( That is a threat, though he knows that Aemond will not run like his brother might from a challenge. Though he feels a pain in his head still, Jacaerys has taken a tincture to nurse the pain and put himself together enough that he feels he walks evenly as he retraces the steps he must have taken the night prior from Aemond's chambers.
There is a member of the king's guard standing close to the door of his uncle's chamber and Jacaerys certainly does not bark for him to leave after the very same guard opens the doors, announcing him as he steps into his uncle's rooms. The light flutters into the space from the balconette and it takes a moment for him to find the silhouette of the very person he is looking for.
Perhaps too long for a man trying to seem like he did not spend the night in a paranoid fit, both trying to remain in proximity to his uncle and then trying to escape from his company. At one moment, he does remember trying to wrestle with Aemond, but he barely remembers how it started, nor how they moved from the floor onto a softer surface. He does recall Baela's interruption, breaking apart-- and there he flushes red. The memory spurs him to move, to throw the vest he has been carrying with him at Aemond's head. )
You fed me eveningshade for your entertainment, ( a statement, more than an accusation. And he is stalking over as if he aims to pull Aemond up or to pin him down and throw a punch in retaliation for the humiliation of it all. )
Edited (cleaned up the wording!) Date: 2025-08-31 12:20 am (UTC)
[ Aemond maintains that his role in the night served as a concerned caretaker than ambitious cretin. He's not his brother, they both know well. In truth, he needed to ensure he didn't lose his nephew to madness of the cup. Anything he did was only out of the best interest of their mother's. He didn't expect his nephew to be so...
Handsy as he was about to become now. Aemond sits up at the loud crack of the door. One foot hangs over the bed, as he's still lounged in nothing but the small clothes slept in. An elbow slips to take the weight of him, chin tipping defiantly at such a strong, barreling entrance.]
Similar to eveningshade, as I said. [ He does recall saying, repeatedly. His confidence unshaken by such loathsome accusations that hang in the air, though that is the nature of them isn't it? All of what isn't being said. When it is glaringly obvious, even one's betrothed can see things for what they are. ]
And here you stand, hale and whole. When you yap as if your head has been cleft in two. [ Aemond's eye scans down the length of him— are those his trousers as well? His eye flicks back up to meet Jace's. How did all this begin? Ah, ] Are you to say you cannot handle a strong drink after all?
Similar enough, ( comes the quick rebuttal. Because it truly doesn’t matter what Aemond says in defense, as much as it is about the rhythm of the argument. Which one of them initiates the dance doesn’t truly matter. This day it is Jace’s headache and bruised pride spurring him onward, though both are a poor excuse at best. After all, those alone are not reason enough to storm across the royal family’s quarters when most of his family is still abed.
And he will pay for it later, likely, in knowing looks.
He shouldn’t be surprised to find Aemond nearly bare, dressed in less than he’d last seen him as far as Jace’s memory serves. But there are gaps and he is not the one that is well able to fill them. And the lack of control, the uncertainty he likes not at all but the pale skin before him and the lines of Aemond’s shoulders are distraction enough. For first of all, is Jacaerys not his mother’s son.
A hand finds that one of those shoulders, shoves him back down into the sheets though he has no plan beyond that when he finds himself beside the bed. It’s easier to find the leverage with one knee upon the sheets, wedged between Aemond’s own. ) If it had been only the drink, I would have been fine.
Would it not be easier to apologize, uncle? ( Even if it is not in a dragon’s nature, nor would it change a thing. )
[ For such dour features, Jace still has a dragon's temper. Prone to acting before thinking. Courtiers quiver at the volatile temper of a well-bred royal, but Aemond is no mere courtier. A dragon of his own right, nested in his den as unbothered as the day is new. Even as his nephew encroaches on his space, shoving here and there, he does not take him for any true threat.
For that, at least he would have bothered to get dressed. Rare for Aemond to be seen so undone, even allowing Jace to flatten him back against his blankets with little protest. One knee sits splayed open, unbidden by the intrusion of the one pressing in against it. Exposed, he may as well be nude, for he'd act no more bothered that Jacaerys has blundered back into his room where he, too, is hungover and mildly vulnerable from the night's transgressions.
