Chapter Text
The night grew dark, and Jace realized all too late he had grown to resent his childhood home. The city felt daunting from the instant they arrived. As if the place itself unwelcomed them there. The long halls ran cold, and the candlelight did little to illuminate the path ahead. What he hated the most, however, had been the whispers of nobles who thought their opinion mattered, that observed and gossiped along every step his family took.
Each passing hour, each dropping grain of sand spent in this forsaken place, elongated the fight within himself—the fight against the secrets that threatened to spill, the fight against desire and hatred blended as seamlessly as water and blood. Rhaenyra, his dearest mother, had coddled them too much, Jace thought, indulging them in a lie of rightful heritage, no matter her good intentions.
"Is that all I am to them? A strong boy?"
A bastard?
His mother sighed. Her expression was cautiously neutral, but despite her great effort to appear resilient, grieving eyes betrayed her. As if looking at Jace reminded her of the man she lost to the flames. Nevertheless, they both remained silent; he supposed his question did not need an answer, for even the blind could tell he was his father's son.
"I told you I didn't want to go to this dinner," He continued speaking; the flame in his heart had simmered down to a low ember since the encounter with his uncles. "It was nothing but the king's reachless wish. I did try, mother, but when they flaunt their knowledge of our open secret, eager to see me burn, the composure and patience you taught me won't be enough, and that fancy wine won't put the fire out."
"Jace." His mother said, bringing the prince back to the conversation. The boy turned man stopped wandering across the room, unsure when he had even started, to look at his mother. Rhaenyra smiled, bringing fleeting serenity to Jace's rising dread. "You are my heir, and as much as it pains me, my adversaries will be yours as well." She looked away, recollecting herself from the night's events. When their eyes met again, Jace could almost feel her pain. "I had hoped tonight's dinner would have settled decades of stirring conflict, that the queen and I could put our differences asides for the joy we share. Being a mother." Rhaenyra sighed, truly exhausted. "But sinners' blood runs thick, bleeding down to you and your uncles."
"Don't blame yourself, mother. You did not whisper in Luke's ear to cut uncle Aemond's eye off. Neither did the queen deliberately raise his eldest to act like a degenerate." Jace would have laughed, but the sinking pit in his stomach that grew each time he thought of Haelena's fate watered down any spark of joy. "Peace takes more than a single night to reach, and if my uncles... if they choose to continue this endless dispute against the king's wishes, you should not carry that burden as your own."
Rhaenyra looked at the young boy she had raised. He was his father's son, from his eyes to his dark brown hair and even the manner he carried himself. The princess could not decide whether she liked that fact or not. Under the candlelight, in the dead of night, one would have thought they were staring at a ghost.
"It is late. Don't let what happened today disturb your sleep." She sighed, walking closer yet looking to the side as if not brave enough to meet his eyes. Jace leaned down, as he always had been doing since he outgrew her mother, to let her caress his cheek.
Once his mother left his chamber, no doubt in search of her husband's comfort, Jace realized that sleep must have slipped him tonight. Instead, restlessness made itself apparent, and the boy could not hold still.
Against his mother's wishes, the young prince left his chamber not soon after her. With no kingsguard positioned outside, the escape was easy.
Jace wandered the halls, alleviated by the silence and the chance to be alone for once. Although dark, the sight still filled him with nostalgia, a bittersweetness impossible to soothe. He would rule these halls one day; still, he longed for his home back in dragonstone. King's Landing suddenly felt foreign, filled with strangers and brooding uncles. The brick wall's rough touch caressed his fingers, and with every step taken, his mind wandered to the past, to his uncle's words.
Aemond Targaryen, whose eye followed him throughout the night, watched his every move, step, and breath. Jace hoped that what he saw when their eyes met was hatred, but he would have been a fool to believe that. It had been something far more intense. Aemond's eye was wide and unblinking. He had also been quiet until that dreadful moment, where only mockery left his lips.
A sigh escaped Jace; no use thinking of him now. Their shared youth may as well have been an illusion he needed to grow out of, much like his urges that threatened to devour him whole. His mother often spoke of their family as direct descendants of dragons. Fire danced in their veins and fueled their emotions. That is what defined their greatness; and what determined their doom. Jace needed to control the fire within him to be the heir Rhaneyra needed. Aemond, he... Jace could not put it into words. Each word spilled out of the one-eyed prince was like a spark of wildfire, raising all sorts of emotions within Jace. Mostly anger. Definitely anger.
