Work Text:
🔥 my cunt runneth over 🔥
The King was not exactly a stranger to her—but he was not a stable presence in her childhood, either. Not the way his younger brother had been.
But perhaps that was an unfair comparison as no one had a more stable or greater presence in her childhood than his younger brother—Baelon Targaryen.
(No one had a greater presence in her womanhood, either…)
🔥
Rhaenyra had always been close with Baelon, as he made an immediate effort to be close to her. He was charmed by her the moment they met—even when she spent most of her time screaming and was not yet capable of speaking full sentences.
Blessedly, her ability for speech and all else changed a great deal as years passed, but his fondness did not. It was an everlasting sort of love that bloomed as she grew and showed no sign of wilting as she entered adulthood—as she flowered .
It was quite the opposite, really…
🔥
Their relationship had always been innocent—and she had never considered him to be a romantic prospect, he was ‘just’ a man who doted upon her, listened to her, and loved her.
She loved him too, of course, for it was the most natural thing in the world to do so.
How could she not love him? The thought was impossible to consider—since her adoration of him was linked with nearly all of her earliest memories.
He was linked with all her best memories, too.
Because he was the best man. He was her favorite man. He was her Kepa.
She may not have considered him as an option for her husband, but she found when the topic of her marriage was broached, the thought of spending her life with any other man made her feel sick.
Especially spending her life with Aegon— which it seemed nearly everyone thought to be an excellent idea. Her protests about his maturity were swiped aside, with promises that such a thing would change in time.
She did not think so.
Her complaints about his lack of interest in anything beyond ‘having her’ were shrugged off, too—apparently it was ‘ difficult’ for him to focus on anything else when he was so eager to have her as his wife. Perhaps if she paid him more attention he would not feel so hurried and their conversations would expand beyond attempts to lure her into marriage.
Gods, it made her want to scream!
She didn’t.
But she did leave— fleeing from the room and pointedly ignoring the whispers about her maturity that followed behind her. She wasn’t immature she simply did not want to marry him. There was a difference that her sister and her husband seemed too dense to realize.
And… it was infuriating.
She knew they wouldn’t force her to marry him. But…she would have to marry someone eventually, and when she did, she would have to leave her home—leave Dragonstone.
Because they would not allow her to dismiss Aegon without good reason, and her reasons were not enough. The only word that they valued were those spoken or written by a man. Until she found one suitable to wed and speak for her, she would have to suffer these attempts to match her with the man of their choosing, instead.
Well— ‘man’ seemed an overly generous description for her cousin.
She would have to suffer their attempts to match her with Aegon.
Ugh.
🔥
It was only Baelon who listened to her worries—drying her tears and promising he would fix it.
“How? If I do not marry him I will marry someone else and have to leave and—I love it here, I love the dragons, I love my sister, and I love you Kepa—”
She sniffled pathetically, wondering if the whispers were right—because she felt like a child in that moment as she asked Baelon, “What solution is there?”
🔥
He was the solution. He made that clear when he kissed her.
And that… it felt like the most natural thing in the world, too.
He had played every part a man could in her life—once, when she was a child, that had been the part of father, and now, as a woman, he had taken on the role of her husband.
🔥
She had not seen the King— King Aemon Targaryen— since she married his brother, a ‘spontaneous’ event that occurred no more than two moons ago. Going such a length without seeing or speaking with the man was not unusual, given how rarely they were in proximity to each other.
As one might expect, his presence was required in King’s Landing and he spent the majority of his time there, with the Red Keep serving as his primary residence.
Rhaenyra, however, had never been particularly fond of King’s Landing and even though she could fly and make the trip in less than a day, she rarely saw a reason to—after all, her sister, niece, and Kepa were all on Dragonstone. Why would she wish to be anywhere else?
Though the King— Aemon— had a fondness for the island of Dragonstone, when he wished to retreat from the city, he usually spent time on Driftmark, the Keep that his daughter and grandchildren called home.
When he did visit Dragonstone, he luxuriated in the offerings exclusive to the land and keep. The occupants were capable of travel, and he often saw them elsewhere throughout the year—but the beauty and springs of the lands could not be appreciated unless you were on Dragonstone itself.
And so, despite knowing him nearly her entire life, she did not really know him— or at least, she did not know him beyond what he meant to her husband.
He meant a great deal to her husband.
His older brother was also his only living brother and the only one of his siblings remaining in Westeros. The loss of all others had made their bond even stronger, turning it into something that Rhaenyra could scarcely comprehend, much less compare to what she shared with her sister.
Because Aemon and Baelon understood each other in a way Aemma had never understood her.
Aemma loved her, but she also judged her— the last few months had made that all the more clear.
Baelon claimed Aemon would never judge him—or her, either, now that she was his wife. There was too much history, respect, and love between them for Aemon to doubt his decisions. They had seen each other at their best, at their worst, and everything in between.
There was no room in their relationship for concern beyond anything beyond the other’s happiness.
Still, she was nervous.
What if their marriage was an exception?
Baelon may adore her, but he adored his brother too—his opinion was important to him, if he thought badly about their match, as everyone else seemed to, then… what if Baelon began to think badly of their match, too?
Selfishly, she could not bring herself to give him up—she simply loved him too much.
But…she loved him too much to ruin the relationship he had with Aemon, too.
Gods, she hoped it did not come to that.
🔥
Aemon Targaryen had never paid her much mind—at least not voluntarily . This meant he had not paid her much attention at all in the past decade—ever since she grew old enough to have manners that kept her from demanding his attention, for as a girl she had a habit and sense of entitlement that led to her sitting on whatever lap she felt was worthy of her presence.
It was a brief phase, for she soon realized there was no lap better than Baelon’s and then she paid little attention to Aemon, too.
He was paying attention to her now, though.
She could feel it.
It was unfamiliar in a way that made her certain that he had never looked at her like this before.
Was it because she was older now?
Or because she married his brother?
She supposed it didn’t matter. But she was curious what had made her worth looking at in his eyes—whether it was of her own merit or because his brother took an interest.
Either way, her hope was the same— that he would like what he saw.
(He did.)
🔥
She was only half listening to the discussion taking place at the other end of the table—finding herself rather amused by Aemma’s attempts to encourage Daenerys into eating the mixed vegetables she had yet to touch.
Still, she was listening enough to hear the dramatic sigh of the one and only Viserys Targaryen, the sort he so kindly reserved for her.
It was a clue to the topic of their discussion— the topic being her, of course— which made her focus on it just in time to hear the irksome man speak, “Is that the impression you really wish to make upon them? I’m not even sure the Dornish would approve of their relations.”
Ah, yes, her name wasn’t spoken but she recognized the way he spat the words.
Charming as always.
“What would they not approve of?” Aemon asked, sounding curious, “I do believe they are familiar with our practices of incest; we do not hide it well.”
Rhaenyra looked towards Viserys, watching his cheeks turn pink as he argued his point, “Not that— not only that— there is the matter of her age. That she is very nearly still a child.”
She bristled, and Baelon sighed his mouth opening to respond—but Aemon interrupted first, “Nearly a child? Odd, then, how eager you were for her to marry your son who is, if I recall, younger than her.”
“It’s different,” Viserys argued.
Aemon snorted, “Is it? Are the expectations of a bride’s duty dictated by the age of her groom?”
Rhaenyra bit her lip, trying to resist interjecting for it was unlikely to improve the situation… but she couldn’t resist, “I think the duration of such expectations might be.”
Aemon laughed, “Quite right, I suppose the bride’s expectations are dictated by the age of her groom,” he said, correcting himself and smiling at her before addressing Viserys once more.
