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“Would you allow me a curiosity, brother?” Maekar whispered, his breath warm against Baelor’s cheek.
They lay together, sharing the bed in Baelor’s chambers. There was a quiet solace to the night, the moon high up and beaming its white light down on their home. The Red Keep was as quiet as a corpse, still, motionless.
Their Queen Mother had already warned Baelor not to indulge Maekar. To keep his young brother at a distance.
But this boy wasn’t just anyone. The boy was his precious brother. The youngest of them all. The smallest of the brood, silver of hair, violet of eyes. Their late King Grandfather had doted on the boy, and once, Baelor had overheard the wretched words the old King whispered to his dear brother:
“Little one, come here,” his grandfather had said, beckoning a Maekar of no more than four years to him, “You will one day be Queen of this realm, you and my beautiful son Daemon, two proper dragons shall lead the Kingdom. It is your destiny.”
Baelor had been incensed. An anger burning deep in his chest at the claim. The betrayal from his grandfather’s own mouth was unbearable. Little did he care for the crown, what burned most was the calm with which he’d so easily promised away the honor of his brother.
Not long after, his grandfather the King died, and on his deathbed, proclaimed his bastards legitimate.
It came with little surprise, already Daemon carried Blackfyre with him at all moments of the day. And when he entered rooms in the castle with Maekar in them, Baelor could see the hunger in them. The jealous animal behind them, seething, eager to possess.
As Baelor grew, there was little else he cared more for than to protect his brother. To keep him for himself, safe, loved, away from those who saw him as little else than a prize to be won.
So, Baelor had taken it upon himself to cultivate his brother. To bond the boy to him. To ensure he would not stray, and eventually he would commit the most unthinkable and bond the beautiful Maekar to him forever.
“Of course, my darling brother, what may I indulge?”
It was night, and all was quiet. Maekar was but on the cusp of adulthood, not a child, yet not a man grown when the first request Baelor had yearned for finally arrived in Maekar’s clumsy words:
“I saw…something…I saw someone,” Maekar stammered, nervous, cheeks reddening in the low candlelight.
“What did you see?” Baelor’s hand reached out, smoothing out the crimson warmth on the apples of his cheeks.
Maekar whispered now, his voice hushed, “the stable boy, the small one with brown hair…he and Ser Arlan’s squire…they,” he pressed closer, up against Baelor’s ear, “They kissed one another with their tongues.”
Baelor bit back a chuckle, all this pomp and yet all his young brother had seen were two boys kissing. He had to force himself to quiet the eager animal in him. His brother was young, and in due time the pretty boy would open up to him.
Perhaps tonight, Baelor thought, and said, “Yes, people do that. Is that what you would like to try with me?”
Maekar looked away from him, fiddled with the edge of the linen sheet, and again, barely audible, asked, “Can we?”
Baelor took a finger to Maekar’s chin and brought back to his view those sweet twinkling violet eyes.
“Of course, come,” Baelor pushed Maekar to lie on his back, his silver hair spreading wild on the feather pillow beneath him. “Would you like me to teach how to do it?”
“Yes, please.” Maekar rushed out, breathless, already only looking at Baelor lips. He traced the plush bottom lip, damp with spit and red in hue where Maekar had bitten it.
“Close your eyes, Maekar,” Baelor instructed, “you will feel the press of my lips at first, and then the tip of my tongue. It’ll be wet and feel odd, but you will allow me to enter you,” Maekar scrunched up his nose, likely imagining the press of his brother’s tongue against his mouth, the young boy cringing at the mere idea. Baelor chucked, “It’ll feel good, my sweet brother.”
“Do you promise.” Maekar demanded.
“Of course.”
“Otherwise I will be cross, if I catch you in a lie.”
“In these matters,” Baelor raised his hand, brushed a stray strand of silver hair behind Maekar’s ear, “I would never lie to you.”
“In other matters, you would, then?”
Baelor hummed, and craned his neck to nuzzle behind Maekar’s ear, at that soft bit of skin where his pulse was strongest.
“Only if necessary,” Baelor answered. He would lie. He had lied. Countless times already, yet he could not lie like this to Maekar. Wherever he could, he would endeavor to speak to him in truths, but at times, lies fit better. These things were as they were.
Maekar did not seem happy with his answer. He kissed the tight skin between his brow, where it had scrunch up in his annoyance.
“Have you never lied to me, brother?” Baelor asked him, rueful, taking in the sleepy scent clinging between Maekar and the sheets.
Maekar avoided his eye and grumbled, “Would you kiss me already?”