With a shake of his head, Jace leaned against an open window, breathing in the air and instantly missing the smell of sea salt that permeated Dragonstone. Perhaps it would be best to go out and clear his head. Learn about the place he would rule one day, outside its halls and passages. So reckless, he thought, but thrilling nonetheless.
The evening was short-lived, and its intended outcome, unity within the house, showed to be a failure.
Aemond walked with purpose and no destination in mind. His only goal was to stray away from the castle, lest he decides to start yet another conflict. It would have been easy to test his nephew's patience further. Threaten him, even. Alas, he knew his place. He knew consequences would eventually follow, and he did not know where his mind would lead him and how his body would react.
His nephew and future heir to the throne. Jacaerys Velaryon. His dark brown eyes had flickered at him the whole night. His lips had tightened in a fine line as if intimidated merely by his presence. Nonetheless, an air of elegance was apparent with every stride made; his nerves swallowed down to fit an appearance of composure. Still, that feeble punch did little but make Aemond grin. Apart from his looks, Jace was a bland boy with no hints of Strong blood.
So why. Why did the bastard not leave his mind? Six years. Aemond has had six years to move on from their shared childhood, and when he thought he had achieved it, that Strong boy once again took over all of his thoughts.
Aemond crossed yet another corner, reaching the deeper parts of King's Landing. His eye remained wide, mindful of his limited view and the need to adjust by being sharply alert. Of course, with his hood on, there would be fewer chances to be recognized, but even if he was, it did not matter. No danger would cross his way; no danger dared to.
The streets smelled like filth and were swarmed with it as well. To think his mother's family is pushing for conflict over the right to rule a shit-hole city. Aemond wanted to laugh. They could fight over toys for all he cared; he merely wanted the real war to start, a chance to show off Vhagar and display what a real Targaryen, an actual prince, looks like.
Not those bastards.
After leaving the vicinity of the red keep, the streets stopped being so empty, and as the night drew its peak, more and more people left the safety of their homes to indulge in the pleasures of the night. More people than usual, Aemond noticed. Despite the late hours, the warmth in the air must have driven these peasants outside. This summer had been long and prosperous and tonight seemed like the perfect night to enjoy the stable weather.
The young prince looked up and met the stars, longing to reach them on top of his dragon. Without much hesitation, the disguised man followed the crowd, eager for a distraction from his thoughts.
At first, nothing special appeared to be happening, no festivity nor any holy day. On the contrary, it should have been like the many other nights Aemond escaped the confines of the red keep. But, perhaps, the peasants had caught on that the princess and her bastard children arrived back from Dragonstone; whether they saw it as a celebration or not, it was reasoning enough to justify drinking the night away.
Nighttime brought this rotten city back to life; tonight, the crowd appeared rowdier than ever. Whores paraded the corners, luring drunk men out of their coin. Stores opened to sell wares not meant to be seen in the daylight or by nightguards. A distant band played animated music, setting a fast rhythm to the night. Aemond felt out of place and certainly looked the part.
After approaching an ale stall and trying to cloud his mind with the vomit-inducing beverage, the night went from bad to worse. A brown-haired boy bumped against his shoulder, seemingly in a hurry. Aemond barely reacted to the collision, but the boy stumbled and nearly fell. The prince held his drink with an iron grip as he felt the eyes of the stumbling boy glance his way before resuming his drunken path.
Foolish.
As if brown hair was not the most common and plainest of hair colors. The height was not even correct. Aemond remembers how Jace had to look up to him; look at him with anger, with those wide, brown eyes that had barely changed since they were boys. The prince scoffed, still gritting his teeth not to look back. Instead, he stared at the sky. To pray or to wish, he was not sure himself; after all, fate had never been kind to his family and even less to Aemond. Perhaps the seven found joy in his discomfort. Still, his face remained stoic, as he had trained it to be.
The night continued, this time with a bitter taste in his throat. And as that brown-haired stranger's steps faded away, Aemond walked in the opposite direction. The people in his vicinity moved out, not daring to lift their heads nor spare him a glance; a fleeting joy coursed through his veins, knowing of the fear he instilled. Yet, it was not enough to clear his head. So much for a distraction, he thought.
Aemond marched on, his destination still unknown, but his thoughts muddled with ire and ale.
