( Look away, she thinks as she tries to break the spell that keeps her gaze transfixed on his half-naked form, all you have to do is look away β yet she is unable, even when his gaze meets hers, catching her watching him in such a shameful state.
Scrutiny and disgust should twist her features, as it often does when she happens upon Aegon in a similar state or has to clean up after his messes, but none of that is there as her features remain soft, though flushed a deeper shade than before now that she has been caught, but there is something more β something that Alicent cannot even name as it is something she has ever felt before.
The dying word on his lips prompts her own to part as she releases her thumb from between her teeth, poised and ready to say something, but whatever it was dies just as the word he spoke did. All that remains is a shaken, breathy gasp that prompts her lips to seal the moment he continues to stroke himself instead of stopping. She continues to watch him, eyes scanning over the features of his face β a face that makes her heart ache and swell β before traveling down his body, down his chest, over his stomach, where she dares to watch the last strokes of his hand before reason pierces through the veil and they both pull away.
Turning away from him, her body facing the open window as she walks toward it, hands smoothing down the front of her dress before clasping her hands together, nails digging into her skin for clarity of mind and to ground her. )
This morning you seemed unwell, prompting me to worry after you abruptly left. ( Taking a deep breath, she tries to calm herself, but her heart still pounds within her chest β she can feel her pulse throbbing down her neck and the drum of her heart in her ears.
Foolishness, Alicent, she scolds herself before turning to face his bed, unsure if she is to meet his back or gaze. ) But it seems you were plagued by a different ailment than what had caused me worry.
[ A shadow moves, and Aemond's eye opens to find her turned away towards the open air. Granting him a slice of privacy. His eyes close again to rest the moment, the image of her is burned into the backs of his eyelids. How she'd been looking at him in a way he'd never looked at him before. Transfixed. Moments and thoughts knocking together as she tries to explain herself while he remains unmoved. The images of her meld back into fragments of a dream.
She'd noticed him as they broke fast, of course she had. There'd never been a moment their entire lives that she did not fret over him and his siblings. If not the threat of a contested succession, it's literally anything else. Poison, plague, assassins, kidnappings. They'd all suffered her paranoia for years, only ever mounting since that night on Driftmark when he'd lost his eye.
He should have noticed it this morning when she spoke to him. It was in her eyes then. He should have said something better to avail her worry. Before the thought took seed and festered in her. She'd have listened to him, she usually does. If he hadn't gotten in his own way, if only.
The painful ache still in his one hand as he gently fixes himself back into his breeches. He feels a heavy heat on his back, head swimming. If he'd seemed unwell before, it could only look worse now that he has been made to abandon his mounting pleasure. Blood left from boil to simmer. By the time she turns back around he is pulling himself upright. Trying to briefly recall hearing her knock. Maybe he'd just been hoping it was his maidservant who would know well enough to just have gone away. ]
I wasn't in here dying of a summer fever, [ he lashes, the exasperation present in his voice. Looking her in the eye still half hunched onto the weight of one arm, the other draped across his lap. Hair a mess as he forces a breath through his nose. As if he can will himself into a quick composure. But she does not look at him in scrutiny. He has done nothing wrong. Had she been looking in admiration?
The regret is immediate. He looks down again as if suddenly remembering that he is her son. That she is owed her worries. A beat passing as he wipes at the sweat collected above his lip.] I'm sorry I had worried you.
( The harshness clinging to his voice causes her to flinch, her eyes squeezing closed as she braces herself for the impact of his words. It is a brief and fleeting movement, easily missed in the blink of an eye as she quickly recomposes herself β remembering that he isn't his brother and it is rare for him to lash out at her in such a way.
A weakness brought by the heat of the moment as his head and senses still clouded, making his judgment poor.
He may not have been dying of a summer fever, but other ailments and dangers could easily take him from her. They may have suffered from her increasing paranoia over the years, but none of it was unfounded or outlandish in her mind. Dangers were lurking everywhere, waiting for the chance to strike, and she would be ready. )
At times, I know that my worrying and affection can be β smothering, but it is out of my love for you that I worry so, Aemond.
( There is hesitance in her step as she closes the distance between them, gently gathering her skirts to sit beside him on the bed.
With a gentle hand, she reaches out, the tips of her fingers gliding over his cheek, just below his scar, before smoothing out his hair as she looks upon his face β a warmth in her eyes and a gentle smile on her lips, though her cheeks still as she begins to sober. )
I will always worry, it is the way of things, but you did nothing to apologize for. I am the one who should be apologizing to you and asking for forgiveness.
[ It's only a simple touch, his mother's touch. Something in his eye flickers upon the gentleness of it. Unsure of whether he'd rather more lean into it or lean away. Only missing it once it's moved on to smooth and soothe through his hair. Aemond's eye closes a moment before relaxing to focus on the spilling of her satin dress between them.
They'd been closer before. When he was much more little and willing to curl into her lap when he was still allowed to feel sorry for himself. It all stopped the nights after he lost an eye and gained a dragon. When he needed to be as strong for her as she had shown she would be for him. In the years since, he doesn't know how long it's been since anyone touched him with a gentleness.
Aemond looks up at her, blue eye darting between hers. Her kind smile. The way her lips part as she speaks. She is close enough to smell the sweet scented oils combed through her hair. He wants to spill into it.
The shame returns, and so does image of her standing there. And so does the ache in his own lap remind him. She did not look away. Looking back at it now, he can't see it in himself to mind.]
You must think of me depraved.
[ Instead of accepting her apology or granting her forgiveness, this is what he can only think to say. A gentle, curious pressing. He would not speak of any of it outright, to call upon her own depravity for watching him. To question her how long she'd stood there. ]
( Idly, her fingers continue smoothing through his hair β a repetitive motion that brings her comfort and brief distraction from the mounting tension between them as his statement nearly brings her to pause.
Catching a few rogue strands between her fingers, Alicent gently tucks them behind his ear. The backs of her knuckles glide over and down his neck as her fingers move along the length of his hair, gently twirling and wrapping the ends around them before releasing. )
Depraved? Never. ( Her voice softer, lighter β a secret just between them β as she canted her head toward him, her eyes shifted to look up at him.
Even if she thought him depraved, admitting such a thing would admit to her own depravity for watching him as well. How long had she watched him? Only the seven knew how long she stood there transfixed and admiring the sight of him.
That in itself was a sin β a sin settling heavily within her, creating weight in her stomach, twisting and coiling in places it shouldn't. The same sin she had thrown into the face of her friend all those years ago, saying that the Targaryen's had queer customs, and yet her eldest son and only daughter married despite it all. )
You are my brave, strong boy turned into a handsome man. It is natural to be consumed by such compulsions, and the desire to quell them is strong.
[ Every touch is light and grazing. He wants to reach up and snatch her hands as they continue to soothe and fret. Instead his fingers curl into themselves as he continues to watch her, head turning which way as she sets his hair and lets it go.
It is not what he meant, and perhaps it is better that way that is the taking she has to his words. It's not the first time she has caught him or even Aegon. He can recall those moments of her voice echoing down the hall as she lashed out in disdain. What had he been doing to evoke that. When he had held her gaze while pleasuring himself and now she sits and twirls his hair. Tells him it's okay. When he knows it could be condemned. The only answer would be is she does not want to condemn him, or perhaps she doesn't want to condemn herself. ]
Temptation is what tests the spirit, isn't that what our faith teaches us? [ He wonders without looking up from from her lips. Gaze dropping into the space between them where the tips of his fingers shift along the cool fabric of her skirts that lay flush against his leg.
The way he speaks of it is depreciative, gentle edges of cynicism. Having been raised in the faith and made to behave under it, but it did not control him entirely in the way it might control her. It is not the faith that truly guides him, it's the consequences brought by those who believe in it.
He looks up at her again, fingers still idling. His sin is not divulging into pleasure, it is thinking of her as he does it.] Is it so wrong to give in to temptation if it hurts no one?
