In case you're wondering what raising a kid in a polyamorous family looks like, our kid just has. Zero concept of monogamy. Like we've explained it to her many times but she just like. Forgets it's a thing and the assumed cultural norm. We're showing her Lord of the a Rings and she was very confused when Aragon rejected Eowyn.
while its defintely awesome when games have more options for queerness, i gotta say there is a level of irk within me when, more often than not, theres still a level of restriction that inevitably sidelines certain types of queers.
you can choose your gender, and it includes nonbinary! you maybe can even change it later on! - but you can only choose one. sorry multigender folks, or anyone who would rather select none/agender! of course, no custom inputs either!
you can choose your pronouns, and they/them is even one of the options! you maybe can even change it later on! - but you can only choose one. and its often tied to your gender choice. and no option to input custom pronouns or not have any at all, sorry!
dont worry about gender, just choose your body type! - but you probably cant mix different sex characteristics or presentations, or its VERY limited. sorry intersex, trans, and gender-nonconforming folks, and anyone else with a body/presentation outside the binary standard! also probably fuck you if you want realstic/varying fat distribution options, or sometimes even just the ability to be fat At All. and also the body type thats clearly considered to have ""FeMaLe PrEsEnTiNg NiPpLeS"" is still not allowed to be topless.
you can choose what gender(s) youre attracted to, and sometimes even put none! you maybe can even change it later on! - but you can only be 100% allo or 100% aroace. sorry aroallos, alloaces, and other split-attraction people!
you can date or marry characters between any genders! - but you can only partner with one. or if you do have the option to date multiple, the game will treat you like youre cheating and cause negative effects for your relationships! but youll still only be able to marry one person! sorry polyamorous people!
you can choose a character to live with/be partnered to! - but you probably have to marry them and have obviously romantic and/or sexual interactions. sorry aspec, romance/sex-repulsed, and queerplatonic folks!
like. Again, its always great to see more options for queerness! its not like id rather these things to not be there at all. but it does suck to experience the particular mixture of joy and disappointment to see more ability to be queer in games, but never or rarely YOUR specific type(s) of queerness. or to have options thatre "almost there," where youre happy to pick a particular option, but still have a side of resignation on having to just pick whats "close enough" or limit yourself to only one aspect of your identity.
its just kind of another reminder that, even in many queer spaces, many of us are often still other. or not accepted at all. or superficially supported but rarely ever considered. or seen as "too much," "too confusing," or maybe even as "too weird/ridiculous" - to the point youre accused of "making the rest of us look bad/stupid/weird" or "being the reason for more hatecrimes against queers" by just being you- and so youre treated like, for the sake of the "real" and "good" queers, you shouldnt make yourself/your identity known. or you shouldnt be you. or you shouldnt exist, period.
sighs. anyways. it sucks always being relagated to the Mod-Only option of queerness. (if the mod is even made or youre able to make it) (if its even kept up-to-date) (if its even fullly functional/works seamlessly within the base game) (if you even have a device that can run mods) (if (if (if (if (if...)
2 all the way up to 9 people snuggling! get cozy!!
unfortunately couldnt fit a 10th like i prefer doing so the secret 10th buddy just prefers sleeping alone weheheh,,
─ pairing: Valarr Targaryen x f!reader x Aerion Targaryen
─ content: 18+ MDNI | filthy smut with minimal plot | targcest | p in v | p in a | M/M | F/M | M/F/M| throuple | fluff | light angst | the boyfriends are boyfriends
─ summary: you, Valarr, and Aerion celebrate your wedding night.
─ a/n: an extremely overdue part two. as always, thank you for reading. 🖤
masterlist |
The first light had not yet crested the window edge when Aerion opened his eyes. The room sat suspended in that grey hush before dawn, the kind of silence that made his breath sound loud. He lay still. You were there, facing him, deep in sleep, lips parted just enough to let soft, even breaths escape. Behind you, Valarr's arm lay draped over your waist, his fingers curled loosely against the sheet just above your hip. Aerion did not move. He watched your eyelids flicker in whatever dream held you, watched the faint tension in your brow ease back into smoothness. You looked peaceful, the pair of you.
Aerion's throat tightened.
He thought about how this had started. He had not been part of it at first. You and Valarr had found each other long before he had been let in. He remembered the jealousy that had coiled in his chest because he had loved you first. He had loved you his entire life.
That had been a long time ago, and you and Valarr had let him in. And today, you and Valarr would marry.
Today, in front of the entire realm, you would stand before a septon and speak vows that bound you as husband and wife. Aerion would stand to the side.
He lay there for a long time, staring at the curve of your cheek, the way Valarr's breath stirred the fine hairs at your nape. The grey light outside was beginning to warm, the first suggestion of gold bleeding through the curtain edges. He could hear the distant sounds of the castle stirring, a servant's footsteps in the corridor, the clatter of a pail in the yard below. The day was starting whether he wanted it to or not.
Carefully, inch by inch, Aerion withdrew. He slid his arm out from beneath the pillow, shifted his weight to the edge of the mattress, and sat up. The cool air hit his bare chest and he suppressed a shiver. He swung his legs over the side and paused, looking back at the two of you. You had shifted slightly in his absence, your face turning toward the warm spot he had left, one hand reaching out as though searching for something. Valarr's arm tightened around your waist, pulling you closer, and you settled together like two halves of a closed shell.
