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Chapter Text

Pyke rose to the clouds, the highest points of the castle stretching up as if to touch the sun. It never quite managed to break through the thick misty barriers of the sky, and it was usually shrouded in dim light. Though it seemed to be reaching for the sunlight, the heavy stone of the buildings rarely saw any. Even though the howling, harsh winds pushed the clouds passed in flurried wisps of white and grey there was always another cloud. Always an endless sea of cumulous and stratus.

Like most castles, strongholds, and other important buildings in Westeros, Pyke was a fixed point in the sky. Though it was not so far away from the sun that it was constantly cold like Winterfell, it was also not close enough to be hot as baked bread like Sunspear. It sat under the clouds, prone to rain and a damp chill that blanketed the place.

One good thing about living under the clouds was that the sun was never there to waken anyone in the morning. On Pyke, there was only a dim grayness that scarcely lit the place. On mornings when Victarion had had too much to drink the night before, the lack of light was welcome.

The lack of light didn’t stop the pounding in his head as he awoke, but it lessened the ache a little. He would not have left his bed chambers in the state he was in if it weren’t for the beer and breakfast waiting downstairs for him, the same as every morning. A little hair of the dog and some food to soak it all up and he’d be feeling right again in no time. Hopefully.

The night before came to him in flashes as he made his way to the dining hall. He remembered drinking the night before, but only vaguely. He had tried to go cup for cup with Aeron, but that was a fool’s challenge he had known he would not win. Victarion was bigger and his body was larger, but Aeron’s tolerance was higher. Victarion was drunk before Aeron was even blushing. It had been fun, until Euron had joined them, and suddenly Aeron wasn’t interested in having fun anymore - he was only interested in leaving. So Victarion had tried to go drink for drink with Euron next.

He remembered laughing, which was odd, because he did not laugh with Euron often. He remembered the red brown of the wood support beams seamed into the grey stone walls of the room they were drinking in. He remembered Euron’s shirt unbuttoned down to his belly, opening up to the sight of his pale chest and muscled body. He remembered Euron smiling at him in a way that did not warrant suspicion, for once. Euron had looked so... pretty. He remembered those things, but not what they spoke about, and he remembered waking up the next morning to the sensation of a hammer beating on his skull.

Euron appeared at the table where Victarion was sitting alone, breaking his fast with bread the servants had brought in. Apparently everyone else had come and dined already, and the kitchen staff had to set themselves to work to cook something up for the late Victarion. Euron looked the same as he did last night, shirt undone and lips smiling. Unlike last night his face looked as though he was harboring a secret. His uncovered eye glittered knowingly, the other was hidden away behind a patch that Victarion might like to pull back and snap if it would keep his brother from looking so smug for just a moment.

“What do you want, Euron?” Victarion asked unkindly. He was in no mood to deal with his older brother.

“Why,” Euron picked a spot across from Victarion and smiled wider. “Only to continue from where we left off last night. If it please you.” He made a mock bow, dipping at the waist as he sat.

Victarion did not ask where they’d left off last night, he did not want to know.

“You kissed me, don’t you remember?” Euron teased him. The expression on his face and the tone of his words were that of a man with the upper hand.

Victarion was hung over and agitated, and would have liked to enjoy his breakfast in peace. Euron was making it impossible. “Are you mad?” Victarion glowered. Why would he kiss his own brother?

EEuron laughed at him, a noise that made Victarion draw up his shoulders in discomfort. He stared at the food in front of him, wishing Euron away.

“Me? Mad?” Euron shook his head. “I should be asking you that, little brother. I had to fight you off last night.”

The way Euron told it, Victarion had gotten the idea in his head that he ought to plant a big kiss on Euron’s lips and would not stop until Euron let him. Euron said that Victarion wasn’t an especially good kisser, which made Victarion turn a dark shade of red.

This hadn’t happened, of course. He hadn’t kissed his brother. He would have remembered doing that. Euron was lying, because that’s what he did. He manipulated people, and he lied, and he twisted the truth to be what he wanted instead of what it was. No girl had ever complained of Victarion’s kissing before, not that he’d kissed many, and that too was how Victarion knew his brother was lying.

At least… he was pretty sure his brother was lying.

“You called me pretty,” Euron continued to tease him.

If it wasn’t for the fact that he had sometimes thought of Euron as pretty, that word specifically, he would know beyond any shadow of a doubt that the tale was untrue.

Victarion thought, for a flash of a moment, of the warmth of Euron’s lips. He thought of how pink and soft they looked through the haze of alcohol. He thought of Euron’s eye, bright and blue and framed by long dark lashes. He thought of kissing him. He thought of pushing him against a wall. He thought of frotting against him, drunk and desperate. He thought of Euron calling to him, crying out, his voice as deep as any man’s, but as enticing as a maid’s.

