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The room was boiling, miniscule, stifling any sign of life with every passing second. The open window on the far wall gave no relief, hardly a breeze could be felt from the open waters just by the docks. The prince had opened it for the fresh air but now, he was deeply regretting the decision as he heard the petrified screaming of yet another woman as she was mugged, raped, robbed, or assaulted. Prince Aegon, the firstborn son of the endearing and kind-hearted king, King Viserys the first, could only imagine which one and wished not to ponder it. The ignorance was both out of helplessness and out of comfort in truth. With it out of sight and out of mind, he could proclaim to be no one’s savior despite whatever his hair-brained sister muttered about. Usually, the typical riff raff was innocuous even reassuring for the prince but tonight was proving to be dissimilar. By now, the smallfolk would have settled down, content to hovel in corners and alleys. But the elaborate tourney announcing his half-sister, Rhaenyra’s fourth pregnancy with their uncle Daemon, had brought in a plethora of new victims with fat purses. Off in the distance, the petrified musings of the local rambler pierced the humid air. As of late, there was no reprieve from his disturbing ramblings of how the city was a den of iniquity and how the vapors of poison were consuming the souls of mankind. After a moment, Aegon had heard enough and banished the sounds to the back of his mind, beginning the process of slowly peeling away his sweaty and musky clothes.
They clung to him like the desolate beggars on the street, staining his skin like the muck found in the cells of the Red Keep. They adhered to him like his endless regrets, taunting him into a tantric gasping desire to bury his wonton need for affection, for love. His shirt was crudely casted off by the door, his shoes and socks were lost on the way to his room. His pants were another story, discarded at the side of the bed, making a satisfying thump. The darkness of the room was a relief, Aegon didn’t want to see the multitude of bruises and cuts that littered his body. He didn’t want to see the daisy chain of failures that was etched into his skin confirming what he already knew, he wasn’t going to earn his parents’ approval no matter what he did. Taking long, slow breaths, he flung himself onto the cool soft bed, disregarding how the rough-spun cotton scratched his skin. Here he could hide from those accusing glances and stares asking him questions he didn’t want to answer. He could save himself from the biting words of his grandsire and uncle who only saw him as his mother’s child. Here he could be alone in his cowardice. Eyes closed, he waited for the air to thin; the desperate need almost never seeming to abate. He wanted escape, some distraction, some relief.
He wanted release, — a resolution. His eyes scanned the ceiling, looking for something, anything but it held no answers; his body twitching like an animal in a cage. He had visited his favorite brothels, seen his favorite girls, all in vain. There would be no solace found in the anonymous faces and endless caresses, so he returned to the Keep, where his father hardly noticed him, and his mother fretted over his messy hair. Where his grandsire asked what brothels he visited so he could threaten the whores into drinking the strong moon tea they had on hand since he hit puberty. ‘Tomorrow’ he promised himself in the arms of yet another brothel worker. Tomorrow he would find the courage to say what he needed to say. He would, and he would have the answers he needed. The answers to the question, “Why am I never good enough for you to love?”. Anything was better than this nonverbal endless tension that made his skin crawl, choking him every day and night. Who was he kidding? It was always tomorrow, again a never-ending daisy chain of failures. The pathetic nature of his position had him cocooned like a repulsive, fraught insect in the throes of its final dance. At the thought, Aegon was reminded of Helaena and her obsession with bugs. He thought about how she was just across the hall and pondered if she was listening to the smallfolk as well. Aegon wondered what she was doing, was she awake wishing the world would go silent too? Was she lying awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling and wishing for someone to talk to just as Aegon was? He could go over to her room; she would listen to all his worries and sooth the tremors when he eventually broke down. Before he knew it, Aegon could picture Helaena lying on his bed, mouth slightly agape as she stared up at him. Her body would be laid out with his soft cream-colored sheets carelessly draped over her frame, wrapping around her slim hips. Her eyes half-closed as she whispered how she loved him more than he could ever know. Maybe she would still have her stockings on stretched tight over her slender calves, hugging her thighs oh so snug. The moonlight dancing over her skin making it appear like silk as it dipped low and down around her hips. God, she looked so beautiful. Since he started masturbating, it had always been anonymous faces, featureless fragments so he would feel so alone, but in the last few months, Helaena invaded his every thought.