( To condemn him would, in turn, be condemning herself as well β bringing light to the fact that she was watching with an expression ill-fitting of a mother stumbling in upon her son committing such an act. If she does not speak of it, if they do not speak of it, then it can be easily swept under the rug and bury it like many unspeakable things that happen within this family.
Quietly she listens, nodding to his musings while aware of his heavy gaze on her lips and the idling fingers against the fabric against his legs that cause her skirts to shift against her own. She swallows hard before pulling her lips between her teeth, chewing on her bottom lip in thought before releasing them when her lips part to answer him. )
It is a test of the spirit, making us stronger within ourselves so that no one can use temptation against us.
( There was a time when she was completely and utterly devoted to her faith. She was young and naive, believing nothing could shatter that solid foundation, but as time went on, her faith was tested repeatedly. While still a devout and firm believer, she isn't as immaculate or pure as she desperately tries to appear.
With the atrocities she has committed, especially within this room today, she realizes how far she has fallen when she doesn't tell him that any temptation is wrong as she would have at a different point in her life. )
How would you be certain that no one would be hurt? If anyone, especially those desperate to see us fall, caught wind of giving in to temptation, they could use it against us.
[ The air begins to feel cool on his neck, Aemond remains still where he's sat apart from his anxiously idling fingers. The hem of her dress. Looking at her a quiet beat as if to ask Who? Who is there to witness this moment but the two of them? Who else but the seven themselves may be there to use it against them?
She shifts and squirms but does not retreat. Every part of him wants to say something but this is not something to be spoken. Left to pick apart what she might truly feel between the words like some petty table political game. One so convoluted it'd be better shared at the council table than in his bed.]
Tis a fallacy, is it not? [ He wonders. It is her paranoia speaking again. For the sins she has committed against her own enemies, perhaps, would equally fear them lashing back on her own. And if he'd be correct in her knowing, how hypocritical it would be.
Aemond looks down at his meandering hand. In similar kind, worrying at his bottom lip before he speaks.]
For one would have to see it or hear it to speak of it. [ He speaks again as his fingers slip further under the folds of satin. Their actions hidden. From them, from the gods, from their enemies.
The fabric is cool as it brushes the tops of his knuckles, but the warmth of her skin draws at the tips of his fingers meet along the thin stocking of her leg.] And even then must we blame ourselves for their depravity? For taking the Father's judgement on themselves?
( Though it is the two of them alone in his chambers, Alicent knows the walls have a way of talking. Of people figuring out and learning things they shouldn't. Her paranoia, as annoying and bothersome as it might be, is not unfounded or without cause β she has spent many years within these walls to know not everything that should be kept a secret remains that way. )
We mustn't β ( she breathes a sharp inhale upon feeling the tips of his fingers against her leg. Without hesitation, she grabs ahold of him, fingers and fabric encircling his wrist, but she doesn't remove his hand beneath her skirt.
Instead, she looks up at him, eyes wide and pleading, hand around his wrist trembling with excitement and fear, causing her chest to rise and fall faster with her quickened breath.
When was the last touched in such a manner? Long before her lord husband, the king, fell further into sickness and even then, moments of intimacy that often lacked the warmth she desired and fulfillment of her own pleasure.
This is the first time she has ever allowed herself to be touched by another. She should be repulsed by herself and their actions, but she doesn't stop him; instead, she guides his hand higher β an inch, maybe two before stopping again.
Clearing her throat, she tries again, voice quaking more than she wishes it would as she releases his wrist, her fingers sliding up the length of his forearm. )
You are right β we mustn't blame ourselves for their depravity, and their judgment will come to them. What we must do is remain vigilant; if anyone were to find out β if anything were to happen to you as a result β
( she trails off as she continues to look upon his face, her cheeks flushed once more as the hand on his arm raises to cup his cheek once more, thumb brushing just under his bottom lip.
Turning slightly to face him, her other hand coming to rest upon his thigh. )
[ Aemond's hand stills entirely when she takes it. His expression is barely jostled by the volatile reaction. Not wanting to push any further than he's allowed. Expecting her to jump as she does, but is surprised to find that she doesn't remove his hand. Instead it moves up further, fingertips dragging along before it's released once again.
He's expecting to be scolded now for barely being bold, only it doesn't come. His eye wanders down to her hand as it travels up his arm. Listening to the way she tries to force the steadiness in each of her words. Each of them seemingly complicit in their conversation as it lists more easily towards the one that lies underneath. Pried open by his boldness.
It's the hand on his thigh that causes his chest to rise with a heavier breath. The warm, comforting press of her palm sends a jolt to travel through. So close, and yet. He's not close enough. ]
Do not worry for me, mother. [ Aemond reassures, his voice quiet as his chin tips forward to lean into her touch now. Now beginning to digest the idea that she is complicit or accepting or simply that he cannot help himself any longer. She does not seem to stop him.] I won't let you come to ruin.[ His lips tipping just to graze along her thumb as he speaks. He continues to lean forward just enough for his hand to slide over the curve of her calf. Behind the bend in her knee to trace along the inner side of her thigh. The warmth under her skirts mounting the farther he goes.
It is not dismissive, he means what he says. If this is what she would want, would allow, he would do everything in his power to protect it. To protect her. To protect their family from whatever transgressions may come by him or otherwise.]
( The voice ever present in her mind β the one that brings forth the intrusive thoughts that lead her to spiral into paranoid and frantic episodes β tells her that she should stop this madness before it begins. They should stop before they cross the threshold they can never return from.
Sitting there beside him, feeling his fingers travel higher up her leg, her stomach twists and turns in knots as fog settles over her mind, making it harder to grasp onto reason. Harder to will herself to stop this sin they are about to commit.
The words that escape his lips are reassuring and bring her some comfort as she tries to tread carefully upon this path she's never gone down before. To give into desire, the sinful temptation that already has her craving more of his touch. Her hand on his thigh shifts higher, splaying almost teasing as her fingers press into the flesh of his thigh.
Her thumb drags along his lips, her finger curling around the angle of his jaw to tilt his head to make him look at her. )
I know you wouldn't; you've always been so good to me, but are you sure this is what you want? We should stop before it is too late.
( While her words give them an out, to stop this before it goes too far, the way she touches him and looks at him with her brows knit together and lips parted says the opposite, that she might want this just as much as he does. )
[ Despite his blood, this is something else. Something darker than what is excused in the long line of Valyrian tradition. She is not one of them, she is also his mother. But he has also been her confidant, her defender. The one who still sees her when no one else is looking. He knows her sacrifices in that she never takes what she wants.
He knows the look in her eye when she sees something she wants and yet takes no action. To see her suffer in silence, and he has witnessed her suffer so much from all those around her. In the way she speaks to him now strikes similar in those times before. Where she speaks as what is expected of her, and yet her face speaks differently. The hand at his leg speaks differently.
Aemond's breath rattles as she tips his chin upright, looking at her in a way that shows he is spiraling. The press of her fingertips feel hot and jolting. He shifts almost to try and trick her hand closer. To ease his ache. His body tenses, the hand still poised into the blankets grip them tightly as if it is the one hinge left that keeps him from plunging into her. ]
It is too late. The thoughts of you have already spoiled my mind. [ his confession is soft, only meant for the space between them. Sheltered by the grazing of her thumb. Confessing his sins does not come without exposing hers. ] And you came to me in a moment where I try to relieve myself of them and yet did not turn away. They spoil you as well.
[ His hand does not travel further, the curve of her thigh braced between the web of his thumb and forefinger. Grazing and warm, her skin is absolutely soft. ] Perhaps if we purge ourselves of them, they will set us free.
( Sitting beside Aemond with his hand upon her bare thigh, Alicent wonders what has possessed them to act in such a way. To give in to something viewed as an unforgivable sin to the rest of the realm, those who worship the Old Gods and the New, and yet viewed as a tradition with those who have bloodlines connected to Old Valyria. With this tradition β this need β burned into his blood and bones, it is to be expected of him, and yet she does not have such an excuse to allow such dark and twisted desires to consume her.
