[Even at the moments when he was the most honest, the rawest and most untamed, there was ever a gentle care for his lover woven into his being. It went against the last two thousand years of his life experience, yet it had been there in him in the beginning, and it rose again every time they touched. It was the strain in his powerful hips that let themselves move just a little, so that Aemond could see the effects he wrought but did not thrust or make demands of him. It was in the way his hand carded through silver hair, finding a grip but never pulling too hard or directing him.
It was even in the way he allowed every vulnerable noise of desire, every moan fall from his lips or growl of desire rumble in his throat. A thousand small ways to say I love you even though he shouldn't.
His cock twitches involuntarily when he watches Aemond sink fully around him. Adar's thumb caresses Aemond's temple as he moans, the sound as much growl as anything, heavy with want.]
[ Hearing the sweet appellation has him swallowing again with a moan that spreads the length of that cock and ends with a chaste kiss to the tip, a swipe of a lick over the precome there, before Aemond moves with purpose. He gives Adar his mouth and throat to fuck as he pleases, encouraging it with a caress down his thigh, tempting him to move since he knows his uruk won't do it if he thinks he is overstepping. Wanting him to enjoy it with unrestrained passion.
It's tiring but satisfying, giving him this. Not often is Aemond selfless but he feels like he is with Adar and he intends to be a good partner, in all things. All ways. ]
[He is hesitant even when silent permission is granted for him to move, to free himself from being strung at tightly as a war bow, drawn up only by Aemond's mouth around his achingly hard cock. Yet he concedes, after a few more moments of fighting his desires. His hips rock up into his mouth, still mindfully, after a fashion, but much freer even as he keeps his eyes and ears sharply focused on Aemond for any sign of too great a discomfort.
Even with all his care, as his desire builds so does the recklessness in his hips, the strength of his grip on Aemond's hair, the uneven pace he sets and the way Aemond takes his cock, the way it looks between his lips has Adar on the edge and spilling over it before he counted on it. Aemond's name is on his lips, mingled between elvish words of both the tongues he knew best and fuck which sneaks back in even as he makes himself release Aemond's hair. He trembles still, his cock twitching as he tries to gently pull Adar back up his body, filled with the desire to kiss him.]
[ He spills not a drop, drinking him down in swallows that work his throat around Adar all the more as he shudders and comes. Aemond licks him clean, the faint pain of having his hair pulled and the ache in his jaw delicious as he happily clambers up his uruk's side for a kiss, cupping the back of Adar's head with all the care and gentility he hasn't had for so long, arms wrapping around his trembling body on the floor cushions and rugs. The bed would be better for this, but here they are. ]
[When Aemond is returned to a position where Adar can kiss him, he does so slowly but passionately, apologetically smoothing out his hair where he had held him. His eyes are half closed, but not fully, not even as they kiss. He loves to look upon Aemond, to drink him in both with his mouth and his eyes. When the kiss breaks he draws a line of lazy kisses along Aemond's lovely jaw.]
You really shouldn't be on the floor, dear love. [Not that he was rushing to get up or disentwine from Aemond.]
[ His laughter is soft and charmed, smiling into the kiss that drags along his jaw. He tidies Adar's hair too, ruffled by the rug as it is. ]
The trouble is, this is where you are. I have no choice.
[ He helps tug those slacks back up, making Adar decent again. Ignoring his own hard-on, which is more of a constant ache these days whenever they get an evening alone. ]
That is a problem easily remedied. [Reluctantly, though, because he quite enjoys just laying there in the afterglow of bliss, Aemond there with him so solid and real and the cool stone beneath the rug tempering his heat for him. After a moment of lingering, he pushes himself and therefore Aemond off of the ground, but then scoops his lover into his arms on the way to his feet, not having to break contact with him once.
The food is forgotten in favour of the bed, where he lays Aemond on the soft sheets before kicking off his slippers to lay beside him on the side that won't make Aemond support himself on his wounded arm, his head propped up by one hand while he lays on his side, looking warmly at his lover.]
See? All fixed. [He said as he leaned down to kiss him again.]
