with authority as he stepped toward you both.

Valarr pulled back, face paling and stammering, "Father, I.. we— I didn't mean—" But Baelor raised a hand, his eyes flicking over to you, dark with the same heat you'd glimpsed in him before. You sat there disheveled, skirts hiked, but holding his gaze as though to be scolded as well, perhaps told upon.

"No excuses, son," Baelor said, approaching with measured steps, his presence filling the small room. He loomed over you both, wrapping a hand at Valarr's shoulder, kneeling beside the chair, his callused hand gently but firmly moving Valarr's aside to take its place.

"If you are bold enough to touch her, you do it properly. She deserves more than fumbling." His fingers slipped between you, parting your folds to find you soaked, stroking at your clit with expert pressure that drew a moan from your throat.

Valarr watched, wide-eyed, his cock straining against his breeches as Baelor demonstrated— slow circles, then dipping inside of you, curling to hit that spot with a burn around his thick fingers. "Feel how she tightens? That's what you aim for. Listen to her breaths, her sighs." He guided Valarr's hand back, showing him the rhythm, their fingers working together at you now, stretching and thrusting in tandem while Baelor's thumb teased your entrance.

You writhed in the chair, the dual touch overwhelming, and pleasure building and you didn't know how to react, simple from pleasure or feelings you couldn't describe.. The wrongness. Baelor leaned in, claiming your mouth in a deep kiss, his tongue mirroring the motions below, while Valarr's free hand cupped your breast, pinching the nipple as he'd seen his father nod approval, his nose rocking at yours. "Now your mouth," He commanded against your lips, pulling back to lift your skirts higher to your hips, exposed to the fire's glow.

He positioned Valarr on his knees before you, stepping behind and guiding his son's head between your thighs. "Lick her slow, like savoring wine." Valarr obeyed, fingers gripping at the flesh inside of your thigh as he pushed in, his tongue flat and broad, lapping from your hole to your clit in unhurried strokes. His eager laps that growing bolder as your hands flew to is hair, eyeing the older man stood above you both, sucking gently on the swollen nub as Baelor coached, "Deeper, boy. Tongue inside her."

Their efforts blended seamlessly, Baelor joining to rub at your pearl while Valarr probed with his tongue, fingers sliding in to fuck you steadily. The tension coiled tighter, your hands fisting into dark hair, Valarr's soft strands and Baelor's coarser grip, as your gasps turned to pleas. 

"Please... don't stop," you whimpered, body trembling on the edge as your knees buckled at Valarr's shoulders.

"Let her come on your tongue," Baelor growled, and Valarr redoubled, latching on with fervent sucks while Baelor's fingers thrust harder inside of you. Ecstasy shattered through you with a final lick to your cunt, walls pulsing around them both, your juices coating his face as you cried out, waves of release leaving you boneless and glowing.

They eased you down at once, kisses trailing your thighs and legs, but Baelor's eyes still promised more.

"Good start, son. Now watch how a man claims her fully." The library's quiet held new secrets, the day stretching long before you.

The aftershocks of your climax still ripple through your body, leaving you limp against the armchair, slick and trembling with your breath narrowing. Baelor's strong hands steady you, his touch both commanding and reverent as he rises from his kneel, eyes locking onto yours with a silent question— permission etched in the subtle lift of his brow, the way his fingers pause at your waist as he reached you again. You nod, breath hitching, inviting him closer, and that's all he needs. He isn't to tale what isn't his, until you say so, though longing crippled you all and you lean your head against his.

And with effortless strength, he scooped you up, your legs wrapping around his hips as he carries you the few steps to the sturdy oak desk behind the hearth. Books and scrolls scatter with a soft thud as he sets you down on the edge, the wood cool against your heated skin. He removes your skirts passed your feet, watching as they bunch at the floor, his gaze devouring the sight of your body, taking in every curve, your cunt still pulsing from their earlier attentions. Valarr comes up beside him, his chest still heaving, his breeches tented painfully, watching with wide-eyed hunger as his father unfastens his own belt, your arousal slick on his lips.

"Tell me.."

