Chapter Text
The Targaryens found themselves a place in the Wild West.
The first thing that struck the people was their ethereal beauty. One look at that silver hair, those piercing violet eyes and the flawless skin was enough to leave a man breathless. Nobody knew who they really were and where they came from. The Targaryens kept only to their own kin. The mystery around them led to folks starting lots of rumors. Some of them were truly believed by many. Beyond their looks, they were known for their horses. They kept ordinary cattle and workhorses like any other ranch, but it was their personal mounts that made people talk. "Dragons" they called them. Never for sale. These horses were faster than the prairie winds and possessed a strength and endurance that defied comparison. They were untamable by any hand not born of Targaryen blood. Many desperate men had tried to whistle one away, only to find soon after themselves with a bullet between the eyes. Folks whispered that the family practiced a brand of ancient witchery, bringing dark spells and old-world charms from whatever distant land they had fled. It's almost like Targaryens were closer to gods than men if you believed what people said.
And there they were in 1874, two young cowboys working on the family ranch "Red Keep".
Rays of sun filled the barn through the board gaps. They used it just for storing feed. Golden dust and the smell of sweet clover and dry earth hung in the air. Valarr was moving hay. The shutters flew open and snapped with a wooden crack. Then came the fast footsteps, silver spurs hitting the ground.
"Aerion—"
The hat landed in the hay. Before Valarr could even finish turning, Aerion's mouth was on his, hard and insistent. His hands, still cool from the outside air, clamped onto Valarr's jaw with a desperate hunger. Valarr dropped everything, his hands finding Aerion's waist, pulling flush against him. The kiss started slow and then grew more needy, more passionate.
Aerion's hand slid down toward Valarr's belt buckle.
"Aerion—" Valarr breathed, pulling back just an inch.
Aerion didn't listen. He chased Valarr's lips. He wanted back in, wanted to lose himself. They kissed again before Valarr's hands pushed him back a bit. Aerion was no small man. They both worked much with physical labour. Against Valarr it hardly seemed to matter. He was taller, bigger and heavier with muscle.
"Got work needs doin'."
"Reckon I'd rather work on you," Aerion said, leaning back in and stealing another kiss.
Valarr spoke against his mouth. "Your daddy's got men riding in to look at horses soon."
Aerion pulled back, a scowl deepening on his pretty face. "I want what's mine."
A knowing smile tugged at Valarr's mouth. His hands went down to Aerion's hips, fingers hooking into the worn gun belt sitting low on the waist. He pulled him back in with a short tug.
"Already, baby? Getting awful needy on me."
Aerion shoved his chest and looked away toward the light cutting through the hayloft. Those sweet pink lips of his were sulking proper now.
"Folks ride into town today." Valarr put a hand to his face. "Tonight the house is ours."
"That's a whole day of waitin'." Aerion said it quietly.
Valarr leaned down and kissed him slowly, his thumb moving gently along Aerion's jaw. A small sound left Aerion when he finally pulled back. "It'll pass fast. We ain't going anywhere."
-----
The Targaryen ranch sat deep in the heart of gods-forsaken land. It was cradled by mountains and sun-scorched ground with some grass and a handful of trees counted on the fingers of their hands. A place that carried winds of silence stretching for miles and miles around. Dust got into everything here. Behind the ranch was an cold river cut down from the mountains. It was the lifeblood for them and their horses and the only thing keeping the desert from swallowing them whole.
At the center stood a two-story timber house, its wide porch sagging under the weight of the heat. It wasn't a grand manor by any means, not one of white stone. Aerion and Valarr had to share a room. Even despite the tightness, the house was always full of laughter and warmth.
Baelor and Maekar, the eldest and the youngest, held the ranch together after their father died. Their other brothers had chosen to chase the personal dreams rather than family. One had vanished toward the West coast over twenty years ago, sending back a single letter from the California about finding his fortune in the gold-soaked dirt. The other brother never came home at all. He'd fallen in the bloody wreckage of the Civil War. His men came from the north with hollow eyes and rode onto the ranch only to return a heavy gold ring etched with a three-headed dragon. They spoke of him really highly, saying he had saved their lives time and again, and that the least they could do was honor his final wish: to bury him in the soil where he belonged.
