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The list of children Dunk needed to give a good clout in the ear grew longer every day. These particular kids Dunk didn’t even know too well, just catching the back of their quick heads racing down the country lane as Dunk’s massive tunic and trousers flapped in the wind behind like torn banners. He didn’t even have the energy to shout after them.
They are squealing, assuming Dunk will give chase instead of squatting down naked in the mudbank to think, as he is now. There wasn't a single scrap of cloth that could cover him other than what the kids took, his sleeping tunic and spare shirt back at his camp, a quarter day’s journey behind him.
It was foolish to take them off but he thought the cool water of the creek would soothe the scratches the cat left him in thanks for saving it. Ungrateful bastard. He could see the glass of the castle windows glittering in the distance.
The sounds of a horse galloping closer makes him straighten up, craning his neck until he realizes the state of him and Dunk runs splashing back into the waist deep creek just as the rider comes into view.
Duncan didn’t think his body could get more red, watching the blush creep further down his chest as he realizes who was bearing witness to his ridiculous nakedness.
His shoulder ached something fierce after trying to scramble out of the tree, with a cat scrambling down him. He wished the ground would swallow him whole.
Prince Baelor had decided he had enough of droll royal meetings and endless papers to read, favoring the fresh air and a nice ride on his shire. The day would not be good no matter his activity, he may as well be outside.
Something catches the corner of his eye in the woods and he rears to a halt, guards stopping a few leagues behind.
“My deepest apologies, My Grace. The village children, they…” Dunk swallowed heavily, words stuck in his dry throat under the Prince’s analytical gaze.
The water was doing little to hide the fact that his knight was as red as a tomato, the blush heaviest around his neck and collarbones. His chest was splotchy with it, his cheeks and the tips of his ears flush. The prince realizes he is smiling before he can help it.
“Took my clothes.” The hedge knight finishes lamely, with a thumb pointed towards the castle. He lets his big hand drop and feels how warm his entire body is, his cheeks feel like they are on fire.
Of course it’s the Prince who had to witness him and his shame. When he got ahold of those kids, it would not be pretty. Baelor interrupts his thoughts with the clearing of his throat.
“Ser Duncan?” He asks, in his low and even voice. Dunk feels his body relax. Baelor had always been a fair man to him, more than fair really. He seemed like the example of how a leader should be.
His deep voice always had a soothing effect on Dunk, his shoulders coming down from his red ears. Dunk bows his head and kneels, half to hide his blush, half hoping the cool water will calm him.
“Yes, My Grace?” He realizes by kneeling he is up to his chin in the water and Baelor can’t really see him, might take offense to his foolishness.
He shoots up and comes around to kneel before him, naked in the full sunlight now. Dunk can’t even look at him, hands covering his manhood as best as he can with his head is bowed, cheeks aflame.
“Where are your other clothes, Ser Duncan?” Baelor sounds like he’s smiling, but it was hard to tell without looking. It seemed he was not making jest of him as he was expecting.
“I do not have other clothes, Ser. My Grace.” Dunk corrects himself, stupidly.
Prince Baelor says nothing, and Dunk’s curiosity grows too strong and he must take a look at the man, peering up while still kneeling in the dust and dirt, dripping water.
Baelor’s profile was handsome and regal, his pretty nose jutting out from his face, his strong jaw. The silver in his beard shone like silk.
Duncan could quickly study his features like this, with Baelor’s frame blocking the sun, casting them both in shadow. Dunk might not get another chance to look at the prince so closely.
Lord Baelor’s entire body is shaking, and he looks away to the skyline. When he turns back, Dunk can see that he is laughing, his broad chest is shaking with it. He looks like he doesn’t want to offend Dunk with his laughter.
The entire situation is so ridiculous Dunk feels himself start to laugh as well until they are both giggling together like children. Dunk wipes a tear away from his face, realizes his position again and places both of his hands to cover the front of him.
“Get on.” Baelor nods to the back of his horse, and Dunk hesitates. Baelor smiles down on him, his handsome face even more-so with the beams of sunlight across his color contrasted eyes, his well groomed beard framing his high cheekbones and strong jaw.
Baelor holds up a hand to block the light, in order to see Dunk’s face better. His two large hands barely cover what he intends to hide from the prince, an unmanageable feat for a man of his stature.
