Chapter Text
There’s no reasonable explanation for this.
This being Lucerys pushing three fingers in and out his cunt like his life depends on it, his breaths coming out of his mouth in short gasps. He curls his fingers, feeling the slick gush out and trickle down his thigh.
He buries his face onto the sheets, muffling his moans, and raises his ass into the air as he finds that spot inside him. He imagines that the fingers thrusting into him are longer and delicate, belonging to the man that lives next door, completely unaware that his nephew is fucking himself on his fingers at the thought of him.
Lucerys screams into the sheets as his body quivers with his release. He pulls his fingers out with a groan and finally lets his body slump onto the bed, his slick sticking to his skin, pooling all around him.
“Shit,” he mutters.
It has been the third time this week. He can’t keep showing up to the laundry shop with his slick-soaked bed sheets that reeks so much that even the beta shopkeeper can whiff it. The looks Lucerys has received from the beta the last time he went there two days ago are already bad enough. He can’t humiliate himself like that again.
Groaning once more, Lucerys gets up from the bed. He gathers the bed sheets in his arms and promptly chucks them into a hamper to tuck away in the broom closet in the meantime. He takes a quick shower, scrubbing the sweat and slick away from his thighs and legs, before lathering himself in lotion to mask his scent.
After putting on some comfortable clothes, Lucerys tidies up his place. It’s a loft apartment given to him by Grandpa Corlys as a gift when he got into the Valyrian Master’s program in King’s Landing University a year ago.
It’s not as grand as their estate back in Dragonstone or his bungalow in Driftmark but it’s comfy enough. Personally decorated and furnished by Lucerys himself, the apartment is an amalgamation of the sleek, jagged aesthetic of dragonglass, and the warm, welcoming ambiance of the sea. It’s a little safe space that he can truly call his own.
He scrunches up his nose, coughing when his throat starts to itch, as he sprays Febreze generously to get rid of any lingering pheromones. He rarely gets visitors but it’s better to be safe than sorry.
An hour later, Lucerys plops down on the couch, a greasy pizza slice from Broken Anvil in his hand. He’s watching some re-runs of a random family sitcom when his doorbell rings.
Lucerys pauses, pizza halfway to his mouth. He’s not expecting any visitors tonight. He quickly checks his phone for any text messages from his friends, but only the notifications from the university email greet him.
Frowning, he sets down his pizza, wiping his fingers on his sweatpants, and answers the door.
He yelps, closing the door out of instinct, but a leather-booted foot is wedged in between, and he hears a low grunt on the other side of the door. Hesitantly, Lucerys opens the door and grimaces when the sight of his uncle greets him.
His uncle, who happens to be his neighbor.
His neighbor, who happens to be the man in his fantasies.
“Uncle Aemond,” Lucerys greets.
“Nephew,” says Aemond with a small nod. He looks like he just came home from the university, clad in a pressed dress shirt with a waistcoat, his suit jacket hanging on one arm. His silver-gold hair is short, slicked back, framing the sharp planes of his face neatly, and it all highlights the sleek black leather patch that covers his left eye.
Lucerys shifts in his feet, still clutching to the doorknob. “So…”
Aemond pulls a thick stack of papers from his satchel and hands it to him. “Dr. Gerardys told me to give this to you.”
“Oh. That must be the paper I passed last week. Thanks, uncle.”
When Lucerys takes it, his fingers lightly brush against Aemond’s, and Aemond’s grip tightens on the stack of paper. Lucerys pulls, trying to take it, but his uncle doesn’t let go of it just yet.
His uncle only takes a deep breath instead.
“What’s that smell?”
Lucerys freezes, blinking dumbly. “Uh... must be the pizza.”
He tries to pull on the stack of paper once more to no avail. Aemond’s eye is blown wide, staring at him so intensely he can’t breathe.
Lucerys swallows thickly, feeling too uncomfortable under his uncle’s gaze. For a moment, he thinks Aemond is going to push it further, ask him again about the smell, but then he huffs and finally lets go of the papers. Lucerys stumbles back a little at the suddenness of it.
Aemond doesn’t say anything, gaze lingering only for a second, before walking away. At the sound of Aemond’s door slamming shut, Lucerys rushes back inside.
He sniffs his apartment but only the smell of greasy pizza and faint air freshener greet him. He slumps back against the door, clutching his paper against his chest, and sighs in relief.