“I suppose you would not know, having never visited for diplomatic reasons or otherwise, but the Dornish are rather approving of marriages based on feelings. Less so by marriages of force.” Aemon said, “So to answer your question, Viserys, it is precisely the impression I wish to make upon them, though I do sincerely appreciate your input. Pity it is based on such a misunderstanding of both Targaryen and Dornish practices.”
Viserys glared, “I had rather fine tutors on both subjects.”
“I am not questioning the quality of your education, but rather the interpretation of it. Though I suppose some things must be experienced in a physical sense to be understood.”
Rhaenyra thought the phrasing of that curious—“At that point you hire a whore not a tutor, no?”
Viserys coughed while Aemma let out an agast, “Rhaenyra!” That she pointedly ignored.
“You offend me, princess, in my youth I hardly needed to hire company. I had worth beyond my purse, you know.” Aemon said, though his lips were curled in amusement.
She nodded, trying to look apologetic, “Of course, I apologize, Your Majesty. Of course, you did—you had your title, too.”
He laughed, and Aemma was quick to change the topic—but it could not change Rhaenyra’s thoughts, which centered on the fact that Aemon had defended her. He had defended them.
What a welcome change it was to have support outside of her marriage.
Perhaps she had been worried for no reason.
( Perhaps she should have been worried for other reasons…)
🔥
His interruption surprised her—the knock followed by the door immediately opening, the sort of forwardness she supposed was expected between brothers.
But she did not have a brother, and she had not expected him.
She was seated in front of her vanity, brushing out her damp locks at the time—though she had tried to keep her hair out of the bath, Baelon had distracted her from this goal with his fingers, and the ends had ended up drenched when she found herself slumped against the rim and gasping for breath.
But even if he had left her to bathe in peace, this would still be necessary. The humidity of the water and heat was more to blame for the brushing required, leaving it wavy and tangled—a nightmare to deal with when dry, and so, no matter how tired she was, she refused to sleep before brushing, oiling, and braiding her silver tresses.
She had barely begun when Aemon invaded their room—and after the shock faded, she found herself grateful that he had not come a quarter of an hour earlier, when she was sprawled out in the tub while his brother was— no.
She swallowed, putting a stop to that memory. Now was not a time to be aroused. Not with him here, and not so soon after finding pleasure with her husband. It was shameful the frequency she found herself desiring such a thing.
Baelon was always happy to aid her—happy to satisfy her— but she was too embarrassed to ask as often as she would like, feeling like a harlot and biting her lip before the words could escape. A blush usually followed too, as she battled with the want she felt.
She was blushing now, ugh.
“ Sorry to interrupt,” the man said, not sounding sorry at all.
“If you were truly sorry, you may have waited for an invitation,” Baelon said dryly, unmoving from his place by the fire. She couldn’t help but smile at how closely his thoughts matched hers— great minds…
“I did knock,” Aemon said, as if that made up for his impatience and barging in before anyone opened the door for him or even responded.
“The crown has spoiled you,” Baelon grumbled, only for Aemon to laugh, “Just as your place here has spoiled you—you knew no privacy in King’s Landing.”
Aemon looked at her, and she froze, thinking he hadn’t even known she was here—if he had, he wouldn’t have entered the way he did, surely?
“Except when he was with our sister, of course. She became a feral thing mid-fuck—she bit me on one occasion when I accidentally interrupted them.”
She blinked, surprised—she had never heard anyone other than her speak about Alyssa so candidly.
It took her a moment to consider what else he had said about the woman— how did he know of her behavior mid-fuck?
Did they—?
Gods, she had never seen Baelon respond like this to anyone other than her, either—letting out an amused snort and shaking his head, “‘Accidentally,’” he said, voice laced with sarcasm, “As if you couldn’t hear from down the hall what was happening, a warning you ignored.”
“Perhaps, but to be fair, you were in my room. ”
Baelon shrugged, “Only because you were bragging about having the best bed, since you were the firstborn and best son—which again, circles back to the behavior of a spoiled heir.”
“Better that than behaving like a rabid dog,” Aemon said, sounding childish.
“You really must rid yourself of your jealousy one day, brother,” Baelon sniped back, sounding perfectly composed despite being the younger of the two.
Rhaenyra was looking between them, baffled.
The question escaped before she could stop it, “Was he jealous of you or Alyssa?
Suddenly they were both looking at her—and then they were both laughing at her!
She huffed, reaching for her robe, wrapping it around herself before standing and moving towards the bed—feeling awkward in Baelon’s room for the first time and wondering if she could easily retreat to her own. She didn’t want to leave—but she just didn’t want to interfere, either.
Nor did she want to be laughed at.
🔥
If there was anyone more entitled to Baelon’s company than her, it was Aemon, and awkward as she may feel, slipping behind the curtains of their bed would at least give the illusion of privacy for them both and perhaps soothe the stuffy mood.
It did not even occur to her that they wouldn’t want privacy— she was a delight, truly, but her sort of company differed from that of the discussion she expected them to have.
And…her charm was dulled when she was bored and disinterested in the topic at hand—but if she was interested then her charm was quite absent, too, and both could be problematic in these circumstances, which made her hesitate to join them.
She was very accustomed to sharing her opinions with Baleon—perhaps too comfortable. He had always been a person she associated with freedom of her mind and his rooms had quickly become a place she now associated with freedom of her flesh, too. If she was interested in the topic she could easily find herself too interested—impassioned to the point of offending given how loose her tongue was in this space.
But Baelon called to her, “Little vēzos?”
She turned to look at him, yards apart but the sincerity clear in his gaze, “If you wish to sleep I shall let you, of course, but if you are being shy, I would beg you to persevere and join us—there is no company I prefer, you know.”
Oh.
She appreciated the attempt to include her, truly—
She appreciated too much to deny him, even if she had reasons to decline.
She nodded, approaching the pair and taking a seat beside Baelon, who rather immediately pulled her closer—not allowing her to remain in the polite posture for company, and arranging her in the sort of embrace she would have sought out if they were alone.
She blushed, as his arms curled around her and she found herself half perched on his lap. She was not ashamed to be seen in such a way, but—she knew if Aemma saw her like this, she would be ashamed of her, and that…it hurt.
On some days, knowing this encouraged her, unwilling to alter herself and her desires to appease them—but now? Well, now she was in front of a man she wanted to like her. And she was in the privacy of Baelon’s rooms where this posture often led to something one should never consider in company of any sort. It made her feel rather shy, just as Baelon had guessed. It was a rare thing for her to feel, and rather unwelcome.
Perhaps it would fade, if she resigned herself to the situation—and so, she did, relaxing against her husband and allowing herself to enjoy the feeling of his chest behind her, while his hands lazily stroked over her waist and hips.
It was not lost on her how intently Aemon was watching, she could feel it, the heat of his gaze.
“Like a kitten, almost, how sweetly she curls up, hm?” The older man mused, only to get his brother’s laughter in response, “Don’t let that fool you—she is very sweet, but as much of a dragon as you and me.”
She preened under the defense, appreciating being called both sweet while also having her ability to be a beast reaffirmed.
“She suits you, then. If anyone deserves something sweet it is you, brother. After all that has happened, you deserve to indulge in all the dessert you can eat.”
“She is more than an indulgence,” Baelon said, looking down at her with a smile, “You know that, my vēzos.”
My sunshine.
It was she who instigated the kiss, though it was not overly passionate—it was just difficult to resist when he was so close, so handsome, so kind and meant so much to her.