He looks… large. The water droplets left on his skin are sparkling like how a field does in the morning, little drops of starlight left over from the night. Baelor realizes he is ogling him and makes his eyes dart back up to Duncan’s shocked face, his pink lips slightly open until his jaw hinges shut under Baelor’s gaze.
The prince was luckily mounted on the one of biggest shire horses Dunk had ever seen, bright white and beautiful. The knowledge that these creatures could haul much more weight than he could ever be, he accepts the ride.
He doesn’t have much of a choice, really; it was this or send a merciful messenger to Egg and spare his dignity. Instead, he was riding on the back of the Prince’s massive horse, naked as his name day. Like a silly dream he’d had, and he'd had plenty about the man in front of him.
He decides he is not stupid enough to keep his prince waiting any longer and approaches the horse, Baelor facing front to give him a shred of privacy as he mounts behind him.
Duncan is hesitant to touch him at all, keeping his body rigidly away from Baelor’s back as they make their way to the castle at a slow walk. He didn’t want to put more strain on the poor horse and Duncan seemed ready to fly off at the first bump, perched precariously on the back of the horse as he is.
Baelor brings them to a halt and motions for the knight to come closer to Baelor so he didn’t have to shout. The warmth of Duncan’s body covers his back for a moment, Baelor’s ear turned close to his pink mouth.
“Hold onto me or you will fall, Ser. I do not mind your lack of clothes, but I will mind if you break your neck.”
Baelor smiles as he says it, eyes flicking up to briefly check Duncan’s face. He is blushing again, his unfortunately pretty face looking away from Baelor at the ground.
Dunk scoots forward, hesitantly pressing his chest against the smaller back of the prince. His arms hung loosely at his sides until Baelor reached back and pulled Dunk’s hands around his waist, patting him once before taking the reins again.
His hands were warm and dry against Dunk’s skin and he smelled like sandalwood and sweet smoke. Dunk might not survive this.
The man behind him was unrelentingly warm, every inch of him plastered against Baelor’s back felt massive and hard with muscle.
The softest parts of him felt like his stomach, though Baelor could barely feel that part, too distracted by the length of him pressed into his lower back as they ride. The man could hardly help it, but it was distracting him.
It seems to avoid sitting on his manhood, Dunk has had to gather himself and placed his hand as a barrier between Baelor’s thin leathers and the sensitive skin of his manhood.
Once they neared the castle Duncan has to grip his waist with both hands, and Baelor can feel the entirety of him pressed against his back.
Gods, he was massive. He bet the whores ran in the other direction when they see him coming. Baelor realizes it might be the opposite.
His mouth is dry when they finally reach the stables, luckily empty, yet the square was bustling with people. Their eyes had practically popped out of their heads as they rode by, and Baelor could hardly blame them.
The moment Dunk is able to, he dismounts, holding a hand out for the prince before he can help it. Baelor accepts his hand and when he stands on solid ground again, he returns to being much shorter than Dunk.
He is grateful the ride was uncomfortable. His admiration and loyalty for Baelor is so strong his head was swimming with it on the ride. The smell of wood and something spicy filled his nose the entire ride, filled his head with thoughts he had never entertained before.
The firmness of his stomach when Dunk had finally gripped his hips to avoid falling off. His warm back underneath Dunk’s chest. He fit there so well and Dunk felt so relaxed by the end of it that he didn’t want to get off.
He also didn’t want to be naked anymore, embarrassment coming back in full force at the sight of the shocked crowd. He isn’t sure if it was his nakedness or his nakedness on the back of the prince’s horse that was more shocking.
He didn’t care, he just wanted some pants. When Dunk turned around, he made sure he was covering himself again, and Baelor was looking at him thoughtfully.
“Come.” He said softly, turning away from Dunk and down the stone hall. Baelor paused, and turned back. He unbuttoned his leather riding coat slowly, and Duncan felt panic, his mouth dry.
He didn’t know where to look, settled on the horse manure at their feet until
Baelor pushes the soft garment into his big hands. “Tie that if you must and follow.” His words left no room for discussion, even his steps echoing down the hall sounding regal.
𖣂 𖣂 𖣂 𖣂 𖣂 𖣂 𖣂 𖣂 𖣂 𖣂 𖣂 𖣂 𖣂 𖣂 𖣂 𖣂 𖣂 𖣂
“And why were you in the tree?” Baelor is laughing, squeezing out the cloth he was using to wash away the dirt and sweat from Duncan’s skin, badly scratched up from the cat and the tree branches.
