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[dohaeras]

bkstrts & psls.

Comments

[callmeadar]

At least Fëanor didn't make these ones, making them remarkably less likely to be cursed.

[dohaeras]

This Fëanor isn't very good in the forge, sounds like. Silmarils aside.

[callmeadar]

His problem was never in the forge, but instead everything he did outside of it. He could turn anything into a war or a creeping dread and never have meant to do it.

[dohaeras]

Sounds like my uncle then, only he would fully intend to.

[callmeadar]

Probably a good thing that Fëanor died and turned into ash, then. No chance of him meeting any uncle of yours.

[dohaeras]

I'm not sure Fëanor would have survived the meeting.

[ Is that some small, mild, begrudging pride? Aemond thinks the only person who could actually fight an elf is Daemon. ]

[callmeadar]

As much as I hate to say it, because his spirit is surely able to know I am and is gloating about it somehow, he was the best of us. He had more power... more... essence, strength, whatever you would call it than any other elf. So much so his mother decided to go lay in a garden and die after he was born because he took so much from her. She refused to return. [More or less, it's not that important.]

[dohaeras]

[ That's the funniest shit he has ever heard and he cracks up laughing, wondering who the hell would just go lie down to die after giving birth and otherwise being perfectly fine. What a dramatic fucking elf family.

Tipping sideways into Adar, Aemond cackles. ]

They sound ten times worse than my family, by the gods.

[callmeadar]

[If you were faced with raising Fëanor you might too, to be honest. Adar chuckles though and gently wraps Aemond closer to him.]

He also had seven sons, some of whom had children of their own, none of whom ever knew the concept of relaxation... so very probably, yes.

[dohaeras]

Her laying down to die, as a choice ... that's fucking ridiculous.

[ He lies down himself, head in Adar's lap where his laughter turns to snorts and giggles, chin tilting up as he can't stop. ]

[callmeadar]

Elves can decide to give up their bodies. She wouldn't come back, though. Her husband is the only elf to ever have a second marriage because he wasn't half as done as she was.

[His fingers stroke fondly along Aemond's cheek and jaw. He liked him like this, easy and happy. it was surprisingly nice.]

[dohaeras]

[ That has him squinting up at Adar, reaching to brush his fingers along the imperfections carved into his skin. ]

How much stronger you are then, for staying.

[callmeadar]

I am not sure I ever considered it an option... and Angband was a strange place, it may well have not worked had I tried.

[dohaeras]

A place that houses dragons should not be so full of fear. You would like Dragonstone, it is heated from within the mountains, set far above the sea. [ His hands come to rest on his chest, sore arm cradled. ] I wonder if a dragon would take to you, you are no mere man ...

[callmeadar]

[A place that housed Ancalagon was the perfect place for fear. The cold reality of knowing you were small, worthless, easily broken, worth less than feed for the giant beasts seemed like it had been half the point of the place.]

Angband was warm, too. Though I am certain Dragonstone is a fairer place. It has been such a long time since I saw the sea.

My blood, though interesting, does lack whatever magic ties your family to them. [Even if he and Vhagar had come to a mutual no-eating agreement.]

[dohaeras]

We will go flying with Vhagar to find the sea in this land.

[ They can't be all that far inland, surely. He squirms around to put Adar at his back, turning his head to nose and kiss at his cheek. ]

You ride this dragon just fine, my love. [ Heh. ] I'm convinced you could do more.

[callmeadar]

I wonder if there is a sea. [He has not checked for one himself, as he didn't have many fond ideas about what might await him on the other side of any shore.] There are rivers, so I assume they end somewhere.

[Adar, rather horrifyingly in his opinion, almost immediately flushes at the sudden soft attention from his lover, to say nothing of his words.]

You think rather highly of me, Celeblÿg.

[dohaeras]

I think as highly of you as I should, my saviour in the woods. [ With his bad arm cradled on his lap, his other hand tips Adar's chin to meet his lips in a slow kiss, heated but banked like low coals in a hearth. ] If you lie back on the floor, I'll show you proper deference.

[ Smirking playfully, Aemond sloughs off the rest of his fears and replaces them with lust. Easily done. ]

[callmeadar]

[Adar disagrees, but they may never see this topic evenly because even with a decade Adar could not easily sum up the weight of the darkness on his soul, the shadow that would follow him unto the end of the world.

