Work Text:
Baelon Targaryen never expected to outlive his wife.
Women live longer than men. That’s what people always said, wasn’t it? That’s what the statistics said, what insurers counted on, what risk calculations were modeled off of.
But here he was—a statistical anomaly. Sixty-one years old, and a widower. Alyssa Targaryen was so full of vim and vigor, so rich with life that it was almost impossible to believe she could die. But cancer, it seemed, spared no one.
His life felt like it was over. Or that it reset, having to start again from a time without Alyssa in his life—those four brief years where he walked the world alone. But Baelon did not have the energy to start again. How could he, without half of his heart? With his soul so suddenly and cruelly torn apart? His beloved Alyssa, his wife, his sister—suddenly just…gone. He had no desire to find someone new. How could he ever share his life with anyone else? Alyssa had been a part of him. He was no longer whole.
Months passed, and Baelon still found himself turning to remark on something, only to find her chair empty. He rolled in bed, intending to pull her close to his chest so that he might sleep more comfortably, only to grasp at air. He laughed at something that reminded him of her wicked humor, only to have his joy die in his throat upon realizing he laughed alone. His house, his life, all took on the same gray, flavorless pallor, every day much the same as the last. Baelon passed long hours, alone, hoping that the gods might take pity on him, and let him die.
His younger son, Daemon, recognized the fog he drifted in, and sought to pull him out of it by moving Baelon in with him and his wife. With little will or strength to resist the notion, Baelon moved into Daemon and Rhaenyra’s guest suite.
Daemon and Rhaenyra, recently wed, and still in their honeymoon phase—although Baelon suspected they would never entirely leave it—were hopelessly, deliriously in love. They were rarely seen without having some part touching the other. They shared private smiles and glances, and seemed to exist in their own world.
It reminded Baelon so much of his Alyssa, of the way everything around them seemed to disappear, dim and dull in comparison to the brightness of their love for one another. Rhaenyra, his granddaughter, was a spirited girl. She reminded him of Alyssa in her youth. While Rhaenyra favored her mother’s looks, she had her grandmother’s temperament. And Daemon, of his two sons, had always favored Baelon himself.
While he was happy for them—and he really was—it was a constant, painful reminder of what he’d lost.
—
It was a sunny, spring day—the type Alyssa always loved—where the streams of sunlight appeared as thick beams across the world, catching in their rays a million dancing motes of dust and pollen.
Viserys had been trying to coax him out for a visit for weeks, and Baelon finally relented. It would be good to see his other grandchildren. And Daemon and Rhaenyra could certainly make use of the empty house. He hated to think himself a burden on his children, and as much as they insisted he was not, he could not shake the feeling he was intruding on their lives.
Baelon tired quickly these days. Alyssa had kept him active, but without her, his energy remained at a low hum, and swiftly drained from him. After a couple hours in the park with Viserys and his children, Baelon regretted that he needed to return home to rest. Viserys begged him to stay longer, stay for the night, even, but Baelon preferred the comfort of his own bed. Or what passed as his own, these days, in the guest suite of Daemon and Rhaenyra’s home.
After promising to visit again soon, Baelon bid farewell to his son and grandchildren, and took the brief journey by train back to Daemon’s house. Baelon trudged up the walkway to the front door, eager to shed his clothes and drift away to sleep. He could still visit with Alyssa in his dreams.
As soon as he stepped inside he knew something was amiss.
Low, guttural sounds drifted down the hall. Rhythmic sounds of flesh against flesh. Then an unmistakable throaty, feminine moan.
Baelon’s cheeks heated at the realization, a prickling sense of shame and embarrassment threading through his veins. It was followed quickly by a pang of longing for his wife so deep and consuming it threatened to buckle him at the knees right there in the foyer.
It was not a conscious decision, not a deliberate command issued by his brain, when his feet moved down the hall, further into the house, toward the sounds of pleasure emanating from its heart. Some dim part of his mind screamed at him to turn around, to leave them to it. That it would be wrong to watch them. But the scarred part of his heart, yearning for balm to his deep wounds, urged him on.
The front hall of Daemon and Rhaenyra’s house opened to an expansive great room—an open-concept main floor with the kitchen and dining area on one side, and living room and den on the other. Set against the far wall of the living area was a large fireplace with a plush Myrish carpet in front of it. Floor-to-ceiling windows enclose three quarters of the space, providing a breathtaking panoramic view of the surrounding countryside.