Dunk tries again to explain that the cat had crawled inside of Dunk's tunic, clawing down his body to jump out of the tree to safety. Dunk leaves out the part where he fell halfway out of the tree before he caught himself, painfully.
He shrugs, smile peeking out from his bashful look, eyes darting around the prince’s face like he was afraid to land anywhere too long. His poor arms had gotten it the worst, and his back, long red lines going down his skin.
At least they were relatively superficial, and he tells his knight as much, running the cloth along his shoulder blades softly. Duncan had winced at first, the medicinal water stinging his cuts at first but now the water seemed to be seeping the stress out of his large body like he had opened a faucet in his body.
His wife was the same way, after a hard day. Nothing fixed it like a bath. He smiles sadly at the memory, realizes his cheeks are wet with it. It’s his turn to blush now, turning away slightly to brush the salt water away.
Duncan’s big hand, wet and soapy, covers his own on his cheek. He’s staring at him intensely, as intense as one could look with their wet hair stuck flat to their head and bubbles up to his chest.
Duncan still managed to see right through him, it seemed, and caught his mood shift immediately.
“You just reminded me of my wife.”
He says it simply, smiling gently at the shocked expression on his softening face. Duncan just nods slowly, clearly at a loss of what to say to that.
Baelor clears his throat, decides he’s already in for a copper.
“She had a very strict routine, on bad days. I’m actually quite sure she’s been stuck in a tree or two as well, whether to save a cat or my rambunctious son it would be hard to say.”
It was all hard to say, anyway, his throat feeling thick as honey.
He never spoke of her, not like this. Not the beautiful things he didn’t realize he still missed so fiercely.
Duncan hasn’t said a word, just holds his arms, holds him together. Once the feeling had passed enough, Baelor stands, passes his fingers through his wet pretty hair just once as he crosses the room to pour himself some wine. Prevent himself from any more sappiness, from making Ser Duncan more uncomfortable.
The knight in question had begun to rinse the soap from himself, and Baelor took the opportunity to go to his dressing chamber, removing his robe with soaked sleeves and rustling around for the largest clothes the servants could find on short notice.
He changes into his own soft sleeping clothes, giving Ser Duncan time to get out of the bath and cover himself, if he so chooses. He had become overly familiar with the constellations of freckles on his shoulders and back, his hairy golden arms. The scars from years of hard work, the tan lines of his shirt collar from being in the sun.
He was like human sunshine, a thought that threatens to bow him over. He needs to stop with the stupid comparisons to his wife. It was not healthy for him, nor the kind man in his chambers. It would not bring her back. He was not her. It was just his good heart, his eyes bright like ocean water. Hers had been as green as the forest.
Baelor jumps at a warm press of a hand on his lower back.
“I hope those are for me, Ser.” Duncan mumbles, sounding tired but cheerful, gesturing to the clothes Baelor gripped tightly in his hands, ghosts now forgotten.
Baelor nods with a tight smile and their hands brush together as he hands them over, a little lightning strike zipping up the veins of his arm where their skin touches.
Duncan is holding the towel wrapped around his waist tightly with one hand, bundle of clothes in the other. He seemed at a loss, unwilling to ask the prince to do anything, but not wanting to expose himself once more.
The prince made it easier for him, makes a beeline for the bottle of wine he had ordered up for them.
“What else would you do, Ser, for your wife? On the bad days?” Duncan calls from the other room, fabric rustling.
He seems to realize the implication of his words at the same time as Baelor, a breath of a laugh leaving the prince’s throat as Duncan stutters his apologies.
He cuts him off as the man ducks back into his chambers, sleep clothes fitting better than expected but still tight around his arms, his thighs. He finds himself answering without even making jest of the boy’s choice of words.
“We would drink wine, and have chocolate. And I would rub her feet, or whatever ailed her on the occasion. Depending on how many trees were climbed.”
He winks and Duncan laughs and chokes, turns it into a believable cough.
“Though I admit I have never seen her strolling down the country lane, naked as her name day. Maybe that’s where the similarities end.”
Duncan does laugh at that, albeit a little defensive.
“I didn’t want to be naked, Ser. Especially not in front of you.”
