What fire I have, I do not reserve for myself. [Adar strokes his fingers through that silver hair, brushing it up and behind a perfect ear as he smiles at him softly.
It was hard to be mad about every wrong done to you when there had simply been so many. Too many.]
You could keep us both aflame and never run out of fire. [That is a compliment, and god he hopes he knows.]
Hrm. [There were many questions to ask, though some bordered on insulting if phrased incorrectly so he picks the most basic one that interests him. But not before he presses a line of kisses down Aemond's hairline, chaste and sweet.]
Has your family always had dragons? [They were royals, he doubted they didn't trace their line.]
Yes. Even back before the Doom of Valyria, our ancestral home, we were purebloods of ancient lineage in a freehold of forty great families. My family fled when the Doom was prophesised and so we, and the Velaryons ... cousins, of a sort, though not dragon-riders, we survived when Valyria was scoured from the world. Now it's full of monsters and abominations, so no one goes there.
When my ancestors left to set up on Dragonstone in Westeros, they brought the dragon eggs with them.
[ He turns his head into the kisses, pressing in cosily. ]
A prophesy that was heeded, even if only by a few is impressive on its own. [There was a reason Mandos was called the Doomsman. Doom awaited all the foolish children of Ilúvatar in one way or another.]
Your dragons come from eggs? [He had not thought much about the natural genesis of such a creature, those he knew had been made and if Morgoth had a hatchery, Adar certainly hadn't been allowed to see it in his time in the dark halls of Angband. Being favoured by Sauron did not make you favoured by Morgoth himself and either way his place was that of a soldier... and a progenitor of sorts. He nuzzles Aemond's temple to chase the thought back to where it came from, wanting to listen to him.]
[ He combs through Adar's hair, giving it a teasing tug. ]
The dragons mate and sometimes release a clutch of eggs. The Dragonkeepers are charged with keeping them hot on beds of coal to see if they will hatch, or else storing them when we have too many. Sometimes they turn to stone but can still awaken. Vhagar is one of the oldest and largest, she is near two centuries old.
As far as I know, and I could be wrong because Morgoth was ever full of lies, ours were simply made. Perhaps twisted from some sentient beast or crafted from the very earth, I could not say with any certainty. They speak, and so they could be Maiar like the Balrogs or some experiment with other creatures of the One's hand. Perhaps even the eagles...
[Who, truly, was going to stop and ask a dragon who they were and how they existed? Not Adar. Even the wingless wyrms were hungry and cruel and as prone to deception as their maker.]
Yours sounds like the simpler process. Is there a limit to their age? [Two hundred years would pass slowly in the castles of men, but it would surely go quickly for such great beasts. It had for him, the first hundred being not even yet considered an adult.]
Balerion the Black Dread was two-hundred when he died.
[ Vhagar is fearsome but the she-dragon who has taken to Aemond as a mother does not have long left. He hopes they both die together, even if he is young when it happens, as no dragon will mean as much to him.
He hesitates to add, after hearing how Adar's dragons were "made" ... ]
Valyria was a place of blood-magic and darkness, after the Doom. The sky is always red there, they say, and the sea is boiling. The descendants of any survivors create chimeras of men and beasts ... I read an account of one of my ancestors who flew there on Balerion, by accident, and when she returned she was boiling from the inside-out, her body was full of wyrms that had faces and arms.
Dragons are the only pure thing to have come out of that place.
And he was the fiercest of your dragons? [He must have been something to earn such a name. A dread worse than the usual fear that dragons struck through the hearts of normal men. Still, he knows the taste of coming grief even when it is left unsaid and he presses a kiss to Aemond's temple, bumping him gently with his nose. He wished he could spare him that (future) pain.
A low hum of consideration rumbles in his throat.]
It sounds a lot like Angband. [Only there, you would not get out, even disfigured. Mostly.] There is nothing that could drag me back there if it had not fallen.
Balerion was so fierce and huge that the sun seemed lesser when his wings were spread, his skull lies in the Red Keep surrounded by candles. Vhagar was ridden beside him when she was young, though she has not grown as big.