Then he feels something wet dribbling down his thighs. A second sigh comes out of him, this time in frustration.
It’s embarrassing, really. Just the sight of his uncle in his work clothes alone and Lucerys is left like a wanton mess. He feels worse than a teenage omega on their first heat. Everything is just too hot and uncontrollable.
Sometimes, he wonders what’s wrong with him, because there are so many things wrong with whatever the seven hells this is.
First, Aemond is his uncle.
There is a certain degree of incest acceptable for Valyrian descent like them. After all, his grandfather didn’t have any issues marrying his first wife, and they were first cousins. But Lucerys also remembers the uproar when his mother married her uncle. Admittedly, there were other concerns involved in their marriage, not just the incest, like the alleged murders, the dispute over inheritance, and the fact that they’re both alphas—some people do talk as if they’re still in the Middle Ages—but the point still stands.
Going after your uncle is not a good thing.
Second, Lucerys is the very reason why Aemond wears that eyepatch. And to be truthful, it’s a crime that he looks hotter with it.
In Lucerys’ defense, it was totally Aemond’s fault. Aemond was a bigheaded, arrogant piece of shit with an inclination to violence when they were young. If it weren’t for Lucerys, Jace would’ve been seriously injured or worse, dead.
Does Lucerys ever regret defending Jace? Absolutely not.
Does he feel guilty about taking Aemond’s eye? Debatable, honestly. Aemond deserves it—and again, the whole one-eye thing made him look hot. Though Lucerys will never say that out loud.
Lucerys knows that Aemond hates him for it. He would too if he were in his uncle’s shoes. From what Lucerys has heard, Aemond had to re-learn everything with his new limited vision and poor depth perception. Really rather a grave consequence for stealing a silly ancient dragon artifact.
Although Aemond has mellowed out now that he’s in his thirties, Lucerys can’t still forget how Aemond outright tried to kill him during that one summer camp in Storm’s End. It was the first time they saw each other since the eye incident. Lucerys was fifteen, fresh into high school, while Aemond was twenty-one, already in his university years, acting as one of the camp counselors.
It was raining that night despite the summer heat. Lucerys was running in the woods with a crazed, vengeful Aemond hot on his heels. Lucerys was never a good runner, even until now, so it’s expected that Aemond would catch up to him.
He remembers being tackled on the muddy ground, Aemond hovering above him. The lightning flashes illuminated the deranged snarl on his uncle’s face. He remembers the smell of burning wood and blood—so sweet and intoxicating, it felt unnatural.
It was cold, the drops of rain hitting all over Lucerys’ face. Aemond wrapped his huge hand around his throat, and everything burned suddenly.
Aemond froze.
“You’re wet, bastard,” he said, voice low like a growl.
Lucerys didn’t understand then. They were in the middle of a raging storm, of course, he was bloody wet.
But Aemond’s grip loosened, and he scampered away, leaving Lucerys alone on the mud.
It wasn’t until hours later that the other counselors found him, barely conscious, shivering, and burning with fever.
“You presented, Lucerys,” the head counselor said after he was given pills that broke out his fever and cleared his head. “You’re an omega.”
It seemed like a joke back then so Lucerys laughed. He laughed and laughed, and laughed until his stomach hurt.
When they left him alone in the nurse’s cabin, he became aware of the wetness between his thighs. It was too warm, too sticky, too heady to be from the rain.
Lucerys wasn’t naive.
Right then, he knew that what they said was true.
His uncle was going to kill him, and his presentation as an omega saved his life. It didn’t help the fact that Lucerys could think nothing but the look on Aemond’s face, his smell, and it was all it took for him to fuck himself with his fingers.
It was sick of him to lust after his uncle who tried to kill him.
And it’s so sick that Aemond has never stopped being the man in his fantasies after that.
Something must be really wrong with him.
Lucerys groans and walks to his bed, leaving his pizza cold on the couch. It is another night spent with three fingers in his cunt.
+ + +
“This is more difficult than I thought.”
The Classics Department office is brimming with people. One would think lunchtime would make the place scarce, but it’s quite the opposite. Professors mingle about, their incessant chatters filling the room as they drank and ate their food.
Lucerys spins in his chair with a sigh. Dr. Gerardys watches him behind his desk, his monocle glinting softly against the lights.
“Let me guess,” Dr. Gerardys says. “Somebody told you going into humanities is easy.”
