Chapter Text
Of all of the ideas Aegon has had in his life, his decision to become a tattoo artist was among the better ones. The worst was his decision to almost drink himself into an early grave.
After one intervention and a multiple-month stint in rehab later, he was mostly okay for all intents and purposes.
He still gets the itch sometimes. It's challenging to go out with friends who can drink in moderation, difficult to watch as they sip a beer or a glass of wine like a normal person and not someone hell-bent on getting as wasted as possible. Most of them are very conscious about it and will actively avoid alcohol whenever Aegon is around. But he always smiles, insisting that it's okay. He's okay. Mostly okay.
When his phone lights up with a notification, he is in the process of applying a stencil for a client. He cranes his head, looking to see if it's important—only an Instagram notification, which means it's likely just someone new looking to book him. Easy to ignore for the time being. It isn't until five hours later when his back is stiff from being hunched over and he's sorely in need of a glass of water that he finally decides to check the notification.
He nearly drops his phone when he spots the name of the account that messaged him, his pulse skyrocketing into double time.
Rhaenyra.
He still follows her on Instagram, though she rarely posts. Sometimes he'll look through her old photos, primarily shots from various vacations, some with her kids, a few with Harwin. There's one he revisits every few months: Rhaenyra sunbathing in Cabo San Lucas, donning a bikini the color of his favorite pinot noir (Former favorite, he thinks pointedly. Baby steps.) Aegon panics, wondering if he somehow liked it the last time he'd looked at it—two weeks prior—but when he scrolls through the likes, he doesn't see himself there.
Afraid of what he may find, he opens her message.
Are you taking new clients, Aeg?
He has to put down his phone for a moment, trying to mull over in his mind if she means herself or if maybe a friend of hers wants to get something. It's a common occurrence, he's found, that his friends and family all will refer people to him as the resident artist. Free advertising.
Hesitantly, he taps out his reply. Sure am! He stares at it for a moment longer, deciding to erase the exclamation point—too over-excited. He has to be casual and pretend he hasn't jerked off more than a dozen times to a photo of her from no less than three years ago. Frazzled, he scrolls through her profile. Does Rhaenyra even have any tattoos? He doesn't remember her having anything, but he'd only seen her naked once, and his mind was too preoccupied to take inventory of any tattoos she may have had.
Before he'd decided to get sober, Aegon was known to make less-than-stellar decisions while drunk. Following Rhaenyra's split from Harwin two years prior, he invited her to come out drinking. They were amicable but never the closest due to the age difference, and he saw it as a way to extend an olive branch while helping take her mind off things. Taking her mind off Harwin turned into taking her clothes off at her apartment, though he had not managed to do much more than blink dumbly at her body before they both sobered up enough to realize what exactly they were doing.
He would have continued. God, he wanted to continue. She did not.
The rejection stung more than he thought it would. The goalposts of their relationship moved—arm's length, sterilized, too-polite. Stiff hugs at family gatherings. Bland 'happy birthday' texts. Half-invitations to his nephews' school plays. He never showed up. She knew he wouldn't.
When he finished his rehab stint, his parents threw a 'sobriety party' to celebrate his new chapter in life. Rhaenyra brought Harwin, and that stung even more than the rejection.
He'd left her to her devices. Rhaenyra had her own life, just as he had his. Being a tattoo artist had given him more freedom and happiness than being an alcoholic ever did, and he was determined to make the most out of it. He dated sparingly. It was easy to fill his need for human contact and affection. But there was a nagging thought in the back of his mind, small but persistent, wondering what his life would look like with Rhaenyra.
She messages him again, and he chews on the inside of his cheek.
Can I come by the shop tomorrow to show you what I want?
Aegon lets the message sit in his inbox, not wanting to seem overeager. When he gets home, he pulls up the photo of her in the bikini, taking his cock in hand as he has plenty of times before. As he pumps himself, he notices something he never had before: a tantalizing peek of ink on the curve of her hip, leading toward her back. He comes quicker than he intends.
He shoots her back a message.
Of course!
After sending the message, he notices the exclamation point—over-excited, like he's always been.
When he dresses for work that day, Aegon cannot help but gravitate toward pieces in which he thinks he looks good. Shows how recovered he is, he thinks. That's what he's doing. He hasn't seen Rhaenyra in probably close to a year, so he wants her to see how great his life is now that he's on the straight and narrow path. That's all.
He's anxious. More so than usual. Every time he hears the bell for the door chime, he swivels his chair around. At first, a client comes in for a nostril piercing, then Erryk returns from his lunch, leftover chicken shawarma in hand. The third time he doesn't look up, too engrossed in a sketch for a client.