And there on that carpet, bathed in the late afternoon sun—Baelon’s granddaughter, riding her husband, his son, with wild abandon.
For a moment his vision went white, blotted out as if he’d looked directly into the sun, and his body went rigid at the shock of seeing such a thing—something he should not be privy to. He was, however, correct, he mused, in his assumption that Daemon and Rhaenyra would make good use of the empty house in his absence. Clearly they did not expect him to return so soon.
Despite the impropriety it warmed Baelon’s heart, to see them so in love, so engrossed in one another. He had known that feeling, and would give anything to know it again, to have Alyssa back in his arms. At least he can be secure in the knowledge that his son found the same immeasurable joy. And it’s that sense of joy that captivated him—rendering him unable to look away.
Rhaenyra’s head was tossed back, her eyes closed, long sheaf of silvery hair cascading down her arched back. She was a rather petite girl, but with ample, full breasts and soft rounded hips and thighs. He’d always known she was pretty, but Baelon was temporarily stunned to see her like this—fully bare, her breasts bouncing, her hips rolling. Her pretty pink mouth parted so that her moans and gasps might freely escape.
She was like Alyssa, in how shamelessly she rode, taking her pleasure. Alyssa loved to be on top. And Baelon loved to watch her.
From his vantage he could not fully see Daemon, only glimpses—where his muscular thigh flexed as his hips thrust upward, where one hand reached for his wife’s breast. Baelon could just make out the juncture where their bodies met, where Daemon’s cock disappeared into Rhaenyra. He swallowed thickly watching the evidence of his son’s erection bulge from inside against the taut skin of Rhaenyra’s abdomen.
Something hot and cloying burned in his throat, and the back of his eyes, making his thoughts thick and hazy. Arousal pulsed to life in his groin for the first time in months, for the first time since he lost Alyssa. He shifted, adjusting his cock as he continued to watch.
Their family was no stranger to this type of affection, of course. They had long ago accepted the inborn predilection for one another that existed in their blood. A peculiarity of Valyrian heritage, nothing more. But never before had he felt anything akin to this when it came to his granddaughter. Or more disturbing—his own son.
Perhaps in his grief his mind had given over to madness.
Baelon kept to the shadowed edges of the room as he crept closer. He bit his lip against the sound of their skin slapping, the soft squelch of Daemon’s cock thrusting in and out of Rhaenyra. Her cunt must be so wet. Fuck. He could not stop his feet if he willed it—desperation pulled him toward the couple, needing to capture some of that lost happiness, needing to grasp onto that tiny spark of heat that made him feel alive again.
From where he now stood, Baelon could see his son’s face through a gap in the furniture. Daemon’s head dropped back, his breath coming in harsh huffs as he thrust his hips up to meet Rhaenyra’s. The muscles in his arms flexed to reach forward to grip her thighs. Daemon looked the spitting image of Baelon in his youth—lean and hard-muscled, prominent veins on his arms protruding from the skin like cords.
It was like looking back in time, in a mirror that reflected his long-gone youth.
Lost in memory, Baelon did not immediately register that Rhaenyra’s eyes had flown open. Her voice sounded far away, or like that of a dream, when she called to him.
“Grandfather!”
Baelon sputtered, stumbling back and knocking into a shelf, setting a vase of flowers into a dangerous wobble. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean—”
“Shh, it’s all right,” Rhaenyra said softly.
There was no disgust in her voice. No trace of fear or shame. Her smile held a hint of mischief, a touch of amusement. Just as Alyssa’s always had. A pulse of heat throbbed in his cock, hardening uncomfortably beneath his trousers as he struggled to right himself.
He looked to Daemon, expecting to see his son’s face twisted in anger. But Daemon remained on his back, craning his neck to get a look behind him. His lips turned up in a curious smirk. He glanced back up to Rhaenyra, and the two shared a secretive smile. They each nodded, some unspoken agreement passing between them.
“Come,” Rhaenyra said, looking into Baelon’s eyes and holding out one slender arm. “Join us.”
Join them? His heart stuttered in his chest. Surely they didn’t mean…? He’d gone mad, indeed. He’d imagined this perverse fantasy in the depths of his despair.
“What? No, no. I-I can’t.”
“Grandfather,” Rhaenyra said, in the lightly admonishing tone one might direct at a stubborn child. “Please. Come.”
“I shouldn’t—”
Daemon cut him off, somehow managing to look both commanding and smug from his place on the floor. “You best listen to her, Father. She’s rather difficult when she doesn’t get what she wants.”
