Chapter Text
In the back of Aemond’s mind, somewhere buried and locked deep within the dark lonely corners, a memory from childhood emerges. The memory of someone’s blurry face telling him about the doom of Valyria, destruction to a violent, incredible scale, the end of a world, a revelation that embedded itself in history books.
The sum of all the descriptions, allegories, words, and syllables used to describe the doom of Valyria did not weigh up to this.
Lucerys Velaryon, injured and broken, bent and shattered, fallen from the sky in the hue of an ethereal being—and laying right in front of him.
Aemond aches to make a move, to reach out to him and touch him, to feel his skin underneath his tingling fingertips; it is painful how he can ache this profoundly in his core. It hurts—it does hurt; and suddenly he’s that ten-year-old kid again, the same feeling of desperation, the misery, the feeling of helplessness… It all goes back to Lucerys, the beautiful object of his anguish—always has been, and always will be.
His head sings a thousand tunes, and it still manages to quiet down and still to a single entity, Aemond thinks it’s ever meant to be like this, everything goes and should go still against the image of Lucerys Velaryon.
In a pitiful, broken voice, Lucerys descants, “You took Arrax’s wing… it’s…” Lucerys hushes; a tear falls from his scraped face. “Inhuman.”
“And you took my eye.”
Aemond’s eye fixates on Lucerys’ wobbly lip, busted open and split, the tempting red gathered around it, and Aemond has half a sick mind to lick it clean.
The ache becomes unbearable, then; it’s when Aemond decides that the gods must have been playing a cruel game with him. His veins drum, the blood pumping in those same veins plunging—and amongst this revolting state of circumstance, a truth comes to light, the truth that no one can deny as of the current moment.
Lucerys Velaryon completely, irrevocably belongs to Aemond Targaryen.
A voice he knows belongs to him screams—he forever has been, and he forever will be. It’s just now that he has Lucerys trapped within his palms, his fragile beauty’s pain, suffering, and bliss depend fully on Aemond, and now, Aemond has no intention of letting go.
Aemond gestures forward, and grabs Lucerys’ chin in the palm of his hand; it’s almost laughable how easily he can wrap Lucerys’ face within his grip, shrouding the whole of it. His fingers grasp harder, rougher—he wants to bruise him, he resolves, and with the way he’s holding him right now, he will.
Lucerys thrashes in his hold, as much as he can with the strength left of him, and Aemond can see in his eyes that he can’t deduce what Aemond is planning to do as he brings his face closer.
Aemond licks the blood from Lucerys’ busted lip clean, taking his sweet time around the area, savoring the taste, embedding it in his memory. It is, not to Aemond’s shock at all, the most sacred thing Aemond has ever tasted.
The omega’s scent changes; before, it was laced with yawning sadness, extending to fear and rage, and even disappointment—now, a new tone blooms: perplexity.
It suits Aemond just fine.
He recalls back the events that led him here, right in this calamity of a set of affairs, which likewise make Aemond feel like the totality of his life is meant to be elicited right here, in this very moment.
Lucerys before Lord Borros, wet like a newborn pup, him being rejected, the disappointment in his wide hazel eyes, Aemond demanding one of them, Lucerys refusing and Aemond chasing him down through the storm, as he would have in any other possibility, always chasing him, always trying to hunt him down, because they were intertwined with one other the moment Lucerys took his eye, and there was no changing that; it is the truth and the only constant Aemond has known his whole life, the truth that he holds onto, carrying along that weight, wearing it around his wrist, the constant he clings onto in sleepless nights, and in demanding days.
Then, Vhagar rips out of Arrax’s wing. A miscalculation on Aemond’s part, not how he wanted things to turn out to be at all—but how did he want to things turn out? He cannot answer that question himself, yet when he saw that Lucerys had managed to land Arrax safely despite the ripped-out wing, himself quite beaten and shaken up due to the effect of the impact, he felt relief. The relief that he still had a constant to hold onto, because who Aemond was exactly without Lucerys Velaryon?
Aemond has made a name for himself, of course. There wasn’t anyone in this realm that could ever deny that and have his tongue intact. He is the one-eyed prince, rider of the biggest dragon, skillful in combat and knowledge—a second son nothing to his name, rising from the doubts he was encompassed around him. No, there isn’t a question of who Aemond Targaryen is at all, and this is why he had to come to terms that he keeps Lucerys Velaryon close to his heart.
It was them, together who started this, their fate is interwoven for eternity, always drawing circles around each other—how could he lose Lucerys after all this?