The thoughts left him as soon as they came. Victarion could not be sure if he was remembering them, or if it was something he had dreamt up. Maybe it was something he was imagining here and now because Euron was pushing those thoughts into his head.

“Enough,” Victarion grumbled. He didn’t want to hear any more of this. “Stop tormenting me, Euron.”

Of course, Euron was not done. He was never done tormenting Victarion it seemed. “Though I have to admit, you weren’t very kind when I let you down, little brother,” Euron told him, and he made a tsking noise with his teeth that Victarion did not care for. “I still have bruises from where you caught me by the neck.”

Victarion’s head snapped up, which was a mistake, because that sent a fresh wave of pounding pain pulsing through his skull. He could see bruises on Euron’s throat in the shape of fingers. Victarion clenched a fist, subconsciously, under the table. Anyone could have left those marks there, in truth. Euron was mad enough; he might have choked himself just to make the story more plausible. Victarion did not want to believe he had done this.

And yet…

“Do you still think I’m pretty when I’m covered in bruises, little brother?” Euron asked him, smile shifting to a brilliant grin. He angled his head, showing off the marks.

He did. Even through the embarrassment that burned through him, Victarion couldn’t help thinking that not even bruises could mar his brother’s good looks. He shoved away from the breakfast table, his plate of food rattling. Victarion stalked off with his fists clenched in anger and his face flushed red. Euron laughed at him, and that laughter followed him, echoing through the rafters.

Chapter Text

Victarion heard voices ahead of him, and he stalled in the hallway.

The feast was drawing long, and he was growing tired. Relatives of the Greyjoys and loyal bannermen from all over the Iron Clouds had sailed in through the misty air to celebrate Balon’s birthday. He was still a king to them, and kings were celebrated thoroughly. Ships by the hundreds were tethered to the castle, floating listlessly in the night sky.

Victarion’s head was floating right along with them, and he’d heard enough sailing songs to last a lifetime. He never cared much for music anyway, or crowds, or so many people gathered together in one room talking over one another, laughing and shouting and roaring instead of using speaking voices. He had used wine and mead to drown it all out, but he was regretting that now.

Victarion had stepped out of the main hall, just to get away from it all, but still he heard voices.

The hallway he was in now was long, and narrow, and lit dimly in torchlight. He tried to discern who was speaking, but in whispers, voices became unclear and it was little use trying to recognize who it could be. At the risk of encroaching upon something he shouldn’t, Victarion continued on. Whoever it was, if they wanted to stay hidden, they should have found a room to whisper in instead of the hallway.

Beyond the curve of the wall, Victarion found that it was his brothers whispering to one another. He wasn’t sure who he had expected, but certainly not them. It was odd, almost as if he had caught two lovers together instead of his family.

Aeron, as always, was drunk. Victarion had watched him stumble from the head table not so long ago. Euron had stood to help him, which Aeron had not liked. He had slurred his words and tried to push his older brother off, but Euron had maintained the grip on his arm and asserted that he ought to walk Aeron out wherever he was going.

“Let me go,” Aeron was whispering now, again and again. “Stop, Euron. Let me go, let me go.”

Euron had his brother pinned to the wall. It wasn’t that one of them was especially stronger than the other, just that Euron was more sober and so he had to upper hand. A flash of jealousy twisted in Victarion’s gut, one that he could not explain. What he was jealous of, he could not even say.

Aeron noticed Victarion first; he twisted and squirmed and reached out to Victarion in desperation. In the flickering firelight from the torch, Victarion thought he saw tears on Aeron’s face. Odd. Aeron was not one for tears; most Greyjoys were not.

“Victarion,” Aeron cried out to him. His voice cracked, breaking in a way a man trying not to sob would speak.

The Crow’s Eye turned to see Victarion standing there. He was surprised to find someone watching them, but he hid it well and then all of a sudden, he didn’t seem surprised at all. He seemed as if he expected as much. He opened his mouth to speak, but there was something about the way he looked, something so utterly suspicious. Victarion did not care to hear what he had to say.

“Let him go,” Victarion insisted, steadying himself. His voice was sturdy and forceful, even though he was disconcerted by this situation he’d stumbled into.

Euron paused. “Help me with him,” He said.

Victarion supposed that meant they would help Aeron back to his chambers, to sleep off the wine, but he did not want Euron near his little brother in that moment. It was just a gut feeling, and perhaps it was silly to follow it because he had no clear evidence that Euron had done anything wrong, but Victarion sided with his instincts anyhow. He went to pry Euron off by force, since he had not let Aeron go.

Force worked, in Victarion’s experience. There was no sense trying to argue with the Crow’s Eye, who could outwit a fox and any conversation on its head or beyond the realm of which Victarion could comprehend. That was how it always went, with Euron. Victarion always walked away from him confused.