“Mm, I see, but you do indulge her, I hope.”
Rhaenyra caught the euphemism, grumbling that he could be indulging her right now if Aemon wasn’t there—
Where had the shyness gone, she wondered?
Perhaps it was because she could tell he approved?
It seemed to radiate from him, and it made her feel comfortable with being seen like this in a way she had not felt before. And that was… nice. Gods, it was so nice.
Maybe it made her want to show off a little, indulge in this…
Aemon laughed, “So eager, I see the dragon, now—hiding beneath all that smooth skin.”
She bit her lip, thinking it an odd way to address her—to emphasize her state of undress. It felt like flirting. But Baelon seemed unbothered, his hand continuing to stroke her bare leg while Aemon’s eyes followed the path of his brother’s fingers.
They ultimately landed on the inside of her thigh, just above her knee—not so indecent, but the attention it brought to such a place in the context of Aemon’s gaze…
He shook his head, looking back to her face, “I have scarcely seen my brother more besotted you know.”
Baelon’s hand froze, his tone one of warning, “Aemon…”
“Do not Aemon me. You are infamous for the love you lost, brother, that is a cloud that lingers over you even on the sunniest of days. A new love, no matter how bright, has not changed that—if anything, it now shades her, too. She will hear people’s doubts based on rumors. Let her hear reassurances based on what I have witnessed and can confirm is true .”
She looked up at Baelon, then back to his brother, unsure of what he meant.
“He and Alyssa were mad for each other, truly, wild beasts that had their lips and loins locked together whenever possible. They were young and free of worries and all they needed from each other was that. But you…the way he speaks about you is a different sort of need, and he leans on you in a way he did not with our sister. I think perhaps before you, he didn’t lean on anyone at all.”
She swallowed, wondering if that was true. She was confident in his love for her—it being different than what he felt for Alyssa, but still far more vast than most women could hope for. She had never wasted time comparing herself to a woman who was long dead—but it felt good to know she could provide him with something new, something of her own.
“You must be very special to take on such a responsibility—to be capable of inspiring such devotion while still so young.” He said, his tone somber.
Too somber.
Baelon was the one to lighten things, “Good of you to finally realize that, brother.”
Rhaenyra couldn’t help but smile, “He may have the swifter dragon but it seems to be at the cost of a slower mind.”
Aemon shook his head, though he looked amused, “A terrible thing to say about your King.”
“A fair king would favor honesty from all his subjects,” she argued, and Baelon agreed, “And honestly, it did take you an age to see how special she is. It was obvious to me the moment we met.”
Gods, she wanted to kiss him again.
Aemon sighed, “Perhaps, but it is obvious to me now— and, it is obviously time for me to leave . Newlyweds…” He grumbled.
Rhaenyra did not look up—nor did she say goodbye, she just nestled closer to her husband, waiting for the sound of retreating footsteps before she sought out all she wanted from the man she married.
🔥
“You went to the springs without me?” Rhaenyra asked, pouting as she combed her fingers through Baelon’s damp hair.
He smiled, “Apologies, little vēzos, I did not think you would feel comfortable joining Aemon and I.”
Oh.
She supposed that was true— it should be true, at least— and he deserved to spend time alone with his brother, she could hardly be jealous of that. But— gods, last night was such a blur she had forgotten the oddity of Aemon’s words, of what he had admitted seeing and the fact she had asked—
“Was he jealous of you or Alyssa?”
Because he had sounded… involved with the intimacy between Alyssa and Baelon in a way that surprised her. She had heard stories of Alyssa punching her eldest brother when he attempted to kiss her, and she knew Aemon’s tastes differed from the type of woman his sister— his brother’s greatest love— was.
But things could change. Violence could turn to passion. Or perhaps Aemon’s tastes were for his brother?
She had heard…rumors…he was a lusty man, and Baelon made it clear that his brother had always been. Though people did not speculate openly about the preferences of a King or if such preferences may involve both sexes, she had heard enough to be suspicious.
Surely Baelon would have said something?
But then…she had been naive in many things when it came to intimacy between a man and woman. Perhaps he thought hearing of two men together— of him with a man— might disgust her? Maybe he feared her judgment if he had taken part in such things?
He should know better—he should know her better than that.
She would never judge him.
But then …he had insisted upon the fact that Aemon would never judge them, and she had not believed him.
Insecurity was a difficult beast to silence.
“I would have enjoyed it all the more if you were there, little vēzos,” Baelon muttered, breaking her thoughts and making her smile, while also giving her an opportunity to hedge, so long as she was brave enough to do so…
She had to be brave.
That was how Baelon liked her, and she had never feared speaking freely with him before.
“I would hope so, unless you and Aemon are closer than I first suspected.” Her tone was intentionally light—teasing—Baelon could brush it off if there was no truth to it.
“Mmm, if we are, it is not in that way, sweet vēzos, not anymore.” He said, sounding unbothered by the implication— and making one of his own.
Gods, that was more than mere implication, it was practically confirmation.
She hadn’t been expecting that, even if she had asked and now that she had an answer, well, she didn’t know how to respond to that.
But the idea of it… gods she was blushing again.
“His curiosity towards sex was not limited to the fairer sex and I was lusty enough at the time to welcome any hand or mouth around my cock.” He admitted.
Gods.
“I am not opposed to the point of being immune to the stimulation and sensation that follows being touched in such a way, but my desire has only truly flared for the female form. Aemon made peace with that decades ago.”
Oh.
Her mouth felt very dry, and her cheeks very pink.
Baelon cupped her jaw and tipped her head back, forcing her to meet his gaze, “That was a very long time ago. My desire only flares for you now, you should know that, little vēzos.”
She swallowed, still feeling parched but managing to get out a choked, “I know.”
His lip twitched into a half smile, his hands dropping from her as he moved away, “I should change, have fun on your flight, my vēzos.”
Flight?
She looked down at herself—the riding leathers making her original plans obvious, before he derailed them.
Right.
🔥
She landed as soon as she saw Sunfyre attempt to join her—she did not want to encourage Aegon’s attempts to catch her attention, especially not now. One would think since she was married he would give up, but no.
She respected the stubborn nature of Targaryens, for she had that in spades, but—in the context of Aegon it was annoying.
Viserys and Aemma both gave her looks when she returned to the Keep, clearly knowing what their son was up to and doing nothing to dissuade him.
She ignored them, though she did pause when she was out of sight—hidden by the frame of the hall though able to hear them rather clearly.
“Such a shame,” Viserys muttered, “She won’t even fly with him, dare she confront the truth of how well-matched they would have been.”
It was Aemon who spoke next—she had vaguely seen him from the corner of her eye, playing cards with Jaehaerys, though it had not fully registered in her mind until now.
“Why would such a thing show the truth of them being well matched?” He asked, sounding curious.
“Well, they are both dragonriders,” Viserys said, as if it was obvious.
“I believe the man she married is also a dragonrider, unless a tragedy has befallen Vhagar that I am unaware of,” Aemon said dryly, and Rhaenyra could not help but smile.
“You know,” he drawled, “My father used such logic to try and force a match between me and Alyssa. It would have been dreadful. A passion for dragons and a similar birth year does not make two people well-matched for marriage. It may make them so in your mind but if it is not so in their minds then you doom them to something far worse than ‘well.’”
There was no response.
“You do your son no favors by encouraging his jealousy, you do your father a disservice by disparaging his choice, and you disrespect Rhaenyra quite horribly by disregarding her choice entirely.”
