Chapter Text
Jacaerys Targaryen stands at the railing of his yacht’s bridge deck, freshly manicured nails tapping against the polished banister in a show of his waning patience. He’s visibly discontented, with full pink lips twisted into an unforgiving pout, brown eyes glaring out across the water as if it has personally wronged him behind a pair of gaudy sunglasses.
“What’s the matter, honey?” His husband, an indolent yet jocular alpha of a man, calls from the sun deck above where he’s currently occupied, striking golf balls into the lake with his ridiculous thousand-dollar customized club— as he has been for the past half hour. And though he poses this question, it’s merely for appearance. Jacaerys knows from experience that he doesn’t actually care to hear what he’s upset about.
“The carpenter…” He answers dryly anyway, and without ever turning to look at the alpha. “He’s late.”
“Well, you know how traffic can be in a town like this, especially during the summertime,” Aegon responds off-handedly, words clipped by a grunt as his club strikes another ball. Jacaerys rolls his eyes, “So perhaps others should plan and travel accordingly, you said he’s a local, right?” He lifts his head and turns his gaze onto the alpha, who in turn avoids it swiftly, not wanting to become the face of his quick-tempered omega’s ire. “Think so…” He shrugs, effectively cowed.
“Then he should know better than anyone. Tardiness will not be tolerated under my employment, it shows a lack of respect for others and their time that he’s wasting.”
“Yes my dear.” Aegon agrees inattentively, once more engrossed in his stupid game of what he has coined water golf. Jacaerys can only hope he tumbles in after his next strike.
“I’ll be certain to ensure such is known.” The omega mumbles out loud, nose turned up to the sky—the pretentious little thing that he is. Aegon hums, still sparing him very little attention. “Mhm, you do that, my love.” He encourages absently. It’s an empty permission—not that the omega ever needed it in the first place. Jacaerys turns away from the railing abruptly, just as there’s a call of, “Hello?” from the dock’s pier.
He waits a moment, pointedly, watching with a scrutinizing gaze that too goes ignored as Aegon tends to his golf balls with all the vigilance of a beached seagull.
Once it’s made clear his husband does not intend to leave his post nor greet their hired help— as is expected of an alpha, Jacaerys huffs an annoyed breath and ambles across the deck himself.
Despite his small stature, his footsteps ricochet loudly as he stomps barefoot across newly waxed planks to reach the port, his long silk kimono robe left open and flapping in the wind with every step.
At the pier, a rather tall blonde-haired man stands under the June sun’s scorching rays. A seemingly permanent scowl is fixed upon his pale, handsome face as he attempts to shield his eyes beneath a large hand.
It’s glaringly obvious that Jacaerys has noticed him first, if the witless inclination of his head every which way and the clueless search of squinted blue eyes are anything to go by.
Jacaerys uses the lack of awareness to his benefit, taking the time to observe this man who would soon be operating in close quarters with some of his most private effects.
With his brown eyes narrowing, the first thing that catches the omega's notice is the man’s appearance—albeit rugged in a rural, backwoodsman sense, he is undeniably—annoyingly, good-looking. Outfitted in a white, sleeveless tank top that’s stained with sweat at the neckline, and flaunts toned biceps shamelessly. Washed denim jeans hug his thighs snugly, while a leather utility belt dangles around his slender waist, accentuating his lean figure. Yet, the article Jacaerys finds most troubling amongst these garments would have to be the pair of brown work boots, which are conceivably the ugliest shoes he has ever had the misfortune of laying eyes on.
He represses a shudder at the thought of those germ-ridden brogans setting foot inside his cabin. As if.
Abhorrent boots aside, the rest of the carpenter’s apparel is still a far cry from what Jacaerys would deem appropriate work attire, and this fact only serves to annoy him even more.
