Hello 💜 Can we please get someone bold enough to sneak into Aemond's chambers (maybe a lady-in-waiting, servant, writer's choice) and smutty shenanigans ensue?? 👀
tysm for the prompt my angel!!
Pairing: Aemond x servant!reader
Word count: 2.3k
Summary: You have had one moment of passion with Prince Aemond before, and you find yourself wanting another. So you go to his chambers, and find him willing. Wanting. - Heterosexual sex, vaginal sex, possessive Aemond
Warnings: none
It's late, too late for you to be anywhere but your own bed. Although the lights outside have faded to black, there is a fire between your thighs, and you seek the one who has sparked it.
It is the elder brother known for depravity. He takes what he wants and doesn't care for the whims of his targets. The young brother isn't like that, though. When he had first taken you roughly by the throat and pinned you to the wall, he had waited for you to say yes before continuing. Soon, he had you not just consenting but begging.
So that's why you slip into the prince's chamber under the guise of a full plate and flagon of wine. It's a sweet pink wine, less strong than the Arbour red his brother seeks oblivion with. Prince Aemond is sat in front of the great fireplace, and he turns his head to watch you slip in. His eye is fixed on you as you set the food down on the table and pour a cup of wine. With your gaze on the floor, you walk over to him and present it to him.
"I did not summon you." His voice is quiet. He looks at the cup, and then back at your face. He doesn't take it.
"No, my prince, you didn't." His voice is like silk over your skin, slipping across it and holding you fast.
"Then why did you come?"
"To serve."
His lips quirk up at that. "Try again."
Your eyes flick up to meet his. His silver hair almost looks gold in the light of the flames. "To take."
"Hmm."
With more boldness than you actually feel, you raise the cup brought for him to your own lips, and take a long sip.
"Is it just my wine you wish to take?" he asks.
You lick your lips. "What else are you willing to give?"
"Well, that's the thing about taking, isn't it? It can't be taken if it's freely given."
You try to hide your grin. Prince Aemond thinks he is far cleverer than he actually is. The folly of those born to high stations is misplaced confidence, you think. They always believe themselves to be the wisest and most intelligent people in any room they occupy. But they don't know anything, not really. "Oh, I don't know about that. I'd say you thoroughly took what was freely given."
Prince Aemond reaches out a hand and touches your skirt. "It matters not whether it was freely given or otherwise. As you said, you come here to serve."
"I am a servant, not a slave," you reply as you take a step back.
He watches you intently. "You think there is a difference?"
"You think there is not?"
"I still have my free will, my prince."
"Is that so?"
You nod.
"So if you wished to leave, you would, even if I commanded you to stay?" He stands up and takes a step towards you.
You have to tilt your chin up to look at him. "Why would you command me to stay?"
"For the same reason you came in the first place."
"What if I've changed my mind?"
He gently grasps your chin and brings his face closer to yours. You hate how being this close to him makes your eyes close. "Then we return to the matter of taking what is not freely given."
"I don't think you'd do that to me," you breathe. "You are not your brother."
"Hmm. Do you wish I was?"
"Do you wish that?"
His touch is rougher. Suddenly, he spins you in his arms and the cup of wine goes flying from your hands and clatters on the floor. Some spills into the fire, and it spits angrily. The prince's arms wrap around you possessively to pull your back against his chest. "You forget yourself, wench."
"I'm no wench," you remind him smugly. "You don't pay me for my cunt."
When he hisses against your ear, you press back against him. "Perhaps I should. Perhaps then you would remember your place."
"And what is my place, my prince?" You cover his hands with your own, and grasp his fingers through yours. It's satisfying how quickly he welcomes the touch.
"To not ask questions."
You laugh breathlessly. Against your backside, you can feel something hard press between you. He's as eager as a virgin. He was like that last time, too. A few exchanged words, one heated embrace, and he was aching. Perhaps he's neglected, touch starved. Ladies of the court are too afraid to approach him, and servants can't even look upon his face. It is lonely, perhaps, to be feared like this. Fear has always made you wet.
"You think I'm funny?" he asks between wet kisses to your neck. One hand moves to press between your legs over your linen uniform. The other tears off the cap you wear, and your hair falls free.
"I think you're needier than any man I've ever had before."
He bites the seam of your neck and shoulder. "You have other men?"
His attentions make your eyes close. "Of course. My favourite is one of the stable hands. He brings me flowers."
"I shall cut off his hands so he can do it no longer."
"Why?" you ask breathlessly. He is grinding hard against you now, rubbing his cock to your backside in steady thrusts that make you clench desperately around nothing. "Are you going to bring me flowers instead?"
"No." With one hand still applying pressure between your legs, the other roughly grabs your jaw and turns you to catch his deep kiss. It's messy, possessive, deep. He can taste the sweet wine on your tongue. You taste the fire on his. He groans between sloppy kisses. "But that doesn't mean someone else can."
Kisses have always been your weakness. You can't come without them. Prince Aemond found that out last time. Now, they're his weapon. Suddenly his hands are gone from you and he clasps them behind his back, and he seems to relish how quickly you turn around to properly face him and grab him. This time, it's your arms that hold him close - one is thrown around his neck to drag him down to you, and the other is around his narrow waist. He's more slender than you, and sharper, too. Last time, he swore how much he liked that you were soft and warm for him.
His breathing is raggedy against your intense kisses. His voice is no louder than a whisper. "Take off your fucking uniform."
Without missing a beat, you reply, "take it off for me."
