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Just like his mother.
Luke has heard those words for as long as he can remember. Born with a slim frame, delicate features, and a head of flouncy curls, it came as no surprise when he presented as an omega.
The second coming of the realm’s delight, everyone said.
He and the rest of his family had been invited to King’s Landing. Beckoned to reunite with family and spend time with loved ones (Viserys), mend old bridges (ahem Rhaenyra and Alicent), and celebrate a name day (Helaena).
They’ve already been here for more than a fortnight but this evening is the real celebration. The main ballroom is dripping with opulence and candles lit all around provide an incandescent glow.
Lords and ladies of noble houses are either gorging themselves on the exuberant feast presented, dancing jubilantly, or, if you’re Aegon, drinking so much wine that the weight of your mother’s expectations seemingly disappears.
Luke’s not sure he’s ever looked so regal before. He’s covered in deep sea green satin lined with intricate silver beading that swirl around his limbs. Resting around his neck sits a matching collar, soft and just as resplendent as the rest of him. It’s a sign, a symbol that announces his designation as an omega.
The only royal male omega in over three centuries.
When he’d presented, grandfather Viserys had laughed delightedly at the news. Of course his beloved Rhaenyra would give birth to an omega son, it was only fitting. And the pride his mother had shown? That was enough to ease the ache that had been living in his chest for so long, firm and unyielding like a stone sitting upon his lungs. Finally, finally, he had done something right.
Though it doesn’t seem to feel so great at this particular moment. Not when, as soon as they step through the threshold, all eyes swing to them.
Luke feels everyone in attendance sizing them up, assessing them, assessing him. Nerves rattle in his gut like a swarm of tiny dragons. Beating their wings so fast he starts to feel an instinct to run, to flee, to escape the weight of the eyes boring into him from all angles of the room. He clenches the hand wrapped around Jace’s arm.
“Luke?” Ever the attentive brother and alpha, Jace leans closer and uses his other hand to cover Luke’s own. “Don’t pay attention to them, to any of them. They’re beneath you.” He gives a firm nod of his head and says, “We’re here for family and celebration. There’s no need to engage with any of these people if it does not please you.”
Luke gives a shaky smile in return. “You’re right.” He’s Lucerys Velaryon. Princess Rhaenyra’s omega son and the rightful heir to Driftmark. If these people want to look, then so be it. He clears his voice and continues, “Perhaps, for the first time in your life, brother.”
“Oh, is that right?” Jace gives him a grin with far too many teeth in it to be sincere. “Because I seem to remember a time when–”
The unfortunate part here is that there have been too many times Jace has told him so. All of them terribly embarrassing on Luke’s part. He interjects before Jace can select from his all too full arsenal. “Too right, dear brother of mine. You are undeniably–”
Just then he spots a familiar head of white coils piled pristinely atop a stunning face. Luke waves her over and gestures to his brother. “Ah, Baela, there you are. Your intended was just telling me that he was in need of a dancing partner.”
Jace wears a dopey grin at the sight of her and she gently smiles back. Their reactions to one another sickeningly sweet as they automatically step closer and entwine their hands.
Luke crosses his arms and smirks. “Oh Jace, I didn’t finish my thought. You are,” he crosses his arms and nods his head, “undeniably a constant pain in my arse.”
“Is that right?” Jace’s eyebrows raise as he takes a threateningly step forward. “Come over here and I’ll kick my boot so far up your arse you’ll be–”
Baela puts a hand on his shoulder and intervenes. “Now now Jace, I believe it has been quite clear that the only thing Lucerys wants up his arse is his betrothed’s co–”
“Baela!” Jace’s face is absolutely scandalized. “I do not need to hear about anything pertaining to th–the sex life of my little brother! Ever!”
Her tinkling laughter permeates the air as she drags Jace to the middle of the room to join in on the dancing.
Luke is glad they both have gone because he is quite certain that his face is as bright as the red thread that lines his mother’s dress.
He turns his head and slowly takes in the rest of the room. Unwittingly, he meets the gaze of a few unbonded alphas, all of them painfully transparent in the way they look at him. Luke quickly turns his head until his eyes latch onto a familiar lone amethyst, already staring at him.
Just as all the other times before, his breath catches. He feels it leave his chest in a rush, not dissimilar to the feeling of flying atop Arrax. Luke wonders if anyone else in the room can sense the tension that starts to swell.
With one look, everyone and everything fades into nothingness. The gaudy decorations, the food, the people— all of it snuffed out when his eyes connect with Aemond. Luke can’t help but feel as though it’s a sensation he will never grow accustomed to, no matter how often it happens.
Aemond’s eye doesn’t drift away. The intensity a beacon for Lucerys, beseeching him to move, to cross the space that divides them.