[ Nuzzling each other with idle kisses, he loops a leg over Adar's and shuffles in closer. ]
I would not even fly over Valyria, not to see the ruined city or ought else. The very air is a poison, and when Balerion returned even he had enormous wounds. [ Aemond kisses his way along Adar's jaw. ] It is better we are here, together. Everything is different in this land.
Perhaps he was closer to Ancalagon, then. [He suspects, though it is only a guess, that the scales are still off. Many of the lesser drakes were giants similar to Vhagar and Ancalagon was so large he could inspire madness from the terror of looking upon him. One dragon had been able to drive back the Host of the Valar. One riderless dragon, whose will was his own even when tainted by Morgoth. One dragon who had struck down the towers of Thangarodrim on his own because he fell.
Yet he wanted Aemond to share his love of his family's dragons, unimpeded by the true comparison to beasts spun together in the forge of a Valar.
He makes a soft, pleased noise at all the kisses, his fingers twining in silver hair again.] It is. I have noticed that little seems to age. Not even the fruit when left in the bowls for weeks. [Maybe neither of them would need to know these particular griefs that worries at their minds if they stayed here. Adar tilts his head to catch Aemond's mouth and kiss him, wanting him still, wanting to know him and his desires, his life, everything that made that beautifully sharp mind tick.]
[ If Anacalagon turns up in this realm, Aemond is 100% going to try and ride him. ]
I admit, I have not been paying such close attention to the fruit.
[ A laugh buckles in his chest under the kiss until it melts into something deeper, winding his arms around Adar to run his hands over him again and simmering with desire. He moans into the taste of him and guides one of Adar's hands to his ass so Aemond can be cradled in his arms completely, arching up against him. It's not difficult to inspire the same heat as before when his attraction for the warrior runs deep and genuine, more so with a quarrel mended. ]
[That would absolutely be the point that made Adar just pick him up by his collar and hold him in the air so he couldn't commit suicide by dragon.
A dragon that did not speak but was willing to listen was one thing, a dragon who could speak if he wished but desired no guidance was entirely another.
None of that matters though, Ancalagon is long dead, his bones sunk somewhere into the sea along with the rest of northern Beleriand. He is certainly not in this realm where Adar had witnessed but two dragons: Vhagar and his lovely Aemond.
His dark blood runs hot, heated by the flame of desire that was shown in the needy wy their lips press together, as if they could kiss deeply enough to find some kind of heaven. A place of peace, as if they could become one. And when his hand is moved to the firm curve of Aemond's arse he pulls the young man closer still, cradling him against his own body.]
[ Grinning as the kiss parts, Aemond slips a hand between them to stroke a fire back into Adar, if he can, licking along his ragged, pointed ear. If he pours some dirty-talk into it, it's part-apology for his tantrum earlier. ]
I want you inside me, moving me. Your silver dragon will be so hot and tight for your cock, won't you claim him? You're safe with me, between my legs where I want no one else.
[It is not a difficult task, his own fire had barely moved, just simmered quietly in his heart of hearts while they had set themselves to rights. He allows himself to let go of some of that tightly woven control that normally keeps his reactions at bay, letting Aemond pull out of him the moan that wants to fall from his lips, and the sighs and hitching of his breath when an especially sensitive spot was discovered by his young dragon. Aemond's words are enough to make Adar's hand on his arse grab him harder, and pull him tighter so their bodies are pressed together without any gap between them.
His cock was already half-hard from the promising words and the addicting taste of his mouth alone. Being touched only stirs him more. He wants Aemond with a passion he had long since thought he had lost.]
Is that what you crave, my fierce dragon? [His voice was a rumbling purr, heady with want, edging on possessive. His. For tonight, hopefully for longer but nonetheless his in the here and now.] To be ridden until you forget we are two beings instead of one?
[ The needy whines spilling out of him all pour over a pointed ear and jaw, breathless and desperate. He's quick to harden, rocking up cock-to-cock with an insistence that ought to hurt but he can't stop, hips rolling in the grasp of his uruk as Aemond spreads his legs and hitches bent knees around him, strong creamy thighs wrapping their unblemished grip about Adar with equal possessiveness.
Already wound up once, his breathless demands brim with demand. ]
[There he was, Aemond returned to the full splendour of his youthful impatience. Adar grins even as Aemond steals a moan from his lips with his taunting hips.]