Aerion sat on the edge of the bed and watched you both. His jaw worked. He pressed his palms flat against his thighs and breathed through his nose, slow and measured, the way he breathed when he was holding something back. The ache in his chest spread to his throat, constricting.
He stood, finding his clothes in the dim light, pulled on his breeches and a loose shirt, and moved to the door. The corridor outside was empty and cold. His boots silent on the stone as he walked toward his own chambers, and the distance between himself and that warm bed grew with every step. By the time he reached his rooms, the ache had settled into something duller, a low persistent throb behind his sternum. He closed the door and leaned against it, tipping his head back against it. The room was dark and cold and empty.
Hours passed. The keep filled with the sounds of preparation while Aerion sat in a chair by his window and watched the world ready for a celebration that, for the first time, he was not certain he could endure.
By afternoon, the light had shifted to a warm amber that gilded the stone walls of the keep. In your chambers, you stood before a long mirror while your ladies fussed around you, their hands deft and practiced. The gown was ivory silk, fitted through the bodice and flowing from the waist in clean, unadorned lines that caught the light like cream. Gold thread traced the neckline and the edges of the sleeves, subtle but luminous. Your hair hung loose down your back in careful curls, and one of your ladies was pinning a gossamer net of fine gold wire woven with seed pearls into the waves at your crown. The effect was luminous, ethereal. A knock came at the door. One of the ladies glanced at the princess, who nodded. The door opened, and Aerion stepped through.
His violet eyes swept past the room's occupants and found you immediately, and he stopped, lips parting, closed, parted again.
"Leave us," you said. The ladies curtsied and filed out, closing the door behind them with a soft click.
Aerion stood just inside the threshold.
"You are a vision," he said. "So beautiful."
You smiled, the corners of your eyes crinkled as you crossed the room toward him, the silk whispering against the stone floor. You stopped close enough that he could smell the faint rosewater on your skin. "Thank you."
You reached for him, pulling him into an embrace. His arms came around you, one hand pressing flat against the small of your back, the other cupping the back of your head holding you carefully.
"Why did you leave so early?" you asked, your voice muffled against his chest.
His hand stilled against your back. "I wanted to let the happy couple enjoy their morning."
You pulled back, just enough to look up at him. Your violet eyes searched his face, and the warmth in them cooled by a fraction. "Aerion."
He shook his head. "It is nothing."
You studied him a moment longer, and he could see you deciding whether to press.
"I love you," you said.
He leaned in and kissed you, deeply, his hand moving from the back of your head to your jaw, tilting your face up.
"I love you," he said against your mouth. The words came out rough, almost fractured.
You pulled back and looked at him with those knowing eyes. "Today is a joyous day, you will see."
He nodded.
The wedding took place in the sept as the noon sun slanted through the stained glass, throwing columns of colored light across the floor. The hall was packed, every lord and lady of the realm in attendance, their finest velvets and furs and jewels on display.
Valarr stood at the altar in black and red, eyes fixed on you. He looked handsome, composed, every inch the prince.
Aerion stood in the second row, with a clear sightline to the altar. He watched you take Valarr's hand, watched your fingers interlace, watched you both turn to face the septon.
These feelings had been brewing for weeks. He had noticed them first as a faint unease, a shadow at the edge of his thoughts that he could dismiss in the light of day. But it was not until now, standing in this crowded sept, watching the two people he loved pledge themselves to each other in front of all these people, that Aerion understood the full shape of what bothered him. It was not jealousy, not exactly. It was the recognition that in the eyes of the world, he would never have a place at your side. The hall erupted in applause, and Aerion's hands came together mechanically, the sound of his palms meeting flat and hollow against each other.
The feast that followed was lavish. Musicians played from the gallery, and the great hall was alive with laughter and conversation and the clink of goblets. Aerion sat at the high table, several seats down from the bride and groom. He had a full plate in front of him and an empty cup.
Valarr held your hand on the table, his thumb tracing those same slow circles against your knuckle. He leaned in to whisper in your ear, and you laughed, turning your face toward his, your noses almost touching. Valarr lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours. Aerion did not think he could feel worse, until you and Valarr took your first dance.
You moved together with an easy grace, and Aerion watched the way you looked at each other. Aerion signaled for another cup.
Valarr must have felt his gaze, because in the middle of the dance, his eyes lifted from you and found Aerion across the hall. He held the gaze without breaking stride then he leaned in, his lips brushing your ear, and murmured something.
You turned your head, following Valarr's line of sight until your eyes found Aerion. A smile broke across your face, warm and bright, and you lifted your free hand, beckoning him to join you both on the floor.
Aerion shook his head, looking down into his cup, swirling the dark wine against the sides. When he glanced up again, you had turned back to Valarr, moving together once more, the space where you had gestured to him filled.
This was the end of this good thing, he imagined. It would just be the two of you and Valarr now. No room for him. The thought was irrational and he knew it, but rationality had little to do with the way his chest constricted every time Valarr touched you, every time the guests erupted in another toast to the happy couple.
Valarr released you to dance with your father as he stepped off the floor, accepted a cup from a servant, and made his way along the edge of the hall toward the high table.
He stopped beside Aerion's chair. "Is everything all right?"
Aerion did not look up. "Why wouldn't it be?"
Valarr studied him, head tilted slightly. "Because you have sat here pouting for hours. You are being a rather sour guest." The words came with a smile, delivered lightly, but there was an edge of genuine concern beneath the tease.