Between you and Vhagar my feet never touch the ground anymore.
[ He's laughing as Adar ferries him from floor to bed, tipping toward him for that kiss once they are settled with blanket drawn up. He nuzzles at Adar's collar, hand of his bad arm curling loosely in the uruk's shirt as he tries to ignore the ache in his missing eye (or rather, around a stone that was knocked silly during the earlier fight). Needing to take it out, he doesn't want to while so comfortable, feeling beautiful and wanted.
It itches all around the scar as he squeezes it shut, though. ]
You do not have to wear it around me, if that is why you are enduring it. [It was interesting to look at, and oddly enchanting at times, but it was just an ornament that Aemond liked to wear as far as Adar was concerned.] I will not want you less without it.
It does not look ... [ Good? And he does want to wear it for Adar, he wants to be as handsome as his lover thinks. The frustration banks and he blurts, ] It's just a hole in my head, horrible. If you see me like that you won't like it. I don't like it.
Half my hair is gone, my face is melted and scarred, and my body looks like it lost a war, several times over. Does this stop you wanting me? [He says, ditching his first thought of "I have put much bigger and worse holes in men's heads and not blanched" for something that might instead wind Aemond towards the idea of being comfortable rather than considering Adar's capacity for murder and harm.
And as a sort of peace offering, he also adds.] Or I can get your patch, or go to my own bed if you would be more comfortable. But it will not change anything about you for me.
That is different. [ He doesn't know how but it is. Adar is a whole package unto himself. ] And I am vain.
[ Admitting it with a sigh, he sits up to kiss him again, listing into Adar's warmth for a long moment. Aemond doesn't want to sleep in his patch tonight, nor alone, and his eye is starting to puff red. ]
... Bring over the washbowl, will you? And a towel, please.
I am vain too, I just have nothing left to be vain about. [Name an elf that wasn't a little vain about something, either their body, their voice, or the work of their hands. The list, if it could be written, would be short.
He cradles Aemond's jaw in his hands, kissing him back softly. Before he pulls away to get off the bed again he leaves one last kiss on his scar, just above his brow. Then he fetches fresh water and the cleanest towel in the room before bringing them back and setting the wash bowl on the bedside table and sitting on the edge of the bed with the towel held out.]
You are the most attractive thing I have ever laid eyes on, for the record.
[ Scooting to the edge of the bed he waits for what he needs, accepting them with a wan smile. It takes a summoning of confidence to do this in front of someone, Adar especially, and he turns his head to the side to partially shield the sight.
Wetting his fingers in the lukewarm water, he rubs around his eyelids to find the easiest place and pushes one under, hooking around the slimmer edge of the stone to work it free with a grunt of discomfort and place it in the water with a swish. He holds his hand to the empty socket and blinks, eyelids sluggish without the stone to keep them in place, and with a deep breath Aemond glances over to Adar with his ruined eye in full view, the dark red of the hole raw and a little swollen.
He holds back on speaking an apology because of who he is, Targaryens don't apologise, but it lives in his remaining eye. ]
[He made sure not to stare, but he also didn't turn away. There was nothing about a missing eye that he had not seen before, save that he had not seen it on Aemond in particular in this manner where it could not be ignored.
When Aemond is done and turns toward him, Adar doesn't hesitate to kiss him again. No amount of "you are beautiful" or sweet elvish nicknames would get past his youthful vanity as much as he hopes this will, his finger softly tilting his chin up as he kisses him, Adars thumb stroking over his jaw.]
I think they hit you harder than I thought they did. [There is absolutely no "yuck" reaction, or hesitation as he looks at Aemond even from that close distance. Still his silver dragon, sapphire or not.]
[ He cannot help but smile at that, a breath of a laugh swallowed up in the kiss as he wraps his arms around Adar and drags him back up the bed, unwilling to let him go. Not just anyone would be fine with the way Aemond looks, he's not foolish enough to believe it isn't gruesome, but to be treated so normally about it is like bathing in fresh spring water after being stuck in a volcano.
