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Sometimes, Aemond saw his uncle’s eyes gleaming in a way that was ominous, whether Daemon was directly staring at him or it was just a reflection. The violet irises looked like they were twisting in the light, akin to falling stars swirling around a black orb. That gaze was always hard to decipher—perfect and probably with only a hint of something Aemond didn't have a name for then. It was sending him encrypted messages he couldn't have enough of.
He saw it once more when confronting his ungraceful nephews. Daemon was eyeing him like a wild beast—as if Aemond was prey—terrorising his nerves and thoughts. It was hypnotising. That evening, he believed he was charmed by a strange magic spell. Even before he stood to take action, Aemond could swear the sound of his uncle’s fingers lightly tapping the glass was entrancing his lost and annoyed mind.
Aemond left. He was too intimidated to face that man any longer. He felt like he was running away with his tail between his legs—but it wasn't so wrong when Daemon was the reason. People should respect and fear him, though it hurt when he was the one who needed to be taught a lesson. It’s wrong, he reminded himself harshly. Daemon is wrong, and the Strongs are at fault.
He even thought Daemon hated him—but did his uncle really hate him? Did he despise him? Maybe he was disgusted by his weakness or behaviour. Maybe he loved Lucerys and Jaecerys more than him—his very own nephew. They were never close, but this idea of favouritism boiled his blood. He valued and admired that man too much to ignore this.
He saw him train with Jacaerys and Lucerys too often to count. Their younger days had been even worse—Daemon was slowly distancing himself from him, as if not interested enough in his brother’s son but his niece’s children. First, it started with Jacaerys, and then Lucerys was born, ruining absolutely everything they had ever had.
Sometimes, anger ruled over him and his world. Aemond tried to pretend to be Daemon. He even sparred with his nephews, although, naturally, he was more ferocious than the uncle who pampered them so much.
He wanted Daemon’s moves, grip, and even Dark Sister. He needed his touch and his force, and there were times when he strived for his intellect as well. He wanted to make people fear him with only one glance.
That same night, Aemond couldn't sleep. He rolled over for an hour until he finally found the proper position to rest relatively peacefully (bad dreams would torment him nonetheless). He was lying on his side, legs in all the right places; comfort overwhelmed him.
Yet, before he let his mind wander, Aemond remembered his uncle’s look. A shiver ran down his spine, and he couldn't help but sense it again. It was making his skin crawl and breath hitch in his throat. The night was dark, and his curtains were closed, adding to the eerie aura of that moment. He realised that he froze in place, unable to lift a finger. He feared something he couldn't name.
Despite the urge, Aemond didn't open his eyes.
A cold sweat broke out on Daemon’s skin when he entered the room, the stench of human blood hitting his nose and triggering his instincts. It was like his body had suddenly forgotten that this was one of his own, his kin, and his inner animal was already getting ready for a kill. He quickly forced himself to suppress this, taking several deep breaths. His own hunger made him wander into Aemond’s chamber.
“What is the meaning of this?” The tension in his body made it sound harsher than he intended.
Aemond was sitting beside a fireplace, basking in its warmth. Yellow and red were dancing on his complexion before he turned as he heard Daemon’s question. He watched him step from the darkness of his chamber to the light. He didn’t want his astonishment to show, but what was his uncle doing there anyway?
“A wolf,” he answered, staying expressionless. His stained shirt was on the floor, and Daemon easily noticed the long and fresh scar on his back, fortunately not deep. Nevertheless, it was a horrendous view.
“A wolf?” he scoffed. “You couldn't handle a wolf, nephew?”
“I was caught by surprise.”
“There should be no surprise for you on the battlefield.”
Was he being reprimanded? Had he done something to upset Daemon again? Every time, it had always been him and nobody else who his uncle focused on scolding. Did Aemond really require education in these particular issues? Was he the problem here?
“Why didn’t you go with it to a maester? Do you have a death wish?” Daemon resumed. He seemed so careless when he grabbed tools from a cabinet that wasn’t even his. “I’ll sew it up.”
Aemond neither answered nor moved—he felt humiliated enough as it was. He didn’t see a maester because he didn’t want to talk to anybody who could at least slightly irritate him after a few days of constant inconveniences and failures.
“Drink up.” Daemon put a bottle of something right under his nose. It was alcohol but smelled sharp enough to make Aemond sneeze before he agreed to take a sip. “Now open your mouth again… That’s right.”