Aerion was in no mood for teasing. He took another gulp from his cup, the wine bitter and heavy on his tongue. "I am fine."
"You haven't spoken to anyone all evening."
"I spoke to the serving girl."
"She does not count."
Valarr lowered himself into the empty chair beside him. He set his own cup on the table and turned to face Aerion fully. His knee pressed against Aerion's beneath the table. "What is the matter?"
Aerion's jaw tightened. He could feel Valarr's gaze on the side of his face, steady and searching. "All is well," and even he could hear how thin it sounded. "I'm drinking, enjoying myself." He lifted the cup in a mock toast. "Congratulations on your marriage."
Valarr waited a beat, as though giving him room to reconsider. Aerion did not take it. The silence between them stretched, filled with the distant music and the hum of celebration that belonged to other people.
Valarr exhaled through his nose and stood. He straightened his doublet, smoothed a hand over his hair, and looked down at Aerion with an expression that was equal parts fondness and frustration.
"Very well," he said. "I will leave you to it."
He turned to go, then paused. He leaned down, his mouth close to Aerion's ear, and spoke in a voice low enough that no one else could hear.
"I do hope you will come to bed. It is our wedding night."
Aerion said nothing. Valarr straightened and walked away, crossing the hall with long, unhurried strides toward the center of the floor, towards you.
The cheers followed you through the corridor like a tide, voices layered with wine and bawdy encouragement, the sound of palms striking the long feasting tables in rhythmic approval. Valarr guided you forward without urgency. The torches along the passage threw their shadows long against the stone, two shapes merging into one dark smear on the wall. A drunk knight called out something crude and half-slurred about the bedding, and Valarr's jaw tightened—the only sign he registered it at all.
The bridal chamber door closed behind you both, and the noise of the feast collapsed to a muffled hum. Firelight filled the room catching on the carved posts of the great bed, the half-burned candles on the mantel.
Valarr stood near the door. He watched you from across the chamber, his eyes moving over your face, your hair, the line of your throat. He looked, for that stretched moment, committing you to memory, never wanting to forget the night you became his wife.
You moved first, crossing half the distance between you as he came to meet you. His arms opened and you stepped into them. His hand settled low on your back, fingers pressing through the fabric.
"Pardon my boldness, ser," you said, tilting your chin up, "you are incredibly handsome. Do you have a wife?"
His mouth curved, "I do." His thumb traced a small circle against your spine. "My lady wife is the fairest in the realm."
You giggled. He leaned in and kissed you. Slow. Thorough. His lips parted yours patiently. Your hands found his hair, fingers threading through the dark strands, pulling him closer. His hand flattened against your back, pressing your body to his, and you felt the hard line of him, already half-hard, already wanting.
He pulled back just enough to work the laces of your gown. His fingers were steady. Between the slow work of laces and fabric, he spoke against your temple, his lips brushing your skin.
"You are mine."
The gown pooled to the floor in a whisper of silk, leaving you in a light shift that clung to your breasts and hips, the sheer fabric doing almost nothing to conceal the dark peaks beneath, the curve of your waist. Your silk stockings hugged your calves. Your slippers were delicate things, barely more than slivers of leather and thread.
Valarr looked at you. His throat moved. He guided you to the edge of the bed with a hand on your hip and sat you down, then he lowered himself to his knees.
He looked up at you as he reached for your slippers, pulling the first one free with a gentle tug. "You're so pretty on your knees," you told him.
"Good. I intend to be here a while."
He peeled the silk stocking down your left leg, his palm hot against your calf, his fingers curling around your ankle. He pressed his lips to the top of your foot. Then your ankle. Then the curve of your calf, his mouth warm through the skin, trailing upward. He repeated the process on the other side and by the time both your legs were bare, your breath had gone shallow and quick.
He spread your knees apart and settled your legs over his shoulders, your thighs bracketing his face, bunching the shift up around your waist.
"Isn't this a nice surprise." His gaze was fixed between your legs, where you were bare. Nothing but skin and the evidence of how badly you wanted him already glistening on your inner thighs.
He pressed his mouth to the inside of your left thigh, then your right, kissing and nipping gently, working closer by degrees. You could feel his breath against your core; warm, steady, maddening. He breathed you in. A low groan escaped him.
"So beautiful," he murmured.
His first lick was tentative. A slow, broad stroke of his tongue from the bottom of your slit to the top, gathering the wetness there, tasting you. Your hips jerked. His hands came up and pressed them down, palms flat against your hipbones, holding you open and still.
He settled in, parting your folds with his tongue, licking your clit with slow, firm strokes, circling it, then pressing flat against it, then circling again. His tongue dipped lower, pushing into you, and the wet sound of it — slick, obscene, the squelch of his mouth working you — filled the quiet room. You moaned, your hands fisting in the sheets. "Ohh yes, fuck!" He pulled back to your clit and sealed his lips around it, sucking gently, and your spine arched as you began to grind your hips against his tongue.
"Valarr —" His name came out broken, half a gasp.
"You taste so good."
He did not stop. His tongue worked you in tight, relentless circles, his lips pulling at you, his hands pinning your hips to the bed so you could not buck or writhe away from the pressure. You felt the orgasm building in your belly, a tightening coil that wound and wound with each pass of his tongue.
"Good girl, give it to me."
