[ She leaves him transfixed, kneeling on the floor. As soon as her command lands, Aemond leans to each side to undo the lacing at the ankles of his boots. Fingertips deft enough to get the job done, something done well over a thousand times, but he hardly acknowledges it. All his focus is on her.
One blue eye shining, the other both dumbfounded and focused at the draw of her hands. The lifting of the silk like a shallow veil, revealing her to him. How the flickering candlelight dances across her curves, plump her lips look, the look in her eye as she holds his. Nothing but the pendant, warm and shining as it centerpieces her chest. The prince cannot look away. He looks both ready to devour and worship her. She could do anything she wanted to him.
He wets his lips, still lingering with her taste. The thud of each boot can be heard as Aemond tugs and tosses each one aside. Rising onto his feet with each hand flush along the corner of her bed. He pulls at the buttons of his breeches and sheds them with his small clothes along the pillow between his feet. He can feel his own heart rushing in his ears, deep thrumming in his chest as he climbs onto the bed and to her outstretched arms. Silver hair spilling over his shoulders as he slips his knee across silken sheets to get to her. ]
( Having never exposed herself to another, exhilaration surges through her veins, making her body feel like fire as he gazes upon her. He looks like a desperate man, torn between the urge to eat her whole and worship at her feet. The intensity in his eyes makes her knees feel weak as they tremble beneath her weight, and wanting to shy away from him, but she pushes through the uncomfortable sensations, allowing him to drink in as much of her as he desires.
Once he is within reach, she doesn't hesitate to touch him. Taking his face between her hands, Alicent guides him to her as their mouths collide, desperate and hungry. Moaning at the taste that still lingers upon his lips and tongue. Mouth parted, tongue sliding over his lips before nipping at the side of his mouth.
Shifting, she begins lowering herself to the bed, pulling him with her so his body looms over hers. She kisses him deeper, sucking on his bottom lip while her thumb brushes over the scar once more. As uneasy as his appearance might make him or how the scar makes the ladies of the court shy away, there is nothing about him that she doesn't love, crave, or want to protect.
If given the chance and without the fear of discovery or interruption, she could indulge in him for hours. Taking time in her worship of his body. Teasing, loving, and bringing him all the pleasure he deserves while showering him with praise. )
Tell me, ( she breathes as she parts her lips from his as they find themselves brushing them against the sharp angle of his jaw, ) how do you want me to please you? I want to know your greatest desires to worship and praise you.
[ It is something in his motherβs touch that quells. Her mouth meets his with the roaring heat of fire. Fingertips capturing and dragging him in. He leans freely into her grasp, a hand finding her at the dip in her waist. Fingers splayed, thumb brushing up her ribs as she works to pull them down into the satin.
More and more. That is all Aemond could think to want. From the tender touch of her thumb against his scar to the soft snap of her teeth pulling against his lip. He leans into it, groaning quietly. She is a whole and warm body beneath him. Striking and divine. Auburn curls splayed out around her, the smell of soft flowers rising out from her.
It is deep within his nature to delve into chaos. He has the nature of a dragon, the boiling blood that calls his hand to wander her freely. Conflict and tempered by the complexities of their relationship. To want to devour her drag in soaring flames and heat of rapture. To want to submit himself to her, to revere her properly as a queen. As his mother. He is a young boy with simple pleasures. To want to join them, to become one flesh, is the natural course of temptation. But it is the one thing he wouldnβt ask.
Aemond is quiet a moment as he catches his breath. Chin tipped to allow her mouth to wander. His thumb runs underneath her breast. The bend of his elbow is the one thing keeping him from pressing fully flush with her. Between tangled legs and the press of himself between their hips, there isnβt much space left. Just the grazing of her nipples as her chest rises with breath. ]
I want to feel all of you. The movement of your hips, the shuddering of your pleasure. [ the prince whispers along her skin. He could grant himself that by simply lowering himself. By simply grinding his hips to hers. But it doesnβt always feel right, just taking. To command her directly for his own pleasure. Even if she might let him. It is a gate not yet opened and he is not meant to be the one to open it.]
( Though his desires may be simple, she wishes to indulge in them all. To share in his pleasure, become lost in one another, and attempt to sate that aching need they both share while making them hunger for the other. Now that she has tasted this hunger and felt the flames of his passions, they are now things she knows that she cannot live without. Their loss would leave her emptier and lonelier than she was before they became trapped in one another's gravity.
The drag of his touch against her skin does nothing to quell the ache and fire he has ignited within her. It leaves her wanting and hungry as she arches into his touch, desperate for his fingers to touch and trace parts of her that are still unexplored.
Parting her legs, she welcomes him between them, becoming a tangle of limbs as she enjoys their closeness and the temptation that comes with it. With a simple roll of her hips or pulling him into her with a leg wrapped around his hips, she could join them. Giving them the pure pleasure they both desire and the sins and risks that come with it. She would indulge in it and indulge in him, feeling herself open to him as he nestles deep into her depths as they become one and drown themselves in the flames of passion.
As tempting as it is, she doesn't give in to it or the risks involved. She continues to tease and tantalize him in other ways.
She shudders with each breath. Sensitive nipples brushing against his chest, bringing a rise to her skin as goosebumps spread along it. It is hard to ignore the want in his voice. The desire and instinct he fights against. )
In time, ( she promises. ) I too want to feel all of you. To have you touch and fill every inch of me.
( Hooking her leg around him, Alicent rolls her hips against his before swapping their positions. She now sits straddling him while he's pressed against the plush bedding and satin sheets, silvery hair a halo around him and his gaze warm in the candlelight. Pulling her hair over a shoulder, she leans down to kiss him again, lips tender and soft against his as she cages him in with one arm.
The other reaches between them, wrapping around his girth with a few slow strokes before trapping him beneath her, flush against his stomach where he can feel her as she slides her hips forward along the length. She's soft, wet, and warm. Giving him some of the sensations he desires without giving him everything. )
[ There are layers to these sins. Aemond knows the precarious ways the Seven Pointed star is used to forgive transgressions and condemn others. It is one to lust in such ways with a married woman. It is another layer deeper to indulge lust with one of blood. Passions of flesh is one thing to be forgiven. To do with oneβs blood is another. But the Seven had turned a blind eye to his blood some time ago. A Targaryen was not the same as a common human, they were a step closer to the gods. They were allowed to mix blood with blood. While he was of her blood, she was not of his.
Iβm time, she says. It promises, it lures him in. He shifts before she does. Legs mixing and melding. Teased the edges of some pleasurable feeling before he feels her lifting. Aemond shifts to accommodate her, almost instinctively. The patch of cool satin against his back. Edges of hair tickling and itching around his shoulders. The soft sink of her weight pressing onto him as she rolls on top. His hand at her side slipping up her back as he returns her kiss.
Her touch draws his hips forward, clashing about her thighs as she settles. Enclosing him in warmth. The drag of her hips bringing him into the fold, still wet and wanting. Itβs not as though he does not already know what it feels like to be inside a woman. This isnβt it, but it draws at his pleasure all the same.
The low grind of her hips pushes a groan out of Aemondβs lungs. His head tipping up to chase her mouth down, feverish and wanting. His hands sliding down her back. Gentle callouses of his fingertips rough to the touch. Slipping over the curve of her hips, fingers turning into the plumpness and pull her deeper into the grind. His lips break and latch themselves again at her neck. He begins to find the rhythm to shift against her. Their bodies beginning to wax and wane.
The build is slow, digging out what feels a deep well. It forces him to temper into it, to submit to stoking embers instead of light a raging fire. For as tempered as he is, for as eager he feels, it feels just as good. Just as honoring and devoted as she had treated him time and time before. It coaxes from him a pleasant moan that vibrates against her throat as the gradual undulations of her body stokes the heat within him. ]
( And because she is not of his blood ( though he is of hers ), there is a weight to their sin, one she is prepared to carry and shoulder the burden. With their sin comes shared guilt for the transgressions they are committing against the King ( her husband and his father ) and how desperate they are for one another, it means little to the Seven and the doctrine enforced throughout most of the Seven Kingdoms. Though she was not privy to his earlier thoughts, she shares the same sentiment β pleasure should not be sinful, especially what is shared between them.
How would one judge the sins they have committed? Would they turn a blind eye because he has the blood of the dragon surging through his veins, and they are not the same as the common man; they are closer to the gods? Or would they judge their actions to the highest degree, for they are mother and son, committing adultery against the King?
Such thoughts would generally make her stomach twist with nerves, bringing forth intrusive thoughts that make her seek out the comforts of destroying her hands, but she is free of them. Consumed by the engulfing lust and desire that she feels for Aemond β a feeling she had thought she understood, it pales in comparison to how she feels for him. A fire desperate to swallow her whole, to burn everything around her until there is nothing but the two of them left.
It makes her want to share every part of herself with him. To join their bodies as one and drown in the same pleasures. The Gods are as cruel as they are good. She is thankful for an end to her loneliness and the ache that had been growing within her for so long, but what cost must she pay to be sated finally?
