[ Letting out a shaky breath as his cock is worked over, he leans back on Adar's thighs and tips his head back, watching him from under his lashes. The lean line of his chest, scarred here and there but otherwise untouched, on display. ]
Then you issue commands and see if it will listen. [ He licks his lips, finding them dry. ] Dohaerās, serve. Lykirī, be calm. Umbās, Māzīs, Rȳbās, Naejot. Wait, come, focus, forward.
[ Undoubtedly in his mind, Adar will seamlessly update his little mental lexicon of High Valyrian. ]
[His hand finally loosens the laces enough when Aemon is listing the commands and he slips past the fabric, taking him in hand and stroking his cock, eyes watching for every reaction as his thumb teases the head with every upward stroke.
Not every word offered is one he would want to use so quickly, but he notes each of them and how they flow off of Aemon's clever little tongue. Language held so much power, almost as much as music. It never did to forget a single word of it.]
Rȳbās, [He purred, a deep warmth in his voice.] and if they do not obey?
[ His intake of breath is sharp and his cock twitches in Adar's calloused hand, hardening all the faster. It's dizzying to want him so much, trusting him with his mothertongue besides. ]
Then you ... run very fast.
[ Laughing, he tips his head back and shakes out his hair, only swaying forward to plant both hands on Adar's shoulders and tug at his collar, wanting the clothes gone. ]
Hmmn. A mortal problem. [Admittedly, Adar was hardly as swift as the wind but he was faster than a human, and from experience you never needed to be the fastest to escape a cruel fate, only not the slowest. Besides, dragonfire would simply kill him–a fate that was far from terrible compared to other fires that had burned him before.
Those dark thoughts barely even flit through his darkened eyes as he looks up at Aemond's easy joy. He continues to stroke his cock, wanting him to feel so full of need he can barely contain himself any longer.]
If you had wanted me naked as well, you might have thought of it before you found your second favourite seat again. [The first was on Vhagar, that was clear, but both times he had the chance he had been as eager as a young buck to climb in Adar's lap.]
[ Scolded, he bristles against it and sinks down to kiss him hungrily, framing them in a silver cage. He palms his way down Adar's body to find the length of him and stroke firmly through his clothes, never ceasing the roll of his hips as his own cock is made to weep, slick and hard. A pink flush comes easily to his pale skin, licking a line down a scarred jaw.
When he finds a pointed ear, he starts to nibble on it with teeth and tongue, entranced by the tip. ]
First I am your dragon, then a pup to be scolded. How far I've fallen in the span of a bedding.
[There is care in every touch Adar returns to him, thoughtful use of lips and tongue and clever old fingers that given a little time would gladly learn everything that made Aemond's heart race, made desire thrum audibly through his very veins. He was beautiful and delightful, and even though the memories he stirs as he veils them both in silver are ancient and bitter, Adar would gladly drink in more of it. He moans softly between the teasing roll of hips, seeking hands and the tongue that teases his scarred ear.]
Lykirī, if I had scolded you you would know it Celeblÿg. I do not mind the poor planning caused by desire so much as that. [It was endearing and young.]
[ There is a lightness in playing at being commanded, it would chafe if not so narrowly attuned to his loves (of dragons, or his blood, of flattery). So he is calm, or pretends to play nicely as he rolls off Adar and onto his back, hair fanning out beneath him as Aemond drapes a would-be coy hand over his erection (if he were trying to hide it). ]
Then I will not rouse unless you instruct it of me, as you wish, O'ancient wise one.
[He misses the weight of him immediately, and the feeling of their bodies pressed together despite so many layers but he is on his feet in a moment, turned so that Aemond can watch him as he takes his sweet, immortal time undoing each clasp and buckle that held together his leathers and clothes. Piece by piece slowly makes it to the floor. First uncovering his strong arms fully, then his shirt, which shows his body and the uncountable number of scars that knotted his flesh. He takes off his boots and then undoes his breeches, sliding them down his body and freeing his already firm erection.