"Hey, Aeg."
He nearly drops his tablet pen, but instead, he very gently sets it down on the table, putting on his most convincing smile. Rhaenyra smiles back, though he can see how it stops short of her eyes. "Glad you could make it. It's nice to see you," he says, and it's genuine—he's missed her. "So, what were you thinking of getting?"
She leans forward on the counter, looking pointedly at the door that leads to the back where the rooms are. "Do you have someone to watch the counter?"
Something about the way she asks makes his face feel hot, but he tamps it down, buries it deep inside—he'll save it for later, dig it up when he next thinks about her. He rolls his chair back, peeking around the corner to where Erryk sits, fully engrossed in a game on his phone.
"Mind watching the front for a bit?" he asks, and Erryk doesn't look away from his phone screen but stands and nods his head.
Aegon leads Rhaenyra to one of the back rooms, and he pulls out a chair, sitting backward in it and crossing his arms over the back. He bounces his leg nervously as she looks around, assessing, as if she's inspecting his new life to see how worthy he is. Satisfied, she sits in the other chair.
"I want a dagger. Black and white," she says, darting her tongue out to wet her lips. "On my sternum."
Despite his pointed interest in this piece being on her chest, he reminds himself to remain as professional as possible. He nods—slowly, dumbly, keeping his eyes on Rhaenyra's face. "That sounds doable."
"Dad's dagger," she amends, and he grimaces. The prized Valyrian steel dagger. They'd all been bored to tears with the story behind it as children. The most exciting thing was when his mum brandished it at Rhaenyra during an argument. They'd made amends since then, but no one talked about the dagger anymore.
"Right," he continues, leaning back in the chair. "Okay, I can draw that up fairly easily. Did you want to get it today, or were you wanting to set up an appointment for another time?"
"How long do you think the sketch will take?"
"Maybe thirty minutes."
Humming, she taps her fingers against her knee. "I'll go grab something to eat while you draw it up then. Do you want a drink from the coffee shop?" she asks, and Aegon blinks, momentarily taken aback.
"Caffeine makes my hands shake too much while I'm working," he says, smiling apologetically. "There's a bubble tea place around the corner. If you want to grab me a smoothie from there, I won't complain."
When she smiles this time, her eyes crinkle up. "Okay. What would you like, Aegon?"
"Mango smoothie with strawberry jelly and chia seeds," he hums, his eyes sparkling. "Small is fine."
When Rhaenyra returns fifteen minutes later, she hands him a large.
While he finishes the sketch, Rhaenyra patiently eats takoyaki that she picked up from the same place she procured his smoothie; when she asks if he'd like a piece, he opens his mouth silently. She pauses, staring at him for a moment, and he realizes with some semblance of embarrassment that he'd pierced his tongue since the last time she saw him. Wordlessly, she places a piece of takoyaki in his mouth, meeting his eyes as she does so.
He won't lie. It makes his insides feel like gelatin.
After she approves the sketch, he leads her to the back again. She sets her things on the extra chair wordlessly, and Aegon begins to set up his station. He opens a cabinet, pulling out two nipple covers before handing them to her. "I'll step out for a moment if you want some—"
"It's nothing you haven't seen before," she replies immediately, hands going to the hem of her shirt. Aegon's eyes momentarily go wide, flying from her hands to her face, and she gives him a quizzical look. She must sense his sudden shock because she hesitates to take her shirt off. "Unless you're suddenly feeling shy."
"No," he says, holding her gaze. "You get used to it working this job." She doesn't look away from him when she tugs her shirt over her head, and with much restraint, he keeps his eyes pointedly on her face. Her smile tugs just a bit wider. When Rhaenyra turns to put her shirt on the chair, her eyes safely averted, he finally chances a peek.
Through each nipple is a shiny silver barbell.
The sight makes his mouth dry, a shiver rippling down his spine. Sucking in a deep breath, he tries to imagine the most unsexy things he possibly can—he cannot get hard while trying to work. When Rhaenyra turns back to him, his eyes are pointedly on her face again; she seems none the wiser. "Would it make you more comfortable if I put these on?" she asks, holding up the nipple covers.
"That's completely up to you," Aegon replies, a little embarrassed that he's hoping she decides to keep them off—which she does. He washes his hands, snapping gloves over them before he takes his seat and scoots over to where she stands. When he rolls up to her, he is eye level with her breasts. Mouth level, even. He bites his cheek hard enough to hurt to calm himself down.