Between her folds, she can feel his throbbing as she grinds their hips together. His girth is impressive as the temptation and ache she has to feel him within her grows. If she slid higher, she could easily take him. To feel the head press against her before slipping in and spreading her tightness around him. The ache within her grows, making her wetter and him slicker as she follows the rhythm of their bodies together.
Calloused fingers against her skin cause her breath to catch in her lungs, and a shuddered moan escapes her lips as she tilts her head to the side, exposing more of her neck for his lips to explore. Her nipples hard, brushing against his chest with each roll of her hips, and quickened breath once she remembers how to breathe again. )
I want all of you, Aemond, ( she murmurs against his ear as she tips her head down, gently brushing his hair aside and behind his ear as her fingers thread through silken strands, cradling the back of his head as she holds him close. ) To share in your pleasure, happiness, and sadness β I will take anything you give me.
[ An awe he finds in her down to the wanton noises each stroke down the length in him brings out of her. The glide of her hips slipping ever so easier as her want drips and mops over him. His hips rock up higher against her, pushing against her between his hips and down from his arms. Stifling the flow of their bodies to grind slow and shallow. Drawing out a deep moan buried into the crook of her neck. To feel this satisfying when only pressed against her. He rues the vividness of what could be to feel it inside of her. To feel her quiver around him. He wants every moan to vibrate down into him. ]
I am yours. [ The words are breathless out of his mouth. Cradled into her, his mouth barely parted from flesh. A pale mark left upon the curve of her neck he has yet to realize he made. He is hers, he has always been hers. It is purpose, it is meaning. And now his pleasure canβt seem to be imagined without her. Turned into her hands that stokes a fire in him never felt before. Pales to anyone or anything that might have come before her.
Gods be good, he may consider praying after this. When it becomes his own pleasure, the selfish want and hunger for more of it. The pleasure that mounts feels like stone running through his veins. He feels parched for breath and yet canβt keep his mouth off of her. Wanting it to travel. To taste every inch of her. Want to feel as much of her when she quivers. He feels the pull of decadence, molten heat of want that feels as intense as violence.
Aemondβs hand draws up her back, long fingers tapering into the curls at the nape of her neck. Holding her there, one hand at the nape and the other at the back of her thigh. He needs her to come again, he needs to feel her and drag him down with her. ]
Think of me inside you. Drown me in your rapture. Let it devour me, mother.
[ The heat in his throat burns so hot his words sound like steam against her ear. Shuffled between short breaths pressing with the roll of their hips. Deep and desperate to find the bottom to what feels like drowning in syrup. Itβs close, itβs mounting. In the void under his clutched eye, he feels himself beginning to spiral. ]
( As he declares himself as hers, a shiver bolts down her spine, and she trembles against him. She gasps, breath catching in her throat, making her lung sting with desperation for the breath she holds. When she finally remembers how to breathe, she sucks in a deep breath, filling her lungs with a deep, shaken breath.
The mark upon her neck will come as a shock when morning comes, and she must dress for the day, but she will wear beneath the high collar of a modest dress. Perhaps a choker will be enough to hide it, or intricate, delicate lace will be enough to hide the mark he left upon her β a reminder of their shared secret.
Calloused hands linger up the length of her back, causing her to arch away from his touch, pressing her chest blush against his as she fidgets and squirms on his lap. Grinding herself harder against him. Long, slender fingers slip through the thick curls at the base of her neck, and she tips her head back into his touch. Hungry to feel fingers threading through her hair and caressing her.
His words and breath sear against her ear, cheek, and neck β feeling like they might burn her. Before she can spare a second to think of him hard, hot, and throbbing with want as he's buried deep within her, he says a single word that causes her to come undone, crumbling all around him as he pushes her over the edge one more.
Mother.
It is a word that shouldn't have a hold on her as it does, but whenever it leaves his lips, pointed and with purpose, she can't stop the quiver that sneaks down her spine or the way it leaves her wanting.
Slender arms wrap around him tighter, the fingers against his skull grip his hair while her other arm loops over his back, fingers press into his upper arm, and the sting of nails threatens to dig into skin. Burying her face against his shoulder, Alicent whimpers as pleasure consumes her, racking through her body once more as she trembles and writhes against him β grinding as she rides out her orgasm, each motion causing an aftershock of euphoria to shoot through her again and again. His name leaves her lips in a breathy prayer, ) Aemond.
[ Perhaps in part it is the sin in saying it. Knowing the sept and the stars would weep to know the transgressions between mother and son. The deepest parts of him who dared never to disobey so openly finds his fingers plunged deep into of rebellion he never so much has tried to touch. It's exhilarating. To hold her in a commanding fashion with his hand at her nape, fingers snared into auburn curls and scratching at her scalp. His other hand wrapped at her hip, for as much as she pushes herself to grind at him he in part is dragging her. His hips writhing upward against her. Desperate and wanting.
Her hips tremble around him and his arms tighten around her as she clutches around him. Breath hot and nearly drowning in the sea of her hair, his chest vibrates with dry moans mingled in panting breaths. Aemond's mouth snaps shut into a deep hitching hiss as her fingers pull into the roots of his hair, nails digging at his skin. Holding onto each other tightly as the pleasure mounts and spills over. She arrives first, the sweet tenderness of her noises and the sound of his name on her lips come first. Thighs vibrating around him and gentle twitching along his length, milking out little moans from her in every stroke.
He follows her soon after. Gentle affirmation lost on his lips as the pleasure is choked out of him. The strength of his arms tightening a score around her tighter as it rips through him. The sputtering of seed slipping between their pressed bellies. The slowing undulations of their bodies wracking him dry. As they roll to a stop, he feels basked in warmth and plush flesh resting all around him. Exhausted and content and loved in stillness that threats the bed to swallow him from underneath.
The prince's grip lessens on her flesh but does not stray far, resting and idle as the silence fills with the harmony of soft breaths. He has hair in his mouth but he doesn't care. Tired, his head tips to rest against hers. ]
( Even as she comes, with pleasure wracking through her body and fogging her mind, Alicent's desire to bring her son into the depths of bliss with her remains. A fervor-filled hunger fuels her and the desire to be the cause of his slipping into rapturous delight. Each movement makes her more sensitive, setting off a chain reaction that feels like it will never end, but it doesn't stop her β she needs him to come with her.
With that final, aching thrust of his hips and the roll of hers, she feels the forceful throbs as seed spills from him. Hot and sticky against their bellies. Again, it feels wasteful. Making the desire to finally have him inside her all the more apparent, leaving her aching once more despite having just come.
As their grip on one another lessens and they bask in the afterglow, Alicent rests against him. Not worried about the mess between them. Her thighs tremble as she lowers herself, shifting to straddle one of his as she lays against him fully, head nestling against the crook of his neck. Breathing out deeply, she nuzzles her nose against the underside of his jaw, her lips brushing against his lean neck before kissing it once, then twice.
Content and at peace, enjoying the blissfulness that washes over her, Alicent has no desire to leave the sanctuary of his arms. She wonders how long they can get away with this. Could they afford the risk of getting caught in one another's arms if he spends the night? Selfishly, she doesn't want him to leave, she wants to stay like this forever, but she knows ( eventually ) he will have to dress and make his way back to his chambers while navigating the dark innards of the Holdfast. )
[ She shifts and he accommodates. Caring little for the squelch of stickiness trapped between them. Every movement feels like weights are tied to his wrists. Chin tipping back to allow her to tuck herself there. The sweat on his neck beginning to cool. Rarely ever has he felt so...at peace. Though never so drunken.
It is half expected that she might shuffle him off again. Like she had the day before. The moment doesn't come, but these moments feel long and timeless. The night as a whole feels like a dream, wandering the inner maze of the Holdfast to find her standing there with her tea. Simmering in want that even now and sated, still distantly feels an empty endless pool. How long had it been there? How long had he stood blinded to it?
Aemond's fingers move and trace along her bare, warm skin. Idling. Just to check that she is really there. Breathing and content and tucked into his arms. He would think of the times she would have held him like this, back in an earlier age. A poor, broken child. Riddled with loneliness and nightmares. Tucked safely away in his mother's arms under dying firelight. Feeling like nothing else ever existed beyond the walls of this room. Not the sick and dying king they betray down the hall. Not the threat of an unworthy heir waiting with bated breath across the brackish bay. Not even the gods of the Seven themselves could penetrate these walls with threat of wroth. ]
I want to take you flying with me. [ He speaks after what feels like the longest of silences. The soft cadence of his voice ever so quiet. Despite knowing she might never agree to it, might never learn to enjoy it the way a dragon rider does. But tonight for the first time, he saw what she was like when she allowed herself to be free. And never more has he ever felt so free flying on the back of a dragon. Something in like, in this moment, would think to share with her too. ]
( Somehow, lingering in the afterglow with his idle touch and arms securely wrapped around her feels more intimate than everything they've done. Even after she opened herself to him, allowing him to see parts of her that no one else has, and delved into depravity, a vulnerability dwells deep within her β stirring up insecurities. They make her want to flee as she did the day before or send him away, but she pushes them down and stamps them out, not wanting to punish him for the demons that linger within her.
