Chapter Text
Aemond stood before an altar in the great Sept. Red and black banners draped the inside, symbols of a dragon were so boldly displayed. Aemond pulled at his side, earning a hiss from his mother.
Aemond felt like a whore. Early in the morrow, when he awoke to his dreadful fate, Aemond was dressed in quite a handsome jerkin. Green and gold lined the thing. His trousers were tightly fitted, and his undershirt was layered with a plain corset to make him look more ‘omega-like’. His hair was combed to the side, emeralds laced into some of the strands. Aemond looked like a Hightower; he felt like one. If he were truly a Targaryen, a dragon rider, he wouldn’t be forced to marry anyone, to kneel of bare his neck, no. Aemond would be out on a battlefield, he’d be slinging his sword, crushing Alpha's skull, but no, the Gods had it out for him.
Despite the fact, Aemond felt handsome in his clothes. His mother brushed tears from her eyes and pinched his cheeks. It was a sad fate, Aemond presenting and omega, but it was the hand he’d been dealt. And in the little happiness this cursed day had allowed him, his sister, his future wife, just had to ruin it.
In came her ladies in waiting, unusual for an alpha female to have, holding a dress. His father and sister decided that Aemond's humiliation had yet to begin. On the king's order, he was stripped bare; the emeralds in his hair were cut out, his jerkin and trousers gone. Replaced by them was a deep black velvet gown. It clashed against Aemond paper pale skin, clinging to his form like spilled ink. On the dress was golden embroidery shaped up the cloth like molten fire. There were open hip slits, scandalously high that exposed the hard curve of his thighs. His mother wept harder at the sight of it.
The bodice, molded like a golden breastplate of vines and lionlike curls pressed against his chest. It caught in the candlelight like armor, but this armor was designed to tempt rather than protect. The chains around his neck would settle like a collar, another pretty mark his sister wished to have on him. The back of the dress did not exist. It dipped into a whorish plunge that exposed the length of his spine, and a long black train followed it.
Her ladies in waiting let down his hair. They braided pieces in matching gold threads and placed a dragon clip in the back. They marveled at him in the mirror. Aemond looked to be a woman. A titless woman. The sorrowful face of his mother was turned quickly to scorn, not at him.
Once Rhaenyra’s ladies left, his mother ran her hand across the bare of his back, “ She wishes to present you as her whore,”
Now Aemond stood at the altar. His family was dressed in their usual green. Daeron, who rarely visited them, stood next to his mother. He eyed Aemond sadly, but Aemond only scoffed. Surely his brother was only sad. Rhaenyra beat him to the chase; if not, his sister, Aemond, would’ve been given to Daeron. He’d rather it. He knew his brother, he cared for him, he loved his brother. Not in the way a wife loved a husband, but he loved him nonetheless.
Who was Rhaenyra to him? The mother of the brat who maimed him? The bitch of Dragonstone? She had had no resemblance to an alpha. She was a buxom woman with a fair face. Rhaenyra knew not of swords, of war; she never marched to battle. No, she bore children! An ability very few alpha women had and even fewer used because it was demeaning. But no, not his sister, she reveled in the fact that she was a broodmare, married the poor beta Laenor, and killed him after he threatened to expose her secrets. Her bastards. Now Aemond would have to play father to her pups and give her more, no doubt.
Aemond was snapped out of his thoughts by trumpets blowing. The guest finally sat, and for the first time that day, Aemond looked up at Rhaenyra.
Instead of a dress, his sister wore a bodice that rose like a phoenix’s breastplate, reimagined in sculpted molten gold; she wore no thread, just gold cast and molded to curve perfectly to her form, the feathered shapes transformed into flames licking up her sides and over her chest.
Her trousers, an onyx velvet, hugged her like a second skin, etched faintly with Valyrian glyphs in deep red, spells or blessings from their ancestors, perhaps. At her feet, dragon-claw boots—arched, cruel, and glinting with red enamel tips. His sister wore dramatic red sleeves that remain, but the fabric is sheer silk, almost translucent, with gold foil stitched through the weave to glisten like embers. Gold cuffs cinch the wrists, shaped like open dragon mouths, fangs resting against her skin.
She wore one cloak of Targaryen red velvet, lined with black fur from some mythical beast, and carried another that had their family's sigil etched into he back of it. Rhaenyra wore no crown, not yet, not ever, Aemond hoped. Aemond eyed the cloak, his mouth twisting as the High Speton finished his blessing.
“Cloak your bride!” He announced greatly, lifting his hands. Rhaenyra smiled. She took the cloak and covered Aemond in it. The thing was large, larger than it looked in her hands, it engulfed Aemond's entire body and still trailed behind him.
