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Over the course of the recent game season, team Targaryen who usually topped the ranking board coming out on top of each game, found themselves teetering on the brink of disqualification as their recent hot-headed addition Aerion could hardly handle his own temper. On more than one occasion Aerion had been the first to throw a punch by the end of the game no matter the score, ending in an all out brawl that left Couch Baelor sighing and counting his greys.
The logical solution he thought was to bench Aerion for a few games. Yet the other teams knew just who to taunt and to tease.
They barely scraped through to the next round after Aerion’s latest stunt, only having been allowed back onto the ice due to begging his father to say something to Baelor about it—bribes were involved, the rumours told, something even their own team didn’t doubt. Aerion was a liability and no matter how many of them complained, Baelor always caved to the will of his beloved Maekar, as weak as he was.
Aerion was tolerated only because they were forced to tolerate him.
Baelor placed his hand on his nephew's shoulder, making a fruitless attempt to hide the look of distress on his face as he offered what little encouragement he could muster. “I’m giving you this one chance, Aerion… Please do not let me down. Go out there and make your father proud,” he said, giving him a brief pat. “When you go out onto the ice you’re not only representing yourself, remember that.”
The lopsided smirk Aerion offered gave him no reprieve, in fact, Baelor was about ready to throw in the towel.
Aerion rose to his feet as he shoved his mouth guard in, biting down into rubber to make sure it was secure against his teeth before he stepped out onto the ice in a way that filled Valarr’s stomach with dread.
‘Great,’ he thought. ‘Another lost match in the making.’
Valarr never understood his father’s thought process of keeping such a liability on the team, a move that actively tarnished their reputation as he had already read one too many articles listing their legendary team as no more than a wilting fad. To fire Aerion would be of no consequence, surely their praises would be well sung and adored if they freed the ice from his grasp.
It wasn’t that Aerion was a bad player, by no means was he worse than the average rookie.
Valarr would wager that Aerion’s skills rivaled that of his own in all honesty, it was his ill temper and lack of good sportsmanship that weighed him down—fickle nonsense not fit for the professional leagues and belonged back in the rankings of the preschool juniors squad. The team Valarr coached in his free time had more decorum and manners than Aerion ever had in his life.
He would have accepted Daeron on the team before someone like Aerion, even drunk out of his mind at least Daeron wouldn’t be throwing fits or fists…
The first two periods of the match flew by with no troubles, Aerion earning them a single goal himself which he let get to his head as he taunted the opposing players. Valarr already felt the irritation rising within at the sight of his obnoxious cousin, rolling his eyes as he lifted the cage from over his face.
“Fall back,” Valarr insisted firmly, gliding across to Aerion as he skidded to a stop to get between a potential fight.
A short huff left Aerion—a mock of a laugh.
“Why, cousin? We’re just talking.” Lilac eyes traced Valarr’s frame from head to toe as he stuck his tongue in his cheek. “Are you going to have your daddy bench me? You'd like that wouldn’t you? Keep being his precious little star. It almost makes one wonder what you could’ve possibly done to earn such a status. Nepotism? Special favours?”
“Aerion.”
“Defensive are we?—“
Aerion came closer, raising his own cage to fix Valarr with his scornful gaze.
“—or, perhaps you know there’s some truth to that.”
The stick fell from Valarr’s firm grasp quicker than Aerion could register, his gaze taken by the gloved hand already swallowing his vision as it collided with his nose, breaking it on impact. The flesh split as the force throttled him and the blood ran down his face, coating both Valarr’s glove and seeping into Aerion’s open mouth, staining his pearly teeth in crimson.
Aerion clattered to the ground beside the discarded stick, his hand raising in the shock of it all. A wince left him as his gloved hand came up to his nose, drawing back to see the fresh coating of blood marring the sleek white surface.
Never had Valarr dealt any sort of blow, much less had Aerion taken one.
The whistle blew loudly over the pitter patters of blood dripping onto the ice mingled with the sounds of heavy breathing. Aerion rose in a fit of rage, ready to explode and deal back a nasty blow of his own—one he thought Valarr was more than deserving of.
The official raced over promptly to shove the pair apart as the announcers were stunned to silence.
Valarr’s gaze unwillingly flickered over to his father who looked both weary and a hint of pride, though in holding back an angered Maekar who looked ready to run out onto the ice to check on his ‘sweet’ baby boy. He could almost hear their whispered argument from there, a song and dance he’d overseen far too many times yet now felt so different as Maekar’s glare looked more meaningful.
It would be a miracle if his own actions didn’t lead to a suspension or disqualification, not even Targaryen money could save them this time.
