[ Emphatically agreeing even as he tenses up all over to avoid arching into Daemon with ungainly desperation, Aemond holds himself in check. The bite to his innermost thigh is a sore thing that he will love when Daemon is gone, he will dig his nails into it to remember teeth there and come in minutes, he knows it. The wet pressure of a mouth along his cock has his hips squirming against his wishes, choosing not to think too deeply about Daemon's words and just enjoy them for what they are, ultimately sweet nothings.
His blood is molten under the loving attention, his hair an uncomfortably hot veil at his back, leaving all he can do from this angle to pet through his uncle's hair until he snags a fist to make him look up. ]
I burn for you. I would burn the world and everyone in it for you.
[ See me, he wants to say, look how my love is a wildfire that could consume us. He sounds crazy and doesn't care, hushed mothertongue curling free from bitten lips as he dangles that kink from earlier but not without sincerity. He's timely with it, remembering the way Daemon shivered when thinking about filling Aemond with his come. ]
Had I been born for it, I would have carried your children. As many as you could give me.
[ Appealing dirty talk (love talk?), destruction in the name of passion, all-consuming. Daemon has always been drawn to theatrics, and it's pleasing to hear Aemond indulge in it— seems his nephew is the same way. Drama queen, with his OnlyFans and his secret hobbies. Daemon bites the bruise again before Aemond gets a fist in his hair, and he looks up at him, the violet cast of his eyes glinting dark.
Good that they aren't pressed together head to toe, and Aemond don't feel the way that makes his uncle's cock twitch. It's not that Daemon's ashamed of having a kink, but it's one he plays so literally with, and sometimes has cause to mourn (Laena, still, her and their boy, things he speaks of to no one).
Still. There's the look in his eyes. ]
They'd be beautiful.
[ Testing the waters of his own feelings about indulging in this. Mm. ]
[ His other hand comes around from Daemon's hair to brush a thumb across his lower lip, tracing the soft admission there. Aemond's smile is indulgent, hesitant for his own reasons (giving away too much of himself, of his own fantasies). Dangerous, this. It always is, he tells himself, wanting to share it where it's welcome. ]
Three boys and two girls.
[ Always one extra boy to keep an eye on their sisters, a good idea. Girls are unpredictable in their family. ]
[ Three boys and two girls, the sum of Daemon and Rhaenyra's blended children, the sum of Viserys' (poor Daeron we hardly know ye) (away at boarding school forever) when he only remembers the one. Maybe it could become a magic number when produced through the same coupling, stable and honest.
Teeth close around Aemond's thumb. Bitey. He watches him, gaze intense. A light suck and then he releases him again. ]
That leaves one lonely. [ Incest, lol. Neither of them have spare sisters for it. Daemon kisses Aemond's belly, and noses against his cock. ] Hardly lonely around you, silver boy.
[ Silver boy sounds even prettier, in High Valyrian. ]
[ They could share he almost says, all thoughts of imaginary offspring disappearing like smoke when Daemon calls him a petname that has Aemond pleased from head to toe. Gēlenka valītsos. He loves listening to the flawless mothertongue dripping off Daemon onto Aemond's own skin and his cock twitches in response, thighs tensing for a moment. He spent the whole day with him and still feels dizzy with the need to be subsumed in his uncle's presence, out of sight and all his.
Tugging a little on soft hair, he whines through an exhale that is definitely not bratty, no. ]
Come up here, touch me. I want to feel you everywhere, I wanted it all day.
[ His young dragon, always so responsive. He gives that aching cock a lewd, wet swipe with his tongue before dropping a sweet kiss to the head, a fond goodbye. Relenting, then, and shifting up, pushing his trousers and underwear down as he does, wanting the heat of skin-on-skin. Shocked at how hard he is already— Aemond brings it out of him, despite his malaise of the night before. ]
Does it matter when I belong to you? Take your time, I'm always here.
[ His laugh is swallowed up in amorous kisses, mapping out the body he knows so well and seeking erogenous zones to tease with fingertips and lips, soft bruising pressure from both as he kneads his way down Daemon's back; bites the unmarred side of his neck. Aemond intends to leave marks, too wound up not to. ]
Mmmm ...
[ The inside of his thigh skims back and forth along his uncle's hip, cradling him close as he moves against him in languid, hedonistic rolls from hip to chest. The endless brush of hot skin has him dizzy with want, addicted to losing his grasp on the present just from Daemon's proximity. ]
[ look at the tiny waist in that icon. what a slut.
