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There is no light in the Black Cells, only darkness so thick that it smothers.
The servants come when he is sleeping, leaving food and drink, and occasionally basins to bathe with. The door never opens when he is awake. He only sees the light when she comes.
She keeps to no schedule with her visits, sometimes coming every few days, other times, leaving him in the dark for so long that he loses track. He knows she will go to him today, as the servants had left him a wash basin again, something they only did on the days of her visits. He uses it, thoroughly scrubbing the dirt off his skin, knowing that she prefers him clean. The first few times she came he didn’t bother to wash, and she punished him harshly for it.
Aegon never knows what she will do when she opens his cell. Some days she screams. Beats him until he cries on the floor, bruised, bleeding, and begging for her favor. Some days her words are honey, her touch soft as she brushes his hair back and kisses his forehead, stroking him slowly and denying him until he begs for relief. Some days are a mix of both, or something else all together. Yet there is one constant among them, that Aegon will always beg her. To stop, to give him more, and above all, to stay. She never does.
When his cell door creaks open and his eyes adjust to the light, it seems that today’s visit will be a mix of cruelty and kindness. He can tell by now, from the look in her eyes. When she wears this expression he knows she will fluctuate sharply between hatred and affection.
Rhaenyra is mumbling when she comes in, and from what he can make out, about him. He pieces together clipped words of disdain for some Lord or other who still supports Aegon’s claim over hers. She does not speak directly to him yet, her eyes far away and frantic.
He wants to speak but fears her reaction should she be in the kind of mood that makes her command him not to unless prompted. So instead he picks at his cuticles, using the time to study her, looking at his Goddess, his tormentor, his savior. Rhaenyra is his world now, his entire universe condensed to her visits. When she is gone he floats in limbo, unmoored and unseeing. Only when she comes does he hear sound, see color, feel anything. He is grateful for whatever she deigns to give him, whether it be pleasure or pain. Sometimes he thinks he may prefer the pain, because at least it lingers for days after she leaves, reminding him that she really did come, that he has not been forgotten down here.
Rhaenyra moves suddenly, her gaze no longer distant. She stares intently at him when she pushes him back, pressing a knee too hard against his cock. He flops back on his cot, yelping at the sudden pain. “Shut up.” She hisses, and he does. He nods his head, biting his lip to stop the whimpers that fight to escape when she presses her knee further forward.
“How can they still want you to be King? A drunken whore, a pathetic wretch. You aren’t good for anything besides fucking, a willing little ragdoll to be thrown around.” Her hand closes around his throat, nails digging hard into his skin. “You disgrace your namesake, your whole family.” She tightens her hand, “Speak.”
He can barely breathe, but he obeys. “Y-yes. I’m a disgrace.” The pressure against his cock starts to feel good, in an overwhelming sort of way, so he whines when she pulls it away, earning himself a slap. His cheek throbs, his hand coming up to trace it reverently. “Sorry.” His head spins, lungs burning from the lack of air.
Rhaenyra studies him, and he isn’t sure what she wants to find, but it seems that she does because her hand loosens just when he thinks he’s going to pass out. “They’d rather a court jester rule than the true heir, so long as he has a cock between his legs.” She pulls away from him, standing to pull her dress off. He sees an unfamiliar bulge tenting her smallclothes, but before he can ask after it she pulls them off too. “Perhaps I should fuck you with this in front of the whole court, show them I’m more of a King than you ever were.”
Aegon looks up at her with wide eyes, a part of his brain going wild at the sight of the long carved wood cock strapped to her cunt, its hardness contrasting deliciously with her soft curves and muscled thighs. “Yes please.” He whispers without thinking.
She laughs, leans over him to pull him up by the throat. “As if I need your agreement. You never seemed to, not when you fucked those servants. A ruler’s word is law, is it not?” Her long fingers twist harshly in his locks, craning his neck back at an awkward angle. “I’d fuck you right there on the Iron Throne even if you kicked and screamed for me to stop. You’re nothing, no one. All you are now is mine .”
Aegon moans, a shameful heat twisting in his belly, “ Yours, yours, yours,” He chants, like a prayer to his cruelest, most benevolent Goddess.
Rhaenyra pulls him off of his cot, throwing him down on the floor. “On your knees.” He scrambles up, at attention. “Suck me off, Aegon, get my cock nice and wet. Or I’ll fuck you dry and unstretched.”
He knows she will, knows she has never made an empty threat to him before, so he sets to his task with fervor, gagging on her cock until he’s drooling enough for it to drip off. She grabs his head, holds him down on it so his nose touches her pelvis, doesn’t let up when he struggles for air.
Whining, he scrabbles at her thighs, begs wordlessly for her mercy. She grants it, ever his gracious Queen, pulling him off and stroking his hair with a lulling softness while he heaves. “Good, good boy. You suck cock better than anyone on the Street of Silk.” Aegon preens, suckling at her rare praise like mother’s milk.