As soon as Victarion had Euron in his grasp Aeron stumbled drunkenly, scampering off. He hurried down the hall, and he did not look back.

Euron gave Victarion a hard shove. Victarion shoved back. In the next moment they were manhandling each other, close to throwing blows, anger and aggression sparking between the both of them. Victarion could not say how he got Euron against the wall; whether it was because he was bigger and stronger or because Euron had let him, but the next thing he knew he had his hand wrapped tight around his brother’s throat with all the intention of squeezing.

“Victarion,” Euron said, lifting his bright blue eye to meet his brother’s face. His tone was suddenly seductive. Victarion was startled by it; by how genuine it seemed, by how desperate Euron sounded.

Euron wasn’t trying to get away. He reached out for Victarion instead. Euron’s fingers scrabbled to grab his brother’s clothes, trying to draw him closer. “You’re so strong,” Euron whispered. “What are you going to do to me?”

Victarion had never heard a woman half so enticing as his brother sounded now. His body reacted of its own accord, lighting up with excitement. Euron’s voice reached tones both soft and provocative which confused Victarion. He tried to convince himself that it was the alcohol that was making him feel this way, and not his brother, but he had a hard time believe that.

If this was some trick, or some game, he didn’t find it very funny.

“Enough,” Victarion grunted, trying not to sound as confused as he was. He tightened his grip on his brother’s throat to assure he would not have to hear that soft, salacious voice again. “What’s the matter with you?” he asked.

Euron choked in reply.

Victarion had to summon courage to let go of his brother’s throat. Should Euron speak again while they were still so close, Victarion could not be certain what would happen. Whether he would be angry, or enticed, he did not know. He was afraid, but he couldn’t stand there for the rest of the night choking his older brother’s words. What if someone stumbled upon them, the way Victarion had stumbled about Euron and Aeron not moments before?

Victarion felt jealous again, just remembering how close Euron and Aeron had been to one another.

He released his grip on Euron’s throat to the sound of coughing. Victarion didn’t manage to get away quick enough, and he heard those coughs turn to laughs. His laughter was somehow worse than his seductive tones.

He was right for being afraid to let go.

Chapter Text

“She’s pretty,” Euron told him.

Victarion did not understand, at first, what that was supposed to mean, but as soon as it occurred to him just who exactly Euron was referring to, his expression soured.

It was late and he was tired. He had sailed from The Iron Clouds up to Cape Kraken on Balon’s request, and the weather had been against him the entire way there and back again. No matter how high he sailed he could not break above the storm. He’d spent every minute of his journey evading lightening and fighting for visibility in the dark of the clouds. He had spent three days circling the Castle of Pyke, waiting for the worst of the weather to pass so that he may approach. There was nothing half so torturous as almost being home.

His clothes were wet from the rain that had lashed him every moment he had spent on deck, and all he wanted to do was go to his chambers and change. He wouldn’t mind a warm fire and the comfort of his bed after that, but most he wanted something dry to wear.

Aboard his ship Victarion had had his new wife to warm his cabin bed, which was nice, but now the memory was spoiled by the fact that Euron knew about her. It was like Euron could see through him. It was like Euron had seen every dirty thing he had done with her. Victarion felt wrong, as if he had done something he shouldn’t have.

How Euron had found out about his wife was anyone’s guess, and Victarion did not want to waste his time guessing. He only wanted Euron to never mention her again. He had bad enough luck with wives, he wasn’t going to have Euron ruin this one for him either. “She’s just a salt wife.”

Just a salt wife.

“She’s not as pretty as me,” Euron told him. He was leaning against the door to Victarion’s bedchamber, effectively blocking the entrance. It was dark in the hallway; it was late at night and there was no moon in the sky. The torches that had been lit were burning low, but even in the dark Victarion could see Euron’s bright blue eye glittering.

He’s right. Some terrible voice inside of Victarion whispered. Victarion stared at his brother in the dark. His wife was beautiful, but her eyes were not as bright. They did not shine in the way Euron’s did. Her lips were not as pink, not as soft. Not begging to be kissed. When Euron smiled, he looked mischievous but at least he smiled. Victarion could not say the same for his wife.

“Move,” Victarion demanded. He could not blame the voice he was hearing in his mind on any alcohol. Perhaps he could blame the exhaustion from his travels, the late hour, the lack of sleep, but he knew those excuses were unimpressive and weak.

“Take me to bed with you,” Euron whispered. He reached out to slide his fingers up Victarion’s chest, stroking over the damp fabric that seemed to cling to his skin. “I’ll keep your bed warm better than she did.”

Victarion snatched Euron’s hand by the wrist and squeezed. His anger rose, sudden and sharp. “Get out of my way, Euron. Or may God help you.”

“You wanted me, once.” Euron arched his back, pushing his hips towards Victarion.