"I want you, I want you both.."

Baelor's cock springs free into his hand, thick and rigid with need, the head already beaded with his own arousal. He positions himself between your spread thighs, rubbing the blunt tip along your folds, and coating himself in your wetness before pressing forward. Inch by inch, he sinks into you, stretching your walls with a deep, deliberate thrust that makes you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders. He's unyielding, filling you completely, the base of him grinding against your clit as he bottoms out.

"Like this, son," Baelor's voice falters into your neck, voice gravelly, as he continues instructing as best he can, not breaking his rhythm as he pulls back and drives in again, slow and profound, each plunge claiming you anew. The desk creaks under the force, your body rocking with his, breasts bouncing freely now that your bodice has been tugged down by hands you couldn't name. The pleasure builds again in heavier waves, his cock dragging against every ridge inside you, hitting deep enough to send your eyes rolling back.

Valarr edges closer, drawn like a moth to flame at the sight of you, and his father fucking you to your edge, his hand fumbling at his laces until his own erection bobs free— slender but hard, flushed with urgency. You reach for him without thinking, wrapping your fingers around his length through blackened eyes, feeling it throb hotly in your grip. He groans, stepping to your side, and you start pumping him gently, matching the pace of Baelor's thrusts— up and down, thumb swirling over the slick tip to spread the sticky want.

The younger man bends, his mouth latching onto your breast, tongue flicking the peaked nipple before he sucks it in deep, teeth grazing just enough to send jolts straight to your core. He lavishes attention there, switching to the other side when you arch into him, his free hand kneading the soft flesh while his hips buck into your fist. They overwhelm you, Baelor's powerful strokes pounding relentlessly into you while Valarr's eager mouth pulling whimpers from your lips, your hand working him faster as his breaths turn ragged against your skin.

Baelor leans in, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing your moans as he angles his hips to grind deeper, his balls slapping against you with each forceful entry. Valarr's sucks grow hungrier, his tongue swirling wet circles around your areola, and you feel him tense in your grasp, close to spilling. The library air thickens with the sounds of flesh meeting flesh, your shared gasps, the wet slide of your hand on Valarr's cock— tension coiling tighter, promising another shattering release.

Valarr's mouth works you with desperate fervor, you arch against him, craving more, and he switches to your other again, fingers digging into the yielding flesh. His hips jerk forward into your tightening grip, your fist pumping his throbbing cock faster, both breaths come in hot, uneven bursts that mingle with your own.

Baelor's thrusts drive into you without mercy, his thick cock stretching your soaked walls with every powerful slam, balls smacking wetly against your ass. Shame flickers in the back of your mind, a distant whisper reminding you of who you are: Valarr's aunt, Baelor's sister-in-law, a woman who should know better. But the want consumes you, raw, drowning out the guilt, turning to the pleasure that coils tighter in your core.

Baelor claims your lips in a fierce kiss, tongue invading your mouth to devour your moans, his hips shifting to hit that spot deep inside that makes your vision blur. Valarr's attentions grow wilder, his tongue tracing sloppy patterns around your areola, sucking harder as his body tenses in your hand. Valarr breaks first, a guttural groan vibrating against your chest as he pulls back, his cock pulsing in your grasp. You stroke him urgently, aiming him toward your stomach, and he erupts with a shuddering cry— hot ropes of cum splattering across your skin, marking you in sticky warmth from your navel to the underside of your breasts. The sight and feel tip you over, your hole spasming around Baelor as your orgasm crashes through you, waves of ecstasy ripping screams from your throat that he muffles with another bruising kiss.

Baelor doesn't stop, his pace faltering only as your climax consumes him, his cock swelling inside your fluttering heat. He buries himself to the hilt, growling low as he floods you with his release, thick spurts of seed pumping deep into your womb. You tremble between them, spent and sated, the shame a faint echo beneath the haze of satisfaction, your body limp against the library shelves as their warmth lingers on and in you.

"How are we to speak of this.." Your voice comes trembling and breathy, and they both look up at you, Baelor's hands rubbing your mid section gently.