Aemond's eye lingers on the man above him, picking him apart for a different sort of answer. If anything, he seems to relax more as his knee rests outward and opens his lap to the slightest breeze beneath the linen of his smallclothes straining against his modesty. ]
Apologize for what? [ Aemond asks with an unshakable confidence and no intention on doing anything other than provoke him further. Briefly, he wonders if Jace recalls their similar positions when the unfortunate knocking came upon the door. His head tilts slightly, sapphire eye gleaming upward at his seething nephew. ] That I did not try harder to save you from yourself?
( Jace huffs out a breath, indignant and near a hiss. Were Aemond faced with Vermax instead of his rider, it would be hot air in his face and the threat of flames. But it is not the dragon himself and instead his rider, frustrated and displeased with how he has been toyed with — is being toyed with — but a mere mortal man.
A young man faced with a sight beneath him that has, to his own frustration, ever been a temptation. Aemond spayed out against the pillow, bracketed between his hands and thighs spread, like something out of a tale told by sailors after they've returned from a voyage that granted them the pleasure of making port in Lys. And it is maddening that it is not the first time he's privy to the sight. Though normally there is not the convenience and softness of a bed involved, no soft sunlight filtering into the room. Once a mess had been made of a nook in the library, when Aemond's dedication to enunciation had driven Jace to snap.
A stronger man would keep his gaze locked on both sapphire and natural blue. Jace's gaze flicks downward.
The memory comes back all at once of fumbling hands, of his own frustration over the ties of Aemond's breeches. And with it the realisation comes that the marks on Aemond's collarbones were left by Jace's mouth on his skin and that they match his own. The memory of pulling away-- the fire already burning in his blood turns molten; desire making itself known though it had been there all along.
He glances up again, swallows. Aemond's calm, cocksure certainty is as maddening as the pale expanse of his throat. Jace's hand leaves Aemond's shoulder to that pale stretch of neck instead. )
I am going to smother you, ( he promises, still angry but now the flush to his skin is not simply a dragon's agitation. He doesn't reach for the pillow, nor does he press down on his uncle's throat. Instead he moves to settle on the bed between his thighs, and leans down over him to claim Aemond's mouth before he can finish whatever frustating attempt to misdirect may come from it. )
[ Aemond distinctly remembers the sobering night's breeze as he looked downward from his window to see if there was a Jace-shaped splatter in the dark below. Where would they be had he chosen to hunt him down and taken his due then? One could almost say his choice to abstain was calculated.
His nephew's anger exceeds him, bubbling over without anywhere for it to go. Turning into something else entirely. Aemond smiles against his mouth before returning the kiss, tasting what bitterness remains stale in his kin's mouth. His hand smoothes up along his throat, fingers pinching in to hold his jaw in place. ]
Try. [ The prince huffs against his mouth. He gives himself to the blankets in order to one-hand at Jace's fastenings, eager to breach his layers to find new ways to dig his fingers in.
He knows it is a challenge easily destined to fail. His nephew will bow to the pleasure and groan better for it. Time has told this tale before. Aemond doesn't see it going any other way. The man above him was predictable. ]
(It is a promise, Jace thinks but the words are lost to the taste of Aemond on his lips. Familiar, addictive in all the ways he should not want and craves like a right he is owed.
Their hands become a mirror of each others. Aemond's pulls Jace in, Jace's keeps his uncle pressed down though without force behind it. The temptation to cut off air is not as strong as the one to press closer, to chase skin as Aemond's free hand works open the fastenings of the jerkin he'd put on as if in protest of the one he'd stolen the night before.
He grunts as he pulls back only to help him along, to divest himself of layers until his torso is as bare as his silver-haired kin's. And then he seeks Aemond's mouth again as he slots himself between the all too welcoming embrace of his thighs, hips to hips and cock to cock though there is still fabric between them. )
And here I thought you'd prefer I spill your blood instead, ( he hisses against Aemond's neck, or perhaps it is more a groan of words. Or realistically, a slurred attempt at an accusation panted against the column of Aemond's neck in a spot he marks with teeth and tongue that can still be hidden beneath his uncle's preferred high collars. The words would be playful at another time, but Jace's temper has only just begun to melt away into the need to claim and have and want. )
[ He'd rather be the one spilling blood, if they wanted to dig into the semantics. This prodding, getting Jacaerys to bear his teeth, is entertainment. All his snapping and gnawing like the tiny mouth of his dragon, attempting to nibble its way to the softest flesh. His threats are hollow, despite the palpable anger. ]
Over this? [ Amusement curls in his throat, vibrating huskily against the attack of Jace's mouth. ] You were enjoying yourself.