“Your wish is my command.”
Baelor kissed each of Maekar’s eyelids with a light peck, and as instructed, Maekar closed them. He moved on to peck the tip of his nose, and then, the bow between his top lip. His dear Maekar was so warm, and so supple.
He pressed his lips chastely against Maekar’s, kissing him once, twice, thrice, before darting the tip of his tongue against the slight opening between his lips. Easily, they parted, the wet heat of his mouth opening, beckoning Baelor in.
In the faint light, Baelor could see the pink rosy hues of the wet flesh within. He pressed his tongue in, parting that small entrance, and pressed it to the top of the ridged roof of Maekar’s palate.
He taste sweet, candied, the bright flavor of an overripe berry, plucked fresh from the bush. He darted his tongue, pressing against Maekar’s, inciting him to spar. Maekar, ever quick on his feet, followed him, pressing back, the weight of his flesh driving Baelor mad.
Maekar was so intelligent. So quick to follow, to learn, to lead. It was intoxicating. Pride filled Baelor’s chest, while a rush of blood ran from his head down to pool between his legs.
Already, he was hard, heavy and panting. He did not notice he was rutting like an animal in heat against his brother’s hip until Maekar separated them, breath coming hard, his chest rising and falling in a frenzy.
“I apologize, brother, I did not mean to—”
In a fit of his brother’s telltale boldness, he pushed at Baelor’s chest, and bade him to lie on his back. Maekar took his weight up and made to straddle each of Baelor’s sides with his thighs. He pressed his arse down, bearing the heat between his legs over Baelor’s groin. Baelor groaned, the cool press of Maekar’s damp smallclothes driving him to rut up against that wet heat between his brother’s legs.
Maekar craned down, and whispered against Baelor’s lips, “I saw this too, brother.”
“What did you see?” Baelor rushed out. What had he seen?
“This.” He said, simple, curt, and then he rolled his hips over the line of Baelor’s hard cock and they both moaned in tandem.
“Stop, stop.” Baelor barked.
Maekar’s face fell, “Do you not like it?”
Baelor, baffled, could only huff a light chuckle, “May the Seven hear me, as I swear by them, that is hardly it, my dear Maekar,” he held Maekar’s hips between his palms, his grip tight.
“But if you keep rolling your hips like that on me, I will not last. Come, kiss me, let me taste you once more.”
Maekar bent down, the curtain of his long silver hair blanketing them in a private darkness.
Again, Maekar shifted between his hands, eager to move again, to rut mindlessly against Baelor’s length. He separated them once more, and beckoned Maekar to lay upon his chest.
“I will make a request, Maekar, but refuse me if you wish. I will not take without you granting me so.”
“What do you wish for, brother?”
Baelor sighed. He could stop this. Now. He could stop and allow Maekar to keep his honor.
But, then, an invasion of horrid images flashed at the back of his mind. Of his uncle. Of Daemon, tall and proud and buried deep in his brother. Of Maekar, heavy with child. Resplendent with a gift that was not of Baelor’s seed.
This could not come to be. Maekar was his, the gods had bade it so.
“May I bare you, brother? May I see your skin? Would you allow me to taste The Mother’s gift, and grant me the honor to claim you as mine, and mine alone?”
“You are not my Lord Husband, brother, how do you presume that I may allow you this?” Maekar questioned, less hesitance, and more amusement in his tone.
“I will be,” Baelor contested, trailing the steps of Maekar’s dance, “Allow me this, and I will ensure we are wed before your belly grows.”
Maekar barked an unbecoming laugh, “On our first night together, ha! Already you imagine me heavy with your child.”
Baelor gripped Maekar’s waist once more and flipped their positions. Maekar gasped against Baelor’s mouth, the warm exhale leaving his lips as Baelor dropped his weight to cage Maekar between his body and the bed.
“You will be,” Baelor promised, “With my child in your womb, father will have no choice but to wed us.”
“He would not, otherwise?” Maekar paused, suddenly nervous, “What if I am not able to conceive?”
Baelor rushed to quell his brother’s anxieties, “There is no question, you will. It is my duty,” Baelor breathed his scent in, deep gulps of it filling his nose, “I will keep you in my bed until you are full of me, so full of my seed you will be that between your legs your pink will be gone. Covered in my white seed, like a blanket, keeping you warm and wet until I fill you again.”
Maekar shuddered in his arms, the violet of his eyes swallowed whole by the black of arousal.