Your thighs clamped against his head, back bowed off the bed, you let out a cry that broke into a whine as his tongue worked you through it, lapping at the wetness that flooded from you, not stopping until the last tremor had passed and you lay panting, boneless, trembling.
He pressed one last kiss to your inner thigh and looked up. His mouth was wet, chin glistened. He looked like a man who had just been given everything he wanted.
"Husband," you breathed. "I need you."
The word landed. You saw it hit him, the way his breath changed, catching in his chest, the way his body shifted, pressing closer, his hands tightening on your thighs. His pupils were blown wide.
"Say it again," his mouth against your throat, as you felt the vibration of the words on your pulse.
"Husband."
He pulled back and gave you that smile; boyish, handsome. He stood and undressed. His doublet went first, the black and red fabric pulled over his head and tossed aside. Then the shirt beneath, and the sight of his bare chest — lean, sculpted, the muscle defined but not bulky — made your mouth water. "How do you want me?" he asked, as he unlaced his breeches and pushed them down, and his cock sprang free, thick and hard, curving upward toward his stomach, the head flushed dark.
"I wish to look at you."
Valarr nodded, "you shall have whatever you wish for, my love." He directed you with a hand on your hip to lay back against the pillows, and you scrambled up, settling into the mound of silk and linen, your hair fanning around your head in silver-gold tangles. He followed you onto the bed, caging you beneath his body — his arms on either side of your shoulders, his knees between yours, his weight held just above you. You could feel the heat of him everywhere, the hard press of him against your folds as he slowly dragged his cock through them.
"Valarr!"
"Patience, princess, I'll give you what you want."
He entered you slowly. Inch by inch, stretching you open around him, as you both groaned — a shared exhale that broke at the same moment. Your nails dug into his back, he leaned down to kiss you as he bottomed out and held there, buried to the root, his forehead pressed to yours, your breath mingling. "Feel so good," he groaned out slowly dragging his hips back before pushing in slowly again.
He made love to you. Not the frantic, desperate coupling of stolen moments in darkened corridors or the quick, rough fucks against walls that characterized your more reckless encounters. This was slow, deep; each thrust a complete sentence, each withdrawal a pause before the next. His body moved against yours with a rhythm that spoke of familiarity, of knowing exactly the angle that made you gasp, exactly the depth that made you claw at his back.
He kissed you as he fucked you. Long, deep kisses that matched the rhythm of his hips, his tongue sliding against yours in the same cadence his cock slid into your cunt. You could feel every inch of him, the thick head dragging against your walls, pressing against that spot inside you that made your vision blur. Your legs wrapped around his waist, ankles locked at the small of his back, pulling him deeper.
"Mmh — Valarr —" The words came out broken, punctuated by each thrust. "Yes, right there —"
He leaned back, pulling his chest from yours, and yanked your hips closer, changing the angle. The pace picked up, each one driving into you with a wet slap of skin on skin. One hand found your breast, palming it, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. The other gripped your hip, fingers digging into the flesh hard enough to bruise. The sound of your fucking — the slick, rhythmic squelch of his cock driving into your soaked cunt — filled the chamber.
"I'm going to put my son in you," he said, and his voice was rough, stripped of every pretense, nothing left but raw want. The words made you clench around him, and he groaned. "You like that." Not a question. "Tell me. Tell me you want me to fill you."
"Ahh, I want, Valarr, please —"
"Please what?" His hips snapped forward, hard, and you cried out.
"Please — fill me — give me a son, husband, please —"
The door opened.
Aerion stepped through it as though the chamber beyond were not filled with the sounds and sights of his two lovers in the middle of consummating a marriage. He pulled the door shut behind him and leaned against it for a moment, arms crossed, one shoulder pressed to the wood. His eyes swept over the scene. Over Valarr's sweat-slicked back, the flex of muscle as he drove into you. Over you, spread beneath him. Hunger, longing, he felt it all.
"You started without me," Aerion said.
Valarr did not stop, his hips maintained their rhythm as he turned his head just enough to look at Aerion. He looked annoyed but not surprised. "We did not think you were coming."
"How remiss of me," he said. "I shall have to make it up to you."
"You shall have to earn that," Valarr said, his hips slowing for a moment as he spoke, and you whimpered at the loss of friction.
"Come here," you said, reaching past Valarr's shoulder, your hand extended toward Aerion.
Aerion crossed the room with fluid, unhurried grace, shedding clothes as he approached. He knelt on the edge of the bed, the empty space beside your hip, and looked at you, his violet eyes tracing your face, your throat, the swell of your breasts rising and falling with each ragged breath and deep thrust.
He leaned forward and kissed you. His hand came up to your jaw, fingers curling along the bone, tilting your face to the angle he wanted. He kissed you the way Valarr had; deep, searching, his tongue sliding against yours, but different, too. You could feel the difference in their mouths, their rhythms, the particular pressure of their lips. Valarr's pace quickened, his cock thick and delicious, the fullness combined with the kiss made your head spin.
Aerion's free hand slid down your body. Over the plane of your stomach, lower. His agile fingers found your clit, swollen, oversensitive from Valarr's mouth and the fucking, and he began to rub. Slow circles at first, then faster, matching the pace of Valarr's hips as he swallowed every one of your moans.
"Fuck," Valarr's hand found its way into Aerion's hair, tilting his head away. "Move just a second, I want to see her when she comes." Aerion obliged.