[ Not the first nor the last of petty little bruises that could have been scratches and scars. His nephew is kinder with them. Aemond would pick a place that peeked above his collar. Just to imagine the shade of pink he'd flush with a fury every time it was noticed. How he'd eventually think of him.
Aemond's hand slips between them, invading the waist of his nephew's trousers. Held down, but slithering around in spite of it. He cannot be tamed. Aemond's hand curls around the cock pressed alongside his own. His body yawns upward to rub them both between their fabric layers. A tease, low and buttery warm as the noise it presses up his throat. ]
As if you are not already reaping your rewards. ( Jace answers, a mix of bemusement and arousal in his tone. His words are mumbled against Aemond's skin, amidst the marks he leaves on pale flesh he's mapped many times before.
A wet huff and a groan spills forth, his hips stutter as he bucks into Aemond's hand. His hold is firm, familiar and just the right side of maddening as his uncle arches into him as wantonly as Jace himself feels. There is a part of him that knows how this will continue to play out, with Aemond's not so subtle manipulation, until he is goaded into exactly what the elder wants. Until he is whining against his mouth, his throat. Until the coherency leaves him and there is only room for chasing pleasure, two bodies tangled together as if they were always meant to be.
And that inherent truth that has bled and seeped deep into his own flesh is ever part of the problem.
Jace licks a stripe up the tendon of Aemond's neck, ever claiming what he can reach. A whine makes its way from the back of his throat -- ever wanting. How many times has his anger turned to desire, turned to him begging for release at Aemond's pleasure? The dance a familiar thing. And so Jace reaches down to catch Aemond's wrist, to pull the just-right grip away from his own cock and press his palm back into the pillow beneath his head. )
Not yet, ( he breathes instead of please, the sound nearly lost against Aemond's lips. He keeps their fingers threaded in the sheets as his other hand slides down Aemond's chest, then over hip and outer thigh to guide his uncle to hook his leg over his hip and to chase his pleasure. )
[ Aemond will get what he wants. He always does. That's the patience capable of waiting years for a dragon. Persistence is the true blade, slow and measured, gradually over time. A broad stroke feels deliberate, but so is the prince's lack of fight in getting his arm wrested into the pillows.
A low hum of amusement huffs against Jacaerys' mouth. Is that so?
There's a competition of grips squeezing between their fingers and around each other's thighs. The heavier weave of his nephew's trousers adds a roughness to his grinding against Aemond's linen smallclothes. A buttery noise rises from his throat, shifting away from his previous impishness. Replaced with a sparking heat as the rhythm in their rutting is found.
The veil has fallen to expose his hunger, reflected in the demand for his mouth. His free hand once again fans its fingers through dark curls. A place to hold him, pin him close as Aemond gives pause to bite a line along his jaw. ] Skoros pār? [ he huffs out with his tongue along the stretch of muscle that tenses so often when he clenches his jaw in fury. It's a taunt. It's all he knows how to play. ] jāre naejot gūrogon nyke ēlī?
( It is cruel of Aemond to switch over into their Mother Tongue, knowing well that Jacaerys still struggles beyond the most casual of conversation and speaks with less grasp of structure than his own younger brother. Yet, practice has helped. With some sense of grammar and with the sort of language that he cannot practice with others. )
Kessa.( a hiss in High Valyrian, because the last he'd answered in the Common Tongue his uncle had ignored his cock altogether and attempted an escape.
Now it is Jace who his has him trapped, goaded into the dragon's den but a dragon in his own right all the same as he curls over the taller prince's frame. Teeth nip at his jaw, his neck and in the moment Jace is want for marks that he will later attempt to hide and find frustration when he cannot. And he'll think of Aemond all the same and remember each sweet moan.
He is still half-dressed, cock straining against its confines though the ties remain loose. That tempers him enough to slow the roll of his hips, to shift back enough to slip his hand between them to work at the ties holding Aemond's smallclothes in place to push them down his hips and grant much easier access. )
Nyke jāhor emagon ao ēlī. Pār ao kostagon emagon aōha gūrotrir, qybor.( And perhaps that promise may seem like a jest, a lie. But there is a spark of something in Jace's eyes, a sign that he will not so easily fall to blind desperation and play so easily into the roles they've always played. )
[ Is he capable, is the question. Is Aemond capable of allowing his nephew to do the claiming? If he can reach such high achievement. He has tasted this furious determination before; he's also seen it break. Jacaerys' attempt at domination is as charming to him as a young drake nipping at an elder's tail. All this pomp and play whilst the elder prince remembers how enjoyably he writhes beneath him.