He mumbles the last part, and it makes Baelor shrink right back up, like he had been backhanded by the words back into his body. The body of a prince.
Ser Duncan seems to realize what he’s said and his mouth falls open, eyes bouncing from Baelor’s eyes down to his mouth.
Baelor nods slowly, rubbing his hand against his beard in thought.
“Not- not like that.” Duncan stutters out, and the blush he thought was long gone had started again, pink on his cheeks.
Baelor raises an eyebrow before he can help it, but the words release the despondent thing gripping his heart.
They drink wine in silence until Duncan can’t help himself, launches into a rather amusing story about Lord Lyonel that has them both in stitches by the end, mouths stained dark purple and tears of laughter interrupting their conversation late into the night.
He ends up sitting upright against his finely carved wooden headboard, Duncan by his feet, stretched out as best one of his size could, even in a bed big enough to fit a prince.
Duncan was catching grapes in his mouth on his back, both relatively drunk at this point. His stomach hurt from laughing, a feeling he had not experienced since his youth. There was not much joy in his life at all, not since his son was young, with his wife. And now, with his knight.
His hair had dried golden and a little curled near the nape of his strong neck, the golden trail of hair leading into his small clothes where his shirt had ridden up.
“Would you… would you like some chocolate, Duncan?”
He feels shy for some reason, like he’s implying something improper, just by asking. He was being ridiculous.
Duncan is just staring at him, frozen on his back on the plush bed. He swallows the grape, nods slowly, sliding closer without his eyes leaving Baelor’s inscrutable face.
Baelor breaks a piece off, holding it out to him, an arm’s distance from each other on the bed.
Duncan closes the distance with his long torso, bending his head forward to take the piece between his teeth.
The knight’s lips brush against Baelor’s fingers, his heavy gold rings, warm and dry. Dunk’s tongue comes out at the last second, pushing the last of it into his mouth.
The feeling of his warm mouth makes his hand buzz like it’s fallen asleep. Baelor can feel his pulse in his mouth. He drops his arm.
Duncan chews while looking at him, the small pleased look back on his handsome face.
Baelor narrows his eyes, wonders for the first time if the man could read the thoughts plain on his face, some of them dark and wanting. Most of them, really.
“Do your feet hurt, Ser Duncan?” Baelor can’t keep the smile out of his voice, and Duncan answers honestly.
“No, Ser, it’s mostly my shoulders. The damn claws.” He gestures to his back, mouth still slightly full of chocolate like he was savoring it.
Baelor nods knowingly, biting back a smile. There seemed to truly be no end to his endearing nature.
He motions for Duncan to lay on his front and reaches for the salve the maester had left for him, for the deeper cuts.
“Take it off, please.” Baelor murmurs, pulling on the corner of his tunic.
Dunk obeys without looking at him, muscles in his back expanding as he fits himself down in front of Baelor, feet hanging off the bed.
The prince feels cross eyed, drunk just looking at him, at the many freckles adorning his shoulders where the sun has kissed him.
He massages the ointment into the scrapes and cuts on the muscle of his shoulder, Duncan squirming underneath him.
“Enough. Stay there.” Baelor says it almost too quietly to hear, pressing his knee into the lower part of his back to keep him still.
Duncan does go still at that, very still in fact, every muscle in his body frozen. He realizes he’s put a bit more weight on his body to reach up and rub the remainder of the salve into his shoulders where the cuts are the worst.
“Very noble.” Baelor ends up murmuring, lost in the motions of his hands against Duncan’s overly warm skin.
“Saving a kitten and all. Thankless job.”“ He wipes his hands down Duncan’s sides to rid himself of the ointment, and it sends a shiver down his body that vibrates his knee.
“And then robbed by a group of brutes. My poor knight.” At the word ‘my’ Duncan’s mouth falls open, snaps shut the next second.
Duncan mumbles something into the pillow and Baelor can't help but lean forward, waiting for him to repeat it.
Obediently, he does.
"Yours." Duncan echoes, quiet and facing away, like he was embarrassed.
Baelor pushes his knee against his wide back a final time to sit against the headboard and a sound leaves his knight's body, somewhere between pain and pleasure.
His prince ignores him, heart in his throat. He hasn’t moved yet, the nice smelling salve on his back slick in the candlelight, hands clenched into fists at his sides.