That makes his head jerk back, and you see him bite his lip. He looks conflicted as he stares down at you with his one good eye. How much you want to see him without his eye patch. But that is the line he has drawn - that is something he will not share with you. Still, after a moment, he obeys you, and pulls off the red overdress, and then the pale shift beneath.
"No undergarments?" he murmurs as you stand bare before him, only your stockings and shoes still on. You wear the stockings that you paid a gold dragon for - there are silk ribbons at the top to keep them clinging to your thighs, and they're blue. Everyone knows a sapphire has replaced Prince Aemond's eye.
"I'd hoped to see my stable man," you lie.
It makes his lip twitch, and he shoves you roughly to the table where the food is long forgotten. "I'll cut off his cock, too."
"You want to be the only one who fucks me, my prince?"
"What did I tell you about questions?" As he gives you another burning kiss, he fumbles with his breeches. You hop onto the table and spread your legs wide for him, and as he sinks into you, you play with yourself.
"Oh, fuck!" you whine. He fits into you like he was made for you.
The mighty Prince Aemond of House Targaryen, lord of the skies, is reduced to a panting mess between your thighs. "You want this?"
"Yes!" The reply is ripped from you before you even have time to think. He holds your hips as he fucks you on the table. In the quiet chamber, the sound of wet skin slapping is obscene, especially mingled with his deep grunts and your high sighs. "Kiss me! Please!"
The prince doesn't. Instead, he wraps one hand around your throat again - how much he loves to do that, you think - and makes you lie back on the table. It's hard and uncomfortable, and you have to arch your spine to be comfortable. The change in angle is good, though. It means he can be faster, harder, deeper. With you where he wants you, he runs his hand to your chest and palms your breast hard. Then, he does kiss you, but not where you want him. His lips find your neck again, and then your shoulder. When he bites your collarbone, you wrap your legs around his hips.
What a sight you must be. How much you'd like to watch this, you think - you completely bare, the prince fully clothed. Even his hair is still worn half-up. Enough is loose to spill onto your chest when he suckles on your breast, though. It'll bruise, no doubt. Prince Aemond will never bring you flowers, but he'll give you blooms under your skin.
He pounds into you relentlessly. When he stands upright, he tries to push away your hand and drive the pleasure himself.
"You don't do it right," you whine, slapping his hand.
"Show me."
"No. Just- shit! Just keep fucking- oh, Gods, just keep fucking me!"
"Show me."
He's so demanding, so determined to learn. So as he pounds his cock into your cunt, you let his hand cover yours over your clit as you rub the flat of your fingers hard and fast. It's not gentle or teasing, not careful - it's hard, pushing yourself between your digits and the bones beneath. A testament to how high he's pushing you.
"I've got it," he grunts.
You fling your arms over your head and let him take over. "Harder," you moan. He obeys. But he's afraid of hurting you. "Harder!"
He glances up at your face with uncertainty in his eye.
"Fucking harder, my prince!" When his fingers are hard enough to bruise, you cry out in approval. "Yes! Yes, just like that! Oh, gods- don't- don't stop!"
The tightness of impeding completion scurries up and down your thighs until they're tight and heavy with it, and your stomach aches. It's coming quickly, but no matter how good he is, how attentive, there's something more you need.
Your body's response to his harsh ministrations pushes him over the edge first. He barely pulls out in time to come across your hip. He pants and groans, his seed as white as his hair. But he's good to you, and even as his orgasm makes his eye roll back and stomach tense and thighs shake, he rubs your cunt fiercely. There's incredible self control in the way he doesn't falter in the rhythm you set together.
"Kiss me!" you beg. The sight and sound of his completion is almost enough to push you over the edge, but you need that pressure, you need that taste, you need-
His mouth takes yours roughly again. It's all lips and tongue and teeth, as hard here as his hand between your legs. It chokes you, steals your breath, blinds you. When you come, you scream for the gods. He rubs you harshly through it, kissing you as you writhe and squirm, as your legs tense and clutch him closer.
"Fuck!" you cry. Tears leak from your eyes. "Stop, stop!"
Prince Aemond stills his hand but keeps it pressed against you. You're glad for the pressure. "I can feel your heart racing here."
You moan softly, and laugh. "Yes, my prince. There's a heartbeat between your thighs, too."
You stretch on the tabletop, and watch as he tucks himself back into his breeches. There's the glisten of seed on his cock still, and you wish he'd let you suck him clean. Instead, you catch his spend on your hip, and trace small patterns with it. He glances at you and sees you lick your finger clean.
"Don't do that."
"Mm. Why not?"
"It is filth."
"It is dragonseed. Is that not sacred?"
He snorts. But still, when you pull him down to kiss warmly, he doesn't protest. "Mmph. It's bitter."
You smile against his lips. "Then eat more fruit. Be sweeter for me."
Prince Aemond is more tender with you this time. Last time, he had seemed ashamed for what you had shared together, and he had sent you quickly from his chambers. This time, though, he enjoys kissing you. He touches the bruises his lips left in moments of passion, and he leaves you only to find a damp cloth to wipe off his spend.
"You would make a fine servant," you giggle as he cleans you. You're still lying back on the table. Maybe when he dines here with his mother and sister tomorrow, he'll think of fucking you again. "So dutiful."
"And you would make a fine lady," he murmurs. "So brazen."
"Do you like your ladies brazen?"
He answers quickly and quietly. "No. But I like you."
Of all the obscene moments you've shared with him, this is the one that makes you blush. "Well then, it is good I was born low, and you were born high. If this is the only way I can have you, so be it."
"You think you have me?" he asks, his brow arched.
You grin up at him, and hold his sweaty hand. "Certainly. I have taken you, after all."