“I will grant you the honor to bed me, but with one condition,” Maekar says, “I cannot lie to you, my dear brother. I have but no honor to give.”
Baelor stops breathing. Flashes of Daemon blur before his eyes. His ugly smirk, the silver of his hair, his great broad back tensing as he pounds away at Maekar between his lithe thighs. He forces himself to breath. To look into his beautiful brother’s eyes, and brings his palm to tenderly stroke at his cheek, the warm flesh grounding him.
There is anger in his belly, anger he barely manages to conceal as he asks, “Has someone stolen your honor, Maekar?”
“No.” Maekar’s eyes are glassy.
“No…” Baelor repeats, struck dumb and mute. He is speechless. No coherent words coming to mind.
“I have…” Maekar begins, “I have taken it for myself.” He avoids Baelor’s gaze, boring a hole into the far wall.
“What do you mean, my brother? Tell me the truth.”
“The Septa, she told me that my first time would be painful. That I would bleed and redden my sheets. I was so angry. I could not believe it. That night, in my rooms, I…I touched myself…”
“What else, Maekar?” Baelor sighed in relief, the empty echo in his chest filling once more, in a rush becoming replaced with the enticing image of his dear brother, alone, in bed. Cloaked in darkness, with only the shadow of candlelight to warm his pale, bare skin. His legs spread and his fingers buried deep in him.
Maekar bit his lip, ashamed, and went stiff in Baelor’s arms, “I liked it, it did not hurt. So I kept doing it and swore to myself that no one would ever rob me of this pleasure.”
“Is that why you have come to me, dear brother?” Baelor sighed, craning his head to peck at Maekar’s nose, “Much like ridding and wielding a sword, you only wish for me to be your gentle teacher in these matters?”
“Is what you said true? That you would wed me? Make me your Queen?” Maekar sound hesitant, almost worried. He nibbled and worried his lower lip, the flesh growing plump and rosy.
“Would you not wish it so?” Baelor fought the urge to kiss him, instead opted to cradle Maekar’s jaw between his palms.
Maekar remains silent. Pensive, almost far away, deep in his mind and distant from Baelor. It was unbearable, when Maekar strayed like this. Baelor wished and begged morning noon and night that the gods would allow him every bit of Maekar. His flesh. His waste. His thoughts. Every bit of him and more.
“Of course I wish for it,” Maekar rushed out, “This, is simply so much at once. I would not allow myself to even dream of this, but to hear you want me, desire me to stand at your side…” He whispered, voice so light Baelor could just make out the words.
Baelor cursed himself. How could his dear brother not know of his bottomless devotion. Of his obsessive love.
He yearned and burned for Maekar so savagely that the mere thought of taking another with The Mother’s gift was horrifying. Unnatural. An affront to the gods and the will of Fate. Baelor had only ever lain with those with The Father’s gift. He had refused, time and again to take to bed those with the gift of life’s opening. He would only allow himself to have but one person like this, and that was the trembling boy beneath him.
“Maekar,” he whispered, desperate, sickened with want, “You are my only equal, you are the only being I desire, but I am going to need your aid as I endeavor this task. Guide my hand and mouth and body and allow me to blind you with pleasure and fill you with your future child.”
Maekar took his hand between his own, kissed the tips of his fingers gently, and then, without breaking from his eyes, took two of Baelor’s fingers into the wet heat of his mouth. Baelor pant and groaned, his toes curling beneath the sheets. He began to stiffen between the legs once more while Maekar suckled at his digits like a newborn foal drinking from its mother.
With a small, innocent pop, Maekar pulled out Baelor’s fingers from within the warm embrace of his mouth, and guide the hand down by the wrist, down his chest, down the flat of his belly, and down to that damp inviting heat between his legs.
Baelor, starstruck and speechless, finally came to his senses once more at the warm press between Maekar’s legs, his smallclothes were soaked, the thin white fabric heavy with Maekar’s arousal.
Baelor kicked back the sheets, pushed his weight up to sit on his haunches. From above, his dear brother appeared as The Mother made flesh. Pure, skin snowy white, his cheeks still bore some of his childhood fat, but he grew sharper each day. His face, reddened and dewy with his arousal, beckoned Baelor forward.
Baelor bent at the hip, pressed his chest against Maekar’s, and said against his lips, “Do you like this, brother?”
He’d pressed the two spit soaked fingers against the heat beneath the wet fabric. There was a hardened nub of flesh that drew the sweetest noises from Maekar’s mouth.
