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‘Oh are you coming with?’ Ser Lyonel appeared, silhouetted against the warm glow of his tent. He lifted the canvas, ushering Dunk inside.
‘No…my Lord. I just…’ Dunk sucked in a breath, chest heaving.
He’d ran (well limped truth be told) over to the Baratheon camp in haste, certain it would already be gone but his tent looked just the same as before, right down to the four poster bed and Ser Lyonel’s stag embossed armour resting on its stand. So did Ser Lyonel, still battered and bruised, his eyeliner smudged, soft shirt falling open and displaying a sliver of hard chest. It took Dunk considerable effort to tear his eyes away and focus on the man’s face. Gods. That wasn’t helping either.
‘I just wanted to say goodbye proper,’ he finally said. ‘And thank you for your help.’
He watched Lyonel’s smile drop. ‘Right. Well. We’re brothers in arms or some shit now,’ he said and reached up to pat his shoulder. ‘I’m not going to beg for you to visit, I mean I have some standards.’
‘Of course Ser I mean, why would you what with you being a Lord and all…’ Dunk’s voice trailed away. In truth he didn’t know what he was wittering on about, and the gleam of Lyonel’s dark eyes in the candlelight were horribly distracting. ‘Storm’s End,’ he croaked to fill the sudden silence and because Lyonel’s hand was now gliding over the front of his shirt, prodding and probing him like he was a horse he was considering buying. ‘Is it pretty there?’
He dryly gulped as the other man cupped a tit and squeezed, his other hand seizing hold of his hip.
‘Not particularly,’ sighed Lyonel. ‘Bit of a shit hole really. And it rains all the Gods damn time. Is that why you came here? To ask me about my grey depressing castle?’
Dunk watched Lyonel’s hand travel from his hip. Was he going to-? Surely not? He held himself very still as he cupped his cock, not at all gentle, long fingers squeezing and groping and sending a blaze of hot arousal drip dripping down Dunk’s spine to pool in his hardening length.
‘Because I had dared to hope that you’d come to fuck me before I leave,’ continued Lyonel, the grin plastered back on his face, wild and white, as he felt Dunk rise. ‘Get undressed then.’
‘Ser-‘ tried Dunk.
‘Don’t Ser me when you’re the one with a hard on,’ replied Lyonel with a low snicker. ‘Go on, I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.’
He winked and oh Dunk was rigid now, prick straining painfully against the seam of his trousers. He was speechless as Ser Lyonel took a pace back, throwing his shirt over his head with abandon before unlacing his trousers. Dunk nervously glanced back at the tent flap but it was closed, the camp outside quiet. Surely he couldn’t do this? Could he? It did seem awfully disrespectful to stand there clothed while Ser Lyonel was already half naked. And so, steeling himself, Dunk dragged his tunic over his head, wincing as it dragged over his bandages, before stepping out of his trousers, his cock stiffening further in the swirl of warm air. He took a step back and dared to rest his eyes on Ser Lyonel’s naked form.
He was immediately transfixed by Lyonel’s cock, dark and hard, the head a tantalising pink-red, rising eagerly from a tangle of thick, dark hair. He was already wet, precum leaking from the hole in a long gossamer strand.
‘I suppose that’s why they call you Duncan the tall,’ murmured Lyonel, who seemed just as enamoured with Dunk’s fat ruddy cock as Dunk was with his, eyes bright with hunger as he stared at it, his tongue absently flicking over his bottom lip. He stretched out a hand and Dunk shuddered with arousal as his long fingers wrapped around his pulsing length. Was this really happening?
He shivered as Lyonel began to stroke, up and down, twisting the head a little on the up stroke. His eyes flicked back and forth from his cock to his face as though searching for something, before his other hand gripped the back of his neck, pulling his head down so he could kiss him.
Dunk groaned as his tongue filled him, licking into his mouth and making hot arousal skitter down his spine and jolt through his aching length. Ser Lyonel smelt like wine and fresh sweat and Dunk abruptly wanted to lick every part of him. He kissed him back, clumsy and eager and desperate to show his appreciation, while he pushed eagerly into the calloused heat of his palm.
He should touch him back he thought vaguely, trying to think beyond the hazy buzz of pleasure, and grabbed for Ser Lyonel’s lean hips. Once he started he couldn’t stop, petting and squeezing every part of the other man he could reach, fascinated by the give of his skin and the way he shifted his weight under his hands. Lyonel gasped as he accidentally pressed on a bruise and pulled back from his mouth, lips spit slick and swollen.