While he prepares the area for the tattoo, Rhaenyra watches him quietly. He cleans her skin, trying very hard to not think about wrapping his lips around her nipple, tugging at it with his teeth, what sort of noises she'd make for him. Instead, he tenderly wipes her chest with alcohol, barely touching her waist to keep her still. "Here?" he asks as he hovers the stencil mostly on her upper abdomen, looking up for confirmation; there's something strange about the way she looks at him, and it makes his heart pump faster. "Or higher?"
She reaches down to his elbow, careful to not touch any part he's already washed. She guides his arm up higher. "Right here," she replies, and it's right in the center of her chest—between her breasts.
He's fucked.
With the stencil placed, Aegon guides her to the chair to lie back while he works. At the first touch of the machine to her skin, she sighs, closing her eyes. He focuses, carefully beginning to work on the outline, allowing his mind to empty until all he hears is the hum of the machine. It's easy to forget who he's working on when he concentrates on his work.
About half an hour passes before he looks at Rhaenyra's face again, gauging how she's handling the tattoo. Sternums are known to be rather painful. "You good?" he asks, and she lazily opens an eye, peeking at him.
"I'm fine. I know it's a little silly, but I like the feeling of getting a tattoo."
He nods in response, picking up a paper towel to wipe some of the ink and blood away. "Somehow that doesn't surprise me."
At that, Rhaenyra opens both eyes, a slow smile breaking across her face—like the sun peeking from behind clouds. Her eyes dance, curious. "And why do you say that, Aeg?"
His brain suddenly stops, buffering. It takes a few moments for the words to come to him. "Runs in the family, maybe."
She hums in response, closing her eyes again. Aegon thinks the conversation is over for the time being, so he returns to work. Only another moment passes before Rhaenyra speaks again, her voice edged with humor. "Maybe it does. I think we're all a little strange." She barely allows him to gather his thoughts before she continues, "I saw you pierced your tongue. That's new."
"Yeah," Aegon responds, feeling like he's being examined. An ant on concrete, a magnifying glass pointing straight at him, melting him to his most base elements. His body feels warm. "And I saw you pierced your nipples." Those are new, too—implied.
Another wipe with the paper towel. The corner of Rhaenyra's mouth twitches.
"Runs in the family, I guess."
He looks at one of her nipples out of the corner of his eye, fleeting. He's grateful that she still has her eyes closed. "How long ago did you get them?" he asks offhandedly, swallowing around a sudden lump in his throat.
"A little over a year ago now, I think."
They're healed. His mouth waters. The things he could do.
"You could've come to me for them," he muses, just the tiniest hint of a pout in his tone. "I do body piercing, too."
Aegon shades in part of the tattoo, pulling her skin taut, and Rhaenyra abruptly hisses. He stops, raising the needles from her skin, but she shakes her head, eyelashes fluttering as she opens her eyes. "It's fine," she says, adjusting how she's sitting before she nods her head and tilts her chin back. "Next time I'm in the mood for a new piercing, I'll keep you in mind."
He hopes his sister will take him up on it. It gives him another excuse to be this close—closeness he's missed. Even if it's one-sided, he's happy to be within her orbit. "Glad to be of service."
When Aegon finishes the tattoo, he wipes it down one final time, leaning back to marvel at his work. Usually, seeing their father's dagger fills him with anything from indifference to displeasure, but seeing it here on Rhaenyra's skin evokes a much different response. He spritzes it with antibacterial spray, then passes a handheld mirror up to her. "You're all done."
As she examines it in the mirror, Aegon realizes he's more nervous than he typically is to see her reaction. The moment ticks on—a second passes, then another. When she smiles, turning to look at him, it sets butterflies off in his stomach. "You're really talented, Aeg," she says, and the sincerity of her tone makes him feel strangely choked up. "I love it. I'm glad that you've found something that makes you happy."
"I really enjoy doing this," he says, his mouth wobbling just a little at the praise. He prepares the second skin, running the flat of his hand over the film as he seals it over the fresh ink. "It's nice being… good at something."
After Rhaenyra tugs her shirt back on, she pulls him in for a hug. He's momentarily stunned, standing stiffly in her embrace before he reaches up and tentatively puts his arms around her. It's the first time she's hugged him since he'd gotten sober, and the way she melts into him makes his face flush. "I know I've said it before, but I'm proud of you."
A breath leaves him in a rush, his vision suddenly blurry with tears. "You're gonna make me cry, Nyra." It's a name he hasn't used for her in ages, and when he says it his sister hugs him a little bit tighter.