Rhaenyra grabbed his hand, turning him and lifting their intertwined fingers before the crowd. The sight almost made Aemond vomit. All his sister was missing was some stupid speech about their family finally being united. Aemond was sure someone would give it at their feast.
He walked out of the sept and into a topless carriage with his sister. She placed a pouch of coins in his lap.
“Smile, Aemond. Today is a joyous day. Give to the needy.” She smiled her fake smile and tossed silver from their carriage. The smallfolk scream their name. Aemond wished to throw the pouch in her face; maybe his father would behead him for the treason, a fate he much preferred. But instead, Aemond turned to the sea of smallfolk, he forced a gentle smile, one omega brides were supposed to carry. He tossed the coin to the people who screamed praise at him in return.
This would be his future, pretending to care for the smallfolk. Rhaenyra would never allow him on the Small Council as his father allowed his mother. She would keep him away, hidden, while she spread her legs as the whore she was.
When the arrived at the keeps gates, Aemond was whisked away, he hair touched up and corset pulled tighter. He was brought back out to the great diningl hall and placed next ot his wife.
The feast was important. The great hall was choked with perfume and important guests. Northernmen and Dornishmen came for the event. Myrrh and spiced wine swirled in the air, drowning out the sickly scent of sweat and roses. Banners of House Targaryen waved overhead, but none flew green.
Aemond sat beside Rhaenyra on the raised dais, his black-and-gold gown heavy against the carved wood chair. The cloak she’d draped over him still weighed on his shoulders. He hadn’t dared remove it. To do so might start a war, or worse, provoke a speech.
He hadn’t spoken a word since they left the sept. Rhaenyra, beside him, was radiant with false joy, drinking sweetwine and laughing daintily at compliments from lords who once called her a whore behind closed doors. Now they groveled.
Aemond stared ahead, still and hollow.
He’d barely tasted the roasted duck or the sugared grapes laid before him. His corset was tight enough to bruise, and every swallow made him nauseous. The only thing worse than the food was the attention. Every lord and lady in the hall had looked upon him today. They stared at him in his black velvet and gold chains like he were the crown jewel of the Targaryen treasury. Or a royal plaything, which he most likely was.
His mother, still teary-eyed, sat next to his father. Her sadness was overcome by joy upon seeing her daughter. His mother held Helanea close to her, rubbing her hand on Helanea's swollen belly. His sister, apart from the rest of his family, wore a light blue with lavender threading. He was with her third child. Aemond winced. He’d succumb to the same fate soon enough.
The feast for the most part, was not bad. But like all things Aemond loved, it would soo be ruined by his family. It was in the calm of the feast, while Aemond had struken up a conversation with his cousin Rhaena. She sat beside him in a pink and gold gown, it was beautiful and complement her complexion. Aemond had said so which led to their conversation.
“My mother has been eyeing your brother as a contestant for my hand,” Rhanea giggled. She kept a white feathered fan before her face. She leaned into Aemond's ear, “I quite like him; he is very funny, but Lady Arryn has a regalness to her, he lacks.”
Aemond nodded in agreement. “But my brother is good with a sword, a skill Lady Arryn can’t grasp. What if you found yourself in trouble? I’d rather an alpha who can fight in my defense.”
Rhaena nodded. She pondered his words while Aemond laughed to himself at the irony. Rhaenyra could not fight to protect either of them. She could order guards, but she could wield no sword. Before Rhaena could respond, Aegon burst through the doors.
His older brother had arrived late to the feast, already half-soused. Dressed in wrinkled green, with his shirt halfway unlaced and his smile crooked, he burst into the hall like a drunk bard and shouted.
“Has anyone seen my dear sister-brother bridegroom?”
The room went silent. Aemond shut his eye. The smile on Rhaenyra's lips twitched with restrained glee.
Aegon staggered up the steps toward them, waving away guards and nearly dropping his goblet twice. His cheeks were ruddy, his gait uneven. Wine sloshed onto his boots.
“Aemond!” he barked. “There you are! Tell me, little brother, do they call you ‘Princess’ now? Must you curtsy?”
A few lords coughed awkwardly. Some tried to laugh. Aemond's mother pressed a napkin to her lips, trembling.
“I’ve got coin on whether she beds you tonight or makes you bed her,” Aegon added with a grin. “Care to place a wager?”
Aemond said nothing. He simply sipped his wine, lips trembling just slightly. He felt the veins on his neck pop. Rhaena placed her small hand over his own to provide some comfort, but it only seemed to egg Aegon on. His brother watched their clasped hands and opened his mouth to say another cruel jest when Rhaenyra leaned toward Aegon, voice light but edged. “If you can’t hold your drink and tongue, brother, I’ll take one from you.”