How long has his mind been spoiled and tainted by thoughts of her? To know that he has allowed such impure thoughts and desires to fester within him should repulse her, much like the thought of these queer customs one had, and yet she cannot find it within herself, and it would be hypocritical as she betrothed two of her children together.
It leaves her to wonder why she has allowed this to happen, to yield instead of condemning him β and also condemning herself β for his boldness and the dark, impure thoughts of her β his mother. For allowing them to fester to the point of needing to relieve himself. Yet, she stumbled upon him and did not turn away; instead, she watched with admiration and the kindling of a desire that should not exist. How long has she harbored such feelings and desires? How long has she buried them deep within herself, hoping they would never resurface?
What is expected of him through a long line of tradition is not the same for her β to harbor such dark desires for her son of all people is unforgivable. For the first time, Alicent finds herself willing to fall to sin with him upon hearing his reverent confession spoken softly against her thumb. )
What if we give in and instead of purging ourselves, it only stokes the fires to burn hotter and brighter β what then?
( Feeling his body shift, desperate for her touch, Alicent allows her fingers to inch further up his thigh, her index finger pressed into the crook of his thigh as she leans closer, thumb dragging off his lips to hold his chin between it and her index finger while the other fingers remained curled around his jaw. )
Are these fleeting urges of a young man, and in time will you come to regret your actions and resent me? ( Closing the distance between their lips, she brushes hers against his as her eyes flutter closed. Her trembling breath dances across his lips as she utters, ) Promise me, Aemond. Promise me that you will not regret this.
[ What then?β He doesn't know and in this moment he doesn't really care. Lust clouds his mind longer than this conversation has lived. The thoughts of her have haunted him since daybreak. How long before then did these feelings exist?
He only knows that she is often the only one that makes him feel seen, safe, wanted. Is it such a sin to want to return that in kind to her? To give everything to her in all the ways he has seen people fail her, seen his father fail her. So many fragments of curiosity whip through his mind in wonder of those parts of her life she does not share with him. How long it has been since she has felt pleasure. If that is something he can provide her as well. Is it still lewd if he is only trying to make her happy?
The weight of him sinks into her hand, beholden to the way she's cupped his jaw. The tease of her fingers slip further, he feels weak enough to almost beg for this. To say anything that might please her to convince her of it. Even though she is already giving herself to him, at the very least a threat to. The guilt in her voice is unbearable, but he doesn't know what he might say to convince her of his want. He is a man grown, she has not forced his hand.
A noise breaks in Aemond's throat, swallowing her breaths as the softness of her lips brush his. One eye fluttering shut, bathed in the warmth of her presence. Moving ever so slightly just to graze and reach a bit further to feel the brush of her. As much as he's allowed.]
I promise, [ his utterance is barely more than a breath. Though it sounds more like a complacent agreement than any true promise of anything. The hand at her thigh curls to the underside and slides back down to pull closer as he in turn moves closer to her. His head tilts to chase her mouth with a breaking patience. If she'll let him.]
( Though complacent agreement instead of the full promise she desires, his words are enough to quell the unease in her stomach and mind as she feels their vibration against her lips. The sensation sends a shiver bolting down her spine and elicits a small whimper through her nose as she presses her lips against his. Her hand shifts from holding his chin to cradling the back of his head, the long threads of his hair entangled between the webbing of her fingers as they splay for better support.
With anxiety and fear beginning to dissipate at his words, no longer a weight within the depths of her stomach, something else begins to take their place β the fires of desire and want, now beginning to burn within her core as he stokes them back to life.
As he grasps at her, fingers sinking into the back of her thigh as he pulls himself closer to her, she wonders when the last time she felt truly desired and wanted was. It feels like a lifetime ago, as she can barely remember it. Even then, those memories cannot hold a candle to the promise of what is to come she feels pouring from him.
The teasing fingers on his leg reward him with their full touch, shifting to shape to the curve of his breeches, pressing and palming against his hardness while her lips move hungrily against his β her tongue daring to steal a taste of him. )
[ When they meet, it feels almost a crush more than a kiss. Aemond inhales sharply through his nose as he pushes forward into her as much as she gives him. Yielding into pull of her hand guided at the back of his head.
In in itself alone feels like a long years wait of release. Of something buried long and deep wrenching out from between his ribs. The kiss alone pales to any other he's been granted, like nothing he'd experienced in the pillow houses he'd been dragged to in years prior. Her want is pure and unfiltered and he finds himself eager to drink it all up.
He feels the deftness of her hand pressing against his hardness and his moan is swallowed up by the reach of her tongue. He twists and pushes himself to seek her mouth with a new roughness, tipping his weight onto a leg to beg himself eagerly into her hand.
She leaves him clambering, uncertain precisely whether he wants her to be on top of him or he her. Only that there needs to be less space, in that he needs every bit of her to envelop him. With him practically already able to feel the deep thrum of her fluttering heartbeat. The hand at her thigh shifts and reaches for her outer leg, leaning himself forward to pull at her. His other hand pushes off the bed to gather her at the shoulder and roll her onto him. ]
( The distance between them is maddening, creating a hollow ache within her, and just as she's about to remedy this, he gathers her into his arms and pulls her onto him.
His actions surprise her, causing a burst of nervousness and excitement to slip from her in the form of a soft, breathy laugh as their kiss breaks and her forehead presses against his. With reluctance, Alicent releases him, freed hands gathering up the surplus of fabric from her skirts so she can settle on his lap before letting the sea of satin pooling around them.
Leaning forward, her knees squeezing against his hips, Alicent presses a trembling hand between them. Warm and flat against his chest, the tips of her fingers trace out every hill and valley of lithe muscle as her hand inches downward. Over his stomach and pausing when her fingers meet the tops of his breeches β gently teasing the gap between them and his skin without venturing further. )
Let me hear how much you want this, ( she murmurs as she presses her cheek against his, lips close to his ear where he can feel her excited breathing slipping through her parted lips while her other hand threads through his hair once more. Tightening around the pale, blond strands, she tips his head back to look down at him. )
[ Through a burst of command at the pulling of his fingers recoils as she settles on top of him. Her laugh brings a light curl to his lips that tells him what he did was okay, it was not unwelcome. His hands retreat from her as she settles, slipping both of them alongside her thighs before they are swallowed by the weight of her dress over them. Hot skin under his palms with the coolness of the fabric rested over top of them.
The weight of his head follows hers, the rhythms of their breaths crashing and overlapping. As her hand travels lower, his own hands turn over the tops of her thighs. His thumbs traveling back up along her inner thigh. A breath sucks in as she grips his hair. Unwittingly, he pulls himself towards it, sloped chin rising even higher. ]
I want you, mother. [ He corrects. May the seven help him, does it make him harder to call her that with her like this. Looking down at him all manner where she should be anything but. His grip along her thighs tighten, as if he may pull her down deeper into the seat of his lap. ] I will take any part of you that you'll give me.
[ He pulls forward in slight, almost as if he is trying to chase her mouth, only to find that he cannot. Breath rattling in some quiet amusement at that. One hand parts from its mirroring grip to delve between her legs. Where her hand teases to touch, he does not. Finding her slick and warm under the drag of two fingertips. ] Your touch, your taste, your pleasure. [ He adds one with every gentle coaxing. Blue eye eagerly trying to drink up what she might give him in return for it.] I want to hear you speak my name like a prayer.
( As the second son to the King of the Seven Kingdoms, Aemond could have any woman within the realm that he desires as his wife or paramour, so why β why does he want and desire her so?
To hear him correct her and reaffirm his want for her β his mother β and not just the pleasures and release she can give brings everything around her to a standstill as she looks down at him. She has always been thankful that he doesn't share the same carnal appetites as his brother, and on occasion, she wondered what made her son tick. Never would she have imagined they were carnal in a darker way that goes beyond what is tradition for his ancestral Targaryen blood.
If she had known sooner, would she have acted differently? Perhaps she could have sent him away to Oldtown instead of Daeron to serve as a cupbearer and squire for her cousin or matched him with one of the simple-minded young women of the court or a Northern house to help strengthen their ties.