The combination broke you. Valarr's cock pounding into you and Aerion's fingers on your clit, relentless and precise. You came apart, your body seizing, your walls clenching hard around Valarr's cock, your spine arching off the bed. The orgasm tore through you in waves, each one stronger than the last, your cunt gripping and releasing and gripping again.
"There she is," Aerion said quietly.
The intensity of your orgasm rippled outward. Your walls clenched so tight around Valarr that his hips stuttered, the first loss of control you had seen from him all night. He braced himself on both arms and drove deep, once, twice, and on the third thrust he broke. His groan of your name was low, guttural, pulled from somewhere in his chest as he spilled himself inside you, his cock pulsing, his hips jerking through the aftershocks. You felt the heat of him flooding you, thick rope after rope.
Valarr's grip on your thighs was iron as he leaned back sitting on his knees to give himself a moment to breathe. Aerion moved across the bed. Valarr looked so beautiful like this, flushed, lashes fluttering, lips parted as he caught his breath. Aerion leaned in to kiss him — a hard, claiming kiss, his hand fisting in Valarr's hair, tilting his head back. Valarr kissed him back with equal force, their mouths moving against each other with a desperation that was different from how either of them kissed you. There was possession in it, dominance, a struggle for control that neither conceded. But beneath that, there was love.
"Husband," Valarr murmured against Aerion's lips as he grasped his jaw. "Do not stay away again." Aerion placed a kiss to Valarr's collarbone. Watching them made your walls flutter. You shifted your hips, a small, involuntary movement. They both noticed. Valarr pulled out. "You were so good for me, princess." You could only groan in response. Valarr chuckled, collapsing stretched out beside you on the pillows.
Aerion moved toward you, lowering his mouth to your ribs. He pressed light kisses there, his lips barely grazing the skin. You reached for him, wanting more, wanting his mouth elsewhere, and —
"Not yet."
Valarr's voice cut through the post-orgasm haze, calm and commanding. Aerion looked up, his chin resting on your breast, his violet eyes finding Valarr's face.
"Suck my cock well," Valarr said, turning his head to meet Aerion's gaze, "then you can fuck my wife."
Something moved through Aerion's expression. A flicker — defiance, pride, the particular stubbornness that rose in him whenever someone tried to claim what he saw as his. He held Valarr's gaze, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet and precise.
"Our wife."
Valarr did not acknowledge it. "Hmm," he hummed, a non-answer — he sat up properly against the pillows, one hand trailing down your body, palm warm against your ribs, your waist, your hip. "I'm the only one who consummated my marriage."
Aerion held the gaze a moment longer, jaw tight.
"Valarr, play nice."
Valarr chuckled, turning to you. "Aerion doesn't seem to want to play at all." He lifted an eyebrow meeting Aerion's gaze again.
Then Aerion moved.
He shifted across the bed, settling himself between Valarr's legs, his knees on the mattress, his back straight. Valarr's cock lay against his thigh, half soft but still thick, glistening with the evidence of you — his cum and your wetness mingled on the skin. Aerion did not hesitate. He leaned forward and took Valarr into his mouth.
Aerion's lips sealed around the head of Valarr's cock, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked hard, pulling back to the tip before sinking down again until his nose pressed against the dark hair at the base. The shaft had swollen full again, thick and rigid against Aerion's tongue, and he worked it with the kind of practiced ease that came from doing this dozens of times before — in darkened corridors, in tents during tourneys, in this very bed when it was just the two of them waiting for you.
You watched. You could not look away. The sight of Aerion, beautiful, proud, defiant Aerion, on his knees between Valarr's legs, his mouth full, his eyes half-closed in something that was not submission but devotion — made your stomach clench and your breath go short. You could see the muscles of his back shifting beneath fair skin, the line of his spine curving as he bent, the hard shape of his own cock hanging heavy between his thighs, untouched and flushed.
He loved this. You could see it in the way his hands curled around Valarr's hips, pulling him closer, the way his rhythm never faltered, the way he took Valarr to the root on every stroke and held there for a breath before pulling back. His eyes opened once, violet finding your violet across the bed, and there was heat in them, not just for Valarr, but for you. For the fact that you were seeing this. That you were part of this.
Valarr's hands found Aerion's hair, both of them, fingers threading through white-gold strands and gripping tight. His hips shifted upward, a small, involuntary thrust that pushed his cock deeper into Aerion's throat. A groan rolled from his chest, low and rough. "Good — gods, you're so good at this."
Aerion pulled off with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting his lower lip to the flushed head of Valarr's cock, and then he dipped lower. His tongue dragged a long, flat stripe up the underside of the shaft before tracing down to the heavy sac beneath. He mouthed at one ball, then the other, sucking it gently into the wet heat of his mouth, rolling it against his tongue. Valarr's grip in his hair tightened to the point of pain, and the sound that came from Valarr's throat — half-growl, half-gasp — told Aerion everything he needed to know about how much Valarr loved this. He sucked harder, letting his tongue work the sensitive skin, pulling back just enough to press wet kisses there before taking one into his mouth again.
"Fuck, Aerion —" Valarr's head fell back against the carved wooden headboard, his mismatched eyes half-lidded, the muscles in his stomach clenching and releasing with each pull of Aerion's mouth. "Just like that. Don't stop."