In a different life, he had looked every bit like a statue; superbly and intentionally made to be a thing of might and beauty. Now he looked more like a battlefield after the war. An edge of uncertainty crept back into him now he was distant from Aemond, but after a moment he convinces himself to climb back into the bed so he can pepper kisses from Aemond's lips to his jaw, then following the line of his throat down. He thought about how Aemond had felt in his hand and decided to not just tease him but keep going south, travelling down the line of his body and marking every scar he found with his tongue and teeth. When he reached the edge of the sharp v that so helpfully pointed straight at Aemond's hard cock he follows that too until he can plant a kiss on the side of his cock, his tongue swiping there experimentally.]
[ Never one to rate beauty by common standards, he watches from the bed as swathe after swathe of scars are undressed, revealed to him for his consideration (he feels the weight of Adar's hesitation, attentive to his expression too) and welcomes him into his arms when the uruk sinks back into bed for a reassuring kiss. Aemond runs his hands over a hundred battles lost and won, musing where this blade came from or who lit the torch here, which foe carved this or that dent ...
In King's Landing, Adar would be reviled; in their tower, in his bedchamber, Aemond wants to feel every inch of him against his body. ]
Ah ...
[ His thighs part with the burning line of Adar's mouth travelling south, moaning openly when he licks at the root of a hard cock. Scant pale blond curls surround the base of a reddened erection shining with its own precome in the firelight. Aemond swallows before speaking. ]
I wish for you to love me like the mortal I am, like I might be gone tomorrow.
[Little does he know that Adar already is. The Eldar did not do things hastily, not these things anyway. Go to war because of an argument? Sure. But love, lust, the twining of two bodies together? That had been a sacred act, rarely offered up and supposed to be only offered to one.
He could lie, or say nothing, and his tongue traces along his cock right up to the head as he considers his options.] I am... and to me you almost will be. [And there is sorrow and knowing in his green eyes as he finally takes him in his mouth, his hand wrapped around the base of his cock and stroking up to meet his mouth that sinks down on him. His tongue teases, seeking to map out what made his toes curl. What makes him beg for more, or maybe less because it is too much.]
[ Aemond cannot answer at first, moaning as he tangles a hand in Adar's hair and grasps at his shoulder, thumbnail finding the groove of a deep scar. His thighs twitch whenever the ridge under a crown is teased, soft-pink and swollen, and his hips dig into the bed each time Adar swallows him down whole, writhing up. ]
I ... will not be, ah! A footnote in your memories.
[He wishes, for a moment, that Aemond was an elf. Not for longer life, or beauty, but because it would make this much simpler if the sharing of a thought would not likely rocket him through the ceiling out of fright. He decides that it can wait, they can talk when Aemond is spent and lazily stretched out on the bed.
His tongue swirls around the head of his cock, enjoying the taste of him and paying special attention to the ridge that makes his body react so sweetly as his hand still strokes him, tirelessly. He was wholly unconcerned with anything but Aemond's pleasure, even his own. He moves just enough to find a more comfortable position between those spread, strong thighs.]
[ Combing through the elf's hair, he loses himself in the sensation of being pleasured to the point of whimpering. Only twenty and desperately aroused, Aemond has to rouse every inkling of resistance he has to tug at Adar's hair in more than approval, tapping him on the shoulder. ]
Adar, come here.
[ He doesn't want the pall of a sad mood over them, or to be separated faster than they are together all from years that haven't passed yet. He jerks his chin, trying to get him to join him on the bed. ]
[So demanding. Yet, on the second call of his name Adar actually listens. He swirls his tongue one last time around the head of his cock before he lets go of the red, wanting flesh. He would have gladly pulled him undone with his mouth and hands alone and then seen to whatever other needs remained.
He joins him on the bed, stretching out beside him and propped up on one elbow. As much as he is tempted too his hand doesn't wander back to his cock but instead cups Aemond's face, his thumb stroking over his cheek.]
I am with you. I was. [What do you want, sweet boy?]
You go places in your own head I cannot. Sad lands, dead lands. I only ever see them in you when you will not speak of them to me — nor need you if the pain is too great.
[ He wraps his arms around Adar, turning his head to kiss his palm. Still flushed with arousal, Aemond wears a frown and pout as he looks up at him. ]
Do not make me your distraction when I would be a home. I have one eye but I see plenty.
