not you, never you - Aerion Targaryen x Reader (18+)
summary - after a failed assassination, Aerion finds him unable to insatiable as the small realisation that he loves you hits him.
warnings - violence (blood), pinv, Aerion, smut.
Everything was louder in the Red Keep. Not just the incessant footsteps of the servants and guards, but the distant bustling of the smallfolk. You and Aerion planned to spend most of the year at Summerhall. You hadn’t visited yet, but just the name inspired calm in you. The Red Keep, on the other hand, set your bones on edge. You could barely sit down for more than an hour before needing to rise.
Aerion had left you over an hour ago to attend a small council meeting. Your husband, you had learnt, was full of rules. Instructions to follow and punishments if you broke them. Your thoughts drifted back to when you weren’t waiting in the baths for him after a joust. He had found you chattering with one of your ladies after nearly an hour of searching.
You had felt him before you saw him. He didn’t acknowledge you, nor apologise for the intrusion. He simply wrapped a taut arm around your waist and guided you to your rooms. You had earned two dozen spanks for that and were denied your peak for days.
“Lick your false tears, wife. I’m not done with you yet.”
You jumped from your bed at the memory. No, this will not do.
You crossed the room, taking your needlework in hand. You had been making a small trinket for Aerion to take into battle. The three-headed dragon was coming to fruition. You only had one more head to complete before it was done. Whilst Aerion was not a great appreciator of the womanly arts, you knew he would adore this symbol of your love, not only for him but for his house.
You didn’t hear the door open, nor see the shadow of the man slip into the room. The single moment that saved you was when he knocked one of Aerion’s daggers to the floor. You smiled, turning. You expected to see your husband, stone-faced but proud to find you where he left you.
Instead, a man clad in black approached with a dagger in hand. You managed a single scream before he grabbed you. Your body, despite itself, seized for a moment. Everything slowed as you saw the man draw the blade up. You don’t know what brought you back to your senses.
You brought your chin down and bit into the man’s arm. Iron filled your mouth as he cried out. His grip loosened and you knew you didn’t have much time. You hadn’t dropped your needle, and you gripped it as if it were a blade. Twisting, you brought your hand down with full force, the needle penetrating the assassin’s eye. It was then you screamed.
˚ ✦ . . ˚ . . ✦ ˚ . ★⋆. ࿐࿔ . ˚ * ✦ . . ✦ ˚ ˚ .˚ ✦ . . ˚ . ✶ ✦
The next few minutes were a blur. A chain of guards flooded the room and hoisted the man up and out. Blood stained your hands. You couldn’t look up, because then you would see the blood that painted your floors, the ruined handkerchief. You shivered, you willed yourself to stop, but your body would not obey. It was midsummer and still you couldn’t stop the chill that clawed at you.
The next set of footsteps in your rooms sent you scrambling onto your bed, and under your sheets.
The nets obscured your view, and though you wanted to see who was out there, it was as if your bones had atrophied. Then the nets parted and Aerion peered through.
His eyes, usually set in distaste, softened as they bore into you. He took one look at your huddled, shivering frame before stepping back from the bedframe.
“Wait,” you whispered.
You hadn’t thought he’d heard you. There was so much movement around you, but then he was there again.
Aerion climbed slowly onto the bed, closing the space between you. “There you are.” Aerion brought his face to your neck, your scent a reassurance that you were still there, flesh and bone. “I am going to skin him.” His voice was dry, charred but alive, the way you imagined a dragon made flesh would be.
You expected nothing less. You knew that the Brightflame would do much worse than skin your would-be assassin, but you clung to him, and Aerion, despite himself, didn’t move.
In his fist was something crumpled, and you unfurled it. It was your handkerchief. The assassin’s blood had ruined it, except for a small white patch where the dragon’s heads sat. “I’m sorry, my prince.”
“Why?”
“The handkerchief.” You sobbed, worried he would laugh at you. “I made it for your next joust, so you could carry me with you.”
You braced yourself for his curt laugh, but it never came. He simply looked down at the handkerchief before bringing it to his face. “This cloth was made by you, fire and blood. Do not feel shame for defending yourself. I should have been here.”
“It isn’t your fault.”
“I know. Yet, I was not here.”
A silence fell between you. You let your head fall upon his shoulder, and he pressed his nose to your cheek. Then his hands were on your back, and yours were on his face. You don’t know who kissed whom first, but it was fast and heavy. There was nothing simple about being with Aerion Targaryen, and that included kissing. He nipped at your lips, curled your tongue into submission, and you took it because you needed it.
“I’m going to wipe any trace of that thing off you. It will be as if he never laid eyes on you, my wife. Would you like that?”
Your answer didn’t come in words but in actions. Death had been at your doorstep, and you needed this. Needed him. To feel alive.
When you managed to extricate yourself from your husband’s embrace, you rose onto your knees, hiking your dress up. You didn’t have the energy to take it off, to be bare right now. Aerion’s fingers met the small of your back, tracing your spine to the top of your arse. He flipped you until you were on your back and he was above you.
It was a rarity, but when Aerion leaned down and kissed your lips there was no rush, almost no lust to it. Need and lust were not the same and that realisation struck you in that moment
A gasp escaped you and Aerion used the opportunity to slip his thumb into your mouth.
There was fumbling at his breeches, and then you felt him, hot and heavy at your entrance. When he entered you, you moaned around his finger and he almost whimpered in your ear.
Your sex was never silent. Aerion always had something to say, but now the only sounds that filled your chambers were your joint moans.
Somehow you forced your eyes open and found Aerion staring down at you. It was mesmerising, the way his pupil swallowed his iris, as if you were all he could see.
“You will go where I go. I will test your meals, check your horse before you ride. You will never be alone again,” Aerion spat against your ear.
The words held something you had never heard in Aerion before. Fear.
It made you tighten around him, your reluctance to let him go visceral. He rutted against you as you both reached your peaks.
When you both came, he kissed you, his spit and tears mixing with yours, becoming one as you were in marriage.
He didn’t withdraw straight away. He waited until he softened and slipped from you naturally.
It made your blood rush to your face but Aerion began to move, you gripped him so tightly you feared you would break skin.
Aerion didn't wince, nor draw away. Instead, he brought your face before his, holding you softly even as his arms tensed. “I told you, I’m not going anywhere. I will feed that peasant to the dragons tomorrow, but for now…” Aerion tapped his chest.
Your body eased and you lowered your head to him. Only then did you see that in his clenched fist was your handkerchief, crumpled and stained, yet he hadn’t let go of it. Not once.
Aerion didn’t fall asleep until you did, and even then it was a labour.