Victarion wanted to stand his ground, to be an equal immovable force, but his embarrassment sent him stumbling back. “You wouldn’t have me!” He nearly shouted.

Victarion knew all at once he’d made a mistake. He could feel the satisfaction that rolled off in Euron in waves.

“I thought that never happened?” Euron questioned him. His seductive tone was gone, and while he still sounded provocative he was insinuating something that Victarion couldn’t quite grasp and didn’t want to think about.

“It didn’t happen,” he insisted. That drunken kiss was nonexistent; he had never called Euron pretty, he had never pressed his brother against a wall, or frotted against him, or begged to fuck him. It hadn’t happened. It hadn’t. He didn’t think his brother was pretty. He certainly didn’t think Euron was any prettier than his new wife. He hadn’t been jealous of Euron and Aeron together. He didn’t want to fuck him. He didn’t want anything to do with him. He wanted Euron out of his way. That was it! That was all!

Victarion snatched his brother by the throat and ripped him from the doorway. He cast Euron aside like a dirty rag and watched him clatter to the floor, coughing all at once. The action was violent, and he knew he had squeezed too hard and been too rough. He didn’t care.

Euron’s hands were on his own neck, and his coughing gasps filled the hall.

“A man might think you liked to get choked,” Victarion said viciously, his tone attempting to evoke shame.

“Or that you like to choke me,” Euron gasped, looking up at him. “Begging for any excuse to touch me, are you?”

The Crow’s Eye was down on the floor, coiled in a vulnerable sort of way. Something about the position Euron was in and the words that he spoke struck a nerve in Victarion. It sent a white hot flash through his body, like a jolt of the lightning he’d so carefully been avoiding on his journey. Victarion hurried into his chambers and slammed the door, bolting and locking it.

“Stop tormenting me, Euron,” Victarion whispered into the darkness of his bedchamber, willing the feeling that was coursing through him away. “Damn it, stop tormenting me.”

Chapter Text

Victarion was not angry.

Victarion was not mad.

Victarion was not furious.

Angry, mad, furious; those words were childish comparisons to what he felt. There were no words for the rage that filled him, or the hate that pulsed through him, and the wild wrath that consumed him. It was more than being angry, more than mad, more than fury. It was not an emotion he felt, but a storm that brewed in and around him. It was dangerous. He was dangerous.

Euron only laughed at him.

Faced with his brothers purest, rawest rage and only laughed.

“She came to me wet and willing,” Euron promised, despite the fingers around his throat.

Victarion had asked. “Why!” he had demanded. He wasn’t sure that he really wanted to know, though. What he wanted was to crush Euron’s throat. He wanted to rip it out and watch the blood race. It was better than what Euron deserved. Yet some part of him had to know why. Why.

Why her.

Why not me.

Victarion’s rage sparked. He pushed those words down, pretending that he hadn’t thought them. He refocused the storm of his rage, remembering what he was supposed to be furious about. The adultery, the impregnation. They were wounds to his pride, to his honor. That was why he had his hands wrapped around his brother’s throat, and his body pinned against Euron’s, and that’s why he was forcing their faces inches away from each other. That, and no other reason.

“Could it be that you’re big everywhere except where it matters most?” Euron continued, coaxing his brother on with cruel teases.

Victarion felt that insult sink in. He questioned why he was subjecting himself to this. His grip tightened on Euron’s throat. How could such a vile man make him feel the things Victarion felt? Euron was a monster. Every time Victarion swore he could see through to the truth of it, to Euron’s rotten core, he found himself face to face with Euron’s perfect pink lips and he told himself that it couldn’t be. Someone so pretty would not hurt him in this way. Someone so pretty wouldn’t be so cruel deep down in their soul.

“Is that why you didn’t accept my offer? Outside your bedroom door? After you sailed home from Cape Kraken?” Euron continued, undeterred by the hand that was like to choke the life out of him at any moment. “No need to be ashamed little brother. I would have made you feel big. As big as you felt saving Aeron, I’m sure.”

Victarion squeezed, then. Hard. He squeezed Euron’s neck and squeezed away his voice. He squeezed bruises into Euron's skin. He squeezed hard enough to make his brother's chest rattle, desperate for a rush of air. In the midsts of all this, the same fear from the night he had caught Euron and Aeron returned to him. The fear of what would happen if he let go. Of what other things Euron would say. Of how he would react to them.

Balon was the one who caught them. The great hall granted little privacy, but that was where Victarion had found Euron and so that was where he had attacked his brother, there in plain sight of any who should happen to walk by. Balon had to pry Victarion off, which was an impressive task indeed. Euron’s lips were blue by the time that happened, and Victarion thought that look was better on him than the sinful pink that forced him to think of things he shouldn’t.

Balon had to kiss life back into Euron.