Fingers lace in tighter, grounding Jace's fist with him against the mattress. It's not allowed to retreat in aid. Aemond's hips shift, neither helping nor heeding the removal of his smallclothes. Soft linen catches the tip of his cock before it's exposed to the air between them.
There, he is torn between falling into old routines. They spar, and he lends himself to the upper hand. There is an equal defiance glinting in Aemond's eye, determined not to find loss in giving his nephew the agency to do as he wishes. For power cannot be claimed if it is not given in the first place. ]
Skoros kessa mazemā ēlī? [ He asks. A lesson in Valyrian and a lesson in fucking. His attitude remains a wall, formidable to climb. Eye lidded and lustful to see him fail, for he is not allowed to rejoice if he succeeds. Regardless, his body begs to be touched beneath Jace's. Muscles strain gently as he shifts, the urge possessing him to chase contact with his a hand..with a cock..anything before tempering down once more. ] Kessa ziry sagon tatagon drīves syt ao?
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no subject
Date: 2025-08-30 11:53 pm (UTC)( That is a threat, though he knows that Aemond will not run like his brother might from a challenge. Though he feels a pain in his head still, Jacaerys has taken a tincture to nurse the pain and put himself together enough that he feels he walks evenly as he retraces the steps he must have taken the night prior from Aemond's chambers.
There is a member of the king's guard standing close to the door of his uncle's chamber and Jacaerys certainly does not bark for him to leave after the very same guard opens the doors, announcing him as he steps into his uncle's rooms. The light flutters into the space from the balconette and it takes a moment for him to find the silhouette of the very person he is looking for.
Perhaps too long for a man trying to seem like he did not spend the night in a paranoid fit, both trying to remain in proximity to his uncle and then trying to escape from his company. At one moment, he does remember trying to wrestle with Aemond, but he barely remembers how it started, nor how they moved from the floor onto a softer surface. He does recall Baela's interruption, breaking apart-- and there he flushes red. The memory spurs him to move, to throw the vest he has been carrying with him at Aemond's head. )
You fed me eveningshade for your entertainment, ( a statement, more than an accusation. And he is stalking over as if he aims to pull Aemond up or to pin him down and throw a punch in retaliation for the humiliation of it all. )
no subject
Date: 2025-08-31 01:11 am (UTC)Handsy as he was about to become now. Aemond sits up at the loud crack of the door. One foot hangs over the bed, as he's still lounged in nothing but the small clothes slept in. An elbow slips to take the weight of him, chin tipping defiantly at such a strong, barreling entrance.]
Similar to eveningshade, as I said. [ He does recall saying, repeatedly. His confidence unshaken by such loathsome accusations that hang in the air, though that is the nature of them isn't it? All of what isn't being said. When it is glaringly obvious, even one's betrothed can see things for what they are. ]
And here you stand, hale and whole. When you yap as if your head has been cleft in two. [ Aemond's eye scans down the length of him— are those his trousers as well? His eye flicks back up to meet Jace's. How did all this begin? Ah, ] Are you to say you cannot handle a strong drink after all?
no subject
Date: 2025-08-31 05:19 pm (UTC)And he will pay for it later, likely, in knowing looks.
He shouldn’t be surprised to find Aemond nearly bare, dressed in less than he’d last seen him as far as Jace’s memory serves. But there are gaps and he is not the one that is well able to fill them. And the lack of control, the uncertainty he likes not at all but the pale skin before him and the lines of Aemond’s shoulders are distraction enough. For first of all, is Jacaerys not his mother’s son.
A hand finds that one of those shoulders, shoves him back down into the sheets though he has no plan beyond that when he finds himself beside the bed. It’s easier to find the leverage with one knee upon the sheets, wedged between Aemond’s own. ) If it had been only the drink, I would have been fine.
Would it not be easier to apologize, uncle? ( Even if it is not in a dragon’s nature, nor would it change a thing. )
no subject
Date: 2025-08-31 10:03 pm (UTC)For that, at least he would have bothered to get dressed. Rare for Aemond to be seen so undone, even allowing Jace to flatten him back against his blankets with little protest. One knee sits splayed open, unbidden by the intrusion of the one pressing in against it. Exposed, he may as well be nude, for he'd act no more bothered that Jacaerys has blundered back into his room where he, too, is hungover and mildly vulnerable from the night's transgressions.