“No,” Lucerys says. It’s the truth, no one has told him that, but he did have that sentiment when he went to college. It took him a week and a half in undergrad to realize that he was utterly wrong.
Dr. Gerardys leans back in his seat and removes his monocle. “You know it’s not too late to switch careers.”
“I’m already thirty.”
“And thirty is still young, contrary to popular belief,” says Dr. Gerardys. “I had this colleague once that went into business after finishing his third doctorate. He was already sixty by then. Perhaps you could do that—go into business and follow Jace’s footsteps.”
Lucerys scrunches his face at the thought. “You know I hate anything business related. I’m not anything like Jace.”
The old professor gives a hum. “You could go into chemistry like Rhaena.”
“Definitely not. That would be the end of me.”
“Aeronautics? Isn’t Baela a pilot?”
“Tempting, but no.”
Dr. Gerardys gives him a pitiful smile. “Well, I do understand the quarter-life crisis you’re having, but it seems like you’ll still be stuck in this discipline for more years to come.”
Groaning, Lucerys throws his head back and spins the chair again. “I don’t want to change careers. But…”
“But you’re in doubt,” Dr. Gerardys finishes for him.
Lucerys winces. He doesn’t want to admit it but the old professor knows him far too well. “Yes, I’m in doubt. I think? I don’t know. I’ve never been in this situation before.”
“That’s quite normal. Everyone goes through these things. You’ll get through this,” Dr. Gerardys says. “You know, I’ve been working with Dr. Targaryen these past few weeks. He recently got a hold of artifacts from Essos—Ghiscari, Valyrian, and Qartheen, I believe. They’re quite fascinating, really. He also has some interesting insights about the arts and culture of Ancient Essos, particularly Ancient Valyria. Maybe those can enlighten you.”
The high-pitched laughter of Mr. Massey rings out somewhere in the office, followed by more chatter that Lucerys can’t understand. Lunchtime isn’t really a lunchtime in these circles; it’s one big afternoon tea party.
“Dr. Targaryen,” Lucerys says after a while, looking at the old professor in front of him. “Do you mean my uncle Aemond?”
Dr. Gerardys blinks at him. “Do you know any other Targaryens who are historians?”
“No,” Lucerys grumbles. He crosses his arms and slumps further in his seat. “I’ve told you before, Aemond and I don’t really get along well.”
“I’m not telling you to befriend him. Just consider looking at his works and asking him about things. It may help you in figuring out what you truly want to do. His artifact collection may inspire you.”
Sometimes, Lucerys hates it when Dr. Gerardys’ words make sense. More often than not, the old professor’s advice is the difficult route, and Lucerys is definitely not here for something laborious.
Gods, maybe Alyn is right. Maybe Lucerys is indeed a spoiled brat.
Lucerys runs a hand over his face. “I don’t know… Even if I were to approach Aemond, there is no guarantee that he’d even entertain my questions. I mean, have you seen the guy? There’s a reason why his office is so secluded. He doesn’t talk to anyone, and no one talks to him. Honestly, Dr. Gerardys, I’m surprised you even got to work with him. He’s—”
He abruptly stops, noticing that Dr. Gerardys isn’t listening to him. In fact, he’s not even looking at him. He’s looking behind Lucerys with wide eyes and a nervous smile.
Dread runs through Lucerys.
Slowly, he turns the chair around and looks up at the looming image of Aemond Targaryen himself. Lucerys tries his best not to grimace.
Aemond’s stoic face greets him. His mauve eye is glinting with amusement, a far contrast from the void of the black eyepatch.
“Go on, Lucerys. I believe you were saying something about me?” Aemond says. There’s a hint of smirk on his lips.
Lucerys purses his lips. “I wasn’t saying anything. Perhaps poor hearing is really common among the elderly, huh?”
The smirk on Aemond’s face falls off, his lips pressing into a thin line. Lucerys chuckles, feeling victorious, but it all dies down when he sees the disapproving look on Dr. Gerardys’ face.
Right. They have an actual elderly person with them. How did he even forget that?
Aemond looks away from him. He gives Dr. Gerardys a nod and hands him a thick folder. “These are the pictures of the Ghiscari glyphs that you asked for. If I ever get my hands on those Astapori figurines you want, I’ll let you know.”
Dr. Gerardys smiles at him. “Oh, thank you, Dr. Targaryen. This is a great help.”
Aemond waves a hand. “Just make sure those files get back to me in one piece.”
