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Aemond couldn’t say how it started, but he knew when it did.
It happened on Aegon’s Landing Day — a date celebrated on Dragonstone and among the descendants of the Valyrian Diaspora as a time to remember their roots and traditions. Although it was an official holiday, most of the population chose to commemorate the day King Aegon I was anointed by the High Septon of the Faith in Oldtown.
His family traveled there to celebrate. Aemond and his siblings rode their dragons in honor of their ancestors, while the rest of his family followed from a safe distance aboard the Royal Family’s private jet. Sunfyre could be exceedingly playful when it suited him, and Aegon was nothing if not indulgent.
They were greeted with shouts and blessings in High Valyrian, and for a brief moment, Aemond was certain that, atop his dragon, with his siblings by his side, he could conquer all Seven Kingdoms as his ancestors once had. Vhagar let out a roar in accord, absorbed by her rider’s ardor
The rush of sensation, however, vanished the moment they landed.
Guardians and Kingsguard surrounded him instantly. Camera flashes burst, journalists shouted questions, and Aemond rushed closer to Helaena as they were ushered toward the waiting cars. Another dragon roared. Dreamfyre, he noticed displeased with the crowd, even though the humans kept their distance.
Fortunately, Daeron managed to pull Jaehaera onto his lap. Aegon was seized alongside Jaehaerys, while their mother clutched Maelor tightly to her chest, shielding the poor child from the relentless flashes. Sor Cole stayed close behind them, focused on keeping them safe, and Aemond forced himself not to worry too much.
He didn’t see his father before getting into the car, and found he didn’t even have it in him to pretend that he cared.
Despite his understanding, Aemond still despised the journalists’ excessive enthusiasm. Even so, he knew that seeing both branches of the monarchy appearing together was rare, usually reserved for royal engagements and other political or national events. Catching sight of the King was rarer still. Viserys lived in near seclusion due to his steadily declining health, having left the governance largely in the hands of Otto and his mother until his half-sister assumed the role.
Unfortunately, Aemond had to share a vehicle with his grandfather and endure his endless rant about proper conduct and the importance of representing the family’s public image in a place Aemond had been attending since he was in his mother's uterus. He pretended to listen, nodding when required, but let his gaze wander instead, taking in the ornaments scattered throughout the city, the way most people, even the young, wore traditional attire, and how openly joyful they were to celebrate their culture.
Once again, a longing settled deep in his bones for a land he knew only through books and the stories told to him as a child. At times, he wondered whether his siblings felt it too — whether their blood cried out the same way his did.
Dragonstone Castle was instantly recognizable. Even from afar, he could see the Stone Drum Tower and the many dragon statues carved from black stone. Aemond felt ancient power humming in his veins, almost as if the castle itself were welcoming him. Still, he never dared to mention it to his grandfather or his mother, especially given Otto’s disdain for anything tied too closely to his lineage.
They were greeted at the top of the stairs by his half-sister, with Daemon standing beside her like a living, terrifying shadow. His uncle’s lilac eyes tracked his grandfather’s movements like a predator preparing to strike, before shifting to where Aemond and the rest of his family stood, waiting to greet Rhaenyra alongside her youngest children and Rhaena.
Aemond had once been frightened of those eyes. Now, he met them head-on with his single eye and dared him to look away.
Daemon’s lips twitched with amusement.
His mother rushed forward to embrace Rhaenyra, holding her gently despite her lingering uncertainty. Somehow, they had reconciled after Rhaenyra’s difficult pregnancy. Aemond remembered when news of the premature birth of Princess Visenya reached King’s Landing in the middle of the afternoon, how his mother had urgently ordered a private plane to be prepared, even over his grandfather’s objections. She had remained on Dragonstone throughout the entirety of Rhaenyra’s hospitalization.
And while the animosity between them seemed to have softened, what had been lost was still lost. What had been done was still done. Two decades of conflict between the two branches of House Targaryen did not simply disappear. They greeted each other politely and smiled for the cameras; for a fleeting instant, they resembled the old photographs Aemond had once seen online, taken back when their friendship was not yet so deeply buried.
The weight that had once pressed heavily on his shoulders had eased, but it was still difficult to speak to his sister without seeing her as a threat — something he had been taught since childhood. After all, Rhaenyra had been the monster haunting his dreams for most of his youth, much like Daemon. And Aemond was not blind to his duty under his grandfather’s plans.
His mother had spoken to each of them about their feelings toward their half-sister and her children. Aemond had been unable to restrain himself; he told her he would sooner have his throat slit than spend time with his nephews and cousins, his scar aching — a sharp reminder of everything he had been denied. His mother knew him too well to expect otherwise and only smiled sadly as she squeezed his hand.
She had the longest conversation of all with Aegon. When she emerged, her eyes were red from crying. His brother seemed to carry the same quiet devastation; in his sorrow, he always looked most like their mother.
Two days later, he divorced Helaena.
(No matter how unhappy they might be with their circumstances, it was an unspoken truth that people like them — of old money and even older blood — didn’t get divorced. They endured and died, and some — very few — managed to find happiness along the way. Unfortunately, his mother had not been one of the lucky ones.)
He didn’t see his nephew until late that night, when dinner was finally served.
Aemond had dressed specifically for the occasion. His black, red dragon-shaped brocaded garments were delicate and thin, nearly translucent under certain lights — his royal dressers had clearly outdone themselves this year. The pale skin of his chest showed through the deep V-neck of his blouse, and high-waisted trousers completed the ensemble. Ruby diamonds set into his shoulder necklace contrasted sharply against the dark fabric.
He moved around the dining table with greater ease thanks to the long, puffed sleeves cinched at his wrists, which reduced the risk of catching on anything and causing an incident. An outcome he feared was far too likely given Joffrey’s behavior.
If Lucerys had not been seated directly across from him, dressed in blue and gold, the dinner might have been peaceful. Aemond found himself wondering who had decided such a seating arrangement was appropriate, so that he might dismiss them at once.
Contrary to his expectations, his nephew had arrived alongside the Velaryons and other houses of Valyrian blood, such as the Celtigars and the Baratheons. The Arryns were present as well, bound by their ties to the heir to the throne.
He ignored the weight of his nephew’s stare throughout the night, choosing instead to occupy himself by entertaining Daeron, who complained at length about his classes and his teachers. Helaena was busy tending to the twins, while Aegon amused Maelor by pulling faces wildly inappropriate for the occasion — much to the young boy’s delight.
His mother, however, clearly disapproved. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she sat beside her father, every inch the Queen her position demanded. Ordinarily, Aemond would have intervened. Yet none of them had ever had anyone to do so for them while growing up, and he would not be cruel enough to deny Maelor the same small mercy. So he pretended not to notice his mother’s glares and kept his attention fixed on Daeron.
It was late when it happened.
Aemond could not later recall the sequence of events that had led to him being cornered by his nineteen-year-old nephew. He hadn’t drunk enough to blame it on alcohol — much to his own displeasure and, most likely, Aegon’s delight. Lucerys had grown to match his height and nearly surpass it, yet his smile remained unchanged.
He could still see Rhaenyra and Harwin in him, effortlessly.
“Uncle,” Lucerys greeted him, standing closer than Aemond thought necessary. Still, the silver-haired man refused to be affected by his proximity and remained where he was.
Lucerys’s blue blouse set off his sun-tanned skin, the result of years spent beneath Driftmark’s sun. He spent more time there than in King’s Landing or on Dragonstone, taking his duties as heir with a seriousness that had been absent in their childhood. Aemond did not allow his thoughts to wander further down that path, unwilling to admit that Lucerys had grown handsome. He always had been, but there had once been a boyish softness to him, now gone. Worse still, Aemond’s eye had lingered longer than it should have on his broad shoulders.
Serving in the Royal Navy has paid off, it seemed.
“Nephew,” Aemond replied, trying not to sound too disgusted by his presence. From Lucerys’s amused chuckle, it was clear he had noticed.
The younger man leaned casually over the ledge that separated them from a fatal fall, propping himself up on his elbows. His face was turned toward Aemond, the night wind ruffling his curls, pearl clips glinting softly among them.
“Tired of just looking?” Aemond asked dryly. Even half-blind, it was impossible not to notice how Lucerys’s eyes always seemed to follow him through the hall.
“From looking at you? Never.” His lips curved into something sharper, more mischievous at the edges. His purple gaze — darker than Aemond’s own, veering toward violet — traveled deliberately over his body, lingering longer than courtesy allowed on his chest before snapping back up to meet his eye with something Aemond refused to name and refused to be intimidated by.
“Beautiful things should always be appreciated, don’t you think so, uncle?” Lucerys blinked, attempting to assume the same innocent expression that had once gotten him out of trouble as a child and inspired devotion in everyone around him.
Aemond clasped his hands behind his back to stop himself from punching him outright. The PR team would be furious, and his mother even more so. He squared his shoulders and set his jaw, irritation coiling tight in his chest.
The city was loud at this hour, and even from this distance, Aemond could hear ancient songs and lively voices rising through the night.
“Either you’re too brave or too stupid to come after me,” Aemond said at last, his words sharp enough to make Lucerys’s thick brows rise. Still, he didn’t seem intimidated. Instead, he shifted, turning to rest his back against the stone frame and crossing his arms over his chest. The movement stretched the soft, translucent blue fabric across his shoulders, emphasizing their breadth.