‘Sorry my Lord,’ panted Dunk, trying not to rut back into the fist that still tightly clasped him.
‘Get on your knees,’ said Lyonel quietly, barely louder than the gutter of the candles, finally letting go of his cock.
Gods. What was he going to do? He was too big to beat surely? Dunk had a sudden vision of being put over the other man’s knee and soundly belted. The image did nothing to ease the eager pulse of his cock.
Lyonel stood over him and slapped his heavy cock against his cheek. Dunk looked up at him in surprise and Lyonel grabbed hold of his hair and wrenched his head back. The dull pain made his cock throb anew, lust flooding every nerve.
‘Well?’ said Lyonel raising an eyebrow. ‘It’s not ornamental.’
Dunk realised what he wanted, heat rising to his cheeks. He tentatively opened his mouth. Lyonel had no such qualms, he filled his mouth with a single thrust of his hips and suddenly Dunk was choking on a salty mouthful of thick cock. His tongue squirmed over the slick head and Lyonel shuddered.
‘Oh good lad,’ he murmured. ‘Good boy.’
Dunk renewed his efforts, cheeks bulging, trying to coordinate lips and tongue as blunt fingernails raked across his scalp. He dared to grab a handful of the other man’s arse, pulling him closer until his cock was knocking against the back of his throat and making him splutter, tears streaming down his face. Through it all his prick twitched insistently, bobbing eagerly between his thighs.
‘Fuck,’ Lyonel finally groaned, pulling out with a squelch of wet flesh and making Dunk cough. ‘You suck cock like a back alley whore.’
‘Do I m’lord?’ rasped Dunk, wondering if he should be insulted. He eyed Lyonel’s dripping cock and dared to give it another lick, enjoying how he bit back a gasp.
‘Get on the bed you cheeky bastard,’ he groaned, shoving a hand at him. ‘You’re going to fuck me.’
Dunk, in the process of standing, almost lost his balance. Nerves joined arousal to simmer down low. Lyonel draped himself over the bed, hair dusted thighs spread wide, wetted fingers already gliding over his hole and sliding into his core. Dunk felt a hard jolt of lust at the sight, and almost spent himself then and there, wrapping a hand around the base of his cock to steady himself.
He crawled up the bed towards him, heart clattering in his chest, everything feeling slightly floaty and unreal, until Lyonel gave an impatient grunt and hauled him into place. Dunk stared down at him, the breadth of his chest, his burnished cock twitching against his belly, and his tight hole. Was he supposed to take him like this, looking into his eyes like a lover? Lyonel tilted his head back, hands encouragingly digging into Dunk’s flanks.
Dunk notched himself at his entrance, feeling him resist, his cock giving a longing pulse, throbbing in time to his racketing heart. He was still hesitant, until Lyonel looked back at him, and nodded. Dunk sunk into him with a slow press of his hips, feeling him stretch around his girth. He groaned as he buried himself in the hot tight clutch of the other man’s insides. Too embarrassed to meet Lyonel’s eyes he shoved his face into his neck as he began to fuck into him with ragged, ill-timed strokes. Lyonel moaned, right in his ear, hands raking down his back. Dunk could feel his stiff prick brushing against his belly as he ground against him.
‘Harder,’ gasped Lyonel.
Dunk began to shove in and out, his hipbones grating against the other man’s, pleasure flaring through him and making his cock buck and drool. He couldn’t think of anything else but the slick silken heat wrapped around him, rutting into the other man mindlessly, like an animal. Every punch of his hips drove a deep groan from Lyonel’s mouth, until he dug his teeth into one meaty shoulder and bit down hard. The sharpness of the pain only made Dunk fuck him harder, the tent filled with the slap of slick skin on skin, and Dunk’s ragged breathing. He didn’t think he could stop even if the Kingsguard flooded the room.
He huffed into Lyonel’s skin, pumping into him and felt his climax race up on him. He could barely gasp a warning before he was spending himself with a growl, his hips stuttering, his cock throbbing hot with pleasure as he spilled in Lyonel’s quivering hole.
‘Mmf fuck you heavy bastard,’ wheezed Lyonel, as he collapsed on top of him. ‘Get off.’