Even through the storm of hate that raged around him, Victarion was jealous. Jealous that Balon knew the taste of Euron’s lips and he didn’t. His jealousy only made him angrier

Chapter Text

Victarion had barely made it up from the beach when Euron found him.

Though Pyke was an anchored point in the sky, fixed in position, it was built on a well of sand. The sand gave way to an endless drop. There was sand still clinging to the leather of Victarion’s boots, making each step he took gritty. There was stone under his feet instead of the beach by then, stones of the path that lead back to the castle, but he still felt as if he was sinking. Each step felt just as weighed, just as heavy. He felt ill. His head was pounding worse than any ache he’d ever known. His heart was beating hard against his chest; the constant thudding was slow and heavy. His fingers ached down to their bones and when he looked at them, they were covered in blood.

So much blood.

Victarion could still hear her sobs in his mind, louder than the flurried winds that roared past Pyke in violent gusts. He could still feel the weight of her body in his arms as he laid her on the beach. He let the crabs have her because she didn’t deserve the proper death of one from the Iron Clouds.

It was a point of pride that so many Greyjoys fell to their death though the abyss of sky that surrounded them. She had been a salt wife, not truly married; not really a Greyjoy. She had humiliated and betrayed Victarion. She did not deserve the pride an honor of a death by sky. It was better that animals picked at her skin and bones and ate her whole.

Victarion could feel his knees begging to buckle with each step. He sank to them. The path back up to Pyke was longer than it had ever been and he couldn’t make it. He just couldn’t go any further.

This was all wrong. It was Euron who had humiliated him. It was Euron who’s face he wanted to beat in. It was Euron who didn’t deserve a death half as graceful as the graceless one Victarion had given his wife. His third wife. His last wife. He was ruined now. Everything was ruined. Euron had ruined all of it. Victarion would never see another woman again without imagining Euron’s blue eye and pink lips.

When Victarion looked up, he saw Euron standing before him. Pike rose in sharp points of behind him. Euron’s dark hair was tousled by the wind, and his loose clothing tattered against his body. His shirt was unlaced to reveal his chest, gaudy and ridiculous considering the traumatic situation. Victarion thought the sight of his brother was just as imagined as the sobbing he could still hear. Then he felt Euron’s soft fingers touching his face, caressing gently.

“Look at you crying,” he said softly, shaking his head. Euron’s voice was a rasp. He hadn’t quite recovered from the last encounter he had had with Victarion. His throat was purple, blue, and black in places. Euron’s thumb brushed away a tear, warm and salty on Victarion’s cheek. “Did you love her that much?”

Victarion wanted to rise from his knees. He wanted to barrel into Euron. He wanted to see his own hands bloodied again with the blood of his brother. He wanted to murder Euron the way he had murdered his wife. He wanted to hear him sobbing as pathetically as she had.

He couldn’t. His heart was in his throat. His eyes burned hot, and the heat spilled down his face in more warm tears. He felt too hollow to stand.

“Or is it me that you love so much? Jealous of her that she’s had me and you haven’t?” Euron smiled a nasty smile.

Not even that could get a rise out of Victarion. It wasn’t a cruel tease. It was the truth.

Euron waited, weighing the options of what he could say to incite a second storm of rage. “Balon knows what you did. We all saw you, Victarion, beating her. He’s embarrassed. Greyjoys don’t act like this. He ought to lock you away, but it’s me he’s punishing instead. I’ve been banished, you see. He expects this is all my fault. Either that or he expects you’ll lash out at me next.”

“It was you I wanted to kill. Not her.” Victarion whispered, barely listening to what Euron was saying. Through the haze of his tears Euron’s pale skin made him seem to glow brighter, his blue eye a sparkling sapphire. His lips were pink. Always pink. Perfectly pink. Victarion hated looking at them, so he looked away. He closed his eyes and tears spread across his own eyelashes and he let out a gasp of a breath, one that sounded like a sob.

“Aren’t you angry?” Euron asked, sounding disappointed.

Euron knelt down before his brother and reached out for Victarion’s hand. Victarion flinched away, but Euron strengthened his grasp and pulled. He bloodied his own fingers in the process, but he brought Victarion’s hand to his own throat. “Come on,” he encouraged, keeping Victarion’s hand in place with his own. “It’s not any fun if you’re not angry. Go on. Do it. You know you want to.”

Victarion felt too hollow to squeeze. He sobbed instead. A real sob. He felt like an idiot, a child. Every mistake he’d ever made, every stupid thing he’d ever done, everything burned through him. His head was pounding. He hurt all over.

Euron waited, hopefully, for Victarion to summon some strength but it didn’t happen. In an annoyed huff he dropped Victarion’s hand and stood. “If I wanted to see someone sobbing like a little girl, I’d go fuck Aeron. Get angry, Victarion.” He demanded. “That’s all you’re good for.”