“Oh, I can hold both,” Aegon slurred. He bowed or attempted to and stumbled across the table and collapsed into an empty seat next to their sister.
Aemond did not look at him again. He never wished to see Aegon for the rest of his life. The dining hall ran silent until the King ordered music to play again. Rhaena continued their conversation. She gossiped with Aemond about a young Lady named Alis, or Alane. Whatever her name was, she was pregnant out of wedlock.
Soon after, when the calm atmosphere had finally returned, after the boar was carved and dancers had taken the floor, a hush swept the room. Daemon Targaryen rose.
The Rogue Prince. The Black Snake. His doublet was unfastened at the throat, and his silver hair shimmered like moonlight caught in blood. His wife, Lady Laena, sat next to him, her blue gown adorned with seashells and silver.
He held a goblet aloft, and the room turned toward him.
“A toast,” he said, voice sharp. “To the happy couple.”
The crowd murmured approval, some lifting their cups. Daemon smiled, and it was not kind.
“To my beautiful niece,” he began, gazing at Rhaenyra with mock affection. “And to her most exquisite prize. My, my, Aemond, you do clean up nicely.”
The hall shifted, unsure whether to laugh or squirm. Aemond’s fingers clenched the stem of his glass until his knuckles went white. Daemon’s voice dropped low, purring over the crowd. “May the gods bless your union with many long nights. And should Rhaenyra ever tire of your charming company…” He sipped, looking down at his wife, “…you know where to find us.”
The silence was complete. Then, a few shocked chuckles. Then more. Then laughter—loud, raucous, echoing. Wine splashed from goblets, and someone clapped. Aegon howled. And his dear wife Rhaenyra joined in on the laughter, her eyes locked on Aemond.
Aemond couldn’t breathe. His face burned. His stomach twisted in revulsion, in rage, in something deeper he could not name. He looked at his mother, but she would not meet his eye. He looked to Daeron, who sat frozen, furious, and then back at his own lap. His thighs were exposed. His chest cinched and gleaming. He felt naked.
Daemon raised his goblet once more and offered a final sneer. “To being shared,” he said. “A true Targaryen tradition.” His uncle sat down, and the room felt livelier than before. His guest all found themself overjoyed by Aemond’s humiliation.
“I’m sorry about him. He gets like that when he’s drunk,” Rhaena winced guiltily. Her hand was still on Aemonds, and he found himself gripping it slightly.
“Don’t be,” Aemond said, “I think you should marry a lesser lord.” Aemond paused. “They’re less trouble.”
The feast continued. Aemond remained stiff, silent, his smile long gone. He barely flinched when Aegon sang bawdy songs and drunkenly offered to test his womb. He didn’t react when Rhaenyra pressed her hand to his thigh beneath the table, nails grazing the slit of his gown. He didn’t scream when Daemon winked at him from across the hall.
But gods, he wanted to. He wanted to tear off the gown, the chains, the golden threads. He wanted to run until the silk shredded behind him and the paint melted from his face. Instead, he poured himself more wine and smiled.
By the middle of the feast, Rhaenyras’ hand was comfortably set mid-thigh. Her fingers brushed dangerously close to the in of his thighs. Aemond paid it no mind for his sister would not be so bold.
“And then I told the fool if he could not win an omega in a fight, he could not expect to win one's hand,” Aemond mused about a failed bout. Rhaena laughed with him.
“Poor fool, it is always the cocky ones who never back their bark.”
“I know, now tell me of your dear cousin Varys, I heard he got in some trouble with Lord Coryls.”
Rhaena nodded, she turned to her body to Aemond as if she’d been waiting to share the gossip with someone. Rhaena started at the beginning of her story, at some family dinner her grandsire was set on having. Every person who carried the name Velaryon had to be in attendance. That's when Aemond felt it, Rhaenyra’s fingers slipping between his thighs.
Aemond gasped. He shut his leg together tighter, but Rhaenyra was determined to keep going. She wiggled her fingers deeper and higher up Aemond's thigh. He squeezed his legs together, but his sister did not stop, and he placed his hand over hers.
“And then Varys kicked the table over like a scorned child.”
“Mhmm,” Aemond feigned interest. His wine goblet trembled slightly in his hand. He imagined his cheeks must’ve been pink with embarrassment, though he didn’t dare reach up to feel them. Rhaenyra leaned in to his ear. Aemond expected her to whisper some foul insult into his ear, but instead, she opened her mouth slightly, letting her breath tickle the side of his face. And then she bit him.