It is strange having their positions switched. Many a night, she lay with him wrapped in his arms, soothing his worries, insecurities, and loneliness while chasing away his nightmares the best she could. Part of her wonders if she could have done more, been a better mother, and protected him, but she knows these are thoughts that all mothers have and perhaps something she worries about more with the switch in dynamic and the change in their relationship to more than simply mother and son.
Relaxed and absorbing his warmth, Alicent begins to feel herself drifting. Her breathing begins evening out as the weight of her body presses into him more, no longer aware of the conscious effort she makes to keep from leaning into him too much.
After that long silence, where she struggles, fighting between consciousness and sleep, she startles when his voice breaks through the silence. A soft mmm? slipping through her nose as she shifts onto her elbow to look down at him, a halo of messy auburn curls framing her face and that half-glazed look of fighting off sleep as she climbs towards wakefulness. )
Flying? ( Her voice husky with sleep but still soft and etched with fondness as she reaches out, with her other hand, softly caressing his cheek with her fingers. Normally she would be dismissive of such a statement, brushing it off, but none of that is there, even as she says, ) Have you gone mad?
As I have never ridden a dragon nor flown, I don't know the first thing about it, and I doubt your dragon will accept me. ( Though he has her blood within her, she doesn't possess the blood of Old Valyria that puts Targaryens closer to Gods and gives them the ability to control dragons. )
[ Has he gone mad? Possibly. He's lying in bed with his mother. Head clouded with a bliss not previously known. Prone to stupid ideas, stupid feelings, wrapped in a deep soft warmth that feels safe and suffocating. A fouler mouth might accuse him of being 'cunt-struck'. Mayhap he is. But there are more audacious things committed between the two of them offending the new gods than what might offend the old gods of ancient Valyria that would see a non-Valyrian mount a dragon.
There is a salacious curl of his lips that meets the look she gives him. Chin tipping down and to the side to look up at her a little more clearly, leaned perfectly into the idling touch of her fingertips on his cheek.]
You'll be with me. Vhagar will accept you as I do. [ A soft assurance, but knowingly not much a convincing one. She could never understand how deep the bond between dragon and rider goes. It would be even more difficult to explain it.
Out of all the dragons that reside in the Dragonpit, the she-dragon is the most daunting. Old, cranky, but formidable once she is roused. One too large to lower herself to even be mounted easily. Could she be so bold to try climbing her ropes or would they need to commission a mounting block for her to ascend to the saddle? ]
All you will need to do is hold on. I would not let any harm come to you.
[ He may be bold, but he is not reckless. To ensure the queen of the realm does not fall to her death over the Blackwater Bay. It is not without it's danger, surely. Not for the simple or frail constitution. But she has shown boldness. He would not have brought it up if he did not think she capable. ]
Will she? ( Accompanying the slight knit of her brows, an apprehensive hesitance lingers in her voice. A tightness in her throat betrays the building worry in her mind, yet the rest of her body remains relaxed. Even showing a bit of interest in how she positions herself with her palm cupping her cheek as she lazily leans into it, auburn curls pooling around her as she shifts her body to face him better. )
What makes you so positive?
( Of all her children, she puts the most trust in him, so as he tries to reassure her, saying that all she must do is hold onto him and no harm will come to her, it helps soothe some of the worries.
Idly, as her thoughts drift, her fingers dance across his skinβtheir tips ghost over the curve of his grin before sliding down the slope of his chin.
There is much to be said about her actions, by how she hasn't dismissed the idea or scolded him for bringing such a thing up. Perhaps it is because of the boldness he has instilled within her and that invincibility she might have felt in her youth if she strove to achieve her own desires and ambitions instead of yielding to her father's lust for power.
If she is to consider this madness, she will need to make some preparations. First of all, the fact that she doesn't own the proper attire to ride a dragon ( remembering the leathers her once-friend wore and the same that her children donned when they rode ). Everything she owns is finery made for a queen β dresses of silks, satin, damask, and nothing that will protect her from the elements once they are on Vhagar's back, soaring through the skies.
Perhaps she could borrow one of Helaena's riding outfits or dig through Princess Rhaenyra's abandoned apartments in hopes that she left something behind for her to return to after abandoning the Red Keep and moving her family to Dragon Stone.
Her thoughts abruptly stop, realizing that she's actually entertaining the idea. His madness has corrupted her as well, bringing forth a small laugh as she shakes her head. )
I trust you, Aemond, but I make no promises. But, at the very least, I will visit and watch on the morrow or whenever you would have me.
[ She never cared this much before, it's not gone unnoticed. As a child, she was a mother who kept one ear shut to a child's prattling. Attempting to be involved in their lives, but mayhap more out of duty than any true interest. Aemond would have always appreciated the attempt, but likewise found disappointment when her attention would turn awayβscorned by the happenings with the King, the small council, the princess heir. He'd not faulted her then, but he had felt her absence. She had been the only one who even tried to listen at all.
The markers on the map have shifted, and absently he wonders why. A lot has changed in such a short time. Now his fingers map the silken skin of her back. He has grown to know her now more intimately than any other man. More so than his own father. They have exchanged devotions and aches that have long plagued them. There is no duty between them that requires her take further part in him. No ransom needed in exchange for her pleasure.
Even so, he still would like to take her into the sky. ]
I'll take you to meet her. May she grow familiar with you. Let you put your hand upon her breast so that you might even feel just one breath of her might. [ The velvety softness in his voice might suggest he would seduce her into the idea. Though it already seems to be taking hold in her mind.
But to ensure she take it further than simply visiting the Dragonpit. So that she cannot just excuse herself and wait in her carriage for him to drop down from the sky. If she truly wanted to entertain it, Vhagar would need to get to know her presence. Soothe her fear. It would be essential. ]
The bond between a dragon and its rider is deeper than anything I've ever known. She feels what I feel, she will trust as I trust. As I would never harm you, the great wyrm would too know not to as well.
( As much as she would like to deny it, Alicent wasn't the most attentive mother regarding her children's interests. She had little desire when it came to Aemond's obsession with dragons and getting his own ( tried as she might to understand, she never could and realized she never would, though she did feel for him, there was a terrible ache in her heart when his egg did not hatch and his brother and nephews ridiculed him ).
Then there was Helaena, with her insects and cryptic ramblings ( rambling that she should have listened to or paid attention to because they always came true ). Her eldest, Aegon, was a different story; though he too had an interest in dragons, little else inspired him β he was a lazy glutton with a taste for depravity and promiscuity that she would also never understand, which might make her a hypocrite as she lays with Aemond.
Despite it all, she did try, but it wasn't enough, leaving an absence in her children's lives where she should have been. If she had been present or more attentive in their lives, Aegon would have turned out differently, and she would not have crossed that threshold no mother and son should.
It is too late now, as they have given in to one another. Allowed the flames of desires to lick at their aches and loneliness, making them consumed and starved for one another. Beyond their intimacies and the secrets they now share, she knows that she owes him nothing further, but it doesn't stop the desire to share more with him than just lustful moments they find themselves.
Perhaps it is selfish, and he may not feel the same way, but when she said she wants all of him, she meant every word β she wants to share in everything. His interests, happiness, sadness, pleasures, and everything else he would share with her. And because of that, she could be easily seduced into the idea of flying with him atop Vhagar's back as she clings to him instead of returning to her carriage upon finally meeting his dragon. )
On the morrow then, if it isn't too soon. We can share a carriage to the Dragonpit or arrive there separately.
( This leaves little time for her to find something appropriate to wear there, but she will find time to make it happen. She also wonders if it is too soon. Would he need to make preparations or prepare the she-dragon for her arrival? Would he whisper that his mother ( or would he introduce her as his lover or both ) is finally coming to meet her?
The image in her mind is enough to pull a soft laugh from her, but it dies out as she listens to him explain their bond, how intimate it is, and how Vhagar would never harm her as he never would. With how lonely he was as a child β isolated and excluded from those around him, she now understands why he desperately wanted a dragon. He wanted a friend. A companion that would be there.
The realization tugs at her heart, making her remorseful that she wasn't more present. )
It is a bond I will never understand or experience, but meeting her and possibly riding with her will be the closest I will ever get.
[ For the longest time, Aemond's resilience has been a shield. The lonely bitterness held as a child hardened and weaponized into a part of him. Isolating himself by choice rather than force. She would be the only one to ever really know how much it bothered him. For years getting snuffed out by his own brother, by those bastard nephews everyone tried so desperately to make milk and sword brothers. Wanting their acceptance as much as he hated wanting to, because it was someone. All it ever did was drive him back into her arms.
Once he had found a dragon, he had made a friend with a deep inseparable bond that would not break until either one was dead, he needed her less and less. But what is it to say about him now that still his only friend is that old, grouchy ancient war beast?
