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theoneeyedprince · 5 days

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Of Blood and Fire: XIII

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Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!OC

General warnings: Explicit/18+, targcest, darkish!Aemond, explicit language, sensual themes, suggestive and sexual content, miscommunication, denial of feelings, slow burn, possessive and obsessive behaviour, angst, smut, mentions of (childhood and sexual) trauma, religious guilt, complicated and toxic family dynamics, typical mediaeval and asoiaf sexism and misogyny, graphic depictions of violence, spoilers for Fire & Blood and future seasons of HOTD.

Word count: 7.4k

From the author #1: A little request before we delve into the chapter. Please let me know what you think of it (and the fic in general), if you're kind enough. I see the likes and I'm happy you've been enjoying the current chapters but they don't tell me what got your attention or what made you wonder, etc. If you're not comfortable enough to leave a comment though, feel free to send an anon message, I'll gladly respond and would be happy to discuss this story with you. Posting a fic shouldn't be an unanswered monologue but a conversation. Hope you understand what writers mean by that <3

The Red Keep welcomed her back with flecks of light from hanging here and there and servants occasionally passing through the corridors. Mostly walking down to their quarters or the kitchens.

The place was quiet and it would raise hairs on her body if not for the goosebumps her skin was littered in already.

Before departing from the Kingswood, Aemond left her with Seasmoke in order to take care of something. When he came back he gave her a neatly folded piece of paper.

A map of one of Maegor’s hidden passageways, he explained, slender finger showing where she shall go if she wished to meet him in his chambers.

As we ought to be discreet, it would be wiser for your flower knight not to hear us.

The implication of the nature of his invitation painted her cheeks and ears red and forced her heart into a wild run.

Her gown was quickly thrown over her vanity chair as was her headpiece but the cape stayed on, covering the rest of the layers. Or as much as it could.

Clothed in her chemise and kirtle, she could feel the natural coldness of the stone walls. Even with her stockings and slippers on the late evening air pricked her skin.

It rattled her teeth too when she opened the secret door and for a moment she stared into the darkness until she remembered to pick up the candle from the floor and take out the map from the cloak’s inner pocket.

Her steps were careful and she switched her gaze from her feet to forward almost frantically, daring not to look behind. It would only make her turn back.

Her journey felt like it lasted for hours but then there it was. A patch of stone that looked smoother than the rest of it, with a dragon's head engraved on the wood where she was meant to signal her arrival.

Barely her knuckles tapped against it for the third time, the wall revealed him. So quick he was to let her in, one could wonder if he didn’t stand directly behind it. Waiting.

“It took you some time to get here,” he commented.

Vaemma took the hood down, “I do not wander these tunnels often enough to know them by heart,”

“Often?”

He was so close to her she could see the way his eyebrow quirked up. Smell the lavender in his hair.

“Ever,” she emphasised.

Taking her chin between his fingers, he leaned into her face, “So you took a risk for me?”

Her mouth opened easily but before she allowed him to capture her lips, she decided to goad him on.

To see how far the jealousy for his wife would go.

“Try not to look so pleased, kepus. I might be here only to inform you of becoming the Lady of Riverrun,” (uncle)

Aemond’s expression fell.

“A dragon eats fish, not mates with them,”

“But me and Seasmoke are so fond of water. Mayhaps the prospect of living in the Riverlands is not as dreary to us,”

Aemond guided her backwards to his bed with a sceptical look on his face. Perhaps Daemon was right and as much as she tried, her eyes revealed her true feelings.

“Are you attempting to jest with me? Hmm, jorrāelagon mandianna?” (Dear niece)

She held onto his forearms as he grabbed her waist.

“I was told I am not good at that. So I would say no,”

“And I agree as it is not an amusing joke,”

It took him one swift pull at the knot under her throat for her cloak to drop at the foot of his wide bed.

Large hands moved up and down her hips and her resolve crumbled.

Too swiftly for her liking.

Gods damn him.

“Do not play with my temper like this,” he warned, squeezing the layers she was left in, vexed they stood in the way of doing so to the flesh hiding beneath.

Vaemma couldn’t get enough of it. Of the way he held her.

“And you with mine. I breathe fire too or have you forgotten?”

“I have not. You keep on reminding me,”

He tapped his thumb on her bottom lip and pulled at it to show what he meant.