No, she wouldn't have wanted things to change, even if she had down. It would have been a shock, nothing that she would have acted on, but she knows without him, her life within the walls of the Red Keep would have been unbearable. For so long, it feels as though he has been the only one to see her and the strife she ensures. He always makes an effort to do whatever is within his power to make her happy, which is what this is β another way for him to bring her happiness. To show her that she's wanted, needed, and loved in a way that no one else can; something that can only be shared between them.
The warmth of his hands feels like fire atop the skin, thumbs grazing over the inner part of her thighs, causing her to suck in a sharp breath, and the mask she tries to wear almost breaks as she looks down at him still β straightening her back to move her face further away from him, even though he cannot reach her with her fingers right around his hair to keep him anchored.
It all comes tumbling down when his hand leaves her thigh, and his fingers drag against her. Alicent hisses, ) Aemond.
( While it might not be a prayer, it is enough to hear and see his mother fracturing before him β the poised, polished, pious woman of faith no longer there, and all that is left is a woman who has needed someone to want and need her for so long. She whimpers as his fingers sink into her warmth, one after the other. Her grip tightens on her hair as her hips roll forward, desperate for more of his touch. )
I cannot remember the last time anyone made me feel this way, ( she admits, and by anyone, she means his father, as she has been a faithful and dutiful wife up until now.
No longer wanting to tease him, the fingers on his stomach lift, moving down to pluck at the fastenings of his breeches and pulling his waistband to the side to open them wider. Her hand finds his stomach again, but she does not hesitate this time. Deft fingers wrapped around the girth of him, stroking upward to free him before sliding her fingers back down to the base of the shaft. )
[ It is dark and depraved. May the shame take him later when his skin is cold and they have parted. For now, it is simple to give into the heat of it. This one thing for himself. May she change her mind come morning and never look at him the same. Marry him off to the weakest allied house they held in the Seven Kingdoms to fulfil his duties as her son. He would not blame her, but now he knows in the ways he might miss her if she did.
Hearing his name on her lips, the way she eagerly grinds down against his hand. As much as it is sinful she is beautiful when she does it. It feels gifted when she admits to him how its made her feel. Therein lies a deeper knowledge that her bed had been cold and neglectful. Another soured notion for abandonment that should neither disappoint or surprise him.
For as much as he has given her, it too grants him some worthiness he'd felt lacking. Rolling with the eager motion of her body down to the tight grip in his hair draws a sharp breath through his teeth. Lips curling into a small smile, bridled with pride.
A smile that bristles as her hand closes around him, releasing him from the tightness plaguing his breeches. Aemond bites down on his own lip as his chin tips down. The weight of her shifting around in his lap as he steadies his other hand along her thigh to keep her anchored. Resisting the urge to buck up into her hand. As her fingers lift up the length of him, she almost feels as though she's lifting away out of his reach. A dry noise dies in the back of his throat as he tips his chin up towards her again.]
You deserve to feel this way. [ He utters quiet and slow, wetting his lips as he grapples his breath. Cupping his hand underneath her to grind his palm upward. Fingers coaxing. Only vaguely able to recall the tenants of what brings a woman pleasure. He relies mostly on the cant of her hips and where the nerves flare up to the flutter in her eyes when he hits it just right.
His mouth is dry and wanting. And while there is something frustratingly enrapturing about the way she keeps him just out of reach. He can't help but ask this time.] Please.
( With an ailing husband whose health continues to deteriorate as time passes, it is no secret or surprise that Alicent's bed has been cold for far too long. It has only added to the suffocating loneliness she ensured, leaving her wanting and needing, yet never seeking out that fulfillment out of duty and obligation to her husband, the king.
A pious woman, Alicent thought she was strong in her faith, that her devotion and sense of duty would be enough to keep her satisfied and resist the need for things such as affection or pleasure. She swore her faith could sustain her. That she was above temptation, but it was her strength and greatest weakness that made her crumble.
Together, they've crossed a boundary they should never cross, and she knows there is no going back and that she will never be able to look at him the same way again. The image of him beneath her will forever be burned into her mind β the sight of his mouth parted and wanting, the way his eye scans over her face with devotion, desire, and a need that she has never seen in another. He has seized her in many ways, being her strength and confidant for so long, only to entwine them together further in such a dark and twisted way that she knows she can never escape.
Though he vaguely remembers, his fingers continue to coax. Alicent's head tips back as her eyes flutter closed, and a breath of a moan escapes her lips when they pass over nerves or his palm rubs against her just right. She continues to move her hips, helping to guide his hand β to teach and show him how to bring her the most pleasure. )
It's because of you I feel this way. ( Tipping her head forward, Alicent looks down upon him once more; that pleading look upon his features accompanied by please steals her breath away, causing it to hitch in her throat. Her fingers tighten around him, squeezing when they reach the base and molding around the head once they slip up the length once more β coating her fingers with slick precum that helps her match the rhythm of her hand with her hips. ) You're doing so well.
( Having left him wanting long enough, she rewards him by leaning forward, their lips colliding once more β hard and rough and desperate enough that her lips might be bruised come supper, but at the moment, she does not care. )
[ It's her presence he realizes fills that aching void. It gives purpose behind the pleasure that once felt like absent release. Stroking himself to find a means to an end so that the day could be gone about. She makes it so much more. Even just the rhythmic workings of her hand, treating him with praise and tenderness with each stroke and squeeze, build him up faster than he could have ever achieved on his own.
It's hot and searing so much as he feels as though she might lift him out of bed with every pull. Her breathy words echoing within him long after they're swallowed up by the kiss. He returns it in kind, hard and crushing, noise trapped in his throat as he savors every moment of it. Carving out the taste of her with his tongue as the rush of auburn curls tickle the sides of his face.
The rhythm comes easy, molding his movement with her hips. An ebb and flow building between them that doesn't require too much focus as it begins to carry off on its own. Spiraling into their mutual want. The hand gripping and plying into the flesh of her thigh drags back in favor of wrapping around her waist. Holding her steady, hand splayed to reinforce her with every grind of her hips. His fingers beckoning beneath her continue at the pace she sets. Though it might beg to go faster, the pleasure mounting feels a tremendous weight looming over.
It's a simple tell when she's taken him close. Crossing a new threshold that feels it might kill him if she stops now. From the shift of his weight into the bed and the grip on her back. Lifting up into her as much as he is trying to drag himself back down. His breath searing in and out of his nose. The world around him feels impossibly tight as it all comes coiling into himself.]
( With each stroke and thrust of his fingers, he coaxes her closer and closer to the summit of pleasure. The feeling is overwhelming, flooding all of her senses to the point she isn't sure which way she's being pulled, and the tight thread holding her together might snap at any moment.
The burning fire within the depths of her stomach threatens to become an inferno and consume her as he strokes it with his own fire β the one surging through his veins, making his touch leave a blazing trail across her skin as he grips her hip to anchor her in place. Every nerve within her body is set off with each beckoning of his fingers, causing the muscles in her legs to tremble as she fights to remain on her knees as she straddles him, and she spasms against his fingers, fighting with each deep thrust.
Upon breaking the kiss, she gasps for air, the coolness of it burning as it fills her deprived lungs. Leaning forward, she rests her head against his shoulder, her forehead nestled into the crook of his neck. Her hand shifts to hold onto him, splaying across his back and shoulders as she grips him tight, fingers pressing into his skin. )
Aemond, please, ( she begs as she uses that space between them to dampen and keep it from carrying.
Within her hand, she can feel the heat and pulse of him as he gets closer to release, and she doesn't relent β wanting to push him over the edge so they can spill over into pleasure together. She strokes him faster, tightening her grip around him, letting her fingers drag along the sensitive underside before sliding down again. )
Please, ( pleading and desperation in her voice. Panting and trembling as she grips onto shoulder tighter, fighting the urge to moan as it builds within her throat, but with that one last press of his fingers, she's lost β moaning against his neck as her knees squeeze against his hips, body trembling and wracked with pleasure, her walls tight around his fingers as he rides the waves of pleasure with each jerk of her hips. )
[ Every part of her writhes desperately and it encloses in all around him. Aemond can feel her, inside and out, pulling at him. It takes the last shreds of conscious reason he has to keep the rhythm from derailing the heavy momentum. Bed scraping and creaking echo in the chamber under hastening breaths and muffling moans. For all theyβve allowed to spiral and burn around them, this is still a moment wrapped and tethered under the press of a forbidden secret.
