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On the walk there, Jace hesitates briefly. Would Aemond even want him there? It's been years since Jace left the heavily religious town to a city far far away due to his mother's unfounded concerns. He never even said goodbye.
Tallahassee was once the center of their world, an oasis of never ending misery for all.
'It would be necessary,' Rhaenyra pried, eyes sharp and assessing as she watched her children gather around her. 'To leave this hovel behind us. We will find happiness elsewhere.' She looked behind her, blue eyes finding Jace's, waiting for his agreement. Her younger children always followed their big brother's lead, even Luke and Baela.
'This is a town that despises us, we would never thrive here,' she once said to a young Jace, bruises decorating his face from a fight with her half-brothers, the bastards that Viserys had always wanted for. They were no brothers of hers, not when Aegon's eyes raked her pubescent son and Aemond's obsessive need to always be so close to Jace. She had stopped caring for them after that fight, the one where Aemond was left blinded and her children left bruised and with broken bones.
Aemond had made it even worse. Even after that damned word left his mouth, he dared to try and touch her son. Jace was a child, hardly old enough to entertain such needs. It was sickening, left vomit and acid crawling up the back of her throat. Perhaps he should've never been born. It would be one less knife sinking into soft, unguarded flesh.
After finding her son and brother entangled as they were—Rhaenyra closes her eyes briefly, swallowing down the acid in her throat. She should've left a long time ago.
'We should go,' and moments thereafter, Jace and his family left the south behind, backs turned to the dreary old church and headed northward for the ease of New England, for the pull of the city and freedom on the tip of their tongues.
It is a childish, unnecessary weakness he feels for his uncle, something he has hardly been able to stop supping on since the infancy of this entanglement, it was the fruit that damned him since he was a young boy.
Jace walks into the church, behind heavy doors and slows in front of the aspersorium, letting his fingers touch Holy water, a sacred thing for a sinful creature like him, and makes the sign of the cross. Water slips down his forehead, down his nose and Jace silently enters the church, pass the pews and chairs, the quiet prayers falling from the few faithful and takes a seat, closing his eyes as he mouths the words that had once been uttered to him by the same cruel mouth that recites them to the gathered congregation.
He loses himself in Aemond's voice as the priest ignores his presence and the people stand up, silently praying, mouthing words that Jace is not privy to, as Jace mouths his own prayer silently, deathly silence falling upon them in consortium.
He settles when communion begins, eyes lingering on his uncle. Aemond has grown taller than he was at fourteen and silver hair falling past his shoulders, eye covered with dark green satin. He is handsome, Jace had known, but now, with a cross dangling on his chain, priestly robes decorating his body, he is the very image of what was expected of him—the respectable son, the holy son, far from the sinful beings that decorate their house, the name Targaryen.
Jace almost mockingly smiles, grieving in that painful way he does. Aemond has remade himself from that cruel boy he'd been, the uncle that had made Jace fall into temptations trap, the snake, and Jace like Eve had fallen, from His esteem, from Mother's loving caress to embrace Aemond in an unnatural way.
A nephew must not want an uncle like Jace does Aemond. It is a sin, unholy. Jace must atone, for the past, for the future, for still yearning for Aemond's touch even now.
Aemond had made Jace a sinner. He can unmake him.
"Go in peace," Aemond says. The light from the stained windows illuminates him, shadowed in their fanciful colors, his black robes a macabre of shades.
"Thanks be to God," the congregation says in unison.
Jace lingers, far longer than the last straggler—a grandmother going by the widow's peak and her lingering persistence as she haggles at Aemond.
Jace waits by the candles, staring into the flames and says a long prayer for Harwin.
He loses track of time and by the time he opens his eyes, Aemond is gathering his things and has his back turned to Jace.
Jace takes maddening slow steps toward the altar, eyes never once leaving Aemond's ambling form.
"Uncle," he says hoarsely, an unnamed emotion clogging his intake of air, leaving him near breathless, "It is good to see you."
Aemond stiffens at the still familiar voice, still carrying that familiar if faint southern twang that Aemond had enjoyed making more profound when he was a youngster.
"Jace," he doesn't turn around to look at his nephew, hand grasping at his cross, calling for His strength, to be able to turn away Lilith.
"I see you've joined the brotherhood," Jace continues, ignoring Aemond's indifference, he had expected this. It still stings.
"Why yes, nephew. The Lord looks kindly on us all."
"He forgives," Jace knows.
Aemond stiffens, putting down the holy book, briefly caressing its leather cover before facing what he has dismissed for years.
Jacaerys is still as beautiful as he'd been when he was young, lips plump and aching to be bitten, brown eyes doe-like and with an innocent curiosity, a lie, a facade that Jace is most apt at playing at. His long brown ringlets frame his freckled face, and an aquiline nose nicely matches his features, his nephew had grown into his features it seems. Once Jacaerys had been stubbly, short-limbed, with an awkwardness that had pulled Aemond in, an innocence that had been desecrated by his hands.
It's insulting—Jace's pretty face, his slender body, a succubus come to pull Aemond deep into sin, far from the salvation he had found within the church. Man is not made to be pretty, to be held, to be fucked by another but Jace looks it, like a fag, like a soft-hearted fool.
"He forgives," Aemond echoes.
Jace's tongue sticks out to like the seam of his lips anxiously. Aemond's traitorous eye follows the motion.
"Your mother must be proud."