"Sorry. I'll stop being sentimental," Rhaenyra hums, and she pulls away just enough to look him in the eyes, cradling the back of his head in her hand. The way she looks at him makes him feel more than mostly okay. It makes him feel good. Really good. "I know I haven't been around much. Let me take you somewhere fun. My treat."
He's concerned she's forgotten about him, but she messages him a few days later asking him to go with her to a show—a local band, one that they had seen together when he was still drinking himself into a stupor every night. Since leaving rehab, Aegon hasn't been to any shows; there is a slight worry in the back of his mind that he'll get the urge to drink, but he wants to try. She offers to pick him up, which he takes as an unspoken promise that she will also not be drinking.
The show is outdoors, and the smell of beer and weed as they weave through the crowds makes him slightly nauseous, but Rhaenyra circles her hand around his wrist, tugging him through the crowd until they find a spot far enough away to be comfortable. When she turns to look at him, she must see the tenseness in his expression. She leans in, bracing a hand against his chest, and he shivers. "If you get uncomfortable we can leave," she says into his ear, and when she pulls away he blinks, wetting his lips. He nods in response, and that's enough for her.
She digs around in her bag, pulling out a bottle of water and holding it out to him. "Here. So we don't have to go by the bar to grab water."
It's thoughtful. More thoughtful than Aegon would've anticipated from anyone else, but Rhaenyra has always thought of his needs before her own. He unscrews the bottle cap, taking a quick swig to wet his mouth. "Thanks."
Aegon forgets any uneasiness or apprehension he may have felt when the music starts. It's easy to get lost in it, and he's surprised how free and loose he feels without drinking. The stage lights flash, strobing vibrant colors across the crowd, and he looks over at Rhaenyra.
He's surprised to see her looking back at him, her expression unreadable.
Nervously, he knocks his hand against hers, giving her a questioning smile. She smiles back, then looks back to the stage. Aegon's throat feels tight, but he turns his attention back to the show and doesn't look back at her until the end.
It's nearly midnight when they pile back into Rhaenyra's car, but she looks expectantly at him. "Food?" she asks, arching an eyebrow. "Maybe some midnight breakfast?" It was their ritual from before—whenever they'd go out drinking, they always had to get the greasiest breakfast food possible, no matter how late they finished. It would be a new experience sober, but he isn't ready for the night to end yet.
They're each digging into their plates when Rhaenyra leans back, licking a string of syrup off her finger. "So have you got a girlfriend yet?" she asks, and he stiffens, chewing around a mouthful of pancake.
"Nope," he responds, swirling another piece of food around in a puddle of syrup on his plate.
"Boyfriend?" Rhaenyra continues, and Aegon can't stop the smile that breaks across his face.
"No, not that either." He leans back in his chair. "I've dated here and there, but I mostly focus on work." When she nods, accepting his answer, he points his fork at her. "How's Harwin?"
Rhaenyra's face goes completely blank; she sucks on her teeth. "Harwin and I have been divorced for a while now."
He blinks, stunned. "Oh. I'm sorry. I thought… How long ago?"
"After that break." You know the one, her expression says. When Aegon had 'taken her mind off' Harwin. He blinks, confused.
"But you brought him to the party? The 'sobriety party'?"
"We're still on good terms for the kids, but we were already…" She looks somewhat uncomfortable—the first time he's seen her like this, distressed. "I'm sorry, Aeg. I shouldn't have brought him to that party. It was mean of me."
He exhales, meeting her eyes. "What do you mean?"
"Bringing Harwin after what happened between you and I was out of line."
Aegon's head is spinning. He sets his fork down, knocking it a little too hard against his plate. "Are you talking about the—"
"Yes," Rhaenyra says, her voice surprisingly sharp. "I was out of line bringing him to something that was supposed to celebrate you. If I hurt your feelings, I'm sorry."
Hurt his feelings is putting it mildly. That rejection had stung. Regardless of what happened and what Aegon would have wanted afterward, their relationship never returned to how it was.
"Can you forgive me?" Rhaenyra asks. "You don't have to—"
"I forgive you," Aegon responds immediately, not even thinking about it. "I just wanted to have my sister back."
She smiles, relieved, and his heart leaps into his throat. "I've always been here, Aeg. I'm sorry that I made you feel like you weren't important."