Viserys grunted, “I shall not respect a child making decisions such as marrying a man old enough to be her grandfather.”
“You would respect a ‘ child’ if she favored her son. You confuse disapproval with disrespect, and it makes you seem far more childish than her,” Aemon said, plainly, “Your father has always been a better man than I. If I felt such judgment towards my actions and my choice of wife in my home, well…my wife, my home, and my actions would remain quite the same, but the source of such criticism would be forced to find shelter elsewhere.”
She was grinning now—she had heard Baelon tell Viserys off a dozen times, but it was nice hearing someone else come to her defense, too.
Or not even to her defense, not really. He was shaming Viserys behavior as it existed, even outside of the cause for it—which was, in his mind, her.
“I admire the softness time has formed my brother into,” Aemon said, “But I will not allow him to be taken advantage of because of that, do you understand my meaning, Viserys?” His voice was still light, but there was something threatening beneath it.
“I will not allow his happiness to be taken away, either, not when it has been well earned by decades of sadness and it would serve you well to remember that.”
She liked that he was defending Baelon, too, for the implications being made about him were perhaps even worse than the ones being made about her.
He was a strong man, capable of weathering the storm of his son’s opinions—just as she was confident enough to shine no matter what her sister thought.
But they did not deserve to weather anything at all or have their happiness questioned. Not by anyone. Not even Baelon’s son.
Perhaps Aemon’s reminder would change things for the better—and even if it didn’t, well, she would still thank him for trying.
🔥
She got her opportunity no more than an hour later, after changing into a fresh gown and returning to the communal areas—in which only Aemon remained.
“Did you scare them all away?” She asked, teasing as she settled across from him.
“You think me so frightening?” He sounded amused by the suggestion.
She paused to think for a moment—“No— I do not,” she finally said, “Though I think you capable of it, and I was afraid for your visit, you know—of what you might think of me. But now that you are here I do not think you frightening at all.”
His head tilted slightly, “You do not strike me as the sort to give much regard to what others think of you.”
He did not say it cruelly—and he was not wrong, but she still bristled.
“I suppose…well, I think we both wish for Baelon’s happiness, yes? You want what is best for him, that much is obvious. And…I think my fear was not so much about you thinking poorly of me, but rather thinking me a poor option for him. Because you are perhaps the only man or woman alive whose assertion on this I would trust.”
She did not like admitting that, but he deserved the truth—especially when he had freely offered her reassurances the previous evening.
“Mm, well then, I hope you will trust me when I say I have not my brother this happy in a long while—and I think you are perhaps the only man or woman alive capable of bringing him to such a state, and it makes me think very highly of you indeed, Rhaenyra.”
Oh.
“Thank you,” she mumbled, “That means a great deal to me.”
“Thank you for making him happy,” he responded, the words sounding so simple yet so genuine, too.
“He makes me happy too,” she said, thinking she should not be thanked for something driven out of her selfish desires, “I should be thanking you, really, for coming to his defense—and to mine.”
He sighed, “You should not need defending at all. A happy marriage is something to be celebrated—something rare— and yet they choose to act dour about it, it is dreadful.”
She nodded because she wholeheartedly agreed, but—“Aemma and Aegon will get used to it in time, at least. I can make little defense or promise when it comes to Viserys, though.”
Aemon laughed, “Gods, that boy…out of Baelon’s sons, Viserys may be the better contender for the crown, but he has never seemed fit or fun for much else. A Targaryen who does not see the merits of bedding a girl such as you is a crime against our kind, I think.”
She blushed, looking down at her hands, caught on the implication that if Viserys inability to see such a thing was a fault then that meant Aemon had the ability to see such a thing himself.
“Is it not inappropriate for you to see such merits?” She asked, looking up at him—his face was longer than his brothers, cheekbones higher. He looked more regal, more delicate, more suited to be a King while Baelon looked every bit the Knight he was, though she knew both men could suit both titles.
Both men were handsome, too.
Though their looks and tastes may be different, they had been well-matched in everything from the time they were young, and she was sure their capability to serve as knight or king was no exception to this fact.
Aemon looked surprised by her question, but he answered without hesitation “It is impossible for me not to—your husband may tease me about my age, but I do have functioning eyes and a functioning cock, after all.” He paused for a moment, “Though perhaps the latter is not required for such things, I imagine many women would see such merits in you, too.”
Gods, her cheeks felt warm at the implication, “You tease me,” she muttered.
“Ah, not my intentions at all—I mean to flatter you.”
Her eyes narrowed at him, “I think you mean to flirt.”
His lip twitched, his words suggesting offense though his tone was one of amusement, “A bold accusation to make.”
“Is it an accusation or is it the truth?” She asked.
He considered this, “I cannot say, but you are practically my sister now, it is hard to behave in any other way.”
What?
“You do know what Targaryens do with their sisters, don’t you?” He asked. She was almost tempted to say she knew what Targaryens did with their brothers thanks to her earlier discussion with Baelon, but she held off.
“I was born an Arryn, I have not the slightest idea. I would assume Targaryens do not do such things with all their sisters, though.” She said instead.
He laughed, “Of course not. Just the pretty ones—like yourself. But please forgive me if I am too forward, I have forgotten what was proper within such confines.” He paused for a moment, then smirked, “Though I shall never forget what was done in the confines of my room with Saera…Viserra…” He trailed off, letting out a forlorn sigh.
She was not overly surprised by this admission, though she tried to focus on that instead of him categorizing her in the same manner as them, because that was surprising.
“And Alyssa?” She asked, wondering if she could get an answer about his relationship with her today, too.
He shook his head immediately, “Gods, no, she was for Baelon. Only Baelon. He was the only one who could stand her.”
For a man who suggested he ‘could not stand her’ he sounded awfully fond, she noted.
“She said I was too pretty for her, and I told her she wasn’t pretty enough for me, and that jealousy suited her no better than what the gods gave her.” He grinned, “I could not ask for a better sister than her, truly, and I do miss her—but I miss her conversation and her companionship . Carnal pleasures were never something we shared—and, I must say, you are a sweeter sight than she ever was. It is little wonder they call you the Delight of Dragonstone, hm? It is not just my brother who cannot get enough of you.
Oh.
“So sweet that everyone wants a taste, hm?” He asked, voice turning syrupy in a way that was highly inappropriate.
She shifted in her seat and shook her head, “I would not know. I pay little mind to the tastes of anyone other than my husband.”
He smiled, something softer now, “He inspires devotion in you, too, I see. That is good. He deserves such a thing, and how lucky to have found it in such a pretty package.”
Gods, this man…
“You are flirting once more, Your Majesty,” she said, averting her gaze.
“Such formalities, call me Aemon or Uncle if you must, for I know you prefer monikers,” he insisted.
“Of course , uncle,” she could do that much.
“Good girl,” he said, sounding fond as his gaze remained focused on her—likely watching the way his praise made blood pool in her cheeks.
“You know,” he drawled, “You should take the trip I spoke of last night—spend a few weeks or perhaps months in the Dornish desert. I think it would suit you, and do my brother a world of good too.”
She blinked, surprised by this, “Why do you think that?”
He hummed, “Targaryens are lusty, impulsive, and immoral by the standards of Westeros. We have learned to hide a great deal of such proclivities to appeal to the masses and remain on the throne. But in Dorne…they embrace their proclivities and ignore the masses. They do not accept the judgment of others, they simply judge them for their inability to understand what is considered normal to them.”
She had not thought of it like that, though she did know of the… reputation those of Dorne tended to have.