Now, as they are together in the cave that Lucerys sought out for shelter after he barely managed to land Arrax, Vhagar guarding the entrance of it as though Arrax is in a shape to make a move should Aemond were to touch his rider, it dawns on Aemond that there is no escape anymore. Lucerys is his, his, his.
“Aemond—” Lucerys breathes, tiny voice dragging and tired. It’s merely now Aemond realizes that he moved further down from his bloody lips to the mole under his chin. It must have been almost a muscle reflex, for him to find himself suckling on that exact spot.
He takes in the sight—for years, he’s dreamed of having Lucerys like this; without anyone else’s protection, in a world that contained only two of them, it was supposed to be just Aemond and him. It is.
There is a debt to be paid.
He’s dreamed of this for years; that much of it was true. Nonetheless, it wasn’t simply enough for Aemond to take Lucerys’ eye, unlike what he demanded at Storm’s End.
Lucerys claiming Aemond’s eye brought forth unraveling actualities. It’s something that affected Aemond’s whole life, the realization that his father put a bastard’s eye above his son’s when it was nothing but divine justice, the cracked foundation that his family was built upon resurfacing for never to be hidden again.
That night, Aemond’s whole life changed—turned upside down; materialized into a single eye.
Tonight, Lucerys’ whole life is set to be changed, indeed, and claiming an eye did not entirely account for it anymore.
Aemond moves to the area close to Lucerys’ ear, where the second mole on his face lies on his right cheek. All of their spots are memorized since the first time he saw him after years.
“Aemond!” Lucerys falters, and his attempt to imitate a yell falls laughable.
Aemond shuffles with Lucerys’ clothes without the telltale sign of struggle for which Lucerys is too weak to attempt a halt at his actions—but Aemond sees it.
He sees in his naive, luring eyes that it strikes Lucerys for the first time he processes what is about to happen.
Fear in his scent gets amplified—burning the room.
Aemond thrives off it.
He unclogs Lucerys’ cloak first, and it drops off his shoulder soft as a breeze; he strips him down slowly, dragging down the feeling of must’ve been robbed bare, because that is, eventually, what Aemond does—he robs Lucerys bare till he’s completely naked and open before him.
Aemond clears his own coat and places it under Lucerys, making him a bedding of his own for when he’s going to take Lucerys.
Lucerys’ savor he overflows the room with is something that will occupy Aemond’s mind for times to come.
“Afraid?” A pointless question that Aemond teases with the flick of his tongue, wandering it around his neck, around Lucerys’ scent glands, to taste more of that fear, that feeling, for he’s greedy. Oh, he is greedy.
“N-No,” Lucerys gasps, “Not of you.”
Aemond simply laughs; there’s no trace of the truth.
He pulls back, it takes strength for him to stray apart from Lucerys’ moles, deeming it almost like a betrayal to the gods’ creation, as they have taken their time sculpting his face.
Lucerys has pink, glistening nipples that demand attention—little dots on his pale body, created to distract the attention of the gods’ most valuable missionary.
Aemond traces his tongue around one, encircling it, and his hand fondles the other, squeezing it hard.
“A-AH! Qȳbor, Please, plea—” Lucerys’ hiss is short, his small hands searching for Aemond’s face, to pull him away from him, with no weight to his arms. He is rejected.
Aemond considers himself patient, considers himself tactical.
All of those perceptions of himself go through deaf ears the moment he gets closer to Lucerys’ cunt, ignoring his little omegan cocklet.
He roams around Lucerys’ belly, with no trail of muscle despite his possible prior training, feeling soft to Aemond’s tongue as it skims right above his womb, under his navel.
Aemond moves his tongue upward, then—and spits into the cavity Lucerys’ belly button makes. He bites into it; making Lucerys’ back arch as he captures his belly button with his mouth.
“N-NO!” Lucerys cries; his broken voice shatters around the cave.
Aemond draws blood. The first bunch of many he will from Lucerys.
He withdraws from Lucerys’ belly button to focus on the lower side of his stomach, where his womb lies.
He presses a lingering kiss there—and then another, and another, and another. He suffocates where Lucerys’ womb lies with his lips, and fingers come to caress the area. “This is where my seed will take,” Aemond declares, he lifts his head from where he was entranced to look into Lucerys’ eyes. “You are deemed to carry bastards,” he says, “as ‘ts fitting for a wanton bastard like you.”
