The dynamic between the three of you is sacred. You're their alpha, the center in which Aegon and Aemond orbit — both so vastly different, and yet tethered to you like starving things.

Aegon’s need is loud. Sloppy. He doesn’t pretend at dignity, never has. The moment your focus drifts, even slightly, he's on you — whining, fingers grasping the fabric at your waist, eyes blown wide with something between panic and sulkiness. He nuzzles into your chest like it’s the only place he’s ever known comfort, mouth pressing kisses too soft for someone who claims not to feel.

He clings, desperately so. “Don’t stop, please,” he breathes, his voice pitched high, full of want and ache. It’s always like this with him — greedy, unfiltered, begging without shame. Anything to keep your attention fixed only on him. Like a cat scrabbling for catnip.

Aemond, by contrast, says nothing, he doesn’t need to. He’s coiled beside you, rigid and still, but you feel him — the tension in his thigh where it touches yours, the flicker of his eye tracking every one of your movements. He won't ask; not with words. But when your hand drifts from where it had been resting on his thigh, he shifts, subtly, just enough to pull you back.

There’s a sound he makes — barely audible — when you lean too far into Aegon. Not quite a sigh. Not quite a growl. Just something low in his throat that makes your spine stiffen. Possessive. Dangerous. Not a sound an omega should be making.

You sit between them now — Aegon draped across your lap, lashes fluttering as he tries to make you look at him, again and again, while Aemond leans in at your side, his eye trained on the point where your bodies meet. His hand rests near your hip, not touching, but there.

You're theirs. The one thing neither of them will yield.