Fire danced through his veins, wild and unkempt. Each step lifted dust from the ground. True Valyrian blood shined its brightest when his temper was at its worst. What a disgrace, he thought; the shame these mere thoughts brought to his family, to himself, to his pride. To indulge in that fantasy of an unattainable prince meant certain death, especially after tonight's fiasco, which showed how divided the house of the dragon truly stood. It was why Aemond refused to turn his head, to be tamed. Because he knew that boy was not him. It would never be him.
Tired of the constant prattle of peasants around him, Aemond turned another corner and entered a seemingly vacant alleyway. Biting his inner cheek, the prince leaned against the dirty wall, not caring for the filth that would stain the costly black leather. Ale might have been a mistake, especially after the amount of wine consumed at the supper. Drunkness usually evaded him, his dragonblood burning away the influences of any beverage. Tonight, however, just seemed different.
A faint whimper echoed through the area, and Aemond's annoyance soared at the prospect of his sour thoughts being disturbed by a peasant fucking some whore. Then, with gritted teeth and hardly any patience left, he whipped out a concealed knife, not the valyrian steel he desired but sharp all the same. Another whine followed shortly, accompanied by a series of whispers. Amidst the anger and the liquor's influence, Aemond realized he had ventured into a dark secret. So with steps taken much more carefully than before, he silently stepped into the dark alley. His blood screamed at him to go in there and prevent the two men from doing an act that would have made their forefathers roll in their graves. Not because of their linked blood but because both are men.
Once near, time halted, and the voices became distinct. Aemond did not panic; that emotion was foreign to him; instead, dread filled his heart.
Shortly, Aemond saw them from within the shadows. The two princes. His brother, and his nephew leaned in closer than their families would have ever allowed.
As the cool breeze grazed his flushed skin, a thin layer of sweat slid across his face, striving vainly to cool down his rising arousal. This was a mistake, a huge one that would cost his dignity as well as Aegon's. They both knew it, yet neither could step away.
"I mean it." His uncle whispered, his lips pressed against his neck and slowly moving up to his jaw, making Jace shudder. Then, like an obedient dog, the brown-haired prince moved his head to the side, showing more skin for Aegon to claim.
"Don't remind me," Jace whispered back, the words cutting but his eyes pleading. Allowing his mind time to think would mean that the warmth of Aegon's hands on his hips would vanish. Thinking meant worrying about the future, and Jace wanted to enjoy the present, guided by the dizzy liquor coursing through his veins.
The taste of wine afflicted his senses and clouded his judgment even more; the boy grabbed the fine fabric wrapped over his uncle's shoulders with quivering, clammy fingers. Finally, when Aegon seemed content with his trail of kisses, he stepped back just enough for their gazes to cross again, and Jace had never seen him look so solemn.
"You are hearing but not listening, dear nephew," Aegon said, a slight smile on his lips noticeable by the tone in his voice. "I've been hungry for you, for your taste and your lips. It kills me to think of tonight as one of a kind when I want you all the time." His knee made itself at home between Jace's thighs, creating enough friction to make the younger man release another muted whine.
As Jace let his uncle explore his overly sensitive body, the bricked wall pressed uncomfortably against his back. Every touch scorched his skin like liquid fire, from the breeze grazing his hair to the pressure of Aegon's hands. The prince had never intended to find himself in such a predicament, but reason fled his mind long ago.
At first, when they saw each other wandering the streets of King's Landing, it had been tense. Or rather, it should have been, but both men were too wasted for any tension to initiate. Moreover, the irony of encountering Aegon as he was part of the reason for tonight's escapade did anything but sour the mood; it instead offered a pleasant distraction as his uncle appeared drunker and mellower than his usual self. Aegon then suggested sharing a bottle of wine he had snatched from the red keep's cellar as a gesture of peace, an invitation to overlook their troubles, if only for one night. And Jace, who had been drinking ale but was still coherent enough to recognize it as a diplomatic gesture, accepted the wine.
Minutes felt like hours, and after Aegon lowered the cloak that hid his Targaryen silver hair as they entered the lonely alley, matters only escalated from there. Jace pondered how he landed in this situation, with an emptied wine bottle beneath his feet as his uncle pleasured him in manners he had never imagined.
