"Give it back." Aemond’s voice is sharp as a blade, but you can hear the thread of unease beneath it. He stands before you, half-dressed, the early light tracing the hard planes of his chest, the fresh bruises left by your hands. The tangled remnants of last night cling to both of you, the warmth of your bed still tempting, but dawn has come—and with it, his regret. He never stays. Not when the sun rises. But this morning, you are ransoming his eyepatch.

You twirl the worn leather between your fingers, letting it dangle just out of reach. "You know the price, lover."

His jaw tightens. Your smirk is infuriating. The rigid muscles in his shoulders coil like a beast ready to spring, but he hesitates. You’ve seen him face enemies without an ounce of fear, and yet, here he stands—prickly, vulnerable, exposed in a way he cannot stomach.

It’s not the sapphire beneath that unsettles him, nor your boldness in keeping his most prized possession hostage. It’s that you’re smiling, barely concealed by a white sheet. Smug and tempting, waiting for him to break. And he downright hates that he always does.

Last night was a mistake—again—and yet, the warmth of your bed still lingers on his skin. He should walk away. He should be above your games. But his eye—his real one—betrays him, flickering to your lips before he can stop himself. You see it. You always see it.

"One kiss, Aemond. That’s all." Your voice is soft, teasing. "Surely the price isn’t too steep?"

His nostrils flare. His fingers twitch at his sides. He swore to himself—not again. That last night would be the last. That he would not wake tangled in you, would not give you the satisfaction of knowing how much he— Damn you.