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Aerion’s phone hadn’t stopped buzzing in his pocket through the entirety of his presentation.
It’s his family, no doubt. They hadn’t been quiet for even a moment this morning. The day had started with his father and uncle’s speeches about the bright future of the company, making sure that they would be re-elected as directors before hearing the performances of the rest of the family and promptly swanning out of the meeting, leaving their offspring to handle the details of the future in question. Aerion had had his work doubled just an hour or so ago, when a message from their father to Daeron asking when he plans to arrive at the meeting with the shareholders had received nothing but ‘shareholder? I hardly know her.’ in response. It had been profoundly aggravating and very much to be expected and the constant vibrating from his suit jacket is not helping.
Luckily, as soon as he steps off the stage, tunes out the next speaker and checks his phone, it’s not yet another endless rant that awaits him (or not only that, at least), though it is a family member all the same.
V.T.: Father is apparently leaving the city on some urgent business, which means I have the house to myself for a few days. You’re welcome to it if there’s someone else to stay with your brothers in Summerhall in the meantime. No worries if not.
V.T.: P.S.: Some worries if not, actually. I don’t know when is the next time either of us will have this much freedom.
V.T.: I thought that perhaps Daeron could be trusted to stay with the kids, but I’m starting to doubt that. Where was he today?
Aerion stares at the string of texts, mood brightening at the subdued spiral that his cousin had worked himself into as he’d done his best to sound both vague and not overly eager. It’s awfully polite and very careful in what, exactly, it spells out, always cautious of vultures looking to leak anything they find on their family into the press. They’d had accidents of the sort a generation or two ago; he’s sure neither of them is looking to be the next one blamed for such a thing.
A.T.: Fuck if I know. Aemon and Aegon have their tutors and nannies, no one needs to be staying home with them. Especially not Daeron.
V.T.: And uncle Maekar?
A.T.: Don’t know where he’s off to or when he’ll be back, but he’s had me on a looser leash recently.
V.T.: I’ll see you tonight, then.
Aerion looks up from his phone to peer down the line of chairs, finds Valarr’s eyes past several other relatives, and smiles.
~.~
His day only goes on to improve in the late afternoon. He’d been stuck in traffic for the better part of an hour, the car swerving in and out of lanes to at least imitate activity, but the weather had settled somewhere in the middle of the way between Summerhall and Dragonstone and he’d just received another message from his father – not another furious voice note in the family group chat, thankfully, but a private one.
Dad: Gone to a conference with your uncle. Will be back on Thursday.
Aerion sends a thumbs up back and immediately forwards the message to Valarr. He can imagine him laughing; that self-satisfied little sound when he knows that he’s about to get what he wants. It’s not a welcome thought and neither is the feeling that accompanies it. He’s not going over there to be fond of his cousin, but to feed an urge that they should have both been clever enough to put an end to many, many years ago; a ridiculous venture for what has to be the country’s two most micromanaged adult men. It’s only the fact that their fathers are as busy and as attached at the hip as they are that had saved them from scrutiny so far. He doesn’t want to begin to imagine what either of them would do if faced with the reality of their sons’s— entanglement.
The thought of that makes him jittery; makes his skin itch until he’s suspicious of every single thing in his surroundings, the world suddenly appearing hostile and even more eager to watch him slip and fall than it usually is. Aerion’s eyes wander over to his chauffeur in the rear-view mirror as the man reaches out of his window and swipes a card to let them into the Dragonstone estate, looking for a sign that someone like him – someone who spends their entire workday seeing each and every place the members of his family visit but hardly ever talks to his charges – could know. To his relief, it doesn’t look that way: he just seems bored, eyes a world away as he goes through the motions of getting him to his destination. It makes sense, really. He’s taking a Targaryen from one of their houses to another for a family visit or to do business. The thought that this is anything but that would never have crossed his mind because he’s a well-adjusted man with well-adjusted thoughts, and a man like that does not have to suppress the flutter in his heart when he sees that his cousin is waiting for him by the doors of the manor.
“We’re here, Sir.”
Aerion slips out of the car before he’s had the chance to think himself directly into turning around and leaving. “I’ll call when I have to leave,” he says and doesn’t look back, laser-focused on Valarr where he’s lounging on the staircase, a patient smile on his beautiful face. He doesn’t speak when Aerion approaches him, only turning to him when they’re already inside the sprawling entryway of Dragonstone.
“Today was a success, I think.” Aerion nods, doing his best not to look as if he had spent the second half of the meeting spacing out in favour of sketching out the concept art of a mythology book that would get him a stern lecture by anyone who had ever been in charge of him. “Your presentation was great.”