Vaemma flushed with embarrassment, “That was rather unbecoming of me, I admit,”

“No need to fret, ñuha amīvindiga,” he put a lock of her hair behind her ear and her heart fluttered. “Dragons tend to attack when provoked,” (my tormentress)

“Calling me one leads me to believe I can be considered your equal,”

Remaining quiet, he played with her thin silver strands. Gently lacing them with his fingers and letting them fall.

When he looked into her eyes, his own moved in different directions as if searching for something. It wasn’t malicious, his face was surprisingly relaxed and the low light of the lit hearth and various candle stands of the chamber softened his sharp features.

Vaemma desired to trace them slowly with her lips.

As the urge to do just that grew stronger by the moment, she broke the silence.

“A seadragon is still a dragon. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Aemond hummed.

His attention on her was overwhelming. Most of all when he observed her in such a manner.

Her head turned to the side taking in the interior of his chambers, recognising what she was familiar with and what was new.

A silver tray caught her eye. A small thing standing next to the pair of white furs in front of the fire. Two goblets stood on it and a bowl of fruit.

“Is that–”

He pushed her forward, three fingers at the small of her back guiding her and she almost tripped under her feet.

From the burning this movement awoke within her rather than the surprise of it.

Vaemma noticed various berries, grapes and nuts in the dish and that the wine had already been poured.

Aemond took out a tiny blueberry, rolled it between his fingers and put it in his mouth.

Her eyes followed the way his lips moved. She reached out for the goblet, suddenly feeling thirsty.

“Not poisoned, then?” She smirked from behind the cup’s rim.

He huffed out a laugh, “Still not funny,”

“I would disagree on this one. I found it hilarious,”

He pinched her waist at that and grateful for not drinking the beverage yet for she could surely choke on it, she pushed away from him, sitting down on the furs not far away from his armchair.

Aemond stood for a moment longer and the way he looked at her burned her skin, no doubt leaving a reddish visible mark on it. Then he walked to his settee and sat there, towering over her still.

Even in such an intimate setting, he tried to gain a semblance of control. Or dominance.

Not so shockingly anymore, her body responded rather wantonly to her observation.

And she had to force herself to focus on the flames and her drink once her eyes began wandering up his long legs. One crossed at the ankle, shielding her sight from the place her hand found itself around that one time.

Taking a generous sip of the wine, her tongue darted slightly to clean her lips. She caught Aemond shifting above the plushness of his seat.

“Arbour red,” he hummed and Vaemma met his eye.

It matched the jeer in the corner of his mouth.

“A fine choice,” she bit back.

“Wouldn't you know,”

He kept on taunting her, she saw it in his eye, and as resistant as she wished to be, she couldn’t help the irritation building like a wave within her.

Vaemma put the goblet back on the tray and straightened, hoping he’d see the fire of the hearth reflecting in her eyes.

“Be frank, kepus. I am not here to play a game of guessing. Nor a game of frail insults,” (uncle)

Tapping his fingers against the settee’s armrest, he regarded her slowly but she didn’t let it make her submit or relent, despite the goosebumps erupting on her skin nor the fast beating of her heart.

“Come,” he murmured, reaching out the other hand to her and like the flames he mesmerised her.

Was it the way he said it or how his hand waited for her to take it that raised her from the floor and pulled towards him?

Before she could dwell on it, her fingers were cradled in his hand and he was taking her rings off one by one, leaving them all on the stone floors below the hearth, and returning to sit by her side.

“Your fingers were trembling,” he explained simply. No rude remark, no unkindness evident in the statement.

Were he always to be so understanding and gentle with her, she would’ve offered her heart to him a long time ago. And with no remorse.

She looked at her bare fingers and then at her rings.

The light from the hearth illuminated in the gemstones and the gold of their bands.

“They have the tendency to do so…” she muttered.

And conscious of how exposed she felt, her eyes closed but when she opened them again tears dropped on the back of her hand.

Aemond’s touch was warm.

Not in the way the fire made the chambers feel but some other kind. His caress was comforting. A treacherous comfort of the callused pad of his finger wiping away the salt from her skin and causing her to take in a quiet, shuddered breath.

“Do you fear me, jorrāelagon mandianna?” (dear niece)

As reposeful as he sounded, there was an edge to that question. A kind of expectation.

She hesitated but for a moment, “In all truthfulness, I mostly fear what I feel for you than you,”

Her honesty shook him. She felt it in the tension of his hand on hers.

Aemond looked at her intently, eye dropping from her fluttering eyelashes to her parted lips as if he couldn’t decide where to focus his gaze on.

Something, gods or desire, moved her body for her, pushing her closer to him, intertwining her tear-stained fingers with his.