Loudly, he clears his throat and watches for a beat as those blue eyes scramble aimlessly, struggling to find him amongst the yacht’s busy exterior. When they finally manage to locate him, the man only stares up at him with this simmering look of mild disdain seeping into his gaze. He must realize then– Jacaerys has been here a while, leaning against the railing and watching while he made a fool of himself.
Jacaerys watches pale eyebrows pinch together with irritation, the man clearly annoyed at being blindsided. The omega merely exhales a peeved breath under the man’s steely gaze.
“You’re late.”
For a moment, nothing comes of this confrontation.
Only a leaden, tension-reared silence is exchanged between the pair, one that stretches on far longer than Jacaerys cares for it to. Infuriatingly, he can’t shake the thought that the intent of it is to make him feel, to some degree, stupid.
Though before he can voice this accusation, the man drops his head and shakes it, scoffing a breath with his lips upturned in the caricature of a premature smile. The sound of it resembles the dawns of a laugh too closely not to be, though whether of exasperation or entertainment, the omega can’t be sure.
Suddenly, the man steps forward, approaching the lowered gangway with an air of arrogance to his stride, outwardly unbothered by the earlier assertion. He smiles tightly at Jacaerys, mocking in a way. It reeks of faux politeness.
“You have my sincerest apologies. Traffic had been heavier than anticipated.” He says, despite not seeming all that apologetic for that matter.
Jacaerys pouts his lips, furrowing his brows in expressive grievance. He has half the mind to call the job off entirely, with such blatant insult arrowed at his intelligence, as if he were too dimwitted and conceited to recognize scarcely veiled sarcasm spewed in his face. But calling off the job would mean further delaying completion of a very necessary project, one that had already become quite time-sensitive in their weeks spent at sea.
If only this hick-town offered a broader reservoir of esteemed carpenters to choose from, he wouldn’t have to settle for such egregious antics.
But unfortunately for Jacaerys, this man seemed to be the most competent the town had to offer.
Rolling his eyes, the omega gives a soft ‘Hmph’, turning away from the man pointedly, rudely. Apology not accepted.
He steps away from the railing and begins to retreat the same way he’d come from, pausing only upon realizing the man hasn’t advanced beyond the tail of the gangway. He isn’t following, hasn’t even boarded the boat.
He’s waiting for permission, and yet, Jacaerys sees it for what it actually is: defiance masked as courtesy.
His eye twitches, temper flaring tersely. With the patience of a Colombian spring, he shoots the man an annoyed glance over his shoulder before barking, “Well, do come along, you’ve wasted enough of my time as is.”
It’s enough to get him moving. With an arrogant smirk weighing at his lips, as if he’s somehow won something by provoking Jacaerys, the bastard steps onto the gangway and finally makes his way aboard the yacht.
With an effortless, swift stride, he closes some of the distance separating them, only designating a respectable stretch of space between them.
Upon his approach, an ill-timed, passing breeze reaches Jacaerys’ nose, and with it carries the undeniable, musky stench of alpha.
He inhales a stifling core of burning cedar, and then finds that dizzying notes of vetiver linger at the back of his throat like an aftertaste.
An alpha. Of course. That explains the virtual posturing and underhanded civility. Jacaerys had always thought them inept and unprofessional; alphas were rarely hired under his employ if it could be helped. So how this one managed to slip under his radar is a novelty to him.
He thinks Aegon may be the culprit, after all, he had been the one tasked with finding Jacaerys the listing. It wouldn’t surprise him if his husband overlooked his primary requirement (“I specifically need a beta for this project, Aegon.”) in favor of fulfilling a lesser priority, such as experience or prestige.
He supposes there’s nothing to be done about it now, short of forfeiting the man’s services and suspending the project until the foreseeable future– though the option is overwhelmingly unappealing.
Gritting his teeth and swallowing down his contempt, Jacaerys continues on his trek back to the bridge deck, the alpha in tow.
“So,” The man begins, voice grating on Jacaerys’s already tampered nerves as he trails several paces behind him. “What am I altering exactly? The job description hadn’t exactly done a great job of explaining that, only said that it was urgent.”