Not just dead lands, Aemond. A dead me. One you would like better and that I remember all too sharply. [If he wants truth, he can have it. Deception was a game Adar had learnt from the best, but it was not one he played willingly with those he cared about.]
The elf that was, will forever be different from the Uruk that is. [And he will never belong to either side, fitting nowhere, not even inside his own mind.]
He would have. He did a lot of foolhardy things. [You did not join Fëanor's crusade without being at least a little foolish and ready to face wrath and ruin.
All of it involved too much explanation and stung too fiercely for him to wish to say here, in Aemond's bed where his greatest prior concern was how long a human might last before he was exhausted. He kisses him back with just as much affection, it comes so easily to him now even though he had denied that it was there at all until tonight.]
There is nothing to forgive, Celeblÿg, just let it rest until we have had our fun. Then you can stroll the archive of my memory if you wish. [If that wasn't love, what was?]
Aemond. [Fine, no cute espessë, nor claims of having fun. Adar rolls onto his back and rubs at his temples. He sighs, and sounds heavier and more aged than he would ever look even as scarred as he was.]
Believe it or not, that was not an insult. It was an offer, one I have given no one. Ever. You are a curious and bright man, which is hardly a craven thing.
It has been centuries since I even laid with another, let alone allowed anyone in.
[ Well, there goes his erection because he feels bad. Stubborn and proud, however, he sits up and swings his legs off the bed, wrapping a stray blanket around his lower half so he can get up and find that wine. ]
Congratulations.
[ He bites it out curtly, waspish in his cutting wit. His chest hurts and he downs one cup of wine to pour a second. ]
[Adar doesn't move at first, not a bit, his fingers cease rubbing his temples, his breath barely raises his chest and he sinks into thought as he tries to place where (or if) he went wrong with any of this. The thing is, he isn't sure he had. He did not want to burden his young companion with his heavy thoughts, but that had bothered him too, and now this...
Where was Vhagar when you actually felt like being eaten?
After a minute he sits up, his feet hitting the floor but he goes no further as he looks at Aemond.]
Tell me what has upset you. [His tone has no force to it, but he misses, already, the warmth by his side and wishes he could shake the answer out of him (he could, but wouldn't).] Or I can leave, if you prefer. [It seemed he might. It wouldn't be shocking if a man of so few years suddenly realised he was out of his depth with such an ancient and decrepit thing as himself.
As he had said, Aemond probably would have liked the other him better.]
[ Hot-tempered, he casts his wine into the hearth with the cup and rounds on him. ]
First I say I want you to treat me as if I am not a ghost, and you all but tell me I already am, then you tell me I don't know my own mind and would prefer whoever you were before your troubles when I try to understand your grief. Lastly, you insinuate I want only your body when your mind is clearly elsewhere, but it doesn't matter because you will tell me later.
I only try to help and you insult me at every turn.
[What a waste of wine for a display that outwardly moves Adar not a bit. It was hard to be upset with hot tempers when your master had been fire made flesh (when he wished to have flesh, anyway).
He listens, though, carefully noting every concern that is given to him coated in anger to ease the passage of it from Aemond's lips.]
I prefer who I was when I can remember him. [Is what he picks first, because yes, Aemond would have liked him, and frankly, they might have ruined the world together. He had been rash, sharp, spitting with rage and passion that he buried in war and the bedrolls of other men just like him. He was also easygoing, he had, then, little that weighed on his mind. Even their crimes against their kin were but a dull roar compared to the cacophony of memory that being so much older now granted him.] I did not give him up willingly. I did not want my blood to turn black or my body to change. No elf has ever willed such a thing to happen to themselves.
And you–you are so bright and beautiful, I would not wish to miss or forget a single day of you. Even now. [Even though he is sure half this anger is Aemond being upset at himself.] I would let you into every locked door that interests you, Aemond. I just... I only wanted to see–to give you pleasure first, to feel it with you. [With. Not as some observer or distanced being. It was difficult to stay here and not retreat to his room, but he fears pride would be the death of whatever this was if he did so with neither of them wanting to be the first to reach out again.]