She was so close to him that she was able to hear him inhale sharply at the contact.

His silence seemed to stretch for eternity, the anticipation tore her apart and when it began to close in on her, making her breathless, and her hand untangled from his, he stopped her, pulling her closer.

He shook his head, a silent almost unnoticeable plea, with his jaw tightened so hard she could see it poking from beneath his skin.

“And yet you agreed to marry a man you say you hate. A matter of duty, would you reason?”

She nodded, “It would make us the same. Me and you,” she appointed.

He hissed softly when her other hand moved up his torso, palm splaying wide where his heart laid underneath.

As if her touch burned him.

She wished her ire could do just that. But was it ire that made her hold onto him so gently? Or something softer?

Something she got so scared of as it dawned on her.

“Our mothers’ weapons of duty,” she continued, fingers digging lightly into the leather of his jerkin, “Each other’s torment…”

At that, he pressed the inside of his free hand to the back of hers and she could swear she felt his heart thump wildly against it.

“You are a dagger that twists within me,” he confessed through the trembling air. “Constant agony,”

His eye was heavy. Long eyelashes moving languidly with the eyelid as if fighting to stay open.

As if he couldn’t bear to look at her.

Vaemma swallowed slowly, the enormity of the words heard prompting her to make a confession of her own.

“The pain I crave and the burning I long for. ‘Tis who you are to me,”

His shoulders sagged when he breathed in deeply and his neck craned, close enough for their noses to touch.

She felt the softness of his broad palm on her cheek to be better than any cushion she laid her head upon and to her bewilderment, she thought she wouldn’t mind trading the cotton for the texture of his skin to sleep on from now on.

They both closed their eyes at the same time to the gentle movements of their fingers against their exposed skin.

Her mouth opened but before she could say anything, he murmured into her lips. A habit of silencing her he seemed to grow used to.

“You will be my ruin,”

And with that he kissed her. Deep and slow like she had never been kissed before. Not by him most of all. And she wished he could do so for as long as the air in her lungs allowed. For she never knew when she could have him like this again.

Almost tender.

Almost fond.

Almost loving.

But all that turned to feverish want all too soon. With Aemond bending to grab her neck and back in order to slowly lay her down on the furs. His hold was so gentle in contrast to the wild hunger of his lips against hers. It didn’t go unnoticed by her, an involuntary smile meeting the curve of his lips as he kept on kissing her.

And although he didn’t ask, she needed to tell him.

Of how she saw him. Who she was warned of so many years ago.

“You are my raging storm,” she held the side of his face where his scar wasn’t covered. Scared he’d push away if her fingers touched it.

The reminder of the hate they should’ve felt for each other.

The hate they promised would endure.

“If I am your ruin, you will be mine too,”

He nuzzled his face onto her palm, brushing his lips against it, soon trailing a brush line from her wrist up her arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Her mouth opened, allowing a sigh to come out of it when he reached the hollow junction of her shoulder and neck and another as the upright curve of his lips travelled up the side of it.

“How fortunate you’re a seadragon, ñuha amīvindiga,” he hummed. (my tormentress)

“And how good of you to remember,” she breathed out heavily, feeling his fingers hooking under the lacing of her bodice.

Giving him more access, she arched her back but his fingers stopped moving. Crumpling the material to push her even closer to him. Her breasts flattened against his chest, spilling from within the confines of her kirtle.

He lowered his head and nipped at her sternum, making her throw her head back. One hand gripping firmly at his neck, the other holding onto the furs below them.

A low groan vibrated through her skin. Sliding from his throat, through his lips to every part of her upper body and down below where she needed him the most.

Her desperation was building slowly yet surely and amongst the mist, she didn’t realise the soft noises she was letting out and how they spurned Aemond on.

While he was leaving open mouth kisses and biting gently at the swells of her breasts, her hand massaged his scalp, pulling him in. Closer and closer as if she wanted to push him inside her chest. So he could lay his head on her aching heart.

But he didn’t let her.

His hold on her back eased and she felt the soft welcome of the furs underneath her again but the weight of him above her didn’t lift, it only moved downwards and her fingers, which tangled in his hair, with him.

Vaemma felt his broad hands prying her legs open, wider so she could host him between them, and she didn’t protest.

Her eyes fluttered at the sight of the silver sea spilled between her thighs and the lone lavender eye looking up at her, his sharp cheek resting on the clothed inside of her thigh.

“I wish to try something,” he declared.

Her throat got dry, heart beating impossibly fast as she went through all the possibilities of what he meant to do.

