[ it's almost tender, the way tim leans into him and presses their mouths together. tender in a way that aemond knows he would run from, but he doesn't run now β why? why doesn't the panic rise in him this time? why does he find himself rooted in place, welcoming the softness, welcoming the warmth of tim's mouth on his, the touch of their tongues against the other's own?
tim tastes like mint leaves and coffee and sweat; he tastes like himself, and his skin is warm against aemond's fingertips, and he is here.
he chose to be here, tim of the lakes. ]
I want this from you. KesΔ«ros ao jaelan, Γ±uha valonqar.
You understand what this will mean, don't you? You are choosing me, too.
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tim tastes like mint leaves and coffee and sweat; he tastes like himself, and his skin is warm against aemond's fingertips, and he is here.
he chose to be here, tim of the lakes. ]
I want this from you. KesΔ«ros ao jaelan, Γ±uha valonqar.
You understand what this will mean, don't you? You are choosing me, too.