That day when those men came to their porch and gave their speeches, something changed in Valarr and Aerion. One saw sorrow and fear, while the other heard words of greatness and courage. They were just pups when the cannons stopped firing, but time went fast with boys growing into young men. Like any others, the itch for greatness was gnawing at their minds. Aerion was a firebrand, always talking about finding a fight and sending wicked men to whatever hell would take them. Valarr, the steadier of the two, would only shake his head, knowing full well where it led.
On the night of Aerion's eighteenth year, the boy decided he'd had his fill of the quiet life. Valarr woke in the dead of night, a cold dread pooling in his gut. That instinctual shiver a man gets when the air changes before a storm. He looked across the dark room to find Aerion's bunk stripped clean. On the pillow sat a scrap of paper covered in Aerion's jagged scrawl. He wrote he was heading out to find what made a man happy. Panic hit Valarr. He heard the restless shift of hooves in the stables and ran outside. There, in the dim lantern light, he found Aerion cinching the leather tight on his mount's saddle, prepping for a long ride. The hound dog just wagged its tail, not realizing what was happening. When Valarr tried to speak sense to his cousin, Aerion just looked at him with those violet eyes and said he wouldn't rot on a gods-forsaken ranch when there was a whole world to see.
"First fight you pick, they'll be diggin' your grave." Valarr warned. "A Targaryen alone in the world ain't—"
"Then ride with me. Keep me from harm, Valarr." Aerion looked right into his soul. "Or you may never see me again."
And just like that, Valarr made his choice. He swapped his gear, took a revolver his father had gifted him, and added his own name to the bottom of that goodbye letter.
They spent months just chasing the sunset across state lines with no map but their own whims. They took whatever back-breaking labor a foreman would pay a coin for, until the day Aerion's temper got the better of him. He'd pinched a fancy gun off a cowboy in a smoky saloon. The next moment, they'd had to ride like the devil himself was on their tails, laughing till their lungs burned from the pure adrenaline of the heist. They would get into all sorts of trouble, mostly because of Aerion, but they always had each other's backs. No matter what it was, they would get out together.
The very next dawn, already in another town, they spotted an old wanted poster tacked to a sheriff's board outside. A name and a really alluring price on it. Aerion declared they'd try their hand at bounty hunting. They knew they had the fast horses out there. The only real problem was Aerion's lack of skill with the damned gun he had stolen. Valarr was the better shot between the two of them. He never missed and his nerves were made of ice. So it was him who spent the long evenings by the campfire teaching Aerion how to draw smooth, hold steady, shoot right. His hand rested over Aerion's to correct his grip. He stood so close that his warm breath brushed against his cousin's ear, sending a shiver down Aerion's spine. They got a knack of it a couple months in. The bounties paid well enough to trade the cold soil for a warm bed and a bottle of whiskey whenever they hit a town.
The two of them grew closer, whether in cramped saloon rooms or beneath the stars. They were young men in a hard world, seeking comfort where they could find it. There was no privacy in their journey, and the boundaries between them slowly began to fade. They became each other's whole world, a bond forged by soul and body. They knew the folks around them would not understand. If anyone found out, they would be dead. But the Targaryens had always walked a different path, keeping to the old ways and the traditions of their own roots. Valarr and Aerion agreed that as long as they had each other by their side, the rest of the world could burn to ashes.
A few more months after, they trailed all the way back to the Red Keep.
Up on the porch, Daella was hunched over some mending, her needle darting through the cloth until the sound of hooves caught her ear. She stood, lifting a hand to shield her eyes against the piercing glare of the midday sun, squinting to make out the riders through the haze. Once she recognized the red and black of horses, she let out a holler that could've woken the dead.
"They're back! Gods are gracious, they're back!"
Down in the corrals, Daeron was elbow-deep in the grit of working the horses. He wiped the sweat and grease from his forehead, turning slow to see his brother and cousin riding in. A scowl settled deep into his face. The hard look of a man who'd spent months doing the work of three while they were off playing at glory and freedom.
As soon as Aerion swung his leg over the saddle, Daella was hugging him. She was a whirlwind of scolding and tearful praise. She thanked the heavens they hadn't been brought back draped over their saddles.
Daeron was angry at them for leaving, for not saying a word about where they were going, and for not sending even one letter about how they fared. He looked like he wanted to spit and beat them for good. And gods, he truly wanted to knock them back to their senses, but the relief Daeron felt at seeing his little brother and cousin alive and well won out. Valarr read the tension in him and reached out a hand for a firm shake, smiling brightly with those white teeth of his, trying to smooth things over. Daeron ignored the hand entirely and pulled Valarr into a hug.