“It is why getting them to follow us has been such a struggle, for they follow their desires before they follow the Faith or any authority—they consider anything contrary to this to be perverse in a way public love is not . It is something I admire very much, and it puts into perspective what we consider shameful, and why we feel such an emotion towards sex and sin.”
She swallowed, trying to process that, even as he carried on.
“My brother used to not feel such things, you know? Alyssa did not, either. They were proud of their love, their flesh, and how freely they showed it, for there was no shame in the beauty of their bond and union in both a romantic and a physical sense.”
She supposed that explained the fact that Aemon had witnessed them.
“But…I think my brother has forgotten that,” he said, sounding sad.
“Why?” She asked, rudely interrupting but choosing to elaborate rather than apologize, “Why has he forgotten?”
Aemon gave her a sad smile, “Because he could not forget his desire after Alyssa passed—and he was ashamed of that. He did not wish to feel arousal without her. He saw it as a betrayal for a long time—that such a thing existed even after she was gone. But just as one cannot turn off their grief, one cannot turn off their libido, either, and in time he accepted that.”
One cannot turn off their libido, either.
Gods, she had learned that in the months since she married.
“I do not mean to suggest he is ashamed of being aroused by you or being with you—if he had not made peace with such desires he would not have married you. But making peace with one’s feelings and being proud of them are very different things.”
She had learned that in the months since she married, too.
“He is proud of me but not proud to be married to me,” she said, a fact she had known based on the privacy surrounding their nuptials and in the aftermath. She did not doubt his love for her, and that was all that truly mattered, but—she would happily brag about having him as a husband, the fact he would not brag about her being his wife was a sore point whose existence she resented.
“Mm, he has always been…rather humble, comparatively. Some might have thought him cocky as a boy but he never exaggerated his capabilities—he was eager to learn, earn, and be seen as worthy of his titles and his life, whereas many are lazy and content to simply have such things.”
She nodded, thinking that matched what she knew of the man, she just wasn’t sure how this was relevant to her.
Aemon sighed, “I mean to say, if he lacks pride towards your marriage it speaks only to how much he loves you—how highly he thinks of you, and how he does not deserve you.”
What?
“If he thinks that then why would he marry me?” She asked.
“He is a selfish man, we all are—and, as I said, one cannot turn off their desires. He wanted you enough to take you in such a way, but he shall not be proud of that until he feels worthy of having you.”
She huffed, “That is terribly irritating.”
“Yes, well, my brother often is,” Aemon said, his smile looking almost boyish, “It took you a terribly long time to realize such a thing, hm?”
She laughed, recalling what was said the previous night, “Perhaps. Though in my defense, Syrax is likely a great deal swifter than your mount.”
Aemon hummed, “Well, she is a great deal younger, too. I do not doubt her speed or yours, but I would hope my brother has taught you the importance of stamina, too.”
Gods. How was she supposed to respond to that?
Thankfully she did not have to, as Daenerys entered the chamber and began pleading to see the dragons once more before dinner.
“Of course,” Rhaenyra said, rising to her feet, “They are much better company than men, aren’t they?”
Daenerys giggled, “Do not let grandfather hear you say so!”
“I think he’d quite agree with me,” she argued.
“Are they better company than a king?” Aemon grumbled though he didn’t sound overly offended.
“It depends on the king,” Rhaenyra said, though she did not turn towards him, “Better company than my grandfather, surely. Better conversation too—and a much grander sense of humor.”
Aemon laughed, “You do not speak highly of my father—it is bold to show such blatant disrespect for the dead.”
She shrugged, “Well—it would be disingenuous to show anything else, for I did not speak highly of him when he was alive, either.”
“That is the sort of honesty that could get a girl in trouble,” he mused.
She laughed, “I have an affinity for trouble—it is far more fun than any alternative behavior.”
Daenerys was pulling her towards the door, but before they made it outside, Rhaenyra swore she heard Aemon mutter, “I imagine it makes you a great deal of fun in one’s bed chamber, too.”
She bit her lip, wondering why the response that came to mind was, wouldn’t you like to find out?
Surely it wasn’t because she wanted him to find out.
She loved Baelon. Only Baelon. His brother might be handsome and amusing , but she had no desire for the sort of fun his words implied—not with him at least.
…right?
🔥
One cannot turn off their libido, either.
She thought back to that as she dragged Baelon towards his chambers after dinner—feeling warm and eager for reasons she could not explain.
If she did not want him to be ashamed of his want for her, then she should not be ashamed of her want for him. For this .
“What is this rush about?” He asked, sounding amused as she tugged his shirt free from his breeches.
She shrugged, “Patience has never been my strong suit.”
“Did I fail to instill such a thing in you?” He asked, and she laughed, “I think you fail at nothing Kepa, I think you like me impatient and needy.”
His brow rose, “Why would I like that?”
“Because when I am needy I am in need of you, and it is a wonderful thing being needed.” She said.
He sighed, cupping her cheek and looking at her with a combination of…adoration and regret, “I need you too, little vēzos.”
“I know.” She had always known that—and she wanted that.
“I wasn’t supposed to need you like this,” he muttered, his other hand pulling her closer—heavy against her lower back as her front crashed into his, the heat and hardness of his cock between them making her moan in anticipation, “It’s selfish,” he said, sounding pained.
“Mm, but I need you like this, Kepa, and you’ve always been exactly what I need—it would sadden me if you did not need this— want this—want me — too.”
He groaned.
“Dragons are selfish creatures, Kepa—you have told me that no? But I love them for it—I love them for everything that they are. Just as I love you for everything you are, selfishness included.” Her hands returned to his breeches, fingers curling beneath laces, “And, just as I love riding dragons, I love riding you, too, Kepa.”
He sprung into action then, hands tight on her waist as he crowded her towards the sitting area, while his lips crashed against hers.
She was vaguely aware of something else crashing, too—perhaps a vase or pitcher, but it did not matter, not when her skirts were rucked up and her legs were spread. Baelon’s fingers found the seam of her cunt, warm, wet, and wanting because she had been waiting hours for this.
Gods, she spent most of her post-married life waiting for this.
Her fingers curled into his hair as he fell to his knees—the heat of his tongue adding to the mess between her legs as he lapped across her slit.
Fuck, it felt so good.
How had she existed for so long without knowing she could feel so good?
She had so much catching up to do.
“ Kepa—” she mewled, hips arching and grinding against his chin, she needed more—fingers—a cock— something, “Please,” she begged, only to sob because instead of giving her more he stopped giving her anything at all.
It took her far too long to realize what had happened—looking towards Baelon who had risen to his feet, his expression one of annoyance as he glared towards the door. She finally gathered her bearings enough to look at what occupied his attention, only to let out an undignified squeak when she realized it was his brother.
“My apologies, am I interupting something?” He asked, as if it wasn’t obvious, “The way you rushed off, I feared one of you might be ill…and then I heard a crash, and then the sounds of a girl crying, I simply had to make sure neither of you were hurt.”
She did not believe that for a second.
“We’re fine, you may leave brother,” Baelon said, though his tone made it clear he intended to demand this, not request it.
Aemon did not seem to take it as such, choosing instead to take several steps towards them while shaking his head, “So you say, but your poor little wife looks rather flushed. Are you certain she is alright?”
Embarrassment turned to anger in a flash, “I was before you interrupted us.”
He tried to school his features into something contrite, but he was still smirking, “I apologized for that, didn’t I? And you did not have to stop on my account—that was never my intention.”
“Aemon.” Baelon warned, “This is not a game she agreed to, and her comfort is not something I will compromise.”
What game?