Duncan brings his hands up to hold his head, pillowing his jaw on his crossed arms as he peers out at Baelor, blue eyes steadily watching him still leaned up against the glossy wood.
"You were a good husband, Ser. I'm sure your wife was pleased with you." The words come out slightly slurred, not from drink but from plush comforts loosening his tongue.
Dunk starts to apologize, "Forgive me, Ser, I-" but Baelor gets in front of it.
"That is kind of you to say." He whispers, leaves it at that. His brain was swimming with too many thoughts, too many memories, to keep up the charade of not being a fool any longer.
He feels Dunk move across the bed towards him, still on his stomach like how he told him to stay.
"Is there anything I can do to relax you, Ser? As you have so kindly done for me?"
The blush on his face has been replaced with something more confident. Something hungrier.
Dunk's hands rest on his shins, waiting for his reply. His sapphire eyes are mapping all over his face like he can't get enough. It tightens something in his stomach, makes his frozen hands move again.
Baelor clears his throat, shifting so he's leaning closer to Duncan's open and earnest face.
"You don't need to do anything for me, my knight. Just being with me is comfort enough. This is a difficult day for me, I do believe me coming upon your rescue was fated by the Gods. I am grateful I didn't have to spend another anniversary alone."
Baelor can't look away from his face, watching the sadness and desire in Dunk's eyes shift like fire, until he finds himself being kissed by the knight, very insistently.
Dunk pushes himself up against Baelor's chest, soft fabric of his sleeping shirt the only thing between their hearts, both beating furiously.
He kisses Baelor so hard he feels himself get choked up, the sudden ferocity of Duncan's want clear as day, his big hands gripping his neck like he's trying to keep him there.
Duncan kisses the sides of his face, down his jaw and neck, leaving trails of sparks where he uses his teeth, his strong lips.
"Please." Dunk whimpers, like Baelor hasn't given him everything, wouldn't give him everything he has.
He would sign away the castle if Duncan wished it so, if he would keep pushing his face into his neck like that, brushing against the trimmed hair on his face, groaning.
When Dunk pulls his head up to look at him, his cheeks and neck are red with the friction from his beard.
The sight has him nearly finishing despite himself, despite not even realizing he was straining against his small clothes.
Dunk glances down as his hips twitch involuntarily and Dunk whimpers like he's dying, pushing his face back into his neck.
"Let me touch you, please, Ser." He sounds like he's about to start crying and
Baelor takes pity upon him, grabs him by the ridiculous bicep and guides his knight's big hand to rest on his straining cock.
Duncan's hips work against the bed, still on his stomach like Baelor had asked, and he realizes that he's coming seconds before he hears the noise escape Dunk's chest.
His moan is so pathetic it makes Baelor's stomach seize up and he has to fold over onto his knight, hips stuttering under Dunk's heavy hand, his heavy breathing.
He feels like he's going to die, Dunk's little noises not helping at all.
Once he seems to regain his brain, Duncan slides down his prince's body until he's mouthing at his clothed bulge.
Duncan uncovers his cock and slips his mouth over the tip before Baelor can process anything, hips bucking up, sliding down Duncan's throat.
Duncan didn't even sputter, swallowing around him with his hot mouth, his tight grip on Baelor's hips, encouraging him to fuck his throat.
The idea is too much for him and he spills down his knight's throat, hands fisted in his soft hair. He swallows every drop of him, like he can't stop himself.
"Fuck, Dunk." He feels like his brain is coming out of his ears, slumped back onto the bed next to him. His blue eyes are watching him carefully, almost shy.
There were twin smiles, quiet and happy, laying next to each other trying to catch their respective breath. Dunk reaches out to pet him arm, and he finds the gesture so sweet it makes him take his large frame in his arms, tucking his gold head under his chin.
He wonders if anyone had ever held Duncan like this. Maybe he wasn't deserving of the good man in his arms, but he could comfort him.
He could make sure Duncan was safe, had a good life. He could help him on the bad days. If Duncan was willing to the same for him, it didn't matter to him.
He would lay his life down for his knight, for the good of the realm.
Baelor selfishly hoped it never came to that, but he was content to stay in his arms until it did.
𖣂 𖣂 𖣂 𖣂 𖣂 𖣂𖣂 𖣂 𖣂 𖣂 𖣂 𖣂𖣂 𖣂 𖣂 𖣂 𖣂 𖣂