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Aemond was seriously fucked in the head.
Every time he thought of it he threw up. Like, his stomach actually churned and he vomited a little in his mouth, and a lot of the times when it wasn’t the taste of the veggie burgers he had for lunch lingering in his mouth all that came out was just bile, because he didn’t have the appetite for anything anyways, too consumed was he by thoughts of himself and his fucked upness, and also Lucerys Velaryon, his underage nephew. Oh, curse him and those child-bearing hips!
Aemond was a grown ass man, he thought, staring at his reflection in his upper middle-class appropriate house. He couldn’t be attracted to his fourteen year old nephew, who was six entire years his junior! And if he got his math right that meant he was twenty years old! That’s old!
He had to pause for a moment, though, and admire the sharpness of his features; the sternness of his brow and the unique shade of his irises blessed to him by his father—useless dick he was, Aemond couldn’t fault him for his blood. The otherwise perfectly symmetrical face was interrupted, ruined, only by his underage nephew.
Oh my gosh! Goodness gracious! There he was thinking of him again!
Aemond punched the mirror in front of him and screamed from the pain. He quickly tried to mask it as a gesture of masculine anguish like he saw in that one movie starring one of his favourite and talented method actors, Jake Gyllenhaal. He knew it wasn’t a Christian film but still he couldn’t stop himself from admiring and looking up to the misunderstood protagonist, and so he kept his DVD copy up in the attic where Mom wouldn’t find it, nestled innocently between his copies of Paddington and Paddington 2, starring Hugh Grant and Ben Whishaw, the latter of which never failed to bring a single, manly tear to his eye.
Maybe it was that sinful secret he kept from his mother that made him so lustful for Luke, his underage nephew. Maybe he should fess up, take the L and confess. Next Sunday, he vowed to himself, holding his now bloody fist in hand and wincing from the pain, he would go to the local priest and tell him he was attracted to Luke, his underage nephew.
He heard muffled footsteps approaching the bathroom and in entered his mother. She looked at the cracked mirror.
“Aemond! We just replaced that!”
***
Aemond did not drink a lot because that wasn’t really something he could see himself doing and was kind of out of character of him, maybe, unless you counted drinking the wine at church during Eucharist. He did personally believe in transubstantiation and so he chewed the bread that was the body of Christ really softly because he didn’t want to hurt anymore than he already was (he was attracted to his underage nephew). Then when it came time to drink His blood Aemond couldn’t bear the inebriation from the shitty boxed wine before such a big moment and so chose a cup of grape juice instead, ignoring the look the child behind him shot him when he took the last cup of juice.
After mass he let his mother and father go ahead and told them of his need to visit the confessional, which was how he found himself in the little box now, which stunk of all the farts of all who had come before him.
“Excuse me, Father,” he said, nasally because he was holding his nose so he couldn’t smell the farts.
“Please, child,” the priest said, “forgive the smell of farts.”
“I will, Father, if you would forgive my sin.”
The priest let him talk.
“I spend a lot of time in the bathroom these days,” he began, lowering his voice an octave so that he would sound cooler, “washing my hands and trying to clean off a spot of dirt that I can’t see but I can feel.”
“Like Lady Macbeth?”
Aemond thought about that.
“Yeah.”
The priest’s shadow behind the lattice window nodded.
“Continue.”
“Let’s see, where was I? Bathroom, guilt metaphor,” he said, counting on his fingers. “Oh, yeah. I try to wash it away not only from my body but also from my mind. I suffer from nightmares and basically, I’m afraid somebody might find out.”
“About what, dear child?”
“Don’t say that word,” Aemond said, twisting his body away dramatically, his blond hair whipping about and smacking him in the face.
“What word?”
“Child,” he hissed.
“Ah, I was a child once,” the priest said, reminiscing.
“Disgusting,” Aemond said, face twisting.
“Good times, good times.”
“I have a picture of one,” Aemond said shakily. He took out his picture of Luke. It was taken a couple weeks ago at the family reunion. He was wearing cargo shorts of appropriate length and a pastel pink polo shirt which Aemond openly mocked him for and said it made him look gay. He was holding his hand up and pressing his thumb and index finger together.
“It’s like a heart, see Aemond?” Luke had said, taking Aemond’s hand in his and making him copy the pose. “Asian people are really creative!”
“Wanna see the photo?”