“So was yours.” But Valarr isn’t fishing for compliments in return, he’s sure; there’s a studying glint in his eyes that means that he knows damn well what he’s doing. Any bit of approval from his family tends to shoot through Aerion’s very being like a drug and as much as he resents it, the thrill of it is undeniable – undeniable and rather visible, to his cousin if no one else. “Are you sure you’re alone here?”
“I live here. Of course I’m sure. I’ve sent the help home.” Another one of those looks, a bit more imploring this time. “You’ve got to take a breather, Aerion.”
He can almost feel the already scarce colour in his face leave him completely as his state of mind takes a sudden somersault directly off a cliff. “Did my father say that?” It comes out sharp and panicky and he hates his voice for it – for the fact that he can’t manage the usual lazy, teasing tone that he tends to adopt with Valarr to rile him up. There’s an (impossibly) even more mortifying thought chasing on the tail of that one and he can’t help but ask, “Did your father say it?”
If they think that he can’t manage the stress or the workload, he would have to argue his case, he thinks. And he would, too; would have to call his father and talk to him right now, planned rendezvous with his cousin be damned. He would have to—
“No. They were both very pleased with us today. Uncle Maekar has apparently said, and I quote,” Valarr pulls up what must be a conversation with Baelor on his phone, “that you did a ‘more than decent job given that you had no fucking clue what the first half of your speech was about’. Which is why I’m saying that you need to calm down.” Aerion knows that he’s gone red by the endeared, if a little patronising, edge to his cousin’s expression. “You’ve been on a hair trigger all day, for no good reason. It’s just us here.” He finally reaches for him, one arm wrapping around Aerion’s waist and hauling him closer. He lets it happen, still feeling inordinately, offensively seen, as Valarr’s smile widens. “This is the point, isn’t it? Taking the edge off?”
“Yes. Of course.” Aerion commands his body to at least appear less tense and it’s a clumsy, stilted performance, but he is terribly eager to please. Valarr’s entitlement to their heritage had always taken on a calmer, moderate edge when compared to anything Aerion himself could ever feel and he knows what his cousin sees when he looks at him, or at least suspects: a neurotic, short-tempered, capricious man, quick to anger and slow to forget. He’d heard it all, both from his family and from most people he knows, and has no reason not to believe it, but the attempts at fixing it so far had never been someone telling him to relax. He pulls Valarr into an embrace in turn, nuzzling his face into the side of his neck, allowing himself a smile when he’s granted more space to leave a trail of kisses up to his lips. “Of course. I was being cautious is all.”
He isn’t as obviously problematic as his brother is, media-wise, and he knows it, but his indiscretions are usually the ones to cause lasting harm, or much more of a taint than any sort of alcohol-fuelled embarrassment that Daeron could hope to manage. A slip-up like this would be something that he will never, ever be allowed to forget. Valarr too, possibly, but Aerion had never been particularly good at thinking outside of the small universe that his own mind creates for him, filled to the brim with every small grievance the world had ever inflicted upon him and the damage he’d done in return.
“There’s no one here,” Valarr stresses again, one hand reaching up to try and tangle in his hair. It’s too short for that, he knows, but just enough for it to sting when he tugs at it and a shiver runs through Aerion’s entire body at the sensation. He nips at his cousin’s neck in retaliation and it only makes Valarr hold him tighter, just as he’d hoped. “Anyone who matters is off to a seminar retreat in the woods where the one percent go to better their money making techniques and will not be home anytime soon.” Aerion nods into his cousin’s collarbone, pushing his shirt to the side as he busies his hand with unbuttoning it. He’d been to enough conferences to know that while he’s looking over his shoulder down here, their fathers are likely in a hot tub on some hotel’s rooftop. “There’s no one to keep track of any transgressions behind these doors.”
“Transgressions,” Aerion echoes, relieved by the humour finding its way back into his voice. “Rather mildly put, isn’t it?”
“It’s what the media would call them after The Firm is done with any articles they write.” Valarr leads him backwards down the corridor and into the first guest bedroom they reach, kicking the door open as he goes. They stumble on the ostentatious carpet a step later and fall directly onto the bed, his cousin’s hands settling on Aerion’s hips to steady him as they sink into the covers. “But it is mild.”
“Insultingly so,” Aerion insists, though he’s a little distracted; lost in the kaleidoscope of Valarr’s eyes. Dangerous, he reminds himself, take a step back, but he can’t; not when his breath feels like it’s punched out of him when he receives one of those smiles again.
