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Dunk decided he didn't much care for Ashford Meadow, not with its mud and gloom and these knights who dared call themselves knights, who had not an ounce of honor left in them. It was a stark place, full of merriment one moment and the harsh reality that Dunk didn't fit in with any of it the next.
He ambles through the dirty rows of tents belonging to the men on the lists, wondering how everything had come to this. How had Arlan died and left him all alone to figure things out as he went? It's hard to remember a time that he wasn't alone, barring the hairless little boy he left back at his camp. The odd thing that he found in the stables, but feels as though the boy found him. Regardless, he'd had Rafe. And then Arlan. They'd always known what to do, and now he's left realizing he should have paid more attention.
Or so his ale-addled brain told him as he stumbled toward the stables. In his melancholy state, he remembered the gorgeous palfrey from two days ago, the one the Brightflame Prince had ridden in on. At the time, he hadn't paid much mind to the foul-mouthed Targaryen, but the more he thought of the palfrey and then the man, he couldn't decide which was more handsome. That and, if Dunk didn't feel as though he belonged with the men in this wretched place, he did with the horses. Perhaps his heart still aches from the loss of Sweetfoot. Perhaps, gazing upon the horse would help him make his decision.
Oddly enough, there's no one near the stables as he approaches, and no one inside them when he quietly pushes the door open. Call him thick, but Dunk wouldn't think it proper etiquette to leave horses belonging to the royal family unsupervised. It causes a hitch in his eyebrows, pulling them into the frown on his face as he creeps through the rows. Horses–not the prince's palfrey–softly snort at him when he passes, and he stops to caress one who shoves its nose into his chest.
As he does, he becomes aware of what sounds like a hushed conversation down the way. The conversation, mild enough, seems to turn heated before there's a thump and a crash. A snarl bites out, but is seemingly cut off by a whimper. The hair on the back of Dunk's neck rises, and he gives the horse chewing on his shirt one last pat before slinking forward. He keeps his knees bent to lighten his steps, one hand on the hilt of his sword. He'd just poke his head around the corner to see what the ruckus was, just to make sure no one was in trouble or being taken advantage of, and then he'd leave.
The sounds grow louder, heavy breathing and buckles clanking and clothes ripping, soft, high-pitched keens muffled by something strong. Dunk clenches his teeth, lips pressing firmly together as his hand tightens on his sword hilt. Mustering his courage and knightly confidence, he steps around the corner, preparing to fend off whatever deplorable ruffian was taking advantage of a lady!
But it isn't a slimy squire or stable hand trying to insert himself into a lady, no. It's anything but.
Crown Prince Baelor Targaryen’s back is to Dunk, and his hips are snapping forward at a steady, brutal pace, breath coming out raggedly like he’d just gotten done with a pass. His trousers are skewed, half pulled down to expose part of his pale ass. There are legs wrapped tightly around his waist—one leg clad in black leggings, the other bare, save for dangling chainmail—feet hooked together, and hands balled into the grey doublet at Baelor’s back.
It takes Dunk a full moment to understand what he’s seeing, and another for him to notice Aerion Targaryen’s head thrown back, red, swollen lips parted as he chokes out gasps. Not a lady at all!
The younger prince is situated on a worktop, propped up by a stack of shelves against his back, with Baelor between his legs. Baelor’s head is tucked into the crook of his neck. Farrier's tools litter the ground at Baelor's feet, the crash Dunk must have heard earlier. Aerion lets out a groan that has Dunk's eyes snapping back up to him, and a sudden rush of heat goes straight to places he doesn't need roused.
But try as he might, he can’t look away, rooted to the spot where he’d come to a stop around the corner, watching one revered prince piston himself into another, fouler one. He knows he should leave, should turn around and head the other direction and act like he’d never been there, but self preservation seemed to flee him.
To his ongoing horror, Aerion’s purple eyes suddenly flutter open and instantly connect with Dunk’s from across the aisle, and he feels his face flush and chest seize at being caught. He expects the prince's face to twist in rage, expects him to recoil and push Baelor away, expects him to shout for the guards. Any moment now, he'll be forced to his knees and beaten. Will he lose a hand? Will his eyes be gouged out for what he'd seen, tongue pulled from his mouth so he can't utter a word of it?