Jacaerys shrugs, “My closet.”
His answer is met with an abrupt silence, and though he’d preferred it, he doesn’t quite like the way it’s delivered. He tries his best to ignore it, biting down the defensive urge to snap and demand the alpha speak his judgments out loud.
Thankfully, they arrive at the bridge deck shortly after.
Aegon is still situated on the sun deck above, with his golf club and endless arsenal of golf balls at his disposal– all functioning as an active disturbance to the aquatic life.
“The carpenter is here. I’ll be showing him to the cabin.” Jacaerys announces, without fanfare, proceeding inside.
“Alright, honey!” Aegon calls automatically, likely not comprehending a word, but knowing he’s expected to respond nonetheless.
They head into the garwood lounge, where sleek, hand-built mahogany walls surround plush white seating, a flatscreen TV sits mounted flush against the wall, a fully stocked bar oversees the space in grandeur, and micro-denier nylon carpet swallows the thud of their footfall.
Jacaerys pays it no mind, guiding them straight down a set of stairs that place them right outside the yacht’s cabin.
Upon reaching the door, the omega halts abruptly, whirling around to face the alpha standing behind him with the same curtness. He takes the time to remove his sunglasses, perching them atop his head so that he can openly stare at the man. The alpha returns his gaze coolly, unfazed by his exhibit of intimidation.
Jacaerys only frowns as if just remembering he’s forgotten something.
“What’s your name?” He questions.
The alpha continues to stare at him for a moment, expression vague and unclear. “Aemond. Aemond Hightower.” He answers.
Jacaerys nods, committing it to memory. If anything comes up missing, Aemond Hightower will be the one to answer for it.
“Okay, Aemond, your shoes…remove them.”
His demand is met with a look of disbelief, the alpha’s eyebrows scrunching as he narrows his eyes and outright scowls at Jacaerys.“What?”
The omega is unaffected by it, merely crossing his arms over his chest as he returns a bored gaze of his own. “You heard me, remove them. I will not have you trekking whatever filth clings to the soles of your shoes through the place where I lay my head.”
“You can’t be serious…you expect me to work with dangerous equipment…in what? My socks?”
Jacaerys arches a brow, unimpressed. “Ah, yes, because the rest of your clothing serves as the pinnacle for carpentry work apparel.” He responds flatly.
For his honesty, he receives a glare.
“It’s 85 degrees outside. My apologies if full PPE seemed unreasonable.” Aemond hisses, inching closer to him.
Jacaerys only tilts his head condescendingly, undeterred by the threatening display, and more than pleased to goad the man further. He squints his eyes, pursing his lips with pretend thought.
“You apologize a lot…would you say that you make a habit of doing things you have to apologize for?”
The alpha scoffs, a brief ripple of anger across his face betraying his earlier show of impassiveness, just before he manages to collect himself. “And what are you? Some rich, stuck-up omega psychologist in need of more room for the shoes in his closet?”
The insult itself doesn’t bother Jacaerys all that much, but the bearer thought fit to deliver it, on the other hand, sets his blood ablaze. Who was this hayseed, mountain man, to tell him about his character when he couldn’t even be bothered to show up to a job on time? When he couldn’t be bothered to find the decency to produce a proper apology?
It takes a moment for Jacaerys to reel in his temper; there is no way he’d continue going back and forth with this absolute oaf of a man. The sooner he started the labor, the sooner they’d never have to see each other again.
And he thinks for a second that, despite all of Aemond’s mockery and patronizing, he’s still here. He’s accepted the job.
An alpha as proud as him wouldn’t do that unless they had to.
The line of thought leaves Jacaerys to discern that this man standing before him, despite all his bitching and complaining, needs this job just as much as Jacaerys needs him to do it.
And so, he makes a gamble.
With his head held high, Jacaerys addresses him with an unwavering tone of steel. “Remove your shoes, or I’ll terminate your contract with us.”