Aemond did not look.
“The sea does not fear, uncle. I like to think of myself the same way,” Lucerys replied, far too smug for someone without a single drop of Velaryon blood in his veins. “And I’m not the same boy I used to be.”
That, at least, was true. The Lucerys who haunted Aemond’s memories had never carried himself with this kind of confidence.
“You really got strong,” Aemond said, mocking the last word, stressing it in an attempt to turn it into an insult.
Instead, something amused flickered across Lucerys’s face. There was no offense there, no irritation. As a child, any reference to his true paternity would have made him anxious, defensive. Today, there was none of that — even though Sor Harwin had remained a delicate subject since his death.
The barb missed its mark.
“Yes,” Lucerys said slowly. His eyes drifted over Aemond’s body once more, his tongue coming out to wet his full lips, making them all the more striking in the low light. He tilted his head, like an animal studying its prey, before continuing with unmistakable intent. “You can’t even imagine how much.
“What is it you want?” Aemond asked at last, eager to end the interaction before it became a front-page disaster. His shoulders were taut, and he knew himself well enough to recognize when his restraint was nearing its limit.
His nephew had always had a talent for stripping him of his composure. That was precisely why Aemond avoided him whenever royal duties or family gatherings allowed.
Lucerys didn’t respond at first. He pushed himself away from the balcony and walked toward Aemond with measured steps, the heels of his boots echoing against the stone floor, until he stood directly in front of him, close enough for the silver-haired man to catch the scent of the lily cologne he wore. Aemond didn’t step back, even though it infuriated him that he had to tilt his head slightly to meet his nephew’s gaze.
“To fuck you,” Lucerys replied brazenly.
Not even Aemond could fully hide his shock at such a direct assault; his single eye widened. He recovered quickly, bringing his hands up to the brunet’s chest, ready to shove him away in a surge of fury, but Lucerys was faster, seizing both of his wrists and locking them in his grip.
Aemond briefly considered driving his knee into his stomach, especially when an amused smirk began to curve Lucerys’s lips.
“Wasn’t I too obvious?” he added lightly, almost joking.
“What kind of prank are you playing now?” Aemond hissed, glancing toward the hall. No one was paying them any attention. Fortunately, the curtains granted them a measure of privacy.
The younger man seemed to notice and smiled at it, something hungry flickering in his violet eyes as they lingered on Aemond’s mouth. “You don’t want to?” He raised a brow, already certain of the answer.
“I hate you,” Aemond spat.
Lucerys only smiled in return, though for a fleeting instant something sad curved at the edge of his lips, so brief that Aemond wondered if he had imagined it.
“I know,” Lucerys said lightly. “But you don’t have to like me to sleep with me.” He let out a short laugh.
Aemond found himself wondering whether his half-sister knew this side of her sweet boy. He still struggled to reconcile the man standing before him with the child preserved in his memories. Lucerys had once hidden behind his mother’s skirts to avoid consequences. He had never confronted Aemond after taking his eye, and they had been deliberately kept apart for years, out of fear that Aemond might retaliate — something he had dreamed of often enough.
Even after their mothers’ reconciliation, they had barely seen one another. Lucerys had chosen to finish his studies in Driftmark, and as heir to the Driftwood Throne, he had joined the Navy shortly after, an irony Aemond couldn’t ignore, considering how easily his nephew used to get seasick aboard any ship.
“You can’t be serious,” Aemond said at last. “If this is some kind of joke, I suggest you stop immediately.”
Lucerys answered by tightening his grip on Aemond’s wrists and pulling him closer. His chest was broader, unmistakably inherited, and he loomed over him. Aemond froze. It was the first time he could remember feeling small.
He had always been tall, his lean frame honed by years of training, accustomed to towering over others. Yet Lucerys made him feel diminished.
And Aemond very deliberately refused to dwell on the fact that his nephew had big hands.
“You didn’t say no,” Lucerys pointed out, his thumb stroking the inside of Aemond’s left wrist, pressing lightly over the artery there. Aemond held his gaze, violet meeting steel, considering.
“If this is a joke, I’ll have Vhagar burn you,” he growled, his brow furrowing. If asked, Aemond wouldn’t have been able to explain what made him accept his nephew’s proposition. Perhaps this wasn’t what his therapist had meant when she spoke of closure, but she wasn’t here to judge his partially alcohol-fueled lapse in judgment.
“Aren’t you going to make her eat me?” Lucerys joked.
“She’s old,” Aemond replied dryly. “Can’t eat just any trash.”
Lucerys laughed — loud, unguarded, sincere.
Aemond moved quickly, clapping a hand over his mouth as he broke free of Lucerys’s hold and glanced around in alarm. He could feel the warmth of Lucerys’s breath against his palm, his shoulders shaking with the force of his laughter.
“Stop this,” Aemond hissed urgently. The last thing he wanted was to draw the attention of a guest — or worse, a journalist.
Lucerys only caught his hand again, pressing it back to his lips. He dragged his mouth slowly across the thin skin of Aemond’s wrist, leaving a small, deliberate kiss behind. Aemond blinked in startled disbelief before yanking his hand away.
“You’re quite skittish,” Lucerys said with a smile. “Like a kitten.”
“Go away,” Aemond grumbled, already preparing to return to the hall and force himself to socialize with people who cared about him only for his last name.
Lucerys, however, still had a hold on his other wrist and tugged him back too quickly. The alcohol in Aemond’s blood did nothing to help with the sudden movement; he stumbled uncharacteristically, losing his footing and falling straight into his nephew’s arms like a damsel from one of the films Jaehaera was so fond of.
Lucerys’s free — and undeniably large — hand went immediately to his waist to steady him, squeezing for a brief moment. His violet gaze dropped, noting how his — big, far too big— hand could easily cup Aemond’s waist. Aemond tried not to shudder as the younger man slid his thumb along the curve there, his eyes tracking the belt as though it were an enemy to be defeated.
“Meet me in my room in an hour,” Lucerys said, his expression suddenly serious.
Aemond lifted a brow in challenge, his lips curling with disdain.
“You’re the desperate one, taobus,” he replied coolly. Boy, that was what Aemond had called him, though he wasn’t entirely certain it was the correct term to use for his nephew. “You come to my room.”
Lust flared in Lucerys’s eyes, and for a moment he looked seconds away from forgetting where they were and kissing Aemond as though nothing else existed. In his current state, Aemond might have let him and that alone was reason enough to put an end to it.
The last thing he needed was to appear in tomorrow’s gossip pages.
Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and walked back inside, never looking back.
People didn’t seem to notice the balcony, too busy fawning over one another—something Aemond was silently grateful for. He scanned the crowd for members of his family, an easy task given their distinctive appearances.
The children had already been sent away, leaving as soon as dinner ended and their obligations as members of the royal family had been fulfilled. Aegon stood at Jacaerys’s side, seemingly in the midst of an animated discussion. The two of them had reconciled as though no rift had ever existed between them.
Earlier that evening, Aegon had performed after the King’s opening speech, singing ancient songs in Valyrian for an audience that largely failed to grasp the symbolism behind the words. Helaena had retired early with the children, while Daeron appeared absorbed in conversation with a small group of businessmen. Still, Aemond could easily recognize the boredom in his brother’s eyes.
Their grandfather had always drilled into them the importance of appearances, and Daeron had always been the best among them at pretending.
For a moment, he considered going to his mother, but she appeared occupied with a circle of noble wives and ladies. Instead, Aemond resigned himself to wandering for the next hour, entertaining guests and engaging in mostly monosyllabic exchanges with Cassandra Baratheon. He was courteous, displaying interest where expected, but never truly participating. Aemond knew his mother was entertaining the idea of marrying him to one of the Four Storms, so he made a conscious effort not to appear hostile.
He neither saw Lucerys nor attempted to look for him.
When the time came, Aemond approached his mother to be formally dismissed and delegated Daeron to the role of Aegon’s babysitter. Known for avoiding such events whenever possible, he was met with a knowing smile. She reached up to gently stroke his unscarred cheek, her touch soft and restrained.
From the corner of his eye, Aemond noticed a photographer lifting his camera toward them. The sight made him wonder whether the gesture had been born of genuine affection or carefully timed for the sake of the family image. It was often difficult to tell.
At some point, she returned to her father’s side, acting less like a queen and more like a living cane — steadying him as they made their rounds through the hall, engaging the guests in constant, practiced conversation.
He walked into the Family Quarters, heading toward the chamber usually reserved for him whenever he stayed there. The room was dark, its architecture unchanged since the Age of Conquest. As Dragonstone was considered a Historic Site, most modifications required formal approval, in addition to parts of the castle remaining open for visitation.
He crossed the stone floor toward his suitcase, not bothering to unpack—it would be less than a week before they returned to King’s Landing to prepare for the Day of Anointing, as the day Aegon was anointed in Oldtown had come to be known.
He briefly considered taking a shower, but the thought was interrupted by a knock at the door. Aemond moved toward it at once, the wide cuffs of his trousers flowing smoothly with each step.
“Have you been seen?” he asked as soon as Lucerys stepped inside.
“Nope,” Lucerys replied, unconcerned.