Shh. I will see you fully satisfied before we are done. [He rolls them then so Aemond is pressed into the soft bedding, the blankets they were nestled in shifting down but not yet fully falling off him. He leans down, his hair a dark veil around them as he claims Aemond's mouth. It was not a mere gentle thing this time, he poured his desire into the kiss, fingers tugging carefully at that beautiful silver hair. He would need to separate to give him what he asked for, find some oil, something, but he was not prepared to give up even an inch of him quite yet. Not for a single moment.
His hips rock, sliding their cocks together, and only when he is satisfied that Aemond will really bear no more of his dallying does he spare a glance to the bedside table or around the room. On a whim he opens the top drawer of the bedside table, thinking he smells something sweet that might be the answer to his problem and pulls out a vial of scented oil.]
How you must have hungered, alone in this room. [The rumbling purr is back as he slicks his fingers with the oil, stroking his own cock until it is just as slick and sweetly scented as the fingers that slip between Aemond's parted thighs and tease open his hole, fucking him slowly with just one then two fingers as he repositions himself better and being satisfied he will not hurt his dragon, curls his fingers once inside of him to find that sweet spot and then withdraws them entirely, filling him with his hard, hot cock instead as he leans down to kiss him again.]
[ He may go mad, he thinks, as Adar winds his patience shorter and has him impatiently clawing at his sides as if that will make a blind bit of difference to move him. Only when Aemond is close to pleading does he find hope in the rummaging of his bedside drawer and wrap his arms around Adar's neck to kiss him to distraction as his fingers work him open, pulling groans and hitched whines free as he works him with such care. Quick, but mindful; Aemond's thighs tense when his sweet spot is rubbed over and he cannot breathe for want of Adar, whispering again of how much he needs him.
He has him what feels like a heartbeat later and cries out as his uruk fills him, thicker than fingers and far hotter. A toss of silver hair has Aemond's head tipped back, clawing at Adar's locks as they kiss with a voracious hunger, legs winding around Adar to pull him deeper even as it makes Aemond gasp and his body tense. It's the best way to rid the pain, to ride through it to the pleasure, and his entire being is primed to welcome Adar. ]
[He is slow at first, and though it is for his lover's benefit, he enjoys the feeling of his cock being grabbed at as greedily as his mouth was consumed in their kisses. The rest of the world falls away, Vhagar could roar at them from outside the window and it wouldn't be heard because nothing, nothing mattered to him more in this moment than the sounds Aemond made as his wish was granted.
His hips roll, slow and steady but gaining in speed whenever he perceived that Aemond wasn't quite getting enough. Their kiss is ravenous and a stark contrast to the steadier pace of his hips. He cannot get enough of him, his tongue is as demanding as he refuses to make his hips. He wants him. He needs him. He wishes to learn everything that drives him wild and takes him beyond words. The hand that isn't supporting his weight drags Aemond even closer, holding his hips up to find a better angle without having to give up the plundering of his mouth. His moans he loses in the kiss too, giving them up freely and without reservation so that Aemond knows exactly how he makes him feel.]
[ Aemond's hot temper transforms into a wildfire of passion with Adar taking care to fuck him thoroughly in slow, deep thrusts, knocking the breath from him right over the uruk's lips whenever he drags him down for a kiss. He ends up scratching and pawing down Adar's sides as he rises up over him, following the dip of his back down to his ass and digging in his nails there, head thrashing to the pillow out of the kiss as lightning shoots through him with one perfect angle and sends him frantic. He whimpers loudly, mouth hanging open on freefalling moans, and the room fills with cries of Adar's name and Valyrian pleas for more as he bucks beneath him. ]
[There it is, amongst all the frantic need he sees when he finally gets what he wants: his dragon to see stars even as contained as they are within their tower. The scraping nails and whimpering are an encouragement, yes, but it is that and the sudden switching between tongues that really moves Adar to give him what he desires. He holds their position at that perfect angle and then he moves with greater speed and just enough extra force that Aemond will not be able to think of anything else but his name. His own moans are rough and ragged, thick with the desire to let himself go, to feel that hot hole filled with his seed.