When Rhaenyra drives him back to his apartment, they sit out front for a long while; Aegon regales her with a story of one of his wilder dates—axe throwing. His date's axe bounced off the board and nearly clocked him right in the head. She laughs ("Maybe it would have been an improvement!") and tells him a story of her own—a blind date, one of Jacaerys' friends' fathers. He cried on her shoulder on the first date. She tries to be as polite as possible when recalling the story, but he can see how she muffles a laugh against the back of her hand.
After they both have gone quiet, Aegon swallows nervously. "Do you… want to come in?" he asks, his eyes hopeful. "I don't mean like that. Just… It's nice. Catching up, I mean."
Rhaenyra considers it for a long moment, and the same indecipherable expression from earlier crosses her face. "Yeah. We can catch up."
They stand in Aegon's kitchen, and he smiles a little crookedly when he plucks two wine glasses from his cabinet. Before Rhaenyra can say anything, he pulls out a bottle of sparkling water. "When I get the urge to drink, I have this on hand. It usually helps." He pours her a glass, passing it to her before pouring himself one. She looks at him with a slight sparkle in her eye, swirling the glass before she takes a sip.
"Healthy coping mechanisms? Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"
He waggles his brows, taking a quick sip of his own drink. "Killed him. He was a loser."
Rhaenyra's expression softens. "You were never a loser," she chides, reaching forward to tuck a stray piece of hair behind his ear. "You were always the most fun of us. Even if your fun was sometimes a little… self-destructive. How do you think you're doing now?"
The question everyone asks. Rhaenyra had gone this long without asking it, which is more than he can say for most people. "Mostly okay."
In the dim lighting of his kitchen, Rhaenyra's eyes look like they're shining—glittering, like stars in the sky. He sucks in a breath, averting his gaze as he takes a nervous sip of his drink. Rhaenyra suddenly takes his chin in her hand, turning his head back toward her. "I have to come clean about something," she says, her voice low. Something about how she looks at him sends a jolt of arousal straight to his cock.
"Yeah?" he responds dumbly, suddenly out of breath.
"I might've had ulterior motives when I came to you for the tattoo." Rhaenyra smiles at him, and it's hard to tell if it's wistful or hopeful. "I wanted to see if you still looked at me the same way."
Has he always been so transparent? His heart hammers in his chest, and he sets his glass down on the counter. "What way would that be?" Besotted? Hungry? Eager?
"Like I'm beautiful."
Rhaenyra reaches forward with her other hand, running her thumb along the seam of his mouth. When he leans forward into the touch, she wordlessly pulls him to her, her mouth finding his with sudden fervor. She wraps her arms around him, licking into his mouth and pulling him so close that he's no longer sure where he stops and she begins. The taste of her fills his mouth—syrup and sparkling water, intoxicating, sweeter than any wine.
With only a moment of hesitation, Aegon slides his hand to the bottom of her sweater, his fingers creeping up beneath the fabric to cup one of her breasts. He palms at it, tentatively rolling a nipple between his fingers, the metal warm from the heat of her body; she moans against his lips, and he drinks down the sound with a shuddering groan.
When he pulls his mouth away, he notices the darkness in her eyes, her pupils blown wide with want. She takes his hand in hers, guiding it lower, between her thighs. He bites down on his lower lip, meeting her gaze as he rubs her through the fabric of her pants, testing the waters. She sighs, rocking forward against the heel of his hand, and as much as he would be content to watch her use him like this for her own pleasure, he needs to feel her. He kisses her again, brutal, more insistent, as he pops the button of her pants open and slips his hand inside, sliding his fingers between her folds.
She's impossibly wet already. It drives Aegon mad knowing that she wants him this much.
As if she senses his awe, Rhaenyra pushes her hips forward, grinding down against his fingers. "Because of you," she breathes, bracing herself on the counter. "You did this to me."
"Yeah?" he replies again, equally as breathless as before. He slides his fingers through the mess, dipping two fingers into her. The way her cunt squeezes around him sends his brain into overdrive, and he drives his fingers deep, watching how her lips part into a silent gasp. He pulls her forward again, sucking her lower lip between his teeth, and she slots one of her thighs between his legs, an offering; he whines, panting as he grinds his cock against her, seeking enough friction to give himself some much-needed relief.
Rhaenyra reaches for the button on his pants when her phone suddenly buzzes—loud, insistent, repetitive. She groans, exasperated, as she digs her phone out of her purse, shooting Aegon an apologetic look. He spots the name. It's Harwin.