Daemon’s finger held Aemond’s chin to make him part his lips wider, pushing a thick fabric between them so he could bite it when needed. Next, he poured something on his back, and it hurt so bad it felt like it was boiling and stinging his raw flesh. An even worse thing came right after as the sewing part came to life. Of course, Aemond pursed his lips, stifling any sounds his uncle would deem a sign of weakness. His nails scratched his thighs so hard he feared there would be more injuries to dress than just this one.
The intense penetrations of the needle almost made his eyes roll out. The alcohol wasn’t working as well as he had hoped, but he didn’t voice it because Daemon considered it the appropriate dose for him. He wanted to scream for opium as tears gathered in the corners of his eyes.
Daemon was gentle and worked fast. Even though no one had requested his help, he stayed anyway, sewing his foolish nephew’s even more ridiculous wound.
What Aemond couldn’t see were his uncle’s shaking hands and the way he licked his lips.
Daemon dressed the wound with honey and a clean cloth; somehow, it suited this irresponsible lad. After that, there was merely a moment of uncomfortable silence.
“Why were you so careless?”
“Uncle, I—” he paused. Why would there be a reason to be easygoing? Daemon was trying to humble him that entire time. “It’s not your problem.”
“Oh.” He smirked, raising an eyebrow. The pouting amused him, though there wasn’t any hidden malice in it. “It isn’t, you say. I think it is. You’re my brother’s son, Aemond. You’re the blood of my blood. Don’t forget that. If you’re mad at me for standing up for my wife’s sons, then don’t be. They’re younger. They’ll learn how to act properly in time. Alright?”
Deep down, Aemond knew it was a kinder way of saying: “Your father would want another one of your eyes if he heard you. You’re at fault.” Despite that, these simple words of consolation were enough to make his cheeks flush.
At one point, something transformed—moulded—into an ideal connection Aemond had hoped for all these years. He finally felt noticed.
The next day, their relationship seemed fairly normal—in a positive way. No more did Aemond think his uncle was angry at him, leaving behind the presumed hatred that caused him so much misery. The fact that Daemon had actually talked to him was still baffling. The tone of his voice had been friendly and might've even held care in it (even if Aemond couldn't believe that). It would not be forgotten for long.
This time, he went to bed without any problems or aches involved. Everything was finally perfect. Daemon’s magical hands and voice healed him completely and utterly, maybe even making him whole. He felt seen like never before.
It was around one in the morning when his eyes fluttered open because of a sudden creaking of the wooden floor of his chamber. But—as he quickly discovered—it wasn't the floor making these sounds. It was his bed. Right behind him, someone was sitting and watching him, scrutinising his concealed by the blanket back. He was confident that it wasn't his mother or Aegon. He could feel it. It was the same freezing presence as these few nights before.
Goosebumps rose on his skin, and he felt vulnerable, like under an executioner's axe. It was laughable that someone could make him this scared. How could this person’s sole existence be this unnerving?
Then, a big and calloused hand stroked the crown of his head. For some reason, it didn't seem too alien to him. Where had he felt the touch of this palm? It was soothing and made him even more sleepy. It moved his long silver hair away from his neck a bit too gently, and, for a split second, he was actually convinced that it was his mother.
A loud and clear sound of the stranger taking a deep breath prevented him from closing his eyes. The thought that he was being smelled brought him back to reality, and he rashly turned around, too stunned to resist his curiosity and shock.
“Uncle!”
He couldn't believe his own eyes.
“Shh,” Daemon shushed him, straightening his back. He had been leaning right above Aemond’s neck and doing whatever Gods knew. “Stay quiet. Someone will hear.” He was teasing him with that idiotic smirk on his face.
“What are you doing here?” he whispered this time.
Aemond pulled the blanket further over his body, covering himself as the unexpected meeting conquered him and his sense of comfort.
“I wished to see my dear nephew,” he replied slyly. “Can I not?”
“Uh… Of course, you can. But why now? At this hour?”
Fuck, Aemond thought. He can persuade me with just one sentence.
When he looked out of the window, the moon was high in the sky. From the beginning, Daemon was strange, too, but Aemond wouldn't just throw him out. It wasn't like he could or had the strength to do anything similar.
His uncle's moves were slow but sure, probably not to scare him. He sat beside him, and the corners of his lips turned into a small smile. His gentleness mixed with that gaze, and his fingers, in a millisecond, were grazing the back of his neck.
“Aemond, my boy,” he enunciated carefully, “there are so many things I crave for… But there's nothing I crave more than you.”
