Chapter Text
You and Aegon have a weird kind of friendship.
You say friend , but only if you use the term loosely. The truth of the matter is that you’re very close with Helaena - inseparable since you were kids - and by association, you sort of know her brothers. Alicent has practically adopted you, anyway. In fact, much of your childhood was spent in the Targaryen Manor, either with your head on Helaena’s lap as she babbles about her latest entomological find, or being annoyed by her eldest brother and her nephews.
At least Jace and Luke grew out of it. Aegon, quite unfortunately, is still a big fucking ass. It’s kind of strange being acquainted with someone for almost a decade, without having to (begrudgingly) promote them to ‘friend ,’ even if that ‘friend’ has been nothing but a menace in your life for the better part of your time knowing him.
Despite that, you always look back to those times with a sense of fondness. These days, you find yourself reminiscing about your childhood more and more, turning over the pages of your past trying to decipher when life had started getting shittier. Things seem much simpler then, the world much kinder. You didn’t have to think about paying your mortgage, taxes, or trying to survive a 9-5 that’s draining the life out of you.
Coincidentally, your job is the same reason why you find yourself in a bit of a bind. You had just been offered a promotion ( really, it’s just more work), but it necessitates being relocated to the other side of the city. There’s no feasible way to commute all the way there from your house, and it just makes more sense to finally work on getting your Driver’s License.
You’ve handled all the paperwork, and even got your student permit. Now, all you need is to find yourself someone to teach you. Helaena’s license is entirely for show, and she’s more likely to lead you to the edge of a cliff than teach you how to effectively change lanes. Of course, you try to ask Aemond first, but within a single 45 minute session of trying, he completely loses his patience, kicks you out of his car and refuses to speak with you for an entire week.
Much to your regret, this leaves you no choice. Over the years you have objectively proven that Aegon II Targaryen is the worst , especially when you need things from him. He likes to rub it in your face, always finding joy in digging his heel into your pride whenever he gets the chance. But it’s not like you have other options.
So, quite unfortunately, you’re stuck with Aegon, who agrees only because you promised to give him Maris’ number by the end of the lesson. You really should feel guilty about subjecting Maris to his attentions, but in your defense, you desperately need to learn how to drive, and Maris is kind of an asshole anyway.
You’re brought back to reality by the obnoxious honking coming from outside your house.
Jesus fuck.
You stomp on over the entrance, slamming it open and shut. Sure enough, you see Aegon pull up on his Audi. He stops his attempts to create a public disturbance the moment he sees you emerge on the porch, looking like you’re five seconds away from strangling the life out of him. You peek over the open window of the passenger side intent on giving him a piece of your mind, only to find him distracted by your cleavage.
“ Aegon, ” you hiss to get him to shift attention, preferably somewhere above your chest.
“Mmm,” he mumbles as he lazily drags his lilac eyes to finally meet your gaze. He shoots you an unabashed smile, crooked in a way that's unfairly and effortlessly dashing. You have to admit he’d be incredibly pretty, all pouty and doe-eyed, if he wasn’t so damn insufferable.
“Shouldn’t I be the one in the driver’s seat?” You ask instead of ripping him a new one, eager to get on with this day.
He bursts out laughing, “Yeah, no. Aemond warned me how terrible you are. We’re going somewhere you can’t hit anyone.”
You let out an obligatory offended scoff, despite knowing he’s right.
“Your confidence in me is startling, truly,” you mutter under your breath, as you slip into the passenger seat and put on your seatbelt.
“Just don’t want you to get charged with vehicular manslaughter, baby,” he counters. “Helaena would be inconsolable,” he adds belatedly.
“Don’t call me baby,” you tell him off for posterity’s sake, completely resigned, knowing he’ll ignore you and just do it again anyway.
The drive out of town takes 40 minutes, and to your surprise, Aegon actually takes that time to explain the basics to you; the rules of the road, little tips on steering, accelerating, braking, and even a quick run through of defensive driving (which is rich coming from him, considering how you just witnessed him curse out that red Ford Everest that cut him off).
Without further delay, he gets out of the car, and opens the passenger seat. You actually think he’s being a gentleman up until he tells you to ‘ hurry the fuck up .’ With an indignant huff, you slip out of the seat and walk around the car to get to the driver’s side.
Aegon talks you through the proper distance from the steering wheel, positions of the mirrors, and what all the buttons do, and you can’t help but note the soothing timbre of his voice while you listen. Your breath does not stutter when he leans in to buckle your seatbelt for you. It does not .
He smells like cigarette smoke, blackcurrant, and bad decisions.