He doesn't know what to do with him. What are they? Lovers? It seems like a flighty word given the weight of Aemond's feelings. ]
You said we belonged to each other by the rites and traditions of your people, yes?
[Adar follows him, always willing but also hoping Aemond won't strain his arm and upset the bandages more than he surely already has. The question catches him by surprise, but he nods.]
It is supposed to be that elves cleave to whom they lay with. It is as good as a wedding in the eyes of the One and my people. [It felt strange to call them his again, after so long avoiding it, but it slips out as naturally as it might have when he was young.]
Though I would not hold you to that unless you chose it for yourself.
[ His arm is sore and laid on his middle as he settles in close with Adar, wanting to be in his arms in their own little world of a cosy bed, in a tower away from the world. Every realm that would harm them. ]
Targaryens wed in the old Valyrian way. It is usually reserved for those of the same blood ... but you are not a mortal man, so I think we can say you're an exception.
[ It makes him smile, nuzzling along Adar's jaw. ]
We would cut our lips with fine dragonglass, cut our palms to mix our blood, then daub it on each other's foreheads and recite the wedding vow.
[Once they have settled back in the bed together, Adar tucks Aemond gently against him. If there was anything to thank this world for it was that he had found someone who cared for him, maybe even truly loved him so much and that here, unlike home, he could afford to be soft. To let Aemond in, to even humour the thought of loving or being loved.
He presses a kiss against Aemond's hair.]
My blood is black, though. [He is not rebuffing the idea, no, there is concern in his voice as if he could contaminate Aemond somehow, despite having not yet managed to.] Tainted from what it should be.
I do not fear your magic. [Just his master's own hand.] If you wish, we can try it. Though you will have to instruct me on what to do. It doesn't sound as intuitive as my people's method.
Speaking of... we did not get to you while we claimed the floor as our own. I would not leave you wanting all night.
We seemed to fall into mine by accident, so I am not sure I agree. [A happy accident, as it so happened, but nonetheless Adar could not have predicted it.]
Nothing in my world that can count their age is quite that old. [But he laughs, a huff of amusement before he kisses Aemond again, nipping his lower lip lightly.] Tell me your heart's desire and I will see it done.
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It was even in the way he allowed every vulnerable noise of desire, every moan fall from his lips or growl of desire rumble in his throat. A thousand small ways to say I love you even though he shouldn't.
His cock twitches involuntarily when he watches Aemond sink fully around him. Adar's thumb caresses Aemond's temple as he moans, the sound as much growl as anything, heavy with want.]
Aemond. [He whispers, his voice hot.] vanimelda.
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It's tiring but satisfying, giving him this. Not often is Aemond selfless but he feels like he is with Adar and he intends to be a good partner, in all things. All ways. ]
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Even with all his care, as his desire builds so does the recklessness in his hips, the strength of his grip on Aemond's hair, the uneven pace he sets and the way Aemond takes his cock, the way it looks between his lips has Adar on the edge and spilling over it before he counted on it. Aemond's name is on his lips, mingled between elvish words of both the tongues he knew best and fuck which sneaks back in even as he makes himself release Aemond's hair. He trembles still, his cock twitching as he tries to gently pull Adar back up his body, filled with the desire to kiss him.]
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Gevie ...
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You really shouldn't be on the floor, dear love. [Not that he was rushing to get up or disentwine from Aemond.]
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The trouble is, this is where you are. I have no choice.
[ He helps tug those slacks back up, making Adar decent again. Ignoring his own hard-on, which is more of a constant ache these days whenever they get an evening alone. ]
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The food is forgotten in favour of the bed, where he lays Aemond on the soft sheets before kicking off his slippers to lay beside him on the side that won't make Aemond support himself on his wounded arm, his head propped up by one hand while he lays on his side, looking warmly at his lover.]
See? All fixed. [He said as he leaned down to kiss him again.]
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[ He's laughing as Adar ferries him from floor to bed, tipping toward him for that kiss once they are settled with blanket drawn up. He nuzzles at Adar's collar, hand of his bad arm curling loosely in the uruk's shirt as he tries to ignore the ache in his missing eye (or rather, around a stone that was knocked silly during the earlier fight). Needing to take it out, he doesn't want to while so comfortable, feeling beautiful and wanted.
