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bohemian-nights · 1 day ago

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This was absolutely fantastic!

Scent of Desire

Rhaena x Aemond

Warnings: Targcest & Infidelity

Word count: 2.5k

Rhaena is married but still enjoys her encounters with Aemond

Read on AO3

Upon her return, she smelled him in her chambers before she saw him. His familiar scent of leather, smoke, and Vhagar. Rhaena's pulse quickened as she secured the latch on her door, her fingers lingering longer than necessary on the cool metal. She couldn’t let her handmaidens interrupt or catch her.

Outside, far beyond her window, she could still see the small procession of her husband's retinue growing smaller along the King's Road withdust trailing behind them like a comet's tail.

Three weeks. He would be gone three weeks to spend time with his brother. Three weeks of freedom.

Rhaena smoothed her silver hair, tucking a loc behind her ear as she turned slowly, pretending not to notice the dark shadow that shifted in the corner where her dressing screen stood. She moved to her vanity dresser, deliberately slow, removing her earrings one by one.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she placed her mother’s old pearls onto the polished wood. The silence between them stretched like a bowstring. She could feel his eyes on her, burning trails across the nape of her neck and down the curve of her spine.

This was a game they had played countless times before. It was exciting and they were never caught.

The wooden chair in the corner creaked, and Rhaena held her breath. He was rising. Yet no footfalls followed, as though he moved like smoke itself across her bedroom floor. Years of training with blade had made him silent as death, a skill that served him well in these forbidden visits.

Like a predator who had chosen his moment to strike.

Rhaena kept her eyes fixed on her reflection in a small looking glass, watching as her pupils dilated in anticipation. A flush crept up her neck, warming her cheeks and making the room suddenly too stifling. The layers of her black dress suddenly felt constricting against her heated skin.

She removed her Valyrian steel necklace with trembling hands and twirled it, an excuse to keep her hands busy while her mind raced with forbidden thoughts. Then she felt him. The heat of his body suddenly close behind her, not yet touching, but near enough that the fine silver hairs on her arms stood at attention. His breath, warm and steady, caressed the exposed skin of her shoulder where her gown had slipped.

Time seemed to slow as he placed his hands on the dresser, one on either side of her, caging her in. She was trapped between the solid oak and his firm body in a delicious prison of warm flesh and musky scent. Rhaena inhaled sharply, her chest rising and falling with increasing urgency as he leaned in closer, still not touching her directly but hovering just a breath away.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the dresser until her knuckles whitened, anchoring herself while desire threatened to overwhelm her. He hadn't even properly touched her yet, and already her breath came in shallow gasps, her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath her bodice.

When he finally pressed against her, it was with agonizing restraint. First, the brush of his doublet against her back, then the hard planes of his chest molding to her form. His hips pinned her against the dresser, the edge digging into her thighs, the ornate carvings pressing patterns into her soft flesh. She welcomed the discomfort. It anchored her to reality when his presence threatened to sweep her into fantasy.

How different this was already from their usual hasty encounters. Stolen moments in shadowed alcoves, hurried kisses behind tapestries, desperate touches in forgotten corners of the keep. Always rushed, always alert for approaching footsteps or voices. But now, with her husband's party disappearing into the horizon, they had time. Real time.

His hands moved from the dresser to her waist, his calloused fingers tracing the intricate dragon embroidery of her gown before settling on her hips. Her breath hitched as he pressed his face into her hair, inhaling deeply, as though memorizing her scent.

Rhaena's eyes fluttered closed. How many times had she imagined this very scenario during the endless feasts where she sat beside her husband, dutiful and demure?

Aemond's left hand moved slowly from the dresser to her waist, his fingers splaying across her ribcage. The leather of his glove creaked softly as he tightened his grip, his thumb brushing the underside of her breast. Rhaena's eyes fluttered closed at the contact, her lips parting in silent anticipation.

His other hand, ungloved, slid up to sweep her locs aside, exposing the vulnerable curve where neck met shoulder. The contrast between his warm fingers and the cool air made her shiver. For a moment, he simply breathed her in, his nose tracing the shell of her ear without touching it, savoring her scent of lavender and cinnamon.