Daemon doesn't wriggle away from that bite, he sighs instead, and settles better against his nephew. Even if Rhaenyra sees any remnants, it won't be wholly unexpected— far from the first time that one of them has sought attention somewhere else, even though Daemon has never flaunted it before, and she doesn't share the same enthusiasm for all of his kinks. ('Cuck' becoming an insult is such a tragedy. That's a legitimate interest, thank you.)
He kisses Aemond, deep and claiming, and he tucks one arm around his shoulders despite the position. Coiling close, holding him, caging him in. Cozy, in addition to being horny. ]
[ Slutty little waists are easier for dirty uncles to grab, facts.
It must be the same reaction to having a weighted blanket, he calms and lets Daemon's body sink atop his own to trap him against the soft bed. He inhales and finds each breath is slow and laboured with heat, pressing up to feel as much of him as he can, hands skimming to Daemon's sides and a chest to seek out scars and trace them absent-mindedly, already knowing their layout. His hips continue to sway of their own accord and he's so hard (wet, ah fuck) he feels dizzy with it, breaking the deep kisses to pant open-mouthed by a cheek and regain some kind of control; he's learned restraint since they started their little game but the hunger that rules his need is all too real and he suspects Daemon knows it, likes making him come with minimal effort. Embarrassing, for Aemond.
Hot, annoyingly. ]
Uncle ...
[ The Valyrian curls off his tongue along Daemon's jaw, teeth grazing. ]
[ It's wonderfully hot, and Daemon loves the feeling of Aemond's cock pressing up against him, on his stomach, on his own cock, leaking and so warm. It thrills him to be able to get this reaction out of him, and it fuels his own. Aemond never makes him feel anything but wanted, and there's a degree of trust that he's not taking advantage, that his nephew is as aware and as twisted as he is. Which may not be true, and may be putting too much on someone half his age, but it feels exquisite.
Another kiss, deep like he can eat the High Valyrian out of his mouth, and then he sighs, ] You feel so good, nephew. Even just like this.
[ Not even fucking. He rocks down, not getting much in the way of leverage, but it still sends sparks up his spine to drag against him, hardness to hardness. (And the things that aren't hard, adding some softness; Daemon is in shape, but there are patches that give. Minor vintage cake.) ]
[ He should be angry with himself for how much he wants his uncle. There should be some kind of shame, guilt, even a passing acknowledgement that what they are doing is wrong, but Aemond has never felt any of these things. As he nods into the claiming kisses that steal his breath, he has to act quickly with what few working braincells he has left because Daemon has, as usual, melted down any token resistance into a bone-deep desire to be fucked. No one else has ever made Aemond feel so wild with the need for it, no man has been more then a physical means to an end; until his uncle. Aemond slides a hand back under the pillows to find the lube stashed there, metal bitten and crumpled all along the tube, and taps him on the hip with it. Chilly, hello. ]
Watch me. See how I touch myself when you're not here.
[ Which is often. Filling himself with his own fingers is, judging by the near-empty lube, a common pastime. ]
[ Perhaps this is what madness in their family is; the overwhelming need to be with each other and the all-consuming joy in finding it reciprocated. It doesn't strike all of them, but when it does, it's intense. Daemon gives him another deep kiss for that request, and hums into it.
No patience for a nightstand drawer or a toy? So sweet, Aemond. Daemon bites his lower lip. ]
Must I let you go, for that?
[ He pushes up on his knees, but not quite enough for there to be workable space between them. ]
[ The cloying kiss is as devoted on his side as he arches up into it, a soft whine catching in his throat as his lip is bitten. His amused look returns when Daemon hardly moves, knees reasserting his weight more than being helpful; deliberately the opposite, charmingly. Aemond huffs, dropping the lube to skim his fingertips all around Daemon's hips and let one hand follow an iliac curve in between. There is enough room for that, at least, as he traces the line of a very (flatteringly) hard erection from tip to base and back, meanwhile kissing him with an aloof, thoughtful air about the way he never quite lets Daemon capture his lips again. ]
Not all the way. Merely ... eight inches?
[ If Daemon wants to play, he is going to regret it. Light, tickling touches grace lips and a cock, Aemond keeping anything hurried at bay, slow and soft in the way he explores. ]
[ What's to regret? Besides being dodged for more kissing; Daemon nips his jaw then kisses his throat instead, laving his tongue there over his pulse and threatening to leave a welt somewhere far more visible.
Aemond's hand on him is teasing, slow, but Daemon isn't impatient about fucking unless he's proving something. He chuckles quietly. ]
Thinking about it that much?