A small, wicked nip at the very top of his ear. Not enough to break skin, just enough to make him jump. Aemond’s goblet clinked against his plate.
“Grandisre was furious, but that's not even the worst of it,” Rhaena went on.
“Mhmm,” Aemond replied, voice tight and hollow. Rhaenyra leaned in closer.
Aemond blinked rapidly. He forced himself to still, to return his goblet to the table. His hands itched. His spine itched. His corset itched. Everything itched, and Rhaenyra sat beside him like a cat toying with a trembling mouse.
Rhaenyra was still too close. Her shoulder pressed against his. Her fingers trailed lightly along the edge of the fur-lined cloak still wrapped around him, stroking it like one might a favored pet.
Rhaena continued, obliviously, with her rambling. And for another hour or so, Aemond enjoyed it. They spoke of more gossip, then life on Dragonstone, then of the dress Rhaena was wearing and the dress Aemond wore.
The great hall had begun to die down. Nobles sat with cleared dishes and dulled of cheer, and the torches now burned low—amber-gold and red, casting long shadows against stone. The windows, which used to shine in light, only displayed the night sky full of stars. Aemond stared out of one, Rhaena still speaking to him. He wished to be with said stars. He was a man grown with no dragon of his own, still hitching rides with Helaena and Aegon whenever they wished it.
The warmth of the hall did nothing to chase the cold from his fingers. The High Septon had long since departed. The nobility now buzzed with a drunk anticipation that Aemond dreaded.
“My siblings take me on rides with their dragons,” Aemond spoke. Rhaena stopped her rambling, she shifted back in her seat knowingly. Aemond was not speaking to her. He looked over at Rhaenyra, who smiled toward him.
“Is that what you wish for, Aemond? A ride with Syrrax and I?”
“Not one, many. If I’m to be your broodmare, I deserve to know the glory of flying.”
“Make a bet with me, sweetling,” Rhaenyra whispered to him. “Become with child in the next four moons, and not only will I take you to fly, but I’ll allow you to try and claim one of the many dragons on Dragonstone.”
Aemond turned his head then, just barely, and looked at her. There was no warmth in his eye. Rhaenyra was smirking down at his slumped form. Of course, she found this amusing. His fingers tightened around the goblet. The edge of it cracked faintly under the strain.
“You offer me a dragon,” he said quietly, “in exchange for a womb full of your seed.”
Rhaenyra straightened with a soft chuckle. “Your womb will be filled with my seed either way, Aemond. I just want to make your life exciting.”
Aemond said nothing. Across the hall, Aegon had slumped fully over the table, one arm dangling to the floor. Daemon watched all from his corner, swirling his wine with an amused gleam.
Aemond turned back to the window. He watched the stars again and wondered what it might feel like to fall from them. Would he feel the impact, his body against the stone floor? Aemond would prefer that impact to whatever he was feeling at the moment.
And as if the Gods heard his thought, the shift in the hall changed. Aemond groaned, knowing he’d feel something different very soon.
“Come now! It’s tradition! A bedding must be had! For union’s sake!” Aegon stood and raised his cup, tired of waiting. Aemond’s throat closed.
He had hoped, prayed, Rhaenyra would forgo this part of the farce. That she would parade him at the altar and leave it at that. But no. She stood silently and extended her hand toward him. Aemond had dreaded the bedding ceremony since he presented. Alphas tearing at his clothes, grabbing on him, while omegas gathered and lifted his future mate to their rooms.
Aemond heard the horrid tales. The tradition was barbaric. From his first heat, he was trained to remain pure, and now he’d be stripped and paraded. It was the world laughing at him. Aemond’s life had become a joke.
The hall hushed before it burst out in song. The cries began.
“Strip the bride!”
“Off with the cloak!”
“Let us see what lies beneath!”
Aemond rose unwillingly, Rhaenyras' hand hooked under one of his arms.
The Targaryen cloak, the massive, suffocating thing, was the first to go. Rhaenyra pulled it from his shoulders herself, folding it as if she were removing armor after battle. The crowd roared with laughter and whistles.
Aemond stood in the black and gold gown, its slits wide, his corset tight, his shame deeper than the gods could fathom.
The men and women of court descended like wolves. Rhaenyra’s ladies-in-waiting approached first. They undid the braids in his hair, letting the gold-threaded strands tumble freely around his face. One unhooked the dragon pin and held it up with a smirk before tossing it into the crowd.