“She does not look uncomfortable to me,” Aemon mused, “She looks mad, which is a form of passion, don’t you think? Or do you no longer recognize such a thing, brother?”
“Aemon!” He barked.
Gods, she had never seen him look this mad.
Or perhaps, never seen him look this impassioned…
“I don’t think she is mad that I’m here, but rather that you stopped. The needy girl was squirming all through supper, I was impressed at the restraint she showed by staying in her seat. The tragedy of formal dining, that is, that one cannot have a pretty thing riding their cock between courses.”
Gods, the mere thought…it made her moan, picturing how nice it would be to simply lift her skirts and ride her Kepa’s length whenever she felt like it.
Oh no.
She clapped a hand over her mouth but it was much too late—Aemon looked delighted, eyes full of mirth, whereas Baelon was looking at her with a queer combination of surprise and… desire.
“Are you so blind, brother, that you cannot see how badly she wants it? You are lucky she is loyal; a lesser girl may seek out her obsessed nephew—stamina, and size may be lacking, but he would take her over the table with great enthusiasm.”
Gods— she squeezed her eyes shut, willing her cheeks not to heat, but she could feel them burning.
“You have her bent over a table now, brother, yet you do nothing.” Aemon mused, and Rhaenyra could tell he was moving closer, even though her eyes remained shut.
“Always such a good husband, why do you hesitate to tend to your wife?” Aemon asked, while Baelon remained quiet—he didn’t remain still though, not for long. His fingers curled around her knees, spreading her legs once more, lifting her skirt, and burying his mouth in her folds— while Aemon watched.
Fuck.
She felt the heat of his gaze, followed by the heat of his hand— stroking her hair while he hummed a tune—as if this was the most normal thing in the world.
Maybe it had been. For him. For Baelon. For Alyssa.
But not for her.
“Does it feel good, princess?” He asked, and she nodded. Baelon had pulled back just enough to press two fingers into her, the intrusion eased by the copious amount of her arousal that leaked from her slit.
“See, he should have done this during dinner, don’t you think? Sensed your needy quim and given it something to satisfy it until he could tend to it properly with his tongue. What good are fingers if they aren’t plugging up pretty little cunts?”
Gods. She was moaning in earnest now.
“Even the sounds she makes are pretty,” Aemon complimented— fuck, was he braiding her hair?
This was madness.
“And look at that flush, delicious. No wonder he ran back here to feast upon you, hm? Hungry for a second dessert of sorts, sweet little girl spilling all over his tongue.”
Fingers were stroking her neck now—tracing the column of her throat, then across her collarbone, thumb brushing the neckline of her gown and she wasn’t sure whether to be thankful for the protection it offered or to sob at what it hid from him.
“You should come for him, princess. Give me the honor of hearing you find your pleasure and your husband the honor of tasting your release on his tongue—he deserves it, doesn’t he?”
She was nodding, muttering something— “Kepa, kepa, kepa…”
“Fuck, isn’t that cute,” Aemon muttered, and he sounded genuine, not mocking, though she could hardly pay attention to him when the intensity of her peak was shooting through her like lightning.
It almost hurt it felt so good, so overwhelming in the pleasure it offered but also somehow still not enough—her greedy body gasping and on the precipice of begging for more before she had even come down from the first peak.
She bit back her wants, though, remembering herself—or rather, remembering who else was present.
How had she forgotten that?
No—she hadn’t forgotten, she had been aware of his presence, his words, his touches, they had contributed to her coming.
That was sick.
But then—Baelon was looking at her now, and he did not look disgusted—he looked a bit concerned maybe, and also… something she couldn’t recognize. His eyes were so dark—she had never seen them like that before, or seen him like this before.
He looked hungry.
Fuck, he looked like he wanted to consume her.
“That did not take long at all, did it?” Aemon mused, “Sensitive little thing, isn’t she? Just her quim, or her breasts, too?” He asked.
How dare he ask such a thing?!
“I’m not telling you that,” Baelon said, his voice low.
“I didn’t ask you to tell me. You know I have always preferred learning things through sight.”
She shivered at the thought—he wanted to— gods.
Why did she want that too?
“Look at that flush, she must be warm—poor little chest bound by velvet, an injustice that can be fixed by simply unlacing her dress…”
She was warm…
“Do you want that, Rhaenyra?” Baelon asked, tone unusually serious.
She nodded without considering it further.
“You’ll have to stand up, little vēzos.” He warned, and she nodded again—grateful when his hands pulled her into a seated posture before helping her down from the table.
When she turned—baring her back to him, it brought her face to face with Aemon—who had taken a seat on the opposite side of the table near where her head had been a moment ago.
Suddenly she had to quite literally confront how she would be exposing herself— did she want that?
She could see the intrigue and arousal in his eyes, too, and she shouldn’t enjoy that fact—shouldn’t want to preen beneath his appreciative gaze. But she did and Baelon was right behind her—hardly protesting his brother’s presence, at least not anymore.
If he did not mind…then why would should she?
Baelon’s fingers worked quickly and it was not long before the gown pooled at her feet, leaving behind nothing more than a thin shift for modesty—but she would not have that for long, either, as his fingers moved to her front—tugging on the ties there until the collar gaped open, baring her breasts to the man across from her.
Baelon went further still—hands scooping her breasts from the shift, very intentional in their exposure to his brother—just as his thumbs were intentional with their pose, catching her nipples with each brush.
The moan was involuntary, and the smirk that followed on Aemon’s face was victorious—proof that she was sensitive, just as he expected.
“Not so little vēzos,” Aemon teased, “Your gowns do you a disservice, princess, hiding away such pretty tits—a crime, really. Shame on you, brother.”
“What would you have me do? Keep her bare in my rooms at all times?” Baelon asked sarcastically.
“Not all the time,” Aemon argued, “Only in the warmer months, I would not want her to get cold.”
She snorted, the ridiculousness of this all catching up with her.
“But then, I could keep her warm,” Aemon said—making it sound like a proper offer, which made her shiver despite feeling the opposite of cold.
“If I recall, you have a wife of your own.” Baelon said, his tone dry—and Aemon was quick to wave away his concerns— quite literally gesturing with his hand in distaste, “Not on Dragonstone. So long as I am not at home, I am not limited to what is offered by the Queen’s Chamber, and we both know it.”
Rhaenyra didn’t know that.
Fuck, she felt bad for not even considering that.
“Besides,” he drawled, “I have not felt the heat of a dragon in so long. She would not begrudge me, she knows how Targaryens are—how we crave our own kind.”
Rhaenyra liked the implication that she was a Targaryen more than she could say—for there was no better thing in her eyes to be.
“I have not even seen the quim of a Targaryen princess in more than a decade. Would you indulge me, princess? Show me the cunt that has enchanted my brother in life and left him looking drunk on this night?”
Fuck. How could he ask that? She should curse at him and demand he leave, yet instead…
Somehow, the denial that came out was, “I—I’m not a princess.”
He laughed at her objection, “You are—you married a prince, love. Now please indulge me, I have asked so very nicely.”
Her throat felt dry—and by contrast, her cunt was dripping. She could not bring herself to speak, so she simply looked to Baelon for help.
He stroked her jaw, his expression a familiar sort of softness once more when he spoke, “It is up to you, little vēzos, it is your body to show to whoever you please. But he will not harm you—whether you deny him or not.”
She didn’t want to deny him.
Her fingers were the ones to pull the straps of her shift down, letting it fall to the floor—the same fate as her burgundy gown.
Aemon hissed, though she had her eyes shut, and so she missed any reaction beyond that— for the best, probably.