The shift is palpable as he watches her make that link β a link he hadn't realized she might make. The spoils of their arrangement has loosened his tongue. A moment that shifts to where she doesn't look at him as he is now, but the small child that would bury himself in her embrace. Weak and vulnerable, things he swore himself to never be again.
It suddenly feels like walls crumbling in on him β the way she looks at him. Deeper plunged into him than any intimacy they've exchanged so far.
Unlike her, he does not sit well with his demons.
Aemond's gaze drops, head shifting among the sheets. A hum affirms the plan in Aemond's throat, notably cool. Slightly distracted. Among his petition to his grandsire, they will make the time to meet Vhagar. Tides shifting as the night carries, he sees the opening that would avail his squirming. His hand coming to fall at her side to suggest he is about to take his leave. Fingers still light, not pressing.]
I should go. [Before Talya might check in on her, before they both fall asleep and the morning comes. Part of him still doesn't want to leave, would desire to sleep in her arms. Equally part of him now needs air, feeling sticky and cooled.]
( The shift in atmosphere is hard to ignore, the weight settling and the change between them noticeable with his desire to leave β feeling suffocated, desperate for fresh air β and her reluctance to let him go despite the remorse prickling at her heart as his hand rests against her side, a silent indication of his wish to depart before the words leave his lips.
It is voracious to want him longer, knowing that the chances of their discovery increase as they approach dawn.
There is reluctant defiance as she lingers against him instead of moving away to allow him to leave. She leans into him again, allowing the weight of her body to press into him β forehead coming to rest against his as she basks in the moment. Putting to memory how it feels to be with him, so she can recall it when her bed is empty, and she longs for his presence. )
Of course, ( she finally says, the reluctance thick on her tongue as she takes another kiss before rolling away to sit at the edge of the bed. Outstretching her fingers, she grabs ahold of her robes and pulls them around her, the coolness of the fabric a drastic different than the warmth of him she felt moments before. ) Though I wish you could stay.
( Would stay, is what she wants to stay, but she understands that she cannot keep him here forever.
She glances at him from over her shoulder, a slight knit to her brow. That ache is still present in her chest, caused by the connection she made ( the one he wishes she would have remained oblivious to if it weren't for the slip of his tongue, but it is a connection she would have made eventually or maybe even something she always knew but chose to ignore and bury beneath the weight of her own miserable loneliness. It wasn't the right thing to do, leaving her children feeling a void where she should have been, but it was what she needed to do to endure and survive. ) and the desire to have him stay.
It isn't that she doesn't see him as he is now and sees him as the boy who once buried himself in her embrace β it's that she notices that she wasn't alone in her misery. While there was often a detached void where she should have been, she hopes that being present now will make up for some of it. For the first time in what felt like forever, she wants this arrangement between them more than anything else and has the ambition to make it last. )
Shall I see you come tomorrow, or would another day be better to visit the Dragonpit?
[ What feels like a very long moment finally ends. Aemond's body rocks gently under the movement as she pulls away, her absence leaving the coolness of the room to wash over him again. Chilling to the skin. Regretting having said anything, several times over. Regardless of what she thinks, the embarrassment consumes him.
Practically swinging upright with his tail tucked between his legs. He pinches his eyes shut a moment, sat opposite the side of the bed as she pulls her robe on. Delayed, the young prince dresses as well, stepping into his breeches and then his boots. He tastes his lips before he rises, still lingering of her. As if finally committed to what has already started. Crossing the room to gather the rest of his things before she poses her question. ]
Mayhaps later in the day. [ The prince answers as he bends upright, hands fretfully turning around his shirt to find the hem of it. ] I need to prepare to speak to grandfather in the morn.
[ It's not as though he's suddenly changed his mind. Nor has he somehow become scared of his own shadow. Just needs to clear his head, for however long it needs. A long breath is taken, sobering as he pulls his shirt back over his head. Flicking out his hair from underneath the collar as he turns to look at her. Uncertain now of what he is doing, standing in the middle of the room feeling like an idiot. Pretending somewhat that this is normal. None of it is fucking normal.
He wants to stay. He wants to craw back into her arms. Knowing she would have him stay, she would keep him there for as long as he would want. That's never changed, only that they can't do it anymore. For a long time he would have denied himself that comfort, not becoming of a man grown. The circumstances of it has changed. Twisted and mangled into this thickened feeling. ]
Shall I return tomorrow in the night? [ Aemond asks, steps wading back to her are slow and ambling. Serving to move closer towards the door tucked away behind her bedside curtains, but to her as well. How often will she call upon him? How many mornings will he need to stumble his way back through the dregs of the Holdfast before anyone the wiser? ]
( From the edge of the bed, she tries not to watch him dress, to give him some privacy, but her gaze always returns to him β lingering on his lithe frame, still thinking he looks ethereal in the candlelight. Smoothing her hands down the front of the robe, she closes it and ties the ropes around her waist before untrapping her hair from within the robe.
The answer he gives her feels like a nonanswer, lingering between yes and no. It is infuriating, especially when she needs an answer to know if she should prepare for the short notice of tomorrow or if she has time. As desperate as she wants an answer, she doesn't push it β she doesn't want to be overbearing or smothering. So, she nods in agreement.
Until today she wanted nothing to do with any of their dragons. Not to meet them or get to know them or ride them. So what's waiting a few more days?
Ultimately, her excitement and interest don't lie with meeting Vhagar or getting to know her but with partaking in his interests. To experience his true self behind whatever mask he wears when around her. She wants to be part of his life's more intimate and private details, but she also knows they are moving at an alarming rate, and he might not be prepared for all that. And because of that, she is more than willing to go at whatever pace he might pick for them. )
I would like that, ( she replies and continues to watch him. Wondering if he will approach her or head straight for the door. ) If I lean the way, I could visit you instead, or if you would prefer a full night's rest, we can come together another time.
[ There is a fire that always remains tamed with her. Held deep within him longer than she would ever know. The son she knows is ideal to her. Meticulously crafted, perfected, into a son that she need not worry about. He hasn't Aegon's demons, but still harbors a fire in his blood that sings. The blood of a dragon that sows chaos he's only ever known her to fear. The son she knows is her own, she owns parts of him that no one ever sees. But there are parts of him he would know her not to love. Mayhaps he keeps it from her so she would not ever look at him the way she has looked at his brother, that she might have spoken of his uncle. What if she showed him fear?
It is her he directs himself towards. Eyes lowered to the ground first as he closes in a few steps where he might have diverged to make a clean escape. Almost like a child who has not forgotten to mind his manners, he would not leave without bidding her a proper goodbye. Feeling foolish and yet still capable of allowing her to swallow him up back into bed if she so wished. Gods and the faces of the Seven would know he could not resist it. If it could simply consume him whole. ]
I don't need peace. [ She gives him an out once again that he does not seem to take. Despite the sting of flight nipping at his heels. He'd resist the urge any more than he would have if he were down in the guts of the Dragonpit, staring the chance of Dreamfyre swallowing him whole. ]
I would prefer to see you again. [ Aemond assures, though would sound almost modest in his courting. Fighting the strangeness that clouds it and poisons his mind. His hand lifts to reach out to her, brushing an astray curl away from her eyes. Before leaning down to press a kiss to the cheek at the corner of her mouth.]
( Though she often looks at Aegon with disappointment and even disgust in her gaze ( sometimes even hurtful and venomous words on her tongue ), it has never lessened how much she loves or cares about him. Even with all his vices and love for depravity, he is her son, and she loves the bones of him ( as with all her children ). She understands there are parts of them she will never know. Parts of Aemond that he would never dare to show her, but she hopes that he will allow her to see more of him, to understand him better, and in return, she would allow him to see more of her. )
You may not need peace, but you do need rest, ( she comments as she looks up at him. Typical of a mother to worry for her son or a woman to her lover, to ensure he is restful and well β too many late nights of passion only to wake with the morning will begin to take its toll. Even with how greedy she feels and wants nothing more than to get lost in him, she understands the need to be alone, to reflect, and to rest.
Or she thinks this is what he needs, after years of her lord husband requesting her to leave him, that he needed time alone.
His words reassure her, that worried crease in her brow dissipating as she leans into his touch as he brushes a stray curl away. The press of his lips feels like fire on her skin, the urge to pull him down with her flicking at her with the fires burning deep within her. Just allow her a few more hours to stay lost in him, basking in the comfort and warmth he provides.
As she shifts, a shaken breath escapes her before she claims his lips fully, her arms wrapping around his neck as she pulls him in, keeping the kiss but allowing him to keep standing despite the desire to feel his weight on top of her body once more. )
Every night you want me, I will wait for you. ( murmurs as she breaks the kiss, lingering close, reluctant to release him.
Not wanting to keep him longer than he wishes to stay and no not smother him, she unravels her arms from around his neck. Fingers gliding through his silvery hair before coming to rest on her lap. )
[ The way she pulls him in does not gain any resistance on his behalf. He allows her to pull him into her arms. A long kiss goodnight that would threaten to pull him back in when he'd been so close and convinced to fleeing. He does need rest. Been up since the dawn, he would sleep tomorrow well past the morn if he could. But the deep need seeded by her would also see him sacrificing his sleep for just a bit more. Just to enjoy a bit longer the way her mouth draws a stillness around him, reminds him of that sort of comfort she's only able to give.