"Yes?" she says when she answers the call; he can hear Harwin on the other line, voice muffled, but it's difficult to decipher what he's saying. Aegon can't help but feel a little snubbed, but he chooses to take what victory he can. He noses at Rhaenyra's temple, placing a soft kiss there. Slowly, teasingly, he moves his hand to the apex of her cunt, rubbing his fingers in circles around her clit. Rhaenyra jerks slightly at that, giving him a look of equal parts surprise and desire.
He won't let a phone call stop him.
"If he's not feeling well, give him some medicine," Rhaenyra says, and she is supposed to sound stern, but her cheeks are pleasantly flushed, and she rocks forward into Aegon's hand, biting her lip to keep silent. She grips the counter behind her, pulling the phone away from her face to let out a stilted sigh. Harwin repeats something, and she puts the phone back to her ear. "Come again?" she says, more flustered than Aegon has ever seen her.
Guilt crosses her face as Harwin repeats whatever he'd said previously, and the look she gives Aegon tells him what he needs to know: she will not be staying. Determined, he increases the pace of his hand, mouthing needy, wet kisses across her neck. She slides her free hand into his hair, tugging enough to make him hiss, and she hums at that. "I can be there in fifteen minutes. It's already late, so have his stuff packed and ready for when I get there."
Aegon toes the boundary, seeing how far he can push, by biting down at the junction between her neck and shoulder, and Rhaenyra lets out a noise she definitely doesn't intend to. "It doesn't matter what I'm doing right now. I'll still be there in fifteen minutes," she says defensively, and Aegon can't help the huff of laughter that leaves him. He moves the angle of his hand slightly, and Rhaenyra scrambles to grab his wrist, nodding her head silently as her body coils, tensing up like she's a string pulled taut—so close to snapping, to breaking. "Okay, yes, I'll see you in a bit. Fifteen minutes."
After she hangs up, she all but throws her phone on the counter, pulling Aegon forward to crash her lips against his, hungry, insatiable. He whimpers against her mouth. "Let me make you come," he pleads, and he doesn't intend to sound as needy as he does—after all, this is all for her—but he doesn't want to ruin this moment, one he's dreamed about for years. "Nyra, please."
"Fuck, Aegon," she sighs, tangling both hands in his hair. She's so different like this, Aegon thinks, and it's a side of her he didn't know existed; Rhaenyra has always been perfectly composed—unflappable—but she's coming apart beneath his hands. Pride swells in his chest. "Keep going. Just like that," she orders, her breath hot against his cheek. He didn't need to be told.
Like a wine bottle being shaken, Aegon feels the pressure mounting, Rhaenyra wound tightly beneath his hands. When she finally comes, she shudders, her head tilting back as she lets out a low, drawn-out moan; her body spasms, and Aegon dutifully continues, working her through her orgasm with his fingers. She has a distant look in her eyes, and for a moment—brief, fleeting, terrifying—he's afraid she will have some sort of horrifying recognition in the afterglow, but she simply grips his hand, breathing out a silent 'enough,' before giving him a languorous grin.
When he pulls his hand back, he immediately raises his fingers to his lips, not looking away from her as he sucks the glistening fluid from his fingertips. She shivers—so small Aegon wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been paying attention—and looks at where his lips are locked around his knuckles.
"Greedy little thing," Rhaenyra teases.
"Runs in the family," Aegon shoots back.
She slowly rebuttons her pants, righting her clothing as best she can. "I'm sorry," she sighs, and she must see how Aegon tenses, panic humming through him like a live wire, because she grips his wrist. "I'm not— Aeg, I'm not going to do like I did last time. I promise. Joff isn't feeling well, so I have to go get him."
"It's okay," Aegon replies, nodding. "Kids, y'know?"
"Yeah," Rhaenyra says, and she looks down pointedly, cupping the shape of him through his pants; he jumps at the touch, gasping and rocking forward against her palm. "I'm sorry most of all to leave you like this. If I had time—"
"It's nothing I haven't taken care of before," Aegon murmurs, though he continues to grind forward against her hand. Her breath fans out against his cheek, warm and intoxicating, and she looks at him guiltily when she pulls her hand away.
"Thanks for coming with me tonight." Rhaenyra ghosts her mouth against his again, and he chases it, sighing against her lips. He watches her retreat to her car, fighting the slight disappointment of having his night cut short. He understands why she had to go, but it doesn't make it less demoralizing.
The next morning he awakens to a notification on Instagram of a post he's been tagged in. Rhaenyra posted a photo of her new tattoo—tasteful, of course, though it's still apparent what part of her body it's on—with Aegon tagged in the photo and the caption.
Fresh ink. Thank you, Aeg!