Baelon’s words stuck in his throat. He wanted to protest, to tell them this was wrong, and flee to his quarters. But some part of him longed for their touch. He needed to feel wanted again, to feel loved. He had been so lonely…
Once again his feet moved him of their own accord, perhaps more in tune with the desires of his heart than his foolish head. Rhaenyra kept her gaze locked on him as he crossed the room, slowly grinding her hips against her husband, who had kept himself sheathed inside her.
“You’ve been so sad,” Rhaenyra cooed. “We understand, of course. We miss her too. Don’t we, husband?” Daemon nodded. “But you aren’t alone, you know? You have us. Let us help you.”
“Help me?”
“Let us take care of you, Grandfather. Let us show you how much we love you.”
Rhaenyra slowed her hips, and climbed off of Daemon’s lap. Baelon’s eyes involuntarily flitted between her legs, watching in awe as Daemon’s cock came away, glistening. He could not help but admire how well-endowed his son was, long and thick, the head red and shining from its recent exertions. An odd sort of pride puffed up in his chest.
Both of them got to their feet, and in a daze, Baelon could only watch mutely as his son and granddaughter stood, completely naked before him. They were both beautiful, truly.
It could have been a dozen hands as easily as the four of theirs, pulling at his clothes—removing his jacket, tugging his sweater and shirt above his head. Then Rhaenyra knelt, looking up at him with those wide, sparkling eyes, as she undid his belt buckle and stripped it from the loops of his trousers. She nudged him to slip out of his shoes so she could slide his trousers down and off.
Rhaenyra sat back on her heels, admiring him, as Daemon stood behind his wife, his large hands caressing her shoulders and toying with her hair.
Baelon had been a confident man in his youth—aware of his own good looks, his roguish charm. He prided himself on keeping in shape even as he aged. And Alyssa kept him busy enough in the bedroom, even until her last days, that he had been motivated to stay active, if only to keep up with her. So he was surprisingly unashamed to be bared before the two younger Targaryens now. Certainly his body showed signs of age, his hair with more touches of gray than he once had, but he was still a handsome man. And his own admiration for his kin was reflected back at him in Daemon and Rhaenyra’s expressions.
Rhaenyra’s eyes roamed over his cock, and she licked her lips. That such a pretty young thing as his granddaughter would be pleased at the sight of him inspired his cock to full-mast. He hadn’t even gotten hard since Alyssa died, and now he was aching with those months of pent-up need.
“Like father, like son, hm?” Rhaenyra said with a cheeky grin.
Rhaenyra scooted forward, running her hands up and down Baelon’s thighs. He shivered, already so unused to a woman’s touch after months of being bereft of it. As she nestled closer, Daemon dropped to his knees, positioning himself behind his wife. He slid one arm around her waist, snaking it down toward her cunt, while the other reached around to fondle her breasts.
Tenderly, Rhaenyra wrapped one slender hand around the base of his cock. Baelon went rigid. It was one thing to imagine this, to get this far—it was another entirely to cross this line.
“It’s all right,” Rhaenyra soothed. “Just relax.”
Baelon looked pleadingly to his son. Surely he could not be okay with this? Surely this was the moment where they revealed this was all a sick joke, or he would awaken in his own bed, covered in sweat and shame? But Daemon, unbelievably, only smiled, and gave an encouraging nod.
“She’ll be good to you, Father. My wife has a talented mouth.”
Rhaenyra smiled up at him, quirking an eyebrow, as if to ask his permission. He was already here—he was undoubtedly aroused. What was the harm now? He’d been in so much pain—beyond pain, even. In a dull, gray, nothing of an existence. And this was the first thing that roused any spark in him in months. Why not give in? What did he have to lose now?
Baelon nodded, and let himself be consumed.
Rhaenyra gave an eager squeeze to the base of his cock, and bent to take the head into her mouth. Baelon groaned as her tongue swirled around him, wetting him so that she could slide him further and further down her throat. She slid up and down, using her hand in concert with her mouth, sucking and licking with unbridled eagerness of youth.
A talented mouth indeed.
Baelon switched his gaze between Rhaenyra’s mouth on his cock, and Daemon’s fingers moving in and out of her cunt. Such a greedy girl, he thought with a thrill. Alyssa had been like this too, wanting to be stuffed full at all times, never satisfied to only have one of her holes attended to at a time. Gods, he missed her so much.
“You can be rough with her,” Daemon growled. “She likes it.”