He finally let his lips descend upon her, pressing into the curve of Rhaena’s neck with deliberate slowness. The initial contact sent a jolt through her body, a lightning strike of pleasure that traveled down her spine and pooled low in her belly. Rhaena's fingers curled tighter around the edge of the vanity, her knuckles bloodless with the strain of restraining herself.

Aemond's mouth worked against her flesh, alternating between gentle kisses and the scrape of teeth that threatened to mark but never quite did. He knew from habit better than to leave evidence, though sometimes Rhaena secretly wished he would.

Her head fell back against his shoulder as his ungloved hand traced the intricate lacing of her dragon embroidery, following the pattern down, down to where the fabric cinched at her waist. His movements were measured, each touch calculated to heighten her senses without providing the release she craved.

Rhaena felt herself melting against him, her body betraying her with every passing second. The carefully constructed walls she'd built around her desires crumbled with each press of his lips, each stroke of his hands. A soft sound escaped her throat. Not quite a whimper, not quite a moan, as his teeth grazed the sensitive spot behind her ear.

Aemond's response was immediate. The sound triggered something primal within him, and his hands tightened their grip on her waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh beneath her gown. Her reaction emboldened him further, his touch becoming more insistent, more demanding.

His lips curled into a wicked smile against her skin, and then his tongue swept a hot, wet path from the hollow of her collarbone to the sensitive spot just below her ear. The sensation sent a tremor through her entire body, her knees weakening beneath her skirts.

Aemond whispered, his voice rough as dragonglass against her flesh, "he doesn't know how to touch you."

His hands gathered the heavy black fabric of her gown, slowly drawing it upward and bunching the fabric at her hips. The weight of silk and embroidery created a barrier between them, and Rhaena found herself growing impatient with the layers separating his skin from hers. As if sensing her thoughts, Aemond's fingers worked with practiced efficiency, loosening the ties of her undergarments until they, too, were pushed aside.

A thought flickered across Rhaena's mind as she felt his fingers trace the curve of her thigh. His wife likely believed him at some brothel in Flea Bottom, spending his coin on painted women with perfumed hair and practiced moans. How little she knew. Rhaena felt a perverse satisfaction in this knowledge, that it was her chambers Aemond sought, her body he craved. No purchased pleasure could compare to what they shared in these stolen hours in the Keep.

The irony wasn't lost on Rhaena as his hand slipped pass her lace, finding her already slick with want for him. One finger traced her folds with agonizing slowness, mapping her like a territory he meant to conquer. She bit her lower lip to stifle the moan threatening to escape as he pressed one finger inside her, then another, stretching her with deliberate care.

His fingers worked with maddening precision, stroking that secret place within her that made her vision blur at the edges. The rhythm was torturous, slow, deliberate, a counterpoint to her now racing heartbeat. Rhaena's head fell back against his shoulder, her eyes half-lidded as pleasure coiled tighter in her core. The vanity's edge pressed sharply against her thighs, the discomfort only enhancing the mounting ecstasy as his skilled fingers continued their relentless exploration.

With his ungloved hand still working between her thighs, Aemond's leather-clad palm pressed firmly against the small of her back, guiding her forward until she was bent slightly over the vanity so he could see her better. Her palms flattened against the polished surface, scattering hairpins and sending her mother's pearls rolling across the wood like tiny moons in orbit. His fingers withdrew from her slick heat with slowness that left her whimpering at the sudden emptiness.

With his free hand, he gathered her locs, wrapping them once around his fist and using the gentle tension to guide her arch back up.

He savored the way her spine curved like a question mark against his chest, the sweet scent rising from her skin in the candlelit room.

“That boy you call husband," Aemond murmured against her skin, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her, "cannot possibly know how to please you. You need a man, Rhaena.”

One hand remained tangled in her silver-gold locs, maintaining that delicious tension that forced her back to arch deeper, while his other hand gripped her hip with possessive intensity. The leather of his glove creaked as his fingers dug into her flesh, sure to leave marks that would bloom like violets by morning in secret badges of their forbidden union.

He entered her slowly, stretching her, and filling her inch by inch until she felt impossibly full. The sensation bordered on pain, a sweet ache that made her gasp and grip the vanity's edge harder. Her reflection stared back at her from the looking glass. Cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide with desire, lips parted in silent ecstasy. Behind her, Aemond's face was a study in concentrated pleasure, his eye half-lidded.