Aemond's eye lingers on the man above him, picking him apart for a different sort of answer. If anything, he seems to relax more as his knee rests outward and opens his lap to the slightest breeze beneath the linen of his smallclothes straining against his modesty. ]
Apologize for what? [ Aemond asks with an unshakable confidence and no intention on doing anything other than provoke him further. Briefly, he wonders if Jace recalls their similar positions when the unfortunate knocking came upon the door. His head tilts slightly, sapphire eye gleaming upward at his seething nephew. ] That I did not try harder to save you from yourself?
no subject
Date: 2025-09-01 03:45 am (UTC)A young man faced with a sight beneath him that has, to his own frustration, ever been a temptation. Aemond spayed out against the pillow, bracketed between his hands and thighs spread, like something out of a tale told by sailors after they've returned from a voyage that granted them the pleasure of making port in Lys. And it is maddening that it is not the first time he's privy to the sight. Though normally there is not the convenience and softness of a bed involved, no soft sunlight filtering into the room. Once a mess had been made of a nook in the library, when Aemond's dedication to enunciation had driven Jace to snap.
A stronger man would keep his gaze locked on both sapphire and natural blue. Jace's gaze flicks downward.
The memory comes back all at once of fumbling hands, of his own frustration over the ties of Aemond's breeches. And with it the realisation comes that the marks on Aemond's collarbones were left by Jace's mouth on his skin and that they match his own. The memory of pulling away-- the fire already burning in his blood turns molten; desire making itself known though it had been there all along.
He glances up again, swallows. Aemond's calm, cocksure certainty is as maddening as the pale expanse of his throat. Jace's hand leaves Aemond's shoulder to that pale stretch of neck instead. )
I am going to smother you, ( he promises, still angry but now the flush to his skin is not simply a dragon's agitation. He doesn't reach for the pillow, nor does he press down on his uncle's throat. Instead he moves to settle on the bed between his thighs, and leans down over him to claim Aemond's mouth before he can finish whatever frustating attempt to misdirect may come from it. )
no subject
Date: 2025-09-04 04:33 am (UTC)His nephew's anger exceeds him, bubbling over without anywhere for it to go. Turning into something else entirely. Aemond smiles against his mouth before returning the kiss, tasting what bitterness remains stale in his kin's mouth. His hand smoothes up along his throat, fingers pinching in to hold his jaw in place. ]
Try. [ The prince huffs against his mouth. He gives himself to the blankets in order to one-hand at Jace's fastenings, eager to breach his layers to find new ways to dig his fingers in.
He knows it is a challenge easily destined to fail. His nephew will bow to the pleasure and groan better for it. Time has told this tale before. Aemond doesn't see it going any other way. The man above him was predictable. ]
no subject
Date: 2025-09-08 03:15 am (UTC)Their hands become a mirror of each others. Aemond's pulls Jace in, Jace's keeps his uncle pressed down though without force behind it. The temptation to cut off air is not as strong as the one to press closer, to chase skin as Aemond's free hand works open the fastenings of the jerkin he'd put on as if in protest of the one he'd stolen the night before.
He grunts as he pulls back only to help him along, to divest himself of layers until his torso is as bare as his silver-haired kin's. And then he seeks Aemond's mouth again as he slots himself between the all too welcoming embrace of his thighs, hips to hips and cock to cock though there is still fabric between them. )
And here I thought you'd prefer I spill your blood instead, ( he hisses against Aemond's neck, or perhaps it is more a groan of words. Or realistically, a slurred attempt at an accusation panted against the column of Aemond's neck in a spot he marks with teeth and tongue that can still be hidden beneath his uncle's preferred high collars. The words would be playful at another time, but Jace's temper has only just begun to melt away into the need to claim and have and want. )
no subject
Date: 2025-09-13 12:54 am (UTC)Over this? [ Amusement curls in his throat, vibrating huskily against the attack of Jace's mouth. ] You were enjoying yourself.
[ Not the first nor the last of petty little bruises that could have been scratches and scars. His nephew is kinder with them. Aemond would pick a place that peeked above his collar. Just to imagine the shade of pink he'd flush with a fury every time it was noticed. How he'd eventually think of him.