[ Daemon's measured, of course, but not since he was young enough to be curious in an egotistically meaningful way. (And then there were the days after his first struggles with performance, resenting his own body and every aspect.) Aemond seems to like his dick well enough, and that's plenty satisfactory for Daemon. ]
[ Sometimes, only sometimes, Aemond wishes Rhaenyra would get hit by a bus. It would be very sad, of course, for a few months at the very least, and he's sure Daemon would be stricken, but it wouldn't be like there was no one to pick up the pieces. Besides, Rhaenyra wouldn't even know what had hit her (no faster than Aemond's jealous looks from across a room, anyway). A delighted, flustered laugh bubbles up with a deepening blush, turning his head to the side to escape his uncle's gaze. His gentle touches trail around the base of that hard cock in response, thoughtful arabesques to a hip and back. ]
We are going to be here a long time, if you have your way. [ A lavender eye slides back with a mischievous smirk. ] I might even grow as old as you.
[ It would be very like Daemon to have a lover lined up and waiting for him already upon the demise of a wife, but he's very tired of enduring it, especially with children; he would be more changed than Aemond thinks. The roughest part of how unsuited uncle and niece are becoming for each other as time goes on is that Daemon really does love Rhaenyra, and will even if she breaks his heart.
He'd probably be better off if she got hit by a bus. But eventually, Aemond would tire of him, too.
Daemon bites his shoulder. Sass. ]
You enjoy me just fine at this age, [ he says, grinding down into him, ] why wouldn't I enjoy you the same way? Nevermind that I'd be dust by then.
I won't let you become dust, or else I will become it with you. What else would I have left?
[ Aemond's nails rake around Daemon's hips to drag him down into the grind that flicks up from insistent, youthful hips, cocks rutting between precome and sweat-slick bellies. Breathlessly insistent, Aemond wraps his legs around him and refuses to let go as he kisses him with all the ferocity of someone told their lover will inevitably be taken away.
Daemon goes back down, not very far as it was, arms at either side of Aemond's head, supporting himself and caging his nephew in. Intense blood-violet eyes on a brighter one. An awful wound to match Daemon's own scars; he finds it perversely lovely. Society's push towards perfection and exact tailoring makes symmetry and sculpted beauty increasingly repulsive. Aemond is so unmistakable, and real.
He bites into that kiss and draws blood. He licks over his mouth, tasting bitter iron and life. ]
[ The pained whine that bloodied nip draws out of him is lost in the smothering pleasure that holds Aemond prisoner, hips squirming as his aching cock ruts alongside Daemon's for better stimulation, tormented by a lack of it but unwilling to get himself off when existing underneath him in a state of heightened arousal feels so right. He nods and kisses back with a moan, cupping a hand around the nape of Daemon's neck to tangle in his hair; his grip tightens as he tries to nip back just as viciously, a possessive snarl splitting the kiss. ]
[ He's teased about blood so much, but always held himself back, even when Aemond would get curious about whatever harder kinks he might be harboring— Daemon finds it too difficult to be restrained, now, with how his nephew is goading him. He accepts the near-violence in that kiss and returns it, uncaring if it's too much, teeth finding that little wound again to worry more scarlet fluid out of him, get it all over their mouths. He grinds his hips down, hard and heavy, pinning him. One hand clutches at a shoulder, as if he can crush him even closer. ]
Then whatever becomes of me becomes of you, [ he grows into his mouth. ] Here with you no matter what.
[ His brother's blood is Daemon's blood, and so Aemond is half himself— a shame about the rest, still, but it's admirable that Aemond wants so badly to be only a Targaryen.
[ Aemond is a wreck of himself as he clings to Daemon and tastes his own blood passing between biting kisses, straining to always be close and moving, hips rolling, listening raptly all the while. He wanted to be good and put on a little show of opening himself up, make it a treat for his uncle after a wonderful day out, but underneath Daemon's demanding weight he can only muffle urgent moans into a hot mouth as his knees grow weak and he comes between them, thighs tense and relaxed by degrees. He grips onto him for the duration and thinks any teasing about coming technically untouched will be countered by the You made me bleed argument he will throw back, as much as he enjoys being a shivering mess for his uncle's pleasure.
The tension that has him whip-taut finally shudders free and he gasps as he hides his face against Daemon's neck, still mentally floating somewhere near the ceiling while his body tries to wring an absent cock dry in reflexive flutters. ]
[ Not untouched, with this heavy grind, but there's no finesse to it or pressure to the sensitive gland inside of him that might explain it— a psychological trigger, then, and it makes a reciprocal surge of pleasure shoot through Daemon. Intense and aching, even if it doesn't quite push him over the edge. ]
Aemond.