Another heavy gasp escaped Jace's lips where there ought to have been words. Aegon waited for an answer, as seen by how his eyes dilated with each noise Jace produced. His intense stare, however, eventually lost focus and trailed down to Jace's jaw. He lifted his nephew's head with one hand, resuming the trail of nibbles and soft kisses. Jace, absorbed in this bliss, did not notice when Aegon unbuttoned the front of his blouse, exposing his flesh to the night and the touch of his uncle.
"You want me?" Jace's moans entered a desperate tone. The pressure of Aegon's leg against his crotch kindled a jolt of pleasure that left his knees weak. His muscles felt no more solid than a puddle of water, yet he managed to intertwine his arms around Aegon's neck, pulling their bodies closer and augmenting the rhythmic friction that left his mind static.
"Since we were boys, nephew. I've wanted you so badly. It kills me."
With their bodies glued to one another, Jace felt his uncle's erection brush against his own. No doubt plundered his mind that he must have sounded like a whore in heat, moving his hips more desperately to seek more contact.
"I've wanted to touch you like this," Aegon whispered harshly against his ear as he continued to spark waves of pleasure to run down Jace's spine. "To have you on your knees begging for me, to shut you up with my cock in between your pretty lips, to fill you up. Make you my whore." A hand found itself under Jace's blouse and traveled across his back, pinching the skin of his waist and causing goosebumps to sparkle.
The wine taste clung to Jace's lips, making it all seem surreal. He considered his uncle's words and envisioned himself getting fucked like some cheap whore inside a King's Landing alley. Never has his body felt hotter or more desired. He was conscious that his thoughts and conduct were immoral and beyond reason, but lust and greed overtook any urge to stand strong.
Fleeting shame ran through Jace's veins at the thought, and he briefly looked away. To engage in such an indecent act with the man threatening his mother's crown, someone he had not even thought about in the last six years, all while betrothed, was a betrayal to his family, more cutting than any other.
Aegon stared at him with eager eyes, seized by the need to consume him whole. His comments suggested long-term affection, but Jace knew better. Aegon desired him because he was unable to have him. After all, it was forbidden. Perhaps this is why Jace found such exhilaration in his current position; to forsake his duty and serve to please and be pleased was a hunger he had no idea existed.
Then, with a tug, Jace pulled Aegon closer and rested his jaw on his uncle's shoulder, all while continuing the torturously slow-paced movements of his groin against Aegon's. His eyes instead wandered across the empty alley stretching behind his uncle's back. Aware of his hazy stare, of the tears that threatened to spill at the agonizing pleasure coursing his body, the boy barely trusted his senses to aid him. Still, he froze when his eyes met a singular one.
Jace was unsure who or what he was looking at, yet the longer his eyes stared, the more precise the image got. A mixture of lust and bitterness darkened one eye, and an eyepatch covered the gruesome scar that had stretched over the other. His other uncle watched the obscene scene across the alley while hidden in the shadows. Jace wondered if he liked the spectacle, despite the heinous shame that crossed his mind at that thought.
Gods, Aemond is watching as his brother and nephew hump like rabbits. Had he been watching them this whole time? Jace should not have been excited at that thought, at the thought of being caught, much less by the one person he disliked the most in the entirety of Westeros.
Noticing his nephew's abrupt stop, Aegon picked up the pace, his hands traveling down Jace's thighs and lifting him from the ground. The prince of Dragonstone left out a small yip at the sudden movement, but the new position allowed his legs to spread open and more pleasure to build up within his core. Desperate and loud moans left his lips while holding Aemond's gaze.
"Tell me you want it," Aegon muttered. "Tell me you want it, and I'll fuck you like it is our last night alive."
Jace nuzzled into his neck, unsure of his voice's capacity to work. Jace's sight was locked on Aemond, who observed the situation with wicked interest. At that moment, Jace cursed the night's shades as this fervent desire held his logic captive. He wanted to see it. As Aegon fucked him slowly and harshly, Jace wanted to witness every detail of Aemond's reaction.
"Aegon..." A coherent moan managed to come through, and a smile escaped his smile as he felt Aegon tense under him and saw Aemond stiffen at the word. Jace wondered if both uncles had always desired to claim him, the discovery thrilling and exciting.
The alcohol made him crueler and careless. Still, he followed through with his thoughts.
