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The Iron Throne was an ugly thing, tall and asymmetric with jagged edges and twisted metal. Visenya adored it. It was a symbol of power, of conquest. And it belonged to them. And yet, on this humid moonless night she found no pride nor joy at being reminded of everything her blood had accomplished.
Her violet eyes moved from the throne and its imposing shadow and instead focused on her husband. He stood at the foot of the stairs, his silver-gold hair neatly combed and pushed off his face by the Valyrian steel circlet she herself had placed on his head several years before. He stood tall and imposing, Blackfyre on his hip, and a curiosity burning in his purple eyes.
“And?” he prompted, his deep voice echoing through the smokey longhall. “Why has my wife requested an audience with her king?”
She glanced briefly at the guards, all clad in armour and appearing strong. And yet, Visenya too was a warrior. A blade had been placed in her hands when she was a mere girl, her father insistent that she too must know how to fight. So that she may defend her younger siblings from any who wished to harm them. Queen Visenya Targaryen was as comfortable in ringmail as she was in silk. She could see the truth - these men were all useless.
She returned her attention to her husband. “Your wife called for an audience so that she may convince her king to wear a shirt of mail to ensure his survival.”
Aegon Targaryen, the First of His Name, pursed his lips at her words, a frown marred his forehead.
“Visenya,” he sighed. “What kind of message would that send to our people? I cannot.”
She clicked her tongue in annoyance and then angrily hissed: “And yet just two days ago I had to defend you in your very own city! We are at war, Aegon!”
Aegon shifted uncomfortably, his hand going to rest on the pommel of his sword. His expression, however, did not alter, and he remained hardened. “So I should show our people that their king fears for his own life against craven Dornish cutthroats?”
Fury washed over Visenya, moving from a simmer to an angry boil within her blood. “Even with Blackfyre in your hand, you are only one man,” she told him, “and I cannot always be with you.”
“I have guards,” Aegon replied, motioning to the armoured shadows that loomed around them.
Dark Sister sang as it left its scabbard, sharp and angry. Visenya moved swiftly, like a panther stalking its prey, and slashed her husband across the cheek. Blood oozed from the new wound, dripping onto his scarlet cloak and black doublet. Surprise washed across the king’s face, and the sting of the cut burned as he absentmindedly lifted his arm so that he may brush his fingers over his new wound.
“Your guards are slow and lazy,” Visenya spat. “I could have killed you as easily as I cut you. You require better protection.”
Aegon stared wide-eyed and dazed at his wife, his sister, the only lady of his heart that still remained by his side. Dark and austere, harsh and stubborn, she stood with grace and beauty. Arousal washed over him as she sheathed her sword and straightened, a fire burning in her violet eyes.
“Leave us,” he muttered, not really registering what he was saying or what was happening around him. His guards had reacted, but indeed too late, and their king’s orders confused them all. They hesitated, glancing at each other in confusion, but a stern glare from the queen sent them running.
The doors to the smokey longhall slammed shut, and the king and queen were left alone.
Aegon took a moment to properly take his wife in. A scarlet gown was draped over her slim frame, the edges of a shirt of mail peeking through by her collarbones. Her silver-gold hair was braided and coiled into an intricate bun, and he could smell the rosemary oil she bathed in. She always carried Dark Sister with her. It did not matter if she was in armour or courtly dress.
She was radiant .
His cock was as hard as rock, and the lust must have shown in his eyes, for Visenya’s anger melted away into a cocky smirk. Her violet eyes raked him up and down, taking in the bulge in his trousers, the smirk growing wider.
“Why, husband,” Visenya purred, her voice deep, “it would appear you rather enjoyed that.”
He shifted from one foot to another, hoping to relieve some of the tension, but the movement did nothing to tame his arousal. He ached to close the distance between them, grasp her hips and pull her towards him. They had not lain together in several moons, not since Rhaenys had…well. He would rather not think of that.
“Will I be rewarded if I concede to your argument?” Aegon asked in a husky whisper, his eyes molten.