With one scenario, desired by her but hidden deep inside her wanton imagination, coming affront and her lips parted when he simpered, so darkly it matched the darkness that eclipsed the light colour of his eye.

Intensively he kept his gaze on her as he pulled down her stockings, exposing her skin to him. She could feel his hands there, replacing the delicate material with their rough softness.

His short nails scraped alongside her nude thigh and the harsh tickling send a shiver through her legs, straight to her core.

She'd bask in it if not for the tugness she registered. Right where the leather strap circled her calf.

“What are you–” she managed to utter but the question stuck in her throat.

It was dreadful, the view of him above her. Of him with her dagger in his fist.

“Kepus?” (Uncle)

The instant fear turned her voice higher in pitch and pinned to the floor by his other hand, she couldn’t move.

Was it truly happening? Was she such a fool? Was this how he could take her eye like she offered? Was she about to bleed like he did when her brother slashed that knife across his face?

Her hopelessness must’ve given him much pleasure for he lowered slowly, eye bored into hers and it was as wide open as the pair of hers.

“Please…” she begged.

Her pride was laid in front of him but he tossed it aside, the silver tip grazing at the spot where his teeth did mere moments ago.

“What a sight you are,” he murmured hoarsely, lowering the blade until it stopped at the side stitching of the kirtle. “Completely at my mercy. Begging,”

The material loosened as Aemond cut the lacing in half, doing the same to the other side, and when his daggerless hand palmed at her heaving breasts through her chemise, she shivered, feeling her nipples harden.

Her own hand blindly looked for the place where he might’ve left one of her most priceless possessions, while his touch burnt her. But he stopped her search, putting her hands up.

How pliant she was moments after she thought he meant to hurt her. What a dangerous thing desire was. How it made fools of people. How it made a fool of her.

“Did you think I would scar you?” he asked, pulling the layer above her head.

And she let him throw it somewhere behind her. A piece of yet another gown she saw being made for her. But as she looked up at his kneeling silhouette, fully clothed, while she sat under him in just her undergarments, the thought dissolved into the warm, thick air.

The hunger in his gaze wasn’t masked and it filled her with a different kind of fright. Anticipating, exciting, burning.

He reached out towards her, cradling one of her breasts in his grasp and it caused both of them to let out noises of pleasure.

“You are to be my wife,” he stated, squeezing the round flesh for emphasis and Vaemma hissed loudly. “You are to be reverented now. As the gods say you should be. As I shall do,”

He pledged that promise with a kiss so attentive it felt like worship.

The delicious warmth spilled inside her, and when he brushed the tips of his fingers against her nipple, it did out of her as well.

It was too much. The rising and falling of what he brought out of her and despite him already knowing the warmth of her, a slight embarrassment came to be evident in the deep pink colouring of her face.

“Gevie,” he called her and with a studious eye on her awed expression and a hand attached to her heaving chest, he mirrored the path he took before he used her dagger against her. (Beautiful)

Aemond peppered swift, feather-like kisses to the outlines of her covered body. Its hills and valleys. The rough and soft edges. All she could do was sigh and sigh and then she gasped at the feeling of his lips just above the patch of dark curls at the apex of her thighs.

This felt unlike any other intimacy they showed each other.

Near sacred.

Mind dizzy and body drunk on the overwhelming sensations, she almost didn’t hear him until he clutched her bottocks, wrinkling the soft chemise in the process.

“I wish to taste you,”

A quiet, light sound of surprise left her. As if she didn’t imagine him doing exactly that before he took her dagger out. As if she didn’t imagine him kissing her there when she was alone and forced to peak on her own.

His breath was hot against her centre as he waited for her permission.

She nodded, yet he still didn’t move.

“But first, tell me. Did you wait for me? Did you wish for me to come to your chambers as I did later when you told me to leave you be?”

Her breathing hitched when his fingers glided through her soaked folds. Teasing her. Tormenting her.

When he finally circled her little bud and she moaned in response, hips moving towards his hand, he cursed lowly in the language of their ancestors.

All of it turned him impatient, “Tell me. I need to–”

“I did. I waited and my body ached,” she admitted. Anything to make him do more. To make her feel on fire.

And that he did, throwing the linen over her stomach and burying his head between her thighs.

A stifled moan left her and it’s as if she heard someone entirely different, not recognising herself at that moment.

Her hands acted on their own accord, finding themselves in his hair again, pulling and letting it go with the movements of his tongue. Or it was her who was guiding him like a puppet on strings.