"And yours must wish for you to be cleansed."
Jace's face pulls into a grimace as if he bit something foul, Aemond is entranced with the way his pretty face contracts, pulling every which way, lips pushing out briefly. "My mom has left the church."
It is damning.
"She wishes to damn your soul," Aemond refutes, oddly troubled by the knowledge.
Jace shakes his head, disagreeing. "She keeps her beliefs, she does not enforce them upon us like grandfather once did."
All of them had been forced into Sunday school growing up, reciting and learning the front and back of the Holy Bible and the Sacraments. Jace and Aemond used to be pitted against each other, the most devout among their siblings, the most studious. It had only brought resentment between them, and later, dark hallways where prayer was forgotten in favor of the arousal in their groins.
"Then why are you here, Jace?"
Jace looks down, turning away from Aemond's piercing stare, he doubts, he thinks. "You once said I could come to you for anything."
Aemond had promised so as he buried himself between Jace's legs, ignoring Jace's gritted sobs and the blood falling down Jace's leg, staining Aemond's dick.
Aemond closes his eye, begging for His path to reveal itself to him.
"Years have passed, dear nephew," Aemond opens his eye and nears Jace, stopping within touching distance of him. "What do you seek? Counsel?"
Jace stares at him, still so infuriatingly unknown to Aemond.
"I didn't get to partake in Communion."
Aemond reaches a hand out and grasps at Jace's hair, lightly pulling at it. "And what do you wish of me?"
Jace swallows. "I plead for the Eucharist."
Aemond smiles, still playing with Jace's hair. "Gladly."
He grabs the vestments and before he could think better of it, Aemond pulls them on.
He grabs the wafers and the chalice.
He starts the Eucharist.
Aemond's hand settles on Jace's chin, pulling his lips open and Jace holds out his tongue, Aemond feels a familiar fire in his pants, before he places the wafer onto Jace's sinful mouth.
Aemond's eye trails down Jace's throat as Jace swallows.
Eve has come to damn Adam with her.
He pushes Jace down onto his knees and Jace follows, obedient to His will.
It takes Aemond no time to pull down his pants and boxers, lifting his robes to present Jace with the fountain he must drink from.
"Father, what-" slips past Jace's lips, playing at innocence, as if he wasn't a creature coming to temp holy men and entrap them with his wiles.
Aemond shushes him. "You must take the Blood of Christ from me."
Jace looks up at him, still kneeling, "Does He will it?"
Still in his vestments, Aemond nods. Jace closes his eyes, leaning forward and licks at the dribbling tip.
His mouth wraps around Aemond, taking Him in. Jace's throat ripples around Aemond, not fully inside, but Aemond doesn't care for his comfort. He thrusts and Jace gags around him, throat contracting around him, bringing pleasure to Aemond.
Aemond fucks Jace's willing mouth, precum falling down Jace's throat as Aemond grows to full mast.
Once he's grown, he slips out of Jace.
"Father," Jace looks at him, face wrecked, drool falling down his chin and tears slipping down the corners of his eyes. "What does He will?"
"Undress."
Jace does so, undressing until he's only in his boxers, a noticeable wet stain already dampening the fabric.
Aemond's fingers dance across Jace's hip bones, down his thighs, settling on top of the wet stain. He presses against it, slowly rubbing as Jace rocks into his hand, grinding, biting his bottom lip to muffle his moans.
This must be how Lot felt, Aemond thinks, about his daughters, wanting for them even as he commanded them to be punished for his transgressions, getting drunk on wine and lying with them, his punishment and they the misled.
Aemond's other hand gropes Jace's ass, pushing his nephew further into his hand. He stops once Jace is wet enough, Aemond's fingertips covered in his arousal.
He drags the fabric down Jace's legs, barely bothering to push it further than his knees, before his head presses against Jace's wet hole, pressing in slightly. His dick dribbles a mess on Jace's walls as Aemond hoists his nephew on his waist, knees wrapping around Aemond as he sinks further into the heated flesh.
Jace's nails dig into his robes. He'll have to replace them or find some way to explain to his fellow brothers why the cloth was torn, Aemond notes in his head, pushing the thought away as Jace gasps, pussy clenching deliciously around him.
Aemond can't hold still anymore. He plunges deeper into Jace's pussy, grinds into it, trying to find that special spot that always made Jace putty in his arms. He pulls out, in, out, in, out, ravages Jace like he'd been meaning to since his nephew stepped into his church.
Aemond's finger hooks into Jace, crookedly plunging in alongside his dick.
It burns, Jace thinks, tears falling down his ruddy cheeks. He presses even closer to Aemond, clit touching Aemond's hand.
Jace unravels, orgasming around Aemond, clenching like he wants Aemond even deeper, to fill a hole that's never been closed since he left.
Aemond forces himself to stay still as Jace twitches around him, even if all he wants is to come inside Jace, tie Jace to him in a way that few could ever.
After waiting for a few tense minutes, Aemond slips out, careful to place Jace against the pew, settling him on the ground.
Jace's eyes dazedly watch as Aemond wraps a hand around himself, thrusting into his palm.
Jace only just opens his mouth in time to be filled with Aemond's, His, being. Some spills into his hair, across his nose but most of it makes it into Jace's mouth, he swallows it down as if it were the saccharine wine.
A sinner must atone. Jace will keep atoning until Aemond grows sick of him.