It feels backwards, what she says. In all her power to put her devotion to him and not the other way around. Giving a privilege and a power he's not used to wielding. Stood over her the way he does now, not yet lifting himself from her kiss as he hands flow through him and down to her lap. The only man who should hold that privilege is the king himself. The man who has squandered her and left her bed cold long before he was incapable of leaving his own. Now he holds that power?
Aemond's lips curl into a small, prideful smile.] I would not keep you wanting.
Goodnight, mother. [ He departs shortly, the softest hints of delight in his quiet voice. Pulling himself further is remarkably more regretful than before. Even as he pulls the drapery back, he does not linger more than necessary. The soft click of the door finally sounding his departure. The tempered torch he had left along his way still smoldering as he plucks it from the wall. Making a very quiet way through the dark underbelly back to a cold dark room to hopefully sleep off well enough until the morrow. ]
( While it is true the King should be the only one to hold that privilege and power over her, he lost it long ago. It started long ago, possibly had always been this way, but she was blinded by her devotion and loyalty to her lord husband. Long before the incident on Driftmark, when he forgot about her, called her by the name of his dead wife β making her feel a loneliness she never thought imaginable.
Because he had forgotten about her, squandered all of her, and left her bed cold ( or stopped inviting her to his as he never visited her and requested her in the middle of the night ), this privilege that no man other than her lord husband should have is hers to give freely.
No one in the Seven Kingdoms or even the known world deserves it more than Aemond.
That small, prideful smile eases whatever worries she might have had from the shift she felt in the air around them. She loves to see him smile, to know that she is the cause behind it, and she offers one of her own β warm and genuine. )
Goodnight, Aemond. ( Her words are soft as she turns to watch him leave, contending with the aching longing that already threatens to take hold within her chest. It isn't as if she will never see him again, but it doesn't stop her longing when they are separated.
Rising from her bed, Alicent strides to the table before the window to pour herself the last bit of tea. It has already gone cold, but she doesn't mind. She slides her tongue along her lips, tasting the remnants of him ( and herself ) upon them. This is madness, she thinks as she takes a long pull from her cup, empties it, then sets it on the table. And while it might be madness, she more than happily submits, allowing it to pull her down into its depths.
After unlatching the door, she cleans herself the best she can of his seed that sticks to her stomach and returns to her bed, removing her robe and pulling her nightgown on once more before crawling into bed. It doesn't take long for sleep to claim her.
She rises as the first rays of light slip through the window and the sound of Talya milling about to prepare the Queen for the day. After bathing, Alicent sits at her vanity, brushing vanilla and musk oils into her hair, and notices the red mark on her neck. Her fingers trace over it, wondering if a bug bit her in the middle of the night before remembering Aemon's lips upon her neck β the memory sends a shiver down her spine. She requests Talya to get her a modest dress with a high collar ( hopefully high enough to cover the mark ).
Talya returns with a dress as the Queen requested and begins helping her dress. It feels silly to wear such a gown in the summer, but she does what she must to hide the mark before heading down to break her fact. )
[ It is this morning that Aemond does not appear to break his fast with the rest of his family. Not to appear throughout the morning until the convening of the small council, which he had already petitioned himself to be a part of. He would appear in the chamber room long before anyone else, waiting patiently beside the window for the time to pass.
Despite his notions of desiring no peace, the morning had been pressing. For everything he had intended to do stripped for time in his own meticulously kept schedule. Would not have had accounted for all the time he'd spent lustfully chasing after his mother. Hard to regret it, though he disliked the distraction it gave once his attention had been culled to something actually important.
Skipping a morning meal proved profitable to make up. Leaving him time to arrive there early, almost as overcompensating for the fact that he was granted the ability to attend the small council. Something more often offered to his brother, who likely squandered every opportunity he'd been granted so far. The second son more determined to make the best of it.
His head turns as he hears footsteps linger closer and closer down the hall. Wondering which of the council is to arrive first, only to find that it is the Queen herself. His expression then changes, something wry and soft. Almost as he means to speak something uncouth when shortly behind him arrives the Hand himself. Aemond's expression falls and hardens as he wets his lips.]
Good morrow, mother. Grandfather. [ He greets instead, his hands tucking themselves behind his back as he departs the window to take a seat at the table. ]
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One blue eye shining, the other both dumbfounded and focused at the draw of her hands. The lifting of the silk like a shallow veil, revealing her to him. How the flickering candlelight dances across her curves, plump her lips look, the look in her eye as she holds his. Nothing but the pendant, warm and shining as it centerpieces her chest. The prince cannot look away. He looks both ready to devour and worship her. She could do anything she wanted to him.
He wets his lips, still lingering with her taste. The thud of each boot can be heard as Aemond tugs and tosses each one aside. Rising onto his feet with each hand flush along the corner of her bed. He pulls at the buttons of his breeches and sheds them with his small clothes along the pillow between his feet. He can feel his own heart rushing in his ears, deep thrumming in his chest as he climbs onto the bed and to her outstretched arms. Silver hair spilling over his shoulders as he slips his knee across silken sheets to get to her. ]
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Once he is within reach, she doesn't hesitate to touch him. Taking his face between her hands, Alicent guides him to her as their mouths collide, desperate and hungry. Moaning at the taste that still lingers upon his lips and tongue. Mouth parted, tongue sliding over his lips before nipping at the side of his mouth.
Shifting, she begins lowering herself to the bed, pulling him with her so his body looms over hers. She kisses him deeper, sucking on his bottom lip while her thumb brushes over the scar once more. As uneasy as his appearance might make him or how the scar makes the ladies of the court shy away, there is nothing about him that she doesn't love, crave, or want to protect.
If given the chance and without the fear of discovery or interruption, she could indulge in him for hours. Taking time in her worship of his body. Teasing, loving, and bringing him all the pleasure he deserves while showering him with praise. )
Tell me, ( she breathes as she parts her lips from his as they find themselves brushing them against the sharp angle of his jaw, ) how do you want me to please you? I want to know your greatest desires to worship and praise you.
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More and more. That is all Aemond could think to want. From the tender touch of her thumb against his scar to the soft snap of her teeth pulling against his lip. He leans into it, groaning quietly. She is a whole and warm body beneath him. Striking and divine. Auburn curls splayed out around her, the smell of soft flowers rising out from her.
It is deep within his nature to delve into chaos. He has the nature of a dragon, the boiling blood that calls his hand to wander her freely. Conflict and tempered by the complexities of their relationship. To want to devour her drag in soaring flames and heat of rapture. To want to submit himself to her, to revere her properly as a queen. As his mother. He is a young boy with simple pleasures. To want to join them, to become one flesh, is the natural course of temptation. But it is the one thing he wouldnβt ask.
Aemond is quiet a moment as he catches his breath. Chin tipped to allow her mouth to wander. His thumb runs underneath her breast. The bend of his elbow is the one thing keeping him from pressing fully flush with her. Between tangled legs and the press of himself between their hips, there isnβt much space left. Just the grazing of her nipples as her chest rises with breath. ]
I want to feel all of you. The movement of your hips, the shuddering of your pleasure. [ the prince whispers along her skin. He could grant himself that by simply lowering himself. By simply grinding his hips to hers. But it doesnβt always feel right, just taking. To command her directly for his own pleasure. Even if she might let him. It is a gate not yet opened and he is not meant to be the one to open it.]
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The drag of his touch against her skin does nothing to quell the ache and fire he has ignited within her. It leaves her wanting and hungry as she arches into his touch, desperate for his fingers to touch and trace parts of her that are still unexplored.
Parting her legs, she welcomes him between them, becoming a tangle of limbs as she enjoys their closeness and the temptation that comes with it. With a simple roll of her hips or pulling him into her with a leg wrapped around his hips, she could join them. Giving them the pure pleasure they both desire and the sins and risks that come with it. She would indulge in it and indulge in him, feeling herself open to him as he nestles deep into her depths as they become one and drown themselves in the flames of passion.
As tempting as it is, she doesn't give in to it or the risks involved. She continues to tease and tantalize him in other ways.
She shudders with each breath. Sensitive nipples brushing against his chest, bringing a rise to her skin as goosebumps spread along it. It is hard to ignore the want in his voice. The desire and instinct he fights against. )
In time, ( she promises. ) I too want to feel all of you. To have you touch and fill every inch of me.
( Hooking her leg around him, Alicent rolls her hips against his before swapping their positions. She now sits straddling him while he's pressed against the plush bedding and satin sheets, silvery hair a halo around him and his gaze warm in the candlelight. Pulling her hair over a shoulder, she leans down to kiss him again, lips tender and soft against his as she cages him in with one arm.
