Chapter Text
Aemond lets his head rest on the edge of the couch and groans, feeling overloaded from the day, his forearm covering his eye.
Lucerys has been on his mind since he gave him that forbidden piercing, zooming in and out of the photo, picturing him with a tattoo, too. It would look beautiful on him, truth be told, whatever he decides.
It has been four days since Lucerys came to his studio, and sent that damned photo on top of it.
Fuck it, Aemond makes up his mind, batting away whatever afterthoughts that may hurdle what he has already decided to do. It’s an itch in his skin, in his bones; it’s a coagulation in his blood—it’s being affected by venom and having the antidote right in front of him if he were to just reach and take it.
What you think about the tattoo, Aemond texts him. He doesn’t expect Lucerys to reply, frankly. It’s a quarter past 1 a.m. in the morning, and the only reason Aemond is awake in the first place is he prefers to work on his tattoo designs at night; he’s content with a few hours of sleep—no one’s going to arrest him for it.
Hearing a notification sound almost throws Aemond off guard; he checks his phone.
where does that come from at this hour? :o
Aemond scowls.
Why the fuck are you awake
The reply comes instantly.
why are YOU? you’re the one who texted me, uncle
That makes him scoff.
Are you with someone
That possibility is something that unsettles Aemond which he certainly won’t unwrap now.
what? no. i’ve been practicing :c
He hits the call button before he knows better; he doesn’t, apparently.
“Uncle?” A sleepy voice greets him, the soft nature of it warms Aemond in some way.
“I want you here,” Aemond says, straight to the point, just how he likes it. No bullshit. “I have more designs at home than the studio for tattoos. Come here,” he adds.
“You cannot be serious—” Lucerys’ voice shrieks. “It surely can wait, Uncle.”
Aemond grunts. “Your loss, Nephew. These are just my usual hours. Suit yourself if you want something shitty as a tattoo for the rest of your life.”
He hears Lucerys breathing from the phone.
“Ugh,” he gives an exhale, Aemond has the feeling that he’s currently pinching the bridge of his nose. “I cannot believe I am falling for this, and I’m not. But I’m already awake, so—” He hears him groan. “Just text me the address. And you’re paying for the taxi.”
Aemond grins to himself, hanging up the phone, feeling victorious, feeling triumphant; like he just got the last punch in the ring by a knockout, the boxing bell rings, the spectator applauds. He sends his location to Lucerys.
━
Aemond’s home is a textbook singles apartment to oversimplify. 2 1 in a priced building. One room is for his designs, anything work-related, and the other is his bedroom. He works messy, but the other parts of the flat are hardly ever out of place.
He picks Lucerys up from downstairs, pays for the taxi because the princess asked him to, greets the lazy, half-sleeping fucker that is his doorman at the lobby with a headshake—he is pretty sure he doesn’t give a fuck about the gesture no less than Aemond does—and unlocks his apartment with his keys.
“So,” Lucerys says, pushing himself in, Aemond is right behind him. “I really can’t wait for you to show me the designs you mentioned, because, you know, I wouldn’t want to be stuck with a shitty tattoo for the rest of my life.” He feigns an appalled face.
Aemond closes the door. “Did you consider where you want the tattoo?”
He motions for Lucerys to follow him to his room where keeps the designs, and Lucerys speaks, “Um, I actually want it around my lower back, maybe. But not something too big.”
Tramp stamp, head-on.
Aemond gets inside and holds Lucerys by the waist, turning him around to face him. He lifts his sweater up.
“W-What, Aemon—”
“Easy, Lucy, I’ll check the piercing,” Aemond rags, flaring a shit-eating sneer.
Lucerys huffs, cheeks puffing up. “Asshole.”
Aemond’s hands stay on Lucerys’ waist, checking the piercing out, as a matter of fact, and it seems all fine. “You’re rubbing antibiotic cream on that?”
Lucerys gulps. “Uh, yeah, I do.”