A dark gleam settled in Visenya’s gaze and she closed the final distance between them. She pressed her pert breasts against his chest, and looked up into his violet eyes.
“I am unsure,” she hummed, her hot breath tickling his chin. “Will you truly behave?”
He nodded, his right hand moving to gently ghost against her fingers. She pulled back, leaving him bereft. Aegon groaned in response and leaned forward with the hope to close that distance once more, but his wife splayed her hand on his chest and pushed back.
“Go sit, my king ,” she ordered huskily. Aegon obeyed, striding up the stairs of the throne two at a time. He could hear Visenya following, the sound of her boots echoing throughout the hall. Once he reached the throne proper, he turned.
“Should I undress, my queen?” he asked. Instead of answering, Visenya once again pressed herself against him and cupped his manhood. He hissed as she stroked him with her long fingers, a slight scrape of her nails adding to the flames now burning in his belly.
“Senya,” he gasped, the coil of his arousal causing him to use the pet name he used to call her when they were children. He was rewarded with a kiss, sweet and sour like the plums she so enjoyed. The moment their lips met, he devoured her, plundering her mouth and brushing his tongue against hers. He cupped her neck with both hands, fingers digging into the braided bun and pulling at the pins that kept every strand of hair in place. A moan escaped from his wife, and he smirked into the kiss. Visenya had always loved it when Rhaenys or he pulled her hair.
Aegon nearly cried out when her fingers left his cock, but when he realised she had done so to undo his belt, he moved to assist her, his lips devouring hers hungrily and the kiss turning feral. Blackfyre clattered to the floor, forgotten. Visenya next moved to his trousers, undoing the laces and pulling it down his pale legs. He pulled away so that he may remove his boots, but before he could even consider bending over, his wife placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed.
He collapsed onto the throne, and winced internally at the thought of carelessly cutting himself on the blades of his enemies. He felt no pain, however, as Visenya was very well aware of the danger the great chair posed. That, and this was hardly the first time they had fucked on the Iron Throne. It had been Rhaenys’ favourite spot - often she would have had him fuck her first on the chair itself, and then she would sit the throne and watch her siblings fuck below.
Seven Hells, he missed her. He would burn Dorne to nothing but ash and bone, leaving it a wasteland as a reminder to his enemies.
‘Fire and Blood,’ Visenya had promised when the news had come via raven. Vhagar had roared in agreement from the hill where she nested. ‘Rhaenys shall be avenged.’
Visenya gently caressed her husband’s injured cheek, causing his eyes to flutter closed. He sighed with pleasure and nuzzled his aquiline nose against her fingers.
“Hm,” she hummed and moistened her lips with her tongue. “Your word, husband?”
“Conqueror,” he replied.
She curled her fingers, her nails now digging into the skin of his cheek. His cock twitched at the stinging sensation. She leaned in and buried her nose in his hair, enjoying the scent of the cornflowers she used in the soap she made for him, and the burning embers of Balerion’s scales. A few drops of blood soaked her fingertips, but she cared little. She would dress the cut properly later, wash away any threat of infection with remedies made of witch hazel and comfrey. She flattened her hand once more, and let her fingers dance slowly down his jaw, then to his chin and finally cupped his neck. Aegon opened his eyes, and their gazes met, hot and intense.
Visenya smiled. “You will wear the mail?”
“ Yes ,” Aegon whispered in return. The grasp on his neck tightened, and she relished in the moan that escaped her husband’s lips.
“Good boy,” she hummed and then dropped to her knees. Aegon groaned as she took him in her hand, immediately giving him a long, hard stroke. He sagged on the throne, his head thrown back. She gave a few more strokes, then leaned forward and swiped her tongue across the slit.
“Yes”, he hissed. Visenya chuckled. Her little brother was always so reactive, so receptive to having his wives have their way with him. To the Seven Kingdoms he was the Dragon, the King, the Conqueror, but behind closed doors he was the one being conquered . Visenya had laughed when the whispers of their bedroom activities had reached her ears.