But instead of alerting Baelor to the fact that they’d been found like Dunk thought he would, Aerion only stares at him, glassy-eyed and slack-jawed. His hair is all fucked up, undoubtedly from Baelor’s fingers frizzing up the short strands, and some of it is starting to stick to his damp forehead. His lips even quirk a little, like he’s trying to smirk but he’s too wrung out by his uncle’s cock.
Aerion’s hums turn to moans, and Dunk, mortifyingly, can feel himself getting hard. He shoves a palm between his legs to press against his growing cock, trying to prevent the pressure building there.
Aerion's mouth finally curls, and he lets out a soft laugh. His pink tongue darts out to swipe over his kiss-swollen bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth to bite. Dunk squeezes himself tighter, trying desperately to stave off his erectness, but it's made increasingly more troublesome when the prince's eyes dip down to where he has himself in hand. The bastard moans, and Dunk throbs in his own palm.
“Quiet.” Baelor orders, lifting a hand to Aerion’s lips, and Dunk stifles a groan as Baelor shoves two of his fingers into that pretty mouth to play with Aerion's tongue, “Or do you want my brother to know how I defile you?”
Seven Hells. Dunk bites his knuckles at the mention of Maekar, indeed Baelor's brother, but Aerion's father as well. The Crown Prince's fingers press against Aerion’s tongue further, pushing to the back of his throat until he gags. It breaks out from under their hold to lick at them, lips closing around the slim digits to suck.
“Fuck.” Baelor says quietly, and again, Dunk's cock throbs. Baelor’s hand falls away from Aerion’s mouth, and Aerion grins as saliva obscenely drips down his chin. Dunk wills his feet to move, this scene is like looking death right in the face, but here he is, standing in the middle of the hall, watching the Hand of the King and heir to the Iron Throne fuck his own nephew, who’s been putting on a show for Dunk the whole time, and now Dunk kind of wants to fuck him too.
Aerion’s eyes are still on Dunk’s as his eyebrows knit together, body lurching as Baelor pounds hard into him. It makes him gasp as his eyes roll, head thumping back against the shelves behind him. His hand reaches up to cup the back of Baelor’s head, and he opens his eyes again, just barely, to focus on Dunk as he grunts, body trembling. His legs shake around Baelor’s waist, the hand still balled up in his shirt pulling relentlessly at it.
Dunk realizes, with sudden clarity, that Aerion is coming. He’s coming undone around Baelor’s cock, and he’s watching Dunk watch him like a cuckold.
Baelor is still thrusting into him, and Dunk is still palming himself because fuck if he isn’t turned on, and Aerion is smirking at Dunk, looking every bit fucked out.
“Fuck—mm,” Baelor breathes, and it would be replayed in Dunk’s fantasy jerk-off’s for weeks to come, “I’m close.”
Aerion, never taking his eyes off Dunk, tips his mouth up to Baelor’s ear, tracing his tongue around the shell of it, before purring, “Are you? Going to come for me, Uncle?”
Baelor groans closed-lipped and his hips thrust one more time, and then hold steady against him, pinning him to the worktop. They jerk in small, rapid stutters as he spills into Aerion, and he moans into his shoulder.
“Better get going.” Aerion croons, and Baelor mutters something to him, not moving, but Dunk knows it’s aimed at him. He nods, blinking heavily, and is finally able to snap out of whatever the hell his problem is, taking off down the stalls before Baelor could figure out he’d been there.
When he gets back to camp, he artfully evades Egg's line of questioning as to where he'd been. He ducks behind a tree, and, shamefully, stuffs a hand down his trousers and relieves himself to the image of smirking purple eyes behind a regal black shoulder.
That night Dunk cannot sleep. He's too restless, too anxious that the moment he drifts off, a group of royal soldiers will burst into his camp and gut him right there. The sentiment lingers into the morning, and clings to him as Egg excitedly pulls him to the stands to watch the day's jousts.