“Of course. I’ll return them as soon as I am done,” Dr. Gerardys says. “And before you leave, I believe Lucerys here has something to ask of you.”
It takes a moment before Lucerys registers what the old professor just said. Aemond looks at him expectantly.
“What?” Lucerys says, frowning. “I don’t have anything to say to him. Why would I have anything to say to him?”
“Lucerys,” Dr. Gerardys says, giving him a look.
Fuck. There’s no way out of here, isn’t there? It’s either Lucerys keeps up the act and suffers or he swallows his pride and gives in. The answer should be easy considering that his future is on the line, but Lucerys still feels reluctant. This is perhaps the only thing he got for being raised by Daemon. Pride, pride, and more pride.
“Fine,” Lucerys huffs finally, throwing his hands up in defeat. He turns back to Aemond, who’s now staring down at him with a smile.
A smile that is nowhere near genuine or kind.
Lucerys bites the inside of his cheek. “I was wondering if you can…”
Aemond raises an eyebrow. “If I can, what?”
“If you can help me with my thesis,” he says in one rush of breath.
“What? I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch that,” Aemond says. “Poor hearing among the elderly, remember?”
Lucerys forces a smile. He says his next words slowly and more carefully, albeit through gritted teeth. “I said, can you help me with my thesis?”
Aemond tuts. “You’re missing a word.”
“Please,” Lucerys bites out.
It seems to be the right response as Aemond hums, the satisfaction clear in his eye. “Good. Come with me then,” he says.
“Wait. Now?” Lucerys spins in his chair to look at Dr. Gerardys but the professor only shrugs at him. He turns back to Aemond, who’s already walking away.
Lucerys scrambles to get his things and runs after his uncle.
“Wait! Can you please slow down?”
Though it’s like Aemond doesn’t hear anything. He only continues to walk, his long legs giving him more advantage over Lucerys’ fairly average ones—yes, his legs are of average length no matter what Alyn says.
Aemond enters the History Department office without a word. Lucerys follows after him, ignoring the curious glances being thrown at the two of them. He supposes it’s a rare sight that someone is following the notorious Dr. Aemond Targaryen so openly like this.
“Aemond, wait!” Lucerys hisses. Still, his uncle doesn’t pay him attention.
They arrive in a room—Aemond’s own private office, from the looks of it—and the door gets shut behind Lucerys, making him jump. Aemond finally turns to him, his mauve eye narrowing.
“While we’re in the university premises, you’ll be addressing me as ‘Dr. Targaryen’,” Aemond says, going to his desk and sitting on it. He crosses his arms, the sleeves of his suit hugging his biceps tightly. “Or perhaps, ‘sir’. Whichever you prefer.”
Lucerys has never thought to call Aemond by his designation. Aemond has always just been Aemond to him. Sometimes, uncle as well, when he is feeling polite. To call him “sir”, just gives too much power to Aemond, even if it’s the proper way to address him. It’s already bad enough that Lucerys ended up in a university where Aemond is working at. He probably should’ve gone to Driftmark like his grandparents intended for him to do. Perhaps life would’ve been easier.
Perhaps he wouldn’t be in Aemond’s office, probably looking like a desperate student, all but ready to beg his professor to help him—that’s because he is. Meanwhile, there’s Aemond, in all his sharp suit and sleek oxfords, demanding to be called “sir”.
A harmless situation, it should be. Just a student and a professor. A nephew and an uncle. But Lucerys can’t help the shiver that runs down his body.
His uncle eyes him warily. “Now, speak. What do you need help with?”
Right. He’s here for that.
Lucerys clears his throat. “Dr. Gerardys told me you have some artifacts and works on Ancient Valyria. I was wondering if I can look through them for my thesis.”
Aemond cocks his head to the side. A strand of his slicked-back hair falls over his face. Lucerys wants to reach out and tuck it back in, but that would be weird. Definitely weird.
“Kneel.”
A moment of dead air before the word registers. Lucerys almost chokes on his own saliva, stumbling back a little. “Excuse me. What?”
“I said kneel,” Aemond says indignantly, unflinching as if asking a student-slash-your-nephew to kneel in front of you is a totally normal thing to do. He looks pointedly at the floor, waiting for Lucerys to move.
Scoffing, Lucerys crosses his arms. “What? You really want me to kneel and beg you for a favor?”
There’s a smug smile on Aemond’s lips, barely noticeable, but it’s there, taunting Lucerys. “If I’m going to help you, then we’re going to do this the proper way.”