“Please. Please, Baelor. It’s so warm, I cannot—“
Maekar gasped and trembled, shuddering beneath Baelor’s hand, his dear brother’s hand had wrapped itself around Baelor’s wrist, his grip a vice as he breathed through his peak.
Baelor had read of this. Of how the opening would grow wet and wanting. Of how the flesh would pulse, begging to be filled.
He drew Maekar’s smallclothes to the side, drove his fingers further down, seeking that entrance that would one day bring their child to the world. And. There, just there. The pulsing heat. Slick. Smelling of citrus and Maekar’s musky scent. He pushed one finger in, and easily, so easily, it slipped right in.
Maekar squirmed beneath him, “Please, brother.”
“What, my dear Maekar, what can I do to abate the pain?”
He huffed a mean chuckle, “There is no pain, Baelor. I’ve buried far thicker things up my cunt.”
“Do not be crass, Maekar.” Baelor chastised, driving his finger deeper, his thumb drawing shallow circles around the sensitive nub at the top. Maekar hissed, tightening again the grip he had around Baelor’s wrist.
“I want to see you, brother.” Maekar said, breathless, in a hushed, hesitant voice so unlike him.
“Does my brother grow shy?”
Maekar snorted. “As I’ve confessed, Baelor. I am hardly a blushing maiden, but the only body I know is mine, and I am desperate to learn yours.”
“As I’ve said, I’ll gladly repeat, your wish, is my command, dear brother.”
Baelor slowly drew his hand back, he itched to smell Maekar on his fingers. To taste him. To etch him to memory and keep this for himself. Instead, he calmed the roaring beat in his ears, and sat up, drawing Maekar up with him.
Together, they sat on the bed.
“Have you ever seen a cock, Maekar?” It was a crude question, but one Baelor had to ask. Maekar’s confessions of self-abuse had left him reeling, and no longer could he assume to know every secret his brother harbored.
“No,” he said, “Mother has never allowed me to be nude amongst the other boys. She—Baelor, I know you love Mother, but she has not been kind to me. Understand and believe me when I tell you she is disgusted by me. ‘Too brutish to be a woman, yet cursed with The Mother’s gift to ever befit a proper man.’ She always reminds me.” His voice cracked at those last words, years of pain and disappointment etched to every letter.
“I believe you,” Baelor took Maekar’s shoulders in a tight embrace. His brother was so strong. Both of mind and body. He knew of their mother’s indiscretions. She was a hard woman. Anyone in her place would have to be. It was no excuse, nonetheless, and Baelor would one day have her pay for the pain she’d caused.
“I believe you,” Baelor repeated, “our mother can be quite detestable, but where her love may be missing in your heart, I hope mine and can fill that void twice over.”
“You love me?” Maekar asked, and the question alone rose bile up Baelor’s belly, the bitter sting of it sitting at the back of his throat.
Baelor separated them, taking Maekar’s jaw between his palms and forcing their eyes to meet.
“Yes,” Baelor replied, firm, almost angry, “Yes, Maekar, I love you with every bit of my being, do not ever doubt that for the if world were to cease tomorrow, my love for you would continue to the afterlife and beyond.”
Maekar’s beautiful violet eyes filled with tears, “I love you, too.”
Baelor breathed again, unaware he’d clamped his jaw so tight he’d stopped breathing. He chuckled, giddy with happiness, his own tears of joy springing to his eyes.
They leaned forward and kissed, spit, snot, and tears between be damned. All they wished was to be closer, to taste one another, to eat those confessions out of the other’s mouth.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
It was all Baelor could think as he pressed at Maekar’s chest and bade him to lie on his back. While he stripped his brother bare. While his own skin was revealed to his brother, the length between his legs hard and heavy, the flesh curling up, standing upright and pressing against his belly.
Maekar eyed him, hungry, lips slick with their kissing, his fair skin red all over.
Baelor spread Maekar’s thighs, kissed a trail of light pecks along the supple inner flesh, drawing closer to the pink heat of his brother’s entrance.
“May I taste you, Maekar? Please.” The crown prince did not beg. Permission was a formality to someone blessed and anointed by the gods to lead. Regardless, his dear brother, of dragon flesh and blood, this boy who would carry his children, for Baelor, the very breath Maekar drew was divine, the gods amongst mortals, buried beneath his brother’s flesh.
He loved him. Loved him with such fanatic fervor his mere presence was enough. To taste. To take. To enjoy his body. It felt a sin, so, Baelor would ask, and beg, and cry if need be, because undeserving as he was, he still yearned. He was still a mortal man made of flesh with a desperate insatiable hunger for his brother.