He refuses, not until he has watched Aemond's desire spill across his belly, and so instead of seeking his own end he leans down to whisper in Aemond's perfect ear after nipping his earlobe.]
[ He's never slept with ... an inhuman lover before, never had cause or chance to, so the strength with which Adar attends to him is unique, he never seems to falter once he discovers what drives Aemond wild. All the moaning and begging turns into one sharp cry as he comes on command, striping his body as his cock throbs, untouched, a sob catching in his throat as his head turns from Adar's teasing mouth on the pillow with silver strands of hair caught on his lips — too good, too good, oh gods. Panting like a warhorse, Aemond briefly loses track of everything but the overwhelming pleasure heating him from where Adar is buried deep, and he squeezes down on him to bring another moan to his own lips. ]
[The need to come was almost overwhelming, the way his body clenched around his cock made Adar lose some of that perfect control, his thrusts becoming ragged, his nails pressing into the pale skin of Aemond's backside with almost too much strength. It is pure will alone that stops him from spilling his seed then and there, wanting to get just a few more thrusts in, against that sweet spot.]
So beautiful, Celeblÿg. [He moaned, chasing his turned head to whisper in his ear before his lips descended on his throat, marking the pale skin with carefully measured strength so most of the pink that rises in his wake will not last until morning.] My good little dragon. [Good boy the tone of his voice says, praising Aemond for his little display of obedience. Finally, he feels he will go mad if he holds on much longer, within a handful of uneven thrusts he comes with Aemond's name on his lips and a sweet tangle of Sindarin that sounds as much like praise as his common speech had. Spent, he takes a moment, not yet prepared to pull away from him and instead catching his breath against the crook of Aemond's neck, the hand that had held him up so firmly now stroking lovingly down the side of his thigh.]
[ The praise has him clenching down with every flex of his body, reacting to Adar immediately in ways he can't hide. Good little dragon, gods above it should be humiliating (kind of is, kind of likes it anyway). He tangles his hands in Adar's hair as every biting kiss to his throat has Aemond helplessly moaning, long legs locked around his beloved uruk.
The way Adar reels off that sussurous language as he comes has Aemond fascinated through the hazy lust but he can't focus while being filled with hot come, gasping as he writhes against the bed and clasps Adar to him throughout, gathering him close once he's finished. He thinks he might move in ten years or so when he can feel more than the hot coals of pleasure in his every limb.
In the five years or so he has dabbled in lovers, it's the best sex he's ever had. ]
[The laughter that spills from his lips fills his whole chest. It is warm, happy and strangely light for the old Uruk. He kisses the skin closest to his lips, still not pulling away from him at all just yet.]
I will gladly weave you back together and do it all over again, Aemond. [If his mind wasn't swimming so much he might have tried his hand at saying it back in Valaryian, but that would have to be a trick for another night. Or morning.
He leans up on his elbow so he can find the corner of Aemond's lips and press a kiss there before speaking in a soft purr:]
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It was hard to be mad about every wrong done to you when there had simply been so many. Too many.]
You could keep us both aflame and never run out of fire. [That is a compliment, and god he hopes he knows.]
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[ He settles in, comfortable and feeling loved again. ]
Ask me whatever you want to know about my family, that way you'll get something out of an exchange of histories too.
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Has your family always had dragons? [They were royals, he doubted they didn't trace their line.]
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When my ancestors left to set up on Dragonstone in Westeros, they brought the dragon eggs with them.
[ He turns his head into the kisses, pressing in cosily. ]
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Your dragons come from eggs? [He had not thought much about the natural genesis of such a creature, those he knew had been made and if Morgoth had a hatchery, Adar certainly hadn't been allowed to see it in his time in the dark halls of Angband. Being favoured by Sauron did not make you favoured by Morgoth himself and either way his place was that of a soldier... and a progenitor of sorts. He nuzzles Aemond's temple to chase the thought back to where it came from, wanting to listen to him.]
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Where else? I've never given birth to one.
[ He combs through Adar's hair, giving it a teasing tug. ]
The dragons mate and sometimes release a clutch of eggs. The Dragonkeepers are charged with keeping them hot on beds of coal to see if they will hatch, or else storing them when we have too many. Sometimes they turn to stone but can still awaken. Vhagar is one of the oldest and largest, she is near two centuries old.