Lucerys’ expressive eyes portray dread, it shuts down and opens up as his captivating lips tremble, Aemond can feel how he shakes like a leaf under him. He is fragile, pitifully so, and Aemond has the impetuous sensation that he is gone before his soul is taken from the earth.
“No.” Lucerys convulses, head swaying from right to left, refusing as though his input is meant to make even the slightest change. “No. No— No, no, nonon—” he breathes in, Aemond can feel how his stomach bulges from the air under his tongue. “ARRAX!” Lucerys hollers, greeted with a distant scream of his dragon to diffuse it with the air, and then there’s utter silence.
Aemond moves down, down. “You think your excuse of a dragon is in any state to protect you right now?” He soothes a stripe under Lucerys’ belly button to the dip of his pelvis, tongue dipping below. He catches the picture of Lucerys’ bruised, battered hips, on both of his sides, right and left. His body carried marks now, all as a result of Aemond’s doing, albeit not directly. The bruises on his face that are just starting to form, though—that’s another story. Aemond suckled hard that his face now had purple marks enfolding his moles, painting a bewitching scene as it mixes with his bloodied lips. Not to an overwhelming scale, no. Lucerys’ face is as beautiful and bright as ever.
Aemond senses Lucerys’ scent the most as he gets closer to his cunt, eyeing his fat clit, a luminous shade of pink as a bump on his alluring cunny. Aemond dips a tongue and feels the juices flowing from his omega. He tastes innocence—not seen war or true combat, like a coddled pup. Vanilla and honey, but as vixen as he is, also cherry.
“You are wet,” Aemond hums; his long fingers part the plump lips of his pussy, separating to find the hidden gem as one would do to a shell to find the pearl inside. “I shouldn’t be in disbelief, you’re a ravenous whore, after all. Probably been waiting for this your whole life—” Aemond spits, his saliva flowing down with Lucerys’ juices to the floor, he spreads it along his cunt with his thumb. “To find someone to fuck his pups into you. That’s your sole use. Guess what, Nephew?” His fingers find his dripping, soft hole; as tight as it is, Lucerys is wet like a waterfall, helping for intrusion. “It has always been me.”
“Aemond— Uncle. You cannot do this,” Lucerys wheezes, tears as radiant as the most expensive jewelry fall from his gorgeous face. “My mom, Daemon— they will not let you live. Y-You–”
“I will win the war,” Aemond dismisses, it comes to him easy to say as a shrug of a shoulder because he knows he will. “I would not claim you—you will be stuck with a bastard kid for the rest of your life, an image of me. Consider it as fair. I will have their heads on a spike, and you will witness it all with my child by your side.”
Lucerys lays motionless then, his words taking a toll on him, save for the violent sobs that jerk his whole body as though the soil was moving from the ground.
Aemond forces Lucerys open with his fingers. He knows that Lucerys is a maiden—there’s simply not a way a pampered bastard like him would not be, even though he is a seasoned whore by spirit. Still, he didn’t expect Lucerys to be this tight, even when as he damps all of his coat.
Lucerys squirms as Aemond’s calloused fingers thrust in further, mewling as whispered rejections escape from his lips like a prayer to an unknown god.
“From now on,” Aemond breathes, “your only god will be me.”
Aemond pushes in the third finger as he continues to gather Lucerys’ juices around his tongue, not wasting a single drop.
He simply tastes divine.
Aemond would feel offended to be bewitched by this wanton omega if his head weren’t incredibly cloudy, all he is encompassed with is reduced around a single view that lies between Lucerys’ plush legs.
It makes his mouth water.
He discerns as he can have this as he dips his tongue further like a man gone mad while Lucerys continues to shudder, shake, break down. This can be his safe haven—
This is the closest a man like Aemond will be to resurrection.
It was not that he deemed Lucerys ready, he never could be to Aemond’s length, anyhow. But, it was that Aemond could not simply wait any longer.
The scents Lucerys releases, mixed with fear and arousal, for which he’s an omega to the core, despite his protests, make Aemond insatiable.
The slick Lucerys’ lustful body produces will have to make do.
Aemond quickly rids off his own clothing. He didn’t have to, of course, but he wanted to. He wanted Lucerys to remember this; remember everything. He wanted Lucerys to remember how Aemond’s skin covers his own, how they will not be even apart for an ounce bit, they will be one.
He, in turn, as Aemond can now admit, wanted to feel all of Lucerys as he was buried deep in him—any other convention is to be deemed a sin.