“I know how seriously you take the history of our noble house, cousin,” Valarr says and the embers in Aerion’s veins catch fire on the heat in his voice. “You’ve been inspiring me in that regard. But I know what they would call it if they weren’t muzzled.” Ever the vague, distant they – the formless shape of anyone not of the blood, disdained and unimportant. Aerion nods again, almost feverish and rapt with attention. He’s deathly afraid of the shame and scorn of being caught and still addicted to the sin that could destroy them all. Infecting his cousin with that is the closest thing to divinity that he’s ever known. “Incest.” A kiss under his ear, sweet and fond. “Sodomy.” Another one just shy of Aerion’s lips; just close enough to make him grit his teeth in anticipation. “Degeneracy of the highest order.”
“Yes.” Aerion presses him into the mattress with his weight, takes hold of Valarr’s wrists to pin them over his head and rolls his hips where he’s seated on his cousin’s lap so that he can watch him squirm. His mind games tend to end where his desire starts, elaborate teasing melting into the need for more. “Let me—”
Valarr simply nods and manages to struggle out of the rest of his clothes without straying too far away from him, his surprised gasp drowning into their next kiss when Aerion reaches down and wraps a hand around his length. He can be overenthusiastic, he knows, but he’s too impatient to be anything else. His cousin had likely been right – he does need to take it easier than he has. Instead, he’s lost in the frantic, breathless kisses they share, blunt nails digging into his shoulders as they both try to keep their balance, the silky heat under his touch as Valarr’s cock twitches under his hand’s relentless rhythm. He had always been disarmingly responsive, the smug confidence in his wide, earnest eyes replaced with the sort of hunger that Aerion himself feels all too often and there’s an intense relief in that; in not being alone. They’ll have days for themselves, all alone in this echoing, empty manor house, all the time in the world to do everything and anything they please. For now, he just wants this – the closeness that he can never quite get enough of from the only person in the world as insatiable as him.
“Aerion.” The sound of his name from Valarr’s mouth in moments such as this one is a precious thing, dripping with something he doesn’t dare name, and he laps it up greedily. If it’s all he’s ever allowed to have, it would be enough, or so he wants to pretend, but it’s not. He wants to listen to it until it’s the only sound ringing in his ears. It’s all he hears as he picks up his pace and Valarr’s choked off moans are buried in his shoulder, high-pitched and a little desperate; all he hears when his cousin shudders and comes, still clinging onto him like he’s a lifeline. Being wanted is a headier opiate than any physical touch could ever be, but the touch certainly does help, he thinks as he’s clumsily pushed onto his back, Valarr leaning onto his chest while he catches his breath.
Take the edge off. That’s all this is allowed to be. Aerion closes his eyes as if that would help anything at all and whimpers when he feels a curious hand settle over his hip, soon followed by Valarr shouldering his way between his thighs as he settles on the bed. He can’t quite help the sound he makes when Valarr’s warm mouth wraps around him, nor can he stop himself from canting his hips upwards, caging him between his legs as if afraid that he would disappear otherwise. There’s no such chance, he knows: they’re both far too devoted to the sensation of being completely submerged into each other to spoil it for themselves.
Though he does understand, now, what it is that Valarr had wanted from him. He feels as if he’s floating, the pleasure coursing through his body the only tether to the ground, and as Aerion snakes his fingers into his cousin’s hair and presses him impossibly closer, keeps them chained together for this one precious moment, he lets himself believe it – here and now, they might just be the only people left in this world.
~.~
He is, embarrassingly, half asleep. Aerion barely has the strength to feel undignified about it. It had been a draining week in an even more draining month and he’s tired, and Valarr had always been very good at achieving exactly what he’d set out to do – in this case, in getting him to calm himself down by a fraction. He’s already drifting off, one arm slung possessively over his cousin’s shoulders, when he hears his phone vibrate on the bedside table, quickly followed by a chirp from Valarr’s as well, and Aerion groans, cracking an eye open.
“Gods, what is it now?”
The bed shifts and then a warmth settles over him when Valarr reaches over him to grasp at the device and simply remains in place as he checks. It’s unexpectedly pleasant; having him here in a languid, aimless evening when they have nothing and no one to hide from. Aerion deigns to move just enough to embrace him and keep him near.
His cousin chuckles. “It’s from Father. I’m assuming Maekar is chiming in as well. They’ll be staying through the weekend.”
Too content for words, Aerion simply grins and pulls him even closer into his arms. This is a kingdom just for us, then, he thinks, lightheaded with joy that’s too dangerous to indulge and too irresistible to deny. If only for a while.
It’s a sweet thought, inadvisable and forbidden. To his own complete lack of surprise, that only serves to make it sweeter still.