Hesitantly, he lifts his gaze to the platform the nobles observed from. Immediately they find Prince Baelor in all his grace, smiling politely at something Lord Ashford is telling him. Dunk feels a familiar swoop in his stomach, unbidden images of the back of Baelor's head and his thrusting hips, the sound of his breathless voice muttering filthy things to his nephew flit through Dunk's head. On his other side, Prince Maekar scowls at the crowd, arms crossed over his chest as he reclines in his chair.
Noticeably absent, is the other half of the debaucherous duo Dunk had stumbled upon the night before. Prince Aerion, usually seated at the right of Baelor, was nowhere to be seen, and trust Dunk, he was hard not to notice when he was around. Targaryens were unnaturally beautiful as it was, but Aerion was exceptional. He was exquisite. It was as if the old gods and the new had gotten together, just this once, to create him in their image. He was, in Dunk's admittedly hormonal mind, one of the most divine people he'd ever laid eyes upon.
“Where do you suppose is Prince Aerion?” Dunk asks down to Egg, who stiffens at the mention.
“Dead if we're lucky.” The boy says with an odd look of seriousness about his face.
“Egg!” Dunk glances around to ensure no one's heard, “You can't just go saying stuff like that.”
“What? It's true.”
“It is no–”
A horn blast cuts off his next words, and he tears his gaze away from Egg's distant look to watch the great double doors swing open. A rider dressed in vicious black armor gallops his way into the yard, his black helm taking on the shape of flames and sending shivers down Dunk's spine. A hint of red peeks out from under his armor, and leaves no question to who the next jouster is.
“Son of Prince Maekar, grandson of Daeron the Good, and Prince of House Targaryen. Prince Aerion Brightflame!”
The crowd cheers, and once again, Dunk's stomach does a flip. Aerion comes to a stop before his uncle, lifting his helmet visor to peer up at him. Dunk can't see his face from where he stands, but from the half-lidded look on Baelor's face, and the way he fiddles with his ring like he needs something to do with his hands, has him thinking Aerion's look is anything but innocent. Baelor nods, and Aerion rides on.
The next set of events unfold exactly as Dunk would imagine they would upon finding out Prince Aerion was no angel, but a demon incarnate. He quickly leads Egg away as the pained squeals of Ser Humfrey Hardyng's horse come to an abrupt end and fighting breaks out. The Kingsguard thunders through the gates, and Dunk practically drags the boy through the masses.
He leaves him to go back to their camp, sullen and obviously bothered by the whole ordeal. But Dunk wagers that Egg is just a boy, with a soft spot for animals, and horses even more so. It seems natural for someone yet naive of the harshness of the world to be upset over such things.
It leaves Dunk to wander on his own, grabbing a mug of ale to watch the crowds from the jousts come wandering back to the festivities.
“Jousting done for the day?” He asks a passing man.
“Aye, after what that prick prince did.” The man spits, then keeps going.
Dunk has half a mind to head over to Lyonel's tent to see what he makes of it all, when a pair of riders on black horses come around the bend. He steps out of the way for them, but finds himself encircled by the pair, their horses staring down at him wild-eyed and breathing hard.
“Ser Duncan?”
He looks further up, squinting into the overcast sky, “Yes?”
“You are hereby summoned to appear before Crown Prince Baelor Targaryen.” The speaker says for all around to hear, “We are to escort you at once.”
Cold dread fills his stomach and churns the ale there, and he swallows hard, “Me? W-what for?”
“The Crown Prince needs no reason.”
“No, of course not, I–” Dunk glances around at everyone staring at him, feeling his skin crawl under their scrutiny, “Let's go, then.”
He's escorted between the pair, suffering more pitying looks from those he passes. Every terrible thing he'd imagine happening to him over the past night and day comes flooding back. It is rather obvious that Baelor found out. Perhaps Aerion had finally grown wit at keeping a secret that could expose his family. Perhaps he merely wished to get whatever scrutiny that he undoubtedly was under for killing that horse off of him. Perhaps he was just cruel enough to prolong Dunk's paranoia.
He would soon find out which of the three it really was, as the soldiers lead him into the courtyard and dismount. The odd, dark haired girl he'd seen when he snuck into the castle before stares down at him from the second level. Her blue eyes regarding him curiously, albeit with pity.