Before the priest could respond Aemond slipped it past a little opening in the divider, holding it up to show him the picture, a little proud despite himself.
“Cute kid,” the priest said.
“I…” Aemond was about to say I jerk off to him and then cry but the words were lodged in his throat. He retracted his arm and tucked the polaroid back in his suit pocket.
“I think so, too,” he said lamely.
He quickly came up with a different confession, which was a safe default one when you weren’t ready to admit you jerked off to your underage nephew’s photo and also cried about it.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” he said.
“I fought with my brother.”
Aemond thought a hundred Our Fathers was a little overkill for that.
***
There was another get together for Rhaenyra’s birthday, and Luke approached Aemond for some reason and dragged him into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.
“We should make out,” Luke said, sitting on the counter and dragging Aemond between the V of his legs. With his large hands, Aemond gripped the soft skin of his thighs to ground himself and watched Luke bite his lip. Childishly.
“What?”
“We,” Luke said, winding his arms around his neck, his boyish eyes twinkling boyishly under the fluorescent light of his mom’s fancy upper class bathroom, “should make out.”
Aemond was on the verge of tears when he felt himself being unable to resist his urges. He winced, already feeling the burning in his belly when Luke pressed even closer to him, burning hot, hot like the fires of hell!!! 🔥
Luke must have registered the wince as a shrug, because he started making out with him.
Aemond was a little flabbergasted but also smug about it. It was disgusting that Luke didn’t seem uncomfortable with his age, and that he was not at all embarrassed by drawing a grown man’s attraction, even when the grown man was a nasty freak and also his uncle—which was also another layer of fucked upness he forgot to mention but assume all that was implied a few hundred words ago.
“You’re so hot,” Luke whispered in between their kissing. “I don’t even care that you’re a huge loser.”
“Not a loser,” Aemond said.
“Sure,” Luke said, smiling. He popped open the button of Aemond’s collar, which was closed all the way to the top, and wormed a hand on his bare skin. “That’s not something a loser would say, right?”
“Right,” Aemond said, leaning back in and kissing him again.
He could stop any time he wanted to, but he didn’t.
***
Luke started sending him text messages after that. Aemond instantly regretted joining his mom and sister’s family group chat, because originally he had done it so that he could see all the Christian posts Mom would send and what she thought about them. He hadn’t realized Luke was in the group as well, and that he would be able to track down his number.
He always invited Aemond over to sit there and do nothing while Luke talked about anything and everything under the sun, asking questions like what kind of program he should look into for uni or what brand of food Vhagar ate and whether Arrax should switch to it, and if Aemond ever had a girlfriend and if so how many, and if he ever went to the gym and if he did which one he went to and if he needed a gym buddy—to which he would try and wink, but try being the operative word because it turned out Luke wasn’t very good at winking and so he would just blink at him twice, his long lashes fluttering and making Aemond feel something akin to fondness.
And when he wasn’t doing nothing at his house, his phone blew up all the time with…what were they called?
“They’re called memes, Aemond,” Luke said, sitting on his lap even though he was on a very sizable and expensive suede couch in Rhaenyra’s living room. “God, you really are a loser.”
Luke was fiddling away on his phone while he spoke, not giving Aemond a single glance as he sat. Aemond tried to push him off but Luke only settled down further. He was surprisingly heavy.
“Thou shalt not take the Lord’s name in vain,” Aemond said sternly.
“Oops,” Luke said. He looked up at the chandelier.
“Sorry!”
“When was the last time you read your scripture?” Aemond said.
“You know I don’t believe in all that,” Luke said, waving nonchalantly.
“You should,” Aemond said, his hand curling in a fist to stop himself from wanting to touch him, because if he did he wouldn’t be able to stop. Because he was sick in the head.
“You should open your heart to our one and only saviour Jesus Christ.” He didn’t have a lot of things he held dear, but his belief was one of them.
“It’s cute you’re into it, though,” Luke said, ignoring his words and twisting in his seat to face Aemond. “Who doesn’t like a man of principle?”
Aemond didn’t think he was a man of principle because he always cried after he jerked off to a photo of his underage nephew. He looked at Luke stonily.
“Here,” Luke said, lifting up his phone and showing Aemond the screen.
“I wanna relate to you more.”
Aemond squinted and read the headline of the web page: Christian Memes for Cool Teens.