The other reaches between them, wrapping around his girth with a few slow strokes before trapping him beneath her, flush against his stomach where he can feel her as she slides her hips forward along the length. She's soft, wet, and warm. Giving him some of the sensations he desires without giving him everything. )
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Iβm time, she says. It promises, it lures him in. He shifts before she does. Legs mixing and melding. Teased the edges of some pleasurable feeling before he feels her lifting. Aemond shifts to accommodate her, almost instinctively. The patch of cool satin against his back. Edges of hair tickling and itching around his shoulders. The soft sink of her weight pressing onto him as she rolls on top. His hand at her side slipping up her back as he returns her kiss.
Her touch draws his hips forward, clashing about her thighs as she settles. Enclosing him in warmth. The drag of her hips bringing him into the fold, still wet and wanting. Itβs not as though he does not already know what it feels like to be inside a woman. This isnβt it, but it draws at his pleasure all the same.
The low grind of her hips pushes a groan out of Aemondβs lungs. His head tipping up to chase her mouth down, feverish and wanting. His hands sliding down her back. Gentle callouses of his fingertips rough to the touch. Slipping over the curve of her hips, fingers turning into the plumpness and pull her deeper into the grind. His lips break and latch themselves again at her neck. He begins to find the rhythm to shift against her. Their bodies beginning to wax and wane.
The build is slow, digging out what feels a deep well. It forces him to temper into it, to submit to stoking embers instead of light a raging fire. For as tempered as he is, for as eager he feels, it feels just as good. Just as honoring and devoted as she had treated him time and time before. It coaxes from him a pleasant moan that vibrates against her throat as the gradual undulations of her body stokes the heat within him. ]
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How would one judge the sins they have committed? Would they turn a blind eye because he has the blood of the dragon surging through his veins, and they are not the same as the common man; they are closer to the gods? Or would they judge their actions to the highest degree, for they are mother and son, committing adultery against the King?
Such thoughts would generally make her stomach twist with nerves, bringing forth intrusive thoughts that make her seek out the comforts of destroying her hands, but she is free of them. Consumed by the engulfing lust and desire that she feels for Aemond β a feeling she had thought she understood, it pales in comparison to how she feels for him. A fire desperate to swallow her whole, to burn everything around her until there is nothing but the two of them left.
It makes her want to share every part of herself with him. To join their bodies as one and drown in the same pleasures. The Gods are as cruel as they are good. She is thankful for an end to her loneliness and the ache that had been growing within her for so long, but what cost must she pay to be sated finally?
Between her folds, she can feel his throbbing as she grinds their hips together. His girth is impressive as the temptation and ache she has to feel him within her grows. If she slid higher, she could easily take him. To feel the head press against her before slipping in and spreading her tightness around him. The ache within her grows, making her wetter and him slicker as she follows the rhythm of their bodies together.
Calloused fingers against her skin cause her breath to catch in her lungs, and a shuddered moan escapes her lips as she tilts her head to the side, exposing more of her neck for his lips to explore. Her nipples hard, brushing against his chest with each roll of her hips, and quickened breath once she remembers how to breathe again. )
I want all of you, Aemond, ( she murmurs against his ear as she tips her head down, gently brushing his hair aside and behind his ear as her fingers thread through silken strands, cradling the back of his head as she holds him close. ) To share in your pleasure, happiness, and sadness β I will take anything you give me.
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I am yours. [ The words are breathless out of his mouth. Cradled into her, his mouth barely parted from flesh. A pale mark left upon the curve of her neck he has yet to realize he made. He is hers, he has always been hers. It is purpose, it is meaning. And now his pleasure canβt seem to be imagined without her. Turned into her hands that stokes a fire in him never felt before. Pales to anyone or anything that might have come before her.
Gods be good, he may consider praying after this. When it becomes his own pleasure, the selfish want and hunger for more of it. The pleasure that mounts feels like stone running through his veins. He feels parched for breath and yet canβt keep his mouth off of her. Wanting it to travel. To taste every inch of her. Want to feel as much of her when she quivers. He feels the pull of decadence, molten heat of want that feels as intense as violence.
Aemondβs hand draws up her back, long fingers tapering into the curls at the nape of her neck. Holding her there, one hand at the nape and the other at the back of her thigh. He needs her to come again, he needs to feel her and drag him down with her. ]
Think of me inside you. Drown me in your rapture. Let it devour me, mother.
[ The heat in his throat burns so hot his words sound like steam against her ear. Shuffled between short breaths pressing with the roll of their hips. Deep and desperate to find the bottom to what feels like drowning in syrup. Itβs close, itβs mounting. In the void under his clutched eye, he feels himself beginning to spiral. ]
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The mark upon her neck will come as a shock when morning comes, and she must dress for the day, but she will wear beneath the high collar of a modest dress. Perhaps a choker will be enough to hide it, or intricate, delicate lace will be enough to hide the mark he left upon her β a reminder of their shared secret.
Calloused hands linger up the length of her back, causing her to arch away from his touch, pressing her chest blush against his as she fidgets and squirms on his lap. Grinding herself harder against him. Long, slender fingers slip through the thick curls at the base of her neck, and she tips her head back into his touch. Hungry to feel fingers threading through her hair and caressing her.
His words and breath sear against her ear, cheek, and neck β feeling like they might burn her. Before she can spare a second to think of him hard, hot, and throbbing with want as he's buried deep within her, he says a single word that causes her to come undone, crumbling all around him as he pushes her over the edge one more.
Mother.
It is a word that shouldn't have a hold on her as it does, but whenever it leaves his lips, pointed and with purpose, she can't stop the quiver that sneaks down her spine or the way it leaves her wanting.
Slender arms wrap around him tighter, the fingers against his skull grip his hair while her other arm loops over his back, fingers press into his upper arm, and the sting of nails threatens to dig into skin. Burying her face against his shoulder, Alicent whimpers as pleasure consumes her, racking through her body once more as she trembles and writhes against him β grinding as she rides out her orgasm, each motion causing an aftershock of euphoria to shoot through her again and again. His name leaves her lips in a breathy prayer, ) Aemond.
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Her hips tremble around him and his arms tighten around her as she clutches around him. Breath hot and nearly drowning in the sea of her hair, his chest vibrates with dry moans mingled in panting breaths. Aemond's mouth snaps shut into a deep hitching hiss as her fingers pull into the roots of his hair, nails digging at his skin. Holding onto each other tightly as the pleasure mounts and spills over. She arrives first, the sweet tenderness of her noises and the sound of his name on her lips come first. Thighs vibrating around him and gentle twitching along his length, milking out little moans from her in every stroke.
He follows her soon after. Gentle affirmation lost on his lips as the pleasure is choked out of him. The strength of his arms tightening a score around her tighter as it rips through him. The sputtering of seed slipping between their pressed bellies. The slowing undulations of their bodies wracking him dry. As they roll to a stop, he feels basked in warmth and plush flesh resting all around him. Exhausted and content and loved in stillness that threats the bed to swallow him from underneath.
The prince's grip lessens on her flesh but does not stray far, resting and idle as the silence fills with the harmony of soft breaths. He has hair in his mouth but he doesn't care. Tired, his head tips to rest against hers. ]
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With that final, aching thrust of his hips and the roll of hers, she feels the forceful throbs as seed spills from him. Hot and sticky against their bellies. Again, it feels wasteful. Making the desire to finally have him inside her all the more apparent, leaving her aching once more despite having just come.
As their grip on one another lessens and they bask in the afterglow, Alicent rests against him. Not worried about the mess between them. Her thighs tremble as she lowers herself, shifting to straddle one of his as she lays against him fully, head nestling against the crook of his neck. Breathing out deeply, she nuzzles her nose against the underside of his jaw, her lips brushing against his lean neck before kissing it once, then twice.
Content and at peace, enjoying the blissfulness that washes over her, Alicent has no desire to leave the sanctuary of his arms. She wonders how long they can get away with this. Could they afford the risk of getting caught in one another's arms if he spends the night? Selfishly, she doesn't want him to leave, she wants to stay like this forever, but she knows ( eventually ) he will have to dress and make his way back to his chambers while navigating the dark innards of the Holdfast. )
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It is half expected that she might shuffle him off again. Like she had the day before. The moment doesn't come, but these moments feel long and timeless. The night as a whole feels like a dream, wandering the inner maze of the Holdfast to find her standing there with her tea. Simmering in want that even now and sated, still distantly feels an empty endless pool. How long had it been there? How long had he stood blinded to it?