He glanced around the room for a moment before focusing back on him. There were few differences between their chambers — perhaps due to the lack of permanent residence, since Aemond didn’t live there. There were no personal belongings, no decorations to lend the space any sense of identity. For a brief beat, the silver-haired man found himself wondering what his nephew’s room looked like. Knowing Lucerys, it was probably filled with useless trinkets.
“I stopped by my room to get this.” He lifted a bottle of lube that Aemond hadn’t noticed before nor the fact that Lucerys had removed his pearl necklace and hairpins.
“Why would you bring that on a trip like this?” Aemond frowned.
Lucerys gave him an odd look before smirking.
“You don’t jerk off?”
The blunt question made Aemond’s ears burn with embarrassment, and he was indignant that of all their exchanges, this was what had finally cost him his composure. Lucerys noticed immediately, Aemond’s pale skin made such things impossible to hide.
“Oh, uncle.” He tilted his head, curls framing his face and lending him a wild, almost feral look. A slow smile spread across his lips, and Aemond felt a shiver run through him. “What am I going to do with you?”
Snarling in irritation, Aemond stepped forward and kissed him, attempting to wipe the smugness from the corners of his lips. Lucerys’s hands immediately went to his waist, pulling him closer until Aemond’s body molded to his.
Aemond had barely realized how thin his patience had grown, but it was impossible to miss in the way he forced Lucerys’s mouth open, pushed his tongue inside, and tried to take control. Despite initiating the contact, the silver-haired man quickly found himself overwhelmed by Lucerys’s ferocity. The younger seemed determined to steal every breath from his lungs, as if trying to drown Aemond in sheer desire.
He had never been kissed like this. His encounters were usually quick and sparse, and Aemond was always the dominant figure in his relationships. Lucerys gave him no time to question any of it, consuming him without hesitation.
He wasn’t an Aegon, who fucked as often as he breathed and constantly made their security team draft NDAs — something far too embarrassing even for Aemond. When the sensation became too much, he tried to pull away, bringing his hands to Lucerys’s chest to push him back. The younger resisted for a brief moment before finally pulling away.
Aemond gasped, his lips sensitive from the violence Lucerys had displayed. His nephew, unlike him, seemed entirely unaffected by the lack of oxygen, remaining composed as he watched Aemond struggle to regain his breath.
Dimly, the silver-haired man recalled that Marines received intensive diving training, and that Lucerys was the Sea Snake’s grandson, making the situation deeply unfair, as he clearly had far better breath control than Aemond. The younger man, however, remained oblivious to his uncle’s inherent need to turn everything into a competition.
Lucerys caressed the curve of his waist, curling his thumb over the belt and tugging at it absently while he waited for Aemond to recover. His other hand glided down his back until it reached the clasp of his diamond necklace, which he unfastened and tossed carelessly across the room.
Before Aemond could protest, his nephew leaned over him again and kissed him.
His belt dropped, and the sound of metal and jewels hitting the stone floor echoed faintly through Aemond’s ears, the noise drowned out by the rush of his own blood. He barely noticed when Lucerys began pulling him toward the bed; he was barely allowed to breathe, his kisses constantly interrupted as Lucerys slid wet lips along his jaw and down the length of his neck, trapping skin between his teeth and nibbling at it.
Aemond was barely aware of the sounds slipping from his mouth, too focused on the new sensations to allow himself to be consumed by the shame of his lack of control. However, the haze of pleasure was abruptly dispelled when Lucerys grabbed him roughly by the waist and threw him onto the bed. Aemond blinked, stunned by the abrupt change in position as his body sank into the soft mattress.
Yet he didn't have time to protest the treatment before his nephew pushed his knees between Aemond's legs, voraciously stretching the fabric of his trousers over his thighs as if he couldn't bear to be away from Aemond's warmth.
His mouth moved down to his chest, licking and sucking at the skin exposed by the neckline of his blouse. Aemond bruised easily and would regret it later; some part of his mind kept reminding him of that, even as he did his best to ignore it, his hands digging into Lucerys’s shoulders, unsure whether he wanted to pull him closer or push him away. His blouse was yanked at by his nephew, with the fabric being strained almost to the point of rupture as eagerness to get rid of it was displayed. They tugged until Aemond lifted his torso to ease the garment's removal, ruffling the small braids on his hair in the process before Lucery’s big, heavy hand pushed him back down to the mattress.
Lucerys's mouth immediately caught one of Aemond's nipples, his teeth lightly gnawing at the hardened flesh, causing Aemond to moan. Loudly. Stimulated by his reaction, the brunette began to lick and suck, stroking around his areola and leaving even more marks on his skin. One of Aemond's hands moved to bury itself in the brown locks, trying to pull it away from the now sensitive spot. Lucerys put up a brief fight, but Aemond's relentless pressure eventually won through. His nephew let out a menacing hiss, baring his teeth in a way that resembled an animal being denied its meal.
“Take it easy, you beast,” Aemond panted, his chest rising and falling from the lack of breath. He felt too sensitive — too raw — the marks Lucerys had left burning into his skin. The Velaryon leaned in again, letting the tip of his nose slide across Aemond’s sternum in a caress that contrasted with his earlier actions, leaving a trail of delicate kisses along the bone. His hands gripped Aemond’s bare waist, squeezing the slight softness there hard enough to bruise and ache, but Aemond didn’t pull away.
“You have no idea how hungry I am,” Lucerys declared, his voice husky and his eyes dark. His curls fell into his face, giving him a wild look. Aemond lifted a trembling hand to brush them aside, clearing his nephew’s violet gaze. “Uncle, I want to destroy you.” Aemond gasped as he felt Lucerys’s blunt nails dig into his skin, scratching him. Taking advantage of his distraction, the younger man took his other nipple in his mouth, repeating the previous treatment. Aemond squirmed and unconsciously tightened his grip on Lucerys' curls, causing him to let out an appreciative groan in response.
Sometime during his whimpers, Aemond realized he had never been this loud in bed, and the thought of anyone hearing them made his stomach twist with embarrassment. Letting his nineteen-year-old nephew have sex with him would surely give Aegon endless amusement at his expense.
Lucerys’s hands tugged at the waistband of his trousers, dragging the fabric down his legs along with his underwear before discarding them carelessly. His shoes followed just as quickly, leaving him naked — he didn’t count the eyepatch, which had long since become an extension of himself — beneath Lucerys’s hungry gaze.
“Take it off too,” Aemond demanded, frustrated and embarrassed, reaching for his nephew’s blue blouse. Lucerys complied readily, an amused smile tugging at his lips.
It was Lucerys, however, who removed the rest — his trousers, underwear, and shoes — rising from the bed to ease his movements while Aemond watched from where he lay at the center of the mattress, taking in all the changes Lucerys had undergone over the past few years: the lean, defined muscles, the breadth of his shoulders and his cock—
Oh, Aemond thought, a little drunk on pleasure, he’s big.
Moved by an instinct he couldn’t quite name, the silver-haired man closed his legs. He watched as Lucerys bent to retrieve the bottle of lube he had dropped carelessly during their kisses, then turned back to him, pausing for a moment at the edge of the bed to take in Aemond’s position.
Lucerys growled, tossing the newly recovered bottle onto the mattress before bending over him to grip his knees, forcing them apart to make room for his body between Aemond’s legs and leaving him feeling far too exposed. Aemond resisted the urge to hide his face in his hands, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. Instead, he dug his fingernails into his nephew’s back, his blunt nails scratching tanned skin. Lucerys moaned contentedly and claimed his mouth again.
He bit down on his bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth before releasing it and licking it. It was messy but Aemond found himself unable to pull away when Lucerys grabbed his jaw to stop him from doing so.
They kissed until Aemond felt as though he were drowning, his whimpers muffled against his nephew’s plump lips as he tried to tug him away. The Targaryen huffed loudly, turning his head to prevent Lucerys from kissing him again, his lips tingling, likely swollen.
Lucerys’s mouth descended to his neck once more, catching Aemond off guard when he felt teeth sink into his skin.
“N-no,” Aemond groaned, grabbing Lucerys’s hair in an attempt to force him away. The younger man resisted his grip, licking over the newly made mark like a satisfied beast. He rose to better admire his work, propping himself up on his forearms as he hovered over Aemond, muscles taut with exertion. His violet gaze burned like dragonfire while sliding through Aemond’s body.
“They’re so puffy.” Lucerys looked delighted as he said it, pinching one of Aemond’s swollen, overly sensitive nipples.
Aemond’s eye watered at the sharp mix of pleasure and pain, and he moved to slap the callused hand away. Lucerys only smirked in response, looking oddly indulgent, before reaching over him to retrieve the abandoned bottle of lube.
He dipped two fingers in, taking a generous amount of the clear liquid and warming it between them before running them between Aemond’s buttocks and gently stroking the edge of his entrance.
The older prince groaned at the contact, spreading his legs wider to give him easier access. Lucerys leaned over him, kissing and nibbling a slow trail of desire down his stomach.
Aemond’s muscles clenched in response as Lucerys’ lips continued downward, his nose brushing his crotch, lightly grazing the wispy strands there. Something in Aemond’s chest tightened at the sudden change in rhythm, at the deliberate slowness of his caresses.