A tense silence follows the threat.
Aemond stares him down for what feels like an eternity, blue eyes filled with silent fury, and his jaw clenched. Jacaerys doesn’t falter under his gaze, even as the scent of burning cedar ashens on his tongue. He holds his ground.
With visible reluctance, Aemond slowly bends down until he’s able to take a knee. He maintains eye contact as he undoes the lace of his boot, with this unsettling intensity. Jacaerys holds it with defiance, even as every fiber in his being tells him to submit, to surrender. He fights it tooth and fucking nail until those mangy boots come off.
Only when Aemond kicks the boots to the side does Jacaerys allow himself to soften, shoulders dropping as he adopts a false smile. “Great, now we can work towards never seeing each other again.”
With this, he opens the cabin’s door and reveals a rather empty, sterile space.
The bedroom is admittedly impersonal, lacking in clutter and character alike. The California king that takes up a considerable amount of the cabin is draped in freshly ironed linen, with the stack of pillows ornamenting the headboard creaseless and firm. There isn’t an item out of place, even the TV remote is lined up neatly on the nightstand.
Jacaerys enters the cabin, beelining for the closet that sits opposite the foot of the bed. He draws open the bifold double doors, turning his head to look over his shoulder at Aemond. “I need you to remove these shelves and extend them outward, but leave an accessible, hollow space behind them that’s no less than five feet wide and six feet tall. Is this something you can do?”
Aemond only stares at him for a moment, as if trying to gather just what it is exactly he wants him to build and why. When the answer never comes, he gives up, stepping inside the cabin with a huff. He comes to stand at Jacaerys’s side, noticeably taller and broader up so close, as he assesses the space himself.
Jacaerys watches him carefully, the hackles on the back of his neck raised as Aemond brushes past him and steps inside the closet, seeking a better examination of measurement.
The omega scarcely withstands the urge to bare his fangs and growl at the strange alpha now–unknowingly occupying the same space where his provisional nest would be placed soon.
He hears his mother’s voice echo at the back of his mind, chiding him about decorum and propriety, of how it isn’t suitable for an omega of his class to succumb to such basic instincts.
He swallows the discomfort down just as Aemond turns to look at him. “It’s doable. I’ll need a few days to get it done, though.”
Jacaerys nods his head. “Very well, I’ll leave you to get started.”
The week passes in a sluggish, tedious crawl of heat and humidity, one that not even the chilly kiss of a lake’s gentle breeze can sway entirely.
Jacaerys bears it with the grace of a clumsy dancer. Fumbling through the week, dressed in only racy bathing suits that cut too low and cling too tight while covering little to no skin. His curls are a frizzy, unsalvageable mess atop his head, and a disgusting film of sweat clings to his skin in what feels like a permanent summer coat. It’s miserable. He’s miserable.
His temper has not fared well in the face of Oldtown’s midsummer heatwave; he’s been short with the staff, with Aegon, and with a particular carpenter.
Today, he sits beneath an umbrella on the sun deck, with a magazine spread out across his lap and his cellphone pinned between his shoulder and cheek. His personal steward, Elinda, sits on the ottoman near his feet, applying a fresh coat of clear polish to his toes.
“Aegon wants to try for a baby.” He tells his younger brother, Lucerys, over the phone.
On the other line, Lucerys barks out a loud, honest laugh, “A baby? With you?”
Jacaerys frowns. Who else would his husband want to have a baby with?
“What? What’s funny about that?” He challenges a bit defensively.
Lucerys seems to collect himself after a moment, clearing his throat to return his voice to its natural baritone.“Nothing..just seems a bit…impossible.”
Jacaerys narrows his eyes, lips pressing into a pout.
“I’m not following...”
“Well, it’s just, you’re not exactly the sort of person I’d imagine having kids, you know?”
Jacaerys makes a face at the statement, offended. “I did help raise you and the rest of our siblings, you know? Or have you forgotten that?”
