Shut Me Up
Summary: years after falling out, her, Aemond and the friend group take a summer trip to their Dornish villa, where real intentions make themselves known | word count: 9.2k | warnings: smut, choking, hair pulling, spanking, enemies to lovers ish, swearing, mentions of marijuana use, fingering
A/N: didn't mean to post this on the Mitchelly man's birthday but here we are. A little smutty number in celebration of my seasonal depression cured. And for this fic let's pretend they're all not related, mmk
She thought it'd stay in the group chat, like most of their holiday plans.
Unfortunately, or fortunately for some, it had somehow materialised into a long weekend away on the white sand Dornish beaches. Her bank account was not particularly happy, but the promise of endless sun, cocktails, friends and fun, would just about make up for it, she supposed.
As the only one with a credit card that wasn't maxed out, she rented the hire van for the six hour road trip it would take to get to the villa. She tried, often, to persuade Baela or Helaena into driving. But the former insisted on doing her makeup in the passenger seat for the first leg of the journey, and the latter, well, she'd likely be handing out the space brownies in the back seat.
So it was decided, in the end, Baela would pick up the second half of the drive. She prayed, for the sake of her deposit, that the roads were clear.
The force at which Rhaena threw her overnight bag at her nearly knocked all the wind out of her, “fuck me, Rhae, the hell is in this thing?”
“What? I need to bring aftersun, painkillers, first aid kit, blister patches—”
Baela snorts, brushing past her anxious twin to stuff her bag in the boot of the van, “Rhaena’s brain doesn't know the difference between having a gun to her head and being unprepared.”
“At least you pack lightly,” she smirks, raising a brow, trying her best to shove the luggage aside to fit.
Jace was quick to follow out, his flip flops unabashedly falling to pieces, clad in khaki shorts and a white shirt. She'll never get her head around what Baela sees in him. Sure he's funny, attractive, but he dresses like he's done it in the dark and it's still the early 2000s.
She watches as Helaena and Aegon squabble for the house keys to lock up, having hosted Jace, Baela and Rhaena the night before in preparation for the trip. Luke and Daeron, as fun as they are to have around, are too young for a trip like this. And it's probably for the better anyway, knowing the history between Aemond and Luke. The incident that nobody really dares to talk about.
Helaena beamed, eyes tinged pink from either sun or something stronger as she clambered into the back of the van in a boho white dress. There was an easy air about everything. An excitement that cut through the humid air that billowed off the concrete pavements. The sort you only get from going on holiday.
And Aegon, well.
He's Aegon.
He winks, pulling his sunglasses over his eyes, “hey babe.”
“Absolutely fucking not, Aegon. Get in the van.”
He feigns disappointment, “you're breaking my fucking heart.”
“You'll live.”
Aegon snacks Helaena's arm to budge up a space and plonks himself right in the middle seat, stretching his legs out only to annoy Rhaena in the seat in front.
“Who's ready for a road trip!” Helaena squealed excitedly.
Baela laughed, glancing back over Jace’s arm that was around her shoulders, “are you high already?”
“Excuse you, I am perfectly sober.”
“She's high,” Rhaena added, barely looking up from her phone.
She bit back a laugh, and was about to ask where the last passenger was, always late but hey, reliably late. But he appeared before she had the chance to utter the words.
Aemond.
He walked towards the van with the usual effortless arrogance, duffel bag shoved over his shoulder, silver hair pulled into a lazy knot. He was dressed in all black because of course he was. Even if it was nearly 40 degrees Celsius and hot enough to fry an egg on the kerb.
To be fair, she'd not seen him in a while, so she looked him up and down, and he was, if not a little bit taller than the last time she saw him. And the scar that lined through his brow, through his eye and down his cheek was almost silvery in the midday sun.
Aside from that, he was still the most raging twat she'd ever met.
For the slightest second, their gazes met, but he was first to look away. No smirk. No greeting. Just the cold, unreadable calm.
“Here he is, our favourite brooder,” Aegon laughed.
Aemond exhaled through his nose, sighing into the last seat at the very back and tucking his bag between his feet, “shut up, Aegon.”
Aegon grinned, clapping him on the shoulder, “Gods I missed this family dynamic. It's so fucking healthy.”
She pretended to instead be interested with how to turn the headlights on and off, even though she wouldn't need them on the six hour drive. Boot closed, engine roaring and everyone, well…nearly everyone, squealed ‘let’s go!’.
The inside of the car smelled like sun cream, salty crisps, and whatever questionable concoction Aegon had decided to mix into his oversized tumbler. The air-conditioning was on full blast, fighting against the relentless Dornish heat.
Helaena, currently high as hell of a ‘brownie’, was sprawled out like a sun-dazed lizard, arms stretched above her head, blinking lazily at the passing scenery.
Aegon chuckled, “how many did you eat, Hel?”
Helaena giggled, “like…one and a half. But they were big,” she raised her fingers like she was measuring something ridiculous.
She looked in the rear-view mirror as a car behind them overtook them on the dual carriageway, and caught eyes with Aemond, who had his noise cancelling headphones on. The blue of one eye and the misty grey of the other made her heart leap as they clocked on hers, however briefly. And Baela certainly noticed how hard she gripped the steering wheel.
Aemond looked largely the same, lean but built, sharp features, all arrogance albeit silent. And though his hair was tied back, a few strands were loose. And she hated that she noticed.
It had been years since the falling out.
It was a terrible mix. They were teenagers. Had a bit to drink, when the tolerance was horrific. Followed by a very public argument at one of his family gatherings that ended in her calling him a ‘pretentious, controlling asshole’. And well, the rest was history. They existed whenever the friend group got together, each too stubborn to force the friendship group to adjust to their spat, but she avoided him all the same.
For the record she still thought he was all of the above.
The drive was quiet but long. And between Helaena's spaced-out ramblings, Jace’s terrible choice in music and Rhaena complaining she needed to pee, Baela took it upon herself to find a service station to stop up. And as soon as the handbrake was up, the doors flew open and they all rushed out like a chaotic clown car act.