The delinquency of it somehow making it taste fuller, and richer on the tongue. This is what their gods have warned them about.
She writhes on top of him, and he feels the sear of regret for not being able to feel more of it. To have more than just a couple of fingers inside of her as oblivion pulls her. Her whispered begging drags him down with her if not by the long deliberate tugging of her hand.
Aemondβs body rolls with her, dragged back and forth with each undulation of her climax. Breath choked in his throat as he tenses underneath her. He comes hard, spilling and milked under her hand. His face dug into her shoulder, mouth pressed to strangle the noise she draws out from the belly of him. His teeth grazing her skin, but not yet biting.
Once sheβs stopped twitching and tumbling over his hand, it moves to rest at the top of her thigh. The tips of his fingers curling and soothing as the cool of the afternoon air begins to brush against this back. Euphoria is there, clouded satisfaction for something that felt so mounted and lingering. Not knowing it had needed release. His head turns, the top of his forehead finding the curve of her neck. A position not unlike one he has found with her before when heβd once been little. Feeling at peace, for once. For now. ]
( The burden of the secret they now carry and share is a heavy one β one that could be their undoing or worse if anyone were to uncover what they have done. This secret will become something for them to safeguard and ensure that nothing happens to either of them. Of everyone within the realm, even before allowing herself to commit this sin with him, she trusts him the most. She knows the lengths he will go to protect and defend her, unlike some who falter and fall short when she needs them the most.
As he tenses beneath her, she feels the warmth of him spilling into her hand as he buries his face against her neck, trying to choke the sound of pleasure that wishes to escape him. There is a pang of regret that lances through her, acknowledging the waste of royal seed, and despite how unfulfilling it was, she misses the feeling of how full she felt having someone within her.
It is better this way, she knows, but she still lingers on the thought. The temptation and how forbidden such things are.
The sensation of his teeth against her skin is alarming, making her already pounding heart skyrocket and pound against her rib cage for fear of what masks he might leave, but she relaxes when they do not come.
After a few last idle strokes, she releases him, letting her hand fall palm up onto her thigh to keep the mess contained and off her dress, as she'll need to keep wearing it for the rest of the evening. Feeling the weight of his head against her neck and shoulder brings her comfort, a feeling she has greatly missed over the years.
With her free hand, she pulls him close; their chests flush as she rests fully in the seat of his lap as she nuzzles her cheek against the top of his head. A content sound escaping through her nose. )
You should ready for supper. We can discuss you escorting me to Oldtown to visit your brother and my cousin.
( The thought of them alone, away from the Red Keep and Kingslanding, weighs more heavily than it had earlier when they were breaking fast. It makes her stomach twist with nerves again as uncertainty begins settling in, threatening to snuff out euphoria, though she feels she already broke that spell the moment she mentioned supper and Oldtown but she's never lingered long after such an intimate encounter that she wasn't sure what to do or say. )
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Scrutiny and disgust should twist her features, as it often does when she happens upon Aegon in a similar state or has to clean up after his messes, but none of that is there as her features remain soft, though flushed a deeper shade than before now that she has been caught, but there is something more β something that Alicent cannot even name as it is something she has ever felt before.
The dying word on his lips prompts her own to part as she releases her thumb from between her teeth, poised and ready to say something, but whatever it was dies just as the word he spoke did. All that remains is a shaken, breathy gasp that prompts her lips to seal the moment he continues to stroke himself instead of stopping. She continues to watch him, eyes scanning over the features of his face β a face that makes her heart ache and swell β before traveling down his body, down his chest, over his stomach, where she dares to watch the last strokes of his hand before reason pierces through the veil and they both pull away.
Turning away from him, her body facing the open window as she walks toward it, hands smoothing down the front of her dress before clasping her hands together, nails digging into her skin for clarity of mind and to ground her. )
This morning you seemed unwell, prompting me to worry after you abruptly left. ( Taking a deep breath, she tries to calm herself, but her heart still pounds within her chest β she can feel her pulse throbbing down her neck and the drum of her heart in her ears.
Foolishness, Alicent, she scolds herself before turning to face his bed, unsure if she is to meet his back or gaze. ) But it seems you were plagued by a different ailment than what had caused me worry.
( A beat. )
I knocked, but you did not answer.
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She'd noticed him as they broke fast, of course she had. There'd never been a moment their entire lives that she did not fret over him and his siblings. If not the threat of a contested succession, it's literally anything else. Poison, plague, assassins, kidnappings. They'd all suffered her paranoia for years, only ever mounting since that night on Driftmark when he'd lost his eye.
He should have noticed it this morning when she spoke to him. It was in her eyes then. He should have said something better to avail her worry. Before the thought took seed and festered in her. She'd have listened to him, she usually does. If he hadn't gotten in his own way, if only.
The painful ache still in his one hand as he gently fixes himself back into his breeches. He feels a heavy heat on his back, head swimming. If he'd seemed unwell before, it could only look worse now that he has been made to abandon his mounting pleasure. Blood left from boil to simmer. By the time she turns back around he is pulling himself upright. Trying to briefly recall hearing her knock. Maybe he'd just been hoping it was his maidservant who would know well enough to just have gone away. ]
I wasn't in here dying of a summer fever, [ he lashes, the exasperation present in his voice. Looking her in the eye still half hunched onto the weight of one arm, the other draped across his lap. Hair a mess as he forces a breath through his nose. As if he can will himself into a quick composure. But she does not look at him in scrutiny. He has done nothing wrong. Had she been looking in admiration?
The regret is immediate. He looks down again as if suddenly remembering that he is her son. That she is owed her worries. A beat passing as he wipes at the sweat collected above his lip.] I'm sorry I had worried you.
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A weakness brought by the heat of the moment as his head and senses still clouded, making his judgment poor.
He may not have been dying of a summer fever, but other ailments and dangers could easily take him from her. They may have suffered from her increasing paranoia over the years, but none of it was unfounded or outlandish in her mind. Dangers were lurking everywhere, waiting for the chance to strike, and she would be ready. )
At times, I know that my worrying and affection can be β smothering, but it is out of my love for you that I worry so, Aemond.
( There is hesitance in her step as she closes the distance between them, gently gathering her skirts to sit beside him on the bed.
With a gentle hand, she reaches out, the tips of her fingers gliding over his cheek, just below his scar, before smoothing out his hair as she looks upon his face β a warmth in her eyes and a gentle smile on her lips, though her cheeks still as she begins to sober. )
I will always worry, it is the way of things, but you did nothing to apologize for. I am the one who should be apologizing to you and asking for forgiveness.
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They'd been closer before. When he was much more little and willing to curl into her lap when he was still allowed to feel sorry for himself. It all stopped the nights after he lost an eye and gained a dragon. When he needed to be as strong for her as she had shown she would be for him. In the years since, he doesn't know how long it's been since anyone touched him with a gentleness.
Aemond looks up at her, blue eye darting between hers. Her kind smile. The way her lips part as she speaks. She is close enough to smell the sweet scented oils combed through her hair. He wants to spill into it.
The shame returns, and so does image of her standing there. And so does the ache in his own lap remind him. She did not look away. Looking back at it now, he can't see it in himself to mind.]
You must think of me depraved.
[ Instead of accepting her apology or granting her forgiveness, this is what he can only think to say. A gentle, curious pressing. He would not speak of any of it outright, to call upon her own depravity for watching him. To question her how long she'd stood there. ]
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Catching a few rogue strands between her fingers, Alicent gently tucks them behind his ear. The backs of her knuckles glide over and down his neck as her fingers move along the length of his hair, gently twirling and wrapping the ends around them before releasing. )
Depraved? Never. ( Her voice softer, lighter β a secret just between them β as she canted her head toward him, her eyes shifted to look up at him.