It happens whenever they are near. As if there is an instinctive pull between them. They’ll orbit one another, dance around the edge of a gravitational field that Luke knows if he steps into, that if he gets any closer, he’ll end up walking right into Aemond’s embrace.
Before Luke even realizes it, he’s already taken a step forward. He makes to move again, to give into the relentless tug he feels in his chest when Rhaena comes into his view.
“There you are,” she says exasperatedly as she loops her arm around his and begins to turn them into a different direction, away from the one-eyed dragon. “We’ve been instructed to mingle, let everyone get a glimpse of the omega of the hour.”
He responds dryly, “It’s a celebration in Helaena’s honor.”
Rhaena stops and turns to look at him. “Can both not be true?” Her eyes flick over and Luke’s shoulder. He’s already half turning around to see what she’s looking at when he hears a husky voice.
A tall form stands before him, tilting their head in greeting. “Prince Lucerys.”
Luke is momentarily silent. Because who stands before him, than none other but Lord Cregan Stark. Young and handsome and looking at Luke with eyes of cloudy skies.
Luke gives a slow nod of his own and replies, “Lord Stark. I do not believe we’ve had the pleasure.”
“We have not.” Cregan stands to his full height and gives Luke a flirtatious smile. “I assure you if we had, it would’ve been a cherished memory. One I would have carried with me long after.”
Luke supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. His status as a royal omega notwithstanding, he’s been told he’s inherited the Targaryen beauty. Same small, slightly upturned nose, soft face, and full cheeks inherited from his grandmother Aemma, all accompanied by a head of wild curls. It’s a combination held in regard as more than enticing to alphas. At least that’s what his mother had told him.
It’s thrilling to be noticed, even if Luke knows it could never go anywhere. He gives a genial smile. “You flatter me.”
“I am hoping to do much more than that.” The grin Cregan wears is downright lecherous.
Luke can feel his cheeks warming at the implication of his words. If Lord Stark doesn’t watch himself, he may find himself charred around the edges.
And really, this forthcoming behavior is hardly appropriate. Lucerys shouldn’t even be entertaining this. But coming from that strong and attractive face? With those cascading dark curls and luminous eyes, well, it’s no wonder why Luke has heard the name Cregan Stark whispered among the lords and ladies of the court.
Luke lets out a small sigh. A mating with Lord Stark is not on the table. Maybe once upon a time the conversation he is currently having with the man would have resulted in a discussion with his mother at the very least. But that is no longer the case.
Lucerys Velaryon, however short his time being eligible was, is no longer available for betrothal contracts. He’s engaged.
Not that anyone beyond the family is aware. The announcement isn’t set to take place until after his next nameday, but as of now, to these wandering eyes and forthcoming declarations, Luke is an omega open for the hunt.
And doesn’t that thought bring a smile to his face. Open for the hunt, indeed. With his formidable family standing guard around him at all times, his dragon Arrax ready to burn down any alpha who dares step too close, and his…
Luke’s eyes drift to the side, in search of a particular face. Where had he gone? Luke begins to turn around, trying to catch a glimpse of a looming figure with long platinum hair.
“I hope this isn’t too presumptuous, but I came with a gift.” Luke’s attention is once more snagged to the man in front of him.
It’s far too soon for it to be a courting gift, but just the right time to present something in hope of, at least, gaining Luke’s favor.
If Luke wasn’t already so taken with his intended, he thinks he would be quite open to the possibility of mating with Cregan Stark. His persistence and gall are entertaining.
An opened box is presented and Luke blinks down at the adorned necklace. It’s not a collar, but it is as close as can be, decorated with the House Stark colors. Luke’s breath hitches in his throat. Oh.
Cregan Stark is an idiot. A handsome idiot to be sure, but there’s not a chance in the Seven Hells Luke could ever accept this, could ever wear something like this. He shudders to think of the destruction that would ensue.
Before Luke can utter out a response, a towering figure saunters over to them. Aemond peers into the proffered box feigning casual interest and slowly drags his gaze to meet Cregan’s and lets out a large scoff. As if he looks at the man presented before Lucerys and finds him lacking. Finds him less than, incapable of being the alpha an omega like Luke needs.
Luke stares at the alphas before him with wide eyes, unsure what to do next. His heartbeat pounds as loudly as the footfalls of dragons and he can hardly hear past the buzzing noise in his ears, surely caused by the rise of anxiety taking over his body.
There has been no direction given for what to do in this circumstance, no guidebook on proper omega etiquette on how to gracefully maneuver a scenario in which an alpha presents a necklace to you in front of your (more than a little) violence-inclined betrothed.
Oh fucking hells, he can practically feel his family’s eyes on him. No doubt watching him make a fool of himself.