“Gods be good,” he muttered, “Indecently lovely, brother, fuck, look at her…”
He sounded awed— the King sounded awed by her— and that made her feel ten feet tall.
“Come closer—I can hardly see from there,” he pleaded, and she felt drawn to him—feet moving without consideration until she was within his reach.
His hands found purchase on her hips—pulling her even closer. She could not resist looking at him—and when she did, she realized he seemed incapable of looking away from the slit between her thighs.
She didn’t even register the press of his boot against her ankle until it prompted her legs to spread further apart, offering him an even better view of her quim.
“Fuck,” he muttered, “So pink and plump—such a pretty place to press a cock into. Tight, too, I’ll bet. He has not filled you often enough to stretch you much.”
Gods.
“Can I feel it?” He asked, looking up at her, “Can I feel how tight your little cunt is?”
“I—” she didn’t know what to say, but apparently her lack of protest was confirmation enough, since he did not hesitate to slip two fingers into her, and she could not help but notice the way they differed from Baelon’s—they were longer, leaner, and dressed in a gold signet instead of silver.
But they felt equally good.
Her toes curled against the rug beneath her, mimicking the curl of his fingers inside of her.
“So fucking hot,” he said with a groan, “So fucking tight, too” he muttered, his tone turning to something suspicious as he said, “Too tight, even.
What?
A third finger pressed at her slit, get having little luck gaining entry, “Mmm, much too tight, princess, I don’t believe for a moment that this little hole is big enough for my brother’s cock to fit.”
“It is!” She said defensively, though her indignance was soon broken by the curl of Aemon’s fingers, which caused her to stumble closer to him as if he was pulling her towards him by the grip he had on her cunt alone.
“Oh? I would like to see you prove it.”
Fuck.
She couldn’t do that—that was way too far.
…right?
“Is she still a maiden?” Aemon asked, directing his question to Baelon, “She feels like one and flushes like one. I see no proof to the contrary.”
Baelon laughed— he was closer now, she realized, the vibrations of his chest against her back, his hands squeezing her shoulders.
“I think you have been bedding liars if she looks as innocent as the maidens you remember,” Baelon said, though it wasn’t unkind or meant to disparage either her experience or his brothers—it was teasing, the mood somehow still light despite the odd turn this night had taken.
“Mmm I still don’t believe you, if she can truly take you, I should like to see it,” Aemon said, and she felt her head fall back—resting against Baelon as she considered that once more.
“What do you think, princess? You sated his hunger with your release—it is only fair that he feed your hungry hole, too.” Aemon said, as if this made perfect sense.
She was so far gone that it almost did.
Fuck, his thumb was stroking her clitoris while his fingers lazily moved inside of her—so nonchalant while she was a shaking mess of desperation.
“Please,” she whispered, not even sure what she was pleading for.
She didn’t need to know—not with Baelon there, because he would take care of her— he always did.
And in that moment, he maneuvered her back onto the table—her bum hitting it first, resting on the edge while her shoulders met the surface soon after. The movement was too quick for her to realize the loss of Aemon’s fingers, but she hardly had to mourn them when Baelon’s cock was nudging up against her folds.
Yes.
He must have freed it while watching Aemon play with her, and fuck, wasn’t that a thought…getting off on how she looked with his brother’s fingers inside of her. She shouldn’t like that. But then— Baelon shouldn’t like that, either, and if he did…then surely she could too?
Gods she liked that so much.
But she loved this, loved the feeling of his cock splitting her open—always feeling simultaneously like too much and fucking perfect.
Today was no exception, her body writhing—pulling away only to rock up to try and meet his hips, desperate to be full of him no matter how the first thrusts ached. It was just so… right, so wonderful having him inside of her, her Kepa filling her up in the way she was meant to be filled.
“That is a good little vēzos…” Baelon said softly, hands stroking her waist as he urged himself deeper, “Taking it so well, you always take it so well .”
“Fuck,” that was Aemon, she noted, “She does, doesn’t she?” He sounded awed, and that made her feel proud—the moan breaking free based in part on the sensation that stemmed from that and the sensations of Baelon’s cock.
“I am glad to be wrong—and I am wrong. She stretches beautifully around you, brother.”
Gods be good…
Suddenly he was touching her there— long fingers stroking the taut skin that was being misshapen by Baleon’s girth and clinging tightly to his cock. His touch did not seem to have much purpose beyond feeling the way she was spread open, but it made her feel so many things.
“Almost obscene, that she is capable of this yet still tightens right back up.” He mused, “I suppose young cunts always do.”
Baelon grunted—his voice heavy with arousal and words punctuated with thrusts, “Targaryen cunts always do.”
Yes. She was a Targaryen, and her cunt was too…it was full of a Targaryen, she thought, a delirious giggle garbling her moans.
“A different breed, they are, made to ride dragons and to be ridden. A dying breed, but she is so full of life—it is a wonder you do not keep her full always, what a pretty distraction she would be, warming your cock through your daily activities.”
She moaned, fuck— she liked the idea of that. She loved it. Being a good little warm hole for his cock, sitting on his lap and being good for him, taking good care of his length as it remained sheathed in her folds.
Baelon’s thrusts were harder now—firmer—deeper than usual and the pace only increasing in intensity. Aemon’s fingers moved from between her thighs to the bud above her slit—rolling her clitoris between two of their tips and making her spasm in surprise.
Baelon cursed, his pace breaking as her cunt clenched to the point of ruining his rhythm.
“She looks good full of cock, but I bet she looks better full of spend. Fill her up with that, brother,” it was spoken as a suggestion, but Baelon seemed to take it as a command, as a few more thrusts was all it took to have her coming around him while he came inside of her, streams of his seed filling her up and making her moan in pleasure.
Gods, she loved how the heat of him felt inside of her, and the way his softening cock plugged her up, keeping it all inside until they chose to part.
He parted too quickly for her taste this time, and she sobbed as his cock slipped out—followed by his release, which slid down her slit and pooled beneath her. She almost wanted to scoop it up and put it back inside—hating that the laws of motion were depriving her of this.
Though she was too out of breath to consider truly acting upon the desire—or to even try moving.
She couldn’t if she wanted to, she realized, because Aemon’s palm was heavy on her pelvis—fingers spread, spanning nearly the entirety of her front while he pressed down hard enough she swore she could feel it in her bones.
“Look how sweet she is, all fucked out…” He muttered, his eyes flicking from her folds to his brother, “Does she taste sweet too, brother?”
“Mhm,” Baelon confirmed, his fingers stroking above her knees—keeping her knees spread and offering comfort through the casual touch.
“Can I have a little taste?” He asked, “I have always cared more for sweets than you,” Aemon said, still addressing Baelon.
What— “No—” she interjected, “I’m all—it is—” she squirmed, feeling Baelon’s seed leaking from her. He couldn’t taste her when she was like this, all messy from his brother.
Or could he?
“You’re all what? Gooey?” He teased, “Like a pastry filled with warm cream, hm? Sounds delicious to me—be careful arguing to the contrary, you might make Baelon self-conscious over the taste of his spend.”
Fuck.
“And, Rhaenyra? It is nothing I have not tasted—nothing we have not both tasted. I do not mind—it will hardly taint your flavor.”
He was smiling—smirking—and she was… she was so confused.
“I don’t know…” She muttered, her head hitting the table with a thump as her eyes closed.
“Just a little bit, princess.” He said—not a question but a promise.