So he says nothing, and kisses his sweet love back with that same gentle passion he is given. His thumb traces that familiar, sharp line of Aemond's jaw like it is a kind of prayer, a touchstone that will keep him from sinking into the black pits of the earth where he belongs in the absence of his children.]

If you hurt your arm further, I will have to stitch it. [He worries, even as he moves to comply to Aemond's request.]

[dohaeras]

I'll be fine, you old grump.

[ Aemond leans his weight on his good arm beside Adar's hips and brushes up his nightshirt to kiss every scar he can find, using them as roadmaps across his hips. His tongue sails to the worst-marred jut and he takes his time mending each indent and burn, slacks peeled lower by light fingertips. It's not hurried or mindless, taking his time to let Adar feel worshipped by Aemond's lazy lips and the tickle of his long hair. ]

[callmeadar]

[He cannot help but still find it unsettling to bare his body so readily to another. Aemond was not a threat, and more than that, he trusted his silver-haired lover in a way that had nothing to do with the imbalance of power that tilted steadily in Adar's favour.

Yet his violet eye and his soft lips traipsing all over the scarred flesh of Adar's body as it is unveiled from beneath dark linen makes him feel as soft and vulnerable as it makes him feel heated. Vulnerable, too, feels the low hum of pleasure Aemond pulls from his throat so readily.

He is ancient and yet he squirms a little when Aemond finds a particularly sensitive spot along a thin but angry scar that once slit between his navel and hip.]

[dohaeras]

[ The lovely noises Adar makes fill Aemond with pride, spurring him on to latch a lovebite on that scar and leave it bruised (best he can), biting down as he sucks hard. He slips Adar's slacks down the uruk's legs, then undoes his braid and shakes out his hair so it can be felt all over scarred thighs, soft and silky to counterpart his nipping kiss.

Once satisfied, he licks a line around the base of his lover's cock but neglects it in the veil of his hair and leans over to another hipbone where he lavishes more attention. ]

[callmeadar]

[He may not bruise for as long as Aemond did, but he would surely remember the feeling of his lover's teeth on his scar any time it was bumped or touched for the foreseeable future as if Aemond had instead claimed a piece of his soul instead of his body. He moans softly, arching just slightly into his mouth.

The air is warm in the tower, but even so his cock, already growing hard from Aemond's presence and attention, twitches when it is exposed to the air and no longer contained by his slacks. He watches Aemond, transfixed as he undoes his silver braid and his silken hair falls over his thighs. It almost tickles, but laughter isn't the response his dragon gets for that. What he gets is a low moan that escapes Adar's lips even as he bites them to stop it. His fingers grasp fruitlessly at the floor, nothing for him to grab and not wanting to get grab Aemond and interrupt wherever it is his mind is leading him as he teases the base of Adar's cock and then his whole cock with that beautiful, soft hair.]

Fuck. [A rare, rare swear, even from the Uruk. Maybe he was learning a thing or two from Aemond.]

[dohaeras]

[ How wonderful in all its rarity to hear him curse. Pride has Aemond generous, loving nothing so much as being loved, wrapping his hand around that hardening cock ... with his hair too, silky around sensitive skin as Adar is stroked with obscene gentility.

He runs his lips over the crown, wet-soft. ]

My House grow their hair long to show our pride in who we are: silver or gold, or both, no one is our equal. I think you like it, love, more than you admit. You stare and touch and kiss at it when you think I don't notice.

[callmeadar]

[It seems like an impractical time for a lesson on House Targaryen's grooming habits. Right up until the second sentence actually processes in his lust-riddled mind. Oh. Oh. Aemond had not just been enjoying his affections but been paying attention to the things that caught Adar's eye the most.

So it is not the hand on his cock, stroking him agonisingly slowly, or even the soft touch of lips on his cock that makes Adar flush deeply and darkly, but rather those piercing words that say I see you even as he uses his hair to tease his readily hardening cock.

Adar's head tips back, moaning, an almost strangled noise that is a mix of desire and guilt. Eventually, he manages to speak.]

It would be a shame to ignore any of your beauty. [You'll have to try harder if you want the real reason, Aemond, though this one is far from a lie.]