“I mean, yeah, you raised us, but was that something you wanted to do? Or was it something you had to do?”
For a second, Jacaerys is rendered speechless–uncertain of how to navigate this question when it feels like a landmine.
Lucerys doesn’t give him the chance to, either way. “Look, all I’m trying to say is, don’t let him rush you into something you’re not ready for, alright?”
And there it is, the thing that pisses Jacaerys off most. He rolls his eyes, waving a hand in Elinda’s direction dismissively. She halts immediately, head shooting up to look at him nervously. “Don’t speak to me as if I’m some brainless, meek omega, easily cowed and coerced into letting others decide things for me.”
“That’s not what I–”
“I have to go, Lucerys. We’ll talk later.”
He hangs up before his brother can finish his sentence, practically fuming. The nerve of that boy, to sit here and insult his elder brother.
Jacaerys crosses his arms over his chest, huffing a breath. “Elinda, fetch me a martini.” He barks at the beat woman, sending her bolting from her seat. “Yes, of course, sir.” She nods before heading off to do as instructed, leaving Jacaerys to his devices.
He glances down at his toes, wiggling them against the toe dividers and frowning. He knew he should’ve gone with the nude color instead. Whatever, he’ll just have Elinda paint over them once the polish dries.
Settling back against his lounge chair, Jacaerys closes his eyes beneath the shade of his umbrella– attempting to quell the irritation now simmering low in his blood. It’s just as he begins to think he may actually get somewhere, the shrill shrieking of a drill saw from below cuts into his silence. He groans, long and drawn out. It’s his last fucking day working on the damn thing, what more could the bastard need to cut up?
Irritation renewed, Jacaerys stands from his chair and kicks his toes free of the spreaders. He sets out across the deck with purpose, descending the stairs like a madman.
He passes Aegon lounging in the garwood, zipping past the alpha with little more than a snarl as he attempts conversation.
When he reaches the cabin, sawdust blankets the air in harsh, little particles that force him to shield his nose and mouth with the sleeve of his sheer kimono robe to breathe– though it does little to help against the assault on his lungs. “What are you doing now!” He growls loudly over the tremor of the drill saw.
Upon noticing him, Aemond immediately kills the saw. His face is obscured beneath an N95 mask, his eyes behind safety goggles, and yet Jacaerys can still make out the irritation that crosses his expression. “You shouldn’t be in here.”
“Well, I wouldn’t have to be if you were more transparent and true to your schedule.” Jacaerys counters, before hacking out a cough.
Aemond, the unprofessional bastard that he is, rolls his eyes. “A panel wasn’t evenly aligned with the others. Though I didn’t realize I had to come to you for every modification, surely you’re much too busy painting your nails and gossiping on the phone to micro-manage such tedious deviations.”
Jacaerys gawks at the callout, utterly livid.
“What does it matter what I do when it’s my money that pays you to stick to the schedule you agreed to? Who cares if you find it tedious? I’m the one paying for it; therefore, I should be informed if there’s a change or delay.”
At his words, Aemond rips off the mask and goggles, looking so incredibly furious that Jacaerys is almost certain, if the sawdust weren’t already searing his lungs to hell, the scent of burning cedar would be instead. “Listen, it was a small mistake that I already fixed. Your stupid closet will be finished before you can even lift a finger to have someone order you a new wardrobe.”
Jacaerys merely scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I would sure hope so, seeing as you’ve been nothing but a disturbance since the day you arrived.”
This time, the alpha smiles at him. It’s all teeth and fangs, far from genuine and clearly lacking in patience. “Of course, I’ll be sure to invest in quieter tools for future services, so as not to disturb my clients. After all, who cares about the results, as long as it’s done quietly!”
Jacaerys returns a sarcastic smile of his own. “I’m sure it’ll do wonders for your ratings! Perhaps try trading in that stellar sarcasm of yours too, you might even attract some reputable clientele in this shithole of a town, and who knows, you might even manage to get somewhere in life.”
