[ Gotta get off work at the library, grab a bottle from the tavern. Rubeans are a little more generous with Petre, now that he's associated with the aforementioned impudent lady, so yay.
[ Enough time for him to pry open the window, let some of the stagnant, sour air out. Shove bloodstained blankets beneath his bed. It helped, some, took the bite out of it, but his brother had come down with the skala sickness early on and there was an unnatural pungency that permeated. Aegon doesn't mind it, quite the opposite, but it reminded him of how faces would twist around him as he left the dragonpit after time spent on the back of Sunfyre.
So, he's sparing his friend from that! Out of the good of his heart.
He pulls the door open, greeting Petre with a face that was no doubt a portrait of despondency. His own blood was likely mostly wine by now, a glaze in his red-rimmed eyes. And he's already inviting himself to pluck the bottle from his grasp. ]
Will you always come running when I call upon you? [ He's got jokes, it's a joke. ]
[ Hard to completely hide the smell of blood from a creature who thinks it's a delicacy, but this one's old and dry and uninteresting. He gets the feeling Aegon would appreciate him not pointing that out, given the sight he's greeted with. An oof is also helpfully kept to himself. The smell of alcohol is a lot less surprising than the one he was hit with first. ]
You weren't too happy the last time I came running for you.
[ Or at him, rather. They ended up on the floor, Petre with a temporarily broken nose and Aegon in a temporary blackout.
Too soon? ]
What's up, Aegon?
[ His turn to invite himself, hands free, to drop on the opposite bed. The window gets a passing glance. It's not what's outside that interests him. ]
[ He makes an effort to suppress any frown that threatens to form when recalling their past encounter. Regardless of how rational he could be about it, a pang persisted. It wasn't really a betrayal, was it? Petre was stopping a version of himself that didn't really existβ and he didn't owe him any loyalty, anyway. Nor did he ever expect it. He chooses not to fixate on it (it led him down uncomfortable paths, would Petre like that version more?)
Aegon eyes his friend, returning to sit on the edge of his bed as he pries the vodka open, ready to savor his first gulp. A break from the wine that sears his throat, welcoming the bitterness. His fingers drum against the bottle as he contemplates his response, the uneven rhythm an instinctive attempt to alleviate discomfort. ]
What in the Seven Hells are you? [ Eloquent, but he couldn't stop replaying what he'd done to Petre in his head. ]
[ Petre is quiet, watching Aegon without expectations, one moment spared to focus on the shift in his throat as the drink goes down, the flash of a more pleasant memory than the one plaguing his friend lingering. The question is direct enough to leave Petre speechless for a second, straightening his posture. Barely, but the movement is perceptible enough to expose mild surprise.
He decides that he likes it. ]
Wow. You're really going to throw it at me like that? [ Looking pretty damn delighted for someone pretending to be slighted, though. ] The least you could do is apologize for ripping my neck open first. I liked that shirt.
I won't offer an apology. [ Curt. He bore no guilt, not really. At that stage of his insanity, a large part of himself had slipped away and what remained was beyond his control. And desperate. The screams still echo in his ears. If he had perished, perhaps there would have been a hint of remorse. Aegon doesn't think he actually wanted it anyway, not with the way Petre was beaming at him. Aegon drags his lower lip between his teeth, narrows his eyes before pressing on. ]
[ Petre watches Aegon, gaze relaxing, tilting his head slightly. A change in his posture to exteriorize his curiosity and the conclusion that seeing Aegon like this - tired, unwilling to let Petre play around with non-answers because keeping this secret is so ingrained - makes him more attractive.
He should be more careful about letting anyone see what he's capable of, but he's always been used to people not living long enough to kill and tell. Landing in those woods cured Petre from having to consume human flesh, apparently, including to restore himself before certain death. Aemond wouldn't be so grateful if Petre had showed up with his best friend laying mauled in his arms, so it's for the best.
He gets up in a swing, makes his way to Aegon's half of the room, leaps on the bed to hang over his lap, knees pressing into the mattress on each side. Distracting him to stall while he makes up his mind about how honest he wants to be, Petre takes his time grabbing the bottle for an indulgent mouthful. Licks the burn from his lips, makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat, like he just stretched a sore muscle.