Whoever was in charge, it didn’t matter. She never experienced anything like it and hoped it would last as long as the night was long.

He kissed her cunt as he did her lips. Impetuously, demandingly and firely.

And she revelled in it.

In the way his harsh strokes drew a line from her entrance to her bud, circling it and then repeating the motion every time she bucked her hips into his face, asking to do it again.

In the way he sucked on that tiny sensitive place and her folds, humming into the flesh as if it was giving him more satisfaction than it did her.

Mayhaps it did, for when she supported herself on her forearms and dared to look down at him, his own hips were moving gently, grinding on the plush surface of the carpet.

It was too much for her to witness yet she was hypnotised by it. The knowledge her pleasure was his too intensified what she already felt.

She was floating. Floating above the waves of flames.

“Do not dare stop,” she breathed out, words heavy on her tongue and then she stifled a surprised scream when his finger entered her, opening her for him.

The lower part of his face shone with her wetness and her head moved to the side, lolling on her collarbone while she wished she had a pillow where she could hide her bashfulness from him.

“No,” he commanded, hand moving her chin and forcing her to pin her gaze into him. “Ao daor ruaragon hen nyke,” (You cannot hide from me)

It felt familiar, the order and then she remembered. The flight, the chase, the first time his beauty struck her.

His voice echoed in her head, flowing with the wind, blending with the low tone she just heard.

She wouldn’t look away from him now, even if she wanted to.

Aemond watched her intently, studying her reactions, committing every sound, every movement of her body to his memory. As if he planned to repeat everything in the future.

And how she’d want him to.

“How does it feel?” he rasped, sounding thirsted out, despite having just drunk her essence.

“Sȳz,” she sighed. (Good)

Aemond hummed, satisfied smirk adorning his face in an instant and then she arched, steadying herself flatly on her hands.

As he added another finger, they crooked as they did in the castle corridor, nudging at the centre of her pleasure, but this time he brushed against it over and over again until not only her arms were shaking but her whole body too.

With his hand holding her hip so she wouldn’t pull away from him, he kept her firmly on his fingers and against his tongue. Tongue which stroke her little bloom each time his fingers left her cunt wanting.

Their rhythm didn't coincide, nor were his ministrations fluid but it was everything she wanted and needed.

For him to touch her like that continuously as she headed towards her peak.

So swiftly and so desperately.

“More,” she pleaded and he answered with a rough squeeze to her bare buttock and pulled her even closer.

She could feel him everywhere. In every part of her he came to revere. As he said he would.

And with that thought and the final act of his worship, she fell apart with a silent scream, shaking on the furs and against his mouth. One so eager to drink her up even when she took in breaths to calm herself down.

Aemond groaned, two hands gripping her waist together tighter than any gown she ever wore.

“Enough,” she panted but he was stubborn.

“I need you to give me one more. Give me–” he chugged and bit the inside of her thigh.

Vaemma hissed and moved his head away from her sensitive centre by grabbing his hair, accidentally hooking up the strap of his eyepatch.

His reaction was quick. She felt his hand on hers and his weight lifting off of her lower body.

All of a sudden she felt cold.

“I did not mean– I– I’m sorry…”

The sharpened offence in his eye disappeared with her apology and the kiss to her knuckles was his own. For the way he reacted or mayhaps even for using her dagger against her.

She didn’t dare ask. The gesture abashing her more than what his lips just did to her.

They looked at each other, searching for something in their eyes, not knowing exactly what but the silence rose around them, interrupted only by their heavy breathing and crackling of the burning wood.

Then he crawled above her, not bothered by the drying silkness on his chin or the reddened shyness in her cheeks.

“Was this to your enjoyment, ñuha amīvindiga?” (my tormentress)

She nodded, biting into a smile that bent her lips.

“I have wanted to do this since the welcoming banquet, you see,”

Vaemma remembered how she wanted him to take her as he promised her. How his absence brought her disappointment. To think she’d know of this blissful act sooner if not for whatever reason he refused it to her was a sinful crime, she judged.

“Why haven’t you, then?”

“There was always something or someone keeping me away,”

His lips brushed against hers and she hummed into them.

“You included,”

His eye seemed to glow and she realised he jested when he kissed her. A smile of his own against hers.

A newly formed spark of desire ignited within her at the taste of herself upon his lips. She licked his bottom lip and he groaned into hers. A sound she learned to mean his enjoyment and pleasure.

Thus she did it again, to his upper lip this time and she felt his yet another response against her thigh.