Valarr's breath came faster. His thighs tensed beneath Aerion's hands. The praise spilled from him in broken fragments between groans.
Then his eyes shifted. Past Aerion, to the side, where you lay watching. The firelight caught the sheen of sweat on your skin, the way your chest rose and fell with quickened breath, the faint flush that spread from your breasts to your throat. Valarr's gaze held yours for a moment, and then he tilted his chin, a small gesture, barely more than a lift of his jaw. An invitation. Come here.
You moved without hesitation, shifting across the tangled sheets toward him. Valarr's hand left Aerion's hair and found the back of your neck, pulling you into a kiss as you settled over him. Beneath you, you could feel the hard planes of his stomach damp with sweat, his hands came up to your breasts immediately, cupping them, thumbs dragging across your nipples until they stiffened under his touch, and then he pulled one into his mouth, sucking hard enough to make you gasp. You rolled your hips forward, grinding your slick pussy against the taut muscle of his stomach. The friction was maddening.
"Mmmh — yes —" you breathed, your head tipping back, your hands bracing on Valarr's chest as you moved. You ground against him in slow, desperate circles, chasing the friction, your wetness smearing across his upper stomach.
Below, Aerion had stopped. His mouth still wrapped around Valarr's cock, but his eyes were fixed on the sight above him, the way your cunt dragged wet and open across Valarr's body, the way your hips rolled and stuttered with pleasure. Mesmerized. His throat worked around a swallow, and he pulled off Valarr's shaft slowly.
Valarr's hands dug into the soft flesh of your hips, sliding you forward and back. "Take what you need, princess. Use me."
Aerion moved forward. His lips pressed against the curve of your left cheek — a soft, warm kiss that made your skin prickle. Then another, higher, at the base of your spine where the dip of your vertebrae created a shadow. Then another, at your shoulder blade, his chest brushing against your back as he rose behind you. You moaned reached back with one hand, fingers tangling into his hair, gripping hard.
He kissed your neck, open-mouthed and hungry, his breath hot against the damp skin there as he palmed both your breasts in his hands. His cock; hard, flushed, leaking at the tip, pressed against the back of your thigh, as he rocked his hips forward. A shudder ran through him, felt through every point where your bodies touched.
"Fuck," Valarr breathed.
The word sounded desperate, eyes moving between the two of you, drinking in the image: your arched back, Aerion's lips on your neck, both of you golden-silver and beautiful. The most perfect sight he had ever seen. His hands tightened on your hips, stilling your movement entirely.
You whined, a high, thin sound of protest, and tried to grind forward again, but his grip held firm.
Then Valarr's gaze shifted to Aerion, and his voice dropped. "The way you fuck her, is how I am going to fuck you."
Aerion went still. His breath caught, and for one suspended moment, his fingers tightened on your shoulder. He moved you, not roughly, lifting you off Valarr's body and settling you onto your hands and knees on the mattress. The shift was disorienting, sudden, and before you could fully register the change, you felt the blunt head of Aerion's cock notch against your entrance.
"Such a pretty cunt," he murmured, and then he thrust forward in one hard, deep stroke that seated him fully inside you.
The sound that tore from your throat was somewhere between a cry and a moan, your walls stretching around him, clenching at the sudden fullness, your body still sensitive and swollen from the orgasms Valarr had already pulled from you. Aerion groaned behind you, his forehead dropped to your shoulder, breath ragged against your skin.
"I need you," he moaned, barely above a whisper, his lips pressed against your shoulder in a kiss so tender it seemed impossible coming from the man whose cock was buried to the hilt inside you. "You belong to me, sweet sister."
He pulled back and thrust forward again, hard, and the tenderness dissolved into something ferocious. He fucked you with a desperation that went beyond lust, each stroke driving deep, the force of it rocking you forward on your arms, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the chamber. Smack, smack, smack. His hips snapped against your ass with a punishing rhythm, and his hands gripped your waist hard enough to leave marks.
"You are mine," he said, his voice rough and fractured between thrusts. "My wife."
"Yes — yes, Aerion —"
He had something to prove. You could feel it in the way he drove into you, the way his fingers dug into your flesh, the way his breathing grew ragged and uneven. The wedding had wound something tight in him — the feast, the toasts, the way the realm celebrated Valarr's union with you as though Aerion did not exist. He hated it. He was fucking that hatred out of himself with every stroke into your body.
You dropped from your hands to your elbows, the arch of your back deepening, and the new angle took him even deeper. Aerion groaned at the sight of you, the curve of your spine, the way your body opened for him, and his hand came down on your ass with a sharp crack. The sting bloomed hot across your skin, and you gasped, clenching around him.
"Gods — look at you," Valarr breathed, Aerion's rhythm stuttering for just a moment as his eyes tracked the way his cock disappeared into you, the thick shaft glistening with your arousal. He smacked your ass again, watching the flesh jiggle, obsessed with the sight of you taking all of him.
You turned your head, breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps from the force of his fucking, and found Valarr's eyes locked on you. He had moved to the side of the bed, propped against the pillows, one hand wrapped around his own cock, stroking slowly. His gaze moved between your face and the point where Aerion's body joined yours.
"Does that feel good?" he asked.
You nodded, a jerky, desperate motion, another moan tearing from your throat as Aerion drove home with particular force. "Y-yes —"
"Focus on me," Aerion snapped. His hand left your hip and fisted in your hair, pulling your head back, and the sharp tug at your scalp sent a bolt of heat straight through you. You moaned, long and shameless, your back arching deeper as he continued his onslaught.