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[Who, truly, was going to stop and ask a dragon who they were and how they existed? Not Adar. Even the wingless wyrms were hungry and cruel and as prone to deception as their maker.]
Yours sounds like the simpler process. Is there a limit to their age? [Two hundred years would pass slowly in the castles of men, but it would surely go quickly for such great beasts. It had for him, the first hundred being not even yet considered an adult.]
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[ Vhagar is fearsome but the she-dragon who has taken to Aemond as a mother does not have long left. He hopes they both die together, even if he is young when it happens, as no dragon will mean as much to him.
He hesitates to add, after hearing how Adar's dragons were "made" ... ]
Valyria was a place of blood-magic and darkness, after the Doom. The sky is always red there, they say, and the sea is boiling. The descendants of any survivors create chimeras of men and beasts ... I read an account of one of my ancestors who flew there on Balerion, by accident, and when she returned she was boiling from the inside-out, her body was full of wyrms that had faces and arms.
Dragons are the only pure thing to have come out of that place.
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A low hum of consideration rumbles in his throat.]
It sounds a lot like Angband. [Only there, you would not get out, even disfigured. Mostly.] There is nothing that could drag me back there if it had not fallen.
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[ Nuzzling each other with idle kisses, he loops a leg over Adar's and shuffles in closer. ]
I would not even fly over Valyria, not to see the ruined city or ought else. The very air is a poison, and when Balerion returned even he had enormous wounds. [ Aemond kisses his way along Adar's jaw. ] It is better we are here, together. Everything is different in this land.
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Yet he wanted Aemond to share his love of his family's dragons, unimpeded by the true comparison to beasts spun together in the forge of a Valar.
He makes a soft, pleased noise at all the kisses, his fingers twining in silver hair again.] It is. I have noticed that little seems to age. Not even the fruit when left in the bowls for weeks. [Maybe neither of them would need to know these particular griefs that worries at their minds if they stayed here. Adar tilts his head to catch Aemond's mouth and kiss him, wanting him still, wanting to know him and his desires, his life, everything that made that beautifully sharp mind tick.]
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I admit, I have not been paying such close attention to the fruit.
[ A laugh buckles in his chest under the kiss until it melts into something deeper, winding his arms around Adar to run his hands over him again and simmering with desire. He moans into the taste of him and guides one of Adar's hands to his ass so Aemond can be cradled in his arms completely, arching up against him. It's not difficult to inspire the same heat as before when his attraction for the warrior runs deep and genuine, more so with a quarrel mended. ]
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A dragon that did not speak but was willing to listen was one thing, a dragon who could speak if he wished but desired no guidance was entirely another.
None of that matters though, Ancalagon is long dead, his bones sunk somewhere into the sea along with the rest of northern Beleriand. He is certainly not in this realm where Adar had witnessed but two dragons: Vhagar and his lovely Aemond.
His dark blood runs hot, heated by the flame of desire that was shown in the needy wy their lips press together, as if they could kiss deeply enough to find some kind of heaven. A place of peace, as if they could become one. And when his hand is moved to the firm curve of Aemond's arse he pulls the young man closer still, cradling him against his own body.]
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[ Grinning as the kiss parts, Aemond slips a hand between them to stroke a fire back into Adar, if he can, licking along his ragged, pointed ear. If he pours some dirty-talk into it, it's part-apology for his tantrum earlier. ]
I want you inside me, moving me. Your silver dragon will be so hot and tight for your cock, won't you claim him? You're safe with me, between my legs where I want no one else.
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His cock was already half-hard from the promising words and the addicting taste of his mouth alone. Being touched only stirs him more. He wants Aemond with a passion he had long since thought he had lost.]
Is that what you crave, my fierce dragon? [His voice was a rumbling purr, heady with want, edging on possessive. His. For tonight, hopefully for longer but nonetheless his in the here and now.] To be ridden until you forget we are two beings instead of one?
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[ The needy whines spilling out of him all pour over a pointed ear and jaw, breathless and desperate. He's quick to harden, rocking up cock-to-cock with an insistence that ought to hurt but he can't stop, hips rolling in the grasp of his uruk as Aemond spreads his legs and hitches bent knees around him, strong creamy thighs wrapping their unblemished grip about Adar with equal possessiveness.