"I'm so sorry, cousin," Daeron choked out.
Valarr went stiff. Daeron leaned in and whispered the truth into his ear. Valarr's eyes went wide and blank, looking at his cousin like he'd just been shot through the heart. Without a word, he scrambled back into the saddle, tore off toward the far reaches of the ranch, leaving a cloud of red dust in his wake.
Aerion called out his partner's name and stood frozen. "What in the hell just happened?" he demanded. He let his sister go.
Daella's face crumbled, her voice trembling as the words finally came out. "It started with little Matarys. He got real sick, real fast. Aunty Jena... she wouldn't leave his side for a second, Aerion. She stayed through the sweat and the shivers until the fever took hold of her, too. While you were away... doctors didn't know what to do. They were burnin' up, just callin' out."
She said how they'd both spent their final breaths calling for Valarr. They wanted to see him at last. The mother looking for her son, and the boy looking for the big brother who wasn't there to protect him.
Aerion felt the ache of it deep in his own marrow. He rode after Valarr.
He found him by the small grove of trees. The ground was marked by the names of their ancestors. Valarr was standing before two new wooden markers. A man who didn't show emotions often was now shaking. He was holding back those tears. Then the strength just gave out. He fell to his knees in the dirt, letting out a raw sob. It was an ugly wail. The one that haunts a man when he knows he can't return things to how they were.
"I wasn't here," Valarr groaned, looking at those fresh names that weren't there before they left. His voice was thick with tears. "Didn't tell 'em. Didn't tell 'em I loved 'em. Forgive me. I'm sorry… Sorry… I'm so sorry. I wasn't here for you."
Aerion moved in then, sinking into the dust beside him and pulling him close, hugging him while Valarr fell apart.
"They knew, Valarr," Aerion murmured, pressing his forehead against the side of his cousin's head. "They knew the love you carried. Your heart was always with 'em, and they went to the Good Gods knowin' it."
In that raw moment, Aerion's grief changed to the feeling of being the most selfish person in the world. He never thought he could feel shame for his actions but he did. Oh Gods, he did. He was the one to lure Valarr away and keep him by his side. He thought Valarr would hate him now for taking him away from family, while they burned up in a spring fever, calling Valarr's name. He would hate him for everything that happened out there in the wild. He would claim everything was a mistake. He was terrified that the love they'd forged would turn to ash in this grove. Aerion was afraid to lose Valarr.
-----
Maekar leaned his full heavy weight against the low sun-bleached fence, a single stalk of dry prairie grass tucked into the corner of his mouth. He worried the straw back and forth with his teeth, his eyes narrowed beneath the shadow of a wide hat as he watched Valarr and Aerion break in the new colts. He watched them laugh and mess around. The sun made it feel warm, even though it was still cold in the shadows. The air carried a thick scent of dry hay, when two figures appeared on the horizon.
Roland Crakehall, a long-time fella of the Targaryens, was riding in with a stranger in tow. The man was so large that he looked way bigger than the horse itself. Maekar scratched at his short silver goatee and stood tall as the riders drew rein.
"Mornin', sir," Roland said, tipping his hat in a sharp greeting. Maekar offered a slow tilt of his own hat in return.
"Howdy, Crakehall," Maekar grunted.
"Not bad, not bad. Brought you a new boy. He's in need of a proper mount, and I told him there ain't a finer piece than what comes out of the Red Keep."
The two men lead their lathered horses toward the trough to catch a drink. Up close, the newcomer was a mountain of a man. It was plain to see why the local stables couldn't find a horse to carry him proper.
"Mr. Baelor Targaryen, I take it? Fine honor to meet you, sir." The giant stepped toward Maekar, extending a massive hand for a formal shake. His accent was thick, rolling with the lilt of a distant shore.
"You got 'em switched. That's my brother, Maekar."
The voice came from the porch as Baelor stepped down into the dust. He looked every bit the part in his dark shirt and worn leather chaps, his spurs jingling with every step. Crakehall offered a quiet nod of respect as Baelor took the big man's hand.
"Beggin' your pardon, sir. I'd only heard the tell of how you Targaryens were meant to look…" the giant trailed off, realizing his blunder. "Name's Duncan, sir. Duncan the Tall."