Victarion figured that was true, but instead of growing angry, it just made him cry more. “Stop tormenting me, Euron,” he begged. “Please. Please. Stop tormenting me.”

It was best that Balon was sending Euron away. Then finally Victarion might finally know some peace.

Euron left him there, sobbing on his knees. He would sail away into the sky, never to return. Even as he was walking away, Victarion knew. Euron would never stop tormenting him. Victarion would never stop being jealous and angry. He would never know peace.

Chapter Text

The fleet had sailed to Nagga’s Cradle for the Kingsmoot. The land was just a small chunk compared to other fixed points in the Iron Clouds, and it could hardly accommodate such a mass of people. The ships that could not tether themselves to the shores tethered to one another. A latticework of latters and rope connected ship to ship. There were tents set up ashore the island, but mostly men stayed aboard their vessels to sleep in their own cabins and beds.

Euron’s ship was among them of course. It was a beast of a boat, red and ominous with a single blood red balloon keeping it afloat in the sky. Victarion had tried to resist his brother’s invitation aboard, really, he had. It was just that it had been so many years. So many years. He needed to see Euron’s face again. He needed to.

Euron was not entirely the same as Victarion remembered.

His lips were blue. They were blue in the way the sky wasn't. The sky was deep, and dark, and beautiful. Victarion had seen horizons so green he felt as if he was sailing through emerald gems instead of the air. He had seen nights so black they rivaled the most concealed of brigs. He had seen grey skies, choppy and cold to match the mean storm clouds that rolled in from the distance. He had seen blues of every shade, changing from dusk till dawn. He had never seen a blue the shade of Euron's lips before.

Victarion wanted to kiss him, to devour him, to fuck him. Victarion wanted him.

All this time Euron had been away, Victarion had been seeing his brother's face in his mind. He saw his brother's face at night before he went to bed, and in his dreams, and in the morning when he woke. Victarion saw his brother's face on every girl that smiled to him or tried to kiss him.

In all this time he had been imagining Euron's face, he had not once thought of Euron's lips as blue. Euron's lips were always pink in his memories. Still, the blue did not deter him.

"Did you miss me?" Euron asked. Victarion stared at his blue lips as he spoke. Maybe it didn't matter what color his lips were. Maybe they were sinful and seductive all on their own, regardless of shade.

Victarion did not answer.

Euron reached out for Victarion's chest, fingers sliding over his dark leathers and the heavy fabrics he wore. When he began to undress him, Victarion did not resist.

"I missed you," Euron told him.

Their only privacy relied on the fact that no one would come knocking on Euron’s cabin door. That should frighten Victarion, but it didn't. Who would want to come visit Euron? He had been a fool to, in truth. It was late anyhow, the sun would be rising soon and the Kingsmoot was on the morrow. The restlessness and excitement of those from the Iron Clouds had died down, and across the skies it was silent. Except for here in the belly of Euron's ship where Victarion's heart was hammering in his chest and Euron was whispering to him so sweetly.

"I hate you," Victarion said back, quietly.

He hadn't been with another woman since Euron had left. He hadn't been with anyone. He'd been alone, tormented by the sound of his brother's seductive voice that came to his mind when he imagined Euron's sparkling blue eye and his pink lips.

Victarion hated Euron for making him this way.

Euron only smiled, and pulled his brother towards him. "Good. I like you when you're angry," he said. His voice dipped low, reaching tones that made Victarion shudder. It had been so long since he'd heard Euron speak to him like that. The seduction was even sweeter than he remembered. Victarion was so hungry for it.

He did not wrestle with his shame. He did not try to deny his jealousy. He wanted Euron. So, so badly.

Euron shamelessly pressed his hips against Victarion's, and Victarion pressed his lips against Euron's in return. If his lips looked unnatural, they tasted unnatural as well. Shade of the Evening smelled like rot, and his brother's kiss was sweet at first but it left something awful in its wake. Victarion did not pull away from it.

Euron walked forward, forcing Victarion to step back. Again and again he stepped until they reached the bed. Euron had this way about him that let Victarion know he was the one who should be leading, and Victarion was the one who should be following. Euron was older after all, and it was in Victarion’s nature to unfailingly follow his elder brothers. With Balon gone it just felt right to keep pace with Euron’s lead even in this capacity, here in Euron’s ship, ready to fuck on his bed.

In all the times he had thought of Euron, while Euron was away, Victarion had never imagined being beneath his brother. Now he couldn't imagine refusing. Euron divested him of the rest of his clothes and encouraged him to lay on the featherbed, Victarion did not resist that either.

Euron made no comment about the size of Victarion's cock, but smiled at its erectness and Victarion blushed fiercely. He had not forgotten his brother's cruel teases. They should discourage him now, but for some reason they didn't. He didn't care. He had been waiting so long for this; it was if nothing at all could dissuade him.