Dunk slowly rolled off, his head swimming, his body loose and warm. He grinned at Ser Lyonel, and saw he was smiling wolfishly back.
‘You made a mess,’ he said, the smile widening as he took in Dunk’s expression. He shoved one broad shoulder. ‘Clean it up.’
‘Ah, of course my lord,’ said Dunk, turning onto hands and knees and sliding down the bed, the fur covers maddeningly soft against his bare skin.
He stared at Lyonel’s fucked open hole, gaping scarlet and drooling white, and felt a surge of pride blaze through him. He’d done that, fucked and filled his lord up to bursting. A fresh rush of lust slipped through his bloodstream as he buried himself between his arsecheeks, nose nudging his balls, and set to eagerly lapping, tongue laving over swollen flesh and soaked hair. His eyes rolled back at the taste of himself, and he cupped Lyonel’s cheeks in each hand, spreading him wider so he could dig his tongue inside. It was messy and filthy and it was making his spent cock twitch anew, his hips involuntarily rutting against the sheets.
Lyonel moaned as he watched him, one hand stroking his hair, the other moving to work his still hard cock up and down in an eager fist. As Dunk’s tongue plunged into his hole, chasing every last drop with the flat of his tongue, his back arched off the bed. He came with a bitten off curse, warmth splattering across Dunk’s face. He pulled out with one last longing lick, taking his time to skim his tongue back over his lord’s spent cock and Lyonel chuckled.
‘Eager fucker aren’t you,’ he murmured. ‘Come here.’
Pulling Dunk back up to his mouth he lapped his own cum from his cheek, Dunk squirming at the hot lash of his tongue. He was hard again, his sticky cock rubbing up against one firm thigh.
Lyonel kissed him as he reached down a hand, pumping him hard and unrelenting. Dunk writhed, pleasure searing over his skin, too much and too fast. He whimpered as a second orgasm was squeezed out of him, juddering, his cock jumping in Lyonel’s fist.
‘Easy,’ murmured Lyonel at his whines, and softly kissed his forehead. He finally let go of his cock, wiping his dripping hand on the furs.
Dunk thought with a pang of guilt what a hard time the laundress would have cleaning it. He rolled onto his back, breathing heavily, and stared up at the embroidered canopy. It was covered in cavorting stags, because of course it was. He could still taste the tang of the other man on his tongue. He wondered if he should say something, and if so, what? Or perhaps Ser Lyonel would prefer it if he put his clothes on and left, discreetly?
‘You’ve not done this before have you,’ remarked Lyonel, cutting through his thoughts. He ran an idle hand down his stomach.
Dunk found himself nervously laughing. ‘Was it that obvious?’
‘Only in a fumbling overexcited hound sort of way,’ said Lyonel, turning onto his side. ‘There’s an idea. Perhaps next time we can do it out of doors.’
‘Next time my lord?’ said Dunk.
‘Well I’ve marked you,’ said Ser Lyonel, brushing over the blood bruise on Dunk’s shoulder. ‘So now I get mating rights.’
‘If you say so, Ser,’ replied Dunk, not sure what sort of animal he was supposed to be, but willing to play along if it meant he got to suck his cock again.
He jumped as daylight flashed into the tent, a servant peering in. His expression didn’t flicker as he glanced briefly at Dunk.
‘Forgive me my lord I was under the impression that we were packing in the hour.’
‘Change of plans, we’ll depart after lunch,’ said Ser Lyonel with a dismissive wave of his hand.
The servant nodded and disappeared.
‘Shit,’ said Dunk sitting up.
‘Oh don’t worry about him,’ said Lyonel, smoothing a hand down his arm. ‘Old coot is blind as a bat. He probably thought you were old Nessie from the brothel.’
‘Is, uh, she a frequent visitor of yours?’ asked Dunk.
‘Jealous are we,’ purred Ser Lyonel. ‘I’m sure they’d make room for a hedge knight if you asked nicely.’ He leaned in and mouthed Dunk’s bicep, staring up at him through his lashes. ‘Well?’
‘Well what?’ said Dunk, momentarily transfixed. He wondered if it would be forward to kiss him again.
‘Well, are you staying for lunch?’ said Ser Lyonel.
Heart thudding in his chest Dunk slowly nodded. Ser Lyonel smiled, before motioning with his hand.
‘Better get down there then.’