[ Panted. A little dazed. He kisses him again, and slowly ruts his still-hard cock over the wet mess between them.
More kisses until he has to pull back to touch between them, get his hand sticky and bring it up to his mouth to taste, mingling it with his nephew's blood. ]
How beautiful you are, nephew. [ A sweet kiss to his jaw, letting him hide there, before he slips his hand back down. Petting over his spent cock, teasing it and wringing sensation out. His fingers press lower, rubbing come against his hole. ] Needed me too badly to wait.
[ Kepus is groaned out, a hollow ache all through Aemond in the afterglow as Daemon keeps moving, tasting. He looks every bit as depraved as every rumour from Aemond's childhood said, and he wears it well. Aemond watches him from under his lashes and his hips move at his uncle's bidding, thighs that ache spreading farther to let him touch.
He could be on fire with overstimulation and he would rather writhe with it than say No. ]
You always do this.
[ Aemond has no control over himself and Daemon knows it! Huffing, he somehow manages to pout through the compliments and caresses even as he relaxes into the latter. ]
Fucking me with my own blood? Such a virginal aesthetic, uncle.
Always? [ Nuzzling at his ear and his jaw, sucking little kisses, barely-there scrapes of teeth. ] I'm sure I've made you come with a hand on your cock.
[ Often after he already gets Aemond off in some other way, but who's counting. (Daemon, every time, smug and satisfied.)
Still hard, rubbing up against sweaty soft skin, Daemon continues to press his fingers against his nephew's hole, tracing circles and teasing him without pushing in. He might well be too sensitive for it, and he's not about to make him, but Daemon enjoys dragging out the stimulation as far as he can regardless. ]
I can't imagine what use I would have for virgins. [ A low chuckle, strained with arousal, and he licks at the side of his mouth. ] You're much too good just as you are.
[ His cock feels like it owns all the thought in his body, his mind is a melted mush that only wants to get every part of him physically closer no matter the way it makes Aemond moan and whimper between laboured breaths. A surge of confident pride rushes warmly all through him and he knows, with practice, how to relax his body and arch against the pressure of those all-too-polite fingers, making a show of sinking down on them as he looks at Daemon. Aemond may be panting with the effort but he can do it and he wants to show Daemon how much he's welcome to this any time he wants, that he doesn't have to hold back or worry in the way he always does because he is, beneath the rest, a giving and sensitive soul. He would never hurt Aemond.
His cock is hardening again from the petting and the way he slowly fucks himself on those digits with rocking hips, gasping as his head drops back to the pillows. His hands fly to Daemon's shoulders, digging in smooth and scarred skin alike. With a smug dreaminess, he sighs, ]
I am, aren't I.
[ It isn't a question. He wonders when was the last time Rhaenyra literally dragged her husband into herself because she couldn't stand to be without him, and given how long Daemon is staying with him this visit Aemond bets he could guess. ]
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[ Emphatically agreeing even as he tenses up all over to avoid arching into Daemon with ungainly desperation, Aemond holds himself in check. The bite to his innermost thigh is a sore thing that he will love when Daemon is gone, he will dig his nails into it to remember teeth there and come in minutes, he knows it. The wet pressure of a mouth along his cock has his hips squirming against his wishes, choosing not to think too deeply about Daemon's words and just enjoy them for what they are, ultimately sweet nothings.
His blood is molten under the loving attention, his hair an uncomfortably hot veil at his back, leaving all he can do from this angle to pet through his uncle's hair until he snags a fist to make him look up. ]
I burn for you. I would burn the world and everyone in it for you.
[ See me, he wants to say, look how my love is a wildfire that could consume us. He sounds crazy and doesn't care, hushed mothertongue curling free from bitten lips as he dangles that kink from earlier but not without sincerity. He's timely with it, remembering the way Daemon shivered when thinking about filling Aemond with his come. ]
Had I been born for it, I would have carried your children. As many as you could give me.
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Good that they aren't pressed together head to toe, and Aemond don't feel the way that makes his uncle's cock twitch. It's not that Daemon's ashamed of having a kink, but it's one he plays so literally with, and sometimes has cause to mourn (Laena, still, her and their boy, things he speaks of to no one).
Still. There's the look in his eyes. ]
They'd be beautiful.
[ Testing the waters of his own feelings about indulging in this. Mm. ]
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Three boys and two girls.