Baelor is in his temporary rooms when the soldiers deposit him inside and close the door, his back to Dunk as he continues scratching something out with his quill. The sight of him facing away elicits more of the memories that had potentially gotten him there in the first place, and he feels almost nauseous.
“Ser Duncan.” Baelor says evenly, and gods, his voice is almost the same as it was in the stables, minus the sex.
Dunk swallows. Maybe he would be shown mercy. Baelor seemed kind and level-headed the last time they met, he could hope for no less than the same treatment now.
“My Lord.” Dunk bowed despite Baelor not looking.
“How good a knight are you?”
The question catches him off guard, and he lifts his eyes to find Baelor turned in his seat, watching him, “Sorry, Your Grace?”
“How good a knight are you?” Baelor asks again, “Noble? Honorable? Honest?”
“Well…I like to think so, yes.”
Baelor hums, resting back in his chair, “The reason I ask, Ser Duncan, is because my nephew, Aerion, tells me an interesting story. But surely a knight such as yourself would hold himself to a much higher standard than a peeping tom.”
“I…yes, well, I…ah…” Dunk swallows hard, his face flushing as a dead giveaway to his guilt, “What…sort of tale is Prince Aerion spinning?”
“Spinning? Are you calling him a liar?” Baelor asks.
“No!” Dunk rushes, “No I would never!”
“Then what tale do you believe he is telling me?”
“I wouldn't know, Your Grace.”
“You are familiar, I'm sure, with the queer customs of my house, as they call them.” Baelor laces his fingers together, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair, “Incest in our line was not uncommon once upon a time. We are the blood of the dragon, and that blood, we believed, should stay pure. And so cousin wedded cousin, and in some rare cases siblings were even known to couple.”
Dunk doesn't like where this is going, “Yes. That is…quite strange, Your Grace.” He winces.
“And what you saw, Ser Duncan. What do you make of that?” There's a glint in Baelor's eye, but Dunk can't be sure if it's curiosity or danger. Both, perhaps.
“I…”
“Do not try to find your way out of this. Aerion has told me how he toyed with you, and loathe as I am of his behavior, he seems to be truthful for once.” Baelor smiles. This is dangerous.
“It was never my intention to tell anyone, Your Grace. I swear it.” Dunk says in a rush, falling to one knee to try and show his sincerity, “I was somewhere I shouldn't have been. What you Targaryens do is none of my business.”
“You are correct. It is not. Yet here we are, because you, a hedge knight, caught the Crown Prince of Westeros fucking his nephew.” Baelor says it like it's casual conversation.
“Like I said,” Dunk holds his hands out placatingly, “I won't tell a soul.”
“And I am to just believe you?”
“Yes.”
“How can I trust your word?”
“Because I am a knight.” Dunk half pleads it, “Honor is one of the few things I have left.”
“A knight.” Baelor rolls the words around on his tongue, his mismatched eyes gazing down at Dunk, “But no knight is above bribery, are they?”
“Your Grace?”
“What do you want, Ser Duncan, to ensure that what you saw between Aerion and I, remains between the three of us?”
Dunk stares openly at him, struck dumb by the idea that he very well could ask for anything. Gold? The finest horse in those stables? A lordship? A title? He could really ask for those?
A hundred different things flit through his head, but none of it seems right. What sort of knight would he be if he demanded payment for his silence? Even if that silence was keeping a perverse secret such as this? A secret he very well couldn't comprehend, but had found his release to nonetheless.
Purple eyes flash through his head yet again, pale fingers groping, pink lips parted to reveal a soft, wet tongue. The memory stirs Dunk as it always did, and it sticks there in his mind, morphing and contorting itself until the prince's voice mutters—
“Duncan.”
“Aerion.” Dunk blurts, and Baelor arches a brow in question.
“You want my nephew.” He doesn't phrase it as a question.
Dunk blinks, wondering how he'd gotten himself here, and how that one name had slipped on his tongue.
“Requesting to bed a prince of the realm as a commoner is a bold choice, Ser Duncan.” Baelor says, “Requesting to bed the man you know is my favored is hairbrained.”