Crave. What a strange word. Daemon yearned for him and needed him. No—he was ravenous, and only Aemond could satisfy his urges—like a sugary treat. His nephew had been on his mind, the thought of his collarbones and milky skin driving him crazy every single day. He wanted to devour him like the wolf that had the chance to shed his precious blood.
Daemon whispered in his ear, “Let me taste you, nephew.” Aemond didn't even realise when he shifted this near him and his arms surrounded him, caging him in that cold and lifeless embrace. He eventually witnessed these pure white fangs and understood each emotion he had experienced when his uncle was around; of course, they were never fake but saturated. “Will you let me, Aemond?” he added, making it more fitting.
It was a question spoken by a mythical creature, but he saw only a hungry and needy Daemon before him. A man whom he cherished so much starved for his blood—his life essence .
“I—” Another sign of hesitance. Chaos. He was still processing all that had been exposed to him. “I think so…”
Aemond’s eyes roamed to the other side of the room—he was avoiding, as he reckoned, responsibilities that his own decision would have. Would that change their newly acquired bond forever? Would he be changed by his uncle’s desire? His heart was gradually comprehending the sudden revelation of Daemon’s hidden identity as well. It was too much for only a minute.
“Tell me, nephew,” he murmured, one of his arms sliding to Aemond’s waist. “I must hear it.” He wanted to know how much he was desired himself, too. Would he be allowed to ravage the flesh that was somewhat his own? What a sweet, honeyed thought.
Daemon lifted Aemond’s chin—he ought to see his lost gaze, not only listen to incoherent mumbling. “I know you need me. I know you care, little dragon.”
No matter how much Aemond wanted to turn his head, his uncle wouldn't let him. His grip was as hard as steel. However, it was apparent that he would stop and leave if he was told to, but something was holding Aemond back from expressing that.
He sheepishly peered at him, finally entirely yielding in this vampiric company. It was decided, regardless of how shameful or stupid it would be. “I want you to feed off me, uncle.” Only me, he hoped to add, but it wouldn’t pass his lips—for that, he was not ready.
It nearly came across as a dream—puzzling and too good to be true. There was a hazy-like atmosphere about their situation, making them cross the lines they normally wouldn't dare traverse. Nights, in their lives, always seemed to have that unreal part about them, as if the gates to the land of dreams were easier to open even when conscious. Maybe it would be easier to forget about that, too.
They stayed on the bed, and Aemond was in his uncle’s lap, relishing their closeness and all the care he was offered. He was held like something made of thin glass; maybe Daemon deemed him frail when everybody else saw his tough side only.
Daemon’s arm reached Aemond’s back, keeping him from falling. He could hear his nephew’s heart beat faster due to the fear of the unknown, though Daemon wasn't concerned about scaring him anymore—the longing for blood was greater than any rational thought. His animalistic hunger could no longer be tamed when his prey gave itself to him this easily.
Aemond’s hair entangled with his uncle’s lean fingers like a waterfall of golden curls. His usually aggravated countenance was wavering and displayed something comparable to innocence; it was probably his naivete toying with him and his feelings. It defeated him and revealed what was always invisible to the ones he didn't trust.
“Uncle…” Aemond gasped, his breath uneven and more difficult to control. He hugged the other firmly, hiding his expression in the crook of his neck.
“Shh.” His voice was relaxing. Had Aemond ever heard him speak this lovingly to him? It had always been reserved for Jaecerys, Lucerys, and his wife—but now, he could experience this tenderness as well. He could be treated like a child, not because he had done something wrong but because Daemon wanted to grant it to him as a form of devotion. “Calm down, Aemond.”
Not even his father treated him like this.
Daemon’s fangs unhurriedly sunk into his throat, delighting in digging right through his youthful and smooth skin. The sound of the meat being cut reverberated in his sensitive ears.
The first few seconds hurt Aemond enormously, like the wolf’s claw, but it slowly became an unfamiliar blissful sensation that made him shiver and whimper. He wanted to call out his uncle’s name but couldn't even utter a word, merely parting his lips as if a silent exhale was escaping them. He held Daemon’s shirt so strongly his knuckles turned white.
The corners of his eyes watered, and his tears shimmered in the light of the candles. He felt pleasantly vulnerable—protected while being attacked. Despite what many would think, his uncle wasn't a beast at all.
Daemon feasted until he deemed it right. It was hard to take the teeth out and stop savouring that sweet essence of life. He was craving it so hard that he needed to remind himself his nephew was offering it all—the blood of his blood, the flesh of his flesh.