"Where do you come from, Duncan? That tongue of yours didn't grow on this soil."
"Ireland, sir. Came over lookin' for a better life in these new lands." Duncan looked back at the exhausted nag that had carried him here. Its head was low as it drank. "But I'm a big man, and the horses in town haven't the bone for the likes of me. I've no wish to break a god's creation's back. I need one built to bear the weight."
Maekar muttered under his breath, "Gods truly put the strength in that one."
"We'll find you a mount with some bottom to him," Baelor said with a friendly smile. He put two fingers to his lips and let out a piercing whistle. "Boys! Over here!"
Valarr and Aerion trotted over that dust was kicking up around hooves. Valarr had a black bandana knotted loose around his neck, wearing a pair of rugged denim jeans and a dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled tight over his forearms. He adjusted his hat low over his eyes in a silent greeting. He was tanner than his cousin. Aerion was dressed to keep the sun off his skin. He wore his dark red shirt with the sleeves fully buttoned, the whole thing tucked neatly into his jeans and a vest framing his lean waist.
"This here is my boy, Valarr," Baelor said, gesturing to the man in the blue shirt. "And my nephew, Aerion. These boys'll see you right. Take your time, ride a few. We'll be inside when you make up your mind."
Aerion took off his hat and the sun hit those silver locks, at which Duncan got to staring.
As the elders retreated, Valarr headed for the stalls to pull a horse he thought would fit. Aerion stayed behind, taking the reins of the horses they'd been working and leading them to the shade.
"Haven't seen your face in a while, Roland," Aerion said. "How's life treatin' you?"
"Fair enough, fair enough. Takin' work where it finds me." Roland watched Aerion work for a moment. "Is your brother Daeron already gone north? He told me that he hitched himself to that Tyroshi girl."
"He did." Aerion's tone went colder. "But keep your mouth shut about Daeron from now on. If someone asks, you don't know a damn thing."
"I understand. Folks around here in the south don't always take kindly to a man findin' love which he chooses." Roland gave a small shrug.
"Didn't catch your name, big man," Aerion turned around and looked Duncan up and down.
"I'm Duncan. Duncan the Tall."
"So, what brings a giant like you here?"
"I have the honour to be a cowboy."
Aerion let out a dry laugh. "Well... cowboys have fallen on some sad days."
"I tried myself in New York. My aunt and her husband live there, but I'm too big a man for a busy town like that. I prefer nature, just like back home."
"It's different, ain't it, fella? This is your home now, and that old land of yours lives on in memory." Roland was speaking out of experience. "Best learn that quick, and you'll keep your head a good deal longer."
Valarr was now leading a massive gelding. It was a striking white, with a thick, luscious mane and a chest as wide as a barrel.
"Is that one of your 'Dragons', then?" Duncan's eyes went wide with genuine wonder. "Ah, what a beautiful creature."
"They don't sell their Dragons. This one's a workin' horse." Roland chuckled.
"He's a steady, strong boy," Valarr said, patting the horse's neck. "Trained him ourselves. He'll hold you just fine." He stepped back, giving Duncan a chance to approach.
"If this ain't a Dragon, then I can't rightly imagine what your real ones look like," Duncan said in wonder.
Aerion's lips curled into a smirk. He let out a sharp whistle. From the far end of the pasture, a flash of deep blood-red tore across the field. A horse that looked like it was made of fire itself. He skidded to a halt at the fence, nostrils flaring, waiting for Aerion.
"I'll ride with you, giant." Aerion swung a saddle over the rail and vaulted over the fence effortlessly.
Valarr went to open the heavy range gates while Duncan stood staring. He had never seen such color before. "What's the name of your beauty?" Duncan asked, reaching out a hand toward the red horse. The stallion tossed his head, baring teeth and snapping at the air.
"Good boy." Aerion praised while patting the horse's neck with affection. To the other men, it sounded like gibberish. "Caraxes," Aerion said proudly. "And I'd keep your hands to yourself. He don't care for strangers."
"Pretty ones are always temperamental," Roland remarked, his eyes lingering on Aerion's lithe frame.
"He's just got a bit excited, that's all," Duncan said, mounting his new white horse. At least his weight didn't break the animal's back anymore.
"Wasn't talkin' about the horse," Roland replied under his breath, watching the way Aerion sat in the saddle.
Valarr held the gate steady. Duncan offered a polite thank you as he passed through. The gates were closed now.