The alpha only narrows his eyes, smile dimming despite maintaining its forced authenticity. “Nah, the reputable ones always tend to be the same pretentious, snobby, miserable control freaks who make the job harder than it's worth. Nothing life-changing about that.”
Jacaerys hums.
“How unfortunate. Though I’m sure their money spends just the same, right? Or else you wouldn’t be here, working for such a pretentious, snobby, miserable control freak like me, yes?”
Aemond fails to conceal the smirk that twitches at his lips, glancing down at his glove-clad hands to avoid Jacaerys's stare. “You said it, not me.” He mumbles, as if it made a difference. As if the omega didn’t have fucking ears to hear it with.
Jacaerys’s neck burns with his fury. He’s forced to rein in his temper, reminding himself of how an omega is expected to act with class and grace.
“Right…well, I’m sure you’ll make it very far without those pretentious, snobby, miserable control freaks’ money. After all, Oldtown is the standard of wealth. Godspeed to you, Aemond Hightower.”
With this, he exits the cabin– not fueled with the usual satisfaction at getting the last word, but a festering rage.
Let this be the last time he hires a backwoods, knothead alpha.
Just before the sun is due to set, Aemond finishes the job.
Jacaerys stands before the closet, the cabin now mostly cleared of sawdust, annoyed by just how impressed he is by it.
Aemond Hightower may have been an unprofessional brute, but he was undeniably skilled in his craft. And judging by the smug twist of his lips that Jacaerys spies through his peripheral vision, the bastard knows it too. How annoying.
“Would you like to see if the measurements fit your request?” The alpha hums, toned arms crossed over his broad chest. He’s so utterly pleased with himself. Jacaerys rolls his eyes, “Should I? Are you not confident in your own judgement?”
Aemond only shrugs, ignoring the barb for what it is. “You’re the one paying for it, right?”
Jacaerys huffs, motioning his hand for the alpha to get on with it.
As instructed, Aemond steps forward and turns the wooden crank installed on the side of the box framing the wardrobe. Jacaerys pointedly doesn’t watch the rigid flex of muscles as he does so; instead, he keeps his eyes focused on the shelves that slowly part to reveal the hollow space he’d requested.
It appears to be of the measurements he’d requested, though he refuses to give the man the satisfaction of testing it out.
“Is it to your satisfaction?” Aemond questions, voice oozing with the cockiness of a man aware of his talent.
It pisses Jacaerys off. He stares at the wardrobe with a frown, eyebrows wrinkling as he observes it for flaws. The craftsmanship is, unfortunately, some of the best he’s ever seen. With smooth edges and fine engravings along its even surface, it’s nearly impossible to be dissatisfied with.
And yet, with a glance or two at the cabin’s walls just outside the wardrobe, he finds his answer.
“Is this…wenge wood?”
Aemond’s smug grin plummets from his face, a flicker of annoyance reflected in his blue eyes. “Yeah, what about it?”
Jacaerys scoffs.
“You can’t be serious…wenge wood on a mahogany ship? Are you blind?”
Aemond drops his arms, eyebrows furrowed. “You didn’t request–”
“It doesn’t matter, any carpenter with a shred of common sense knows not to pair wenge with mahogany–it’s too busy, too coarse. It makes the cabin look chaotic.”
“Listen, I could swap it out for a wood of your choice, but you’re already looking at over eighteen hundred for labor and materials, that’ll only double, and I’ll need another week to–”
Jacaerys cuts him off abruptly, “I’m not paying for your mistake.”
In an instant, Aemond’s mask finally slips, and beneath it resides a nearly feral rage. “What?” He demands harshly as a burst of burning cedar makes it nearly impossible to breathe.
Jacaerys only turns on his heel, exiting the cabin with a false air of composure, unable to deny the sliver of fear the alpha’s anger incites within him. The urge to flee the confined space takes precedence. “You heard me, I will not pay for mediocrity.” He calls back, already climbing the stairs, but Aemond follows. Taking two steps for every one Jacaerys takes.
