[ 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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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?
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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. )
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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?