Aerion kicked and made baseless threats as he was pulled off the ice and seen to by an on sight medic, meanwhile Valarr was dragged to the opposite side where his father and a fuming Maekar waited. The disappointment was palpable and bled into the air around them, a tense atmosphere building which was sure to linger.
“Go and help your cousin,” Baelor said. “We’ll talk about this when we get home.”
Maekar sputtered at Baelor’s side in bewilderment, flattening out the front of his coat as he shot up to his feet, his glare moving from Valarr to his brother as his eyes hardened to stone. “Talk? Talk? Did you see my son’s face!?” He straightened up, looking all the more scandalised. “Your nephew, need I remind you. Your son broke his nose over words!”
Baelor sighed deeply, “He got the influence from somewhere, Maekar.”
“Are you implying—“
Valarr couldn’t be the least bit bothered to sit around and listen to another argument between his uncle and father, not when they always ended the same no matter the reason they started and Valarr dreaded to think how they came to their conclusions, so he never dwelled on it long. He was quick to kick off his skates, leaving them on the bench beside his exhausted father as he changed back into his trainers.
He managed to flee before he could be dragged back into their argument, though he couldn’t help thinking being with Aerion would be a far worse fate.
He stepped out towards the medics who stood around like lost sheep, one of them looking beyond startled as Valarr made his say over. What Valarr noticed from first glance was that his arrogant cousin wasn’t present and was likely off somewhere sulking, waiting for his father to deal with the damage he left behind—as always.
“Where is he?” he sighed, halting in his steps.
The medics looked amongst each other until one sporting a bruised cheek stepped forward. “Mr. Targaryen? He… Was not in need of our services. He made that clear.”
‘Of course,’ Valarr thought begrudgingly. It was so much like him.
“Do you perhaps know where he ran off to?” he asked, hoping for a plain and simple no so he could go his own way and be done with it all.
He was not so lucky.
“The locker rooms we assume. He had his bag with him so he might have left already,” one of the other medics noted. “This was no less than moments ago, he might still be there but we wouldn’t know… Do you need us to check that hand of yours?”
Valarr shook out his hand, feeling a dull ache amongst his knuckles.
“No, thank you. And thank you for trying to help him.”
The medics laughed nervously, “He’s quite the stubborn one.” They didn’t even know the half of it…
Valarr had been dealing with Aerion’s petty bouts of stubbornness and an elated sense of self worth from the moment Aerion learnt to speak—a silver tongue that always got its way whenever he spun the right tale or said the right words. Family gatherings were always the worst, though he tolerated Daeron more than the others due to their closeness in age, even when they were so different.
Daeron was no Aerion and that made a world’s difference.
When he made it to the locker rooms, he gently closed the door over and clicked the lock, walking in with great hesitation. He saw Aerion hunched over the sink, shirtless, staring at himself in the mirror as he held sheets of toilet paper pressed to his crooked nose, sneering at his own reflection as Valarr came into view.
“What are you doing here? Come to swing again?” he spat.
Valarr shook his head, “No. My father sent me to check on you. The medics seemed… Stunned. Why did you deny them? They are here to help you.”
“Of course he sent you… And like the pretty little lapdog you are, you listened, as always.” Aerion bit into his bloody bottom lip, his face caked in blood he’d yet to wash off. He turned around on deft feet, “I don’t need anymore embarrassment. Then again, I guess you were the one to fail the team today. Nice one, by the way. Real good for your perfect image. Can’t wait to see what the tabloids say about the perfect Valarr fucking Targaryen falling from his pedestal.”
“Must you always be like this?” Valarr snapped, his patience worn thin over the years. “You are always going for the attack over nothing, starting senseless fights and throwing around insults when there is no room for any!”
He marched up to Aerion, standing chest to bare chest.
“Stop taunting me and grow up! I won’t keep you on the team any longer if all you’ll do is—“
Aerion gave him no chance to finish his statement, taking his swift revenge by socking Valarr in the jaw with his bare fist and there was no cushioning of a glove to take the brunt of it as Valarr narrowly missed out on biting down harshly on his tongue. The helmet fell from his head and clattered to the ground in a way that it surely broke, and he watched it roll under a wooden bench as he recovered at once.
Valarr ripped off his gloves and threw them aside without any care for where they may land, throwing himself at Aerion and his stupid smirking face.
He took a hold of Aerion’s shoulders in a firm, unyielding grasp and shoved him against the metal plating of a locker, pinning him in place with his body as they stood face to face. Not once did Aerion’s mocking grin waver, a painfully derisive gesture that fuelled the rage within Valarr’s body.
Years he’d gone and watched his cousin do as he pleased and how he got away with everything.