Even if she thought him depraved, admitting such a thing would admit to her own depravity for watching him as well. How long had she watched him? Only the seven knew how long she stood there transfixed and admiring the sight of him.
That in itself was a sin β a sin settling heavily within her, creating weight in her stomach, twisting and coiling in places it shouldn't. The same sin she had thrown into the face of her friend all those years ago, saying that the Targaryen's had queer customs, and yet her eldest son and only daughter married despite it all. )
You are my brave, strong boy turned into a handsome man. It is natural to be consumed by such compulsions, and the desire to quell them is strong.
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It is not what he meant, and perhaps it is better that way that is the taking she has to his words. It's not the first time she has caught him or even Aegon. He can recall those moments of her voice echoing down the hall as she lashed out in disdain. What had he been doing to evoke that. When he had held her gaze while pleasuring himself and now she sits and twirls his hair. Tells him it's okay. When he knows it could be condemned. The only answer would be is she does not want to condemn him, or perhaps she doesn't want to condemn herself. ]
Temptation is what tests the spirit, isn't that what our faith teaches us? [ He wonders without looking up from from her lips. Gaze dropping into the space between them where the tips of his fingers shift along the cool fabric of her skirts that lay flush against his leg.
The way he speaks of it is depreciative, gentle edges of cynicism. Having been raised in the faith and made to behave under it, but it did not control him entirely in the way it might control her. It is not the faith that truly guides him, it's the consequences brought by those who believe in it.
He looks up at her again, fingers still idling. His sin is not divulging into pleasure, it is thinking of her as he does it.] Is it so wrong to give in to temptation if it hurts no one?
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Quietly she listens, nodding to his musings while aware of his heavy gaze on her lips and the idling fingers against the fabric against his legs that cause her skirts to shift against her own. She swallows hard before pulling her lips between her teeth, chewing on her bottom lip in thought before releasing them when her lips part to answer him. )
It is a test of the spirit, making us stronger within ourselves so that no one can use temptation against us.
( There was a time when she was completely and utterly devoted to her faith. She was young and naive, believing nothing could shatter that solid foundation, but as time went on, her faith was tested repeatedly. While still a devout and firm believer, she isn't as immaculate or pure as she desperately tries to appear.
With the atrocities she has committed, especially within this room today, she realizes how far she has fallen when she doesn't tell him that any temptation is wrong as she would have at a different point in her life. )
How would you be certain that no one would be hurt? If anyone, especially those desperate to see us fall, caught wind of giving in to temptation, they could use it against us.
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She shifts and squirms but does not retreat. Every part of him wants to say something but this is not something to be spoken. Left to pick apart what she might truly feel between the words like some petty table political game. One so convoluted it'd be better shared at the council table than in his bed.]
Tis a fallacy, is it not? [ He wonders. It is her paranoia speaking again. For the sins she has committed against her own enemies, perhaps, would equally fear them lashing back on her own. And if he'd be correct in her knowing, how hypocritical it would be.
Aemond looks down at his meandering hand. In similar kind, worrying at his bottom lip before he speaks.]
For one would have to see it or hear it to speak of it. [ He speaks again as his fingers slip further under the folds of satin. Their actions hidden. From them, from the gods, from their enemies.
The fabric is cool as it brushes the tops of his knuckles, but the warmth of her skin draws at the tips of his fingers meet along the thin stocking of her leg.] And even then must we blame ourselves for their depravity? For taking the Father's judgement on themselves?
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We mustn't β ( she breathes a sharp inhale upon feeling the tips of his fingers against her leg. Without hesitation, she grabs ahold of him, fingers and fabric encircling his wrist, but she doesn't remove his hand beneath her skirt.
Instead, she looks up at him, eyes wide and pleading, hand around his wrist trembling with excitement and fear, causing her chest to rise and fall faster with her quickened breath.
When was the last touched in such a manner? Long before her lord husband, the king, fell further into sickness and even then, moments of intimacy that often lacked the warmth she desired and fulfillment of her own pleasure.
This is the first time she has ever allowed herself to be touched by another. She should be repulsed by herself and their actions, but she doesn't stop him; instead, she guides his hand higher β an inch, maybe two before stopping again.
Clearing her throat, she tries again, voice quaking more than she wishes it would as she releases his wrist, her fingers sliding up the length of his forearm. )
You are right β we mustn't blame ourselves for their depravity, and their judgment will come to them. What we must do is remain vigilant; if anyone were to find out β if anything were to happen to you as a result β
( she trails off as she continues to look upon his face, her cheeks flushed once more as the hand on his arm raises to cup his cheek once more, thumb brushing just under his bottom lip.
Turning slightly to face him, her other hand coming to rest upon his thigh. )
It would ruin me.
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He's expecting to be scolded now for barely being bold, only it doesn't come. His eye wanders down to her hand as it travels up his arm. Listening to the way she tries to force the steadiness in each of her words. Each of them seemingly complicit in their conversation as it lists more easily towards the one that lies underneath. Pried open by his boldness.
It's the hand on his thigh that causes his chest to rise with a heavier breath. The warm, comforting press of her palm sends a jolt to travel through. So close, and yet. He's not close enough. ]
Do not worry for me, mother. [ Aemond reassures, his voice quiet as his chin tips forward to lean into her touch now. Now beginning to digest the idea that she is complicit or accepting or simply that he cannot help himself any longer. She does not seem to stop him.] I won't let you come to ruin.[ His lips tipping just to graze along her thumb as he speaks. He continues to lean forward just enough for his hand to slide over the curve of her calf. Behind the bend in her knee to trace along the inner side of her thigh. The warmth under her skirts mounting the farther he goes.
It is not dismissive, he means what he says. If this is what she would want, would allow, he would do everything in his power to protect it. To protect her. To protect their family from whatever transgressions may come by him or otherwise.]
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Sitting there beside him, feeling his fingers travel higher up her leg, her stomach twists and turns in knots as fog settles over her mind, making it harder to grasp onto reason. Harder to will herself to stop this sin they are about to commit.
The words that escape his lips are reassuring and bring her some comfort as she tries to tread carefully upon this path she's never gone down before. To give into desire, the sinful temptation that already has her craving more of his touch. Her hand on his thigh shifts higher, splaying almost teasing as her fingers press into the flesh of his thigh.
Her thumb drags along his lips, her finger curling around the angle of his jaw to tilt his head to make him look at her. )
I know you wouldn't; you've always been so good to me, but are you sure this is what you want? We should stop before it is too late.
( While her words give them an out, to stop this before it goes too far, the way she touches him and looks at him with her brows knit together and lips parted says the opposite, that she might want this just as much as he does. )
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He knows the look in her eye when she sees something she wants and yet takes no action. To see her suffer in silence, and he has witnessed her suffer so much from all those around her. In the way she speaks to him now strikes similar in those times before. Where she speaks as what is expected of her, and yet her face speaks differently. The hand at his leg speaks differently.
Aemond's breath rattles as she tips his chin upright, looking at her in a way that shows he is spiraling. The press of her fingertips feel hot and jolting. He shifts almost to try and trick her hand closer. To ease his ache. His body tenses, the hand still poised into the blankets grip them tightly as if it is the one hinge left that keeps him from plunging into her. ]
It is too late. The thoughts of you have already spoiled my mind. [ his confession is soft, only meant for the space between them. Sheltered by the grazing of her thumb. Confessing his sins does not come without exposing hers. ] And you came to me in a moment where I try to relieve myself of them and yet did not turn away. They spoil you as well.
[ His hand does not travel further, the curve of her thigh braced between the web of his thumb and forefinger. Grazing and warm, her skin is absolutely soft. ] Perhaps if we purge ourselves of them, they will set us free.
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How long has his mind been spoiled and tainted by thoughts of her? To know that he has allowed such impure thoughts and desires to fester within him should repulse her, much like the thought of these queer customs one had, and yet she cannot find it within herself, and it would be hypocritical as she betrothed two of her children together.