“There’s no fucking way you’re being serious right now.” He growls.
“As a heart attack.”
Jacaerys picks up his pace, just short of running, as his eyes desperately search for a witness. God, please don’t let me die at the hands of some dimwitted, backwoods alpha, he thinks as his heart thuds in his chest uselessly.
And where the fuck is Aegon when you need him?
He crosses the threshold of the garwood lounge, reaching the bridge deck with the furious alpha hot on his tail. Thankfully, he hears Elinda sweeping the deck further up ahead, though it does little in the way of calming his racing heart.
Before he makes it close enough to reach her line of sight, Aemond captures his wrist with one of those massive hands and physically stops him in his tracks. “You know what I think?” He questions, forcing Jacaerys to face him.
For it, Jacaerys flinches, cowed in a way he’s never been before. He swallows nervously, tugging at the alpha’s grip on his wrist, but he soon realizes it’s pointless. “I think you were looking for a reason to hate that closet, because you’re a stuck-up, miserable bitch with too much time and too much money in his hands, who's never been told no or called out on his shitty behavior. You just can’t accept that you were wrong, or acknowledge that despite the fact you’ve been nothing but a cunt to me since I got here, you demanded respect from me without earning it or giving it!”
Jacaerys shrinks with each insult levied against him, blinking rapidly against the burning sensation building in his eyes. Never in his life has someone spoken to him in such a manner, let alone a full-grown alpha nearly twice his height, screaming it in his face.
He finds himself terrified, shaken in a way that feels foreign. He freezes, unable to speak for a moment as the alpha’s words register.
Panting harsh breaths through his nose, nearly red in the face, Aemond finally releases his hold on him and runs a hand through his hair. He takes a minute to compose himself before he speaks again. Jacaerys refuses to meet his gaze, jaw clenched under the threat of tears.
“Just pay me what you owe me, and we can be done with all this.”
Defiantly, Jacaerys remains silent. He casts his gaze aside, even as fat tears spill down his cheek and a tremble vibrates his chin.
It isn’t until Aemond moves, unfastening the utility belt at his waist, that Jacaerys turns his attention back to the man.
Startled by the implication his mind conjures, he comes back to himself with a shaken gasp, his eyes widen. “Don’t touch me!” He shouts, reaching forward and shoving at the alpha’s chest with as much force as possible.
“What–” is all that Aemond manages to say, his utility belt clattering to the ground, before he’s pushed over the bridge deck’s railing and down to the lake below.
Jacaerys leans over the railing, just in time to see the alpha surface, sputtering on water and utterly soaked.
“Go to hell!” Jacaerys shouts, bending to grab the man’s belt.
“You better not, you psychotic bitch!” Aemond growls.
But Jacaerys is already screeching in the direction of the wheelhouse, “Dalton, move this boat at once!”
And as the engine rumbles to life, Jacaerys tosses the utility belt.
Lying in the California king-sized bed of his cabin, Jacaerys glares daggers at his husband, who rests a hand against his thigh where he lies beside him.
“Oh, come on, baby, we haven’t slept together since our wedding night.” The man insists.
Jacaerys only pushes his leg out from under his husband’s hold roughly. “After I was nearly assaulted by the strange alpha you allowed me to hire, while you were nowhere to be found, you can’t honestly expect me to be in the mood to sleep with you, Aegon.” He scolds in utter disbelief.
Aegon huffs, throwing his head back against their mountain of pillows. “You can’t seriously think that man would have assaulted you in broad daylight, with dozens of crew members milling about the ship.”
Jacaerys shoots upright; small, omegan fangs bared in an undeniable display of fury. “It doesn’t matter whether I believed it or not! What matters is that you weren’t there when I needed you to be! I was fucking terrified, and you couldn’t bother to show up! Too busy, what?! Playing water golf?! Staring up a stewardess’ skirt?!”