"Let's see what kind of cowboy you make." The cousins locked eyes. Aerion bit his lower lip and kicked his heels into the stallion's flanks.
The Targaryens were born to the saddle. It was a grace passed down through fire and blood. Aerion moved with the horse as if they shared a single soul. The way he was confident in every move was mesmerizing. It was the strength that truly held Valarr captive. The way Aerion moved in the saddle reminded him all too well of what those legs possessed when they weren't wrapped around a horse. A heavy pressure began to build beneath the denim of his jeans.
"Busy day?" Roland broke the silence.
Valarr hitched one boot onto the bottom rail of the fence and rested his arms over the top timber. He tried to keep his voice steady.
"Pretty much." He tipped his hat up, the brim no longer shielding his eyes from the full sight of his cousin. "Got Lannisters comin' over. They've been askin' for six."
"I'll be damned," Roland whistled. He turned and leaned his back against the fence. "Sounds like lots of gold. You know why?"
Valarr's eyes never left Aerion the whole time, as if they were hypnotized.
"They are movin' further toward the coast. Place they're callin' Casterly Rock. Spent some weeks teachin' their son to sit a horse. He took a likin' to me. I reckon though it's 'cause we're close in age and I didn't treat him like the foolish sheep he is."
They both laughed at that.
"Invited me out to visit sometime. Said they bought themselves a mansion out there. So many rooms a man could get lost in it." Valarr let out a laugh as though it would ever happen. He doubted there would be a chance to get away again.
"Could be, could be. Only the Lord knows where the road takes a man."
-----
The wagon was waiting to go. They finished loading in the casks for the things they would buy in town. A few days ago, little Aegon had fallen from his horse. They had hoped it was just an ache, but the boy's arm had swollen up and turned a nasty shade of purple. Pain was all over his small face with every movement. Maekar and Baelor decided that the boy needed a proper doctor to look at it.
Daella was bursting with excitement, on the other hand. For a girl of her years, the Red Keep was a quiet prison of chores. Aerion often thought that if she'd been born a boy, she'd have had the attitude of his or been even more reckless. But as it stood for girls, her days were spent in the same dull round of stitching, sweeping, taking care of Aegon, and cooking.
Since returning from those long months on the run, Aerion saw the world differently. He knew now there was no holiness left in these lands. Greed ruled everything. To his mind, the only truth left in this gods-forsaken world was his kin. He'd spent weeks since his homecoming teaching Daella things a proper lady had no business knowing. How to ride a horse like a cowboy, how to find your way in the wild, and, most importantly, how to handle a gun. Baelor and Maekar were still mad over the boys disappearing in the first place, so they never spoke of what had happened out there. Bringing it up only soured the air and ended in heated arguments. Aerion was happy enough to be allowed by the elders to teach Daella to ride. He had to bring up his ancestors as proof. The thing is, Daella had a "Dragon" of her own but had never fully mastered the skill.
Something that his daddy and uncle would never ever allow was for a woman to bear arms. They truly believed a lady was to be protected rather than a protector herself. Their minds were still rooted in the old ways of life. But Aerion reckoned a dead woman was a far greater tragedy than a scandalous one.
As the wagon was being prepped, he caught his sister by her arm. Maekar and Baelor were up front talking with Valarr, while Aegon sat huddled in the back, cradling his arm like a wounded bird.
"Daella," Aerion called softly. He pressed a knotted black bandana into her palm. She felt the weight of cold steel tucked inside the fabric. Her eyes went wide, darting to her father before snapping back to her brother.
"I trust our daddy and our uncle to handle things," Aerion whispered. "But I don't trust no other men on that road. It's a wild place out there." He hugged her. "You know what to do if it comes to it. Straight between the eyes or right in the heart. Don't hesitate."
Daella felt a shiver of dread, but she steeled her nerves as Aerion looked back into her violet eyes. She tucked the bundle deep into her purse and gave him a sure nod.
"We'll be back by tomorrow's sundown," Baelor said, taking the reins. Maekar sat beside him with two rifles resting easily between his knees.
Aerion helped Daella up into the wagon. She looked every bit the prairie rose, her silver hair pinned under a pink bonnet, ribbons fluttering in the wind. She offered her brother a smile. Aerion reached over and ruffled Aegon's hair.
"You'll be alright, little cowboy. The doc will fix you up better than new," Aerion promised.