Aerion, as the brat he was, would claim Valarr jealous of his immunity, when really he felt sorry for him as he clearly never learned right from wrong—that’s where they differed—that’s why the comparisons meant nothing to him. It’s why he shouldn’t be as angry as he was now. Yet in observing him for so long and seeing just how spoiled he truly was, Valarr had long since decided somebody would have to set Aerion straight.
He just didn’t want it to have to be him.
“Are you going to listen or not?” Valarr said, trying to sound assertive despite the odds stacked against him. Without awaiting an answer he continued. “Look. As horrible as you are, you can play. You play well. Better than half of the team.” he loosened his grip as Aerion seemed calmer. “But your attitude problem does you no favours and your father can’t save you from yourself forever.”
It was the response that came from Aerion that shocked Valarr the most.
As Valarr withdrew, Aerion simply removed the blood-soaked toilet paper from his nose in a slow fashion, no clear intent to strike again so Valarr mistakenly relaxed and stepped back for some air.
“You’re right,” Aerion agreed and Valarr almost didn’t believe his ears.
He sat down on the bench, encouraging Aerion to keep speaking.
And speak he did.
Aerion stepped forward like a predator, eyes gleaming with thinly-veiled mischief as the corners of his lips quivered upwards. “I said you’re right, but only about one thing—“ He stopped just before his knees hit the bench, standing far too close and taking up the space between Valarr’s parted legs. “—I am the best asset this team has. Your best. That I agree on. You won’t get rid of me, nor will your father.”
“You shouldn’t sound so sure, even he has his limits.” Valarr reminded him, shifting back until he couldn’t any further, anything for space—for distance. “You test them, like you test everything.”
“Am I testing you?” Aerion shot back, filling the space again.
Valarr had to resist a heavy sigh, the exhaustion showing in his taut expression as he brushed his hair back out of his face.
“Always.”
One of the last things he ever expected was for Aerion to shove him further down into the bench until he was laid out, but absolutely last on that list? Would’ve been for Aerion, his brutish and brainless cousin straddling him.
“G-Get off!” he stammered feebly in his shock.
Little had he known that his fate had been sealed the moment he stepped into the locker room as he felt a pair of forceful lips meeting his own in a biting kiss, one that tasted both the blood from Aerion’s to the fresh new punctures of his own. His words were muffled and drowned out, his hands stiffly laid out of Aerion’s bare chest, never pushing, never fighting.
Aerion’s fingers laced into his hair, tugging him forward with a harshness that made him groan.
When the other hand found its way into his pants, stroking and taking out his semi-hard cock, Valarr’s lips stilled against Aerion’s own, a brief moment of clarity hitting him in an instant.
“…Don’t stop now,” Aerion grunted, trying to draw Valarr back in but the older of the pair held back and withdrew further—much too late in Aerion’s eyes as his cock bobbed between his thighs in interest. He scoffed out of annoyance, “What?”
He didn’t let Valarr push him aside, no matter how much he tried.
“Haven’t you kissed anyone besides Baelor before?” Aerion’s tongue darted over his lips, tasting Valarr on them. His hand tightened around Valarr’s hip, “Sorry, I should call him what he is—your daddy. Never kissed anyone besides your daddy before?”
“You’re just so… Irritating…”
The corner of Aerion’s lip twitched, “Oh I know.”
Aerion pulled him back in by the hip, pressing down into Valarr, a pressure that left his cock wanting and craving something he knew he never should have. He was slowly breaking through the cracks in his shield.
“You still haven’t denied it,” tutted Aerion. “So it must be true. It is, isn’t it?”
“Please just—“
“It is?”
“…Please.”
He always pushed and pushed until he got his way or the answers he craved, but no longer… Valarr silenced the career-ending words with his own lips, sealing another scandal clad in the cloaks of blackmail. The quiet rumble of Aerion’s laughter was not one he missed, it was felt—for again, he managed to get his way.
Yet Aerion dominated the kiss despite Valarr’s desperate efforts, Aerion simply held the experience and leverage over him.
An act too easy for him to take the reins of.
In a slow, dry grind, Aerion’s clothed cock dragged over Valarr’s unsheathed one, a delicious friction that caused his body to grow ten times hotter with each roll of his thin hips.
“Fuck…” he swore.
He barely noticed his hands moved as if they had a mind of their own, taking Aerion’s in hold as he aided the grinds as he pressed up into him from below. Valarr’s eyes slipped shut as he lost himself to the sensation, a string of pleas resting on the tip of his tongue he hadn't the need for the humiliation of it all to ever admit to.