The station was nothing special, some off-brand fast food places and a tiny shop for snacks and drinks. But it would do. She hopped out the drivers side and down the side of the van, bristling when Aemond climbed out his side and they brushed shoulders.
He smirked, “relax, I'm not going to bite.”
All she could do was shake her head and throw a face of disgust that Baela certainly didn't miss, “are you two still at it?” she asked, amused, “this has been going on for years. Honestly impressive at this point.”
She rolled her eyes, watching as Aemond stalked off behind Aegon to the shop, “I don’t have the energy to argue with someone who thinks he’s better than everyone else just because he reads philosophy books and drives like he’s in a Fast and Furious movie.”
Aemond didn't go inside, he leaned on the wall, stoking up a cigarette, the lazy smoke dwindling from his lips into the hazy Dornish air. She hated the way he was just so effortlessly nonchalant, like he belonged in an black and white movie.
“You’re staring,” Baela said, voice laced with amusement.
She tore her gaze away, scowling, “I am not.”
Baela hummed knowingly, “suuuure. You know, if you just fucked it out, all this tension would be gone.”
She choked through a sip of water, “Baela—”
“What? I’m just saying,” she shrugged, smirking, “I mean, I don’t even think he hates you as much as you think he does.”
She scoffed, “please. We’ve been at each other’s throats since we were kids. Aemond thrives on making my life miserable.”
“Or,” Baela drawled, “he thrives on getting under your skin because he likes your reaction.”
She rolled her eyes, but her face felt hot, was she getting a sunburn? “We’re not having this conversation.”
“Fine, fine,” she relented, then, casually, she added, “by the way, I heard he and Alys broke up. Months ago.”
That made her freeze.
Baela watched her expression closely, like she was waiting for a reaction. She forced a neutral shrug, stuffing her hands into her pockets, “and?”
“And,” she smirked, “you’re pretending you don’t care.”
Did she care? Really?
“I'm going to pretend we didn't have this conversation.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Baela laughed without a care as Rhaena bounded back up to them with a handful of snacks. Aegon and the rest weren't far behind.
Aegon groaned, “thank the gods I was about to gnaw my own arm off.”
“I don’t know how you’re hungry,” she replied, eyeing him, “you inhaled half a bag of crisps like ten minutes ago.”
“I'm a growing boy,” he winked. Making the others gag.
Mercifully, nothing more was said on the matter. She simply graced the spot where Baela had been sat, had her snacks and let her drive the rest of the way. Rolling down her window, she let her hand rest out of it, the warm, dull air flowing through her fingers. Blissfully ignorant of her nemesis in the back seat.
She knew their dad was rich but Viserys’ obnoxiously sized villa was so endless it bordered on ridiculous. It was perched on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the endless blue stretch of sea, with a white, sandy beach sprawling at the foot of it.
The villa was no eyesore either. It's sunbleached patios, white stone walls and glass doors all reflected the shimmer of the sunlight on the water. And despite having the literal sea at your feet, the pool sat beneath the balcony, wide, deep and perfectly maintained.
Viserys Targaryen never did anything by halves.
Aegon whistled, “fuck me, I knew the old man had money, but taste?”
Helaena pushed by him, bag in tow, “I get the biggest room!”
“No you fucking don't—” Aegon called, running after her like a child.
She stretched her legs, hopping out of the van and inhaling the warm, salty sea air. The view was ridiculous, and a natural staircase made of stone led down the side towards the private beach.
Baela nudged her arm, “this is amazing.”
She nodded, “despite the company, this trip might be bearable.”
Aemond, audibly, trudged past with his duffel bag, lazily making his way into the villa with a smirk as if he'd heard.
Yep. Bearable.
Everyone was too exhausted to do anything but dump their bags in their rooms and laze around the pool. That, and raiding the kitchen for all the food.
By the time the sun had dipped below the horizon, everyone had found their spots and Jace and Aegon were already three beers deep and failing to pot anything at the pool table. She had found herself with the girls poolside, nursing a bottle as they dipped their feet in the cool water.
“We're all waking up early for the beach,” Rhaena declared, loud enough for Aegon to groan.
She laughs, the water rippling around her legs, “what are we doing swimsuit-wise? Practical or hot?”
“Hot.”
“Hot!”
Rhaena and Baela answered simultaneously.
“Hey I've seen you in the bikini, you'll give someone a heart attack,” Baela grinned.
“Shut up.”
Maybe it wasn't heart attack worthy, but the bikini certainly was something. It had honestly felt like she'd lived a lifetime since last seeing herself in swimwear, the seasonal depression had done no favours there. But now, looking at herself in the mirror, she nodded and pulled her hair away from her face, lathering herself with sun cream before attempting the blazing Dornish midday.
“Gods, if I were gay,” Baela whistled from where she sat on the bed, a dark blue translucent shawl tucked over her shoulders.
She rolled her eyes with a snort, “please, you'll be gushing in thirty seconds about how Jace looks in knee length shorts.”
“Hey. Knee length shorts gets some girls going, okay?”
Rhaena scoffs, white streaks of half-rubbed in sun cream glazing her cheeks, “just you, sis.”
Yep, definitely just you, she thinks.
She'd underestimated the beach. It was gorgeous, idyllic, in fact there weren't enough words. It was just secluded enough to feel private, and nobody wasted any time in making use of it.
Some jumped head first into the waves, tackling and splashing. Aegon had brought with him a garish purple lilo, which Jace found great pleasure in flipping over occasionally, dunking Aegon and whatever drink he was holding into the turquoise water.
Even Aemond, who usually abstained from these sort of activities, had shed his shirt and waded lazily into the water, the sun somewhat reflecting off his sun-cream glistened skin.
She hated that she noticed.
Even more, she hated the way the water made his hair a shade darker, how the drops of water ran down his chest—
No. No. Nope.