Aemond pulls his hands back, letting Lucerys’ sweater fall. “It’s healing fast.”
“That’s good to know,” Lucerys mutters, biting his lip.
Aemond sits on the stool, opening his portfolio. “Have at it,” he shoots, observing him with the corner of his eye.
Lucerys tentatively takes the portfolio, giving his attention to it, his button nose scrunching every now and then, continuing to bite his lip.
Yeah, Aemond sneers, baby hooker.
He sees the change of look on Lucerys’ face, gradually, as though he’s more and more amazed at every flick of the page.
“These are stunning, Aemond,” he says, eyes shining; Aemond’s heart stops beating for a millisecond. He isn’t going to unwrap the implications of that now, either.
He stops flickering the page and points out to one of them, his round eyes growing even wider. “This is really beautiful.”
Aemond looks over what he’s pointing at. “You like the sea?”
Lucerys contemplates for a moment. “I think so, yeah. I always liked watching the waves, at least. Even though I get seasick.”
That’s an imitation of The Great Wave off Kanagawa, red ink, captured in a frame. Aemond quite likes that one too.
“But I assume this doesn’t go with on the lower back?” Lucerys studies, still looking at the design.
Aemond turns around, picking up a pen as the white sheet of paper is in front of him already. So, he wants something not too flashy, on his lower back.
He sketches something, really, and since Lucerys wants something simple, it shouldn’t be too hard, he computes.
Aemond hands the paper to Lucerys, interrupting the sound of turning pages. “How about this one?” he asks.
“I can do it in red ink,” he adds, watching Lucerys’ reaction.
“Are these…?”
“Sea waves, at least the simplified version, crooked so it can fit the lower back better. Two on either side, one of them upturned and the other isn’t. And those that look like shimmers are stars, goes on to both sides.”
Lucerys still doesn’t look away from that sheet of paper. “And the stars are for…?”
Aemond toys with the pen in his hand, huffing out a breath. “You gotta navigate your way in the sea through stars.”
Too much thought on Lucerys’ tramp stamp? Nah, not really.
“And this is going to be for me only?” Lucerys’ lower lip wobbles. Because of course it does; sappy brat.
“Sure,” Aemond retorts, “I don’t like repeating designs, anyway.”
Then, Lucerys lifts his head from the paper, all big, doe eyes of his staring at him, and beats his heels to close the distance between them, half falling on Aemond to hug him. “Thank you, I really like it.”
Aemond’s hand finds his curls, patting his head for a moment, not saying anything else.
Lucerys pulls back, unhurriedly, chewing on his lip—he seems to do that a lot today; unfortunate, as every time he does, Aemond’s gaze gets caught on it—and pulls back on his lap completely. “Can I ask you about yours? Your tattoos, I mean.”
Aemond scoffs. They are not that deep, admittedly. He just wanted tattoos, and he got them.
“This one you see,” Aemond points out to his right lower arm, “that covers more than my forearm, it’s the tattoo of an oni mask. Oni is a Japanese folklore figure, like a demonic creature, known for murder and cannibalism type of shit.”
“That sounds… dark,” Lucerys touches the tattoo, poorly hiding his interest.
Aemond grins. “Bet your ass would rather have a Hello Kitty tattoo.”
“What’s your obsession with me and Hello Kitty?” Lucerys knits his eyebrows. “And, for the record, if I really did consider a Sanrio tattoo, which I don’t—no, Aemond, stop that face, I do not, I would go for Cinnamoroll.”
Cinnamoroll—Aemond ponders, isn’t that the one with blue eyes and always red-cheeks? Make the blue eyes hazel and the little shit actually looks like Lucerys.
“Such an eye-opening revelation for me, Lucy.” Aemond flashes his sharp teeth.
“Don’t change the topic,” he says, urging him to continue.
“Being a bossy bitch, Lucy? Didn’t know you had it in you.”