He walked to the front and stood next to Valarr.
"Be good, boys," Maekar said. He cast a stern eye over the ranch. "Keep everythin' in order when we ride back in."
"Count on it," Valarr answered.
"Right then. We shall go," Baelor said.
They rolled out, the wagon wheels leaving tracks in the red dirt. Valarr and Aerion stood there waving as the wagon grew smaller. Daella waved back at the boys, sending them air kisses, and Aegon waved with his good arm until they were nothing but a smudge of dust fading into the horizon.
-----
Valarr finished his rounds when the stars were shining bright in the night sky. He checked on the horses and said goodnight to the loyal guarding hounds. The windows of the house glowed with low light. Aerion had gone inside hours ago. He had whispered to Valarr that he was getting hungry and wanted to meet him home soon after, while the Lannister boys were still there. Valarr had never felt time move slower in his life.
Valarr kicked off his dusty boots at the door because there were rugs all over the wooden floors. On the stove was the food Aerion had cooked. Valarr was indeed hungry.
He made his way to the bedroom. The one he shared with Aerion before there became more rooms available. He found the lamp already lit and burning low beside the double bed he had built. Valarr stripped off his hat and shirt, unbuckled the heavy gun belt from his waist, and took off his jeans before crossing to the washstand. Cool water splashed into the basin from the pitcher as he scrubbed away the dust and sweat of the day with soap. Valarr was nearly done when the floorboards creaked softly behind him. In the mirror, he watched Aerion slip into the room. He was wearing nothing but one of Valarr's shirts. It looked too big for him, the bottom of it draped loosely over his pale thighs. His silver hair was still wet from the bath.
Aerion slid his arms around Valarr and pressed slow kisses across his back. "I missed you," he murmured.
Valarr exhaled quietly, water dripping from his hands into the basin.
"I ought to get a proper bath after you, Aerion."
"I've done waitin' for today," Aerion said into his shoulder. His hunger was unmistakable in the low drag of his voice. "Besides, I like your smell."
Valarr reached for the towel, drying his face and hands before turning in the narrow space to face him properly.
"Can't spare even a minute longer, baby?"
Valarr looked down into that beautiful face. He bent to kiss Aerion. His hands slipped beneath the shirt to spread warm against his waist. Aerion made a small sound and leaned more into him. Valarr's hands slid lower, tightening at his ass. The whimper followed right after, soft against his mouth. They made it to the bed without breaking the kiss once. Valarr laid him back against the white sheets and followed him down, kissing him still, while his fingers worked open the buttons of the shirt. He kissed him from neck to collarbone, then lower, tracing each mark on Aerion's skin that he had left before. He kissed them with attention. Valarr drew back just enough to look. Aerion's shirt fell wide, chest rising quickly, flushed cheeks, and marks everywhere. Old hickeys and fresher ones were all hidden beneath the clothes. Each and every one belonging only to Valarr.
The sight struck something in Valarr's mind every time.
"Take it off." He wanted to see it all.
"Needy, aren't you?" Aerion slid the shirt from his shoulders. Valarr took it from him and tossed it aside onto the cupboard. He leaned in again to kiss down Aerion's chest, flat stomach, lower and lower until he reached the inside of Aerion's thigh. He lifted the leg and held it steady, while Aerion was looking at him. He pressed his lips there and bit down slow enough that Aerion could feel exactly every second of it. Aerion let out a soft sound and dropped his head back against the pillow as Valarr left another mark on his skin. Then his lips moved inward and took Aerion fully.
"Gods." Aerion breathed as his hand tangled into Valarr's hair in a grip.
Valarr made a low sound against him that sent heat shivering through Aerion's entire body. He worked his length slowly while his fingers circled the hardened bud on his chest. With each time Aerion tightened his grip in his hair, Valarr felt desire rising in him.
"Valarr," Aerion whispered. His voice trembled as Valarr took him deeper. "I want you in me."
Gods know those words made it harder. Valarr didn't stop.
"Please. I want you to—" Aerion's words broke into a whimper as his grip tightened helplessly, and he tugged Valarr back by the hair.
Only then did Valarr look up and met Aerion's gaze over the length of him. Valarr deliberately deepen what he was doing. Aerion arched sharply off the bed with a muffled moan pressed against his own forearm. The way Valarr kept his eyes on him while doing it was more than Aerion could bear.