And that alone is no small thing for the Elves, Aemond. You could never be a footnote because to lie with another is to imprint them upon my very soul. [Whatever of it remains.]
[ The flames of his fury bank and simmer as he listens, until the tense line of his shoulders sinks and his expression falls. The ball of offense in his chest is unravelled and he takes a shuddering breath, hand to his head where he rubs his brow. When his hand falls, he shrugs as if defeated on the battlefield, quiet and upset in his voice. ]
I was only trying to say that it meant something and you would not forget me, and then ... you made it sound like I was already dead and gone. Just a mortal.
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Then you issue commands and see if it will listen. [ He licks his lips, finding them dry. ] Dohaerās, serve. Lykirī, be calm. Umbās, Māzīs, Rȳbās, Naejot. Wait, come, focus, forward.
[ Undoubtedly in his mind, Adar will seamlessly update his little mental lexicon of High Valyrian. ]
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Not every word offered is one he would want to use so quickly, but he notes each of them and how they flow off of Aemon's clever little tongue. Language held so much power, almost as much as music. It never did to forget a single word of it.]
Rȳbās, [He purred, a deep warmth in his voice.] and if they do not obey?
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Then you ... run very fast.
[ Laughing, he tips his head back and shakes out his hair, only swaying forward to plant both hands on Adar's shoulders and tug at his collar, wanting the clothes gone. ]
Or train them better.
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Those dark thoughts barely even flit through his darkened eyes as he looks up at Aemond's easy joy. He continues to stroke his cock, wanting him to feel so full of need he can barely contain himself any longer.]
If you had wanted me naked as well, you might have thought of it before you found your second favourite seat again. [The first was on Vhagar, that was clear, but both times he had the chance he had been as eager as a young buck to climb in Adar's lap.]
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When he finds a pointed ear, he starts to nibble on it with teeth and tongue, entranced by the tip. ]
First I am your dragon, then a pup to be scolded. How far I've fallen in the span of a bedding.
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Lykirī, if I had scolded you you would know it Celeblÿg. I do not mind the poor planning caused by desire so much as that. [It was endearing and young.]
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Then I will not rouse unless you instruct it of me, as you wish, O'ancient wise one.
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In a different life, he had looked every bit like a statue; superbly and intentionally made to be a thing of might and beauty. Now he looked more like a battlefield after the war. An edge of uncertainty crept back into him now he was distant from Aemond, but after a moment he convinces himself to climb back into the bed so he can pepper kisses from Aemond's lips to his jaw, then following the line of his throat down. He thought about how Aemond had felt in his hand and decided to not just tease him but keep going south, travelling down the line of his body and marking every scar he found with his tongue and teeth. When he reached the edge of the sharp v that so helpfully pointed straight at Aemond's hard cock he follows that too until he can plant a kiss on the side of his cock, his tongue swiping there experimentally.]
If that is what you wish.
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In King's Landing, Adar would be reviled; in their tower, in his bedchamber, Aemond wants to feel every inch of him against his body. ]
Ah ...
[ His thighs part with the burning line of Adar's mouth travelling south, moaning openly when he licks at the root of a hard cock. Scant pale blond curls surround the base of a reddened erection shining with its own precome in the firelight. Aemond swallows before speaking. ]
I wish for you to love me like the mortal I am, like I might be gone tomorrow.
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He could lie, or say nothing, and his tongue traces along his cock right up to the head as he considers his options.] I am... and to me you almost will be. [And there is sorrow and knowing in his green eyes as he finally takes him in his mouth, his hand wrapped around the base of his cock and stroking up to meet his mouth that sinks down on him. His tongue teases, seeking to map out what made his toes curl. What makes him beg for more, or maybe less because it is too much.]
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I ... will not be, ah! A footnote in your memories.
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His tongue swirls around the head of his cock, enjoying the taste of him and paying special attention to the ridge that makes his body react so sweetly as his hand still strokes him, tirelessly. He was wholly unconcerned with anything but Aemond's pleasure, even his own. He moves just enough to find a more comfortable position between those spread, strong thighs.]