Though his eyes snapped open again when he felt Aerion shift and stop, a whine almost left him in the disappointment of being edged unwillingly. Then he noticed just where Aerion’s hand had fled to and panicked.
Aerion had the balls he didn’t have.
Or the lack of a brain.
Either worked.
In an instant Valarr’s hand took Aerion’s stunting his motions. “Not here,” he whispered.
“Yes, here,” Aerion shook his hand free.
With great difficulty, Aerion shifted out of his trousers and briefs, retrieving a small sachet of lube before kicking the clothes away into a pile.
Valarr fumbled to catch it as Aerion situated himself back on him, earning the same, dominating position—he was almost wondering as to whether Aerion wanted to be the one in him at this rate… But he gave Aerion what he wanted, albeit reluctantly, if only to shut him up and find peace in a rare moment.
He tore open the packet and coated his fingers, squeezing out whatever was left to rub it against Aerion’s entrance which in and of itself taunted him. He felt it pucker and clench and nothing, drawing him in like a siren’s cruel song.
Right now his biggest strife in life was the man atop. of him.
Hesitantly he pressed his middle finger to the puckered rim, tracing the flesh delicately as he came to terms with the fact he was really about to do this—not that Aerion gave him much time to think before he was impatiently shaking his hips and pressing back insistently.
“Could you take any longer? It's not that hard,” the smaller man huffed and puffed impatiently. “Take any longer and I’ll find someone else who can.”
So Valarr pressed onwards desperately, slow and steady. The discovery that followed took him by surprise.
He was… Loose?
His fingers sank in with little to no resistance, barely any prep needed as if he’d been taken merely hours prior—before the match even began. It’s not that he expected Aerion to be some pious virgin, he knew it to be the furthest thing from the truth, though his shock must’ve been evident as Aerion ground back onto his fingers, working himself over.
“What?” Aerion scoffed. “Thought you were special?”
“No…”
Aerion huffed and reached back with his hand, dragging Valarr out of his stupor and adding a third muchly not needed finger. “There we go,” he sighed, arching his hips up higher for Valarr’s fingers to press in deeper. “Good… Not completely useless after all, cousin.”
He only wished Aerion would stop reminding him what they were to each other… Or what they were supposed to be.
His fingers parted and scissored, stretching at already weakened and well-exerted muscles. He pondered as to who Aerion could have seen, especially so soon before a game… Unless he saw someone frequently, a relationship perhaps? Was he getting between one? Gods, he hated himself enough for giving in, as if his brain needed to add potential cheating to the mix.
The soft squelches and sighs of Aerion brought him back to reality, and he hoped maybe he could get away with just fingering Aerion.
Would he even need his cock?
Not after he’d had one so recently.
Again, he underestimated the greed of his younger cousin.
“That’s enough. You’re shit at it anyway,” Aerion clicked his tongue against the backs of his teeth as he pulled away, lube spilling out in slow dribbles as Valarr’s fingers left him gaping slightly. “Next time, I’ll do it myself.”
As Aerion rolled his eyes Valarr registered the ‘next time’.
Gods he was in deep now.
His cock now ached in what he perceived as betrayal, aching and hard as pre cum budded at his tip. Aerion barely acknowledged him as he got himself into position.
Slowly he lowered himself with a hand on Valarr’s hip to keep him from bucking up when he felt how he oh so wanted to… He teased Valarr’s sensitive tip, his free hand gripping the base of the cock as he took merely an inch or two in and thrust himself up and down leisurely as a means to toy with him.
That was all it took.
Aerion stilled through the shock of it all, feeling his hole being flooded so soon with Valarr’s cum—and he was yet to be fully seated.
“I would say I’m surprised,” he muttered, partly breathless as he sank lower. “But I’m not.”
Valarr’s hips weakly jutted up in search of something more, spurred on by a shaky gasp from Aerion’s messy lips. The overstimulation was all consuming and far too overwhelming—overpowering. It flooded his every sense, leaving behind an empty thirst that bordered on something painful and forbidden.
A whimper rumbled in Valarr’s throat, vibrating against Aerion’s bloodied lips.
“You truly are pathetic, aren’t you? What would your daddy think if he saw you like this?” Aerion whispered harshly, his hand found itself wrapped around Valarr’s neck, his thumb pressing into the dip below his Adam's apple. “You’re trembling under your own cousin, fucking into him like a bitch in heat… Coming inside of him, oh, and not just once. No, we won’t stop there.”
Aerion rolled his hips, rocking back down against Valarr’s spent cock, feeling his older cousin spasm beneath him.
“Aerion—“ he gasped pleadingly, a weak sound.
Aerion could only tut, raising himself once more before letting himself fall back down again and again in a repetitive motion that had Valarr writhing.