“All fours,” Rhaenyra directs, guiding him up to the bed. He must have done something right, obeyed her well, because she allows him the honor of preparing him before she takes what is hers. She spits on his hole, rubbing it with two fingers before pushing both in at once, spreading him open.
The stretch borders on painful but it only makes him ache for more, pushing back as desperate moans pour out of his mouth. He’s been hard since she came in, leaking since she put him on his knees. His cock bobs against his stomach, red and angry without contact. Rhaenyra smacks him on the ass in reprimand, reminding him that he will take no pleasure beyond that which she allows. He stops moving, lets her keep scissoring her fingers inside him until she thinks he's ready.
When she does, there is no warning besides her fingers pulling out. They are replaced with the wood cock in such close succession that he doesn’t even have time to mourn the loss. She pushes into his ass with one hard thrust, seating her cock to the hilt despite his scream. He bites his forearm, breathing heavily as he gets used to the stretch. She doesn’t give him more than a moment to adjust, snapping her hips against him at a fevered pace.
Aegon cries, as he always does. There has never been a time that Rhaenyra came to him and left without seeing his pretty tears, whether they fell from an excess of unfamiliar kindness, or familiar pain. This time is no different. He cries because it hurts , because she pounds into him uncaringly as she spits insults into his ear, her breasts pressed to his back.
Soon enough the pain gives way to pleasure, and now he cries because he wants more, needs more. Her cock jostles his prostate with every thrust, sending bolts of dragon fire through his blood, but she gives his cock no attention, no relief from its ache. He’d do it himself, but the last time he tried that she locked it in a cage and didn’t take it off for a fortnight. So he just takes it, writhes against her, and mewls each time she hits his spot.
The base of the cock presses perfectly against her clit, her rapid thrusting bumping it each time she bottoms out. Feeling herself about to cum, Rhaenyra presses deep into him, grinds herself against the toy. His moans rise in tandem with hers and she knows she must be rubbing the tip of the cock on his prostate with each movement. She takes pity, feels he was obedient enough to deserve an orgasm today. Her lithe hand circles around his waist, grabbing his cock and using the abundant pre-cum leaking out to smooth her strokes.
“O-Oh Gods, please!” Aegon twitches, jerks wildly between pressing back to take her cock deeper and pressing forward to fuck her hand.
She squeezes the base of his cock tight, reveling in his pained whimper. “If you cum before I do, I’ll split your fucking lip.” She watches him fist the bedsheets, straining his muscles to hold off. Never one to make it easy on him, she rubs her thumb against the slit of his cockhead, twisting her palm around. He howls, grinding his teeth in concentration. “Not long now, I’m close.” She husks in his ear, grinding harder against the base of the cock.
Rhaenyra feels her peak hit, hips stuttering as she bites into his shoulder, licking the blood off of the wound when she comes down a few moments later. He’s sobbing, and she realizes she never gave him permission to cum, all the while continuing to jerk him off. “Let go, Aegon.”
He does, exploding the moment she finishes speaking. His wailing rings in her ears, sending a heartbeat pulsing through her clit. She fucks him through his orgasm and past it until she cums a second time. By then he is well past his peak, into the depths of overstimulation. His prostate is sensitive, swollen, making him buck and claw at the sheets every time she hits it. She hadn’t even noticed before, but now that she has she can’t resist giving a few more thrusts just to hear him weep.
His voice is hoarse, broken, as he screams, “Pl- please Rhaenyra, no more!” and she decides to grant him mercy once more. She pulls out of him, tossing the fake cock off to the floor and kneeling up to let him flip over. He flops back against the pillow, smiling up at her dazedly through tear-stained eyes. He looks so much like his mother when he cries, so much so that she always wants him to be doing it.
Rhaenyra settles next to him, brings the hand that was jerking him off up to his mouth, “Clean your mess, darling.” Ever obedient, he does. His lips part automatically, accepting her fingers like a sacred offering. He licks his cum off dutifully, sucking on the pads of her fingers as she strokes his sweat-matted hair off his face. He pouts when she removes them, chasing her hand while she laughs and pushes him back down.
He feels the soft press of her lips against his, and for a few minutes, he lets himself forget who they are, where he is, as she kisses him like they are not enemies. When she rips herself away and climbs off the bed, he reels at the uncomfortable sensation of his damned reality clawing back into his mind. She dresses unfairly fast, or perhaps his brain is too slow, fucked out as he is.
“Wait-” He slurs, reaching out for her and flinching back when she jerks away from his touch. “Stay, please Rhaenyra, please .”
Her good moods never do last, and it seems his time is up for now as she gives him nothing more than a blank look before swirling out of his cell, taking the torch with her, and plunging him back into the dark.
At least he has the bite she left on his shoulder and the pain in his ass to tide him over until his light comes back. He hopes she’ll leave a deeper wound next time, something to blind him with pain instead of darkness.
He hopes she’ll break him next time.