Aemond bites Lucerys’ upper thigh, right beside his cunny, marking him everywhere. He makes eye contact with Lucerys from there, gazing at him from below above his cunt; Lucerys’ doesn’t break the eye contact, then—tears continue to drop like cascade, but he keeps his stare, as Aemond does. One violet eye sharper than his sapphire; predatory.
He cannot help it—from here he holds Lucerys’ leg still, his cheek touching his inner thigh, he gives a distorted smile; a smirk. His lips curled, high on the sensation that Lucerys is where he always wanted him to be—underneath him.
Lucerys’ thigh bleeds from the bite, it wasn’t important, he is meant to bleed. He moves on to the other thigh to mark all the same as Lucerys cries more violently from what Aemond imagines to be pain; it is from the pain—he can sense it from the scent.
Aemond feels the need to coo. “You’re okay, jorrāelagon,” he kisses his thigh to soothe, unfamiliarly kind. “You are strong, aren’t you? I’m merely marking what’s mine.”
“Aemond, I do not want this,” Lucerys whimpers, lower lip quivering. “You—you shouldn’t. It is not right.”
Aemond disregards his words. “You see, Nephew, this is where you are wrong,” he presses one final kiss to Lucerys’ knee before lifting Lucerys’ hips to drive his cock in. “It is right. This is how things have supposed to turn out. You belong to me. All you can offer,” Aemond thrusts in, carving a place inside Lucerys, meeting with a scream, “is mine.”
“No— no, no, no nono—” Lucerys wails, his body shaking through Aemond’s movements. “Aemond— Uncle, it hurts.”
Aemond has the desire to lull Lucerys with his lips as he adjusts himself. Gods, does he look absolutely ravishing.
Through the moon and stars, from earth to sky, Lucerys is the most beautiful thing Aemond has ever have the honor to see that graces this realm.
He looks so heartbreakingly beautiful that Aemond’s heart, as dark as it is this night, contradicts against his chest like a bird prisoned in a cage that bangs his head against the rails.
He shouldn’t kiss Lucerys, he tells himself. This isn’t making love, this is Lucerys paying his debt.
So, pushes his cock further—Aemond knows he is big. Not just big; his length is enormous, in both length and width. As Lucerys is a maiden, it is no secret that Aemond is designated to drive his cock in by force—he is designated to do so either way, Lucerys being a maiden makes things more challenging—but he hoped with the amount of slick Lucerys’ unholy body produces, it should at least help.
It doesn’t.
Through every motion of Aemond pressuring his cock in, he tears a silent scream out of Lucerys.
“A-AH— W-Wait!” Lucerys manages to drag out as Aemond pushes his cock deeper till to the hilt. “Qȳbor, it will not fit—”
“Ziry jāhor,” Aemond curses under his teeth. “Ao issi vēttan syt issa.”
With one definitive, hard thrust, Aemond is completely buried deep in Lucerys, in his welcoming heat.
It feels otherworldly.
He keeps Lucerys there, sealed to his cock, just a little longer. He wants to savor the moment—wants to savor how Lucerys’ stunning hazel eyes convulse in pain, his expression pained as he looks Aemond directly in the eye. All the precious gems in the whole world did not add up to his beauty, not even to his eyes alone.
“You are beautiful, Lucerys,” Aemond says, breathless, as he starts to move. “You have always been so beautiful.”
Aemond plunges deep into Lucerys, his unbelievable warmth—it is perfect.
Lucerys is perfectly molded for Aemond.
His wicked, lascivious body is matching with Aemond’s tendencies even subconsciously. An omega, bastard, a whore, certainly. A demon.
“This body is created to turn me away from the gods,” Aemond concludes, landing a sharp slap on Lucerys’ ass.
He’s buried deep in Lucerys, his immense length bulging from his belly, the outline of his cock visible to the eye. Aemond reaches his hand down and feels it.
It makes him dizzy.
He pulls Lucerys closer because he cannot bear to be apart from him not even a bit— he pulls him closer by his thighs, his round eyes filled with tears cut Aemond’s violet one down.
A trickle of blood flows between Lucerys’ thighs; Aemond feels the warmth of it. Lucerys is on fire, and Aemond isn’t doing any better.
Aemond’s other hand finds Lucerys’ cheek, extending to his bloodied lips, and Lucerys turns his head to the other side as though Aemond’s touch burns.
“Do you feel your maidenhead taken by me?” Aemond tantalizes with a particularly rough thrust, ramming into him impossibly deeper. He forces Lucerys’ face to look straight into his, hand firmly holding his bruised jaw. “I want you to remember this moment, Lucerys—how I ruined you. You are no good to any alpha now; I have tainted with you no return as you did to me years ago.”