"Please." Aemond pleaded, his voice breathless and cracking. Lucerys was so close to his cock, his breath brushing the redhead and making it squirm.
His nephew seemed to relish the loss of his composure, something that set Aemond’s teeth on edge. When he thought he was finally going to get what his body craved, when he was certain he would feel Lucerys’s mouth around his cock, he was deliberately ignored. Instead, the sensation of a finger pressing inside him sent a sharp sting up his spine.
He could feel the way his insides tightened around Lucerys’s thick, calloused fingers. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation; Aemond was used to doing this to himself, or — on rare occasions — letting himself be fucked. Lucerys watched his reactions closely as he moved his finger slowly inside him, deliberate and unhurried. Aemond wished he would stop staring like that, so he shut his eye and bit down on his lip, determined not to be captivated by the violet intensity of his nephew’s gaze.
Lucerys pressed a kiss to his abdomen and slipped another finger into him, the wet sounds flooding Aemond’s ears. He maintained a deliberately slow pace, watching as Aemond struggled to keep himself composed when the tips of his fingers brushed his prostate. His hips squirmed in a desperate attempt to coax the younger man into hitting that spot again, but Lucerys only chuckled. He rose from where he had been settled comfortably and pressed a firm hand to Aemond’s stomach to still his movements, drawing a frustrated growl from him.
“Faster,” he demanded, his hands settling on Lucerys’s shoulders.
The Velaryon raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth lifting with smug amusement as he blinked in that same way he used to as a child, back when he wanted to escape the consequences of his own mischief.
“But you told me to take it easy, uncle,” Lucerys replied, his tone innocent in a way that was pure mockery, grinding Aemond’s teeth together. “I’m just doing what you asked.” He looked seconds away from laughing at the way Aemond fought not to chase his own pleasure.
“Stop it, bastard!”
To Aemond’s immediate regret, Lucerys actually listened. His fingers stilled inside him. The younger man’s expression went blank as he watched him, and the silver-haired man hated himself for how easily the insult had slipped past his lips. He hadn’t thought of Lucerys that way in years, yet old habits had a way of resurfacing when least wanted.
“That wasn’t very nice, Aemond,” Lucerys said at last, his voice calm but his gaze heavy, fixed on him with something that made Aemond want to shrink into his own skin. It felt too much like standing before a dragon deciding whether to devour its meal. “And bad boys don’t get good things, do they?”
The condescension burned his cheeks. The last person who had spoken to him like that was Alys, and that story had ended badly — but this, he told himself, was not meant to last.
One night, he decided, letting his shoulders relax. Just one night.
“Please,” Aemond whimpered, finally relenting.
Lucerys made a soft, soothing sound, as though Aemond were a wounded animal in need of calming, and leaned down to press a kiss to his temple.
“Be good,” he murmured firmly, gripping his jaw to keep him from turning away, “and I’ll give you anything you want.”
Aemond nodded, breathless. Lucerys’s thumb brushed gently along the edge of his scar.
And then, almost violently, he pressed a third finger inside him.
Aemond cried out in surprise at the sudden intrusion, clapping a hand over his mouth to muffle the obscene sounds Lucerys seemed so intent on coaxing from him—only to deny him moments later. His nephew caught his wrist and lifted it, their fingers intertwining as he held it there.
“You make the most beautiful noises, Aemond,” Lucerys growled. “Don’t you dare hide them from me.”
His fingers moved faster now, striking his prostate with punishing precision. Aemond’s belly tightened with the desperate need to come, his cock leaking precum. But before he could crest, Lucerys abruptly withdrew his fingers.
The tearful moan that tore from Aemond would have shamed him under different circumstances if not for the sharp, aching pain of denial.
“No.”
His voice came out broken, wet, on the verge of tears. With a trembling hand, he grabbed Lucerys’s arm, trying to guide his fingers back into his now-empty hole. Lucerys allowed it, watching him with unsettling intensity. When Aemond’s fingertips brushed his entrance, Lucerys pulled away again.
“No. Lucerys—please. Please. Please.”
The brunette made a quiet sound, his hand gripping Aemond’s knee, thumb stroking the skin there in slow, grounding motions.
“Lykirī.”
The Valyrian left his lips as second nature, every syllable pronounced perfectly. Calm down, he urged, as though Aemond were not trying to crawl out of his own skin.
“Don’t treat me like a dragon,” Aemond grunted once the burning in his belly began to subside.
“You are as fierce as one, uncle,” Lucerys replied, lifting his leg and draping it over his shoulder. “It’s hard to tell the difference sometimes.”
He pressed a gentle kiss to the curve of his knee, resting his temple there as he smiled up at Aemond in a way that one-night stands had no business doing.
Something inside Aemond tightened at that.
“Just fuck me already,” he snarled, digging his nails into Lucerys’s bare shoulder.
His chest rose sharply, ragged breaths filling the room, loud and unrestrained. Lucerys’s curls were plastered to his forehead with sweat, yet he seemed unwilling to release Aemond’s hand to wipe them away, so Aemond did it himself with an impatient snort, combing his fingers through the thick strands.
Lucerys’s head tipped back instinctively, following the touch, his eyes fluttering closed in clear contentment before he smirked with satisfaction.
“So impatient,” he muttered.
Sensing that Aemond had no intention of removing his leg from where it rested over his shoulder, Lucerys finally let go and reached for the bottle of lube again, clicking his tongue in displeasure when he realized he’d have to release his uncle’s hand to open it.
Aemond pressed his lips together but stayed silent, his body tensing with anticipation. He watched as Lucerys coated his hand, lazily stroking himself as he did. His thumb traced the cleft of the glans, coaxing more pre-cum that mixed slickly with the lube, his gaze never once leaving Aemond’s exposed hole.
A flicker of embarrassment bloomed in Aemond’s chest, his legs trembling with the instinctive urge to close. But Lucerys hooked a finger at his entrance instead, stretching it experimentally, testing its give.
Aemond groaned, startled by the sheer vulgarity of it.
Don’t do that, you beast.”
He slapped Lucerys’s shoulder, feeling his cheeks burn with embarrassment. Lucerys chuckled but complied, adjusting Aemond’s leg where it rested over his shoulder. The tip of his cock pressed against Aemond’s hole, breaching it just slightly.
Aemond’s breath hitched.
Lucerys’s other hand gripped his thigh, squeezing the skin painfully before pushing the rest of himself inside in one strong thrust. Aemond’s eye widened at the abrupt fullness, his mouth betraying him with moan after moan as his body stretched to accommodate Lucerys’s length.
“Breathe,” Lucerys whispered softly, his thumb stroking Aemond’s inner thigh, where the skin was soft and delicate.
Aemond only nodded, curses tangling uselessly on his tongue. His leg slipped from Lucerys’s shoulder, but his nephew didn’t steady it—he seized it instead, forcing him open even further. He drew back and thrust again, as if testing the waters, letting out a low sound — half groan, half growl — when Aemond clenched around him in response.
Aemond knew he would be bruised by morning, from the way Lucerys clung to his legs like an anchor, as though restraining himself from simply taking what he wanted. His nephew’s gaze was intense, fixed on his reactions as he waited for him to adjust to the stretch.
When Aemond’s breathing finally eased, he gave a small motion, a silent permission.
The scream he let out at the first real thrust was far too loud for someone who didn’t want to be caught.
“Sīr ȳrda,” Lucerys groaned, lost to the sensation. So tight. His hips moved almost violently. “Sīr sȳz.” So good.
Tears streamed down Aemond’s cheeks, his mouth hanging open as he dragged air into his lungs. Lucerys caught his hand again, lacing their fingers together and pressing it to the side of his head as he drove as deep as he could. Aemond’s body followed the motion, sliding helplessly across the sheets.
The wet sounds his cock made as it drove into him echoed through the room, mingling with his labored breaths and broken moans. Not for a moment did Aemond stop to consider that his nephew had found the time to reach for the lube but not for a condom, too lost in the haze of pleasure Lucerys seemed to weave inside his mind.
The skin of his ass burned under Lucerys’s relentless thrusts, and the fleeting thought that it would hurt to sit among their family the next day was quickly chased away when the younger man shifted the angle of his hips and struck his prostate. Aemond’s spine arched at the sudden rush of unbridled pleasure, a sob tearing from his lips.
He dug the nails of his free hand into Lucerys’s broad shoulders, but not even the pain was enough to slow his pace.
"Tolī olvie." Aemond spluttered, pleasure drowning his thoughts so completely that he didn’t even notice he’d stopped speaking in common. Too much. His cock throbbed, wet and aching. Aemond reached for himself without thinking, trembling, and Lucerys stopped him instantly, fingers closing around his wrist in a silent warning. “Daor,” he whimpered. No.
"Sagon iā sȳz valītsos se sepār raqagon ñuha orvorta," Lucerys growled as he pushed his weight down onto Aemond, driving his cock deeper inside him. Be a good boy and just enjoy my dick.
He leaned in, licking him in a way that would have been repulsive if Aemond were in his right mind. His mouth trailed down to his neck, pressing slow kisses over the marks he had left there earlier, before continuing lower, unhurried, deliberate. When his lips finally closed around one of Aemond’s sensitive nipples, Aemond jerked beneath him, a broken sound tearing from his throat. It hurt, sharp and overwhelming, but threaded through with a pleasure so intense he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. Tears slipped from the corner of his eye as his body betrayed him completely.