She leaned back on the sun bed, pushing her hat over her eyes, willing the image out of her mind as quick as it had come. And the first day passed quickly. She'd dipped in the sea, yes, but not the boyish, rowdy behaviour that the boys and even Helaena were sporting. Most of it was spent lounging, relaxing.
Burning.
Gods, a lot of burning.
By the time night-time had rolled around, her shoulders were pink, mirrored with a dusty line across her cheeks and nose. The ticklish sensation hadn't kicked in yet. That was tomorrow her’s problem.
Right now, all she needed was a nice cold shower and peace.
And peace she found. The villa fell into an easy, relaxed quiet. Somewhere down the hall Aegon was giggling drunkenly, Baela was probably spooning Jace and she could fear the faint sound of TV through Helaena's bedroom.
She padded barefoot across the cool tiles, pushing open the balcony doors that graced one side of her room. The breeze crept in, welcome and warm on her skin, just enough to let in the salty scent in the air.
She mindlessly rubbed the back of her neck where the bikini top had made its tan line. Or what would eventually be a tan line anyway, right now it looked more scarlet. Staring out, the flickering lights of nearby villages blinked in the distance, sparkling along the peninsula where the villa sat atop.
The reflection of the lit pool below caught her eye, and she felt her throat tighten at the sight. Swimming, in the dark and illuminated only by the cool lights beneath the water, was Aemond, cutting through the water with lazy, practiced strokes.
He was alone. Quiet. And ashamed to say he looked good.
The thought came before it could be stopped, but once it was there it took root, and an immediate scowl crept to her face at her weakness.
His bare shoulders gleamed under the tempered light, lean, toned frame moving through the water with a silent grace. The water had made his hair slicked back, revealing the cut of his jaw, and the sharp angles of his cheekbones.
Aemond ran his hands over his face, leaning back with a sigh to dip his hair back into the water. Her heart nearly leapt through her chest as his gaze lifted to her on the balcony, catching her watching him.
Shit.
Her stomach twisted, heat crept up her neck and it absolutely wasn't sunburn. She could do nothing more than just pretend she wasn't watching him, so she turned on her heel, and slid back inside her room, holding the balcony doors shut with her heart rate going a mile a minute.
She could feel his gaze as she shut the door. Could imagine his expression too, smug bastard.
Mouth suddenly dry, she pulled her shawl around her tighter and made for the kitchen, needing something to take away this aftertaste. Grumbling and sighing, she scolded herself, barely even at the cupboard before she spotted him.
He was standing by the fridge, bottle of water in hand, in nothing more than the shorts he was wearing to swim resting low on his hips. His hair was still damp, but some bits curled around his face, and she hoped he hadn't seen the way she noticed the slightest ‘v’ that disappeared below the waistband.
He turned, perfectly calm, as if he hadn't just caught her staring for the second time in ten minutes.
“Can't sleep?”
She crossed her arms, looking off, “needed water.”
He laughed once, breathy, and threw the water he was holding to her, which she caught with her other hand as it slipped through her fingers.
“Thanks.”
The moment stretched.
She only watched from her periphery as Aemond grabbed another from the fridge, and twisted off the cap. She had luckily resisted the urge to watch him bring it to his lips and down half as if he was parched.
No sooner had she bought the bottle to her own lips.
“You keep looking at me like that.”
She nearly choked on her water.
Her fingers tightened around the bottle, crinkling under the pressure as she turned to glare at him. “Like what?”
His eye flickered, taking her in with slow, assessing amusement. “You tell me.”
Her breath hitched, and she hated that her body betrayed her, the way her thighs tensed slightly, the way her fingers curled. Aemond noticed. Of course he did.
She rolled her eyes, masking the heat creeping up her neck, “you’re delusional.”
He chuckled, taking a slow sip of his water, his smirk never fading.
“Sure,” he murmured.
Rolling her eyes came naturally, “I still don’t know why you even came on this trip.”
Aemond raised a brow. “Why wouldn’t I?”
She scoffed. “Because you hate me.”
He tilted his head, considering her, his smirk turning thoughtful. “And what gave you that idea?”
She drained the bottle and crushed it with her palm, annoyance brewing, and she saw the amused quirk of his brow, “oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that you’ve spent the last few years acting like I’m the most insufferable person in existence?”
“You're not insufferable,” he chuckled, “maybe a bit, actually.”
She blinked, “excuse me?”
He shrugged, “I never said I hated you.”
She let out a dry laugh, “right. So all those times you went out of your way to argue with me? That wasn’t hatred?”
“I think you’re confusing hatred with enjoyment.”
She stomach flipped. No. Nope. Absolutely not.
She pointed a finger at him, “don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“You know what.”
That tone. That fucking tone. The one that was both amused and knowing, the one that made her face heat up against her will.
Aemond tilted his head, his voice dropping just slightly. “If I hated you,” he said, “I wouldn’t be standing here right now.”
She stared at him. The smirk had slipped from his lips. The teasing tone gone. Fuck.
There was something in his gaze that was something else entirely and she wasn't sure she wanted the flip of her tummy to tell her what it was. She swallowed hard. And before she did or said something stupid, turned on her heel and left to the sanctuary of her room.
And he let her.
A lazy morning was needed for most to sleep off the sunburns and drinks, but for her, she needed the lie in just to avoid running into Aemond as much as possible.
So with the day ahead, they'd decided to go to Sunspear Old Village, a collection of independent restaurants, shops and bakeries. The drive was short, but the difference between the villa and the sprawling village side streets was immediate.
The atmosphere was exciting, sunny, citrus and salt, vendors calling out for customer's attention. Markets lined the stoned path, freshly baked goods, colourful fabrics and handcrafted jewellery.
She and Baela lagged behind, a large sunhat on both their heads to shield from the unyielding sun, taking their time weaving through the stalls, oo-ing and ah-ing at the various Dornish wares.
One particular stall was everything she liked. Handmade jewellery of all golden hues, one worker was moulding a ring into shape and another was placing stencils against thinly laid gold and striking it with a mallet.