"Hunger may hurt," Jace whispered. Aegon looked at him, although his own eyes never left Aemond's. Their breaths intertwined, reeking of wine. "But we must starve, for what would follow is a mess we can not possibly clean up."
"Don't diplomat your way out of this while jumping over my cock, nephew. Nobody needs to know."
"Nobody?"
"Nobody."
Jace and Aemond shared a knowing look, although the younger prince could tell his one-eyed uncle was less pleased with what he saw. Instead, he appeared to be seething in anger, an ire bubbling under the surface.
What followed next was too much to process for the younger prince. Aegon had pulled his pants down and lifted one of his legs higher than the other, leaving his bare ass and hardened cock at the mercy of the cold breeze. A hand slowly wandered across his exposed regions, hitching his breaths into small and fast whines and moans, building the pressure to an extreme and causing tears to build up in his eyes. Jace wondered if Aemond saw it all, saw his cock twitch as a finger moistened by spit, and then two entered and twisted inside him. If he witnessed and listened as Jace moaned his brother's name like a prayer. If he doubted whether to indulge in lust or jealousy.
"You're so warm and tight, nephew, and it will feel all that much better with my cock fully inside. I'll fill you whole and leave you dripping with my seed." Aegon continued to spew obscenities in Jace's ear as he fingered him relentlessly. It hurt, burned him as the friction went from pleasant to torturous. Jace bit his lower lip, trying vainly to control his whines.
"Uncle." He moaned, his body giving in to Aegon's relentless pacing, yet his eyes froze on Aemond. Because of the darkness of the night, it was difficult to see the entirety of the one-eyed prince's silhouette. Jace wondered if Aemond was touching himself at the sight before him. If he gripped the wall in barely contained fury. If desperation ran through his blood at the need to step in and claim him by himself. Perhaps, what truly satisfied the prince was watching, noting each detail to have him by himself later. Jace hardened to a painful extreme at the thought.
Soon enough, neither he nor Aegon was satisfied with just fingers. Much to the young prince's surprise, the gratifying feeling of his stretching hole was enough to compensate for the lack of friction against his dick. However, he needed more, and, with loud pleas and eyes fixed on Aemond; he begged Aegon for anything to make him feel complete and whole. With each whimper and demand that left his mouth, Jace was unsure which uncle his intention was directed towards.
"It will hurt," Aegon muttered. His words may have sounded like a warning, but Jace heard that gleeful tone. His uncle wanted tears to stream down his face, for his screams to turn from pain to pleasure. He wanted Jace to hurt, taking him whole, because it would all feel more real. So much more alive. "It will hurt like seven hells, nephew. You'll scream at me to stop, and I'll continue fucking you like some broodmare till your screams turn to ecstasy."
It was with shame that Jace realized he liked how Aegon deminished him. In any other situation, he would have snapped at him for those humilliating words, Aegon's fingers worked like magic as he plundered his insides, leaving him a mushy mess. Still, he found the strength to reply.
"You want to hurt me, uncle?" Jace breathed out, letting the hand holding up his thigh caress him and offer brief consolation. Strands of hair stuck to the sides of his face, and his lips, although dry, tasted like salt and wine.
"I want to make you mine. I want you to remember me with every step you take, for now, and for the rest of your life."
Jace let out a deep breath, urging him to continue.
"I... I want you. So badly ," Aegon's voice sounded shaky for the first time as if imploring for mercy. Jace did not know to who he was begging, maybe to him, maybe to the listening gods. "But we're both aware of the fate awaiting us once the sun rises. Be mine tonight, and then, our paths may never cross anew. You'll never have to think of me again-"
"Uncle," He managed to say with a stable tone for the first time that night. Then, with his eyes glued on the one-eyed prince, he pulled Aegon closer, whispering loud enough for his words to echo in the small, lonesome alley. "I don't think of you at all." And as those words left his lips, Aemond's face hardened, and Aegon's breath stilled. "But let us pretend. Since nights as these are made for saying things that cannot be repeated tomorrow day."
And with that, no more words needed to be shared. Silence engulfed the alley again, and Jace broke the intense eye contact with Aemond to look down at the floor and then at Aegon. To lighten the mood, and with the timidness of a young maiden, Jace left a shy kiss on the corner of his uncle's lips. Aegon stared at him with more than lust, with more than a drunken fever.
It was heartbreak, a feeling deeper than mere sadness or love. With longing eyes and a reciprocated light kiss on his eyelid, Aegon entered whole, merging their two bodies as one.
