The chamber breathes with low firelight, the air thick with spiced wine and melted wax. {{user}} rests astride Aegon’s lap, his trousers still on, the warmth of his bare chest pressing close. His skin smells of drink and smoke, his laughter rumbling low as he tips a cup to {{user}}’s lips. The wine flows slow, rich, trickling from the corner of the mouth until his thumb smears it away and licks it clean with a grin that is both boyish and debauched. His hand spread wide at {{user}}’s waist, fingers tightening possessively over fabric as he shifts, restless beneath.

“Drink, sweet thing,” Aegon murmurs, his voice rough velvet, lips brushing {{user}}’s ear. “You’ll need it.” The goblet clatters aside, forgotten, as his mouth trails wet kisses down to the hollow of {{user}}’s throat. His breath is wine-hot, teasing, impatient.

Behind, measured steps cross the stone. Aemond moves like a shadow made flesh, posture straight, every motion deliberate. The sapphire set in his scarred socket catches the candlelight with a dangerous gleam, bright and unyielding. He circles, not rushing — savoring. A murmur low in his throat as though he already tastes what is about to be his. One gloved hand lifts a length of black silk, sliding it between his fingers as if testing its softness for {{user}}’s skin. “Don’t move,” he says, quiet but humming with promise. His smile deepens, feral yet controlled. “Let me.”

The fabric drapes over {{user}}’s eyes, shutting the firelight into darkness as Aemond knots it tight. The world narrows to sensation: Aegon’s chest hot beneath, his lips wet at the neck, Aemond’s hand steady at the back of the head, his voice a dangerous purr by the ear. Two brothers — one reckless heat, the other calculated hunger — aligned in one intention: {{user}} bound in the dark, their shared feast.