His mouth parts, teeth scraping against your skin, marking it in playful savagery before he straightens rather than making you continue to bear up under his weight. "Well, I had to get through the orgy somehow, didn't I?" Gwilym asks you, all mock-innocence. He grins a bit sheepishly, settling on the bed again, seeking to draw you with him.
     You're not going to like it. He's almost sure of it. But...
     Gwilym sighs, closing his eyes and then reopening them, looking at you. No point in putting it off. "I'm feeling the need to start popping out heirs," he says bluntly. "And t' do that - well, t' do it right, that means getting married." A pause, and he adds helpfully, even though he knows you don't need the help, "To a woman, I mean."

     Glasses are down when you tug, and he follows. A knee to the bed between your thighs, Aeron leans in and then over you, your dark, raven canopy. It is like the sky is suddenly comprised of black birds with stars for eyes. He looks at you a long while in silence.
     He is so quiet, in fact, that you can hear Melissandre moaning in the next room.
     "Have you met someone?" Aeron deals in practicalities; they are easier than emotions. "Chosen someone?" He looks down to you, his face cryptically bland again, his deep eyes absorbing all light (and information).
     You can see it there: the sinking feeling that his time with you may have come to an end. Aeron watches you, hawk-like, for your answer.

     "No, and no." He looks up at you. He knew you would get like this, and he sighs. "Look, dammit. I'm not interested in finding a - a love match. I love you and that's more than enough for me." Gwilym reddens, the way he always does, and he blushes to overhear Melissandre. Never mind that he's why she's there. Never mind that he's the one who got her in this state in the first place. That's all in the past now - or, well, in the other room.
     More quietly, Gwilym says, "I want someone who'd be a good mother to whatever children I'd have, Aeron. I can't just have them squeezed out like - like so many pats of margarine, at least not if I want them to be worth more'n margarine. That means a partnership, of sorts, and that means changes. And," he looks up at you, where you lean down on the bed, "that means talking t' you about it, because you are my chosen partner. You're the only one it affects enough to be worth talking to about it."

     Her moans and cries, lifting and lowering in crescendo signal each wave of completion. It becomes like the bars and measures of music. Aeron slides against you, his clothed hips meeting yours, bare, and his palms sink into the bedding. "I understand, my King, the need for legacy. I am just...surprised. I had always considered Bran and I your heirs."
     Tipping his head, Aeron looks to you as he lowers his mouth to your skin. He plucks at your earlobe. "And I will have to act like your brother around you. Am I to ever meet her, be in her life or shall your two lives, married and..." His mouth curves in a wicked smirk, "... unmarried be wholly and completely separate?"
     Because you know how he is about sharing. "I support your need and desire for heirs, my love and king. My first faith is to you; my second faith is to your Kingdom and creation. I shall not betray that faith."
     Aeron looks at you as his legs extend behind him, his feet planting on the floor. "What would you taking a wife mean? Cohabitation? We own the shadows; I fear not for our secrecy. We can maintain this easily. Though, I can't imagine the woman who would enjoy or approve of my being so near..."

     He is blushing, lips slightly parted; he reacts so to your presence, without intending to or even thinking about it as he gives you a dark and smoky look of his own. "Oes, well, if you're in a hurry to inherit it yourself, you could always bump me off," Gwilym suggests airily, watching you. He bumps his hips up against you. "I mean, if y' prefer that way."
     A hand lifts to the back of your head, and he fists into your hair, tugging gently. "I do not trust anybody with all my secrets," Gwilym returns, "except you. Why would I trust her, nameless and faceless as she is, with my treasure? Any woman I might hypothetically marry - this is just theory right now, oes? - she'll have to accept that it will be a match made not of the heart. I am a King. I am not like Balthazar. I'm not looking for a Queen in that way. She'll have a lot, and I'll put her in charge of this and that, and take it from there."
     He smirks at the notion of your courting a woman's approval. "You never know," Gwilym retorts, watching you with lazy emerald eyes, "she might think you're hot. Might even want t' get between us. And not like I can put a chastity belt on her or y' - you'd have it off before sommat could say Jack Robinson."

     The look you receive is dubious. It is not that he doubts his beauty, but what use would a woman have for it, really? "I am really good with locks. But you can rest assured that your line will be secure. I have no need to procreate. The idea never occurred to me. Though, partly it is because I fear I would have multiples like father and they'd all act like Bran." His dry tone coils over his words, amusement lingering in his gaze.
     Your hands in his hair, fists full of the short, dark red strands, Aeron lowers his mouth to yours, pushing himself fully onto the bed and onto you. He pulls from it, your lower lip pulled by his teeth. "I don't know how it will feel to see wee babes in a cradle and to know they are yours," he admits in the quiet. "I would love them. And protect each of my nephews or nieces," Aeron quietly declares. "I... appreciate your sensitivity to my ...need for your heart. I wouldn't...like having to share you, Your Majesty."
     It was a split-second worry that has been answered. "You know how I am with my treasure..."

     "I like breasts now and again. And I like a woman's taste now and again. But I don't find myself wanting the rest of the woman, most of the time - hell, as much as I like the cock," Gwilym grins rakishly at you, "most of the time the next morning it's a case of, 'what? you're still here?' I really crave fucking. I'm not as keen on most people's company."
     Present company apparently excepted; he's sliding his hands into the waistband of your trousers, looking up at you with an emerald wink. "You keep up with me, Aeron. And you know how t' treat me. I've yet t' meet the woman capable of it, and it wouldn't be the same. So," he gives you a look intended to be alluring, "have we resolved this yet? Because I'd like t' get down t' the you treating me business, if so."

     Aeron laughs -- it is such a strange sound, so rare, like the call of a bird thought to be extinct. Beautiful. Soft, so no one but you can hear it. "You... are a piece of work, Gwilym. Priceless. The best thing I've stolen to date..."
     He grins as he takes your mouth, spreads it wide as your hand slips beneath the cotton. And in the background, echoing off the stones, a woman cries Yes...
     Yes....
     Yes...