The one she liked was a small, golden sun pendant. Dark gold. Delicate and yet striking despite its simple design. The metal was hammered in small indents, and she marvelled at the craftsmanship with her fingertip over the surface.
“You should get it,” Baela insisted.
She tilted her head, “hm, I could but…don't really need it, and I didn't exchange enough money.”
“Since when did you need an excuse to buy jewellery?”
She grinned at Baela, glancing back at Aemond and Helaena as they toddled behind. The taller man had his hands in his pockets, sighing as his sister dragged him into yet another stall.
She swore she caught his gaze on her, for a split second.
Baela was too observant for her own good. “You are so fucking obvious.”
“What?”
“I heard you two talking last night.”
She nearly choked on air, “what the hell, Baela—”
She snorted a laugh, pulling her sunhat over her eyes, “I wasn't eavesdropping! I just wanted a glass of water when I heard—” she straightened her back, puffing out her chest, “you keep looking at me like that.”
She gasped, smacking her arm, “Baela!”
She laughed, dodging herr second hit. "Oh, come on! That was the most tension I’ve ever heard in my life. I thought you two were about to—"
"Don’t. Even. Finish. That. Sentence."
Baela just smirked, eyes twinkling. “You’re blushing.”
“I am not.”
“You so are.”
She huffed, opening her mouth to fire back–
A flash of white and gold hurtled between them, and Helaena, her dress swishing around her shins, beamed up, “look!” she exclaimed, vibrating with excitement as she presented a gold charm in her palm, “it’s a scorpion!”
Neither of them could hide their amusement.
“Hel, of all the things to buy,” Baela smirked.
Helaena just grinned, unbothered, “scorpions are lucky,” she said matter-of-factly.
She laughed a little, half in amusement and half because it must be nice to see the bright side of everything, “of course you’d find something weirdly meaningful.”
Hel clutched it happily, “I’m going to put it on my keychain.”
She exchanged looks with Baela, who simply shrugged. Helaena was Helaena.
And then, as if she could sense the conversation she had just interrupted, she tilted her head at her, blinking dreamily. “Are you flirting with Aemond?”
And all it took was Baela barking out into fits of laughter for her to roll her eyes, pretend those words hadn’t just come out of Helaena’s mouth and jog forwards to Rhaena instead, who mercifully was blissfully unaware of anything going on with the aforementioned Targaryen.
She and the girls had taken it upon themselves to bring down some food from the kitchen as well as the fire pit, nestling it into the sand and pulling their shawls over their shoulders to stay off the chill once the sun had dipped with the temperature.
Aegon, as expected, was putting on a show. The moment the flames came to life, he thumped his chest like a deranged caveman, grinning wildly, waiting for laughter that never came.
Baela, unimpressed but entertained, simply lifted her phone. Flash. Click. Post.
Aegon froze mid-motion, the colour draining from his face. “Baela. Delete that.”
She smirked, tucking her phone away. “Nope.”
“I will literally die if that’s on the internet.”
“It’s already on Instagram.”
With a loud groan, Aegon flopped backward into the sand, arms outstretched in defeat. Baela only grinned, her attention shifting to the half-empty bottle beside her. “Oh, fuck, we’re out of vodka.”
She nestled herself closer to Jace, clearly not intending to move.
From across the fire, she scoffed. “I’ll get some, you lazy fuckers.”
Aegon half-heartedly saluted, “brave of you. I wouldn’t make it up those stairs sober, let alone drunk.”
He wasn’t wrong. The private staircase leading up to the villa was steep and unforgiving, and this was, what, her fourth time climbing it today? With a resigned sigh, she pushed herself up, the warmth of the fire lingering against her skin as she stepped away from the group.
By the time she reached the top, she paused, catching her breath, turning toward the horizon.
The sea stretched out endlessly, dark and gleaming, with a sliver of gold and baby blue still clinging to the edge of the sky where the sun had disappeared.
I could get used to this.
Even if she had to endure him.
Shaking the thought away, she slipped through the villa doors, heading straight for the kitchen. It was dimly lit, the quiet hum of the night settling around her. She barely made it three steps before a voice cut through the silence.
“Thirsty?”
She jumped, nearly knocking over a glass. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she spun around, eyes landing on Aemond. He stood near the counter, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable, except for the faintest trace of a smirk. But it wasn’t just the way he looked at her that made her pulse jump. It was how he looked.
His silver hair was damp, strands curling slightly at the ends, still clinging to the warmth of a recent shower. He hadn’t bothered with a shirt, just a pair of low-hanging black shorts, his skin catching the dim glow of the kitchen lights, casting shadows over the sharp lines of his stomach, the cut of his collarbone.
She swallowed, gripping the vodka bottle a little tighter than necessary.
He was insufferable.
He was annoying.
And yet–
“Didn’t take you for the helpful type,” she muttered, turning back to the cabinet, refusing to look at him for too long.
A quiet chuckle left his lips, “I wasn’t waiting for you, if that’s what you’re implying.”
Her jaw tightened. “Didn’t say you were. Just stop lurking around waiting to frighten me, would you.”
Aemond leaned against the counter, watching her with that same unreadable expression. She didn’t know what he was looking for, what he was waiting for, but it was irritating. She set the vodka bottle down on the counter with a dull thud, crossing her arms as she turned to face him fully.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to get from this.”
“From what?”
“This,” she gestured vaguely, “you know exactly what. You’re acting like we never fell out. But we did, Aemond. You should hate my guts.”
Aemond resisted the urge to outright laugh. The truth was, they had never fallen out. Not in his mind. Oh, they had argued. Gods, had they argued. She had called him pretentious, insufferable, a controlling asshole. He had thrown words back just as easily, his own cutting remarks meant to frustrate her, rile her up, get her to fight him harder.
He liked that she didn’t hold back, that she met him blow for blow, insult for insult. Still does.
Aemond exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly, “you’re still talking to me.”