Victarion supposed this had all started that night he got drunk and called Euron pretty. He still had a hard time admitting it to himself, but he'd wanted his brother since then. Even through his hate, and his anger, and all the things that had happened between them, he wanted this.

Euron leaned over Victarion's body to press distracting kisses on his chest. The stains of Shade of the Evening left blue marks on Victarion's skin. Euron made everything so easy; he had oil to slick the way and an understanding nature, as if he knew exactly what Victarion. His oil slicked fingers disappeared between their bodies, between Victarion's legs. Euron did not waste time teasing, because he knew this part would not be easy. Instead he thrust one finger in, without warning, surprising his younger brother.

Without a chance to resist it, Euron's finger had slid in deep, and Victarion clenched in pain.

"Euron," he hissed through his teeth, eyebrows drawing together, unhappy with the sensation.

"Hush," Euron bid him. He gave the flesh of Victarion’s chest a nip. "Relax, Victarion." He whispered, in that devilish way he liked to whisper, all seduction and sultriness.

How could Victarion resist him?

Euron fit another finger in, and another, and Victarion was grunting in pain as Euron twisted him open.

One handed, Euron poured oil on his own cock. He gave his length a good stroking and he was ready. He didn't let Victarion know this, of course. Victarion's eyes were clenched shut in determined concentration. It was better that he not see what was coming next.

Euron pulled his fingers free and offered Victarion a kiss on the mouth. “On your side.” He ordered, and what else could Victarion do but obey? Euron circled the featherbed and joined his little brother atop the blankets, sliding into place behind him. He reached his fingers below a second time, pressing into Victarion again. Victarion was just as tight, and equally as unreceptive. He made another low noise of pain.

Euron kissed at Victarion’s neck, soothing him. “Relax. Draw your knee up to your chest.” He suggested, and Victarion obeyed. This seemed to ease the way a little. Euron pumped his fingers in and out, loosening Victarion as best as he could. “I want to be inside of you.” He murmured, lips brushing over the skin of Victarion’s shoulder. “Do you think you can fit my cock, little brother?”

Victarion almost said no, but they had come so far, he couldn’t back down now. He didn't want all of this effort to go to waste. He didn't say anything at all, instead he stayed solemn and silent and he nodded his head, hoping that would be enough for Euron to continue.

Euron traded his fingers for the head of his cock, nudging against his hole. "Relax," Euron whispered to him, again.

Victarion tried.

Euron pressed his cock inside, slowly.

It was different than three fingers. It still hurt, but Victarion felt something else deep inside of him stirring as Euron slid his cock in. Big tears sprung to his eyes, and his breathing hitched. He panicked and reached for Euron in a desperate attempt to bring him closer.

"Alright, little brother?" Euron breathed, and his voice was a little strained. "Does it hurt?"

"No," Victarion lied. The pain didn't matter right now, he needed more of Euron. "Keep going," He added, big tears falling from his eyes.

Euron pushed in further. Eventually his hips connected with Victarion's body and that was as far as he could go. Victarion's hole spasmed around his brother's cock, fighting to accept the intrusion. Victarion was trembling.

"This is what you've really wanted, isn't it?" Euron asked him, sounding breathless. "To have me all to yourself."

Through the pleasure and the pain, Victarion recalled all the times he had ever been jealous of others. Foolishly jealous. Jealous that they had had Euron in a way he hadn't. Right now that was the most important feeling for him. Not the cock in his virgin hole, not being stretched and filled, not even his own dick, thick red and pulsing. Victarion could feel just how close they were. He could feel the warmth and heat radiating from Euron’s cock, and the way it traveled heart beat by heart beat up into his own body. He could feel Euron deep, deep inside of him.

It was profound.

Victarion could not stop the tears from forming in his eyes, or falling down his cheeks. He knew they were not from the ache of losing his virginity. Euron was right. This was what he'd wanted all this time. Victarion could finally let go of some of his jealousy, and his anger. The release of it was intoxicating. He found his body was lighter now, and more prone to the pleasures of what was happening to him.

Euron stayed just like that for a long time, evening out his breath. He bent his head and went to work kissing Victarion's skin where he could find it. He let Victarion ride out any pain, and all his emotions. When enough time had passed he started to move; he barely pulled out, but when he pushed back in he rolled his hips deep into Victarion and that left Victarion moaning.

Euron fucked him slow, and steady. He worked his brother over with short thrusts, burying his cock as deep as he could go each time.

“I need more of you, Euron.” Victarion begged, voice choked with emotion.

“I can’t like this, little brother. I can only go in so deep…” Euron whispered in reply, breathing quite heavily.

Victarion broke into a sob. “I need all of you.”