It leaves her to wonder why she has allowed this to happen, to yield instead of condemning him β and also condemning herself β for his boldness and the dark, impure thoughts of her β his mother. For allowing them to fester to the point of needing to relieve himself. Yet, she stumbled upon him and did not turn away; instead, she watched with admiration and the kindling of a desire that should not exist. How long has she harbored such feelings and desires? How long has she buried them deep within herself, hoping they would never resurface?
What is expected of him through a long line of tradition is not the same for her β to harbor such dark desires for her son of all people is unforgivable. For the first time, Alicent finds herself willing to fall to sin with him upon hearing his reverent confession spoken softly against her thumb. )
What if we give in and instead of purging ourselves, it only stokes the fires to burn hotter and brighter β what then?
( Feeling his body shift, desperate for her touch, Alicent allows her fingers to inch further up his thigh, her index finger pressed into the crook of his thigh as she leans closer, thumb dragging off his lips to hold his chin between it and her index finger while the other fingers remained curled around his jaw. )
Are these fleeting urges of a young man, and in time will you come to regret your actions and resent me? ( Closing the distance between their lips, she brushes hers against his as her eyes flutter closed. Her trembling breath dances across his lips as she utters, ) Promise me, Aemond. Promise me that you will not regret this.
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He only knows that she is often the only one that makes him feel seen, safe, wanted. Is it such a sin to want to return that in kind to her? To give everything to her in all the ways he has seen people fail her, seen his father fail her. So many fragments of curiosity whip through his mind in wonder of those parts of her life she does not share with him. How long it has been since she has felt pleasure. If that is something he can provide her as well. Is it still lewd if he is only trying to make her happy?
The weight of him sinks into her hand, beholden to the way she's cupped his jaw. The tease of her fingers slip further, he feels weak enough to almost beg for this. To say anything that might please her to convince her of it. Even though she is already giving herself to him, at the very least a threat to. The guilt in her voice is unbearable, but he doesn't know what he might say to convince her of his want. He is a man grown, she has not forced his hand.
A noise breaks in Aemond's throat, swallowing her breaths as the softness of her lips brush his. One eye fluttering shut, bathed in the warmth of her presence. Moving ever so slightly just to graze and reach a bit further to feel the brush of her. As much as he's allowed.]
I promise, [ his utterance is barely more than a breath. Though it sounds more like a complacent agreement than any true promise of anything. The hand at her thigh curls to the underside and slides back down to pull closer as he in turn moves closer to her. His head tilts to chase her mouth with a breaking patience. If she'll let him.]
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With anxiety and fear beginning to dissipate at his words, no longer a weight within the depths of her stomach, something else begins to take their place β the fires of desire and want, now beginning to burn within her core as he stokes them back to life.
As he grasps at her, fingers sinking into the back of her thigh as he pulls himself closer to her, she wonders when the last time she felt truly desired and wanted was. It feels like a lifetime ago, as she can barely remember it. Even then, those memories cannot hold a candle to the promise of what is to come she feels pouring from him.
The teasing fingers on his leg reward him with their full touch, shifting to shape to the curve of his breeches, pressing and palming against his hardness while her lips move hungrily against his β her tongue daring to steal a taste of him. )
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In in itself alone feels like a long years wait of release. Of something buried long and deep wrenching out from between his ribs. The kiss alone pales to any other he's been granted, like nothing he'd experienced in the pillow houses he'd been dragged to in years prior. Her want is pure and unfiltered and he finds himself eager to drink it all up.
He feels the deftness of her hand pressing against his hardness and his moan is swallowed up by the reach of her tongue. He twists and pushes himself to seek her mouth with a new roughness, tipping his weight onto a leg to beg himself eagerly into her hand.
She leaves him clambering, uncertain precisely whether he wants her to be on top of him or he her. Only that there needs to be less space, in that he needs every bit of her to envelop him. With him practically already able to feel the deep thrum of her fluttering heartbeat. The hand at her thigh shifts and reaches for her outer leg, leaning himself forward to pull at her. His other hand pushes off the bed to gather her at the shoulder and roll her onto him. ]
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His actions surprise her, causing a burst of nervousness and excitement to slip from her in the form of a soft, breathy laugh as their kiss breaks and her forehead presses against his. With reluctance, Alicent releases him, freed hands gathering up the surplus of fabric from her skirts so she can settle on his lap before letting the sea of satin pooling around them.
Leaning forward, her knees squeezing against his hips, Alicent presses a trembling hand between them. Warm and flat against his chest, the tips of her fingers trace out every hill and valley of lithe muscle as her hand inches downward. Over his stomach and pausing when her fingers meet the tops of his breeches β gently teasing the gap between them and his skin without venturing further. )
Let me hear how much you want this, ( she murmurs as she presses her cheek against his, lips close to his ear where he can feel her excited breathing slipping through her parted lips while her other hand threads through his hair once more. Tightening around the pale, blond strands, she tips his head back to look down at him. )
Tell me.
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The weight of his head follows hers, the rhythms of their breaths crashing and overlapping. As her hand travels lower, his own hands turn over the tops of her thighs. His thumbs traveling back up along her inner thigh. A breath sucks in as she grips his hair. Unwittingly, he pulls himself towards it, sloped chin rising even higher. ]
I want you, mother. [ He corrects. May the seven help him, does it make him harder to call her that with her like this. Looking down at him all manner where she should be anything but. His grip along her thighs tighten, as if he may pull her down deeper into the seat of his lap. ] I will take any part of you that you'll give me.
[ He pulls forward in slight, almost as if he is trying to chase her mouth, only to find that he cannot. Breath rattling in some quiet amusement at that. One hand parts from its mirroring grip to delve between her legs. Where her hand teases to touch, he does not. Finding her slick and warm under the drag of two fingertips. ] Your touch, your taste, your pleasure. [ He adds one with every gentle coaxing. Blue eye eagerly trying to drink up what she might give him in return for it.] I want to hear you speak my name like a prayer.
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To hear him correct her and reaffirm his want for her β his mother β and not just the pleasures and release she can give brings everything around her to a standstill as she looks down at him. She has always been thankful that he doesn't share the same carnal appetites as his brother, and on occasion, she wondered what made her son tick. Never would she have imagined they were carnal in a darker way that goes beyond what is tradition for his ancestral Targaryen blood.
If she had known sooner, would she have acted differently? Perhaps she could have sent him away to Oldtown instead of Daeron to serve as a cupbearer and squire for her cousin or matched him with one of the simple-minded young women of the court or a Northern house to help strengthen their ties.
No, she wouldn't have wanted things to change, even if she had down. It would have been a shock, nothing that she would have acted on, but she knows without him, her life within the walls of the Red Keep would have been unbearable. For so long, it feels as though he has been the only one to see her and the strife she ensures. He always makes an effort to do whatever is within his power to make her happy, which is what this is β another way for him to bring her happiness. To show her that she's wanted, needed, and loved in a way that no one else can; something that can only be shared between them.
The warmth of his hands feels like fire atop the skin, thumbs grazing over the inner part of her thighs, causing her to suck in a sharp breath, and the mask she tries to wear almost breaks as she looks down at him still β straightening her back to move her face further away from him, even though he cannot reach her with her fingers right around his hair to keep him anchored.
It all comes tumbling down when his hand leaves her thigh, and his fingers drag against her. Alicent hisses, ) Aemond.
( While it might not be a prayer, it is enough to hear and see his mother fracturing before him β the poised, polished, pious woman of faith no longer there, and all that is left is a woman who has needed someone to want and need her for so long. She whimpers as his fingers sink into her warmth, one after the other. Her grip tightens on her hair as her hips roll forward, desperate for more of his touch. )
I cannot remember the last time anyone made me feel this way, ( she admits, and by anyone, she means his father, as she has been a faithful and dutiful wife up until now.