“I’m trusting you with my baby, my child, ” he tells you, patting the dashboard of his Audi with more care than he ever showed to any of his ex-girlfriends. “Try not to drive us over a ditch, yeah?”
“I thought Sunfyre was your baby?” You ask cheekily, referring to his bright yellow Aventador.
“This is my second child,” he counters easily. “Doesn’t mean I love him any less.” Which is a complete lie, since he’s taking the risk of letting you drive it, while not even Aemond is allowed to drive the Lamborghini.
“Okay, first, just drive along the road. Get a feel of the car, and try not to go over the other lane,” he instructs.
You go through the motions of lowering the hand brake, and gradually stepping on the gas, only to hear the car rev, but stay exactly where it was two seconds ago.
“We’re not moving,” you point out, utterly confused.
Aegon slides his palms down his face in exasperation, as if just realizing what he’s gotten himself into. “Because you’re on ‘ Park ,’ genius.”
“Oh,” you snort. “My bad,” you add sweetly, before promptly shifting gears and accidentally stomping on the pedal.
The car jerks forward to a drive, and Aegon clutches his chest the entire time.
Thankfully, Aegon’s car is still in one piece and hasn’t been completely totaled an hour into the lesson. You’re pleasantly surprised by how well he handles the whole thing, calmly explaining your mistakes, and giving you instructions. Not without teasing you mercilessly of course, but that’s to be expected. At this point, he’s done it so often over the years that you’ve become desensitized to his harassment.
Much to your dismay, once he realizes that you no longer need his constant supervision, he begins to sing along to the radio. It’s just some generic pop song, but Aegon has always had a nice voice. He nudges you to get you to sing along with him, but you hiss and say ‘ I’m driving. Do you want us to die?’ albeit injecting it with less venom than you usually do.
Despite yourself, however, you begin bobbing your head to the tune, even mouthing some of the lyrics of the chorus. Aegon snickers upon catching you.
“You know, I could get used to this,” Aegon tells you, like he’s admitting to some salacious secret.
“Used to what?” You question in turn, not daring to take your eyes off the road, lest you do actually end up killing you both.
“This - being a passenger princess, I can see the appeal,” he crosses his legs and catches his chin, as if in contemplation. “It’s not so bad when you aren’t actively trying to kill the both of us with your piss poor driving.”
“I am learning, ” you defend automatically. “Plus, you’d make a terrible princess, anyway.”
He lets out an exaggerated gasp, pouting all the while. “Why? You don’t think I’m pretty enough?”
“You’re too much of a little shit,” you inform him.
He cackles, proving your point, but apparently he’s not done speaking. He leans closer, and you can tell he has that insufferable smirk on his face, but you steadfastly keep your eyes forward.
“So you agree? You think I’m pretty?” He teases.
Any retort you might’ve had dies at the back of your throat, as your mouth clacks shut. Knowing anything you say on the matter can only implicate you further, you choose to change to topic instead.
“Where are we going?” You ask, mildly curious as to where his sporadic directions are leading you.
“You’ll see,” he murmurs enigmatically, before leaning back to his seat.
Eventually, you spot a familiar lighthouse by the distance, and sure enough the vast expanse of cerulean seas unfolds before you as you take the next turn. You recognize this as one of the Crownlands less used docks, now seen mainly as a tiny tourist attraction and a diving site. Practically vibrating with excitement, Aegon lowers the windows, and the crisp ocean air intertwined with the distinct scent of brine floods into the car, blowing through his silver locks. A wide grin spreads across his face when he turns to you, his lilac eyes crinkling in the corners, and you find that you can’t help but smile back.
“We’ve been here before,” you muse, as you try to look for a free spot on the road to park the car.
“Yeah, just after graduation,” Aegon begins, a nostalgic smile making its way across his face. “Everyone was with us, even Aem. First time you guys got drunk off your asses.”
“Damn, that was forever ago,” you remark, trying to remember the days after your high school graduation but coming up with only bits and pieces of broken, blurred memories, clarity long lost to time. “God, we are so old.”
He rolls his eyes, before quipping, “Maybe you are.”
You scoff indignantly, considering he’s a few years older than you, so practically geriatric.
Once you manage to parallel park after a few heart-stopping attempts, Aegon bullies you into buying him a sandwich from the food truck parked nearby. He deserves it, you suppose, after all the progress you’ve made today. You order one for yourself, and two for Aegon, remembering to add extra sriracha and jalapenos on his.