“Sīr gevie,” his nephew murmured against his chest, kissing the skin there. So beautiful. “Sīr, sīr gevie, Aemond.” So, so beautiful, Aemond. It was mortifying to realize that those words — soft and reverent — were what finally drove him over the edge. His back arches and his neck stretches almost painfully. His vision blurred for a second, his belly muscles spasming as he climaxed. However, he swiftly regained his composure upon realising that Lucerys was still inside him, continuously penetrating his hole and hitting his overstimulated prostate. Lucerys rested his cheek against Aemond’s temple, his presence steady and grounding. Soft, murmured sounds left his lips, meant to soothe rather than command, as if Aemond were something fragile that might break if left unattended. Aemond’s arms were still held above him, the strain beginning to register as a dull ache in his muscles, but his mind was slower to follow.
"Luce- ah." He tried, twitching beneath him. "Daor tolī." Aemond whimpered. No more. He knew that shame would come later, once clarity returned. Right now, his thoughts refused to line up properly, slipping away every time he tried to grasp them. And Aemond couldn't think. He couldn't—
His head was spinning non-stop. His hole contracted, gripping Lucerys's cock firmly, as if it wanted to keep him inside forever. The sounds around him were overwhelming, rhythmic and inescapable, pounding against his senses until there was no room left to think. Aemond could do nothing but cry. Everything felt too much — too loud, too close, too intense. There was no pause, no space to recover, no mercy in the way the moment dragged on. It felt less like desire and more like penance, as if he were being made to endure something he could not name, only feel.
“Shh,” Lucerys whispered against his temple, his breath warm against his skin. “Just a little more, uncle. You’re doing so well.” He switched to the common tongue without warning, the sudden change cutting through the haze in Aemond’s head. It took him a moment to process the words, their meaning lagging behind the sound, as if his mind were struggling to catch up with reality.
But hearing that from his nephew shouldn’t have affected him the way it did. It shouldn’t have made his body feel heavy and unresponsive, shouldn’t have left him pliant beneath the weight of the moment, but it did. Aemond blinked slowly, trying to force his thoughts back into order.
The intensity of Lucerys’s movements was enough to make his body sway, even as firm hands kept him from slipping away. His face was wet with tears, his skin clammy and cold, and the elastic of his eyepatch dug painfully into his flesh, grounding him in discomfort.
Still, Lucerys let out a hoarse sound close to his ear, breath uneven and strained, and the force of it sent a sharp jolt through Aemond’s body. His cock reacted weakly. He was oversensitive and exhausted, his body responding even as his mind struggled to keep up.
When Lucerys finally came, he buried himself deep in Aemond, his pelvis pressed flush against his skin, his release burning inside him. He brought Aemond to follow soon after, jerking him off until he spilled again—this time thinner, clearer—sobbing as his body trembled with the force of it.
Lucerys lingered there for a moment, panting heavily, his body slick with sweat. Aemond gasped for air, his chest rising and falling unevenly. Only then did Lucerys release his wrists and lower himself onto his knees, withdrawing slowly. The silver-haired man whimpered, still oversensitive to the abruptness with which his nephew handled him. He could feel the warmth of it seeping from him, his body twitching faintly with the remnants of his second climax.
Lucerys snarled shamelessly at the sight, his thumb brushing gently over the abused skin.
“Oh,” he said, delighted. “It’s so red.”
Aemond tried to pull away from the lingering heat, already anticipating the sting he would feel the next day. He slapped Lucerys, weakly, far weaker than he wanted.
“Stop that, you beast,” he rasped, his voice hoarse, his throat dry.
Lucerys only chuckled, clearly unfazed by the glare thrown his way. He caught Aemond’s hand, pressing a kiss to the red marks around his wrist before settling beside him on the bed.
“You keep calling me that,” he said, brow arching, amusement bright in his eyes. “Does that make you the Beauty?”
Aemond slapped him again, this time earning a laugh in response.
“Ugh, I feel gross,” Aemond grunted, his bottom sore, his muscles aching. He tried not to move too much, acutely aware of the lingering warmth sliding from him — an unpleasant reminder that, as previously established, his nephew was decidedly not small.
“Same,” Lucerys replied, wrinkling his nose slightly as he settled lazily against the pillow.
Aemond turned toward him, studying his profile.
“I didn’t expect that from you, sweet boy,” he scoffed. He truly hadn’t expected Lucerys to be so intense. “Where did you even learn all that?” Because making him come twice without being touched took experience.
“They didn’t lie when they said you try everything in college, Aemond,” Lucerys smirked smugly.
Aemond rolled his eye in response. Confidence looked good on Lucerys—unfortunately, it also made him insufferable.
“You should go,” he said after a while, noticing how Lucerys looked on the verge of falling asleep, his features soft, exhaustion finally catching up to him.
“You’re right,” his nephew yawned, pushing himself up and lazily beginning to dress. His hair was a mess, his shirt clinging to his shoulders with sweat.
The room fell quiet, but not uncomfortably so.
After all, it was something they had wanted, something they had done, and something that was now over.
(So maybe Aemond did know how it had started.)
— × —
It happened again, because the gods seemed to delight in contradicting Aemond.
Lucerys crossed that line once more during the celebrations of Aegon’s Landing in King’s Landing. Long after the dragons had returned to their perches and the music had faded into the night, Lucerys found his way into Aemond’s chambers. The memory of the day still clung to them — the flight through the sky, the forced smiles, the weight of expectation pressing down on Aemond’s shoulders.
He had him on all fours, thrusting into him from behind, all sharp instincts and barely restrained intensity. He pulled his hair with one hand as he moved his hips firmly, guiding himself without patience, as if driven by something feral and unthinking. Aemond struggled to keep control, his composure fracturing under the pressure, breath breaking into helpless sounds that made heat rise to his face.
His nephew was like a beast, biting any part of his body he could reach, his big hand spreding over his ribs. His grip was possessive, his attention absolute, as though Aemond were something to be claimed rather than persuaded. And despite himself, despite the shame curling in his chest, Aemond found himself yielding once again. The sounds Aemond makes are obscene and make his cheeks even redder.
At some point, his arms finally gave way, and his chest sank heavily into the mattress. His body trembled from exhaustion, every muscle overstimulated and aching, as if pushed far beyond its limits. The marks left on his skin — reminders of older wounds that had barely healed — burned anew, sensitive against the cool sheets beneath him. Due to his position, his nipples brush against the soft sheets, sending spikes of pleasure down his spine. With his cheek pressed into the pillow, tears slipped freely down his face, mingling with sweat. His mouth stayed parted as he struggled to breathe properly, each gasp shallow and unsteady. Aemond couldn’t think anymore — his thoughts blurred, his will dulled by fatigue and sensation and Aemond couldn’t think straight; he just lies there and takes it. Letting Lucerys do whatever he wanted with his body, For just a moment — just one — he surrendered control entirely,
Lucerys muttered something — a tangled mix of Valyrian and Common — but the words were lost beneath the rush of blood in Aemond’s ears and the sharp pull at his hair, intense enough to force his spine to arch almost painfully. When the grip loosened, his hair slid down his back, falling around his face like a curtain, briefly shielding him from the world.
Hands closed firmly around his waist, possessive, leaving no doubt about their intent. Aemond’s fingers curled into the sheets as sensation and exhaustion blurred together, his body reacting faster than his mind could follow. Every movement felt overwhelming, too much, as though he were being pushed past the point where thought could exist.
When he tried to hide himself — to disappear into the mattress — Lucerys refused to allow it, tugging him upright again, forcing him to remain present, aware. A low warning followed, close to his ear, breath warm against his neck.
"Ȳdra daor," he growled, licking a trail down his stretched neck. Don't do that. The position seemed to make Lucerys's cock slide even deeper, and Aemond whined, his eye wide with the change in angle. "Issi ñuhon." They are mine.
Lucerys’s hands closed around his waist with deliberate force, guiding him in a way that felt almost punitive. Aemond knew there would be marks left behind by morning, visible reminders he wouldn’t be able to hide. To his own quiet dismay, part of him welcomed that thought. He remembered pressing his bruises and bites while masturbating in the days following his meeting with Lucerys. He rubbed his nipples in an attempt to mimic the pleasure his nephew had given him that night. However, each orgasm was less satisfying than those Lucerys had given him. He always ended up feeling self-conscious.
The force of the movement makes Aemond lose his balance, and he collapses back onto the mattress, his forehead pressing into the sheets as he struggles to steady himself. The sounds he makes escape despite his efforts to contain them, filling the room and mingling with Lucerys’s unabashed reactions. Unlike him, Lucerys shows no restraint, his voice low and constant, murmuring words that sound almost like praise, only heightening Aemond’s sense of exposure.
When he came, it was like this: he was on all fours and untouched, while Lucerys fucked him to the point of overstimulation. His nephew followed shortly after, his entrance contracting around his cock. But despite everything, he didn't pull out immediately, staying inside Aemond as his cum oozed out. When he finally removes himself, it is only to push the slimy cum into Aemond's hole and fingering him until his breath came in broken sobs and his voice dissolved into pleas he barely recognised as his own. He cried out for it to stop, for mercy, for no more, no more, please, until he came again.