The blonde alpha rolls his eyes, rolling over onto his back. “Since when were you an omega who needed to be saved?”
“That’s not the fucking point!” Jacaerys shouts, the sound of it shrill, trapped inside the enclosed space of their cabin.
“You know what?” The omega begins, before he decides it’s so utterly useless. He snatches the bed’s duvet, along with a herd of pillows, leaving the alpha with only bedsheets and a cluster of pillows. “Whatever, I’m sleeping on the bridge deck tonight. Good fucking night, you useless prick.”
“You’re being dramatic, omega!” Is what the man calls after him as he exits the cabin.
“Better dramatic than a useless, spineless alpha!” He fires back, slamming the door behind himself before he climbs the stairs leading to the Garwood Lounge.
He makes his way to the front of the bridge deck, where a row of cushioned lounge chairs sit. He deposits his stolen bedding into one, huffing a breath as he tries to settle himself.
While Aegon had never been particularly comforting or good with words in the past, Jacaerys can’t help but feel upset with the man. In a time when he’d needed him most, he hadn’t come, and worst, he refused to take accountability for it. An alpha’s job was to protect their omega, to comfort them in distress, and he had done none of that.
Though Jacaerys supposes the man wasn’t technically his alpha yet, maybe considered so by common law, but not in a way his body recognized. Not in the way that mattered.
Without thought, he reaches a hand up to trace his unclaimed scent gland. In a few weeks, he was supposed to bear Aegon’s claim during his upcoming heat. But after the events of today, the thought makes him queasy. Marriage was one thing, but being bound for life to a man who hadn’t cared to protect him?
Jacaerys shudders, wanting to clear his thoughts of it entirely.
He inches towards the bridge deck’s railing, casting his gaze out across the lake engulfed in inky darkness. The sun has disappeared from the skyline, leaving a spiral of stars in its stead, though their faint illumination is no match for the near-endless stretch of water.
Unsettled by the void of night across the lake, his eyes instead track the moonlight’s path, observing where it catches on a stretch of water, casting a shimmering path below. It’s a breathtaking sight.
As he stands still, he realizes the boat does not. Small waves push against the vessel, swaying it with the gentleness of a mother’s hand rocking their newborn’s cradle. It’s comforting in a way, and reminds him that he’s so utterly homesick.
He swallows uncomfortably, fidgeting with the wedding band adorning his ring finger. He twists it, over and over again, trying to convince himself that this is what he’s always wanted, but an uncomfortable weight hangs in his chest.
He feels sick with it, no matter how hard he tries to shove it down. He fidgets and fidgets until suddenly the ring slips, falling from his fingertips.
“Shit!” He hisses, frantically trying to see where it’s fallen.
He hadn’t heard the telltale drip of it hitting the water, and when he looked hardly a second after it fell, there’s no distinct ripple indicating such either. It leads him to lean over the railing, searching the thin ledge on the other side.
Part of him knows he should wait until daylight to look for it, that it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack this late at night and in the middle of a lake– but he’s stubborn.
After an excruciatingly long moment of searching, a glint out of the corner of his eye catches his attention. He sees it! Right on the ledge, like he’d thought.
Sighing a breath of relief, he reaches his body further across the railing– bare feet no longer touching the ground. He grips the railing tight with one hand, stretching out the other until his finger grazes the ring. Almost, he thinks. He leans over further, a finger settling atop the band. Just a bit further..
He grabs the ring with two pinched fingers, squealing in delight, before leaning back over the railing.
His heart is racing by the time his feet touch solid–or mostly, solid ground again, and he slips the band back on. “Thank God.” He mumbles.
Just as he starts to move away from the railing, the boat lurches to the side roughly, as if the wheel had been turned too abruptly. The omega loses his balance, tipping over the railing he’d just bested only seconds ago, and plunging straight into the darkened lake below with a shriek swallowed by the tides.