You might envy it less if you understood how truly loud Vhagar is. [Some part of his skull was surely still vibrating from that first roar.
It doesn't matter though, as things stand Aemond does not even need to ask if there is something beyond his senses that he needs to know. Adar is more than content to help him, to be his ears and eyes where needed.
In their tower they don't need such things, there is just them and a few servants who do their best to keep to themselves. He has not fully gotten used to having a roof over his head or solid walls around him, but the company had proved worth the strange feeling that settled in his chest on nights that drew on too long.
He lets Aemond lead him, knowing precisely where they were going though he had hardly stepped a foot inside his door before, unless it was to drop him on his bed after too much wine was had.
It feels oddly forbidden, there is a greater formality here than on their abandoned bedrolls out under the stars. The way Aemond plucks at the closures of his clothing, the clearer light of the candles sitting in their sconces. The way Adar can (and does) watch him as he prowls forward. It heats his dark blood and renews that secret flame at his very core.]
Celeblÿg, Tyelpëleuca, I would name you that in unnumbered tongues.
[ How incredibly flattering it is to be wanted by such a clever old thing, still so strong and fearsome when needs be. Sweet as honeywine now, in truth, as Aemond steps forward to take Adar's hands and bring him into the room; each new way of calling him Silver Dragon has him smiling, charmed to a fault.
Once he has him close enough to bump noses, he breathes, ]
[It is easy to be pulled in, though he shouldn't let himself. He wasn't entirely sure why he shouldn't. At this point if his fëa was doomed, it was doomed long before Aemond's ancestors were born. What was a little more trouble?
His smile is warm and amused, and it truly reaches his eyes despite the scars that distort his face.]
Aemond. [His voice is a warm whisper against his silver dragon's lips.]
Aemond. [He says, then presses a kiss to his silver dragon's lips as his hands find themselves guided to his hair.] Aemond [he says again when their lips part once more before playfully nipping his lower lip.]
[ He tugs him forward, taking a step back to the bed when nipped. Loathe to let him escape a longer, lazier kiss where Aemond intends to lick every corner of that hot mouth, he tries to drag him down. Adar is stronger, he knows, which is both infuriating and thrilling, but the effort counts for what it is. ]
Let me teach you how to mount a dragon, vīlībāzmio.
[He doesn't just allow Aemond to draw him in, he seeks of his own will to discover every taste, every sensitive spot in that sweet mouth of his. When he is pulled down, he resists for a moment–out of amusement–and then follows him onto the soft bed, a hand supporting himself over Aemond's shoulder as he looks down at him.]
And you wondered how I caught on. [Adar's tone was teasing but his eyes held a hunger that darkened their usual faint green. He leans down and kisses Aemond again, slowly, and when he is done he speaks again.] You have my full attention, dear teacher.
[ There is little pause in the way he surges forward to get on top of Adar again, an echo of their tryst in the woods. this time he settles in place with knees bent either side of him and disrobes, tossing his tunic and shirt aside impatiently before bringing one of Adar's hands to the front of his breeches, arching half-hard into his palm. ]
Lesson the first: make sure your dragon knows your touch, and knows it well.
[There was something delightful in simply the way Aemond moves them both, as if Adar might resist (as if he would want to). It was young and bold, and full of as much fire as his dragon.
Adar waited, as patient as the ancient thing he was and admired the view of such a fine chest bared for him, the way his hair fell over his shoulders, the sharp line of his jaw and even the sharper line of the scar that marred otherwise pristine flesh.
His hand presses against the soft material of his breeches where his cock is obvious and would be even in the dark. He strokes along the fabric, idly, looking Aemond in the eye as he did so.]
And then? [He asks, seemingly innocently even though his fingers were working the lacings loose while his other hand still stroked him.]
[ 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.]
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It doesn't matter though, as things stand Aemond does not even need to ask if there is something beyond his senses that he needs to know. Adar is more than content to help him, to be his ears and eyes where needed.
In their tower they don't need such things, there is just them and a few servants who do their best to keep to themselves. He has not fully gotten used to having a roof over his head or solid walls around him, but the company had proved worth the strange feeling that settled in his chest on nights that drew on too long.
He lets Aemond lead him, knowing precisely where they were going though he had hardly stepped a foot inside his door before, unless it was to drop him on his bed after too much wine was had.
It feels oddly forbidden, there is a greater formality here than on their abandoned bedrolls out under the stars. The way Aemond plucks at the closures of his clothing, the clearer light of the candles sitting in their sconces. The way Adar can (and does) watch him as he prowls forward. It heats his dark blood and renews that secret flame at his very core.]
Celeblÿg, Tyelpëleuca, I would name you that in unnumbered tongues.
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Once he has him close enough to bump noses, he breathes, ]
Now call me by my name.
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His smile is warm and amused, and it truly reaches his eyes despite the scars that distort his face.]
Aemond. [His voice is a warm whisper against his silver dragon's lips.]
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Again.
[ His smile will not be quelled, guiding Adar's hands up to Aemond's hair which he knows he loves. ]
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Aemond. [He says, then presses a kiss to his silver dragon's lips as his hands find themselves guided to his hair.] Aemond [he says again when their lips part once more before playfully nipping his lower lip.]
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Let me teach you how to mount a dragon, vīlībāzmio.
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And you wondered how I caught on. [Adar's tone was teasing but his eyes held a hunger that darkened their usual faint green. He leans down and kisses Aemond again, slowly, and when he is done he speaks again.] You have my full attention, dear teacher.
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Lesson the first: make sure your dragon knows your touch, and knows it well.
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Adar waited, as patient as the ancient thing he was and admired the view of such a fine chest bared for him, the way his hair fell over his shoulders, the sharp line of his jaw and even the sharper line of the scar that marred otherwise pristine flesh.
His hand presses against the soft material of his breeches where his cock is obvious and would be even in the dark. He strokes along the fabric, idly, looking Aemond in the eye as he did so.]
And then? [He asks, seemingly innocently even though his fingers were working the lacings loose while his other hand still stroked him.]
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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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