They remained like that for a while, both focused on slowing their breathing, Lucerys’s hand still firm at Aemond’s hips. His back ached from the prolonged strain, muscles trembling with exhaustion. Lucerys seemed to notice, pressing a brief kiss to his lower back before carefully shifting him into a more comfortable position.
He stood up soon after. For a fleeting moment, Aemond thought he was leaving, but instead Lucerys disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a damp cloth. He cleaned him with quiet attention, wiping away sweat and the remnants of the night as gently as he could. When he reached Aemond’s face, he hesitated at the eyepatch, working around it instead.
Aemond didn’t realize when sleep took him. When he woke, the room was empty.
It’s better this way, he thought, body sore but oddly settled, a fullness he rarely allowed himself to feel. Just one night. Nothing more.
But the gods, it seemed, delighted in contradiction — because it happened again.
And again.
And again.
Especially because, for reasons Aemond still couldn’t quite name, his nephew chose to attend his second year at Good Queen Alysanne Targaryen University in Kingsland.
To avoid the added cost and inconvenience of private security — along with the other arrangements required for a royal living off the estate — Lucerys took up residence in his old childhood bedroom in Maegor’s Holdfast.
So yes, it happened again. Until it quietly became routine.
At some point, the pillow on Aemond’s left side stopped being empty. It became Lucerys’s. His nephew no longer left after the night was over, instead clinging to him in sleep, an arm draped possessively over his waist or resting against his stomach, as if anchoring himself there. Other nights, the roles reversed — Aemond would hold him close, pressing his face into the space between Lucerys’s shoulder blades, one leg thrown carelessly over his hips, keeping him in place.
They alternated rooms, mostly because their schedules rarely aligned. Often, when Aemond returned late from work — shoulders tense, head aching from a long and demanding day — he would stop briefly at his own room only to shower, letting the hot water wash away the weight of the hours before seeking Lucerys out, sticking two fingers in himself to stretch just enough instead of the three his nephew usually puts on — because sometimes he wants it to hurt — before going to Lucerys' room. He would find him already asleep, curled into the sheets, peaceful in a way Aemond rarely allowed himself to be.
And still, he went to him.
Aemond would pull down his pants and expose his soft cock, lazily settling onto his nephew's hips and jerking him off until his pre-cum mixed with lube. Then he would slide his length into himself, feeling the sting of being filled, and tears would begin to form from the sensation. He moved with that feeling, chasing it, surrendering to it, until Lucerys reacted in turn, his hands tightening around his waist, grip firm and grounding, anchoring him when his balance faltered. It was always like this: Aemond giving himself over, Lucerys answering without hesitation.
Sometimes Lucerys would hold the silver-haired man firmly in place, fingers digging into his hips with a grip that bordered on pain. He kept him there deliberately, watching as Aemond shifted restlessly, desperate for release he could not reach on his own. Lucerys would then guide one of Aemond’s hands, pressing it flat against his own abdomen, forcing him to feel his cock inside him — the proof of how deeply entangled they were. The gesture alone was enough to shatter what remained of Aemond’s composure. Shame burned hot under his skin, tears slipping free despite his attempts to hold them back. The vulnerability only seemed to fuel Lucerys further, his control tightening, movements growing harsher, as if this were punishment rather than pleasure.
(He always acted like that, as if he were punishing Aemond for some unspoken fault, when the balance should have tipped the other way. When Aemond should have been the one holding firm control, reclaiming what had been taken from him years ago. When it should have been about reckoning, about justice — not surrender.)
When they finally acknowledged that whatever existed between them was not going to fade, they took the rare step of stopping to talk — not to justify it, but to understand it. They spoke about limits, about control, about what each of them expected and what lines would not be crossed. Lucerys asked, at one point, whether Aemond would ever want things to change between them.
He didn’t.
There was something about yielding to Lucerys’s presence that unsettled him in ways he could not deny. Being seen so completely, stripped of pride and pretense, awakened a craving he refused to name. Lucerys, in turn, did not look away. His gaze was sharp, intense, almost consuming — as if Aemond’s confession had only drawn him closer.
The conversation did not end with distance or regret. If anything, it left them closer than before, bound by truths neither of them could now pretend had not been spoken.
Sometimes, it was Aemond who woke with the unmistakable awareness that Lucerys was inside him, hurried, restless, wanting a quick fuck before classes or an early flight with Arrax. The aftermath lingered in his body, leaving him trembling long after the room had gone quiet again. Aemond would lay still for a moment, bringing his fingers to his abused entrance and feeling how loose it was, Lucerys cum still oozing. By the time he finally moved, the sheets were cold, and Lucerys felt impossibly far away, as if the morning had swallowed him whole.
At some point, their clothes became indistinguishable, and Aemond found himself sleeping in one of Lucerys’ sweatshirts without thinking twice about it. Something in his nephew shifted the first time he saw him wearing it for the first time — a sharp look, a sudden intensity that erased whatever fatigue Lucerys had brought home from the gym. That night was restless and overwhelming in ways Aemond would only fully register the next morning, his body sore, his posture stiff, every movement a reminder that lines had been crossed and willingly redrawn. He fucked him three times that night; in any of them, the sweatshirt came off.
At another point, Aemond began to appreciate the quiet of Lucerys’ rooms. He started using his solar to write reports and catch up on work, while Lucerys sat across from him with his own studies, hair unkempt and overdue for a shave, slouched in a way that would have horrified their tutors. He wore a stained shirt and sweatpants that Aemond was fairly certain belonged to him. Despite his private criticism, Aemond didn’t look much better — dressed entirely in Lucerys’ clothes, an oversized shirt slipping off one shoulder and a Driftmark basketball shorts hanging low on his hips. His hair was twisted into a careless bun, held back by one of Jaehaera’s shiny barrettes. He couldn’t pinpoint when exactly he had grown so comfortable in Lucerys’ presence; only that, at some point, it had happened without his noticing.
Eventually, their Thursdays turned into movie nights. Fridays were usually reserved for Aemond working late, trying to stay ahead of the following week’s meetings and obligations. Sometimes Lucerys went out with friends or with Rhaena, whose commitments with the Kingsland Ballet Company often kept her busy. Aemond had attended one of her performances at Lucerys’ insistence, and she had been every bit as talented as the tabloids claimed, though she had watched Lucerys with a curious intensity when they spoke afterward in the dressing room.
Things between them had eased somewhat after her dragon hatched, though the subject was never openly addressed. Their interactions were less strained than Aemond had anticipated — not warm, not hostile, but carefully, as if all of them were choosing, deliberately, not to look too closely at what lay beneath.
So Thursday became movie night, though they spent more time criticizing each other’s taste than actually following the plot. Aemond often ended up sitting on Lucerys's cock on the couch and would simply keep him there, inside himself, leaning back against his chest, half-listening to the dialogue while the film played in the background. His cheek would rest against Lucerys’ shoulder, legs spread and his posture loose in a way he rarely allowed himself elsewhere, eyes heavy with the exhaustion of the day.
Lucerys would press light kisses to his temple, absent-mindedly combing his fingers through Aemond’s hair or keeping a steady hand at his waist, grounding and familiar. The warmth of it all made Aemond sluggish, comfortable, lulled by the low murmur of voices from the screen and the quiet presence behind him.
Aemond cockwarmed him, feeling the way it almost brushed against his prostate, and relishing the sensation of being stretched deliciously by its length. Sometimes he would even fall asleep, letting the tiredness of the day wash over him, too comfortable to deny himself. More than once, he woke later to find the movie long finished, the room dark and quiet and Lucerys fucking him.
At some point, his nephew sent him a good work text and never really stopped. Soon, his messages were filled with memes he couldn’t quite understand and blurry ridiculous pictures of himself and, occasionally, Arrax. Once, he even sent a photo taken during a lecture, pulling an utterly foolish face at the camera.
Aemond had been having brunch with Helaena at the time and found himself smiling despite his best efforts, fingers already typing a brief reply before he could stop himself. When he looked up, his sister was watching him over the rim of her cup, lavender eyes bright with quiet understanding. No matter how hard he tried, Helaena always seemed to see through him more clearly than anyone else.
“What?” he asked, far too defensively, tightening his grip on his phone as if she might leap across the table and snatch it from his hand.
She only hummed, lips curving with gentle amusement — seeing far more than she let on. The thought that he had even expected otherwise left him faintly embarrassed.
“Nothing,” she said lightly, taking a sip of her dreadful tea, her bracelets chiming softly against the porcelain. “Happiness suits you, valonqar.” Younger brother. Aemond often forgot that he was one too, that he was someone people were meant to care for. He had grown so accustomed to being the one who held everything together.
He dragged Aegon out of his spirals of drink and reckless excess, stood beside him through the hollow promises of sobriety and the crushing weight of expectations Aegon despised but never escaped. He had stepped in where Aegon failed Helaena, helped raise children that were never meant to be his responsibility. He had guided Daeron through a family that devoured its own, through the silence of a father who remembered them only when it was convenient.
And in doing so, Aemond had learned his place. He was not the one to be protected. He was the one who endured.