It itches all around the scar as he squeezes it shut, though. ]
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His green eyes are keen even in the dim light of the bed, and he watches Aemond, the way he seems either unsettled or uncomfortable.]
Tell me what troubles you. [He says even as he presses a kiss between his brows.]
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My eye aches ... or the phantom of it does.
[ He's been careful to wash it and take it out whenever Adar isn't around, but now his routine has been interrupted. ]
The sapphire is heavy after too long.
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And as a sort of peace offering, he also adds.] Or I can get your patch, or go to my own bed if you would be more comfortable. But it will not change anything about you for me.
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[ Admitting it with a sigh, he sits up to kiss him again, listing into Adar's warmth for a long moment. Aemond doesn't want to sleep in his patch tonight, nor alone, and his eye is starting to puff red. ]
... Bring over the washbowl, will you? And a towel, please.
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He cradles Aemond's jaw in his hands, kissing him back softly. Before he pulls away to get off the bed again he leaves one last kiss on his scar, just above his brow. Then he fetches fresh water and the cleanest towel in the room before bringing them back and setting the wash bowl on the bedside table and sitting on the edge of the bed with the towel held out.]
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[ Scooting to the edge of the bed he waits for what he needs, accepting them with a wan smile. It takes a summoning of confidence to do this in front of someone, Adar especially, and he turns his head to the side to partially shield the sight.
Wetting his fingers in the lukewarm water, he rubs around his eyelids to find the easiest place and pushes one under, hooking around the slimmer edge of the stone to work it free with a grunt of discomfort and place it in the water with a swish. He holds his hand to the empty socket and blinks, eyelids sluggish without the stone to keep them in place, and with a deep breath Aemond glances over to Adar with his ruined eye in full view, the dark red of the hole raw and a little swollen.
He holds back on speaking an apology because of who he is, Targaryens don't apologise, but it lives in his remaining eye. ]
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When Aemond is done and turns toward him, Adar doesn't hesitate to kiss him again. No amount of "you are beautiful" or sweet elvish nicknames would get past his youthful vanity as much as he hopes this will, his finger softly tilting his chin up as he kisses him, Adars thumb stroking over his jaw.]
I think they hit you harder than I thought they did. [There is absolutely no "yuck" reaction, or hesitation as he looks at Aemond even from that close distance. Still his silver dragon, sapphire or not.]
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He doesn't know what to do with him. What are they? Lovers? It seems like a flighty word given the weight of Aemond's feelings. ]
You said we belonged to each other by the rites and traditions of your people, yes?
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It is supposed to be that elves cleave to whom they lay with. It is as good as a wedding in the eyes of the One and my people. [It felt strange to call them his again, after so long avoiding it, but it slips out as naturally as it might have when he was young.]
Though I would not hold you to that unless you chose it for yourself.
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Targaryens wed in the old Valyrian way. It is usually reserved for those of the same blood ... but you are not a mortal man, so I think we can say you're an exception.
[ It makes him smile, nuzzling along Adar's jaw. ]
We would cut our lips with fine dragonglass, cut our palms to mix our blood, then daub it on each other's foreheads and recite the wedding vow.
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He presses a kiss against Aemond's hair.]
My blood is black, though. [He is not rebuffing the idea, no, there is concern in his voice as if he could contaminate Aemond somehow, despite having not yet managed to.] Tainted from what it should be.
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[ His legs hook over Adar's, a shin running up and down behind a knee. ]
I should like to try.
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Speaking of... we did not get to you while we claimed the floor as our own. I would not leave you wanting all night.
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[ He brings Adar's hand up to kiss his fingers, shaking his head. ]
I'm always ready to go with you, [ his smile flashes, ] I am not the ancient walking weirwood tree who has seen the last thousand-thousand ages.
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Nothing in my world that can count their age is quite that old. [But he laughs, a huff of amusement before he kisses Aemond again, nipping his lower lip lightly.] Tell me your heart's desire and I will see it done.
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