Aemond's hand slips between them, invading the waist of his nephew's trousers. Held down, but slithering around in spite of it. He cannot be tamed. Aemond's hand curls around the cock pressed alongside his own. His body yawns upward to rub them both between their fabric layers. A tease, low and buttery warm as the noise it presses up his throat. ]
I should be thanked, even.
[ It landed him here, didn't it? ]
no subject
Date: 2025-09-15 02:17 pm (UTC)A wet huff and a groan spills forth, his hips stutter as he bucks into Aemond's hand. His hold is firm, familiar and just the right side of maddening as his uncle arches into him as wantonly as Jace himself feels. There is a part of him that knows how this will continue to play out, with Aemond's not so subtle manipulation, until he is goaded into exactly what the elder wants. Until he is whining against his mouth, his throat. Until the coherency leaves him and there is only room for chasing pleasure, two bodies tangled together as if they were always meant to be.
And that inherent truth that has bled and seeped deep into his own flesh is ever part of the problem.
Jace licks a stripe up the tendon of Aemond's neck, ever claiming what he can reach. A whine makes its way from the back of his throat -- ever wanting. How many times has his anger turned to desire, turned to him begging for release at Aemond's pleasure? The dance a familiar thing. And so Jace reaches down to catch Aemond's wrist, to pull the just-right grip away from his own cock and press his palm back into the pillow beneath his head. )
Not yet, ( he breathes instead of please, the sound nearly lost against Aemond's lips. He keeps their fingers threaded in the sheets as his other hand slides down Aemond's chest, then over hip and outer thigh to guide his uncle to hook his leg over his hip and to chase his pleasure. )
no subject
Date: 2025-09-19 05:16 am (UTC)A low hum of amusement huffs against Jacaerys' mouth. Is that so?
There's a competition of grips squeezing between their fingers and around each other's thighs. The heavier weave of his nephew's trousers adds a roughness to his grinding against Aemond's linen smallclothes. A buttery noise rises from his throat, shifting away from his previous impishness. Replaced with a sparking heat as the rhythm in their rutting is found.
The veil has fallen to expose his hunger, reflected in the demand for his mouth. His free hand once again fans its fingers through dark curls. A place to hold him, pin him close as Aemond gives pause to bite a line along his jaw. ] Skoros pār? [ he huffs out with his tongue along the stretch of muscle that tenses so often when he clenches his jaw in fury. It's a taunt. It's all he knows how to play. ] jāre naejot gūrogon nyke ēlī?
no subject
Date: 2025-10-05 02:50 am (UTC)Kessa. ( a hiss in High Valyrian, because the last he'd answered in the Common Tongue his uncle had ignored his cock altogether and attempted an escape.
Now it is Jace who his has him trapped, goaded into the dragon's den but a dragon in his own right all the same as he curls over the taller prince's frame. Teeth nip at his jaw, his neck and in the moment Jace is want for marks that he will later attempt to hide and find frustration when he cannot. And he'll think of Aemond all the same and remember each sweet moan.
He is still half-dressed, cock straining against its confines though the ties remain loose. That tempers him enough to slow the roll of his hips, to shift back enough to slip his hand between them to work at the ties holding Aemond's smallclothes in place to push them down his hips and grant much easier access. )
Nyke jāhor emagon ao ēlī. Pār ao kostagon emagon aōha gūrotrir, qybor. ( And perhaps that promise may seem like a jest, a lie. But there is a spark of something in Jace's eyes, a sign that he will not so easily fall to blind desperation and play so easily into the roles they've always played. )
no subject
Date: 2025-10-10 11:20 pm (UTC)Fingers lace in tighter, grounding Jace's fist with him against the mattress. It's not allowed to retreat in aid. Aemond's hips shift, neither helping nor heeding the removal of his smallclothes. Soft linen catches the tip of his cock before it's exposed to the air between them.
There, he is torn between falling into old routines. They spar, and he lends himself to the upper hand. There is an equal defiance glinting in Aemond's eye, determined not to find loss in giving his nephew the agency to do as he wishes. For power cannot be claimed if it is not given in the first place. ]
Skoros kessa mazemā ēlī? [ He asks. A lesson in Valyrian and a lesson in fucking. His attitude remains a wall, formidable to climb. Eye lidded and lustful to see him fail, for he is not allowed to rejoice if he succeeds. Regardless, his body begs to be touched beneath Jace's. Muscles strain gently as he shifts, the urge possessing him to chase contact with his a hand..with a cock..anything before tempering down once more. ] Kessa ziry sagon tatagon drīves syt ao?