Suddenly, he had taken Baelon’s place—it was her Kepa who stroked her chest, neck, and hair, pressing kisses to her forehead as Aemon nuzzled against her quim—his breath heavy across her folds as he muttered, “Delicious, just as I thought.”
It was filthy—her arousal mixed with Baelon’s seed mixed with Aemon’s saliva, leaving a pool of body fluids between her thighs that felt indecent. But fuck, it felt good, too.
A single finger entered her—it must have been his pinky, for it felt like nothing, though his words had quite an impact on her, “Still tight as a maiden, I swear…valyrian magic, it must be, giving you this tiny little cunt that is made to cling to cock. Pity you are so rarely filled with one.”
“Brother…” Baelon snapped, tone laced with warning, but she wasn’t paying attention—not when Aemon was nosing at the bud of her clit, teeth scrapping over the hood before his tongue lapped across it.
He was leisurely in both this act and in responding to Baelon. He sounded almost bored when he said, “There is no shame in being unable to keep up with a girl’s appetites, brother, but surely, she must hunger for more than a man your age.”
That wasn’t true, Baelon had to know what wasn’t—
“Such as a man your age,” he said, sounding amused rather than angry— thank gods.
Aemon laughed, “Is that what you hunger for now, love?”
What?
“Is my tongue not enough?” He asked—his finger having slipped from her moments earlier, leaving her dependent on the stimulation of his mouth alone, which was good, but— no, it wasn’t enough.
“It isn’t.” Baelon answered before she could, “She cannot come without something inside of her.”
Gods, why that made her cheeks burn brighter of all things, she wasn’t sure, but it was humiliating being reminded of how needy her body was.
Aemon made it sound like a compliment, though.
“Ahh a greedy girl, then. But so desperate too. Can I fill you up? Can I make you come, love?”
She nodded, “ Please—”
She thought he meant with his fingers— right?
She had to have thought that, for she never would have agreed to this— right?
She would never crave another man’s cock— right?
That would be wrong. That would feel wrong.
But this… fuck, it felt different than Baelon, but it felt right, too—he was so hot, so thick, so long— gods.
If she felt split open on Baelon’s cock, then on his brother’s she was… gods, she didn’t even know. It went on for an age, settling deep inside of her—so deep she wondered if it was in her guts, if she would see it warp her stomach when he thrusted, because it was unnatural how far inside of her he was.
It felt so good.
“Are you alright, little vēzos,?” Baelon asked, stroking her forehead.
She nodded, because she was—she was being torn apart, but she had never been more alright in her entire life.
“He got the bigger dragon, but I got the bigger cock,” Aemon teased, “You take it beautifully, love—greedy cunt swallowing it to the root like it was starving for it.”
Maybe she was. She hadn’t even known…
“She won’t come unless you move,” Baelon noted, and that was all the warning she got before— “Fuck!”
She let out a shriek as he pulled out almost all the way before slamming into her again.
Gods, so deep…so much…
🔥
His pace was slow but his thrusts were cruel, so long that anticipation built for what felt like ages before he crashed back into her. It was horrible—the way he filled her so thoroughly and formed her innards into something shaped just for him before pulling out until she was stretched open around the head of him and nothing else. She felt hollowed out and empty, so aware of the space he had carved out inside of her, of the void meant for his cock that existed inside of her.
And then he was inside of her again, and it was agony, so deep it hurt—yet she never wanted him to leave.
Everything was blurry, muffled, distorted like her poor abused folds—wrecked open, overworked, oversensitive, turned to what felt like mush. Her mind felt that way, too, as if it had been broken in the most wonderful way and was now incapable of any function or even thought.
She just had to lay there and take it—not even half aware of the hands on her, the length inside of her, the words surrounding her.
She was moaning, sobbing, twitching, coming—fuck, she couldn’t even clamp down on him, she was spread too widely for that, reduced to a hole for him, truly, and it felt so good.
Baelon’s fingers stroked her stretched slit and her clitoris, just as Aemon had earlier, but his were familiar—a comfort as the strange cock battered every nerve inside of her, the contrast between them so shocking she trembled and found her release a mere second after his fingers landed there.
And then… it didn’t stop.
Neither of them stopped.
She was trapped there, between her husband and his brother—between Baelon’s hand and Aemon’s cock—and trapped at the peak of pleasure with no escape.
She had no choice but to give in, to let it go on, to embrace the lack of end in sight as her whole body spasmed and her back arched as if trying to raise her to even greater heights.
That was impossible, right?
🔥
They were moving, she realized—no, she was being moved— her back was still against the table, though now one of her legs was pressed up towards her chest and Baelon’s hand was flat across her stomach, no longer stroking her slit.
But this offered a different sort of stimulation—because when he pressed down he used enough weight to shift her organs, changing the shape in a temporary way that changed the sensations that came from Aemon’s cock entering her, too. He felt bigger now, though she knew that wasn’t possible.
How was any of this possible?
The hands on her thighs were sweaty, and his grunts were mingled with her moans and wails—soon followed by the sound of curses uttered beneath Aemon’s breath while Baelon teased him, and asked if he was coming.
He growled out a, “Fuck, yes—”
“Yes…..” She hissed, somehow squeezing the word out of her sore throat, raw from the sounds of sex and pleasure that had spilled from it.
She could feel him coming, too—the pulse of his cock, the streams of his release, filling her up and mixing with what Baelon had pumped into her earlier. She felt raw there, too, the head of his seed stinging yet offering a strange sort of relief, too.
She was so full.
Gods, she wondered if she would be able to feel it sloshing around inside of her—the evidence of the pleasure both brothers had found inside of her.
Fuck, she liked the idea of that, the satisfaction of knowing her cunt was good enough to make them both spill into her.
“So good,” Aemon muttered, his head tipping forward, followed by loose strands of hair that clung to his forehead.
He was so handsome.
“She is, isn’t she?” Baelon said—words full of adoration and almost… pride.
He was so handsome, too.
“Such a good girl.” Baelon said, pressing a kiss to her parted lips, “Better than good, even. My perfect girl.”
Yes.
“He made you feel good, didn’t he?” Baelon asked, his fingers stroking her neck as Aemon pulled out of her—an action that prompted them both to hiss.
She nodded, the action small and lazy as her energy seemed to be fading at an alarming rate.
“That’s good, good girls deserve to feel good.”
Aemon hummed, “Good girls deserve to a good sleep, too, and she appears to be halfway there already.”
Baelon bundled her up in his arms, cradling her to his chest and seemingly uncaring of the fact she was surely leaking spend all over him, “Time for bed, little vēzos?” He asked, and she nodded again.
“I suppose I will take my leave,” Aemon said, “I have always been more interested in bedding women than reading them bedtime stories.”
If she wasn’t so exhausted she might bristle. Or laugh. But right now she could do neither.
“Your loss,” Baelon said, stroking her hair, “Her company is even sweeter than her cunt.”
Gods, she loved this man.
“But,” he said, “I’m quite happy to keep that all to myself.”
Yes. Good. Because this— the cuddling in the aftermath—was something more intimate and precious than anything else they had done in front of Aemon.
This was just for them, and nothing could change that—not even his brother.
No one could change her love for this man— not even his son.
(This would remain true, but one of his sons was capable of changing a great deal—she just didn’t know that, not yet.)
🔥
(She had no way of knowing a diplomatic trip to Dorne would end with Daemon Targaryen following her back to Dragonstone, because he was as eager to intrude upon her life as she was eager to have him in her bed.)
🔥
(What she did with Aemon…it was a game. What she did with Daemon…it was different. What she did with Baelon, however…it was essential to her continued existence.)
🔥