Valarr chuckled, a low, warm sound. "You never share well, Aerion."
Aerion shot him an incredulous look, his rhythm faltering for just a beat, the absurdity of the accusation cutting through the haze of his desperation. His mouth opened as if to retort, but whatever he might have said dissolved into a groan as his hips jerked forward involuntarily; he was close. You could feel it in the way his thrusts grew erratic, the way his breathing fractured into harsh, uneven pants, the way his grip on your hair tightened.
Valarr climbed off the bed, but you couldn't track where to, couldn't pay attention to anything because Aerion was hitting that spot inside you over and over and the pressure was building past the point of return, coiling tight and hot at the base of your spine.
Your orgasm hit like a wave crashing against rocks. You came apart, legs shaking, your arms giving out, your whole body trembling as your cunt clamped down hard around Aerion's cock, milking him in desperate, rhythmic pulses. You couldn't breathe. The air left your lungs in a broken sob, and black spots danced at the edges of your vision as the pleasure crested and broke and kept breaking.
Aerion followed immediately. Your walls clenching around him dragged him over the edge, and he slammed forward one final time, burying himself as deep as he could go, and came with a groan that sounded almost pained.
You collapsed. Your body folded forward into the sheets, boneless and weak, and Aerion's weight lifted from you as he pulled out — slowly, carefully.
Then his lips found your back. Kiss after kiss pressed against the knobs of your spine, the curve of your shoulder blade, the dip of your lower back. Each one so gentle. He rolled you over, slowly. Sleepy. Happy. A lazy smile curved your lips.
Valarr climbed back onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he moved to kneel beside Aerion. His hand settled on Aerion's back.
Valarr looked down at you, his eyes soft in the firelight. "Are you satisfied?" You nodded, a slow, languid dip of your chin.
"Good," he said.
A shiver ran through you, starting at the base of your skull and cascading down your spine. You knew what was coming. You loved watching the two of them together — two beautiful men finding pleasure in each other. You could already feel the wetness building again between your thighs, your cunt stirring despite the exhaustion, anticipation pooling low in your belly.
Valarr moved. He shifted behind Aerion, and his hands, firm but careful, guided Aerion forward, pushing him gently down onto all fours. Aerion went willingly, lowering himself over you, and his head came to rest on your stomach. His breath was warm against your skin; you reached down to card your fingers through his hair absently.
The sound of a cork being pulled from a small vial reached your ears. Then the slick sound of oil coating fingers.
Valarr's hand returned to Aerion's hip, steadying him, and then Valarr's oil-slicked fingers disappeared between Aerion's cheeks and found the tight furled entrance there. One finger pressed in, slow and deliberate, and Aerion's breath hitched against your stomach. A low moan vibrated through his lips and into your skin, his fingers curled against the sheets on either side of your waist.
Valarr worked him open with patient, practiced movements. Then a second finger joined the first, and Aerion whimpered. His hips pushed backward.
Valarr breathed, his voice rough and low. "Fuck yourself on my fingers. Just like that."
Aerion let out a long, drawn-out moan his panting grew ragged — each exhale a warm gust against your stomach. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to your skin, his lips wet and hungry, trailing across your belly as though he needed something to anchor himself to while Valarr's fingers worked him open.
"You want me to fuck you?"
Aerion lifted his head just enough to speak, his eyes half-glazed. "Don't ask foolish questions," his voice came out rough and imperious even in this position — kneeling, open, desperate.
Valarr laughed. He pulled his fingers free, slowly, carefully, and Aerion made a small noise at the loss.
"Gods, you look so good," Valarr murmured, and he leaned in. His tongue traced a flat, wet stripe across Aerion's entrance, and Aerion whimpered — a broken, shuddering sound that made your stomach tighten.
Valarr pulled away and ran a hand through Aerion's hair. He leaned over Aerion's back, his chest pressing against the curve of Aerion's spine. Aerion turned his head; slowly, with effort, to lock eyes with him.
The silence between them said everything. A question, unspoken, held in Valarr's gaze. Are you ready?
Aerion nodded. A single, definitive dip of his chin.
Valarr nodded in response. He pressed a kiss to Aerion's temple and then his eyes found yours. He smiled, and his hand found your knee, squeezing once before he pushed himself upright.
He reached for the vial of oil again, pouring more into his palm, and wrapped his hand around his own cock. Then he positioned himself behind Aerion. One hand settled on Aerion's hip, fingers curling into the bone, the other hand guided his cock downward, the blunt head pressing against Aerion's slicked, stretched entrance.
The first inch was the slowest. Aerion's breath hitched, his fingers curling against the soft skin of your stomach where his head rested, and a sound escaped him, not a whimper, not yet, but something close, something thin and involuntary that he would have swallowed if he could have.
Valarr pushed deeper. Another inch, then another, the heat inside Aerion's passage gripping him like a fist soaked in oil and silk. The stretch was immense. Aerion could feel himself being opened, his walls forced apart around the girth of Valarr's cock, and his back arched, spine curving as though his body might somehow escape the slow, inexorable pressure.
Beneath him, you felt the vibration of his moan travel through your skin, and your cunt, still swollen and dripping with the evidence of what Aerion had done to you moments before, throbbed in answer, a pulse of heat that made your thighs shift against the sheets.