The pace was slow, and the pain excruciating. Jace clung to his uncle's shoulders and shut his eyes, trying fruitlessly to contain any sign of his intense pain. Tears soaked his eyes, and a hiss escaped his lips as Aegon tried to move back and forth slowly. At that moment, he truly felt grateful for the numbness that followed due to the night's overconsumption of wine.
Words stuck in his throat; for a second, Jace thought he had gone mute. Who knew that pain and pleasure fit so well together? His body begged him to stop yet asked for more, more. The feeling of being used, the shame that spread to his cheeks. His uncle was fucking him in some lowly alley of King's Landing.
Shame burned his insides with the fervor of the ancient fourteen flames, and he impulsively hid his face on the nook of Aegon's neck, nuzzling against the fabric of the cape to wipe away his forming tears. Aegon, who was still holding him against the wall and fucking him at a torturously slow pace, briefly shook with laughter.
"Don't hide your face, nephew. I want to see your pretty expression as I fuck into you."
"At least have the decency to call me by my name." The younger prince muttered, using his remaining strength to lift himself up and peek down at Aegon, who looked at him with a coy smile.
After minutes of slowly getting used to a dick inside him, Jace gently kissed Aegon on the temple, humming at him for confirmation to pick up the pace. Immediately after, the silver-haired prince did as requested and started to pound into him relentlessly.
Jace felt it in his soul, an empty hole in the shape of a cup that could not be filled, yet it tore his body apart. It consumed him, yet he craved more. As he was accommodated in his uncle's arms, turning to a more comfortable position, pain accompanied him all the way through, flaring everywhere and pumping from his heart to his blood.
Contradictions escaped his lips, a mixture of begging for more and stopping. The only strength Jace had left was used to cling to Aegon, and soon enough, he let himself get carried by the flood of pleasure.
Neither knew how long they continued. At some point, their positions had changed, and Jace's face pressed against the brick wall as Aegon continued pounding into him. Jace twisted his head slightly, intending to find Aemond's eye, but with no success.
"Are you worried about being caught like this?" Amid deep breaths, Aegon teased after seeing Jace's inquisitive gaze. The boy huffed in response, unable to find words to retort. Jace felt like collapsing at any moment, his knees barely holding his weight and having to depend on leaning against the wall for stability. Then, as the speed of Aegon's thrusts quickened, he twisted Jace's arms behind his back to keep his body stable.
"I would- I would die from embarrassment, right here and then." Jace managed to say. Aegon laughed at that while kissing him on the nape.
"Then I'll die as well. To die by your side would be a perfect way to die." Another kiss graced Jace's skin right above his shoulder blades. "Imagine the embarrassment our mothers would face. Perhaps that would be enough to stop their squabble once and for all."
"Don't speak of our mothers while- while this." The brown-haired prince grumbled before returning his focus to his scorching core, signaling that the pleasure focused there had exceeded its limits.
Suddenly, the rhythm of Aegon's thrusts went awry. He quickened up, giving no time for Jace to adjust, only to then slow down again, thrusting in harsh, rough thrusts and leaving the younger prince moaning at the foreign sensation. This continued for a couple of endless seconds before the silver-haired Targaryen froze completely, and despite the numbness that plagued Jace's body, he felt how Aegon's seed dripped out of him.
"Good boy," Ageon praised, roughly turning his nephew around to spray him with kisses across his face. "You did so well, my prince."
Those words were what got Jace to blush. He leaned against Aegon's body with a shy smile and accepted the oncoming touches. And due to being occupied with receiving his uncle's praise, the sudden hand that engulfed his still-hardened dick made him yelp in surprise.
Jace swallowed down an embarrassing moan as he covered his lips, arching back against the wall as his body became pliant under Aegon's touch. He hadn't realized how spent he was or how desperately his body was aching for relief.
The hand that pleased him was cool to the touch, bony, and covered in small scabs and blisters. It was not a king's palm, let alone a royal one. Instead, it belonged to someone who took pleasure in getting into trouble, taking risks, and drinking the night away. A hand all to himself, at least for tonight. Jace bit his chapped lips, tearing a piece of dry skin off. His body felt like the stiff string of a drawn bow as Aegon's grip on him was relentless, playing with his sensitive skin and maintaining a quick pace to his strokes.