Luke swallows thickly. “That is…very kind of you, Lord Stark. But there are–”
Aemond interrupts. “You’ll find, Stark,” he growls deeply, “a wolf cannot satisfy a dragon.”
He turns to Luke, his eye ablaze. “Urnēbagon aōla, taoba. Iksā ñuhon.”
Luke’s mouth is dry as he watches Aemond shoot one last venomous glare at Cregan and stalk out of the hall, throwing open the large doors in a dramatic flourish.
Luke’s torn between melting into a puddle or rolling his eyes.
There’s a pause where he, Cregan, and Rhaena all stand and stare at the space Aemond had vanished. All of them unsure on how to proceed.
Luke clears his throat. “Um, I think I should…” and he gestures to the open doors.
Rhaena sighs, but agrees, “Indeed.” She peers down at the necklace, still held aloft in Cregan’s hands and gives it a considering look.
Lucerys chases down his uncle.
He’s a man obsessed. At least that’s what Aegon told him when he caught Aemond staring heatedly across the table at the kingdom’s darling.
Aemond knows he isn’t wrong. Because it’s true, he is obsessed, entirely and wholly bewitched by such a small slip of a thing.
A slow smirk grows along his face at the thought. Small though he may be (and by the gods does Aemond love that), Lucerys is hardly defenseless. He is as blazing as Arrax’s fire and as fierce as the dagger he used to tear out Aemond’s eye all those years ago.
In turn, his obsession, once a small flame, grew into a blazing inferno and Aemond wonders when he stopped finding his fixation on the little lord infuriating.
He had been viciously pleased with his father’s decision to wed them together. As if Aemond wasn’t the one pacing before the King all those nights ago, listing out the ways their union could strengthen Targaryen power. Urging Viserys to see reason.
It had been the closest Aemond has ever come to begging.
He’s entirely uninterested in the proceedings of the evening until the large doors open and the object of his desire traipses in. Lucerys’ decadent scent wafts into the room and the enticing aroma is so uniquely him that Aemond is sure he would want for nothing so long as he is able to breathe it in forevermore.
His keen gaze drawn to Luke like a moth to a candle, and Aemond is content to observe the little lord flit around. That is, until a mutt starts to sniff around him.
Cregan Stark, a pathetic excuse for a man and an alpha, attempting to rise above his station by ensnaring the favor of Lucerys. It’s as ridiculous as it is amusing and Aemond would laugh if he wasn’t so busy trying not to unsheathe his sword and put an end to the man’s pitiful existence right here.
Before he can think better of it, Aemond is off his chair and marching to where Lucerys stands, gaping down at a box in Cregan’s hand that Aemond knows contains some shiny trinket, selected in hopes of enticing the omega princeling.
He’s snarling by the time he reaches them, but reigns himself in at the last second. Aemond doesn’t say all that he wants to, doesn’t do all that he wants to. He thinks he’d quite like to run his sword into the gut of Cregan Stark and ruthlessly drag it upward so that everything held inside falls out. Then he would claim Lucerys for his own and mate him in a pool of cooling blood in front of everyone.
But he doesn’t do that. Instead, he makes a scathing remark about a wolf never being enough for a dragon and stalks out into the halls.
Because, he decides, a deviation from their usual routine is necessary. Instead of him giving chase, he wants Luke to pursue him.
Aemond waits just around the corner of the hall entrance. He leans against the stone wall and listens, in hope, that he hears the sound of light footsteps walking towards him.
With every second that passes without the arrival of Lucerys, Aemond tries not to let doubt creep up in his chest. Lucerys will follow him. They have been bound and wed by the ways of Old Valyria since they were boys. They’re fated.
Even still, Aemond’s resolution slightly falters. For all his brashness, he still faces the same fear of never quite being enough for anyone.
At that moment he hears small but steadfast steps echo through the corridor. The sound makes something lurch inside of him.
Just as Luke reaches the point of intersection and turns around the bend, Aemond snatches him and spins them around. Luke clashes against the wall with a resounding thunk and blinks those wide and temptatious eyes up at Aemond. A small smirk graces his face and he looks positively victorious. As if this were the outcome he had been wanting for.
“Uncle,” he breathes out.
And even that alone is enough to send Aemond into a spiral. He kicks Luke’s legs apart and slots his thigh in between them, nudges his cocklet out of the way and presses upwards, against his small, untouched omegan hole.
Luke rises to the balls of his feet. He tries to inch away from the pressure, but even after a few moments his legs tremble with the strain of keeping himself lifted. Their difference in size never so apparent than at this moment.
Aemond grips Luke by the waist and pulls him down to meet and press against Aemonds’ demanding thigh. Rocks him forward so Luke’s little cocklet grinds down.
Luke gasps as his cheeks blossom a fetching shade of pink. “Oh.”