She scoffed. “Like I have a choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
Something in her chest twisted at that, but she refused to let it show. She rolled her eyes, reaching for the vodka bottle and tucking it under her arm. “Whatever game you’re playing, Aemond, find someone else to play it with.”
She left the kitchen without another word, gripping the vodka bottle tighter than necessary as she made her way back down the endless stone steps to the beach. The sea breeze hit her as soon as she reached the bottom, cool and briny, doing little to chase away the strange heat in her chest.
You always have a choice.
She scowled, shoving the thought aside as she rejoined the group, dropping the bottle into Baela’s waiting hands. “There,” she muttered, sinking back onto the blanket, pulling her shawl tighter around herself. “Now stop making me do all the work.”
Baela grinned, already unscrewing the cap. “You’re a hero.”
The fire burned low, casting a warm glow against their sun-kissed faces, flickering against the edges of the waves. She barely noticed Aemond’s arrival until he was lowering himself onto the sand a few feet away, silent, as always, but technically, next to her.
Unlike earlier, he had thrown on a loose button-down, the top few buttons left undone, revealing a sliver of tanned skin and collarbone. His silver hair was still damp, stray strands falling over his sharp features. He looked completely at ease, like he belonged in the firelight, the shadows playing over the angles of his face.
Stop that.
Baela poured out shots, handing them around. “To questionable decisions and even worse hangovers.”
Jace groaned. “We are so fucked tomorrow.”
The alcohol burned, but she welcomed it, letting the warmth spread through her veins, dulling the tension in her shoulders. One shot became two. Then three.
And then, somewhere between Aegon trying to wrestle Jace into the sand and Rhaena doing drunken cartwheels again, the conversation took a sharp turn.
“Oh, I know what we should talk about,” Aegon declared suddenly, tossing an empty bottle into the sand.
Baela groaned. “If you say kinks, I swear to the gods—”
“Kinks.”
Jace put his face in his hands. “Fucking hell.”
Aegon smirked, completely unrepentant. “Come on. We’ve been drinking. There are no rules. Let’s make this interesting.”
Rhaena laughed, shaking her head. “This is already a terrible idea.”
Baela smirked. “Fine. But you go first, since you brought it up.”
Aegon leaned back on his hands, completely unbothered. “Easy. Hair pulling, spanking, and—”
“Enough.” Jace groaned. Helaena fake gagged, shaking her head.
One by one, everyone went around, rattling off their preferences with varying degrees of amusement or reluctance.
And then it was her turn.
She hesitated. “Pass.”
Baela raised a brow. “No passes.”
She exhaled, rolling her shoulders, acting unfazed. “It’s not even that interesting.”
“Then it should be easy to say,” Baela countered, smirking.
She took a sip of her drink, then, with a casual shrug, said, “Choking.”
It wouldn’t have gotten such a reaction if it were anyone else, but Aemond, fucking chuckled. She turned her head sharply, only to find him watching her, smirking slightly, his gaze dark with something unreadable.
“What?” she snapped, her voice sharper than intended.
“Nothing,” he grinned behind the bottle he was nursing.
“No, go on, what’s so funny?”
Aemond tilted his head, studying her, his smirk growing the slightest bit sharper. “I just don’t think you’d let someone get their hands on you like that,” he murmured.
Her pulse spiked.
Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the heat of the fire, maybe it was just him, but she felt it, the way the air shifted, the way the space between them suddenly felt far too small. Luckily, the others swiftly got bored of their verbal sparring. A small relief. But it made her feel at least like everyone wasn’t zeroed in on what they were talking about.
She scoffed, leaning back and burying her palms in the sand, “and you’re an expert.”
“I don’t think you’d let someone do it properly.”
Despite the crackle of…something, in the air. The alcohol had not only made her wavy, but braver. And she met his gaze with her chin up, “and you think you could?”
Aemond exhaled a quiet laugh, setting his drink down beside him.
“I don’t think. I know.”
Her lips parted, something thrumming hot under her skin, crawling up her spine. She pushed it away quickly, her eyes lazy and challenging, “yeah right, as if–”
Her lips snapped shut when she felt it, unhurried, his hand curling around her neck. Not tight. Not rough. Just enough to feel it. Just enough to make her breath catch. Her entire body went rigid, heat pooling at the base of her spine, her pulse hammering against the cage of her ribs.
His fingers rested lightly over her throat, long and steady, the faintest pressure applied in a way that was taunting. Testing. Aemond watched her reaction carefully, his gaze dark and focused, thumb resting just below her jaw, brushing over the sensitive skin, feeling the thrum of her heart at her pulse point. She swallowed, and he felt it.
His lips curled slightly. "See?" His voice was low, smug, dangerous. "That's how you'd want it."
Her breath was shallow, a sharp contrast to the cool sea air around them. She willed herself to react, to do something, anything, but her body wasn’t cooperating.
Aegon groaned loudly, “gods, just fuck already.”
The spell snapped.
Aemond pulled away, slow and deliberate, and she ripped her gaze from him, shaking herself back to reality. "Shut up, Aegon," she muttered, rolling her eyes, though her voice was noticeably weaker.
She glanced around, seeing that most were preoccupied. Thank the gods for vodka. But even as the conversation shifted, as Aegon moved on to some other stupid drunken tangent, her body still felt the ghost of Aemond's touch. Still burned with it.
She stole a glance at him beneath her lashes.
He was still watching her.
By the time they all stumbled back to the villa, buzzed from the alcohol, sunburnt from the day, and far too aware of the tension still crackling between her and Aemond, she knew she was in trouble.
Everyone was dispersing into their rooms, peeling off damp clothes and sand-covered swimsuits, muttering about showers and food. And her shower was swift and much needed, though the lukewarm water stung slightly at the red patch on her shoulder blades. She threw on a long shirt to sleep in to keep the sensitive skin off the sheets.