Aemond pressed his lips together and ignored Lucerys’s messages for the rest of the day, later claiming to be busy when his nephew asked why he hadn’t replied.
At some point, hhe and Lucerys began training together on Saturday mornings, using the White Cloaks’ training grounds within the Keep. Their sparring was vicious and relentless, and Aemond took undeniable satisfaction in defeating him. Lucerys was skilled — but Aemond was better, and had a lot to make up for.
When their schedules allowed, they would have lunch together afterwards. Lucerys complained endlessly about his professors, about Driftmark and its beaches, and about how Aemond never seemed inclined to visit. In return, Aemond grumbled about incompetent shareholders, impossible employees, and the quiet exhaustion of responsibility.
At some point, he took off his eyepatch in front of Lucerys and never thought to put it back on.
He could not remember exactly when it happened — whether it was during sex o, or the first time they shared a shower — only that he did it. After that, it became natural. Unremarkable. Lucerys would sometimes press his thumb gently along the curve of the scar while cupping his jaw, or place a careful kiss over the ruined eyelid when Aemond was half-asleep. They never spoke of it. Still, Aemond could feel Lucerys’ regret in every restrained touch, every moment of hesitation, a remorse that did not ask to be forgiven, only endured. It sat between them like a third presence, unspoken and unresolved. Aemond did not know whether to resent it or accept it, and the uncertainty gnawed at him.
He remembered everything.
The blinding chaos of the gurney. The harsh lights. The voices shouting over one another as he was rushed into surgery. He remembered Vhagar’s roar when the blade crossed his face — the raw fury and possessive terror that surged through their newly forged bond. Even drugged, even fading in and out of consciousness, he had been forced to anchor her, to calm her as she circled the hospital in a restless, grieving rage. He remembered leaning against her immense head afterward, the heat of her scales pressed to his skin, grounding and unbearable all at once. He remembered the pain — sharp, consuming, endless.
He remembered his mother’s fear. The long, humiliating process of relearning what should have been instinct. The way people looked at him afterward — with pity, with caution, as if he were something broken and fragile.
He remembered how it changed him. How it hardened something inside his chest.
He remembered. He always remembered.
And that was the most dangerous part of all was how easily those memories blurred when he was with Lucerys. How the noise quieted. How the weight of the past loosened its grip. How, in Lucerys’ arms, forgetting felt not only possible, but deserved.
That frightened him more than the pain ever had.
But at some point, Aemond noticed.
Not all at once. Not in a moment grand enough to be named or remembered. It crept in quietly, between shared silences and habits that no longer felt temporary. Somewhere between familiarity and dependence, between comfort and fear, it settled in his chest with frightening certainty.
He had fallen in love with Lucerys.
At some point, they stopped pretending it was anything else. What had once been unspoken became acknowledged in the smallest ways: staying without excuse, planning around one another, choosing presence over distance. They started dating without ceremony, without declarations — as if it had already been true long before either of them dared to say it aloud.
(At some point. At some point. At some point—)
As if inevitability itself were mocking him, repeating the truth until he could no longer deny it.
— × —
As he had done every other time life became too heavy, Aemond fled to her. To his only constant. To Vhagar.
It was Saturday. Lucerys had an early lecture he needed to attend for extra credits, while Aemond, drained to the bone, allowed himself the rare luxury of laziness after a week crammed with meetings about the company’s next release. Before leaving, his nephew pressed a soft kiss to his forehead — and to the pale curve of his exposed scar. Aemond grumbled, half-asleep, and turned deeper into the covers.
They were in Lucerys’ room.
It was only hours later that the realisation struck him with such force it nearly stole the air from his lungs.
He bolted upright, then out of bed, tangling himself in the sheets as he rushed for the door. Somewhere down the corridor, he vaguely registered Aegon’s shout. His older brother had only recently returned from his tour promoting his new album — something he fought so hard to achieve — and was staying in the Keep, much to the children’s delight.
Aemond didn’t stop to consider how he must have looked: barefoot, hair dishevelled, dressed in one of Lucerys’ old shirts and sweatpants, running through the halls like a man possessed. He detoured sharply into his own rooms, already typing a message to the head of the Guardians, ordering Vhagar to be prepared. Muscle memory took over. Riding clothes. Overcoat. Hair pulled into a tight ponytail and spare eyepatch — he had left the usual one behind in Lucerys’ room in his haste.
He took his car — a sports model released by one of Targaryen Inc.’s subsidiaries — and cut through the busy streets of Kingsland with reckless focus. His mother would scold him later for leaving without a Kingsguard escort, but Aemond’s thoughts were far too loud. The last year and a half replayed in fragments. It’s Alys all over again, he thought bitterly. It was his heart racing. Butterflies turning sick in his stomach. It’s him saying I like you and red lips curving into a regretful smile. It’s we had a good ride, kid. It's someone leaving him behind to collect the pieces of his shattered heart.
He missed more than one green light, the sharp blare of horns dragging him back from his spiralling thoughts. For a moment, he considered pulling over — letting his fists speak, because anger was better than tears, or turning his panic breaths into effortful breaths.
Instead, he tightened his grip on the steering wheel and screams.
By the time he passed through security, Vhagar was already restless, her massive form shifting uneasily as the Guardians struggled to soothe her. The moment she spotted him, though, she stilled and the silver-haired man couldn’t help but to feel an immense affection for the dragon he had won with his blood. She was his.
One deep rumble echoed from her chest.
“Rytsas, Vagus,” Aemond said, amusement softening his voice as he placed both hands against her massive head, steadying himself when she surged forward to greet him. Hello, Vhagar.
The Guardians withdrew at once, voices rising in a respectful chorus of Dārilaros — Prince.
Aemond pressed his cheek against her scales, warm and familiar beneath his skin, and stroked the ridged curve of her head. “Biare naejot ūndegon nyke?” Happy to see me? He asked.
Vhagar answered with a low snarl, a violent exhale bursting from her nostrils — hot enough to scorch anyone without dragonblood. She nudged him impatiently, spreading one immense wing to lift him, just as she had when he was a child and too small to climb the thick rope ladder fast enough.
He stepped onto her wingspan, balancing as she raised him with deliberate care until he was seated and the safety harnesses were secured. When all was set, Aemond folded into the proper aerodynamic posture, the movement ingrained into muscle and bone from years of flying.
He drew a breath, and gave the command.
"Sōvēs, Vagus!" Fly, Vhagar!
And she does.
Vhagar rose in all her monstrous glory, a terror made flesh and scale. The great conqueror. His dragon. Aemond loved her with everything that existed within him. Her heavy strides shook the earth, crushing the sand of the beach where she had made her nest, and the ancient dragon roared, he was already aware that they would be seen, that they would be spoken of.
The sight of Vhagar always caused an uproar among the people of Kingsland, especially among the younger generations. Phones were lifted, voices rose, and awe turned into panic as her wings unfurled. With a thunderous beat, she took to the sky.
The thrill of flying never grew old. It stripped Aemond down to that boy who had once fled into the night, heart racing and blood burning with defiance. His hair whipped around him as Vhagar climbed, the force of her ascent rattling his bones. Taking off was always the hardest part, her sheer weight demanded more ground, more power, more effort than any younger dragon would ever need.
But once airborne, she moved with the speed.
Vhagar cut through the sky as she had on the day of the Conquest, a truth no one ever expected from her ageing body. Lazy by nature, inclined to a slow, deliberate flight, she felt his urgency today, and answered it. She did not hold back.
They passed over Kingsland, her shadow swallowing streets and rooftops whole. Vhagar roared simply because she could. They crossed Blackwater Bay and its endless expanse, scattered islets slipping beneath them as her massive body dove through the clouds, Aemond’s overcoat snapping violently in the wind.
Astride the largest living dragon, with the world reduced to something small beneath him, Aemond felt invincible, as if he could conquer Dorne by himself.
He flew for hours, not bothering to land for lunch or any other meal. The saddle adjusts itself beneath him, redistributing his weight as Vhagar’s powerful wings cut through the air, compensating automatically for changes in pressure and altitude. A translucent HUD flickers to life in front of his good eye, feeding him data he barely registers — altitude stable, heart rate elevated but controlled, fatigue negligible. His peace is only disturbed by the distant roar of another dragon, smaller and sharper, slicing through the sky with effortless agility.
The sensors embedded beneath the ancient leather of Vhagar’s saddle hum softly as the system locks onto the new presence. DRAGON IDENTIFIED: ARAXES. CAVALIER: L. VELARYON. STATUS: NON-HOSTILE. Vhagar, recognizing the dragon who has accompanied her on previous flights and reacts with the same indulgent tolerance she reserves for Sunfyre, Dreamfyre, and Tessarion when his siblings fly alongside him.
Arrax circles them, wings beating faster than necessary, clearly trying to instigate some kind of aerial game. Vhagar rumbles low in her chest but does not deviate, her massive form holding steady as the saddle’s protocol quietly adjusts their shared airspace. The Targaryen Airspace Protocol activates without sound, suggesting a safe formation and reducing unnecessary alerts, trusting the long-established familiarity between the two beasts.
Only then does Aemond truly see Lucerys. His nephew is dressed in black and blue, wearing a biker-style jacket patterned with scales along the sleeves, mirroring the dark overcoat Aemond wears. Lucerys’s headset — linked directly to the Guardians of the Dragonpit — beeps once, sharp and deliberate. A moment later, Aemond’s own display pulses softly, a blue icon blooming at the corner of his vision.