Aemond clutches Luke and rolls his hips against him. Over and over and over. A crude imitation of what he really wants to do.
When the friction becomes too much, Luke pleads, “Aemond, Uncle, please.”
Aemond wonders what Luke sees when he studies Aemond’s face. Does he see the longing, the lust? Can he see within the amethyst orb the desire to devour and covet?
Luke must see something that he likes because he arches his body and angles his groin to press insistently against Aemond’s own.
There’s a heady feeling that sinks low in Aemond’s gut as he bends his head forward and slips a finger underneath Luke’s omega collar. “You forget yourself, nephew.” He uses the leverage to pull Luke’s face closer. “You are in no position to be accepting courting gifts from other alphas. If you want Cregan Stark to walk out of these halls unscathed,” he says, spitting out the name as if it’s something foul, “you’d do well not to entertain his advances.”
“He doesn’t know of our betrothal.” Luke’s chest rapidly contracts as he pants into the air where their heads are pressed close together. “Lord Stark is unaware of the state of our union. He meant no disrespect.”
Aemond’s eyes flash as his palm drifts down from Luke’s collar and spans the length of his neck. “That will soon change.”
His fingers press against the hollow of Luke’s throat, providing just enough pressure to emphasize his words. “The only thing you’ll carry around your neck is my mating claim.”
Luke’s eyes are glassy as his mouth parts and Aemond is seconds away from throwing propriety out the goddamn window because they both are succumbing to the desire swirling between them, so thick Aemond can practically taste it.
“Yours.” Luke’s voice is breathy as he bares more of his neck to Aemond, “Your betrothed. Your omega.”
Aemond snarls as he dips his head forward and scrapes sharp teeth along Luke’s mating gland. “This,” he slides a rough hand up Luke’s thigh and grips the center of him firmly, “and this belong to me. Mine to bite, mine to claim, and mine to fuck.”
“Qybor,” Lucerys whines, high-pitched and needy.
And it’s the most beautiful sound Aemond has ever heard. A plea and a demand all wrapped together coming from that pretty little mouth.
Aemond’s fingers slip beneath the soft fabric, going further still he reaches the soft give of the opening and finds it already wet. He huffs out a sharp laugh and murmurs into Luke’s ear, “So wet, bastard.”
Luke makes a stifled, indignant noise that Aemond hushes with his mouth.
The small stretch of skin gives way to Aemond’s insistent fingers. His entrance is slick and hot, and Aemond dips his head to the crook of Luke’s neck and inhales deeply. An attempt to get his ragged breathing under control.
Luke rocks his hips downward in a little movement, trying to wiggle closer to Aemond’s pressing hand. He’s rewarded when a second finger slips in.
The friction is delightful torment and Aemond’s eye never strays away from Luke’s face. He greedily hoards every reaction, every flash of desire in Luke’s half-lidded gaze and every hitch in his breath.
Luke keens and a broken gasp escapes as he tries to smother the noise with a fist pressed against his mouth.
Aemond grabs the wrist and pins it to the wall above Lucery’s head. “Ah, none of that now. You’re mine, Lucerys, and if I want to fuck you in front of everyone, then so be it.”
His fingers keep pumping in and out as he says, “I may not even have to, they can probably smell your slick from here.” His nose trails along Luke’s cheek as he mutters, “By the end of the night there won’t be a soul who doesn’t know who you belong to.”
The Alpha urge rises up in him so primal, that Aemond’s entire being is beseeching him to just take this omega and make him scream.
The stimulation is overwhelming and tears well up in Luke’s eyes, the sconce positioned above making them glisten and shine.
“Are these for me?” Aemond coos in his ear. “Shall I really make you cry?”
Aemond’s fingers twist inside Lucerys as his other hand leaves its spot on Luke’s wrist and glides down to cup Luke’s tiny cock.
“There is only one place for you, taoba. Riding my hand or squirming on my knot.”
That’s what does it in the end. Luke tosses his head back against the wall as his pleasure breaks through. His lovely eyes are screwed shut as he shudders against Aemond and rides out his arousal.
Aemond’s smile is vicious as he brings one of his hands up to Luke’s mouth. The digits covered in Luke’s cum. “Bībagon,”
Lucerys looks up at him through thick lashes and opens his little wet mouth to dutifully clean the fingers. Aemond pulls them away and observes the strand of cum and spit that hangs between them.
The tight knot in his chest rises and expands until Aemond feels as though he’s about to burst. His grip is firm as his hand winds around Lucery’s curls and drags his head back. Their breaths mingle together as he lowers his head down, intending to leave a mark on Luke’s neck for all to see. He’s just a hair's breadth away when heavy footfalls come around the corner.
“Oh Seven Hells!” Jace yells when he sees them tangled together.