Lucerys shoots him a glare, resembling the one he gave him back in his tattoo shop, and it’s just truly hard to take him seriously. It’s like a kitten trying to bite you with his tiny teeth, because, what the fuck does that suppose to do?
Yet, it somehow works, evidently, as Aemond ends up continuing.
He tells him about the word “soul,” written on his right-hand fingers, all capital and in the gothic font. Aemond has gotten that tattoo because he thought it to be almost poeti; all the songs, poems, novels, and movies ever produced in human history essentially boils down to one’s soul, and the word slides like butter to the ear, so, why the fuck not that one? Aemond had thought, the time he decided that he wants tattoos on his fingers.
“This one,” Aemond says, touching his right hand, just below his wrist, “are just flames. I thought they looked cool, and I got it, no brain gymnastics there.”
Aemond carries on, because Lucerys, in all honesty, looks interested as fuck, and Aemond is not going to kick a puppy with stapled boots.
On his left upper arm, there is a tattoo of barbed wire, solely due to the looks of it; it suits him, kind of random, but still works. On his right forearm, there is a snake tattoo that goes spiraling, because he likes how in the Epic of Gilgamesh, a snake is the one who pulls a huge fuck you to Gilgamesh when the fucker thought he would confer immortality.
Going up on his right arm, there is a tattoo of spider and spider web; spider tattoo at his front, and the spider web tattoo more around the back of his upper arm, adjacent to each other although not much.
Around his collarbones, there is a tattoo of broken chains, starting from the edges and stopping at the middle; he tells to Lucerys as he pulls the neck of his black t-shirt down.
He lifts his shirt up, and Lucerys looks like he’s about to stutter if he were to speak before Aemond talks first. “These two swords forming an X? That’s to represent opposing sides, or duality, if you will,” he says, tapping on the lower part of his right collarbone.
He continues, tells him about the dagger tattoo on his left torso, because it’s representative of how he lost his eye; where the meaning comes from is right there, straightforward and clear-cut as it can be, in the shape of an empty eye socket and a scar on his face if anyone dares to forget it. It takes no geniuses to figure out the meaning behind it, even the thought of an opposing interpretation remains beyond comical. Skull tattoo representing the cycle of life and change, a lightening strike tattoo because thunders are powerful as hell, and a tattoo of waves, more detailed than Lucerys’ because he wanted something simple, and Aemond got that tattoo because the waves remind him of something freeing.
Aemond turns around, showing his back. “This is the biggest one, from the Valyrian story of Vhagar and Arrax, their fight.”
He can feel Lucerys coming closer, and turns his head just to revel in the look on his face; Aemond doesn’t know what he’s been expecting to find but he is amused when he sees his lips parting.
“I, uh,” Lucerys speaks, “I know the story,” he laughs. “I have a kitten named Arrax.”
Aemond snorts at that. “No shit,” he says, turning around on the stool.
Lucerys knowing the story isn’t that surprising, truthfully, as Valyria is a part of their family’s history.
“We should get you a dog named Vhagar,” Lucerys adds tunefully, lips curled.
He might entertain the idea later, but he tosses it at the back of his head at the present, because Lucerys directly looks at him now and it’s tough work to focus on anything else.
“That one you see here?” He points out around his right chest. “The cherub tattoo with devil horns, wings, and tail? That’s you because you look like an angel and you still took my fucking eye.”
Kind of hard to not know what your own nephew looks like after all with Viserys who pushes family gatherings whenever he can, which more often than not never ended up in success, in reality—did they instinctively avoid each other for the very few times when Viserys actually succeeded? Yeah. Did Aemond also decide to get that tattoo on one of those family gatherings that came after in years about six months ago upon seeing Lucerys? Also yeah.
In Aemond’s defense, it’s another tattoo of his that takes no geniuses to figure out where the tattoo comes from, or at least it felt like that to Aemond when he set up his mind to get it done.
Lucerys touches it, coming forward, eyes hazy and unfocused. “Me?” he whispers softly.