“Not a loser, right?” Luke said, hitting the request to join group button.
“I’ll send you the invite!”
Soon after, Luke put his phone down and initiated another ‘make out sesh’ as he called them.
“We should fuck,” Luke said, smiling up at him.
Aemond excused himself from the situation like a man of principle.
***
So, the priest thing backfired and now Luke kept sending him weird pictures he liked.
Maybe he could go to the cops?
He went to the police station, fully prepared to turn himself in after another very dramatic scene in front of the mirror, which this time he did not punch in fear his mom would get mad at him again, and which he had to cut short because Aegon was threatening to break the door down, banging his hands on it and screaming about his diarrhea.
But before he could say a word, the officer there took one look at him and led him into a jail cell.
The clanking metal of the jail door was loud and echoed in the plain, empty room long after the officer shut it.
“Don’t I have rights?” Aemond said nervously, looking around at the jail cell.
“Yeah,” the officer said, “you kinda just looked like a criminal.” The officer shrugged.
“I could tell you what I did,” Aemond said.
“Oh, yeah,” the officer said. He pulled out a chair from the corner of the corridor and sat down in front of him. “You should probably do that.”
Once again, from the other side of a divider he tried to confess his sins and ambiguously legally indictable offence.
After he was done confessing his vile thoughts, the officer looked at him strangely.
“Wait,” he said. “So you wanna fuck your nephew?”
“He’s underage,” Aemond said, hanging his head in shame. He reached his arms out from inside the cell and offered the officer his wrists.
“Arrest me!”
“You’re already in jail. Did you have sex with your underage nephew?”
“No,” Aemond said, “but I really, really, really want to.”
The officer made a face.
“Okay, that’s weird. But you gotta leave, man,” the officer said, shaking his head and standing. “We can’t do anything about that and you’re wasting my time. Good luck, though.”
“But you don’t know what I’m capable of! Why aren’t you taking my words seriously? Don’t I look like a maniac slash future rapist?” he said, raising his voice and pointing at himself.
The officer tilted his head and looked him up and down.
“Get out.”
When Aemond slouched his way out of the police station he heard the officer’s faint words as he spoke to a colleague.
“Listen to this. So this loser walks into the station…”
***
A few days later, Luke tried to teach him how to play a game called Fortnite.
Aemond wasn’t good at it because he only knew how to play Christian games like Scrabble and charades, and even Jeopardy if his mom was feeling a little spicy on Saturday nights.
So the 4K screen kind of disturbed him, and he thought the weird gyrating dances the avatars would do when Luke pressed a button were very inappropriate. Luke’s character was dressed up in a bunch of costumes and accessories which Aemond thought looked a little ridiculous. But he decided not to comment on it, because even though he felt himself capable of vile things, he didn’t think saying that he thought Luke’s kawaii pink panda Fortnite outfit was corny was a very nice thing to say.
Aemond had to settle with a default skin and tried his best to follow Luke’s instructions, the controller clunky and heavy in his hands. Even though Aemond wasn’t very good at first, he quickly got the hang of it; Luke was a surprisingly good teacher.
“You’re a fast learner!” Luke said, punching his arm and twisting this way and that on the floor where they sat in the living room, as if that was going to help him dodge any better.
When Aemond’s character cornered him in a building, Luke screamed and tried to cover his eye, robbing him entirely of his vision. It was a dirty trick, typical of a heathen and non-believer.
Aemond was tired of his tricks.
Blinded, he instinctively reached out to push Luke away. His hand caught around Luke’s neck and interrupted his laughter, and so all that came out of him was a weird choking noise which sounded so ridiculous Aemond had to laugh, too.
There was a sound on the TV and when they both separated, the screen showed Luke’s character flopping dead in a parking lot.
“You killed me!” Luke shouted. He threw his controller behind him and tackled Aemond onto the floor.
He nudged their noses affectionately, his curly hair flopping down and framing his round face, wide smile blinding even as he looked down at Aemond cross-eyed.
“Winner gets a kiss?”
It was a childish request, and not really a request at all even though it was posed as a question. It was more of a demand, because it turned out that even though Aemond was older and Luke was younger, Luke didn’t seem to mind all that much. Clearly he knew, and deeply relished in, the power he held over Aemond unequivocally.
And so when he didn’t wait for an answer, already leaning in to kiss him, Aemond met him halfway and kissed him back.