INCOMING REQUEST: OPEN COMMUNICATION.
“Let’s land.” Lucerys’s voice comes through the channel as soon as Aemond accepts the call, slightly distorted by the rush of wind. “You’ve been flying for hours.”
For a brief, dangerous second, Aemond nearly snaps. The irritation flares hot and sharp — the instinctive rejection of being spoken to like this, of being worried over by his nephew, as if he were careless or fragile, as if he needed supervision.
But then his shoulders sag.
The realisation settles heavily in his chest: he has allowed Lucerys to treat him this way for months now. With concern. With familiarity. With a kind of quiet authority he never asked for and never stopped.
His lips curl into a grim line. Without answering, he closes the communication channel, cutting the audio before his temper can get the better of him. The HUD dims, acknowledging the termination without protest.
Instead, he raises one hand, fingers moving in a precise, deliberate sequence — an old signal, one he hadn’t consciously used in years. It dated back to his earliest flying lessons, back when the technology embedded in the saddles was still rudimentary, when communicators failed midair and long-distance audio was unreliable at best. Back then, riders had relied on gestures alone: sharp, disciplined movements meant to cut through wind, distance, and dragonfire alike.
Prepare to land. Designated ground.
He points toward a small islet below, little more than sand and jagged rock breaking the surface of the bay, barely waiting to see if Lucerys acknowledges it before urging Vhagar in that direction.
“Tegun, Vagus!” Land, Vhagar!
She obeys immediately. Her immense body descends with controlled force, hitting the islet in a thunderous crash. The impact sends vibrations through the ground; her tail drags into the water, too massive to fit fully on the narrow strip of land, displacing waves that slap against the shore. Salt spray rises into the air as she settles, wings folding with a deep, resonant groan.
Above them, Arrax roars, circling once, twice, searching for the optimal approach. His smaller wings beat faster, scattering sand as he lands more lightly nearby, claws digging in with far less effort than Vhagar required.
Lucerys is off his saddle almost immediately.
Aemond, by contrast, takes his time. He disengages the safety harness, waits for the saddle to stabilise, and then reaches for the rope ladder. The descent is familiar, methodical — a ritual ingrained by years of discipline rather than haste.
By the time his boots touch the sand, Lucerys is already there.
Waiting.
Each step Aemond takes toward him is marked by the crunch of sand beneath his boots, the sound loud in the sudden quiet between dragons and sea. Lucerys doesn’t move to meet him — doesn’t retreat either. He just watches, expression unreadable, the wind tugging at his jacket as the space between them slowly closes.
“What was that?” Lucerys demanded. “When I went to the Keep looking for you, Aegon said you’d run off.”
His brow was drawn tight, his hands gripping Aemond’s forearms as if instinctively trying to pull him closer. Normally, Aemond would have let himself be guided like that, would have circled Lucerys’s waist in a half-embrace, accepting the warmth without question. This time, he didn’t. He pulled away.
Lucerys stilled. The worry on his face sharpened into something more guarded, more careful.
“Do you really think I’m that stupid?” Aemond said, bitterness seeping into every word. “That I wouldn’t notice what was happening?”
There was no world in which his far more emotionally perceptive nephew hadn’t realised their relationship had shifted into something else entirely. Lucerys’s expression hardened, his features closing off in a way Aemond had only seen when he slipped fully into the role of prince and heir. The sight made Aemond ache with the urge to reach for him.
“So,” Lucerys said coolly, “you finally noticed.”
It was unsettling to hear him like this — distant, controlled — after a year of being wrapped in the warmth of his presence.
“Yes,” Aemond snapped. “I noticed.” His hands twitched at his sides, restless, angry. He felt deceived. “If I hadn’t, would you ever have told me?”
“Eventually.”
“Eventually,” Aemond repeated with a scoff.
“Yes, Aemond. Eventually.” Lucerys spoke as if calming a child on the edge of a tantrum, and the condescension only sharpened Aemond’s fury. Behind him, Vhagar snarled, uneasy, briefly drawing Lucerys’s attention. “Because I knew you’d do this.”
“This?” Aemond snapped. “Me being angry? Or me finally asking for something you should’ve said months ago?”
“You running,” Lucerys said, and this time there was no sharpness in it, only resignation. “You always run when things stop being easy.” He took a steadying breath and behind him, Arrax shifted restlessly.
The words hit harder than anger ever could.
He swallowed, then went on, slower now. “The first time I slept next to you, you didn’t speak to me for almost two weeks.”
Aemond remembered it vividly, waking with an arm wrapped tight around him, the panic clawing up his throat, the silence he’d enforced afterward. The ignored messages. The unanswered calls.
“I didn’t—”
“You did,” Lucerys interrupted gently. “You always do.” His shoulders sagged. “What was I supposed to think? What was I supposed to do?”
“Tell me,” Aemond replied sharply, sarcasm slipping into place like armour. A defence mechanism, his therapist had said.
Lucerys let out a breath that sounded dangerously close to a laugh. “I was afraid,” he admitted. “Afraid that if you realised how much I love you, you’d disappear completely.”
His eyes met Aemond’s, open now, unguarded in a way that made something twist painfully in Aemond’s chest.
“You are in love with me?” Aemond asked, the question barely holding together.
Lucerys shook his head slowly, almost incredulous. “I always have been.” A pause. “Everyone must know that by now, Aemond. Everyone except you.”
“I wanted to be more to you,” Lucerys continued. “Not a secret. Not something temporary you could walk away from when it got too real.” His voice wavered, then steadied. “When things started changing, I didn’t want to lose them. So I held on. Quietly.”
Aemond’s hands curled into fists. His heart was pounding as if it wanted to leap out of his chest and land in Lucerys's hands, as if he wanted to be at his mercy. It was a lot of sentimentality for someone like him to handle.
“And if I had ended it?” he asked. “If I’d decided that night at Dragonstone was the end, — what then?”
Lucerys didn’t hesitate, but his eyes shone.
“Then I would’ve let you go,” he said softly. “I would’ve taken whatever you were willing to give me and pretended it was enough.”
He looked away, swallowing.
“Even if it wasn’t.”
"Even when I hated you?"
“Especially those times,” he said, almost fondly, though the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I’m not easy to love,” Aemond said quietly. The words came out low, scraped from somewhere deep. “I’ve never been good with emotions. Except for anger. Sometimes it feels like anger is the only thing I know how to do.”
A lump rose in his throat, painful and stubborn, and forcing the words out felt like pushing past thorns that threatened to choke him. He licked his lips, suddenly aware of how dry they felt.
“But you made me feel, Lucerys,” he went on. “You made me feel after such a long time. And once I realised that I panicked. I didn’t know how to deal with it.”
Lucerys shook his head, stepping closer, as if refusing a lie he’d heard too many times. “You’re not like that, Aemond. “I’ve watched you for years, Aemond. You’re not made only of anger.”
“Maybe I’m just good at pretending.”
“Or maybe,” Lucerys said softly, taking another step, “you just needed someone to tell you otherwise. Someone to tell you that you’re more than your anger.”
The words landed heavier than Aemond expected. His breath hitched, and for a moment he had to look away, staring at the sand between them.
“How could you ever think,” he asked quietly, “that loving me was a good idea?”
Lucerys didn’t smile this time. “Because I never really chose it,” he replied. “It just happened.”
He paused, then added, gentler, “It’s been happening since we were children.”
Aemond closed his eye. He could see it too clearly: the boy trailing after him through the Keep, too earnest, too bright, asking questions Aemond never answered properly. A boy who had always looked at him like he was something worth keeping.
“And I was a stupid kid,” Lucerys went on, a sad curl to his mouth. “I didn’t know how to stop wanting things.”
“Yes,” Aemond whispered, voice unsteady. “You never did.” A pause. “You never knew when to leave me alone.”
Lucerys answered only with a familiar, mischievous smile.
“I’ll have you as you are,” he said, reaching out a hand. “If you’ll have me as I am. Someone insecure. Someone who talks too much—”
“Sometimes?” Aemond let out a breath that trembled despite his efforts. He didn’t move away.
Lucerys’s eyes lit up. “Sometimes,” he nodded solemnly. “Not all the time. Just most of it.”
“You always ask for more than you should,” he said, almost to himself.
Lucerys’s hand brushed his sleeve, tentative. “And you always give more than you admit.”
The space between them closed not in a rush, but in a slow, uncertain drift. Their foreheads touched first. A pause. A shared breath.
“But I’ll have you,” Lucerys continued, quieter now. “And if you accept that, I won’t let you go easily.”
“You were always a greedy little creature,” Aemond murmured, resignation and hope twisting painfully in his chest.
When Aemond finally leaned in, the kiss was quiet, mouths meeting like a confession neither of them quite knew how to say aloud. It tasted of restraint and longing, of all the words he had swallowed for too long.
Silly boy, Aemond thought. As if I could ever be free of you.
(They do not have sex on the beach, despite Lucerys’s insistence that such a Velaryon ritual exists. Aemond refuses outright, shuddering at the thought of sand in his hair — a horror beyond forgiveness.)