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[ Combing through the elf's hair, he loses himself in the sensation of being pleasured to the point of whimpering. Only twenty and desperately aroused, Aemond has to rouse every inkling of resistance he has to tug at Adar's hair in more than approval, tapping him on the shoulder. ]
Adar, come here.
[ He doesn't want the pall of a sad mood over them, or to be separated faster than they are together all from years that haven't passed yet. He jerks his chin, trying to get him to join him on the bed. ]
I want you with me.
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He joins him on the bed, stretching out beside him and propped up on one elbow. As much as he is tempted too his hand doesn't wander back to his cock but instead cups Aemond's face, his thumb stroking over his cheek.]
I am with you. I was. [What do you want, sweet boy?]
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[ He wraps his arms around Adar, turning his head to kiss his palm. Still flushed with arousal, Aemond wears a frown and pout as he looks up at him. ]
Do not make me your distraction when I would be a home. I have one eye but I see plenty.
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The elf that was, will forever be different from the Uruk that is. [And he will never belong to either side, fitting nowhere, not even inside his own mind.]
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[ Cupping the side of that ruined face he leans up to kiss him, close and fond as he pours his affection into it. ]
I'm sorry if I upset you with my words.
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All of it involved too much explanation and stung too fiercely for him to wish to say here, in Aemond's bed where his greatest prior concern was how long a human might last before he was exhausted. He kisses him back with just as much affection, it comes so easily to him now even though he had denied that it was there at all until tonight.]
There is nothing to forgive, Celeblÿg, just let it rest until we have had our fun. Then you can stroll the archive of my memory if you wish. [If that wasn't love, what was?]
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[ Pulling away enough to give him a hurt look, he shakes his head. ]
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Believe it or not, that was not an insult. It was an offer, one I have given no one. Ever. You are a curious and bright man, which is hardly a craven thing.
It has been centuries since I even laid with another, let alone allowed anyone in.
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Congratulations.
[ He bites it out curtly, waspish in his cutting wit. His chest hurts and he downs one cup of wine to pour a second. ]
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Where was Vhagar when you actually felt like being eaten?
After a minute he sits up, his feet hitting the floor but he goes no further as he looks at Aemond.]
Tell me what has upset you. [His tone has no force to it, but he misses, already, the warmth by his side and wishes he could shake the answer out of him (he could, but wouldn't).] Or I can leave, if you prefer. [It seemed he might. It wouldn't be shocking if a man of so few years suddenly realised he was out of his depth with such an ancient and decrepit thing as himself.
As he had said, Aemond probably would have liked the other him better.]
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First I say I want you to treat me as if I am not a ghost, and you all but tell me I already am, then you tell me I don't know my own mind and would prefer whoever you were before your troubles when I try to understand your grief. Lastly, you insinuate I want only your body when your mind is clearly elsewhere, but it doesn't matter because you will tell me later.
I only try to help and you insult me at every turn.
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He listens, though, carefully noting every concern that is given to him coated in anger to ease the passage of it from Aemond's lips.]
I prefer who I was when I can remember him. [Is what he picks first, because yes, Aemond would have liked him, and frankly, they might have ruined the world together. He had been rash, sharp, spitting with rage and passion that he buried in war and the bedrolls of other men just like him. He was also easygoing, he had, then, little that weighed on his mind. Even their crimes against their kin were but a dull roar compared to the cacophony of memory that being so much older now granted him.] I did not give him up willingly. I did not want my blood to turn black or my body to change. No elf has ever willed such a thing to happen to themselves.
And you–you are so bright and beautiful, I would not wish to miss or forget a single day of you. Even now. [Even though he is sure half this anger is Aemond being upset at himself.] I would let you into every locked door that interests you, Aemond. I just... I only wanted to see–to give you pleasure first, to feel it with you. [With. Not as some observer or distanced being. It was difficult to stay here and not retreat to his room, but he fears pride would be the death of whatever this was if he did so with neither of them wanting to be the first to reach out again.]
And that alone is no small thing for the Elves, Aemond. You could never be a footnote because to lie with another is to imprint them upon my very soul. [Whatever of it remains.]
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I was only trying to say that it meant something and you would not forget me, and then ... you made it sound like I was already dead and gone. Just a mortal.
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