A soft knock though, froze her. In her gut, she already knew it was him. But it wasn’t gratifying in the least when she opened the door and confirmed she was correct. He leaned against the doorframe, as if he had all the time in the world, still wearing the loose linen button down shirt and shorts, though it was only now she noticed the chain sat at his throat.
She sighed, exasperated, but with a dull, needing ache she didn’t want to admit, “what do you want, Aemond.”
Aemond exhaled a quiet laugh. Then, without waiting for an invitation, he stepped inside, kicking the door closed. She stepped back automatically, breath hitching.
“Tell me to leave,” he murmured, his voice dark and even, like he already knew she wouldn’t.
The words balanced on her lips. But the heat between them was too thick, too heavy, and the ghost of his touch still lingered against her throat.
So she didn’t.
And the second she didn’t tell him to fuck off, she knew she was losing a game before it even started. Aemond crowded her as she backed up, almost casually, but there was nothing at all casual about the way he was looking at her. The way he was closing this distance as if he could predict how it would end. There was intent in every movement.
She echoed herself, “what do you want, Aemond.”
His smirk was expected but still made her stomach flip all the same, “I think we both know the answer to that.”
The air thickened, wrapping around her like smoke, suffocating. She should stop this. She should push him away. She should. But she didn’t. Instead, she stayed perfectly still as Aemond reached for her, tilting her chin up with two fingers.
"Say it," he murmured, and her eyes flickered to his mouth as he uttered the words.
She swallowed, throat dry. “Say what?”
His thumb dragged along her jawline, slow, teasing. "That you want me to touch you."
Her lips parted, a breath escaping. Humiliation and arousal tangled together, tightening in her chest, her stomach, lower.
She hated him. She wanted him.
And that was exactly why she finally whispered.
"Touch me."
His smirk disappeared, the fight leaving him. And then he did.
His lips crashed against hers, swallowing her gasp as his grip tightened around her jaw, backing her against the door. The force of it made her lips part, and Aemond wasted no time in taking advantage of it. He kissed her like he was claiming something, like he’d been waiting for this, waiting for her to give in. His tongue brushed against hers, demanding, teasing, and the moment she kissed him back with the same hunger, his hand wrapped around her throat.
Not hard enough to cut off air, just enough to remind her that it was there.
A soft, desperate sound escaped her lips before she could stop it.
Aemond smirked against her mouth, pulling back just enough to murmur, "So you do like it."
She glared at him, breathless, dizzy with want. "Shut up."
His fingers tightened, just slightly. Her pulse jumped and she tugged him back to her by his shirt, back to her lips, Aemond groaned, deep and low, before pulling back and flipping her around, her front pressed against the door, his chest flush against her back. Even like this, she could feel him strained against her backside, and it only made her want to push her hips, see how far she could push him too.
His hand slipped up her shirt, on the bare skin of her stomach, and she froze and melted at the same time. She felt him exhale against her neck at the touch, before sliding the tips of his fingers against the waistband of her underwear.
"Tell me you want it," he murmured against her ear.
Her breath came out shaky and she hated it, “Aemond—”
His fingers slipped lower, teasing, hovering exactly where she needed him. "Tell me," he repeated, dangerously patient.
She clenched her jaw, her body already thrumming. “I want it.”
Aemond’s chuckle was dark and satisfied. "Good girl."
His hand slipped beneath, past the barrier of her underwear, and the moment his fingers met her slick heat, his breath caught. Her lips parted, choking on air it seemed, her eyes slipping shut as he took his time.
"Fuck," he rasped, voice rough, "so fucking wet."
She bit her lip hard to stop herself from making a sound, but then he pressed his fingers against her clit, slow and deliberate, and she shuddered.
“Don’t be shy now,” Aemond murmured, lips grazing her neck, his other hand coming to her jaw to tilt her face towards him.
She nearly whimpered when he circled his fingers against her, slow, teasing, in complete control. The pressure was just enough to drive her insane, but not enough to push her over the edge. And then he did something dangerous. His hand tightened around her throat at the exact moment he slipped a finger inside her.
Her knees buckled.
"Aemond—"
Her body met him with infuriatingly little resistance, and Aemond seemed to revel in the warmth of her, how tight she seemed around one digit alone. And she just knew he was thinking about something else. How she might feel around him.
He groaned, pulling back just enough to look at her, his eye dark, jaw tight, lips parted like he was barely holding himself together. “You’re fucking perfect," he muttered.
Then, without warning, he added a second finger. She gasped, pressing back against him, his name slipping past her lips in a breathless, wrecked moan.
Aemond grinned, pressing his lips to her shoulder, her neck. "That’s it," he murmured. “Take it.”
Pressed between the door and Aemond was an unfortunate predicament. Unable to move, she could only stand there and take it, his long, deft fingers pressing up into her forcefully and crooking forwards, searching for her sweet spot with an almost obsessive attitude. But equally, so close to the door, to the hallway outside, she had no choice but to press her lips together and be quiet, despite his wish for her not to be.
He wanted people to hear.
She felt the slow, forceful grind of his fingers deep inside her, not thrusting in and out, but pressing, pushing, curling, rubbing against that spot that made her body tremble, made her breath hitch. Aemond moved his fingers in deep, slow circles, stretching her from the inside, coaxing out pleasure with cruel precision. Every shift of his hand sent shockwaves up her spine, her walls gripping around him tight, desperate, needy.
His thumb dragged against her clit, matching the pressure of his fingers inside her, not flicking or teasing, pressing down firmly, rubbing slow, torturous circles.
"Fuck—" the word tore from her throat, raw and uncontrolled, her hips jerking forward into his touch. And at the friction against his aching arousal, he almost whined.
But Aemond hummed, pleased. “Good girl.”
His voice sent heat licking down her spine, pooling low in her stomach. Her head fell back, her body tightening, burning, spiralling toward something devastatingly sharp.
"Aemond—" her voice was wrecked, breathless. He groaned, like hearing her like this did something to him, like it unravelled him, too.
His hand at her throat tightened slightly, tilting her head back as his lips grazed her jaw. “You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you?”
