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[vermax]

𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 | 𝘁𝗲𝘅𝘁 | 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝗳𝗹𝗼𝘄

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@unnaming

[vermax]

( from here. )

Quite a bold way to speak to the Crown Prince.

But what else would you taste if I were to allow you to provide a reminder?

@wolfpacts

[vermax]

( from here. )

Perhaps it was the way you seemed more spurned on to rid me of my layers when I did not urge us inside. It seemed you wished for your gods to bear witness, my lord.

[sapphyre]

No need for dramatics.

You speak as though I've made an attempt on your life. I assure you if that were the case, I would have taken a more direct method.

[vermax]

You fed me eveningshade and left! ( actually uncertain about that second part but with the passion of conviction. )

[sapphyre]

Similar to evening shade, and you insisted on disappearing. 'Twas no fault of mine.

[vermax]

I did not.

[sapphyre]

Your betrothed had come looking for you and when I had finally sent her away, all that was left were your trousers on my balconette.

text → action

[vermax]

I am not to be. ( but Jacaerys is still a dragon, the son of a legacy of blood and fire, even if the blood in his veins does not solely weave back through the ages toward the glory of Old Valyria. )

No, not quite. You'll see soon for yourself.

( And that is a promise. After all, upon daybreak the next morn they will visit his oldest friend and Cregan will show him the hot springs that have now captured the prince's imagination.

The thought of a visit with a proper coat, with gloves made for him is another thought that warms his chest. Just as the thought, unbidden, of Cregan visiting his own home. Not the Red Keep, appropriate as that would be, but Dragonstone. That is the place Jacaerys wishes to show him, from the views of the Sea Dragon tower overlooking the Blackwater to Aegon's Garden. One day, he hopes it may be so.

The thoughts warm his chest through the evening, as their conversation lulls with bids of restful sleep.

In the morning, Jacaerys dresses in more layers than previous days. He feels prepared until he steps out into the cold air and knows his ears and nose grow red, does his best not to shiver or scowl when he notices the amusement on Cregan's handsome face. The ride to the caves is not a long one and Vermax finds them quick enough, drawn by bond and hunger. )

He'll always find me, ( Jacaerys answers when Cregan asks how the prince means to call him, eyes crinkling at the corners with mirth.

The growing dragon is won easily by the promise of food, allows the Lord of Winterfell closer than most when Jacaerys attempts an introduction. Not close enough to touch, no, but close enough to feel the warmth of him as the dragon nuzzles his great snout into his rider's chest.

After all that, it seems the hot springs are a perfect way to ease what tension may have drawn into the elder man's muscles from his brush with a Targaryen dragon and to warm Jacaerys' bones. He tries to hide the need to rub his nose as they ride back toward Winterfel, missing the warmth of Vermax's frame already. The snow had melted where the dragon had landed, the ground warmed.

Cregan leads him underneath the castle, away from where the servants walk about. There Jacaerys finds himself standing before a sight that reminds him of Dragonstone, of the hot springs below the castle warmed by the volcano and dragons nesting beneath. the steam rising from the pool calls to him and Jacaerys, despite the insistent nagging in his mind to glance over at Cregan as he strips his own layers, hurries to strip bare. The water may be too hot for some, but the sigh he lets out as he wades into the water is close to a moan. )

[vermax]

( he does remember insisting that Baela couldn't see him in his state... ) Then whose trousers was I wearing this morrow and why do I have your vest?

[sapphyre]

Stolen in a panic, perhaps. You had insisted that it was what made me invisible and insisted it be removed so that I could not sneak upon you in your fragile state.

[wolfpacts]

Oh, the truth is even more dire, I'm afraid.

[vermax]

And what is the truth?

[wolfpacts]

That at the moment I find I crave roving you more than I crave roving the wood, you hot and ragged more than game run hot and ragged on the hunt. Having both pleases me a wicked amount and not a memory I'll soon set down. The sun loves your skin.

If the old gods watch, I can't believe they would condemn me for what feeling they must see in me when I'm in you. In fact, I'd call it a fine offering, what you gave up to water the soil.

[unnaming]

Please, you have everyone speaking to you with reverence and fear. Don't try to tell me this isn't a welcome change.

But what else would I taste? With your permission, Your Highness, everything.

💖

[wolfpacts]

[ A promise made is a promise kept—they part ways in the evening only to reconvene the next still and clear morning. A common occurrence, or on its way to becoming one, many days—most days—spent in each other's company to some degree, driven here and there by making introductions, or appropriate courtesies, or more laid-back entertainments in the times between.

Their ride out sits somewhere between the last and cautious intrigue borne from his first brush hosting a dragonrider and all it entails. It's one thing to have learned about King's Landing through his father, a place where dragon cries raining down from the clouds is a given, to hear Jacaerys' dragon at a distance, occasionally breaking up wolfsong outside the keep's walls with trilling draconic notes.