Aemond was lifted by a mob of alphas. Their hands were everywhere on him. A hand slid beneath the chains of his bodice, unfastening them with ease. The bodice peeled away as they carried him out of the dining hall and towards Rhaenyras' room. Aemond shrieked a distress cry as another hand tried to reach his chest. He reached to cover himself, though flat-chested, some fool shouted how pink and pointy his nipples were.
Aemond was bare from the waist up. He was thin and toned, soft in places he hated. The gown was next. One of Rhaenyra’s sworn shields tore the seam at his hip. The velvet slipping from him with every step towards his new chambers. Aemond lay in the pool of hands, his small clothes a last protection. He heard someone laugh, perhaps Aegon, and then a coin hit the small of his stomach, followed by another and another.
Aemond felt the tears swell in his eyes. The nobles stopped at his rooms, the doors opened, and Aemond was shoved inside. Soon after, Rhaenyra joined him. She was more clothed than he was, her trousers unlaced, cloak gone, and corset unlaced.
Aemond stood before the edge of their bed. He was trembling, whether with anger or fear, he could not say; Aemond felt both immensely in the moment.
“Such a tiny waist, brother,” Rhaenyra mused. “However did you swing a sword?”
Rhaenyra took a step closer, and Aemond took one back. He stood there, stripped, humiliated, and displayed before his sister, before lords and ladies who once bowed to him. Rhaenyra undid the clasps of her golden armor and let it fall piece by piece.
“Come to me, brother,” Rhaenyra ordered as she sat on the side of the bed. Her back faced Aemond, and he could attack her. While she sat there, straight-backed and cocky, Aemond could end his suffering in one quick moment.
“Do I have to say everything twice with you?” she asked. Aemond did not attack her. He shuffled over, his feet dragging across the stone floor. He moved until he stood before Rhaenyra. Her breast spilled out, full and round. Rhaenyra sat with her trousers unlaced. She motioned for Aemond to come closer, and he did.
“Kneel.” A moment passed, then another. Aemond remained on his feet. He was no dog; he did not just blindly obey her. Aemond balled his fist to his sides. His sister hummed. She pulled the rest of her trousers down, her cock springing free. Aemond cast his eyes down.
“Aemond, please, don’t make this harder than it needs to be. I’ll call Daemon here if need be,” Rhaenrya said. Aemond opened and closed his mouth like a fish, then, slowl,y he knelt. Rhaenyra just hummed, her hand caressing Aemond's face, her thumb pressing against his lips.
Aemond growled as his sister's thumb forcefully parted his lips. She ran her finger against his teeth. “I’ve never had my cock sucked, y’know?”
Aemond choked as Rhaenyra plunged her thumb deeper in his mouth. Saliva pooled under his tongue while Aemond reached up the Rhaenyras' knees. She swatted his arms away with he spare hand, her eyes commanding him not to move.
“I’ve always been on the giving end. I thought this marriage was a punishment from our father, but no. He is allowing me to truly understand the glories of being an alpha.”
“Behave for me,” she continued, “I want to enjoy this, so I need you to behave for me, Aemond. Remember our deal.”
Rhaenyra forced Aemond's head down. She guided his lone eye directly to her cock. It was long, longer than Aemond imagined, but Aemond cried at the thickness. Surely that wasn’t meant to go inside him?
His sister's cock was half-hard. The tip glistened with cum. Aemond felt his tears increase.
“Open wide, brother.”
Aemond felt his cheeks cover in the same embarrassed hue from earlier. Aemond hesitated until his head was jerked forward by Rhaenyras' grip on his scalp. Aemond’s tongue darted out as ordered. He licked and sucked the tip and sides of Rhaenyras cock. Anything to try and not take the whole of it down his throat.
Rhaenyra purred, her grip on his hair loosened enough to stop the pain, but not forget her presence. His sister pushed his face under cock. She laughed, looking down at Aemond, her cock sitting on the bad half of his face.
She ushered him further back. Aemond hovered under her balls. He let his breath brush them before taking them into his mouth. Rhaenyras' hand came down to rub herself as Aemond sucked on her.
“Gods Aemond,” Rhaenyra purred, “and I thought you some pious maiden.”
Aemond's cheeks flushed a deep red hue. Something in him was enjoying this. He liked seeing Rhaenyra become undone by his mouth. Seeing her lean back on her hands and spread her legs wider. Behind her balls, Aemond could see it, the thick lips of his sister cunt, glistening just as the head of her cock did. Against his better judgment, Aemond was pulled off his sister's balls, a popping sound coming from his mouth. He sat back on his kneeled legs, catching his breath.