One arm wraps around Aegon's shoulder. A warm smile to go with the way he leans in, ]
Remember what I told you before.
[ Pulses of memories from that last day:
What's your life's purpose, Petre?
Let's see... to cause a little bit of misery. A little bit of mayhem. There's one more thing, though. And it's my favorite. ]
I'm what it takes to make you do whatever the fuck you want when everybody keeps telling you that you can't.
[ The smile stretches. Making an actual effort not to kiss him yet. ]
Quiuri.
[ He doesn't expect that to ring any bells, but hey. It's an answer. ]
[ He tenses as Petre encroaches upon his personal spaceβanswering yet another question he had, at least. Why were all the void-touched he had a modicum of interest in capable of ripping his throat out? Petre had never seemed threatening to him before, and perhaps that was his fault for not noticing, for allowing himself to be distracted by what he convinced himself was empty flirtation. He had thought he simply enjoyed the attention.
Everything felt easy with him, strangely, and he didn't hesitate to explore how easy it was when doubt wasn't holding him back. No acknowledgment of ingrained shame or disgust, even though he shouldn't have it at all; he was a fucking Targaryen, and he could have whoever he wanted. Even now, having him here was a comfort; he hadn't actively sought anyone else out during his sulking (and not just because he wanted to stick his cock in him). Was this what friendship was?? Didn't you have to trust a friend? He doesn't think he trusts him.
His hands remain restrained as he observes Petre taking his time swallowing, licking his lips, emitting a sound he yearned to devour. ... Perhaps that danger made him more alluring. And then he's too close, Aegon's not subtle as his attention shifts to his mouth, having to fight off the urge to lean in to take it. He visibly relaxes, finally letting his fingertips brush down the length of Petre's back before settling on his hips, keeping him anchored there as he's forced to listen to a remnant of their last encounter.
His brow furrows, features contorting in confusion when he gets what still feels like a non-answer. Quiuri? ]
[ Teeth dig into Petre's lower lip when he smirks, lids low. It's nice, feeling Aegon so comfortable with touching his body. A sense of accomplishment, in a way, despite the things they've already done in the past. He's seen how Aegon talks to other people, and yet Petre is reached out to and invited to his room. Aegon tolerates his behavior and doesn't push him away when his personal space is invaded, even now that there's nothing influencing his mind.
Friendship?? Friend-shaped relationship with very questionable benefits. ]
It will.
[ Aegon can have the bottle back. Petre waits; if Aegon drinks again, Petre will wipe the aftertaste from his lips with his thumb and lick it. If not, he'll just skip to the next part. ]
[ When has he ever denied himself an opportunity to drink? This time it even has a chaser, his lips still parted as they come to terms with the absence of Petre's touch. The attention was definitely still a big part of whatever this was; he craved it incessantly. Give me, give me, give me-- should be written under his family's words: Fire and Blood. ]
I believe I've had my fill for the time being.
[ There will always be questions, but he was ready now to swap to a more social coping mechanism. Aegon's going to set the bottle blindly beside him, hoping it won't spill, but much more interested in the man on his lap to be overly cautious with it. That's to whom his hand returns, squeezing at Petre's thigh. Should he be sending his brother a telepathic "fuck off for a while"? ]
If your tongue isn't halfway down my throat in the next moment, I'll be disappointed, Petre.
[ After Aegon is given the space to get rid of the bottle, Petre's hands finding purchase on his shoulders, and makes both their intentions known, Petre looks so pleased with himself it's almost giddy. Anything but that, he would have joked, if his patience hadn't dispersed instantly. Petre presses his hand to Aegon's chest, nudges him to lie down on his back, head angled before pressing lips against his. The kiss isn't hungry, not yet, teasing Aegon's mouth open with his tongue after a playful pretense of something more chaste.