Jace came into his uncle's hand with a final cry and spilled tears. Jace would still taste it on his lips, his tongue, the lovely bitter wine he had shared with Aegon.
Despite the heavy drowsiness settling in his bones, Jace's cheeks became bright red as he realized his barely dressed figure compared to his still-clothed uncle.
"Oh, now you're embarrassed?" Aegon teased, pulling his nephew closer by the shirt and buttoning up his open blouse. His tone was soft, clearly tired as well, but the smile on his face was unmistakable for anything other than fondness.
"Shut up," Jace mumbled, reserving his strength not to fall to the ground and sleep right there. Next time this occurs, they better do it near a bed.
Next time.
Silence ruled over the alley for the first time since they arrived. Jace allowed himself to get dressed by his uncle, who, uncharacteristically of him, continued this odd, gentle behavior. Jace blamed it on the liquor and decided to think no more of it. "Are we going back?" He instead asked, his voice barely a whisper. Aegon shook his head.
"Night's still young. But you may go back and rest, Jace. Next time, right?" The Targaryen winked, satisfied with Jace's more put-together appearance, before helping him out of the alley. "I'll guide you back first, of course." And with that said, Aegon offered his hand, which Jace accepted without much hesitation. And soon enough, they left the alley behind.
Perhaps Jace's mind was too numb to argue with Aegon and let himself be led by the cloaked Aegon again. Instead, he could only stare at their intertwined hands as the events flashed through his head. The soreness and shortness of breath indicated that everything that had occurred was real. Yet, Jace still pondered if it had all been a dream.
"You see that stall?" Aegon suddenly said, pulling his nephew closer by the waist. With the hood on, it was not easy to see Aegon's expression; still, the warm breath of wine grazed Jace's cheek. "I reckon they sell the best ale in King's Landing. The highest quality, imported directly from Dorne."
"Dorne," Jace repeated, briefly reminded of Criston Cole. "Wait. You're not thinking of drinking more?"
"What will a few more drinks change?" He shrugged, keeping his voice low.
"Well, go ahead and enjoy yourself. I know my way back." Jace muttered, barely able to hold open his eyes. Before letting go of Aegon's hand, he squeezed it tight. In truth, the younger prince had no idea how to act or behave. What to do after being fucked by his uncle.
Aegon simply nodded, looking at the stall and then back at him. At that moment, Jace cursed the cloak. He wished he could properly see the expression on his uncle's face.
"You did enjoy it, right?" Aegon whispered in a low tone, his expression still unreadable.
Their walk had come to a halt amid a crowded area, and while people passed by, Aegon and Jace remained still, like two fixed stones in a flowing river.
"I did," Jace said, barely audible above the commotion.
And with that, they parted ways. Jace stared briefly as his uncle continued to pursue the night's leisure, seemingly unbothered by the next day's duties. He would have been a good man, Jace briefly thought. Or at least, a better man than now had he not been born with dragon's blood.
With a big yawn, the young prince made his way back to the red keep. In truth, he was not exactly sure of the way back. And even if he tried crossing the main gates, there were very few chances they would let him through. After all, any brown-haired fellow could try pretending to be Rhaenyra's child. That thought tugged at his heart. He did not even need a disguise to wander the city, as no commoner would recognize him.
Jace continued stumbling through the street, his mood now ruined. The wine's influence has faded since its peak. Yet his vision was still fuzzy, and his pulse was quick. His only thoughts were the urgent desire for a warm bath and a decent night's sleep. Perhaps to purge the contents of his stomach as well, nausea becoming unbearable.
"You are quite a sight." An approaching voice hissed. Jace was too exhausted to react outwardly, but the recognition in that tone made his heart halt. "And what an outstanding performance, little nephew. But I'm intrigued if you've always longed to whore yourself to my brother. Or would you spread your legs to anyone who looked your way?"
"Aemond." That was all Jace managed to say before puking out the night's feast on Aemond's shoes. The one-eyed prince flinched away but did not entirely evade the puke's onslaught. Instead, he looked at Jace with disgust before sighing at the miserable sight before him.
The brown-haired prince's hair was in disarray, with strands clinging to his flushed face and sweat drenching his hastily buttoned-up blouse. A mere look at him revealed that he had been fucked relentlessly. Not a bad sight, Aemond thought.
"Let me accompany you back to your chamber."
"Please."