Valarr paused, buried to the root, and let out a breath that shook. Each flutter sent a jolt through Valarr's spine, and he stayed perfectly still, one hand pressed flat between Aerion's shoulder blades, feeling the rapid hammer of his pulse through skin and bone. The sounds Aerion was making, those small, fractured gasps, were music.
He felt the moment Aerion's body surrendered. The rigid tension eased, resistance melting. He pulled back slowly until only the tip remained then pushed back in.
The sound that came from Aerion's throat was somewhere between a groan and a sob. His hips jerked forward, pressing his face harder against you, his fingers dug into the sheets. Valarr pulled back again, set the same devastating pace, and each thrust drove a new sound from him; a rhythm of moans that matched the slap of skin against skin, the wet squelch of oil and the slick heat of their bodies coming together.
Your own breath had quickened, your cunt still throbbing with each pulse of residual pleasure, and the sight before you. Valarr opened his eyes, his gaze finding yours, and the corner of his mouth curved. His hips never faltered, the brutal rhythm continuing as he held your gaze.
"You are going to cum again, princess," he said. "Aerion, help her."
The command cut through the haze in Aerion's mind. His hands moved before his thoughts could catch up, sliding down to grip your thighs, spreading them wider, lowering his head between your legs. A cry tore from your lips. He lapped at you in firm, steady strokes, his tongue dragging over the swollen bud. The taste of you, of your arousal, of his own release still pooled inside you, filled his mouth.
He couldn't think, couldn't process anything beyond the dual assault on his senses. Valarr's cock was still pounding into him, each thrust shoving his face deeper into your cunt, the pleasure was building in his gut, a tight coil that wound tighter with every drag of Valarr's cock across that spot inside him. His hips began to move — not just receiving, but meeting, pushing back against Valarr's thrusts, impaling himself deeper, harder, chasing the feeling with a desperation that was entirely instinctive.
"Fuck," Valarr hissed through clenched teeth, his rhythm faltering for half a beat before he reasserted control, driving in harder.
Your hand found Aerion's hair again. "You're making me feel so good," you breathed. The praise hit Aerion straight to the core, and he doubled his efforts, his tongue working your clit with renewed fury as though he could pull the orgasm from you by sheer force of will.
Your thighs clamped around his head, hips bucked up off the bed, as you came apart beneath him. The knowledge of it, that he had done this, sent him over the edge.
His own orgasm hit him like a seizure. His cock, untouched, bobbing beneath him with each of Valarr's thrusts, erupted — thick ropes of cum spurting across the sheets, his passage clenching so hard around Valarr's cock that the man above him cursed loudly, his hips stuttering. The grip of Aerion's spasming walls was relentless, milking him, and Valarr drove in once, twice, three more times; brutal, desperate thrusts, before he buried himself to the hilt and came.
Hot cum flooded Aerion's insides. He could feel it, the pulse of Valarr inside him, the warmth spreading deep, filling him, and the sound Valarr made was not a groan but something closer to a shout, raw and unfiltered, his hips jerking through the aftershocks. His hands tightened on Aerion's hips hard enough to bruise, and he held himself buried deep, riding out the waves of his release until his arms trembled and his breath came in ragged, open-mouthed gasps.
Silence. Aerion's face was still pressed against your thigh, his breath hot and uneven against your skin, his body trembling with the residual aftershocks of his untouched orgasm. Valarr's forehead dropped to the space between Aerion's shoulder blades, his own chest heaving.
A shiver ran through Aerion and he collapsed fully onto you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his face buried in the curve of your neck. Valarr collapsed to your other side, one arm thrown across his own face, his chest still rising and falling in uneven rhythm.
The three of you lay like that, a tangle of limbs and sweat and the mingled scents of sex and oil and release, and the fire burned lower, casting long shadows across the bed. Your hand moved lazily through Aerion's hair, your touch aimless and gentle, while your other hand found Valarr's forearm and rested there, a point of contact that said more than words.
Aerion stirred. He rolled off you with a grunt, lying on his back beside you, his arms spread, staring up at the bed's canopy. In the silence, the thoughts crept back. The wedding. The way his chest tightened every time he saw the two of you together and remembered that he was the addition, the extra, the one who had to be invited in.
He rolled onto his side. His forearm trembled as he propped himself up. "I love you." He said it to you both.
You sat up, wrapped an arm around his neck, and pulled him toward you, your mouth found his in a kiss that was soft and certain. "I love you," you said back. On his other side, Valarr reached across the space between you and took Aerion's hand. His grip was firm, his fingers lacing through Aerion's.
"You need not question your position here. The three of us are bound to each other. "Forever."
Something shifted in Aerion's face. The tension in his jaw eased, and the tightness around his eyes softened. Valarr flopped back onto the bed. You shifted, throwing a leg over Aerion's hips, and settled against him, your head resting on his chest. His arms came around you instinctively, holding you close, fingers traced lazy patterns along your spine. Behind you, Valarr pressed against your back, his mouth finding the curve of your shoulder and placing a line of gentle kisses along your skin.
His arms wrapped around you, pulling the three of you into a single warm tangle of limbs, and he reached down to grasp the edge of the covers, dragging them up over sweat-dampened skin.
Aerion's heartbeat steadied; he closed his eyes and let the darkness take him, unafraid for once of what he might find when he woke.