[ Always one extra boy to keep an eye on their sisters, a good idea. Girls are unpredictable in their family. ]
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Teeth close around Aemond's thumb. Bitey. He watches him, gaze intense. A light suck and then he releases him again. ]
That leaves one lonely. [ Incest, lol. Neither of them have spare sisters for it. Daemon kisses Aemond's belly, and noses against his cock. ] Hardly lonely around you, silver boy.
[ Silver boy sounds even prettier, in High Valyrian. ]
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Tugging a little on soft hair, he whines through an exhale that is definitely not bratty, no. ]
Come up here, touch me. I want to feel you everywhere, I wanted it all day.
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Have I kept you waiting too long?
[ Covering him, tangling close, mouth pressing greedily to his. ]
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[ His laugh is swallowed up in amorous kisses, mapping out the body he knows so well and seeking erogenous zones to tease with fingertips and lips, soft bruising pressure from both as he kneads his way down Daemon's back; bites the unmarred side of his neck. Aemond intends to leave marks, too wound up not to. ]
Mmmm ...
[ The inside of his thigh skims back and forth along his uncle's hip, cradling him close as he moves against him in languid, hedonistic rolls from hip to chest. The endless brush of hot skin has him dizzy with want, addicted to losing his grasp on the present just from Daemon's proximity. ]
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Daemon doesn't wriggle away from that bite, he sighs instead, and settles better against his nephew. Even if Rhaenyra sees any remnants, it won't be wholly unexpected— far from the first time that one of them has sought attention somewhere else, even though Daemon has never flaunted it before, and she doesn't share the same enthusiasm for all of his kinks. ('Cuck' becoming an insult is such a tragedy. That's a legitimate interest, thank you.)
He kisses Aemond, deep and claiming, and he tucks one arm around his shoulders despite the position. Coiling close, holding him, caging him in. Cozy, in addition to being horny. ]
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It must be the same reaction to having a weighted blanket, he calms and lets Daemon's body sink atop his own to trap him against the soft bed. He inhales and finds each breath is slow and laboured with heat, pressing up to feel as much of him as he can, hands skimming to Daemon's sides and a chest to seek out scars and trace them absent-mindedly, already knowing their layout. His hips continue to sway of their own accord and he's so hard (wet, ah fuck) he feels dizzy with it, breaking the deep kisses to pant open-mouthed by a cheek and regain some kind of control; he's learned restraint since they started their little game but the hunger that rules his need is all too real and he suspects Daemon knows it, likes making him come with minimal effort. Embarrassing, for Aemond.
Hot, annoyingly. ]
Uncle ...
[ The Valyrian curls off his tongue along Daemon's jaw, teeth grazing. ]
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Another kiss, deep like he can eat the High Valyrian out of his mouth, and then he sighs, ] You feel so good, nephew. Even just like this.
[ Not even fucking. He rocks down, not getting much in the way of leverage, but it still sends sparks up his spine to drag against him, hardness to hardness. (And the things that aren't hard, adding some softness; Daemon is in shape, but there are patches that give. Minor vintage cake.) ]
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[ He should be angry with himself for how much he wants his uncle. There should be some kind of shame, guilt, even a passing acknowledgement that what they are doing is wrong, but Aemond has never felt any of these things. As he nods into the claiming kisses that steal his breath, he has to act quickly with what few working braincells he has left because Daemon has, as usual, melted down any token resistance into a bone-deep desire to be fucked. No one else has ever made Aemond feel so wild with the need for it, no man has been more then a physical means to an end; until his uncle. Aemond slides a hand back under the pillows to find the lube stashed there, metal bitten and crumpled all along the tube, and taps him on the hip with it. Chilly, hello. ]
Watch me. See how I touch myself when you're not here.
[ Which is often. Filling himself with his own fingers is, judging by the near-empty lube, a common pastime. ]
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No patience for a nightstand drawer or a toy? So sweet, Aemond. Daemon bites his lower lip. ]
Must I let you go, for that?
[ He pushes up on his knees, but not quite enough for there to be workable space between them. ]
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Not all the way. Merely ... eight inches?
[ If Daemon wants to play, he is going to regret it. Light, tickling touches grace lips and a cock, Aemond keeping anything hurried at bay, slow and soft in the way he explores. ]
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Aemond's hand on him is teasing, slow, but Daemon isn't impatient about fucking unless he's proving something. He chuckles quietly. ]
Thinking about it that much?