When Valarr finally drew back and sat upright, he stripped away the last of his clothes. He ran his fingers across his lips before pressing them toward Aerion's mouth. Aerion took them without hesitation. His tongue worked between them, sucking deeper, coating them fully with his own saliva. He watched Valarr's face the entire time. He saw those mismatched eyes going black with want.
Valarr pulled his fingers free and reached for the drawer. He warmed the Vaseline between his fingers.
"Want you inside me." Aerion whined.
Valarr leaned down to kiss Aerion again, swallowing the desperate little sounds he made as his fingers moved inside him. He stretched him slowly until Aerion was twisting in the sheets and pushing his hips downward in search of more.
Valarr pressed into him slowly, giving him time to adjust. He watched his face for any change. Aerion exhaled against his lips and wrapped himself close, arms around Valarr's back, legs pulling him in, as Valarr began to move. When he found the angle that made Aerion moan aloud, the sound was so rich and helpless that Aerion immediately buried his face in Valarr's neck to hide it.
"I wanna hear you, Aerion," Valarr murmured against his ear. "You are so good," He moved again, and Aerion's whole body tightened around him, another helpless sound breaking loose. "Love, please." Valarr thrust deeper so that Aerion dropped his head back against the pillow. The moans were lustful, loud and clear. Aerion's nails scratched his back with every move. Valarr kissed his cheeks, his bitten-red lips, his neck and felt the frantic pulse. Gods, if lust had ever worn a face, it was Aerion's now. Those darkened violet eyes were half closed, full of sin and pleasure. Valarr could never look away from them.
Valarr drew back to grip that narrow waist in both hands. His restraint gave way as he drove into him deeper that made Aerion gasp beneath him. Valarr slid his palm over Aerion's stomach and pressed firm as he moved inside him. Aerion’s fingers clutched at the sheets as Valarr struck that spot again, and his whole body trembled, looking beautifully ruined beneath him.
Then Valarr slowed down for a kiss and whispered in his ear. "Wanna ride me?"
Aerion took a moment to focus on the question, nodding faintly as he caught his breath during the brief pause.
Aerion sat above him, knees braced on either side of Valarr’s hips, his palms flat against Valarr’s chest as he began to move. Valarr’s hands found his waist, guiding him into a rhythm that left his breaths growing shorter with every roll. Silver hair spilled loose across Aerion’s face. The locks half veiled the flush in his cheeks. His lip caught between his teeth, as though he could not contain the sensation.
I'm—" Aerion's voice broke on the word.
Aerion felt the firm grip on his hips, already knowing the marks would bloom there by morning, and the thought sent another thrill through him. He moved until pleasure overtook him with Valarr's name on his lips. Aerion’s whole body trembled in the fading waves of pleasure. Each shudder left him weaker in lover’s arms. Valarr held his hips and kept him riding.
"Fill me," Aerion pleaded.
At those words, Valarr drew him closer. Aerion was still trembling and shaking with the fading waves of pleasure. Every tight contraction around him made each thrust feel stronger, until he came deep inside him with a groan of Aerion’s name. When it was over, Aerion collapsed onto his chest. Their hearts pounding fast as one. Valarr hugged him and murmured that they need to get cleaned up, though neither of them seemed willing to move. He rose to warm the bath, then carried Aerion there in his arms. In the water it all began anew. The kisses, the touches, pursuit of pleasure.
Later, back in bed, they found each other once more. It was as though neither of them had reached their limit yet. At last, Aerion broke with a helpless cry, overwhelmed by too much sensation. Only then did Valarr reach for the cloth, cleaning Aerion with quiet tenderness before drawing him close beneath the sheets. It was nearly morning by the time they finally drifted to sleep, tangled together and worn out.
-----
The sun was high over the Red Keep by the time it caught the shimmer of silver hair. Valarr's arms served as a pillow for those locks, the other arm was across the waist. He couldn't help himself but kiss the nape of Aerion's neck, where the skin was pale as cream.
"Mornin'," Valarr rumbled, his voice raspy and thick with the remnants of sleep. "Time to wake up, love. Half the day's gone."
Aerion's stomach did a roll at hearing that voice against his skin. He was sore in places he hadn't known could ache. He mumbled something sleepy into Valarr's arm and moved back until he was pressed against Valarr's chest.
"Gotta get some food in us," Valarr said with a quit chuckle. He stole one last kiss from the curve of Aerion's shoulder before getting out of the bed.
