(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 pฤr? [ 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. ] jฤre naejot gลซrogon nyke ฤlฤซ?
( 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 jฤhor emagon ao ฤlฤซ. Pฤr ao kostagon emagon aลha gลซrotrir, 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 mazemฤ ฤlฤซ? [ 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 drฤซves syt ao?
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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 pฤr? [ 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. ] jฤre naejot gลซrogon nyke ฤlฤซ?
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 jฤhor emagon ao ฤlฤซ. Pฤr ao kostagon emagon aลha gลซrotrir, 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 mazemฤ ฤlฤซ? [ 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 drฤซves syt ao?