Vaemma gently pushed him away and as she got up from the floor, she grasped her dagger at last.

Swiftly, taking advantage of Aemond’s confusion, she pressed the blade against his chest. A playful glint in her eyes, forcing a sneer onto his swollen lips.

So enticing, she thought. She ought to kiss them again. She desired so.

“Apologise for scaring me,” she commanded, voice determined and unshaking.

There must’ve been something in the way she confronted him that had him looking at her with his eye widening slightly. Barely noticeable yet it satisfied her all the same.

He looked at her in this way before. When she entered his chambers for the first time and he vexed her so immensely, she poured her heart to him. About her father and the sorrow and pain regarding him. She defied him too, standing her ground regarding her loyalty to her family and to herself as a Velaryon.

Not including the shameful, childish outburst in the library, it was the only time he saw her lose control of her emotions. But it seemed to content him even more than when she hid herself behind the veil of melancholic composure.

Mayhaps in those moments he saw in her the fire that united their blood.

The fire she’d desired to bathe in her whole life, while water seemed to drown her under each time, not letting her go from its current.

But having him at the tip of her dagger couldn’t be controlled by it. His fire embraced her and she let it consume her.

Vaemma pushed a bit further, “Do it, kepus. I deserve it,” (uncle)

He surprised her then, covering her hands with his and spearing himself on the weapon. Not enough to truly hurt him but enough to make her blood quicken with concern.

“You have to mean it. Like your brother did,”

He almost seethed it out. The reminder of who she was. Whose side she was on. Why he was in his right to torment her.

She could only look at him. At the way he leaned into her, despite the dagger piercing his clothing.

“But you don’t mean it. You didn’t in Vhagar’s lair when you put it against my throat. You don’t now. And I don’t think you’d kill me even if you tried, jorrāelagon mandianna” he said calmly. The term of endearment cooed wickedly. (dear niece)

And he waited. Waited for her to prove him wrong.

But with a drop of the dagger, she couldn’t. Only he mattered. Not the acquired grudge, not the rivalry between him and her brothers, nor his aversion to the origins of her blood.

Only him.

Climbing on his lap was easy. Terrifyingly so. As was unclasping the buckles on his chest, one by one, with hurried trembling fingers.

He didn’t stop her, didn’t even hold her, simply complied. Breathing rapidly through his nose, ruffling the hair at the top of her head, while his chest moved under her hands.

Slowly but surely she dragged the jerkin from his shoulders. It fell on the floor behind him, leaving him in a long-sleeved white linen shirt. Unconsciously, her fingers brushed up along the seam which started from the middle of his chest and ended at his collarbone. The simple ruffled collar was loosely knotted and when she stopped, unsure if he wished for her to untie it, he did it for her.

She looked up at him then and her eyelashes fluttered, seeing his hooded eye and the shadow of his front teeth poking out of his barely opened mouth.

It filled her equally with confidence and trepidation, that she had such an effect on him. That she wasn’t the only one engulfed by the intensity of it all.

Carefully, he moved her from his thighs and he huffed out a silent, mild laugh, seeing her confusion.

It didn’t last long, however.

Kneeling in front of him, while he stripped himself down for her was an image she knew would be forever engraved to her memory.

Aemond was lean, she knew it already but as he stood before her in his undergarment only, she could see what was always hidden behind the leather or linen.

Beautiful, toned muscle and the light hair which matched the shiny strands she got used to thread her fingers through.

Him mirroring her position caught her off guard as she was certain he would pick her up and throw her on his bed. Violently. As was his way of expressing his desire.

From such closeness she was able to see the evident outline of his hardness more clearly and she swallowed, remembering the sensation of having him between her fingers. How she helped him reach his end and how warm the evidence of his peak was.

“Can I make you feel good? As you did me? As we did in the cave?”

The question spilled from her tongue and she never felt to be so outright in expressing her needs.

She looked up at him from beneath her lashes and it took him less than a moment to kiss her. Kiss her in the only way he could–bite and devour her raw. As did she, following his suit.

Her jaw hurt from the force with which he pushed her towards him but she didn’t mind it.

How vehement they were with each other.

How they delighted in the violence.

Caging her in his arms, Aemond refused to let her catch her breath and she had to pull at his hair again so that he would.

The curtain of white silver closed her from the world around her, leaving her with a thought that if she could spend her days looking into the lavender of his eye or studying his face until she remembered every detail of it, she wouldn’t mind that at all.