Aemond could only imagine how he looked. He could feel the heat of his face and the saliva running out of the sides of his mouth. Rhaenyrs ushered him closer once again. Aemond leaned in. She held her cock in one hand, tapping the tip on Aemond's lips until he got the hint and opened them.
“You’re so perfect, Aemond. A perfect little whore just for me,” Aemond purred as Rhaenyra forced his lips open wider and sank into his mouth. Aemond chokes. He places his hand on Rhaenyras' thighs, pushing hard against her. His eye filled rapidly with tears. However, his sister cared for none of it. She grumbled under her breath.
“You wish to call yourself a man, but you can barely take half my cock?” Rhaenyra pulls him off by the hair. Aemond gasped for breath, his body shaking. He wanted to take it. He could take it.
Aemond tried to take his sister's cock back into his mouth, but a harsh slap came across his face. The sting bloomed across his cheek, red and immediate. The air itself seemed to recoil. Aemond froze, breath caught in his throat.
Rhaenyra stared at him, hand still half-raised. Her expression had shifted from coy to cold in a heartbeat. He had angered her. Gods Aemond could do nothing right. That's why the Gods had punished him; he could not serve as a knight, he never listened to his betters.
Aemond shook, jaw clenched. His one eye blurred and blinked rapidly, trying to burn back the sting, but it was no use. The tears came anyway.
Hot and fast, they rolled down his scarred cheek, slipping into the corners of his mouth. He hated how they tasted mixed with the salty taste of his sister. He turned his face from her, but it didn’t matter.
She saw. Of course, she saw. Aemond flinched when her hand came down again; he expected another slap, another blow for his useless behavior, but instead Rhaenyra cradled his face.
“It’s alright,” she cooed, “you’re new at this. Take your time, and only take what I give you.”
Aemond nodded readily. He wanted to please her. He wanted to show his sister that he was no failure and that he could come to her. He didn’t wish for their marriage to be like Helaena and Aegon's. He didn’t want his alpha seeking pleasure from a whore. He could give her pleasure; he could be good.
“Open up,” she commanded. Aemond parted his mouth until he felt the side begin to burn. Rhaenyra spat into his mouth, and she brought her cock back to Aemond's parted lips. He sat prettily, as pretty as he could be, and waited for her. Rhaenyra gave him no warning; she shoved her cock deep into Aemond's throat. Aemond choked, but neither he nor his alpha seemed to care. Rhaenyra just pushed herself deeper. Aemond cries again, but a surge of pride comes from his chest as his nose crashes into Rhaenyra's pubes.
Between her cock and hair, Aemond truly could not breathe, but he did not care. Rhaenyra praised him, stroking the back of his head.
“So good, you tried so hard for me, baby,” Rhaenyra moaned. She fucked his mouth for what felt like hours. Aemond followed her orders; he moved his tongue against the bottom and stuck his ‘pretty little ass’ out for his sister to see. Aemond felt his own cock harden. He was being used like a whore, and it felt great.
That’s what Aemond is. He is his alpha’s whore. He is Rhaenyras whore. Rhaenyra held his head in place, thrusting into his mouth with little care. Aemond’s thoughts quiet; he focused only on keeping his jaw loose and his head in place.
When Rhaenyra pulled her cock from Aemond's mouth, the omega coughed slightly. A trail of spit connected the two of them. Aemond looked up slowly, lashes wet, lips parted, flushed and trembling. He was on his knees, his small clothes pooled in a heap behind him. Aemond felt his sweat-damp hair sticking to his shoulder. Aemond waited patiently for his sister's praise. Fortunately, the wait wasn’t long, for Rhaenyra was quick to give it.
“There you are,” she whispered. “That’s my sweet thing.”
Aemond swallowed again and let out the faintest, shaking sound, something between a gasp and a whimper.
“You did so well,” Rhaenyra murmured, lowering herself until her lips ghosted across his temple. “You took me so well. So eager. So desperate.”
He blinked, another tear slipping down, but he leaned into her palm all the same.
“Say it,” she commanded, softly but firmly. “Say what you are.”
“I’m yours,” Aemond whimpered. “I’m your omega, your whore.”
A slow smile curved her lips. She kissed his tear-stained cheek, then stood tall, letting him remain kneeling before her. Aemond leaned his head on his alpha's thigh. He purred loudly, thanking her for her praise.
Rhaenyra stripped the rest of her clothes; her heavy breast sprang free with the pudge of her stomach. She finally rid herself completely of her trousers and positioned herself at the edge of their bed. This time, she knelt. “Come, Aemond. Present yourself for me.”