Aemond's fingers move and trace along her bare, warm skin. Idling. Just to check that she is really there. Breathing and content and tucked into his arms. He would think of the times she would have held him like this, back in an earlier age. A poor, broken child. Riddled with loneliness and nightmares. Tucked safely away in his mother's arms under dying firelight. Feeling like nothing else ever existed beyond the walls of this room. Not the sick and dying king they betray down the hall. Not the threat of an unworthy heir waiting with bated breath across the brackish bay. Not even the gods of the Seven themselves could penetrate these walls with threat of wroth. ]
I want to take you flying with me. [ He speaks after what feels like the longest of silences. The soft cadence of his voice ever so quiet. Despite knowing she might never agree to it, might never learn to enjoy it the way a dragon rider does. But tonight for the first time, he saw what she was like when she allowed herself to be free. And never more has he ever felt so free flying on the back of a dragon. Something in like, in this moment, would think to share with her too. ]
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It is strange having their positions switched. Many a night, she lay with him wrapped in his arms, soothing his worries, insecurities, and loneliness while chasing away his nightmares the best she could. Part of her wonders if she could have done more, been a better mother, and protected him, but she knows these are thoughts that all mothers have and perhaps something she worries about more with the switch in dynamic and the change in their relationship to more than simply mother and son.
Relaxed and absorbing his warmth, Alicent begins to feel herself drifting. Her breathing begins evening out as the weight of her body presses into him more, no longer aware of the conscious effort she makes to keep from leaning into him too much.
After that long silence, where she struggles, fighting between consciousness and sleep, she startles when his voice breaks through the silence. A soft mmm? slipping through her nose as she shifts onto her elbow to look down at him, a halo of messy auburn curls framing her face and that half-glazed look of fighting off sleep as she climbs towards wakefulness. )
Flying? ( Her voice husky with sleep but still soft and etched with fondness as she reaches out, with her other hand, softly caressing his cheek with her fingers. Normally she would be dismissive of such a statement, brushing it off, but none of that is there, even as she says, ) Have you gone mad?
As I have never ridden a dragon nor flown, I don't know the first thing about it, and I doubt your dragon will accept me. ( Though he has her blood within her, she doesn't possess the blood of Old Valyria that puts Targaryens closer to Gods and gives them the ability to control dragons. )
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There is a salacious curl of his lips that meets the look she gives him. Chin tipping down and to the side to look up at her a little more clearly, leaned perfectly into the idling touch of her fingertips on his cheek.]
You'll be with me. Vhagar will accept you as I do. [ A soft assurance, but knowingly not much a convincing one. She could never understand how deep the bond between dragon and rider goes. It would be even more difficult to explain it.
Out of all the dragons that reside in the Dragonpit, the she-dragon is the most daunting. Old, cranky, but formidable once she is roused. One too large to lower herself to even be mounted easily. Could she be so bold to try climbing her ropes or would they need to commission a mounting block for her to ascend to the saddle? ]
All you will need to do is hold on. I would not let any harm come to you.
[ He may be bold, but he is not reckless. To ensure the queen of the realm does not fall to her death over the Blackwater Bay. It is not without it's danger, surely. Not for the simple or frail constitution. But she has shown boldness. He would not have brought it up if he did not think she capable. ]
wow 100 comments deep already π
What makes you so positive?
( Of all her children, she puts the most trust in him, so as he tries to reassure her, saying that all she must do is hold onto him and no harm will come to her, it helps soothe some of the worries.
Idly, as her thoughts drift, her fingers dance across his skinβtheir tips ghost over the curve of his grin before sliding down the slope of his chin.
There is much to be said about her actions, by how she hasn't dismissed the idea or scolded him for bringing such a thing up. Perhaps it is because of the boldness he has instilled within her and that invincibility she might have felt in her youth if she strove to achieve her own desires and ambitions instead of yielding to her father's lust for power.
If she is to consider this madness, she will need to make some preparations. First of all, the fact that she doesn't own the proper attire to ride a dragon ( remembering the leathers her once-friend wore and the same that her children donned when they rode ). Everything she owns is finery made for a queen β dresses of silks, satin, damask, and nothing that will protect her from the elements once they are on Vhagar's back, soaring through the skies.
Perhaps she could borrow one of Helaena's riding outfits or dig through Princess Rhaenyra's abandoned apartments in hopes that she left something behind for her to return to after abandoning the Red Keep and moving her family to Dragon Stone.
Her thoughts abruptly stop, realizing that she's actually entertaining the idea. His madness has corrupted her as well, bringing forth a small laugh as she shakes her head. )
I trust you, Aemond, but I make no promises. But, at the very least, I will visit and watch on the morrow or whenever you would have me.
ππlook at us go
The markers on the map have shifted, and absently he wonders why. A lot has changed in such a short time. Now his fingers map the silken skin of her back. He has grown to know her now more intimately than any other man. More so than his own father. They have exchanged devotions and aches that have long plagued them. There is no duty between them that requires her take further part in him. No ransom needed in exchange for her pleasure.
Even so, he still would like to take her into the sky. ]
I'll take you to meet her. May she grow familiar with you. Let you put your hand upon her breast so that you might even feel just one breath of her might. [ The velvety softness in his voice might suggest he would seduce her into the idea. Though it already seems to be taking hold in her mind.
But to ensure she take it further than simply visiting the Dragonpit. So that she cannot just excuse herself and wait in her carriage for him to drop down from the sky. If she truly wanted to entertain it, Vhagar would need to get to know her presence. Soothe her fear. It would be essential. ]
The bond between a dragon and its rider is deeper than anything I've ever known. She feels what I feel, she will trust as I trust. As I would never harm you, the great wyrm would too know not to as well.
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Then there was Helaena, with her insects and cryptic ramblings ( rambling that she should have listened to or paid attention to because they always came true ). Her eldest, Aegon, was a different story; though he too had an interest in dragons, little else inspired him β he was a lazy glutton with a taste for depravity and promiscuity that she would also never understand, which might make her a hypocrite as she lays with Aemond.
Despite it all, she did try, but it wasn't enough, leaving an absence in her children's lives where she should have been. If she had been present or more attentive in their lives, Aegon would have turned out differently, and she would not have crossed that threshold no mother and son should.
It is too late now, as they have given in to one another. Allowed the flames of desires to lick at their aches and loneliness, making them consumed and starved for one another. Beyond their intimacies and the secrets they now share, she knows that she owes him nothing further, but it doesn't stop the desire to share more with him than just lustful moments they find themselves.
Perhaps it is selfish, and he may not feel the same way, but when she said she wants all of him, she meant every word β she wants to share in everything. His interests, happiness, sadness, pleasures, and everything else he would share with her. And because of that, she could be easily seduced into the idea of flying with him atop Vhagar's back as she clings to him instead of returning to her carriage upon finally meeting his dragon. )
On the morrow then, if it isn't too soon. We can share a carriage to the Dragonpit or arrive there separately.
( This leaves little time for her to find something appropriate to wear there, but she will find time to make it happen. She also wonders if it is too soon. Would he need to make preparations or prepare the she-dragon for her arrival? Would he whisper that his mother ( or would he introduce her as his lover or both ) is finally coming to meet her?
The image in her mind is enough to pull a soft laugh from her, but it dies out as she listens to him explain their bond, how intimate it is, and how Vhagar would never harm her as he never would. With how lonely he was as a child β isolated and excluded from those around him, she now understands why he desperately wanted a dragon. He wanted a friend. A companion that would be there.
The realization tugs at her heart, making her remorseful that she wasn't more present. )
It is a bond I will never understand or experience, but meeting her and possibly riding with her will be the closest I will ever get.
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Once he had found a dragon, he had made a friend with a deep inseparable bond that would not break until either one was dead, he needed her less and less. But what is it to say about him now that still his only friend is that old, grouchy ancient war beast?
The shift is palpable as he watches her make that link β a link he hadn't realized she might make. The spoils of their arrangement has loosened his tongue. A moment that shifts to where she doesn't look at him as he is now, but the small child that would bury himself in her embrace. Weak and vulnerable, things he swore himself to never be again.
It suddenly feels like walls crumbling in on him β the way she looks at him. Deeper plunged into him than any intimacy they've exchanged so far.
Unlike her, he does not sit well with his demons.
Aemond's gaze drops, head shifting among the sheets. A hum affirms the plan in Aemond's throat, notably cool. Slightly distracted. Among his petition to his grandsire, they will make the time to meet Vhagar. Tides shifting as the night carries, he sees the opening that would avail his squirming. His hand coming to fall at her side to suggest he is about to take his leave. Fingers still light, not pressing.]
I should go. [Before Talya might check in on her, before they both fall asleep and the morning comes. Part of him still doesn't want to leave, would desire to sleep in her arms. Equally part of him now needs air, feeling sticky and cooled.]
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It is voracious to want him longer, knowing that the chances of their discovery increase as they approach dawn.
There is reluctant defiance as she lingers against him instead of moving away to allow him to leave. She leans into him again, allowing the weight of her body to press into him β forehead coming to rest against his as she basks in the moment. Putting to memory how it feels to be with him, so she can recall it when her bed is empty, and she longs for his presence. )
Of course, ( she finally says, the reluctance thick on her tongue as she takes another kiss before rolling away to sit at the edge of the bed. Outstretching her fingers, she grabs ahold of her robes and pulls them around her, the coolness of the fabric a drastic different than the warmth of him she felt moments before. ) Though I wish you could stay.
( Would stay, is what she wants to stay, but she understands that she cannot keep him here forever.