Already wound up once, his breathless demands brim with demand. ]
Do it quickly, I cannot bear this craving.
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Shh. I will see you fully satisfied before we are done. [He rolls them then so Aemond is pressed into the soft bedding, the blankets they were nestled in shifting down but not yet fully falling off him. He leans down, his hair a dark veil around them as he claims Aemond's mouth. It was not a mere gentle thing this time, he poured his desire into the kiss, fingers tugging carefully at that beautiful silver hair. He would need to separate to give him what he asked for, find some oil, something, but he was not prepared to give up even an inch of him quite yet. Not for a single moment.
His hips rock, sliding their cocks together, and only when he is satisfied that Aemond will really bear no more of his dallying does he spare a glance to the bedside table or around the room. On a whim he opens the top drawer of the bedside table, thinking he smells something sweet that might be the answer to his problem and pulls out a vial of scented oil.]
How you must have hungered, alone in this room. [The rumbling purr is back as he slicks his fingers with the oil, stroking his own cock until it is just as slick and sweetly scented as the fingers that slip between Aemond's parted thighs and tease open his hole, fucking him slowly with just one then two fingers as he repositions himself better and being satisfied he will not hurt his dragon, curls his fingers once inside of him to find that sweet spot and then withdraws them entirely, filling him with his hard, hot cock instead as he leans down to kiss him again.]
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He has him what feels like a heartbeat later and cries out as his uruk fills him, thicker than fingers and far hotter. A toss of silver hair has Aemond's head tipped back, clawing at Adar's locks as they kiss with a voracious hunger, legs winding around Adar to pull him deeper even as it makes Aemond gasp and his body tense. It's the best way to rid the pain, to ride through it to the pleasure, and his entire being is primed to welcome Adar. ]
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His hips roll, slow and steady but gaining in speed whenever he perceived that Aemond wasn't quite getting enough. Their kiss is ravenous and a stark contrast to the steadier pace of his hips. He cannot get enough of him, his tongue is as demanding as he refuses to make his hips. He wants him. He needs him. He wishes to learn everything that drives him wild and takes him beyond words. The hand that isn't supporting his weight drags Aemond even closer, holding his hips up to find a better angle without having to give up the plundering of his mouth. His moans he loses in the kiss too, giving them up freely and without reservation so that Aemond knows exactly how he makes him feel.]
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Adar, ȳdra daor keligon, kostilus! Kessa, tolī! Ai!
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He refuses, not until he has watched Aemond's desire spill across his belly, and so instead of seeking his own end he leans down to whisper in Aemond's perfect ear after nipping his earlobe.]
Come for me.
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So beautiful, Celeblÿg. [He moaned, chasing his turned head to whisper in his ear before his lips descended on his throat, marking the pale skin with carefully measured strength so most of the pink that rises in his wake will not last until morning.] My good little dragon. [Good boy the tone of his voice says, praising Aemond for his little display of obedience. Finally, he feels he will go mad if he holds on much longer, within a handful of uneven thrusts he comes with Aemond's name on his lips and a sweet tangle of Sindarin that sounds as much like praise as his common speech had. Spent, he takes a moment, not yet prepared to pull away from him and instead catching his breath against the crook of Aemond's neck, the hand that had held him up so firmly now stroking lovingly down the side of his thigh.]
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The way Adar reels off that sussurous language as he comes has Aemond fascinated through the hazy lust but he can't focus while being filled with hot come, gasping as he writhes against the bed and clasps Adar to him throughout, gathering him close once he's finished. He thinks he might move in ten years or so when he can feel more than the hot coals of pleasure in his every limb.
In the five years or so he has dabbled in lovers, it's the best sex he's ever had. ]
Kesan jorrāelagon ... ñepegonnyke arlī hēnkirī ... tolī issare pryjata ondoso ao.
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I will gladly weave you back together and do it all over again, Aemond. [If his mind wasn't swimming so much he might have tried his hand at saying it back in Valaryian, but that would have to be a trick for another night. Or morning.
He leans up on his elbow so he can find the corner of Aemond's lips and press a kiss there before speaking in a soft purr:]
Vanimelda.
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