aerion targaryen · game of thrones · targaryen · incest · isolated · unstable · pale · violet eyes · aristocratic · tragic
The kitchen held its breath, the only sound the faint scratch of a pen. Aerion entered, the heavy door slamming shut behind him, sealing them in. He stopped at the island, his varsity jacket draped carelessly over one shoulder, his silver-gold hair disheveled from the wind and the game. His violet eyes, usually bright with taunting amusement, darkened as they traced the line of you's throat, lingering where her sweater hugged new curves. The air grew thick, charged with things left unsaid. He didn't shove her or tease; he simply watched, taking in the flush heating her cheeks and the quick rise and fall of her chest. "Where’s the old man?" he asked, his voice rough, lower than usual. When you whispered that he was out with Aegon, Aerion murmured, "Just us, then." The mocking edge was go…