It's another, quite another, to stop the horses and the soon-to-be meal in the grass a ways from the rocky cavern leading deep into the steaming bowels of the earth and witness the prince greet his dragon in flowing Valyrian, close at hand for the halfway familiar smell of ash and brimstone to hit his nose, sharp like the most earthy, pungent hot spring but different, too. Being in their presence is invitation to a singular, special kind of moment, he realizes, pulling his eyes from Jace's gladsome expression to the powerfully built creature. An opal of rolling fire comes to mind—a sheen of shifting greens and oranges atop scale and claw and muscle. Comparatively Vermax is small, he understands, still building up to his full size and might next to what his ancestor must have seen of the Black Dread.

Yet—however and wherever dragons first originated in history's misty memory, it's not so surprising to see why Valyrians would turn to veneration, being near one. Cregan had been raised to respect the wild and untamed things in the places men were careful to tread, as all things similar in the North. Here is a wild thing, an untameable thing, belonging to the indomitable beauty of predators.

Still watching, still fascinated, as the green dragon finally slinks out of sight inside the cave dragging the goat's carcass behind: ] He's impressive in his way.

[ And he's grateful, in the aftermath, to have been allowed—and dared to step close to—the sight.

That is how it comes to be he leads another dragon to the warmth of another hot spring, though this one he enters along with, trekking down stairs beneath Winterfell itself. Not so deep as Winterfell's crypts, deeper and more vast still, but down until the man-made symmetry of carved castle stone begins to give way to natural, untouched rock. Places the builders had built around, or above, or subservient to the land, such as this. Even so, there are signs belonging to the passage of many hands over many hundreds and thousands of years—lit torches in sconces rim the cavernous pool, casting dappling, dancing shadows on the water's surface, the rock spring's edges worn smooth from long use. Neatly folded stacks of towels for drying and changes of clothes wait, along with wine, honey soap, and a basin of clean water for rinsing.

The other has eyes for one comfort above all, swiftly discarding clothing as he goes. A hum of some amusement from Cregan at the prince encountering a facet to Winterfell that genuinely pleases him is lost to the swish of feet parting water, accompanying the prince's enthusiastic descent into the hot springs.

Slower, a step behind as he had been in meeting Vermax, he has the time and view to watch the prince do so—slim and fair-skinned wreathed in steam, exchanging the last stitch of clothing for a purring pleasure. ]

You do like it hot, don't you. Does it suit? [ Thick-soled boots make a heavy tread on stone in the quiet posed by just the two of them and the lapping water. He bends to release the laces. ]

[vermax]

( In moments like this, he is gladdened to have saved the evening for himself. The words light fire underneath his skin and he sorely craves the very thing Cregan describes. ) It is cruel of you, my Lord, to paint such a picture when I am reading this so close to this eve's Council.

I am left with longing for the memory of your cock inside him, your hand on mine. If what we did was an offering, then I see the act a reverence in a new light.

I hope you will one day see what the southern sun does to my skin. I fear your promise to press your mouth to ever mark will leave us abed for days.

[vermax]

You are enjoying this retelling.

[sapphyre]

Don't be that way, little Jace. I happened to be incredibly concerned to your whereabouts.

[:)]

[vermax]

Where are you? ( so he can come smack you, you bastard!!! )

[vermax]

( you got him there… )

Paint me a picture then. Everything is an excuse for the unimaginative. You claim to be bold.

[sapphyre]

Where you left me, mayhaps.

[lounging aggressively in his room whilst proverbially kicking his feet like a school girl.]

[wolfpacts]

It was on your mind already. You and I. I thought your old Valyrian gods appreciated free-hearted oblations of such kind.

A bed, the open air— I would make good on it anywhere.

[vermax]

They do but they were not the only ones to bear witness, were they? Syrax was well pleased for the pleasure spent between us. Though I did not seal our offering properly.

More reason for me to take tour of the realm or request your presence on the Queen’s behalf.

[wolfpacts]

Syrax? [ And as for the other— ] "Properly" in what way?

[ As long as it wasn't an actual corporeal dragon observing all sense and control blowing away in the breeze with the prince making eager noises in the soft grass. There has to be a limit to the number of witnesses. ]

When summer comes again, in the high heat of warm days for your warm blood. Will you do it properly with me and refresh my memory how fetching you look in the wildflowers?

[vermax]

The goddess of passion. Not my mother's dragon. ( had Syrax been seen, it would mean his mother was not far behind. or even bearing witness to Jacaerys coming undone, spilling his own seed on the forest floor as Winterfell's lord left bruises on his hips and dug his teeth into the prince's shoulder.

it is not a thought he wishes to entertain. ) With the proper sigils on our skin, left in blood or seed alike.

I would. If you would brave my queer Valyrian customs yet again.