No longer wanting to tease him, the fingers on his stomach lift, moving down to pluck at the fastenings of his breeches and pulling his waistband to the side to open them wider. Her hand finds his stomach again, but she does not hesitate this time. Deft fingers wrapped around the girth of him, stroking upward to free him before sliding her fingers back down to the base of the shaft. )
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Hearing his name on her lips, the way she eagerly grinds down against his hand. As much as it is sinful she is beautiful when she does it. It feels gifted when she admits to him how its made her feel. Therein lies a deeper knowledge that her bed had been cold and neglectful. Another soured notion for abandonment that should neither disappoint or surprise him.
For as much as he has given her, it too grants him some worthiness he'd felt lacking. Rolling with the eager motion of her body down to the tight grip in his hair draws a sharp breath through his teeth. Lips curling into a small smile, bridled with pride.
A smile that bristles as her hand closes around him, releasing him from the tightness plaguing his breeches. Aemond bites down on his own lip as his chin tips down. The weight of her shifting around in his lap as he steadies his other hand along her thigh to keep her anchored. Resisting the urge to buck up into her hand. As her fingers lift up the length of him, she almost feels as though she's lifting away out of his reach. A dry noise dies in the back of his throat as he tips his chin up towards her again.]
You deserve to feel this way. [ He utters quiet and slow, wetting his lips as he grapples his breath. Cupping his hand underneath her to grind his palm upward. Fingers coaxing. Only vaguely able to recall the tenants of what brings a woman pleasure. He relies mostly on the cant of her hips and where the nerves flare up to the flutter in her eyes when he hits it just right.
His mouth is dry and wanting. And while there is something frustratingly enrapturing about the way she keeps him just out of reach. He can't help but ask this time.] Please.
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A pious woman, Alicent thought she was strong in her faith, that her devotion and sense of duty would be enough to keep her satisfied and resist the need for things such as affection or pleasure. She swore her faith could sustain her. That she was above temptation, but it was her strength and greatest weakness that made her crumble.
Together, they've crossed a boundary they should never cross, and she knows there is no going back and that she will never be able to look at him the same way again. The image of him beneath her will forever be burned into her mind β the sight of his mouth parted and wanting, the way his eye scans over her face with devotion, desire, and a need that she has never seen in another. He has seized her in many ways, being her strength and confidant for so long, only to entwine them together further in such a dark and twisted way that she knows she can never escape.
Though he vaguely remembers, his fingers continue to coax. Alicent's head tips back as her eyes flutter closed, and a breath of a moan escapes her lips when they pass over nerves or his palm rubs against her just right. She continues to move her hips, helping to guide his hand β to teach and show him how to bring her the most pleasure. )
It's because of you I feel this way. ( Tipping her head forward, Alicent looks down upon him once more; that pleading look upon his features accompanied by please steals her breath away, causing it to hitch in her throat. Her fingers tighten around him, squeezing when they reach the base and molding around the head once they slip up the length once more β coating her fingers with slick precum that helps her match the rhythm of her hand with her hips. ) You're doing so well.
( Having left him wanting long enough, she rewards him by leaning forward, their lips colliding once more β hard and rough and desperate enough that her lips might be bruised come supper, but at the moment, she does not care. )
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It's hot and searing so much as he feels as though she might lift him out of bed with every pull. Her breathy words echoing within him long after they're swallowed up by the kiss. He returns it in kind, hard and crushing, noise trapped in his throat as he savors every moment of it. Carving out the taste of her with his tongue as the rush of auburn curls tickle the sides of his face.
The rhythm comes easy, molding his movement with her hips. An ebb and flow building between them that doesn't require too much focus as it begins to carry off on its own. Spiraling into their mutual want. The hand gripping and plying into the flesh of her thigh drags back in favor of wrapping around her waist. Holding her steady, hand splayed to reinforce her with every grind of her hips. His fingers beckoning beneath her continue at the pace she sets. Though it might beg to go faster, the pleasure mounting feels a tremendous weight looming over.
It's a simple tell when she's taken him close. Crossing a new threshold that feels it might kill him if she stops now. From the shift of his weight into the bed and the grip on her back. Lifting up into her as much as he is trying to drag himself back down. His breath searing in and out of his nose. The world around him feels impossibly tight as it all comes coiling into himself.]
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The burning fire within the depths of her stomach threatens to become an inferno and consume her as he strokes it with his own fire β the one surging through his veins, making his touch leave a blazing trail across her skin as he grips her hip to anchor her in place. Every nerve within her body is set off with each beckoning of his fingers, causing the muscles in her legs to tremble as she fights to remain on her knees as she straddles him, and she spasms against his fingers, fighting with each deep thrust.
Upon breaking the kiss, she gasps for air, the coolness of it burning as it fills her deprived lungs. Leaning forward, she rests her head against his shoulder, her forehead nestled into the crook of his neck. Her hand shifts to hold onto him, splaying across his back and shoulders as she grips him tight, fingers pressing into his skin. )
Aemond, please, ( she begs as she uses that space between them to dampen and keep it from carrying.
Within her hand, she can feel the heat and pulse of him as he gets closer to release, and she doesn't relent β wanting to push him over the edge so they can spill over into pleasure together. She strokes him faster, tightening her grip around him, letting her fingers drag along the sensitive underside before sliding down again. )
Please, ( pleading and desperation in her voice. Panting and trembling as she grips onto shoulder tighter, fighting the urge to moan as it builds within her throat, but with that one last press of his fingers, she's lost β moaning against his neck as her knees squeeze against his hips, body trembling and wracked with pleasure, her walls tight around his fingers as he rides the waves of pleasure with each jerk of her hips. )
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The delinquency of it somehow making it taste fuller, and richer on the tongue. This is what their gods have warned them about.
She writhes on top of him, and he feels the sear of regret for not being able to feel more of it. To have more than just a couple of fingers inside of her as oblivion pulls her. Her whispered begging drags him down with her if not by the long deliberate tugging of her hand.
Aemondβs body rolls with her, dragged back and forth with each undulation of her climax. Breath choked in his throat as he tenses underneath her. He comes hard, spilling and milked under her hand. His face dug into her shoulder, mouth pressed to strangle the noise she draws out from the belly of him. His teeth grazing her skin, but not yet biting.
Once sheβs stopped twitching and tumbling over his hand, it moves to rest at the top of her thigh. The tips of his fingers curling and soothing as the cool of the afternoon air begins to brush against this back. Euphoria is there, clouded satisfaction for something that felt so mounted and lingering. Not knowing it had needed release. His head turns, the top of his forehead finding the curve of her neck. A position not unlike one he has found with her before when heβd once been little. Feeling at peace, for once. For now. ]
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As he tenses beneath her, she feels the warmth of him spilling into her hand as he buries his face against her neck, trying to choke the sound of pleasure that wishes to escape him. There is a pang of regret that lances through her, acknowledging the waste of royal seed, and despite how unfulfilling it was, she misses the feeling of how full she felt having someone within her.
It is better this way, she knows, but she still lingers on the thought. The temptation and how forbidden such things are.
The sensation of his teeth against her skin is alarming, making her already pounding heart skyrocket and pound against her rib cage for fear of what masks he might leave, but she relaxes when they do not come.
After a few last idle strokes, she releases him, letting her hand fall palm up onto her thigh to keep the mess contained and off her dress, as she'll need to keep wearing it for the rest of the evening. Feeling the weight of his head against her neck and shoulder brings her comfort, a feeling she has greatly missed over the years.
With her free hand, she pulls him close; their chests flush as she rests fully in the seat of his lap as she nuzzles her cheek against the top of his head. A content sound escaping through her nose. )
You should ready for supper. We can discuss you escorting me to Oldtown to visit your brother and my cousin.
( The thought of them alone, away from the Red Keep and Kingslanding, weighs more heavily than it had earlier when they were breaking fast. It makes her stomach twist with nerves again as uncertainty begins settling in, threatening to snuff out euphoria, though she feels she already broke that spell the moment she mentioned supper and Oldtown but she's never lingered long after such an intimate encounter that she wasn't sure what to do or say. )
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I'M SORRY THIS GOT WORDY
lololol
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π
merry shitscram π
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wow 100 comments deep already π
ππlook at us go
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forever later
π Iβm on my phone so I sure hope thatβs the right html for hovertext
guess who's back, back again?
π
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