“Don’t tell me you’re being greedy, cousin… Taking your pleasure and leaving me with crumbs, it’s only fair I get to come too, no?” He tipped his head to the side, grinning, more than pleased with himself. “I doubt you’ve made many come with this useless cock,” he teased, his fingers trailing down from Valarr’s neck to his chest. “You’d be better served at taking one I bet… Do you take your father often? Made for him aren’t you?”
Valarr’s lips parted to refute his every word, all that left was a needy whine as his body trembled through the shocks of an approaching orgasm he was not ready for.
“Already? You’re not much fun…” A faint hiss sounded as Aerion dug his nails in deep, drawing his hips in rhythmic circles. “Don’t come until I tell you to or I’ll tell your daddy how you cried for me...” Each word was a new tease, a new way to push him further. He knew it, he’d be damned if he didn’t… But he was already damned.
Aerion saw to that.
Weakly he tried fruitlessly to change their positions, he pushed against Aerion to try and get his younger cousin to relent, to let him get up and care for him properly. Aerion remained as stubborn as he had always been.
“No… You stay there,” Aerion stated adamantly.
He had the power here, complete and total power and Valarr unknowingly handed it to him on a silver platter.
Had this been Aerion’s hand at manipulation to keep him on the team and use Valarr’s influence to vouch for himself, and by the Gods was it working and did Valarr feel like such a weak fool for folding to his whims and wills.
“I can’t… I can’t—“ Valarr shook his head, voice high and taut in a pinch of a sound.
His cock was agonisingly hard yet fully spent, unsure whether he’d even be able to come again and still his body pushed him to the brink to test his resolve. It was equal parts as painful as it was in pleasure, a conflicting feeling arising in his gut as Aerion took him apart to rebuild him anew.
Aerion pressed their foreheads together combined with a steady roll of his hips, “You can… You will,” he breathed, the pants of their breaths mingling into one.
Each tremor and moan from Aerion above him pushed Valarr closer and closer to the edge until he toed the very finish line he dared not to cross… He couldn’t determine whether Aerion’s threat was genuine or not, but knowing Aerion he supposed whether he listened to them the man would tell his father regardless simply to torment him further, as if all of this alone wasn’t enough.
“Aerion please…”
“Go ahead, come,” he whispered hotly against the shell of Valarr’s ear, the words enough to cause him to spill once more.
The groan was deep and prolonged, a sound that echoed against the walls as his hips fucked up in the aftershocks of pleasure… The pressure lessened as he came, his cock throbbing inside of Aerion’s hole.
As Aerion’s orgasm approached, the rise and fall of his hips turned more akin to passion and his breaths grew more spaced out as each sound was punched out of him with each fall. He bounced with vigour, uncaring for Valarr’s own dwindling pleasure as he chased what he needed more.
Valarr babbled dumbly as he drove his cock up into him hard and fast, an approving hum falling from Aerion’s parted lips as he could no longer hold up the facade of superiority.
Not now, not when he was so close.
And when he came, that was enough for the both of them.
Aerion’s back arched as he clenched around him, a sight Valarr marvelled in as the warm spurts of cum spilled across the front of his jersey and seeped into the fabric, a stain he knew would never come out fully—yet he couldn’t find it in himself to care.
It felt good, too good. He almost sobbed.
Valarr’s heart felt ready to burst from his chest, any fight from before long forgotten as he laid alone taking in the post-coital bliss. The discomfort of the bench meant nothing in the face of how airy and light he felt… Like a weight he never knew he was carrying had been lifted. Even as Aerion guided himself from the muchly spent cock, Valarr gave no more than a slight stir and a muffled groan.
“You’re leaving, already..?” he asked in a soft murmur, unsure what to make of it.
Aerion was already part way through dressing when Valarr found his voice, causing him to glance back with a half-sneer. “Leave now or be caught here with you? I just might tell the whole team the state they’d find you in if all they have to do was walk in here to see…” his lilac gaze traced Valarr’s figure. “You’re a sorry sight. A pleasing one, but pathetic.”
He cackled when Valarr’s expression went blank, a confusion dancing in his eyes beneath the haze of lust. So Aerion, gave him the answer he sought.
While Aerion made a show out of everything he ever did in his life, but no show was as tantalisingly tempting as the sight of him stuffing his filthy underwear into the backpicket of Valarr’s discarded trousers. That, caused Valarr’s breath to stutter in the depths of his throat, and he swore it came to a complete stop when Aerion winked on his way out, leaving him there nude and ruined—longing for more.
Hell was the only destination left for Aerion, and Valarr was soon to follow.