Baelon heeded his son’s words, slipping his hand into Rhaenyra’s hair, gripping it at the scalp. He thrust into the tight heat of her mouth, losing himself to the primal sensation. She did not slow, did not gag—she seemed excited by it, bobbing enthusiastically, and rolling her body into her husband’s thrusting fingers in her cunt. Her moans muffled by his cock stuffed down her throat.
Heat scorched through him, his balls tightening, his orgasm coiling in his groin, a taut string ready to snap. Baelon wasn’t as young as he used to be, and he might only have one good orgasm in him. He didn’t want to spend it here. Gently he pushed Rhaenyra back until she popped off him with a wet, sucking sound. She looked up at him with glistening lips.
“Are you all right, Daddy? Did you like that?”
Baelon smiled, cupping her cheek. “Yes, sweet girl. I’m afraid I was going to…I’d rather…”
It was difficult to find the words.
“You want to fuck me?” Rhaenyra asked, a coy smile curving her reddened lips.
Gods, yes. But Baelon could only nod, and turn to his son. “Daemon…?” Baelon feared crossing whatever boundary would mark a step too far for his son’s comfort. But Daemon merely replied:
“You’ll find her cunt is even sweeter than her mouth.’
Truly his mother’s son.
“How do you want me?” Rhaenyra asked.
“I…would you…ride me? Like you were before, with Daemon?”
She smiled broadly as Daemon bent to whisper something in her ear. He then helped her to her feet, and Rhaenyra reached for Baelon’s hand. Baelon followed her across the room to where a large ottoman sat at the end of the couch.
Baelon sat, and pushed himself backward until he lay flat, his legs bent at the knee hanging over the edge of the ottoman.
“Keep him warm, love. I’ll be right back.” Daemon kissed Rhaenyra on the top of the head before walking away.
Rhaenyra climbed atop the ottoman, straddling Baelon’s hips. She dragged her wet slit along the length of him. Baelon groaned, tipping his head back. Gods, she felt so good, so warm and lively. Lightly she scratched his chest with her nails.
“You’re in such good shape, Grandfather. One might mistake you and Daemon for brothers.”
Baelon laughed. The girl was a flatterer. In truth, it felt good to hear it.
“You’re beautiful, Rhaenyra.”
She smiled. “Do you want to touch me?” she asked, grinding her hips against his erection.
“Yes,” Baelon answered, his voice papery and dry.
Rhaenyra took one of his hands, and guided it to her chest. She encouraged him to touch, to squeeze. Her breast was so full and warm in his palm. Experimentally he rolled her nipple between his fingers, and gave a firm pinch. She cried out, bucking her hips.
“That’s it, Daddy. Take what you’d like.”
Baelon groaned, reaching up to grip her breasts with both hands, his hips jerking as his cock desperately chased the heat of her cunt. She continued to coat him with her arousal, rubbing her warm folds over him. Gods, what a beautiful creature she was, and so responsive, so vibrant. His son was a lucky man indeed.
Daemon returned shortly, a small bottle in his hand, and a wry smile on his lips.
“That’s my good girl,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to his wife’s neck. Rhaenyra beamed, and Baelon’s heart twinged at the pure love that radiated from her expression. “Now, darling, let him have your cunt.”
Rhaenyra shifted, taking Baelon in her hand, guiding him to her entrance. She lowered herself slowly, giving little wriggles of her hips as she stretched to accommodate him. Baelon hissed, and emitted a low groan as his lovely granddaughter slowly sank onto his cock.
“You feel so good,” she gasped, grinding her hips, but keeping him fully seated inside her.
She felt incredible. So hot and wet, sucking him in greedily. And it did something electric to his brain to know that his son had just been in here, preparing the way for him. His cock pulsed inside Rhaenyra, twitching with the urge to move. He hadn’t felt a surge of energy like this in so long.
He gripped Rhaenyra’s thighs and thrust upward, driving himself deeper into her cunt. Rhaenyra moaned, lifting her hips so that she could unsheathe and then slam herself back down onto his cock. They quickly fell into a steady rhythm, Rhaenrya bracing herself on his chest.
Baelon watched over Rhaenyra’s shoulder as his son poured liquid from the bottle into his palm. Daemon’s hand disappeared behind her back, but Baelon couldn’t see what he was doing. He watched his son’s face, a younger, slightly more chiseled facsimile of his own, furrowed in concentration.