‘Aegon spent ten nights with Rhaenys for every one he spent with Visenya,’ the servants whispered. What a load of poppycock. Visenya had often been present in those ‘ten nights’. The servants were merely blind and never saw her creep through the shadows of the Aegonfort to her sister’s chambers. Aegon had been offended, adamant on standing up for his elder sister-wife’s reputation as his wife. Visenya had talked him down - she liked her secrets, thank you very much. She had fucked him on the poor replica painted table afterwards to convince him properly.
After savouring the salty bitterness of the bead of precum that had leaked from the tip of Aegon’s cock, Visenya resumed her stroking, pulling back the foreskin and wrapping her lips around the glans. Her husband swore under his breath and once again buried his fingers in her hair, this time adding enough pressure to force the pins to come loose and clatter to the floor. Her silver-gold hair cascaded down her back, and Aegon gripped onto a handful desperately.
“Do not stop,” he gasped as he thrust his hips forward. Visenya took the extra girth with grace, letting her brother’s cock sit heavy on her tongue. The sounds that echoed through the hall once Aegon started fucking her pretty little mouth in earnest was obscene. She loved it.
Aegon’s blood was on fire, the coil tight and ready to snap. He continued to rut into Visenya’s mouth, he closed his eyes and let the world fade away. He was so close…
“Senya,” he groaned and pulled at her hair. “I am close.”
He gave another violent thrust, then another, and he could feel it, that euphoric song, just within his grasp, and then… nothing .
A whine escaped his throat as he felt his orgasm fade as his wife’s grip on his shaft tightened and the moist heat of her mouth disappeared. His eyes shot open and he watched, forlorn, as Visenya pulled away and stood. He whined again.
“You are cruel,” he huffed.
Visenya laughed as she placed one hand on his shoulder, lifted up her skirts with the other and straddled his lap. He immediately perked up, excitement sparkling on his face. He buried his hands under her skirts, brushing his fingers up her thighs and cupping her buttocks. He blinked when he found naked flesh, then smirked.
“Why,” he said slyly, “our dear queen wears no underclothes. How scandalous!”
Visenya rolled her eyes and took his cock in hand again, guiding him to her entrance and sunk down. They both moaned at their joining, and Aegon was once again lost to sensation once his wife started to ride him in earnest.
‘Yes! Yes! Yes’ he sang as flesh slapped against flesh. This was followed by a gargle when he felt two slim hands wrap around his throat and squeeze. His pleasure heightened and the moans increased, although they were more muted by the restriction on his vocal cords.
“Quiet, husband,” Visenya ordered, the edge to her voice losing its strength when his cock hit just the right spot, causing her cunt to spasm and her hips to stutter. Her grip on his throat tightened, her nails denting into his skin, and he increased his thrusts in response. “No screams.”
Aegon nodded fervently, intent on listening to the goddess on his lap. His cock brushed that spot within her once more, and she released a high-pitched moan. Their speed was almost inhumane now, and as their pleasure continued to build, Visenya leaned forward and pressed her forehead against his. Her hold on him was strong, her cunt was fluttering around his cock, and yet a tenderness blossomed between them, their matching eyes settling on each other. Aegon smiled at his wife, and moved to start rubbing circles on her clit.
A few more thrusts and the coil snapped. Aegon came first, hot spurts of seed filling Visenya’s cunt. As he rode through his orgasm, Visenya crested, and she threw her head back and moaned loudly. She sagged against him, her hold on him loosening and her head rolling onto his shoulder. They breathed heavily together, basking in the afterglow.
“You did not scream,” Visenya finally broke the silence after several moments. “Good boy.”
Aegon snorted and wrapped his arms around her.
“I missed you,” he whispered into her hair and planted a kiss on her ear. His throat still burned, and a tingle had settled on his skin. He suspected there would be bruises later. He would have to wear shirts with high collars for the next sennight at least.
“And I missed you,” Visenya said.
A fortnight later, as the bruises started to fade, Aegon watched with pride as his wife accepted the first oath from a man in a white cloak.