“Ser Arlan always did say I had no brain at all.” Dunk laments.
“It seems you do have one. Just not in your head.” Baelor mutters, looking down at his hands to fiddle with his ring as he seems to ponder this ridiculous request Dunk hadn't even meant to make, truly.
“Your Grace, I was not meaning what you think when I said his name. I don't want–”
“Aerion will be furious.” Baelor cuts him off, “He may even try to kill you.”
“As I was trying to say, you needn't–”
“Admittedly he can be a handful, even for me. But someone of your size should be able to wrangle him to submission. You'd be surprised how pliant he can get when he's put in his place. He's got fire in him, though, do not mistake that.” Baelor explains further, eyes flicking up to Dunk's, “If I give you my nephew, I have your word that no one will ever know what occurred in the stables?”
“Y-yes.” Dunk stammers, heart racing, “I mean…what?”
“Very well.” Baelor stands, “This way to a bath, and then I will take you to Aerion's chambers and ensure his wing is empty for the night.”
“Now?” Dunk feels his eyes bugging out of his head as Baelor brushes past him, “You mean tonight?”
“I would like to get this matter settled and behind us.” Baelor says, opening the door and ushering Dunk to follow, “The sooner the better.”
He's led, mind reeling, to a small bathing chamber, where servants have a bath already waiting, its steam curling up into the room. Dunk, though stressed upon the prospect that he's somehow wiggled his way into fucking a prince, melts at the sight of a warm bath. He starts stripping before Baelor's even turned away, sinking down into the scalding water with a content moan. His muscles relax under the surface, easing his muddled mind until he's thinking that, yes, fucking Aerion didn't seem like the worst thing he's ever gotten himself into.
“Were your parents as marvelous as you are?” Comes Baelor's voice, startling Dunk's eyes open. He hadn't realized the prince had stayed.
“I don't know.” Dunk says, “I never knew them.”
“A shame.” Baelor says, kneeling next to the tub, “You are quite the man, Ser Duncan.”
The warmth of the bath has already turned Dunk's skin pink, thankfully, because the heat he's feeling now has nothing to do with that, and everything to do with those mismatched eyes and the way they seemed to be drinking him in. Mortifyingly, he can feel himself hardening.
“Thank you, Your Grace.” He says thickly, “You yourself are fine as well.”
A small smile tips Baelor's lips, “A compliment such as that. Is it Aerion you want, Ser Duncan, or is it me?”
“Your Grace…” Dunk smiles anxiously, gripping tight the lip of the tub as Baelor seems to grow closer, “I couldn't dream of…of you, that's…”
“Impossible?”
“Precisely.”
“On the contrary.” Baelor says, voice low, “I watched you at the tournament today after Aerion told me what you'd done, studied your every move, and I have decided something just now.”
“And what is that, Your Grace?” Dunk asks, unable to help it when his eyes dip to the Crown Prince's lips.
His observation earlier had been correct, Baelor certainly had been growing closer, because he suddenly leans forward until their mouths are only a hairsbreadth away. Dunk pulls in a quick breath, the water sloshing around him, wetting the dark hair on his chest.
“I would very much like to join you and my nephew tonight.” Belor says, breath hot on Dunk's lips.
His cock, half hard, fills achingly at that, and he just barely refrains from groaning, “You mean…the three of us?”
“That is precisely what I mean.”
“But that's…”
“Perverse?” Baelor grins, “Look at me, Duncan. I've bedded my nephew more than my own wife. Adding one more is of no consequence to my soul.”
“You'd sully yourself with the likes of me?” Dunk asks.
“What are titles in the face of carnal desire?”
“Desire?” Dunk wants to lean forward, wants to capture those lips with his and kiss Baelor senseless, “I find it hard to believe the Crown Prince, who could have anyone, would desire me of all bastards. Especially when he is bedding the likes of Aerion.”
“Mm, yes. Aerion is exceptional, isn't he? He reminds me a lot of my brother when he was Aerion's age.” Baelor's fingers brush the skin of Dunk's arm, their noses touching, now, “Perhaps that's why I fed into his fantasies.”