She could only nod, unable to think, unable to do anything but feel. The pleasure coiled tighter, deeper, spreading outward, her thighs trembling around his hand. Her body snapped, shattering apart as waves of pleasure crashed over her, raw and consuming, making her shake in his grasp.
Aemond groaned at the feel of it, his fingers working her through it, slow and deliberate as her walls fluttered around him, her body pulsing, clenching, trembling.
She barely had a second to catch her breath before he was moving. Grabbing her like a sack of potatoes and throwing her on the bed, wrenching her underwear down her legs, and forcefully flipping her over onto her stomach.
And then.
A sharp crack of heat across her backside.
Aemond must have felt her jolt, must have noticed the way her breath hitched, the way her thighs instinctively squeezed together. “Don’t be so surprised,” he mused, positioning her exactly how he wanted.
He leaned down, lips ghosting over the shell of her ear, his voice dark with satisfaction.
“Girls who are into choking are into much more than that.”
Her stomach twisted, her breath catching both at his words and his manhandling. She glanced back, catching his hands as they worked his shorts open to free himself, rendering her mouth suddenly dry. It was all so quick, she barely got a good look at him. He tugged her hips up slightly, the fat head of his cock parting her sensitive folds and began to push inside, and then she forgot how to think entirely. A wrecked sound escaped her throat, muffled by the sheets, her body already soaked, stretched, ready for him after his ruthless teasing.
He filled her completely, every inch stretching her open, the burn of it making her eyes squeeze shut. Aemond groaned, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise.
“Fuck, still so tight,” he rasped, pulling back before slamming into her again, rough and unforgiving. The force of it sent her forward onto her elbows, her breath punched from her lungs. Starting out in this position, she felt every bit, the way his cock bent inside her, as if sculpting her to the shape of him.
It was filthy. Brutal. Perfect.
His fingers dug into her flesh, his pace relentless, punishing, as if he wanted to ruin her for anyone else. She let out a desperate, breathy moan, her body giving in, taking everything he gave her, arching back into him. And when she did, Aemond let out a low groan, sliding a hand up her back, over every notch of her smooth spine, trailing along the nape of her neck, his fingers tangling into her hair and tugging.
A ragged gasp tore from her throat, her scalp burning in the most intoxicating way. She clenched around him, and he felt it. His grip tightened, pulling her head back just enough to make her spine arch beautifully, her mouth parting in a silent moan.
Aemond groaned at the way her body reacted to him, the way she clenched around his cock like she was trying to keep him buried inside her forever.
“Oh, you really do like that, don’t you?” his voice was low, rough, laced with something dark and possessive, her hair wrapped around his long fingers.
She barely managed to choke out a sound, something between a gasp and a whimper, but it only spurred him on. His grip in her hair didn’t falter as he snapped his hips forward, fucking into her harder, deeper, rough enough to make the headboard slam against the wall. She shook beneath him, unable to do anything but take it, absorb every brutal thrust, every sharp pull of her hair that sent electricity racing down her spine.
“You’re going to come again, aren’t you?” he murmured, his pace never slowing, his thrusts hitting deep, over and over, dragging her closer to that edge.
She could only nod, her fingers clutching desperately at the sheets, at nothing.
She whined as he released her hair, his arm sliding around her waist to pull her up to him, dragging her up onto her knees with her back flush against his chest. Her head lolled back against his shoulder as his hand slid over her stomach, pushing her back onto him with every deep, punishing thrust.
“Aemond,” she gasped, barely able to form words, her voice breaking.
He groaned at the sound, at the way she tightened around him, pushing his hand lower, rubbing slow, firm circles over her clit.
And that was it.
Her body snapped, pleasure crashing over her in violent, uncontrollable waves, her moans raw and shattered as she came around him, clenching so tight it nearly sent him over the edge too.
“Fuck,” Aemond gritted out, his thrusts turning desperate, chasing his own high as her body milked him.
He buried himself deep, his jaw tight, breath ragged, before he finally let go, groaning her name as he came, spilling inside her, holding her still as he filled her completely.
For a long moment, the room was silent, nothing but the sound of their heavy breathing, the crackling of the sea breeze through the open window. Aemond’s grip eased, his hands sliding down to her waist as he pressed his forehead against her shoulder, his breath still unsteady.
Slowly, he pulled back, completely out of her, his hands sliding down her hips, making her shiver at the loss of him. He pressed a quick, lingering kiss to her shoulder before pushing himself up, reaching for his lowered shorts and pulling them back over his hips.
She lay there on her stomach, face pressed into the pillows, trying to process what the fuck had just happened.
And more than that , what it meant.
But before she could let her thoughts spiral, Aemond flopped onto the bed beside her, stretching his long limbs out, one arm tucked beneath his head.
It was almost too casual, too normal, like they hadn’t just spent the last hour fucking each other senseless. She turned her head, staring at him, trying to read the subtle curve of his lips, the way his gaze flickered to her like he was waiting for her reaction.
Finally, she spoke, voice hoarse from overuse.
“So…what now?”
Aemond let out a low chuckle, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her face. “That depends. Are you going to keep pretending you hate me?”
“You should be the one pretending to hate me. I was convinced you despised me.”
“Hate you?” He glanced at her, sharp, amused. “I never hated you.”
She blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“You, though? You’ve been trying very hard to convince yourself that you do.”
Her stomach flipped, and she groaned, grabbing a pillow and smacking his arm with it. “You’re a dick.”
Aemond caught her wrist easily, his grip firm but playful, tugging her just enough to pull her closer. “Careful,” he murmured smugly, “you might make me think you actually like me.”
She rolled her eyes, but there was no real fight behind it.
Lying back down, she stretched, her body already sore, knowing she was going to get it in the neck from the others tomorrow.
“Oh gods, they’re going to be unbearable about this,” she muttered.
Aemond just grinned, clearly unbothered. “That’s tomorrow’s problem.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
He gave a lazy shrug, running a hand through his messy silver hair. “A little.”