The floorboards creaked beneath his feet as he moved from washroom to the kitchen. He left Aerion to rest a little longer. He fed pine into the stove until the fire caught strong and bright, then set water on to boil for coffee. Soon the room filled with the scent of smoke, and frying eggs.
"Gods..."
Aerion had drifted into the kitchen, standing silently behind Valarr. His fingers reached out and traced bright red marks his own nails had left across the muscled back.
Valarr felt a jolt of heat spark through him at the touch. It wasn't pain, no, it was a memory, raw and vivid, of the fevered hours they'd spent.
"Does it hurt?" Aerion's voice was rough from all the sounds he had given. His fingers grazing a particularly deep scratch near Valarr's shoulder blade.
Valarr glanced back with a slow smirk. "Not if you kiss it."
Aerion didn't hesitate and pressed his lips there.
Aerion leaned against the table beside Valarr. He wore nothing but the shirt from the night before. It was still too short and left far too much of his milky legs bare in the morning light."If I start complainin' about where I'm sore, you won't be gettin' a lick of work done all day."
Valarr let his gaze travel from Aerion’s messy silver hair down to the dark purple bruise blooming like a wildflower on his inner thigh. His voice was still rough from the night before. Aerion looked well loved. A heavy heat settled in Valarr's gut. A dark pride was swelling in his chest.
"I was starvin' yesterday," Valarr cleared his throat. "But I reckon I got more than my fill thanks to you." He gestured toward the bedroom with a tilt of his chin. "You best go change. They'll be back soon. Can't have you lookin' like that."
"Like what?" Aerion streched his arms above his head. The shirt exposed more of the hickeys and bites scattered across his skin. He caught the way Valarr swallowed at the sight and smiled faintly. "I like it when we ain't got no call to hide."
Aerion stepped in close again and cupped Valarr's clean-shaven face. He kissed him softly at first, almost innocent, before parting his lips to draw Valarr deeper. The metal slipped away and clattered loudly against the stove.
Valarr wanted nothing more than to feel those slim legs wrap around him again, to pull them back into the tangled sheets and make Aerion scream his name again and again.
The kiss grew more passionate. Their haste made their teeth brush together, clumsy with want. Valarr's mind was playing wicked games. He was already seeing Aerion bent over the table right now. He broke away at last with a low groan.
"Love... go change. Please," Valarr rasped. His thumb brushed gently over Aerion's swollen red lips. "Put some clothes on and get decent, or I swear the last thing you'll be able to ride is me."
Aerion’s eyes widened, and a flush rose from his throat to the tips of his ears at the command. He gave a slow nod like a good boy and went toward the bedroom.
Valarr let out a shaky breath and turned back to the stove. He stood for a moment staring into the fire and cursed the sense of duty that forced him to be the responsible one. When all he really wanted was to follow Aerion back.
-----
The sun was already sinking low in the west when they finally stepped outside. They finished the chores faster than usual, eager to be done before the family arrived. However, the road remained empty even after the moon took its watch. In these parts, no one traveled once the night hit. They figured the family had simply been waylaid in town for whatever reason and would return tomorrow. At least, that's what they said to themselves.
Valarr and Aerion couldn't sleep. At dawn, they sat over an early breakfast. They were discussing when to ride to town when the rhythm of hoofbeats came from outside. A single horse. Any guest this early in the morning rarely brought anything but trouble. It could have been anyone from their past. When they were bounty hunting, they hadn't exactly made friends along the way. Valarr stood and peered through the window while Aerion moved quietly to fetch their guns.
Through the glass, Valarr spotted the white horse they had sold only two days prior. The man in the saddle was frantic and out of breath.
"Mr. Targaryen!" he shouted.
Valarr reached back and took the revolver Aerion handed him.
"It's that Irishman," Valarr muttered. Aerion's brow furrowed, a question written across his face.
They doubted that man had come seeking trouble. It's better to be safe than sorry. He opened the door and kept his thumb resting on the hammer.
"What brings you here?" Valarr asked coldly.
Duncan stopped short before he could even set foot on the porch, as he saw the gun first. He looked like a man who had ridden through the night without a moment's rest. His eyes darted past Valarr, catching a glimpse of Aerion peering from behind his cousin.
"Mr. Targaryen," Duncan panted, clutching his hat against his chest. "It's about your father, sir."