Aegon stopped. His hand hovering over his slight pudgy stomach, his aching cock throbbing, begging to be touched but he wavered. This was why he avoided her and uttered murmured apologies anytime she was in the room. This was why he practiced putting on a plastic smile for anyone and everyone. From his brother who questioned his drinking to his mother who smacked him at every turn. Anything to prevent the gossip, the hushed whispers, the knowing stares; everything was alright between him and Helaena. And still, in the middle of the night, he couldn’t shake the memory of Helaena or how much he desired her. How sick he was for wanting his own baby sister, how repulsive it was to even have such wonton thoughts of her. Targaryen tradition or not, Aegon was sick to his stomach. And yet, the memory of Helaena’s soft lilac eyes so familiar to Aegon as his own ghosted over his skin like the tender kisses from an adoring lover. His sweat-slicked body started moving of its own volition, His hands flexed, seeking stability and pleasure. One hand sunk into the comforter, digging into the callused skin from his time practicing with swords and daggers. The tension clawing at his every nerve, daring him to go across the hall and break down, confess everything. He wasn’t going to do that, Aegon sighed knowing that he wouldn’t. Shaking the thought, he licked the palm of his free hand ignoring the slight revulsion he felt before it dove beneath to wrap around his cock. The first touch was always tantalizing, a subtle lullaby to draw you in. Aegon moaned softly, closing his eyes, he was grateful for the slight thrill that shot through him.
The images began to play behind his closed lids. Helaena’s hands on his hips, wrapping around him adding pressure to his own ministrations. Helaena’s breath dancing across his sweaty skin, tickling the hairs on his neck. The feeling of velvety flesh in his hand brought a sharp intake of breath from him. Helaena’s hands wouldn’t be like this, callused from training. The warmth of his palms smearing the few droplets of precum gently down his length to the base. Another flash and Helaena’s tongue flat against the underside of his cock, hot and gentle, an intense heat that pull at the coil in his belly. He needed more, a mouth on his cock, Helaena’s legs wrapped around his waist. Yes, Helaena would be soft and gentle.
But his sweet sister wasn’t here. This malformed thing he called desire inside him was. Aegon whimpered, the realization broke through his sick and twisted fantasy. Clenching his eyes shut; struggling to grasp onto the illusion but it wasn’t enough. The spell was broken, the play was over, leaving only the remnants of revulsion in its place. He watched Helaena’s eyes full of disgust, turn away from him. "I'm sorry, please don't leave me now." He wanted to beg to the ghost of his newest lover. He felt exposed, jerking off in the dark because he was craven. He willed the shame to go away, but the certainty persisted. He wept. He wept for her, for her love, for her forgiveness. His whole body shook, his cock angry and demanding attention. He was caught, pinned against his desire for Helaena and his own cowardice. Sighing, Aegon wrapped his hand around his cock once more. There was no gentleness, just the need to purge himself of this ugliness. His toes dug into the sheets as he gritted his teeth and sped up the strokes. His skin burned; it was sweltering. He writhed, limbs twitching as the peels of ringing roared in his ears.
“Please please…. Just let me… Helaena.. please.” he sobbed; his orgasm finally came spewing out of him. Heck, even in the dead heat, even the most oblivious shadows that dwelled in these soulless streets would condemn Aegon. The prince sighed, grasping for his discarded shirt. Cleaning off his hand and stomach, Aegon shoved himself up onto his elbows as he reached for another carafe of wine with a shaking hand, the heatwave wasn’t relenting even in the nightly hours. The nighttime rambler assured yet another stifling drought as a woman yelled at him to be quiet. The prince grimaced,
“Well Fuck….” He didn’t need it to be muggier, sweat was already everywhere it didn’t need to be.
“Do you always drink right after?” A tiny voice broke his commiseration. The prince jumped turning towards the voice. He could make out the slight frame of his sister. Pausing for a moment, he cursed his guard for slipping up.
“Helaena… How long have you been there?” He dreaded the answer. Helaena only sighed.
“Next time, just ask me for some help…” Aegon’s breath caught in his throat. “I am your wife after all.”