Lucerys shrieks—Aemond isn’t sure if it was because of the weight of his words or the roughness of his movements, probably both.
“You are a monster,” Lucerys lets out, like bile in his throat.
“I am what you turned me into.”
Aemond’s hand caresses the bulge, something about seeing Lucerys as though he were pregnant makes his alpha pleased to an extent no booze in the realm could match.
“Hurts,” Lucerys aches, his tears falling to Aemond’s skin.
Aemond lifts him up, and now Lucerys is on his lap, notably close to his face; this is what it must feel to defy the gods, Aemond thinks.
Being this close to Lucerys, as though facing the sun for the first time after being kept in the eternal dark, awakens a sensation in Aemond that he didn’t taste before—
He kisses Lucerys.
It is messy and warm—hot. Aemond pushes his tongue deeper into Lucerys’ burning mouth and breaches it despite Lucerys’ protests that die quickly enough when he understands Aemond has no intention of pulling back.
He could taste blood in his mouth.
How could he let Lucerys go after all this?
“I hate you,” Lucerys moans when Aemond fastens his thrusts; they are sloppy now, Aemond knows he isn’t in a state to be rational, but then again, when was he when it comes to Lucerys?
“And yet,” Aemond licks Lucerys’ lips, “you are bound to love an image of me.”
Aemond is going to have everything Lucerys can offer—and more.
His teeth graze Lucerys’ scent gland, tongue dancing around the area, entertaining a particular thought.
Lucerys arches his back, toes curling, and moans—
“U-UNCLE!”
Aemond’s thrusts are anything but human, more close to something inhumane, and maybe Lucerys is right.
He cannot help but let out a bitter laugh as he watches Lucerys trying to accommodate his thrusts, squeezing his cock tighter with his sultry walls. He knows it must hurt, there is simply not a way it would not, but Aemond is half gone—half gone because of Lucerys, and trying to control himself feels immoral.
“You— You said you wouldn’t claim me,” Lucerys whimpers when Aemond’s fangs on his scent gland linger longer, longer, longer.
Aemond can feel his engorged knot catching up to Lucerys’ embracing hole, and he, for a split second, is worried that it may not fit— he knows it is massive as he feels it around Lucerys’ cunt.
Of course, it will, Lucerys is created for Aemond; only for him.
With a final hard, intense drive of Aemond’s cock, Lucerys comes.
It is a sight to behold, to say the very least.
His plush lips tremble as he lets out weak moans, toes curling and relaxing as he arches his back, reaching close to Aemond—Aemond welcomes him. His hazel eyes see stars, and he goes limp in his hold.
He made Lucerys like that.
“Qȳbor,” he whines, and Aemond can’t hold any longer.
Just when he’s about to knot him and release his seed, he bites Lucerys—fangs going in impossibly deep, making sure that he marks Lucerys to his very core.
Lucerys roars, eye shooting open as he tries to find something to hold onto because of the pain, it is Aemond’s shoulders.
There’s blood all over them now, but it’s not important, Aemond knows it’s not anything fatal. He only pulls back to inspect the bite; he’s satisfied with it for he bit down Lucerys to make it unmistakable that Lucerys is now his mate.
He holds Lucerys, and he finally knots him, plugging him on his cock.
“You are what men go to war for,” he whispers to Lucerys’ ear.
He comes keeping Lucerys close to his body, his skin shielding his.
Loads of seed fill Lucerys’ womb as he comes—Aemond knows his seed will take; Lucerys looked indisputably pregnant by the sheer amount of his spent. Waves of seed go deep, and Lucerys, like the perfect omega that he is to Aemond, takes it all.
“We are mated,” Lucerys snivels, a shock even to his own ears as he pulls back a bit—only a bit as Aemond wouldn’t allow any further, and they are also knotted—to momentarily feel the bite.
“So we are,” Aemond answers, a pleased sneer on his face.
“Now, we are even,” Lucerys says more determined this time, as much as he can muster. Eyes change to something more akin to attentiveness.
Lucerys’ small hands move from Aemond’s shoulder to around his neck.
Aemond can feel the wheels turning in his new mate’s head—as smart as he is beautiful.
He’s going to welcome whatever his omega is about to bring to Aemond when he returns to King’s Landing with Lucerys.
After all, Aemond now has an eternity with Lucerys.