Euron kissed his shoulder lovingly. “Shh,” he whispered. He pulled his cock out which only upset Victarion more. As much as it might have hurt before, now he felt empty and terrible. “Shh, shh. On your back, brother. I’ll take you properly. I’ll let you feel all of me.”

Victarion could scarcely move, so it was Euron who maneuvered the two of them. He pushed and pulled until Victarion was laying on his back, and he crawled into place between his brother’s thighs. Euron was too far away from Victarion’s liking. Victarion reached out, catching his brother’s hands.

Euron just smiled and brought Victarion’s fingers to his blue lips, leaning in to press a kiss to his brother’s knuckles. He knew Victarion would like that, and of course he was right. "Wait until I'm inside." He told him.

Victarion wasn't sure if he could be that patient.

Euron let go, and his continued to help Victarion into the correct position. He physically pushed Victarion’s knees to his chest, revealing his bare backside. In a moment of consideration, Euron found the bottle of oil and slicked himself up again. He lined his cock up right and slowly thrust inside a second time. Victarion was ready for it. It still hurt, but he knew what to expect this time. He felt Euron’s cock slide into the same space as before, and then push further.

Victarion gasped, and closed his teary eyes. His chest grew tight, and that feeling from before returned, twice as strong. "Euron," He whispered, swallowing a lump in his throat.

"I'm right here with you." Euron said, a soft reminder. It sent a fresh wave of an unfamiliar feeling aching through Victarion’s chest, making him sob.

When Euron was all the way in, as deep as he could go, he draped himself over Victarion’s body and laid his head on Victarion’s broad chest. Euron hugged him, holding him as best he could. Victarion reached out to clutch Euron close too, his breath wavering.

Euron waited patiently for Victarion’s tears to stop and his shallow breathing to slow. "Are you alright, brother?" he asked him after a while.

"No," Victarion whispered. He wasn't sure if he would ever be alright again.

"Let me fuck you." Euron said, lifting himself up just a little. That was when he started to move. He pulled out and bucked forward, shoving deep into Victarion. That left Victarion moaning.

Victarion’s tears dried and he focused on the odd pleasure of being fucked. He'd never thought about taking it from behind before, not even as a joke, and he had killed men for accusing him of doing as much. Euron's fingers were the first things he had ever experienced inside of him. It felt good. It felt better than he ever could have expected. It ached, and it was raw but it was real. It wasn't so much the intensity of the sex that he enjoyed, but the intensity of Euron. This man that he hated, and loved, and wanted so desperately. Being connected with him, being alone with him, fucking him; Victarion had waited years for this.

Euron coaxed an orgasm out of him after a while of letting his slow rhythm and pace build. Victarion wasn't expecting it, his cock was trapped between the two of them and he came nearly untouched. The flat of Euron's abs occasionally brushed over his cock and balls as they fucked, but there was nothing else to bring him along except the steady pumping in and out of him.

He grunted, and groaned low, and his insides tightened on their own. He had no idea he clenched up when he came until he had something to clench around. It was astounding. It accentuated just how filled he was, and the feeling of the head of Euron's cock nestled so deep within him was something Victarion felt thoroughly unprepared for.

He cried out, and scrabbled to pull Euron closer still, wanting him deeper. The simple pleasure of his orgasm burst into an even more intense climax.

Euron moaned too, but as good as it felt he needed to pull out and stroke his own cock to come.

Victarion was too spent to help.

Euron added to the messy pile in Victarion's stomach with a sigh. When he felt as though he could, he moved to stand. He began to dress. "I lied to you, you know that right?" He said.

Victarion's brain was buzzing with everything that had just happened. His hole ached and he felt empty inside. The pleasure of his orgasm was still tingling over him. He could not focus. Lied? Lied about what? He blinked, and tried to push himself up onto his elbows, but his head spun and he lay back down.

"That night when you got drunk? You never told me I was pretty." Euron laughed. "Never kissed me. I told you I had slept with our baby brother Aeron, and that's why you choked me."

Victarion... didn't understand.

He couldn’t make sense of what he was hearing. Never kissed him? Of course he had. Euron had insisted it had happened the next morning. Victarion had believed him. Victarion still believed it now.

All this time... he had been pining for Euron... because of that night.

This didn’t make sense.

Euron was lacing up his breeches as he came to stand over his brother. He was smiling a nasty smile, the smile of a man with the upper hand. "I didn't think you'd believe me, but you ate it up." He laughed again, louder this time.

Victarion's head was spinning wilder still. His heart was thrumming. He felt it might be sick, he struggled to sit up. "I don't understand," he admitted, feeling childish and ridiculous. He hated himself more than ever in that moment and he could not even say why.

"Always a bit dull, though, weren't you Victarion?" Euron gave his little brother a pat on the head, and laughed at him again.