Then he understood, when he saw Rhaenyra’s face go slack with pleasure, and he felt the nudge of Daemon’s finger against his own cock. An animal scream tore itself from her throat as she adjusted herself to take both of them at once. She shifted her hips, positioning herself to both ride Baelon’s cock and thrust herself back onto Daemon’s fingers stretching her ass.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” Daemon said to Rhaenyra.
Baelon looked on in wonder. Alyssa had been a deeply jealous creature, not content to share him with anyone. They had enjoyed each other’s bodies in every conceivable way, but this—this was something new. He had never shared a woman with another man like this. That it was his son, that they should share his wife, felt somehow right. A deepening of their familial bond.
And Rhaenyra certainly seemed to enjoy it. Baelon watched her face, contorted in ecstasy, as Daemon slicked up his own cock, and prepared to replace his fingers with it. Daemon’s jaw clenched, the tendons in his neck flexing, as he pushed into Rhaenyra’s ass. “Fuck,” he swore. At the same time Baelon gasped, suddenly able to feel his son’s cock through Rhaenyra’s inner walls. It was perhaps the strangest sensation of his life—but not unwelcome. To share this sacred space with his son was deeply erotic.
Rhaenyra nearly collapsed onto Baelon’s chest, and he reached up to stroke her hair. “Are you good, sweet girl?”
She nodded, giving him a hazy smile. “So good,” she slurred. “So full.”
Daemon reached around to hoist Rhaenyra up, anchoring her in place with his arm across her chest. She turned to capture Daemon’s mouth in a messy kiss.
“My greedy wife,” Daemon said with a grin. “She always wants to be stuffed full, hm?”
“Yes,” Rhaenyra gasped.
“Show my father how much you like it.”
Rhaenyra tilted forward, letting Daemon hold her steady, while she brought herself into a steady rhythm fucking Baelon. It was clumsy at first, Baelon unused to having two bodies to contend with. He let Rhaenyra and Daemon take the lead, set the pace. Daemon matched the rolls of Rhaenyra’s hips with his own thrusts, groaning and burying his face in her neck.
Baelon got the hang of it, and he and Daemon fell into sync, fucking Rhaenyra in tandem. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. Baelon grasped one of her breasts, and slipped his other hand between their joined bodies so that he could rub her clit. She moaned loudly, her hands grasping for him and Daemon both. It was an overwhelming rush of sensations, touching and being touched all over, unsure where one of them ended and the other began. It felt so good, being here in this moment, to the exclusion of all else.
So good, that Baelon wasn’t sure he could hold on much longer. The hot, slick caress of Rhaenyra’s cunt, the way his cock bumped up against Daemon’s—it was all too much. His orgasm coiled tighter than ever, ready to snap, ready to explode.
“I can’t…I’m going to…” he gasped.
“Come for us, Daddy,” Rhaenyra said.
Fuck. With a strangled cry, he came, spurting his release into Rhaenyra’s cunt. A sense of euphoria washed over him, his mind blessedly clear as he emptied himself. Daemon took control of Rhaenyra’s pleasure, slipping his hand between her thighs, rubbing her clit as he continued pounding into her from behind. Dizzy, dazed, Baelon watched as Daemon brought her to climax, her cunt clenching pleasantly around his softening cock. She looked so lovely when she came apart, her back gracefully arched, her face the picture of angelic beauty. Daemon’s own orgasm swiftly followed, pumping his seed into his wife’s ass with a few hard, brutal thrusts. He slumped against her shoulder, murmuring into her neck and showering her with kisses.
They remained still, connected, for the span of a few breaths. When Baelon moved to get up, Rhaenyra laid her palm against his chest. She shook her head.
“Just lay back, rest with us for a while.”
Why shouldn’t he? Exhaustion suddenly overcame him, but it was a pleasant, warm sort of fatigue. A tiredness well-earned, or the soft, muzzy sleepiness that comes during an afternoon nap.
Daemon withdrew from Rhaenyra, and she climbed off Balon’s lap. She motioned for him to move up onto the couch. He complied, resting his head on one of the throw pillows, stretching his legs out on the ottoman. Baelon let Rhaenyra curl up against his side. Daemon slid into place behind her, his arm extending across both of them.
“Do you feel better, Grandfather?” Rhaenyra asked sweetly.
“Yes,” he said. And it was the truth. “Yes, much better.”
Outside, the last rays of daylight stretched across the countryside, filling the house with brilliant golden light. And for the first time since he lost Alyssa, Baelon could feel the warmth of the sun on his face.