For a moment he remained still, buried to the hilt inside her, his chest pressed against her back. She could feel his heartbeat hammering against her spine, matching her own frantic rhythm. His breath came in controlled, measured exhales against her ear, evidence of his iron self-restraint.

Then he began to move. The first thrust nearly buckled her knees, sending ripples of pleasure cascading through her body like wildfire through a summer-dry field. Her fingers scrambled for purchase on the polished wood as he established a rhythm, each powerful stroke driving her forward only to pull her back against him with the hand still wrapped in her hair. The vanity rattled beneath their combined weight, the looking glass reflecting fragments of their union in flashes of pale skin and black leather.

Rhaena bit down on her lower lip until she tasted copper, desperate to contain the sounds threatening to spill from her throat. Even with her handmaidens dismissed and her husband finally away, years of secrecy had taught her caution. The walls of the Keep had ears, and whispers traveled faster than ravens between its ancient stones.

Aemond's pace increased, his control slipping as pleasure overtook calculation. His thrusts quickly grew more erratic, more desperate. The vanity creaked beneath their weight, threatening to collapse with every powerful snap of his hips. He leaned forward, his chest pressing against her back, his lips grazing the shell of her ear as he tightened his grip on her hair. The slight pain sent shockwaves of pleasure through her body, heightening every sensation.

Rhaena's resolve crumbled. A moan tore from her throat, loud and unrestrained, echoing off the tall stone walls of her chamber. The sound startled even her, so raw and primal that it seemed to belong to another woman entirely. Not the dutiful wife, and not the careful Princess.

She felt Aemond falter for a heartbeat, his rhythm disrupted by the sudden vocalization. His hand released her hair to grip her hip, his fingers digging deeper, bruising. Behind her, she felt him tensing, his muscles coiling tight as a crossbow. His breathing grew ragged against her neck, hot and damp as summer rain.

With each thrust, the vanity inched forward against the stone floor, scraping softly with their rhythm. The sound of skin against skin filled the chamber, punctuated by the creak of leather and the muffled whimpers escaping.

Rhaena felt the familiar tension building deep within her core, a gathering storm of sensation that threatened to consume her entirely. The thought suddenly flashed unbidden through her mind. Her courses had ended just days ago. The perfect time for seed to take root. The dangerous possibility sent a thrill through her body that was equal parts terror and exhilaration.

A fortnight past her moonblood, her body ripe and ready. Unlike the dutiful coupling with her husband where she took special teas afterward, here she wanted no barriers, no precautions. The risk only heightened her pleasure, making her inner walls clench around him in anticipation.

With one final, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, a strangled groan escaping his throat as he spilled himself inside her.

The thought of bearing his child, growing a secret dragon within her, sent a fresh wave of heat through Rhaena's body. Her inner muscles clenched around him, drawing him deeper as his rhythm faltered.

His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips, bruising marks that would bloom by morning like dark violets beneath her skin. He pulled her harder against him, her back arching impossibly as he drove into her with renewed desperation.

The sensation built within her, a tightening coil that wound tighter with each thrust. Rhaena's vision blurred at the edges.

Her release crashed through her with the force of a summer storm. Her body convulsed, inner walls pulsing around his length as pleasure radiated outward from her core in waves of ecstasy. Her weakened knees threatened to buckle beneath her, but Aemond's strong arms held her upright, his body a solid anchor as she shattered against him. Their world narrowed to pinpoints of sensation, his fingers digging into her flesh, his breath hot against her neck, the fullness of him still pulsing inside her.

As their breathing gradually steadied, Rhaena remained motionless, savoring the weight of him against her back, the lingering sensation of fullness and completion.

She was not the dutiful princess raised to make a political match. Not the meek wife who endured her husband's fumbling attentions.

Rhaena let her hand slide to her belly, fingers splaying across the flat plane where his seed now rested. A slow smile spread across her face, not the polite curve of lips she wore at court functions, but something genuine now.

How little they all understood her. None witnessed these moments.

#rhaemond #aemond x rhaena #rhaena targaryen #aemond targaryen #asoiaf fanfic #encore

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