Petre frowns and opens his eyes. He'd smelled the blood at first, made assumptions that were easily dismissed in favor of alcohol and good company; now, past the traces of alcohol still fresh when he licks Aegon, the marks of it become inescapable. Instead of breaking the kiss, he leans more into it, demanding to satisfy his own curiosity and lingering cravings without a word. It's blood, enough of it that something as small as a cut is ruled out completely. Surely Aegon would tell Petre if he had an appetite for itβ? Why keep it a secret from him, of all people?
Leaning back up, palm flat on Aegon's chest to keep him down, Petre gives him a bombastic slight side-eye. ]
[ Aegon possesses boundless patience (a rarity); the longer he remains in Petre's company, the more he feels himself drifting away from his despair, sinking into the softness of the mattress as he willingly yields. Maybe he does trust him (maybe he just wants to believe he can), the fleeting thought of letting Petre do whatever he wants with him flashes by as their lips meet. Soft and modest in an unnatural way that makes him grin, getting what he wants and welcoming his tongue with no resistance.
He breathes forth a pleased hum, pretending to pay no mind to the way it seems like Petre is searching the depths of his mouth for something, successfully distracted finding the best way to fit their mouths together. Anything he wants, it's his. His hand moves to-- And then he's gone.
His eyes flutter open, mouth still slightly parted as he wrinkles his nose, looking up at his "friend" in mild confusion. He curls a hand in the front of Petre's shirt to tug him back down. ]
[ Stumped, trying to solve the math equation of whomst's blood has been in Aegon's mouth, Petre goes lax enough that it doesn't take a lot to be pulled back down. He's barely registering what Aegon says because it's not an answer, lips parting readily to kiss him anyway, like that's how he'll unravel the mystery. He hasn't exactly tasted many people since he arrived; he's only picked up on a few scents too, namely people who were injured/fucked up during the monster invasion, and more recently, the Skala and their blood flu. But he still wasn't paying attention like he is now.
Moving his mouth to Aegon's jawline, neck, scraping affectionately with his teeth, Petre slides his knees off the edge of the bed, one leg at a time, propping himself up on one hand while the other pries Aegon's shirt up. An intentional noise, like he's catching his breath after a contented murmur, and Petre sinks down Aegon's body, licking and sucking his middle, chasing the trail of more blood where he can sense it. ]
[ There's some subtle shift in Petre's energy, yet he decides against mentioning it, wary of spoiling his own enjoyment. Were there a concern, he had faith that Petre would communicate it. But he indeed needs to send his brother a fuck off message, the faint crimson gleam of his diabel mark on his lower back illuminates as he reaches out. He's entirely capable of managing telepathy and remaining attentive to his guest (he believes he is anyway).
Aegon lifts himself onto his elbows to Very Intently watch as Petre's mouth descends, not having anticipated anything beyond conversation and liquor, but perhaps that was his oversight (he was acutely aware of the fathomless horniness his friend possessed)β this turn of events was not unwelcome, regardless. His own blood rushes hotly between his thighs at the swirl of a diligent tongue, and he clamps down on his lower lip to stifle an involuntary groan. ]
[ With no protest coming from Aegon, Petre continues without delay, undoing his trousers to slowly pull them down and palm over the underwear, massaging the bulge. He watches from lowered eyelids, looks out for eye contact without any real need for it; like a dog's tunnel vision when it's tempted with a bone, he's thinking about what he tasted moments ago, trying to imagine scenarios that could explain it, plotting how he's going to get the answer to the burning question. His mouth replaces the hand, lips against thin fabric, fingers digging into the waistband. ]
[ This feels like the longest he's been in the company of a quiet Petre, the fleeting mind exchange with his brother not enough to fill the silence. He continues chewing on his lip, groping around for the vodka to further his inebriation to avoid dwelling too long in that space where he recognizes how much he savors the attention. Aegon keeps his hold loose on the bottle when he's finished, mostly tucking it against himself, liquor leaving a translucent trail down his chin. His eyes have yet to drift from his friend, exhaling with the gentle roll of his hips to assist. Encouraging and eagerly seeking more of his mouth.
His lips curl into a lop-sided grin. ] You ought to partake in this more frequently.
[ While Aegon tries to sort out where his mind goes, Petre narrows down his focus to what he can touch, letting that burning question hang above like a light until he decides to click it back on later. He's more or less figured out how he's going to do it.