For a second, Aemond propped up, fishing something out his pocket.
“What are you–”
Her voice died on her lips the second she saw what laid in his palm. The sun shaped, gold pendant she had seen at Sunspear Market earlier that day stared back. The dark gold glinted against her eyes, and she tentatively reached out to touch it.
“You—”
Aemond shrugged. But she could see he was trying to play it a little cool, to stay off the embarrassed flush to his cheeks at such a sweet gesture, “I saw you looking at it.”
She hesitated, but she was more shocked. She hadn't honestly expected something so nice, especially from him, as hard to read as he was. Such as right now. He was so composed. As if he hadn't had it in his pocket all day, waiting to give it to her.
“You bought this for me?...”
A silly question in hindsight, but she was too floored to ask anything else. And she didn't even need his reply truthfully.
Still, Aemond smirked, propping up to watch as she ran her finger over the metal, “I did, but…”
She looked up, her heart constricting, “but?...”
Aemond bit back a nervous smile, “you can wear it…if we give this a chance,” he says, vaguely gesturing between them.
Her breath caught. Not because it was unexpected, he had been pushing her in this direction all night, all trip, maybe even longer than that. But hearing him say it so simply, so confidently, so Aemond, sent something warm and unsteady rippling through her chest.
She glanced away for a second, fingers brushing the pendant absentmindedly, before letting out a slow breath. “And what exactly is… ‘this’?” she asked, her voice softer than before.
Aemond tilted his head, “this,” he murmured, “is me saying I don’t want to pretend I don’t want you anymore.”
Gods, he was good with words when he wanted to be.
Her lips parted slightly, but before she could say anything, his expression shifted, turning just a little sharper, a little more amused.
“And also, I’m realising one of my kinks might be you calling me a pretentious asshole.”
Before she could stop herself, she burst out laughing. It was unexpected, light, breaking the thick tension in the air.
“Maybe you are a pretentious asshole,” she managed between giggles.
Aemond hummed, leaning closer to brush his lips against hers, “hm, you keep up, don't you.”
She couldn't stop smiling, her cheeks hurt. And Aemond's fingers brushed her skin, reaching for the chain of the necklace, “let me.”
Lifting her hair, she raised her chin so he could clasp the pendant around her neck, the gold sitting elegantly against her chest. He hummed in appreciation and she swallowed, a shiver running down her spine at the barely-there touch.
“Shall we celebrate.”
She raised a suspicious brow. Celebrate.
A bark of laughter threatened to break out.
“Celebrate how, exactly?”
The dark looks returned to his gaze, and she gasped as he maneuvered atop her, his hand bunching up her shirt around her hips. “With you, wearing nothing but that pretty little necklace I just bought you.”
Her stomach tightened. And her body responded before she did.
And judging by the smug look on Aemond's face. He noticed.
She woke up sore, in the best way possible.
The sheets were tangled around her legs, her body still buzzing from the night before, and when she shifted slightly, the cool press of gold against her skin reminded her of exactly how they’d celebrated.
Aemond had already left the bed when she woke up, thank the gods, which meant she had enough time to collect herself before inevitably facing the others.
Black bikini, sandals slipped on and she was out straight away, her hair still tousled from how rough Aemond had been with her the night before.
Helaena, Baela, and Rhaena sat sprawled out on their towels, sunglasses perched on their noses, drinks in hand. They looked far too entertained. And they knew. Oh, they fucking knew.
“So…” Baela drawled, adjusting her sunglasses as she turned toward her. “You had an eventful night.”
She rolled her eyes, dropping onto the sand beside them, already regretting coming down here. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Rhaena scoffed, hiding a smirk behind her drink. “Oh, come on.”
Helaena, as dreamy as ever, blinked up at her, tilting her head. “You’re glowing.”
Baela snorted, finally pushing her sunglasses onto her head so she could look at her properly. And then, her gaze zeroed in. She grinned. “Oh my gods, you’re wearing it.”
Her stomach dropped. Shit.
Baela pointed at the gold sun pendant resting delicately against her collarbone, shining in the morning light. “So, Aemond buys you jewellery now?”
She groaned, tipping her head back against the sand. “I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”
Rhaena smirked, twirling her straw between her fingers. “Not a chance.”
Helaena giggled, “I knew you didn’t hate each other.”
“Oh, I still hate him.”
Baela barked out a laugh, “so that was a hate fuck, was it?”
Rhaena snorted into her drink, nearly choking on it.
As if completely uninterested, Helaena excused herself, grabbing an empty tupperware as a beetle flew into the reeds by the stairs. Classic Hel.
Rhaena cleared her throat, “so…was it good?”
“I'm not talking about this.”
“Oh, so it was good,” Rhaena mused, eyes twinkling.
“I hate all of you.”
Baela leaned in. “You know what they say. The quiet ones are always the worst.”
Rhaena thoughtfully. “I bet he was really intense about it.”
“Oh, definitely. Control freak. Probably took his time—”
She groaned, “oh my gods, can we please change the subject?”
Helaena returned, beaming, a freshly caught beetle in her tub, “well, if it makes you feel any better, I'm happy for you.”
She peeked up at her through one squinted eye. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be happy about your brother getting laid.”
Helaena simply shrugged, smiling. “You make him less grumpy.”
Her only saving grace was that the guys were too far out in the water to hear any of this. Jace and Aegon were already trying to drown each other, waves crashing around them as they wrestled.
But Aemond stood farther out, water lapping at his waist, arms crossed, watching the spectacle with mild amusement.
She had no doubt Aemond suffered the same treatment this morning. Hounded with questions and easy ribbings. But unlike her, Aemond could silence any incessant question with a pointed glare and a well placed ‘fuck off’.
As if sensing her eyes on him, he turned, his hair sticking to his face. She watched his gaze drift to the necklace that sat snug at her collarbone, and then back up to her eyes, the faintest smirk on his face.
Maybe the rest of this holiday wouldn't be so bad.
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