Maeker brought his own hand between his legs, with two fingers spread the lips of his cunt, and commanded Baelor, “You may.”
Baelor felt as if life was once again breathed into a dead, wasted body. He moved, craned his head, and kissed the pert nub that sat at the top. He took his first taste of the sweet tender flesh, then dared to dart the nub with his tongue, the brief swipe sending Maekar into a frenzy. Baelor felt Maekar swaying his hips, seeking the pressure of his tongue while the soft hair his brother grew here was darker, almost brassy, and it tickled at his chin as Maekar rocked the wet heat of him against Baelor’s lips, and nose, and chin.
“Please, Baelor, please. Please.” Maekar was pulling at his hair, the pace of his hips frantic. Baelor forced himself to retreat. Although he yearned to taste Maekar’s next peak, he could not allow himself that gift just yet. He pulled away from Maekar’s eager hands and the sweetness of his cunt. At Maekar’s next peak, Baelor would be buried deep in him, would be enveloped and hugged and embraced like no other man should be allowed to have his brother. This place, within Maekar, this place was his alone. His and the children that would soon spring to life from here.
“Easy, my little one,” Baelor huffed a slight chuckle, the breath of his words pressed up against the soft skin of Maekar’s thigh. Maekar shuddered beneath him, his bottom lip between his teeth. Baelor kissed at the skin, peppering open mouthed pecks, sucking and pressing his teeth against the taut muscle.
“Do not call me that,” Maekar rolled his eyes, his chest rising in short, stunted rushed breaths, “I am a man grown.”
“Not yet, brother,” Baelor took his cock in hand and rubbed the tip against the damp slit between his brother’s legs, up and down, teasing that lovely entrance begging for him to fill the empty space made just for him.
“Tell me, again, I ask of you, do you wish for me to have you in this way? Already you have been your own first, will you allow this humble beggar to delight in the sweet gifts which the gods have blessed you with?”
“Yesyesyes, for fuck’s sake, do it already!” Maekar spat.
Baelor hooked his hands beneath Maekar’s knees and spread him wider. There. Pink and glistening. There was his brother, the bold wild boy he’d grown alongside. There he was. And here Baelor was too, ready to fulfill his destiny.
With his length in hand, Baelor pushed the cap into that small hole, and he slipped right in, as if Maekar’s cunt sucked him in to the hilt. Once buried deep, he had to slow his breath. Had to not move, lest he end this before it even started. Baelor cleared his head, bent at the hip, and enveloped Maeker in his arms, kissing at his jaw while murmuring nonsense into his brother’s ear.
All Maekar could say in reply were breathless little gasps, coming quick and rapid fire, matching the rhythm with which he squeezed around Baelor deep in him. Soon his breath slowed, and then came Maekar’s demanding tone once more:
“Fuck me, already.”
Baelor moved his hips, his cock sliding out, and then, mercilessly in one movement drove himself back in. His dear brother had such a dirty mouth. He would need to teach him better. Maekar gasped again, a high keen paired with the sting of his nails at Baelor’s shoulders.
Baelor did it again. And again, and again. The pace becoming brutal, Maekar’s hair spread wild against the feather pillow, his brow growing slick with sweat. He could no longer form coherent words, reduced to a muttering, stuttering mess as Baelor slid in and out of him.
Finally, Maekar’s peak arrived, and he grew so wet with it Baelor had to slide himself back in twice. Beneath him, Maekar shuddered, tears at the corner of his eyes trailing down his cheeks as Baelor held him down and continued to drive into him. Not long after, Baelor felt the coil in his belly twist beyond his grasp, and the spring came loose to unload heavy into Maekar’s womb.
As their breaths quiet and their hearts began to beat a steady, calm pace once more, Baelor reluctantly began to pull himself away, but, as he drew back, a pair of legs kept him in place.
“Going away, so soon?” Maekar whispered.
“I’ve gone soft already, Maekar.” Baelor replied, sheepish, never truly able to match the crudeness of his brother’s ways.
“I will help with that.” Maekar tensed his core, and in the blink of an eye, Baelor was on his back, the pretty fair chest of his brother above him, the lithe thighs straddling him. Somehow, they were still connected, and Maekar rolled his hips in such a smooth, practiced way it nearly drove Baelor mad.
“Where have you learned to move in such a way, brother?” Baelor asked.
Maekar bent down and hovered over his lips, “Against my pillow.”
All Baelor could manage was a half-human grunt.
Maekar would one day be the death of him.
FIN