Her heart responded to it with pain. Its beating calling out to her mind for it all to stop but it took a step back and all the sense and reason left her when Aemond buried his face in the crook of her neck.

There was a sense of surrender coming from him and she wondered if he could sense her too giving in to whatever fell upon them.

Vaemma held him and after a while of laying against each other, he took her hand and bent her fingers to circle around him.

A breath left her as he began moving into her. With no undershirt in the way, she felt every ridge and vein and she found it fascinating how the feel of it resembled a cloth of velvet.

His own breathing was uneven and more like a puff of a dragon than anything else she imagined him to sound like when taken over by passion.

It tickled her ear and she shifted underneath him, prompting him to lay a kiss under her ear and suck on her tender spot there.

As he did so, her hold of him tightened and her finger swiped over the tip of him.

“Jaehossi,” he rasped, “Do it again, ñuha amīvindiga,” (Gods) (my tormentress)

She did as instructed and the pleaded out order made her light-headed from the given power she was able to execute over him.

He answered to it as he’s done so far. Lowly in sound and hasty in movement.

Who was at whose mercy now?, she wanted to taunt him.

Liquid dropped from him, aiding her in her task and curious, she looked down.

The head of his member poked from her fist, revealing its dark pink shade to her, beads of pearlescent droplets oozing from it, matching the wetness of her own.

Lewd, the want she just felt would be called. Want to taste him like he did her. But fearing he’d think her a whore if she voiced it out, she opted for something else. Less lecherous and mayhaps more expected.

When she stopped, Aemond raised his head and a question formed in the line between his brow.

“I also wish to try something,” she enunciated and rolled over him.

He had to be too stunned by the change of positions to refuse it on time but by the look of it as she straddled his hips, her idea of something wasn’t that opposed to him.

He was quick to hold her backside as was his mouth to hang open.

She almost smiled at that but the ugly insecurity creeped slowly up her spine and she hesitated to move.

Vaemma felt her chest rising quickly as she tried to steady her breathing, her fingers unsure of how to hold his cock in the right way.

But then Aemond caressed her thighs, rubbing her chemise over her skin and she was glad that neither of them were completely bare. It provided a barrier, an illusion of protection, and means to loosen their nerves.

So, remembering the book her and her sisters read, she re-adjusted herself against his length and let his hard member stand free.

They moaned in unison at the direct meeting of their heated skin and she had to balance herself on his chest. The feeling of his cock between her folds took her breath away, turning her heart into a beating drum.

“Seven Hells,” Aemond cursed and Vaemma felt him move in tandem with her.

Her eyes squeezed shut. A dam formed against the tears of pleasure gathering in them. But not against the whimpers fleeing her mouth.

As hard as she bit into her bottom lip, she couldn’t remain quiet. Not when it felt that good to have him join her in her movements.

“Kessa… Kessa,” she chanted each time the tip of him nudged against her sensitive bud. (Yes… Yes)

She heard him pant heavily, even grunt each time she raised her hips and grazed the top of his pillar.

After a while irritation forced her eyes to open when she felt her legs began to shake from the newly discovered exhaustion.

“I’ve got you,” she heard him. All breathy and hungry.

How unsatiated he was.

How devastatingly beautiful in such a state.

Aemond didn’t need to hear her answer. Would she tell him what she wanted, however, when she was floating outside of her body? Unable to say anything else but simple words of satisfaction.

His bruising grip elicited a whine from her and it was the only sound coming out of her mouth when he used her body as he liked it.

And it seemed that he preferred to be pleasured just like that. Harshly and enough to leave a mark.

She felt his thighs pushing against her lower back, like a backrest of an armchair and she dug her nails into one of them, while the other hand held onto her breast, threatening to fall out of the loose chemise.

“Vok,” he praised her and she looked at him, mouth agape and eyes wide. So like him she must have looked like. (Perfect)

Utterly undone.

It sent a rapturous current through her, from head to toes, and she shook atop him, voicing it out loudly, like she’d never done thus far. With a tear falling down her temple alongside her cry of pleasure.

She felt like a heavy sack when Aemond placed her under him, gaining control the moment she lost hers.

Vaemma blinked at him and shuddered, feeling his cock glaze through her folds again. Forward and backwards, over and over in order to reach his peak.

Trying to regain her focus, her hand wrapped itself around him but even then, even while murmuring praises into her ear, he didn’t let her see him.

Head bent down to the side, long hair shielding him from her, she was only able to see his eyepatch and flaring nostrils as he throbbed in her hold and then stilled, painting her stomach white.

Vaemma gasped softly.