The waistband is tugged enough to allow him to lap his tongue over the navel, pressing a thumb on the dip of flesh between it and the hipbone, layers of clothes eased down as Aegon rolls his hips. All that time invested into tracing a path away from their kiss is dismissed by one hand unceremoniously drawing his cock out, no last glance or verbal provocation to preface the first, indulgent suck. Petre lets it slide past his lips, meeting the ring of his fingers at the base, dipping quickly, dragging the motion when he comes back up.
There's barely any pause to search for Aegon's free hand and pry it away from whatever he's doing; Petre guides it to the back of his own head with an impatient hum, finally looking at Aegon from under his eyelids, the tip of his dick cushioned on the pad of his tongue for little more than a show. The next words are planted in Aegon's mind: ]
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[ Gotta get off work at the library, grab a bottle from the tavern. Rubeans are a little more generous with Petre, now that he's associated with the aforementioned impudent lady, so yay.
Knock knock. ]
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So, he's sparing his friend from that! Out of the good of his heart.
He pulls the door open, greeting Petre with a face that was no doubt a portrait of despondency. His own blood was likely mostly wine by now, a glaze in his red-rimmed eyes. And he's already inviting himself to pluck the bottle from his grasp. ]
Will you always come running when I call upon you? [ He's got jokes, it's a joke. ]
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You weren't too happy the last time I came running for you.
[ Or at him, rather. They ended up on the floor, Petre with a temporarily broken nose and Aegon in a temporary blackout.
Too soon? ]
What's up, Aegon?
[ His turn to invite himself, hands free, to drop on the opposite bed. The window gets a passing glance. It's not what's outside that interests him. ]
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would Petre like that version more?)Aegon eyes his friend, returning to sit on the edge of his bed as he pries the vodka open, ready to savor his first gulp. A break from the wine that sears his throat, welcoming the bitterness. His fingers drum against the bottle as he contemplates his response, the uneven rhythm an instinctive attempt to alleviate discomfort. ]
What in the Seven Hells are you? [ Eloquent, but he couldn't stop replaying what he'd done to Petre in his head. ]
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He decides that he likes it. ]
Wow. You're really going to throw it at me like that? [ Looking pretty damn delighted for someone pretending to be slighted, though. ] The least you could do is apologize for ripping my neck open first. I liked that shirt.
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Tell me.
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He should be more careful about letting anyone see what he's capable of, but he's always been used to people not living long enough to kill and tell. Landing in those woods cured Petre from having to consume human flesh, apparently, including to restore himself before certain death. Aemond wouldn't be so grateful if Petre had showed up with his best friend laying mauled in his arms, so it's for the best.
He gets up in a swing, makes his way to Aegon's half of the room, leaps on the bed to hang over his lap, knees pressing into the mattress on each side. Distracting him to stall while he makes up his mind about how honest he wants to be, Petre takes his time grabbing the bottle for an indulgent mouthful. Licks the burn from his lips, makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat, like he just stretched a sore muscle.
One arm wraps around Aegon's shoulder. A warm smile to go with the way he leans in, ]
Remember what I told you before.
[ Pulses of memories from that last day:
What's your life's purpose, Petre?
Let's see... to cause a little bit of misery. A little bit of mayhem. There's one more thing, though. And it's my favorite. ]
I'm what it takes to make you do whatever the fuck you want when everybody keeps telling you that you can't.
[ The smile stretches. Making an actual effort not to kiss him yet. ]
Quiuri.
[ He doesn't expect that to ring any bells, but hey. It's an answer. ]
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Everything felt easy with him, strangely, and he didn't hesitate to explore how easy it was when doubt wasn't holding him back. No acknowledgment of ingrained shame or disgust, even though he shouldn't have it at all; he was a fucking Targaryen, and he could have whoever he wanted. Even now, having him here was a comfort; he hadn't actively sought anyone else out during his sulking (and not just because he wanted to stick his cock in him). Was this what friendship was?? Didn't you have to trust a friend? He doesn't think he trusts him.