“That’s fucking right,” Aemond says, letting out a disbelieving laugh; Lucerys just inches apart.
“Aemond…” Lucerys draws a breath, the words not coming out of his mouth.
Aemond doesn’t hang his mind up on what came over him, pointless to even try for it. Seeing Lucerys standing so vulnerable, exposed, for him to take and have, the images of him jerking off to Lucerys flashing in his mind, the shadow of Aemond’s words saying he wants to destroy Lucerys standing tall and dark—
He kisses him—rough and hard and all the things Aemond is and Lucerys isn’t. Lucerys retaliates the second he’s out of his stupor; their hands going anywhere, everywhere, his on Lucerys’ waist, and Lucerys’ on Aemond’s shoulders. Aemond’s hands slip lower, under Lucerys’ ass, urging him to wrap his legs around his waist; Lucerys listens, he listens. His good girl.
Lucerys wraps his legs around Aemond’s waist, and Aemond’s hands hold him there, continuing to kiss him. His tongue licks Lucerys’ little one, his mouth swallows his; Aemond’s teeth find Lucerys’ bottom lip, sucking on that spot, biting it down—Lucerys moans into his mouth, weak and pathetic, the little cockslut.
Aemond’s hips grind against Lucerys’ as he considers just fucking him on the couch then and there, but he guides them to his bedroom; Lucerys breathing fast and hot.
He puts Lucerys to bed, closer to throwing him down, pressing in his movements; Lucerys reaches for him, to continue kissing him, maybe, but Aemond pulls back to strip him off his sweater, of his leggings.
“Wait,” Lucerys says, voice broken, “aren’t you undressing?”
“Later,” Aemond dismisses. “Turn around.”
Lucerys looks confused, and Aemond slaps him by the thighs, not too hard, just to test the waters, because he doesn’t actually want to fuck up the deal before he gets to feel his nephew’s sweet pussy. “Turn the fuck around,” Aemond says it again, this time, Lucerys does, holding back a moan, releasing it anyway—cocksleeve bitch.
Bubble butt on display, Aemond feels it in his hands, kneading a bit, and fucking fuck, does it perfectly fit.
“Fuck,” he breathes, “I don’t have lube.”
He slaps his ass, the impact makes his flesh quiver; Aemond raves in how he squirms, his sensitive skin already red. “I’ll just use my spit.”
“W-What, Aemon—Oh,” Lucerys moans when Aemond spits on his hole, thumbs separating his ass cheeks with his thumb, pink and pretty.
He spits on his finger too and pushes one finger in, working on his hole. “Fucking hell, Lucy, you are tight as fuck. Don’t you go around slutting?” Aemond’s chest presses against Lucerys’ back, shoving him into the mattress harder.
“N-No,” Lucerys chokes, “I’ve been good, Uncle.”
Aemond’s hand slaps his cheeks, much harder this time, and Lucerys outright sobs.
“A-AH!” Lucerys cries out, “Uncle, I’ve been good, so good, for you, please.”
He pushes in another finger, scissoring him open, coating the spot with his spit; Lucerys arches his back further, the trained hooker, his sweet little nephew.
“Should I believe a fucking whore?” Aemond says between his teeth, getting rid of his own clothing because it fucking burns here.
“Uh-huh,” Lucerys moans, “I want to settle down, please.”
Aemond flashes a grin. “Oh yeah? Are you going to be my good girl? My good little wife?” He plows against Lucerys even harder, pushing the third finger in, biting down his neck.
Lucerys shrieks. “YES! I will,” he whimpers. “I will—”
Aemond kisses his neck, where he bit down; he drew a bit of blood, he realizes, and wonders if Lucerys noticed as well. He licks the blood clean, the metallic taste making him dizzy.
He grabs his cheeks, spreading them wide open, the prettiest pussy he’d ever seen, hands down. He pulls his fingers and spits again, watches how it sinfully slides down his perfectly plush thighs—he slaps his thighs again, fuck.