[ Daemon's measured, of course, but not since he was young enough to be curious in an egotistically meaningful way. (And then there were the days after his first struggles with performance, resenting his own body and every aspect.) Aemond seems to like his dick well enough, and that's plenty satisfactory for Daemon. ]
Perhaps I don't want to let you go.
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We are going to be here a long time, if you have your way. [ A lavender eye slides back with a mischievous smirk. ] I might even grow as old as you.
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He'd probably be better off if she got hit by a bus. But eventually, Aemond would tire of him, too.
Daemon bites his shoulder. Sass. ]
You enjoy me just fine at this age, [ he says, grinding down into him, ] why wouldn't I enjoy you the same way? Nevermind that I'd be dust by then.
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[ Aemond's nails rake around Daemon's hips to drag him down into the grind that flicks up from insistent, youthful hips, cocks rutting between precome and sweat-slick bellies. Breathlessly insistent, Aemond wraps his legs around him and refuses to let go as he kisses him with all the ferocity of someone told their lover will inevitably be taken away.
He kisses like he would fight time itself. ]
Don't you dare leave me.
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Daemon goes back down, not very far as it was, arms at either side of Aemond's head, supporting himself and caging his nephew in. Intense blood-violet eyes on a brighter one. An awful wound to match Daemon's own scars; he finds it perversely lovely. Society's push towards perfection and exact tailoring makes symmetry and sculpted beauty increasingly repulsive. Aemond is so unmistakable, and real.
He bites into that kiss and draws blood. He licks over his mouth, tasting bitter iron and life. ]
You belong to me already, don't you?
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I was born for you, from your blood. I'm yours.
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Then whatever becomes of me becomes of you, [ he grows into his mouth. ] Here with you no matter what.
[ His brother's blood is Daemon's blood, and so Aemond is half himself— a shame about the rest, still, but it's admirable that Aemond wants so badly to be only a Targaryen.
Only Daemon's. ]
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The tension that has him whip-taut finally shudders free and he gasps as he hides his face against Daemon's neck, still mentally floating somewhere near the ceiling while his body tries to wring an absent cock dry in reflexive flutters. ]
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Aemond.
[ Panted. A little dazed. He kisses him again, and slowly ruts his still-hard cock over the wet mess between them.
More kisses until he has to pull back to touch between them, get his hand sticky and bring it up to his mouth to taste, mingling it with his nephew's blood. ]
How beautiful you are, nephew. [ A sweet kiss to his jaw, letting him hide there, before he slips his hand back down. Petting over his spent cock, teasing it and wringing sensation out. His fingers press lower, rubbing come against his hole. ] Needed me too badly to wait.
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He could be on fire with overstimulation and he would rather writhe with it than say No. ]
You always do this.
[ Aemond has no control over himself and Daemon knows it! Huffing, he somehow manages to pout through the compliments and caresses even as he relaxes into the latter. ]
Fucking me with my own blood? Such a virginal aesthetic, uncle.
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[ Often after he already gets Aemond off in some other way, but who's counting. (Daemon, every time, smug and satisfied.)
Still hard, rubbing up against sweaty soft skin, Daemon continues to press his fingers against his nephew's hole, tracing circles and teasing him without pushing in. He might well be too sensitive for it, and he's not about to make him, but Daemon enjoys dragging out the stimulation as far as he can regardless. ]
I can't imagine what use I would have for virgins. [ A low chuckle, strained with arousal, and he licks at the side of his mouth. ] You're much too good just as you are.
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[ His cock feels like it owns all the thought in his body, his mind is a melted mush that only wants to get every part of him physically closer no matter the way it makes Aemond moan and whimper between laboured breaths. A surge of confident pride rushes warmly all through him and he knows, with practice, how to relax his body and arch against the pressure of those all-too-polite fingers, making a show of sinking down on them as he looks at Daemon. Aemond may be panting with the effort but he can do it and he wants to show Daemon how much he's welcome to this any time he wants, that he doesn't have to hold back or worry in the way he always does because he is, beneath the rest, a giving and sensitive soul. He would never hurt Aemond.
His cock is hardening again from the petting and the way he slowly fucks himself on those digits with rocking hips, gasping as his head drops back to the pillows. His hands fly to Daemon's shoulders, digging in smooth and scarred skin alike. With a smug dreaminess, he sighs, ]
I am, aren't I.
[ It isn't a question. He wonders when was the last time Rhaenyra literally dragged her husband into herself because she couldn't stand to be without him, and given how long Daemon is staying with him this visit Aemond bets he could guess. ]
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