She glances at him from over her shoulder, a slight knit to her brow. That ache is still present in her chest, caused by the connection she made ( the one he wishes she would have remained oblivious to if it weren't for the slip of his tongue, but it is a connection she would have made eventually or maybe even something she always knew but chose to ignore and bury beneath the weight of her own miserable loneliness. It wasn't the right thing to do, leaving her children feeling a void where she should have been, but it was what she needed to do to endure and survive. ) and the desire to have him stay.
It isn't that she doesn't see him as he is now and sees him as the boy who once buried himself in her embrace β it's that she notices that she wasn't alone in her misery. While there was often a detached void where she should have been, she hopes that being present now will make up for some of it. For the first time in what felt like forever, she wants this arrangement between them more than anything else and has the ambition to make it last. )
Shall I see you come tomorrow, or would another day be better to visit the Dragonpit?
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Practically swinging upright with his tail tucked between his legs. He pinches his eyes shut a moment, sat opposite the side of the bed as she pulls her robe on. Delayed, the young prince dresses as well, stepping into his breeches and then his boots. He tastes his lips before he rises, still lingering of her. As if finally committed to what has already started. Crossing the room to gather the rest of his things before she poses her question. ]
Mayhaps later in the day. [ The prince answers as he bends upright, hands fretfully turning around his shirt to find the hem of it. ] I need to prepare to speak to grandfather in the morn.
[ It's not as though he's suddenly changed his mind. Nor has he somehow become scared of his own shadow. Just needs to clear his head, for however long it needs. A long breath is taken, sobering as he pulls his shirt back over his head. Flicking out his hair from underneath the collar as he turns to look at her. Uncertain now of what he is doing, standing in the middle of the room feeling like an idiot. Pretending somewhat that this is normal. None of it is fucking normal.
He wants to stay. He wants to craw back into her arms. Knowing she would have him stay, she would keep him there for as long as he would want. That's never changed, only that they can't do it anymore. For a long time he would have denied himself that comfort, not becoming of a man grown. The circumstances of it has changed. Twisted and mangled into this thickened feeling. ]
Shall I return tomorrow in the night? [ Aemond asks, steps wading back to her are slow and ambling. Serving to move closer towards the door tucked away behind her bedside curtains, but to her as well. How often will she call upon him? How many mornings will he need to stumble his way back through the dregs of the Holdfast before anyone the wiser? ]
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The answer he gives her feels like a nonanswer, lingering between yes and no. It is infuriating, especially when she needs an answer to know if she should prepare for the short notice of tomorrow or if she has time. As desperate as she wants an answer, she doesn't push it β she doesn't want to be overbearing or smothering. So, she nods in agreement.
Until today she wanted nothing to do with any of their dragons. Not to meet them or get to know them or ride them. So what's waiting a few more days?
Ultimately, her excitement and interest don't lie with meeting Vhagar or getting to know her but with partaking in his interests. To experience his true self behind whatever mask he wears when around her. She wants to be part of his life's more intimate and private details, but she also knows they are moving at an alarming rate, and he might not be prepared for all that. And because of that, she is more than willing to go at whatever pace he might pick for them. )
I would like that, ( she replies and continues to watch him. Wondering if he will approach her or head straight for the door. ) If I lean the way, I could visit you instead, or if you would prefer a full night's rest, we can come together another time.
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It is her he directs himself towards. Eyes lowered to the ground first as he closes in a few steps where he might have diverged to make a clean escape. Almost like a child who has not forgotten to mind his manners, he would not leave without bidding her a proper goodbye. Feeling foolish and yet still capable of allowing her to swallow him up back into bed if she so wished. Gods and the faces of the Seven would know he could not resist it. If it could simply consume him whole. ]
I don't need peace. [ She gives him an out once again that he does not seem to take. Despite the sting of flight nipping at his heels. He'd resist the urge any more than he would have if he were down in the guts of the Dragonpit, staring the chance of Dreamfyre swallowing him whole. ]
I would prefer to see you again. [ Aemond assures, though would sound almost modest in his courting. Fighting the strangeness that clouds it and poisons his mind. His hand lifts to reach out to her, brushing an astray curl away from her eyes. Before leaning down to press a kiss to the cheek at the corner of her mouth.]
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You may not need peace, but you do need rest, ( she comments as she looks up at him. Typical of a mother to worry for her son or a woman to her lover, to ensure he is restful and well β too many late nights of passion only to wake with the morning will begin to take its toll. Even with how greedy she feels and wants nothing more than to get lost in him, she understands the need to be alone, to reflect, and to rest.
Or she thinks this is what he needs, after years of her lord husband requesting her to leave him, that he needed time alone.
His words reassure her, that worried crease in her brow dissipating as she leans into his touch as he brushes a stray curl away. The press of his lips feels like fire on her skin, the urge to pull him down with her flicking at her with the fires burning deep within her. Just allow her a few more hours to stay lost in him, basking in the comfort and warmth he provides.
As she shifts, a shaken breath escapes her before she claims his lips fully, her arms wrapping around his neck as she pulls him in, keeping the kiss but allowing him to keep standing despite the desire to feel his weight on top of her body once more. )
Every night you want me, I will wait for you. ( murmurs as she breaks the kiss, lingering close, reluctant to release him.
Not wanting to keep him longer than he wishes to stay and no not smother him, she unravels her arms from around his neck. Fingers gliding through his silvery hair before coming to rest on her lap. )
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It feels backwards, what she says. In all her power to put her devotion to him and not the other way around. Giving a privilege and a power he's not used to wielding. Stood over her the way he does now, not yet lifting himself from her kiss as he hands flow through him and down to her lap. The only man who should hold that privilege is the king himself. The man who has squandered her and left her bed cold long before he was incapable of leaving his own. Now he holds that power?
Aemond's lips curl into a small, prideful smile.] I would not keep you wanting.
Goodnight, mother. [ He departs shortly, the softest hints of delight in his quiet voice. Pulling himself further is remarkably more regretful than before. Even as he pulls the drapery back, he does not linger more than necessary. The soft click of the door finally sounding his departure. The tempered torch he had left along his way still smoldering as he plucks it from the wall. Making a very quiet way through the dark underbelly back to a cold dark room to hopefully sleep off well enough until the morrow. ]
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Because he had forgotten about her, squandered all of her, and left her bed cold ( or stopped inviting her to his as he never visited her and requested her in the middle of the night ), this privilege that no man other than her lord husband should have is hers to give freely.
No one in the Seven Kingdoms or even the known world deserves it more than Aemond.
That small, prideful smile eases whatever worries she might have had from the shift she felt in the air around them. She loves to see him smile, to know that she is the cause behind it, and she offers one of her own β warm and genuine. )
Goodnight, Aemond. ( Her words are soft as she turns to watch him leave, contending with the aching longing that already threatens to take hold within her chest. It isn't as if she will never see him again, but it doesn't stop her longing when they are separated.
Rising from her bed, Alicent strides to the table before the window to pour herself the last bit of tea. It has already gone cold, but she doesn't mind. She slides her tongue along her lips, tasting the remnants of him ( and herself ) upon them. This is madness, she thinks as she takes a long pull from her cup, empties it, then sets it on the table. And while it might be madness, she more than happily submits, allowing it to pull her down into its depths.
After unlatching the door, she cleans herself the best she can of his seed that sticks to her stomach and returns to her bed, removing her robe and pulling her nightgown on once more before crawling into bed. It doesn't take long for sleep to claim her.
She rises as the first rays of light slip through the window and the sound of Talya milling about to prepare the Queen for the day. After bathing, Alicent sits at her vanity, brushing vanilla and musk oils into her hair, and notices the red mark on her neck. Her fingers trace over it, wondering if a bug bit her in the middle of the night before remembering Aemon's lips upon her neck β the memory sends a shiver down her spine. She requests Talya to get her a modest dress with a high collar ( hopefully high enough to cover the mark ).
Talya returns with a dress as the Queen requested and begins helping her dress. It feels silly to wear such a gown in the summer, but she does what she must to hide the mark before heading down to break her fact. )
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Despite his notions of desiring no peace, the morning had been pressing. For everything he had intended to do stripped for time in his own meticulously kept schedule. Would not have had accounted for all the time he'd spent lustfully chasing after his mother. Hard to regret it, though he disliked the distraction it gave once his attention had been culled to something actually important.
Skipping a morning meal proved profitable to make up. Leaving him time to arrive there early, almost as overcompensating for the fact that he was granted the ability to attend the small council. Something more often offered to his brother, who likely squandered every opportunity he'd been granted so far. The second son more determined to make the best of it.
His head turns as he hears footsteps linger closer and closer down the hall. Wondering which of the council is to arrive first, only to find that it is the Queen herself. His expression then changes, something wry and soft. Almost as he means to speak something uncouth when shortly behind him arrives the Hand himself. Aemond's expression falls and hardens as he wets his lips.]
Good morrow, mother. Grandfather. [ He greets instead, his hands tucking themselves behind his back as he departs the window to take a seat at the table. ]
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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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