Daemon gently stroked Aemond’s cheek. They were both looking into each other’s eyes with concerned and curious gazes as their foreheads touched. Some of the blood dripped down Aemond’s neck and onto his white nightgown.
“Did it hurt?” he asked, licking his lips for the last time. He couldn't help but bite them, somehow refraining from feeding off him again.
Aemond shook and nodded his head, unsure. “At first,” he said. “At first, it hurt a bit.”
Whatever they had almost seemed holy to him. This creature of the night was like a saviour—like one of the Valyrian Gods. His own uncle was above all, giving him salvation in as many forms as it was possible. He was saved from despair by teeth sharper than needles that pierced his back. It was glorious.
There was a thing that caught Aemond’s eye, and it was pressing on his leg, hard and big. Daemon was aroused. They both were, and it prompted them to an impulsive kiss.
Their salivas mixed as their tongues intertwined. There was no shame in it—it was like a basic human need. Daemon needed Aemond’s body heat, and Aemond needed Daemon’s lifeless coldness.
“You’re spurting a fire, taoba ,” he muttered. “Issa byka zaldrīzes. Issa dōna, dōna zaldrīzes.”
It was truly a fire—one full of shared yet doubtful sentiments that mingled and provoked. They were opening up to each other after such a long time of staying quiet about their sensuality and lusts.
His uncle was so, so special. He would take care of him just right.
Daemon’s hand moved underneath Aemond’s nightgown, feeling his bottom, squeezing his asscheeks, and circling his rim. He felt him shiver under his thorough touch and saw his toes curl when his index finger applied pressure to his virgin entrance.
“Uncle—” He couldn't finish because another hustled kiss silenced him.
His uncle was so, so feral.
“I’ll do everything, Aemond. You must only listen to me.”
Next thing Aemond knew, he was naked and sprawled on the sheets like an open book. Right after, Daemon was quick to undress and throw everything to the floor, leaving in his grasp only a bottle of oil which he had in his pocket. His insatiable lust was driving all of his decisions.
Aemond felt the cool liquid and fingers work on him. He bent his knees and softly whined as if posing to push his uncle into giving him the real thing. Gods, he wanted it for so long and couldn’t wait anymore.
“Please. Please, please!”
“Do you even have any experience?” That judgemental yet playful expression made Aemond’s face burn. Was he acting like a lecherous little beast? Certainly—and Daemon loved it while it was harder to keep himself from straight out fucking him.
“N-No…”
“Then be quiet, Aemond. I'm preparing you. Not to mention that you've never done this. Don't rush.”
Everything down there was touched by another person for the first time in Aemond’s life. His rim was being oddly tugged and entered, and he could only imagine how Daemon’s dick would pierce him. Would it be as enjoyable as the teeth drawing blood and pleasure at the same time?
The fingers retreated after a while, leaving him wanton, but—unexpectedly—Daemon held Aemond’s leg to his mouth and bit his inner thigh, treating it like an appetizer. This stabbing sensation made the latter’s cock respond with a jerk. Aemond was close to finishing, but these fangs went as fast as they connected with his skin, leaving behind two dots from which trickled blood.
That was when Aemond moaned.
He was thrilled when he observed Daemon position himself and that cock finally making its way inside him. It looked like it could break him into pieces.
Daemon unhurriedly entered him, groaning at the lovely warmness and tightness that enveloped his massive length.
“Aemond,” he gasped involuntarily.
His thrusts were careful, though only at first to get the other used to his size and the freshly acquired experience—he simply couldn't help but quicken his pace. He whispered in his ear obscene words in High Valyrian as if it was supposed to be just another one of their improper secrets. Aemond, on the other hand, only heard such things coming from his brother’s mouth.
Beads of sweat were forming on their bodies, palpable as if it were a hot summer evening. Daemon was kissing Aemond wherever he could, sometimes licking the stripes of the dried blood from his shoulder and neck. His nephew was too perfect to resist wanting more.
With so many foreign stimuli, Aemond was the first to come—this feeling differed so much from masturbation that he was easily brought to the edge. He made the lewdest expression anyone had probably seen on his face, but the way of how dreamy this moment was made him not care about decency.
Daemon moved back and forth as his nephew’s hole sucked him in and refused to let go. He loved the way Aemond squirmed from overstimulation beneath his domineering form. It took him some time to finish, but when he did, he filled these silky insides with his hot come, earning another deafening whimper from Aemond’s mouth. Even when soft, it was hard to just pull out and leave his bed.