His hands remain restrained as he observes Petre taking his time swallowing, licking his lips, emitting a sound he yearned to devour. ... Perhaps that danger made him more alluring. And then he's too close, Aegon's not subtle as his attention shifts to his mouth, having to fight off the urge to lean in to take it. He visibly relaxes, finally letting his fingertips brush down the length of Petre's back before settling on his hips, keeping him anchored there as he's forced to listen to a remnant of their last encounter.
His brow furrows, features contorting in confusion when he gets what still feels like a non-answer. Quiuri? ]
That... means nothing to me.
[ He doesn't know what he expected. ]
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Friendship?? Friend-shaped relationship with very questionable benefits. ]
It will.
[ Aegon can have the bottle back. Petre waits; if Aegon drinks again, Petre will wipe the aftertaste from his lips with his thumb and lick it. If not, he'll just skip to the next part. ]
Any more questions?
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I believe I've had my fill for the time being.
[ There will always be questions, but he was ready now to swap to a more social coping mechanism. Aegon's going to set the bottle blindly beside him, hoping it won't spill, but much more interested in the man on his lap to be overly cautious with it. That's to whom his hand returns, squeezing at Petre's thigh. Should he be sending his brother a telepathic "fuck off for a while"? ]
If your tongue isn't halfway down my throat in the next moment, I'll be disappointed, Petre.
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Petre frowns and opens his eyes. He'd smelled the blood at first, made assumptions that were easily dismissed in favor of alcohol and good company; now, past the traces of alcohol still fresh when he licks Aegon, the marks of it become inescapable. Instead of breaking the kiss, he leans more into it, demanding to satisfy his own curiosity and lingering cravings without a word. It's blood, enough of it that something as small as a cut is ruled out completely. Surely Aegon would tell Petre if he had an appetite for itβ? Why keep it a secret from him, of all people?
Leaning back up, palm flat on Aegon's chest to keep him down, Petre gives him a
bombasticslight side-eye. ]Who is that.
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He breathes forth a pleased hum, pretending to pay no mind to the way it seems like Petre is searching the depths of his mouth for something, successfully distracted finding the best way to fit their mouths together. Anything he wants, it's his. His hand moves to-- And then he's gone.
His eyes flutter open, mouth still slightly parted as he wrinkles his nose, looking up at his "friend" in mild confusion. He curls a hand in the front of Petre's shirt to tug him back down. ]
What? Why have you ceased?
[ ?? ?? ? It's just you and me, Petre?? ]
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Moving his mouth to Aegon's jawline, neck, scraping affectionately with his teeth, Petre slides his knees off the edge of the bed, one leg at a time, propping himself up on one hand while the other pries Aegon's shirt up. An intentional noise, like he's catching his breath after a contented murmur, and Petre sinks down Aegon's body, licking and sucking his middle, chasing the trail of more blood where he can sense it. ]
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Aegon lifts himself onto his elbows to Very Intently watch as Petre's mouth descends, not having anticipated anything beyond conversation and liquor, but perhaps that was his oversight (he was acutely aware of the fathomless horniness his friend possessed)β this turn of events was not unwelcome, regardless. His own blood rushes hotly between his thighs at the swirl of a diligent tongue, and he clamps down on his lower lip to stifle an involuntary groan. ]
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His lips curl into a lop-sided grin. ] You ought to partake in this more frequently.
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The waistband is tugged enough to allow him to lap his tongue over the navel, pressing a thumb on the dip of flesh between it and the hipbone, layers of clothes eased down as Aegon rolls his hips. All that time invested into tracing a path away from their kiss is dismissed by one hand unceremoniously drawing his cock out, no last glance or verbal provocation to preface the first, indulgent suck. Petre lets it slide past his lips, meeting the ring of his fingers at the base, dipping quickly, dragging the motion when he comes back up.
There's barely any pause to search for Aegon's free hand and pry it away from whatever he's doing; Petre guides it to the back of his own head with an impatient hum, finally looking at Aegon from under his eyelids, the tip of his dick cushioned on the pad of his tongue for little more than a show. The next words are planted in Aegon's mind: ]
( Pull as hard as you want. )