After, you walk on over to where he’s sitting on the grassy hill, overlooking the sea. From this vantage point, you can see the wooden bridge that connects this island to the next, and the sepia-toned amalgamation of strange rock formations that litter the whole isle like some kind of beautifully chaotic design. To your surprise, there’s hardly anyone here, just a few tourists here and there, and the pack of divers snorkeling in the clear waters below.
Tossing the sandwiches to Aegon, you plop down next to him, your shoulders rubbing together as you make yourself comfortable. You’re feeding him after all, the least he can do is donate some of his body heat. You cross your legs in front of you as you lean back on one hand, while eating with the other. Aegon at least murmurs a thank you, before scarfing down his sandwich in three whole bites, and moving on to the other.
“We were right here on this same spot, back then,” he tells you, a nostalgic look on his face, whilst chewing with his mouth open. “Took only a few bottles of beer for you to get shitfaced. It was hilarious.”
“Don’t remind me,” you groan, rubbing your face in embarrassment in hopes of somehow banishing the blush from your cheeks.
Of course, he doesn’t listen to you, and continues, “You stood there on the rock, screaming at the world to come at you. Then, the security came and asked you kindly to shut up.”
“Oh god,” you mutter, hiding your face in your hands. “I can’t believe you still remember that.”
The both of you spend the better part of the afternoon like that, just lounging on the grass, talking about everything and nothing all at once. There’s a certain kind of ease that only comes with knowing a person for years. Words flow freely, and you don’t have to worry about each sentence that comes out of your mouth. It’s only Aegon, after all. Plus, only he can make you laugh about as much as he can piss you off. It’s laughably easy to let the world slip away as you listen to the lilting cadence of Aegon’s voice.
Your life has its own fair share of challenges, but you know Aegon’s hasn’t exactly been easy either. He battles many demons, and a lot of them reside within his own mind. You can’t blame him for wanting a bit of respite from it all.
At one point, he pulls out a flask, and takes a swig, officially making you the designated driver for the ride home. He tells you that he has full confidence that you can get the two of you home in one piece, which is dumb of him, really, but you appreciate the thought. After a while, you suddenly remember how you got him to agree to teach you today.
“Oh! Before I forget,” you pull out Maris’ number from your pocket and hand it to him.
He eyes the piece of paper, his expression suddenly unreadable. Wordlessly, he takes it from you, and contemplates the elegant scrawl of numbers on the page. ‘Maris Baratheon’ is signed on the corner in smudged, black ink.
To your surprise, he lets go, and the breeze doesn’t hesitate to blow it away from his grasp. Your mouth drops open as you watch the slip of paper disappear into the distance.
“ Aegon ! What’d you do that for?” You question furiously. Maris made you do her paperwork for a day for that after all, as if she hasn’t been salivating over the chance to bag a Targaryen for God knows how long.
But Aegon only shrugs, and says, “Just realized I’m not that into her.”
Before you could retort, he’s already stood up and has started dusting the dirt off his pants. “Let’s go back,” he suggests enigmatically, offering his hand to help you up. You note how his hand dwarfs yours, as he easily pulls you up to your feet. He stays completely silent as you walk to the car, making you unreasonably nervous.
You try to replay the conversation in your head, desperately trying to pinpoint what had set him off, only to come out empty. As you’re about to open the car door, however, Aegon slams it shut. His hands rest on the roof of the car, caging you between the cool metal and the heat of his body. You watch as his fists clench once, twice, the silver rings that perpetually adorn his fingers shining ethereally under the fading sunlight. He hovers behind you, careful to preserve that last sliver of distance, if only for the sake of plausible deniability.
“Aegon what the hell?” You hiss at him. The moment his heated breath hits the nape of your neck, however, a full bodied shiver makes its way down your spine.
“I don’t want Maris,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, as he rests his forehead on the side of your head. An inscrutable emotion blooms in your chest at the contact, like a seed lying dormant in a drought, only to unfurl uncontrollably at the slightest hint of rain.
“What do you want, then?” you bite out, trying your best to hold yourself back from leaning into his touch.
He doesn’t answer you, however, and simply presses the lightest kiss on the angle of your jaw, then another, and another. For a moment, you forget to breathe, you forget yourself, who he is, who you are, and what the hell this could mean. Belatedly, you wonder if he can feel the rapid beating of your pulse as he trails butterfly kisses over your neck.
When you feel his stirring hardness pressing intently on your back, though, you snap back to reality. Without warning you elbow him lightly in the gut, just enough to stun him. His surprise is enough of an opportunity to turn the tables, so you grab him by the collar and push him against the car.
“ No, ” you proclaim, your finger trained threateningly at him like he’s just a misbehaving puppy.