The hue of Aemond's cheeks darkened. He remembered they days after his presentation, when the measters had given him books of detailed drawings. He saw omegas like himself with their rears pressed into the air and their heads into the floor. Aemond was angry at the time; he didn’t know why, but he was angry. Aemond thought his old self to be a fool. There was nothing that he wanted more than to present himself to Rhaenyra.
Aemond's legs shook as he stood. He looked down at the pool of slick that had collected under him. With three off-balance steps, Aemond made it to the bed. He slowly lowered the top of his body into the sheet while leaving his lower half up. Slick dripped down his thighs. Aemond scrunched his toes together; the hairs on his arms stood. He waited one moment, then another, and another, but Rhaenyra had yet to approach him.
Aemond continued to hold himself still, his face buried in the sheets, the scent of Rhaenyra’s perfume and his own slick thick in his lungs. His arms trembled where they braced him, but still, she didn’t move. Rhaenyra didn’t touch him or mount him. She didn’t even speak.
The silence rang in his ears louder than any praise or insult ever could. His mind spun. Was he doing it wrong? Was his arch too high? Was she waiting for him to beg?
Another drop of slick slid down the inside of his thigh. His toes curled tighter into the linen. His face burned.
“Please,” he whispered finally, voice cracking in the still air. “Please alpha, I need you.”
Still, nothing. Aemond turned his head slightly, peeking over his shoulder, and there she was—watching him.
Rhaenyra knelt at the edge of the bed, as she had been, her naked body golden in the firelight. But she wasn’t preparing to take him. She was simply staring.
“Hush now,” she said. Finally ,under Aemond's star,e Rhaenyra outstretched her hands, gripping the fat of Aemond’s ass. “I’ve been admiring you, my sweet. Admiring the way your little back curved,” she said. Her hand delved into the small of Aemond’s back, her fingertips tracing his spine down to his waist. “Admiring the way your hips twitch and how pretty your hair looks spilled over your shoulders.” Rharnyra’s hand slid down his thighs. Aemond felt the heat of her hands pass his cunt. It sent a shiver up his spine.
A whimper caught in Aemond's throat. He pushed his ass out farther, closer to Rhaenyra, who only chuckled, “I’m admiring the way you offer yourself to me, omega.”
“Rhaenyra—alpha, please,” Aemond whined. Rhaenyra stayed quiet. Aemond could hear movement behind him. He steadied himself, bracing for the pressure of Rhaenyra’s cock. Instead, he felt the soft padding of her tongue.
Rhaenyra began to lick his hole. Aemond cried out a moan as he pushed his hips back. He felt his sister's fingers dig into his ass. She pulled at his cheeks, her tongue thrusting in and out of him over and over again. Aemond shamelessly yelled into their empty room.
He was dirty there; she wasn’t supposed to lick him there. Aemond felt his legs buckle. It felt so good. Rhaenyras' tongue felt so good against him. Aemond tried to tell her he was dirty, but all that came out of his mouth was moans and high-pitched squeals.
“You taste so good, Aemond,” Rhaenyra sang out. She bent down over Aemond, her breast pressed against his shoulder blade. Aemond could smell the slick—his slick on her face. It was smeared across her chin, her lips glistening with him. The whole scene was degenerate; it made Aemond shudder.
Rhaenyra smiled at his reaction, and her hand came up to cradle his jaw, turning his face toward hers with an almost reverent gentleness.
“Aemond,” she whispered.
He blinked up at her, dazed, eyes glassy and cheeks flushed. His lips trembled and parted slightly. His alpha looked so beautiful. She was so beautiful and all his. During his state of awe, Rhaenyra kissed him.
The kiss wasn’t tender. His sister claimed his lips with so much force, slick began to gush from Aemond cunt. Aemond whimpered softly as she pressed her mouth to his, lips sticky with the taste of him. He could taste it too—himself on her tongue, thick and bitter and wet. He moaned into her mouth. Shame washed over him, and yet he didn’t pull away.
Her tongue slid past his lips, coaxing a response, coaxing obedience. Her free hand cupped his throat, thumb pressing softly against his scent gland, as if reminding him of what she would soon own.
Aemond kissed her back. Really just opening his mouth and letting her explore. He felt disgusting, to be acting so needy before the woman he would have once considered his enemy. But he felt disgusting because he wanted more. Aemond wanted Rhaenyra to ruin in ways that would make him desirable to nobody but herself.
Rhaenyra pulled back just enough to whisper against his lips, “Beg for what you want, Aemond.”
“Please, I need you,”
“Need me where, Aemond? Where do you need your alpha?”
Aemond reached back; his fingers touched the lips of his cunt, spreading it slightly. “Here, I need you in here. Alpha—Nyra—sister, please.”