Aemond’s fingers rub on that area that makes him contort, makes him drool, feet kicking off like a newborn.
Aemond pushes his tongue in, watches how Lucerys melts under him.
Lucerys tries to skim away from the stimulation, twitching, but Aemond catches him by the hips. He removes his eyepatch to tie his wrists—this will have to do for now.
His tongue dips in further, kissing around the skin, making Lucerys writhe, making him crave, the baby cockslut.
“I’m gonna mess you up, baby,” Aemond hisses, “gonna fuck you up—” His hand kneads Lucerys’ flesh, and he lands another slap, the skin downright red. “Ruin you for anyone else, fucking cock hungry bitch.”
Lucerys keens, Aemond’s other hand on his neck, “Then, do it!” he breathes, “keep your word, won’t you?” he says delicately, sweetly, fucking insolent brat that he is.
Aemond plays out an incredulous grin; kissing, driving his tongue into that warm, tight hole one more time before he turns him around. His hand finds Lucerys’ throat. “A brat as much as he’s a slut, huh?” Aemond laughs now, anything but hinged, as he lubes his cock with his spit. “You’re lucky you’re pretty, fucking dirty little whore, should I really wife a demanding twink bitch like you up?”
Prettiest slut, his pretty little messy slut, Aemond’s brain provides.
Lucerys’ mouth parts, and Aemond now realizes as he turned Lucerys around that he has tears in his hazel eyes, face flushed—looking thoroughly fucked up, just like how Aemond likes him. His crybaby whore.
He doesn’t realize, however, that this is the first time that Lucerys sees Aemond without the eyepatch, until Lucerys makes a move to bring his tied wrists to his face, but stops halfway.
Aemond pins Lucerys’ wrists to the mattress, his cock pushing in slowly. “Fuck, Lucy, still tight as fuck,” he curses, “be a good girl for me, sweetheart, open up.”
Lucerys obeys. He obeys. Beautifully parting his whore legs to receive all Aemond will give.
Check that out, Aemond muses, big bad uncle, destroying his sweet baby nephew’s pussy.
“A-Aemond,” he cries, babbling, “Aemond—AemondAem—”
Aemond squeezes his throat, choking him down when he pushes his cock to the hilt—the little slut wants to moan, but it’s cut short because Aemond’s hand is firm, and the cockslut fucking smiles, all teeth, open-mouthed, eyes completely dazed and tears spilling, looking entirely messy.
Aemond’s heart somersaults.
His other hand is on his hip, guiding his body however Aemond likes, and he entirely loses his mind when he sees how his cock bulges in Lucerys’ belly, bulging around that piercing.
His hand moves there, ramming into him, fucking him into the mattress. “Fuck, baby,” Aemond growls, “you already got pregnant?” he taunts, the sound of his hips slapping Lucerys is grinding, deafening, delicious. “That’s fucking right, you just needed the right cock to settle you down.”
Lucerys, unable to do anything else, shakes his head up and down, arching his back to the perfect bow—that’s his baby.
Fuck, Aemond spits. He wants to tug that piercing down he put there—but it’s been four days, he reminds himself, desperately clinging onto the tiniest shred of sanity he’d left; he can’t, at least not now. In the future? Fuck yeah.
Aemond’s hand grip tighter, his other hand moves to his plush mouth, red and mushed, his fingers part his lips, pushing them inside; Lucerys looks dumbfounded, obeying as he opens his mouth, making Lucerys feel all of him.
Aemond is delirious.
Lucerys licks Aemond’s fingers, one by one, smearing them with his saliva; his eyes go to the back of his back, his back always arched, welcoming everything Aemond gives him, and Aemond thinks he deserves a praise for it.
He leans in, kisses his forehead, whispering to his ear, “You’re so good for me, baby, that’s it. My little whore from now on, no one else’s—that’s it, my perfect little wife.”
