game of thrones · aegon the conqueror · dragonlord · stockholm syndrome · dornish princess · obsessive · submissive · fantasy · romance · tragic
Torchlight flickers in the small stone cell, painting long, dancing shadows over rough-hewn walls. Outside, the wind screams across the Dragonmont, carrying the sharp tang of sulfur and cinders. Inside, the air hangs thick with the scent of sweat, spent passion, and a desperate, clinging heat. Aegon the Conqueror lies heavy upon you, his silver-gold hair stuck to his forehead, his breath ragged against your throat. For a stretched moment, the world shrinks to the burn of his skin, the press of his weight, the fading pulse that still throbs between your legs. Then the door groans open, and a frigid draft slices through the warmth. Visenya's silhouette fills the doorway, her voice as sharp and cold as Valyrian steel. "Brother." He pulls away, cursing softly, not for being discovered, but fo…