“Where’s here, my love?” Rhaenyra mused. Aemond groaned in frustration. She knew what he meant. Aemond shook his ass. He pushed back again and again, but his sister would not budge. With teary eyes, Aemond looked over his shoulder, his fingers still spreading his lips, “In my cunt! I need your cock in my cunt, please, alpha!”
Rhaenyra smiled at his words, pleased with Aemond’s begging. Aemond felt her cock rub against his cunt. It was big, so big Aemond could not believe he fit any of it in his mouth. Aemond wants it inside him. He needs it inside him.
“Issa gevie līve,” Rhaenyra called out. Aemond loved how she spoke to him in their mother tongue. He whined, wiggling his hips more.
Aemond gasped when he felt the tip of Rhaenyra’s cock slip between his folds. She stayed still a moment with only the tip in Aemond. “Sister.” Aemond moaned.
The next second, he screamed into the sheets. Rhaenyra shoved the rest of her cock into Aemond's cunt. Aemond’s mouth was open, gasping and drooling. Gods, Aemond felt so full. He felt so content split open his alpha.
“So this is what it feels like,” RHaenyra whispered. It clearly wasn’t for Aemond, but he cared not. His alpha sounded pleased with him. “You’re so fucking tight,” Rhaenyra gasped. She started grinding her hips, not yet thrusting but allowing Aemond to get used to her.
“I hope you’re ready, Aemond. I can’t hold on any longer,” Rhaenyrs groaned. Before Aemond could agree with her, she began thrusting her cock in and out of Aemond. Rhaenyra didn’t bother to start slow; her movements were harsh and fast.
Aemond preened in her praise with every frantic thrust. Lost to her lust, Rhaenyra fucked into him. His alpha told him how pretty he was and how his moans were so sexy. She gripped onto Aemond's hips, digging her fingers into the flesh, but Aemond felt nothing but pleasure.
Rhaenyra was so big that every thrust hit the tip of his womb. It drove Aemond crazy. His jaw stayed slack, mouth open, while he moaned out Rhaenyras' name.
“So sweet, so needy for me,” Rhaenyra cooed. His sister reeled one hand back and smacked Aemond hard on his ass. Aemond cried out. He lifted his head. moaning out into the open instead of their mattress.
“You like it when I hit you, omega?”
“Yes!” Aemond cried as she smacked him again. Aemond repeated his words again and again with every slap. His alpha was enjoying this. She was enjoying him. Aemond could barely catch his breath, between his moaning and the thrusts.
Rhaenyras cock stuffed him over and over and over again until it began to grow. Aemond panicked with a sudden realization; it was his alpha’s knot. Aemond could feel it forming at the base of Rhaenyra’s cock.
“Relax, Aemond,” Rhaenyra ordered. “You’re gonna be good and take it. Be good for me. ”
Aemond gripped the bedsheets hard. His vision disappeared as his alpha's swollen base stuffed itself in his cunt. Multiple shots of pleasure washed over his body. Aemond shivered at what he thought was the height of his pleasure until he felt his sister's fang come down over his scent gland.
Aemond froze—his entire body locked in that one perfect, unbearable second.
“Please,” he whispered. Or maybe begged or pleaded. The pain was immediate, white-hot, and piercing. His entire body arched violently off the bed, a strangled cry ripping from his throat as his pleasure warped into something outworldly.
His neck burned. Her fangs sank deep into the gland beneath his skin. A sickening crunch sounded the room. Aemond’s slick gushed in response; his whole body betrayed him.
Rhaenyra groaned against his neck, her grip tightening on his hips as her scent flooded the room. The bond ignited between them like a whipcord pulling taut. Aemond was hers now. The thought alone made Aemond sob.
Tears spilled from his eye, his lips trembling against the pillow. The pain was fading, and Aemond was reminded again of the powerful orgasm his sister had given him. Aemond howled louder than he had that entire night, his body convulsing and twitching as cum dripped out of his cunt. Rhaenyra licked at the blood that welled from his neck, her tongue slow, indulgent.
“Holy fuck,” Rhaenyra gasped. Slumped over Aemond, having shoved herself as deeply as possible into Aemond. “You’re so sight, Aemond. Just squeezing my knot like a whore. Issa prūmia, issa jorrāelagon.” Rhaenyra murmured. She pressed on Aemond's stomach, feeling her knot from the outside.
“You’ll hold all my children right here,” Rhaenyra whispered. Aemond would. He’d create the perfect children for his alpha. How many she wanted. Aemond would give her the healthiest, prettiest pups.