You expect him to have that signature smug look on his face, but he looks as dismantled as you are, as if the last few moments had been a surprise to him as much as they have been for you. He looks completely vulnerable like this, lips parted and panting, lilac eyes made dark with desire, peering at you in equal parts of horror and bewilderment.
“Why not?” He pouts prettily at you, gradually taking your wrist and pressing your hand against the warmth of his cheek. In contrast to your better judgment, you let him, watching helplessly as a captive audience while he turns his head to place his chapped lips on the inside of your wrist.
You’ll call it a temporary lapse of judgment, a moment of weakness. Whatever . You’ll make your excuses later. For now, you’ll savor the ruined look on Aegon’s face as you languidly sink down on his length. He breathes out a broken approximation of your name once you hit bottom, his hands latching onto your hips so tightly, helplessly, wordlessly begging you not to move, not yet .
You always did like messing with him. The contrast of cool metal of his rings feels amazing on your heated skin. Especially when his grip on your flesh tightens, as you disobey his plea, beginning to undulate your hips.
“Don’t- don’t fucking move ,” Aegon stutters out, as he leans his head back on the car seat, likely replaying unarousing images in his head to keep himself from nutting far too soon, the poor guy. You take pity on him, and divert your attention to the pale expanse of his chest, mapping the dark ink of his tattoo with your lips and your tongue.
Throughout the years, you’ve only ever seen glimpses of it. It’s a curious thing, composed of inticare lines that must’ve taken hours to etch onto his skin. You wonder how many times Aegon must’ve come back to the tattoo parlor to get it done, not because he couldn’t stand the pain, but because he can’t possibly sit still for hours at a time. Aegon has always been good at bearing the brunt of his hurt and soldiering through the worst of the pain.
The thought makes your heart ache.
His chest rises and and falls deeply with each breath, reminding you of waves lapping languidly on the shore just a few leagues away. Since you’re feeling generous, you give him a few minutes to gather himself before you start grinding into him. Instantly, his head snaps back up, lilac gaze trained solely on you. Meanwhile, his calloused palms leisurely roam your body, intent on mapping out parts of you he’s never even had the privilege of seeing before.
However, when he surges up to kiss you, only for you to nip at his lip threateningly.
“No kissing,” you tell him, while you continue to roll your hips on his.
“Why not?” He whines, although the rhythmic contractions of your abdomen does a great job of distracting him.
“We’re fucking,” you explain dismissively, “Just fucking.” Although the boundary was more for you than him. You don’t trust your hormones not get feelings mixed into this if you let this get further than they already have, and there’s nothing more stupid than falling in love with Aegon Fucking Targaryen.
He continues to peer up at you from beneath his lashes, wide-eyed and pleading, gaze glossy with unshed tears. Before you can do something stupid like give in , you simply plant your hand on the side of his face to get him to turn away. Then, you throw your head back and close your eyes, focusing on the delicious way he stretches you out.
Your hand leaves his face to delve lower, to reach your clit, while Aegon settles for peppering your chest with his kisses instead. He latches onto your breast, dragging his pierced tongue over your nipple.
“Oh god ,” you cry out. Unbidden, your free hand comes up to interlace your fingers through his hair, your nails lightly scraping against his scalp. A shiver ripples through his body, as if your gentle touch alone is enough to shake him to his core.
After a while, a familiar heat begins to swell within you, gradually gaining momentum with each time you lower yourself onto his length, the head of his cock consistently hitting that sweet spot inside of you.
“I’m close,” you whisper, as he comes back up to press his forehead on yours. He angles his head to slot his nose with your own, like mismatched jigsaw pieces doing their best to fit together.
“Me too,” he replies, eyes staring straight right into you. You find yourself unable to look away, despite yourself.
A part of you is afraid he’ll try to kiss you again, but he doesn’t. Instead, he hovers just a breath’s distance away - asymptotes, condemned to infinitely come closer towards each other, but never quite touching.
Your release reverberates through your body like an amplified chord, leaving you as a shattered gasp. He coaxes you through it all with whispered words against your lips. Aegon slows his pace, allowing you to ride out your orgasm, prolonging each wave to a tiny eternity. Once the last one crests over you, you completely crumple against him, tucking your face in his neck. Reflexively, his hands come up to catch you, and it doesn’t take long for him to follow, finishing with a groan muffled against your hair.
A comfortable silence blankets the both of you, while you try to catch your breaths. Mindlessly, he traces invisible patterns on the exposed skin of your back, while you listen to the steadying beat of his heart in perfect synchronicity with your own. None of you say a word, afraid that it might somehow shatter this precarious peace you managed to build between the both of you.