That is what drives Lucerys off the edge, apparently; he comes with his pink tongue out, his walls squeezing Aemond even tauter—hot and filthy, flawlessly Aemond’s.
“So good for me, princess,” he rasps, and Lucerys shivers. “That’s right.”
Aemond captures Lucerys’ tongue that’s peeking, he knows he’s close; Lucerys uselessly whines in his mouth, breathing each other’s breath as Aemond penetrates him—because yeah, he fucking does penetrate him, that’s the word.
Aemond feels greedy as fuck, he feels insatiable; he feels like the fucking demon that he got tattooed on his arm.
Fuck it, who needs a soul when Aemond can have this.
His heaven and hell are right here.
He bites down Lucerys’ lip, his own tongue pinning his, Lucerys utters a husky mewl; his tears flow.
Lucerys is entirely messed up, disoriented, tore down and rebuilt: his lips are pink and swollen; his curls are in disarray, hazel eyes glassy, and Aemond thinks he has the kind of beauty that he tattoos on people’s skin.
Aemond drains blood from there, sucks in on it, savoring the taste on his tongue, in his mouth, electrifying his senses; Lucerys, his beautiful sweet little Lucerys, moans even harder, knocked up senseless and fucked up unconscious, unfocused and with no footing.
Aemond comes growling—overwhelmed. He spills inside Lucerys, makes him take it, makes him take it all, pumping his cum inside him, fucking it in all, not a single drop wasted. “Fuck,” Aemond rumbles, a guttural sound, “that’s it babygirl, take it all. You’re mine now, marked you from inside.”
Lucerys looks like he’s reduced to a cock hungry whore, whorest of them all, and his; Aemond unties the eyepatch and cleans his tears with his mouth, wipes down the blood on his lips.
He doesn’t pull out yet.
He rests his head on the crook of Lucerys’ neck, feeling how he weakly breathes against his skin, they just rest there, together, in that moment as one. Lucerys’ hand comes to brush Aemond’s disheveled hair, with the softest of touches; Aemond buries his head even deeper.
He pulls out of Lucerys and falls on his back, and this time Lucerys comes on crawling, resting his head on his chest.
Without saying a word, he kisses Aemond’s scar, around his sapphire also; when his head falls down, Aemond’s chin is tucked on top of his curls, the back of his hand stays there brushing his face.
Hauling himself from the bed with immense difficulty, he cleans himself lazily, with a paper towel, actually, he doesn’t care for it, takes up his seconds. When he comes to Lucerys, though, he’s thorough with it; he whines when the warm towel brushes his skin, around his ass and hole, his thighs, his belly.
“Shit,” Aemond mumbles. “I think I gotta go find a 24/7 store for lotion,” he clicks his tongue, hands touching Lucerys’ reddened skin.
“What,” Lucerys gapes, eyes shooting open suddenly, and what the fuck? He was laying like the Sleeping Beauty when Aemond was cleaning him up. “Are you going to leave me here to find lotion? I’ll be fine, you can make up for it later, just come,” Lucerys says, scooting over.
“Jesus, alright,” grumbles, getting on the bed. “Can’t even fucking trying to be nice around here.”
Lucerys sighs at that; they quickly find their old position, Lucerys’ head falls on his chest.
Aemond pulls up a cigarette from his drawer, kind of a demanding task with Lucerys on his chest, especially when he’s trying to not stir him up. He lights the cigarette up.
“I’m sorry,” Lucerys says softly, breathing, hand on his scar.
Aemond takes a halt.
Centuries pass; they stand still.
“I think,” Lucerys starts to speak, voice still shaky. “We need another me tattoo around here, maybe my name?” he says, his finger finding Aemond’s left chest.
Aemond’s free hand touches his face, feeling like pressing a kiss on his head, so he does. “Always so goddamn bratty, even when you’re fucked out of your mind.” He blows out the smoke.
Still, Aemond thinks, that can be arranged.