“And the proper way somehow involves me kneeling on the floor?”
His uncle may be the man of his fantasies and all that, but this certainly reminds Lucerys why he doesn’t like the man. Despite being more mature now in his thirties, it seems like Aemond is still as conceited as he was back then.
“If you don’t want my help then you can just go, Lucerys. I’m a busy man and I don’t have the time for this.” Aemond says that, but he doesn’t move from his position. He remains seated on the desk, one eye fixed on Lucerys, quite relaxed as if he has all the time in the world.
Fuck it. Lucerys has done things way worse than this. A few seconds of kneeling to his egotistic but undeniably hot uncle is nothing. It’s not like there will be anyone to see Lucerys make a fool out of himself. Whatever happens in Aemond’s office stays in his office.
A look of surprise crosses Aemond’s face when Lucerys sighs but it quickly turns back to normal, impassive and patient. Slowly, Lucerys goes down on his knees, eyes fixed on Aemond’s shoes because there’s no way in hell he’s going to look at his uncle’s face while doing this.
There’s a hitch of breath when he finally sinks down on the cold floor. Though Lucerys is unsure whether it came from him or Aemond.
He goes stiff when he hears Aemond move. With quick, short steps, Aemond’s oxfords are now right in front of him. His uncle’s figure looms over him like a dark storm, bringing with him a faint scent of burning wood and blood.
Lucerys feels a little bit lightheaded, his vision almost spinning. He can feel his heart hammering against his ribcage, ready to tear out of his chest. This is too much. Too fucking much. But he can’t even move a single finger, let alone his whole body to run away.
A gasp escapes his throat when Aemond suddenly puts a finger under his chin, tilting his head up so their gazes meet. Lucerys’ lips part a little, taking in the view above him.
“What do you say, hmm?” comes Aemond’s deep voice, reverberating within Lucerys’ chest.
What should I say? Lucerys swallows the huge stone lodged in his throat. With a shaky breath, he musters up to say, “Please, sir?”
Aemond’s eye is hooded, staring at him with unwavering focus. His amethyst eye seems darker, pupils dilated. He takes a deep inhale, and Lucerys can’t help the shiver that runs down his whole body.
Then everything’s gone with a flash.
His uncle pulls away. It takes Lucerys a few moments, blinking, to realize what just happened. Aemond goes back to his desk, a phone in his hand that Lucerys failed to notice earlier.
Lucerys stands up on his feet, his knees shaking a little. He can feel the blood rushing on his face, thrumming in his ears. “Did you just take a photo of me?”
“Is there a problem?” Aemond asks, putting his phone in his pocket before taking a seat on his chair, leaning back with a raised eyebrow.
“Is there a problem? Are you serious?”
Aemond shrugs. “It’s not every day that you beg me for my help. Let’s call it a remembrance.”
“You mean blackmail material?” Lucerys snorts, rolling his eyes.
“Call it whatever you want, Lucerys. But as a historian, it’s important for me to document things, you know?”
It takes a great deal for Lucerys not to jump at his uncle and wrap his hands around his neck. He takes a deep breath instead, clenching and unclenching his fists by his side. For my thesis, he tells himself. I’m doing this for my thesis. After this, I won’t see him anymore.
He tries not to think about the fact that Aemond is literally his neighbor.
“Anyway,” Aemond says. “Come by my apartment tomorrow afternoon.”
Lucerys frowns. “And why would I do that?”
Aemond looks at him weirdly. “Because you said you want to go through my artifacts and papers.”
“You mean to say those things are at your apartment? Why don’t you keep them here?”
“Because they’re mine and not the university’s,” Aemond says simply. “Why do you act like it’s such an inconvenience for you when we live next to each other?”
Lucerys purses his lips. “It’s not an inconvenience. I was just asking,” he says in a huff.
His uncle definitely doesn’t believe him one bit, the corner of his lips slightly curling in that way that shouldn’t be attractive at all. Lucerys may be truly fucked up in the head.
“If there’s nothing else, you can leave now,” Aemond says with a dismissive wave of his hand. He turns to the papers on his desk and doesn’t spare a glance in Lucerys’ direction as if he’s no longer there.
Taking a deep breath, Lucerys storms out and doesn’t even bother to close the door just to annoy Aemond. Whatever. This is the last time he’s going to listen to Dr. Gerardys’ advice.