The feeling was foreign but not unpleasant and as she looked at it drying on her skin, her cheeks inflamed.

It was who she was with him. A rising flame.

Aemond seemed to come back to himself slowly and only when she moved her hips to cover herself, did he finally look at her.

Vaemma bit her lip when he dragged his manhood through her fingers. One, two, three times before he allowed her to let go of him.

They both did so reluctantly.

She saw his throat move before he licked his lips as if contemplating what to say. Vaemma never saw him nervous. It was like looking at a legendary beast in the westerosi wilderness. Unexpected yet so awe-inducing one couldn’t stop to marvel at it.

“I couldn’t– It couldn’t happen, thus is why I did not–”

He cleared his throat and she saw him fighting with himself, legs ready to stand up and lead him out of his chambers.

She knew it all too well. The overthinking of what she ought to say next and how it would be received.

“Kepus,” she called out to him, softly, not to scare him off, and grazed her nails against his linen-clothed forearm. (Uncle)

Aemond looked at the tranquil movements and let himself be pulled to her.

Insatiable she was. Grasping at every opportunity to feel his touch. To keep him close.

“Tis alright. I understand,”

Soothingly, her thumb circled his knuckles and she observed him watching the invisible pattern being drawn.

“I did not need anything more from you. I–”

It was her turn to shy away for a moment.

What would he think if she let her desire guide her body wholly? Would he be disgusted if she took him into her mouth or would he admire her as he did when she sat atop of him?

“I only wished to reciprocate… What you just gave me was– It was wonderful,”

Aemond’s kiss felt like gratitude. For what exactly, she could only pick her mind about. But once again it was deep and lasted for so long she was the one to break them apart.

He hummed, tracing patterns on her cheek and she could swear on the old gods and the new that she never felt that close to anyone.

That it was a revelation about her rageful uncle. The one walking hand in hand with hateful anger. The one who was self-righteous and prideful. The one who prayed to Vhagar, the goddess of vengeance.

That was just yet another doom that’d follow her, she inferred.

“I read about the act. Not one of the usual topics I study but it told me enough I needed to know,”

His hips moved forward and she felt him, all heavy and warm against her. The way she closed her eyes prompted him to do it again.

Distracted only partially, Vaemma took a deep breath before telling him of her own reading habits.

“Me, Baela and Rhaena read about it sometimes. The acts of carnal pleasure, that is. That was why I did… that,”

“I see,”

Anxiety formed in her belly when his eye darted to her exposed skin. To her shivering body.

Vaemma covered herself quickly but when he hummed his protest and placed a hand on her stomach, she realised her insecurites were wrongly misplaced.

He had his own and he seemed to be as ashamed of them. Her uncle has simply perfected the art of hiding them behind the mask of a serious, scholarly warrior.

“Do not mind that. Truly,” she calmed him. “And besides. I know how fond you are of bastards,”

Her attempt at jesting was met with a lop-sided smile and her heart quickened at the deepened lines forming around the corners of his lifted mouth, fingers tracing them without any hesitation.

She could try and decipher the look in his eye and why he laid into her touch, so outwardly seeking her comfort, but then the promise they made to each other would get broken. And she broke so many of them as of late.

“We shall part before the owl hoots,” she reminded them both.

Aemond nodded against her palm and it only made her want to stay with him for the whole night and break fast together in the morning.

When our house is united. Then we’ll have as many joint mornings as long as our lives will be.

When he asked her to at least stay to eat the food Deryl brought them, she let that friable hope root in her heart. For all that she knew, forgetting all the misery it brought her. And while Aemond venerated her over and over again that night with only the moon as the witness, she wished that just for once, the gods wouldn’t tear it out of her heart.

From the author #2: Did you know that it was rather common for a betrothed couple to experiment sexually with each other during their courtship? Not sure how often that happened but they weren't as prudent in e.g. the Tudor times as we were led to believe. I found out about it on a Shakespearean podcast and it made me a bit relieved that, although the ASOIAF universe is suppoused to be set a bit earlier than the 16th century, Aemond and Vaemma experiencing sex with each other isn't that far off from what they did in real life, historically speaking lmao Hope you enjoyed this one because these angsty babies definitely did ;)

And a special shout out to @humanpurposes and her amazing one shot You Want This, You Need This. The passageway scene in it sparked some inspiration into the way I wrote the one in this chapter. Love you Gee. Everyone should be obsessed with your writing as much as I am!

AO3 / SERIES MOODBOARD / SERIES PLAYLIST

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