“You would fuck your brother?”
“I have.”
Dunk's eyes flutter open to find Baelor's already on his, “You have?”
“We are so very close, after all.” Baelor says, “It is only natural that we do everything together, including sex. He stopped when he met Dyanna, though, and my Jena is sweet and sufficient, but it was never the same.”
His ringed fingers skim up the length of Dunk's arm and over his shoulder, ghosting up the back of his neck and leaving goosebumps in their wake.
“And then Aerion became a man, and I started noticing his looks. He is so much like Maekar. If his hair was longer, I could almost pretend it is him. I was so distracted by my own looking, that I did not notice his. He came to my chambers one night, and I found myself unable to resist him. I may seem to be the honorable man everyone says I am, but I am ultimately weak to my own desires, and oh, I desire him plenty.”
His fingers thread into Dunk's dark locks, wet on the ends.
“As you do, Ser Duncan, ever since you watched me take him in those filthy fucking stables.” Baelor's lips skim his as he speaks.
“No, I…” Dunk attempts to lie, not wishing to offend him by coveting what is obviously his.
“Don't tell me so, Duncan, I won't believe you. I know what my nephew looks like, and I know even better what he looks like when I'm inside him.” Baelor murmurs, “He is exquisite, isn't he?”
Dunk nods, cock throbbing.
“Don't you want to know the same?”
“Fuck.” Dunk swears under his breath, “I do, Your Grace.”
Baelor leans forward, and finally, finally, fits his lips to Dunk's. They take them slowly, deeply, the hand that had wound itself into his hair now holding the back of his head firm. Dunk, inexperienced as he is, follows Baelor's lead.
The Crown Prince leans heavier, his kiss growing harder and rougher, and it dizzies Dunk's twisted head. He rushes to keep up, breathing harshly through his nose, and gasps when something warm and wet and soft brushes against his lower lip.
Baelor moans right into Dunk's mouth, and if he even so much as touched himself right now, he'd come. Blood magickers indeed, the pair of princes had rushed all of his straight to his cock and not relented.
Their kiss is broken when Baelor moves away, dabbing his mouth with the back of his sleeve. His pupils are dilated, mouth red, and when he smiles, Dunk doesn't know how he's supposed to last more than two minutes with he and Aerion both.
“Get cleaned up, Ser Duncan.” Baelor says, rising to his feet, “I will collect you when you are finished.”
For a moment after the door closes, Dunk leans back in the tub, and his head thumps back against it. He takes a deep breath, filling his lungs until they burn, and then plunges himself under the surface. The water, still blessedly warm, soothes his sweaty scalp. He lingers there until his lungs burn worse, breaking only when the pain starts to gnaw at him.
Reality sets in then, that he's really about to do what he's about to do, and there doesn't seem to be a way out of it even if he wanted one. With that in mind, he scrubs his skin until it's raw and pink, lathers himself with the soap set aside, and sighs up into the empty room.
His cock lays rock hard against his stomach, throbbing and aching with neglect the entire time. When he touches it to clean, his entire body shudders, and he curses under his breath. There isn't a world where he doesn't come immediately upon Aerion or Baelor wrapping their hands around him, and so, cock in hand, Dunk settles back and closes his eyes.
He thinks of Aerion's blissful face, his moans, his smirk. He thinks of Baelor's raspy voice, the roll of his hips, the feel of his lips. He thinks of what lies in store for him–Aerion's tight, wet hole, Baelor's intense gaze, watching, and his own part to play. And he comes in a mere few strokes, spilling himself into the lukewarm bathwater as he pants up to the ceiling.
Opening his eyes, he stares at the wooden slats and waits for his racing heart to calm before clambering out of the tub. A soft black robe has been draped over a chair for him, his own clothing gone, hopefully taken to wash by Baelor, or the servants just got a good show.
Slipping the velvet over his arms, he cinches it closed and marvels that it manages to fit him. Then he eyes the door, where Baelor is probably waiting on the other side. Another bout of anxiety tears through his gut, but this is very well the only time he will ever get to do this. How many commoners get to fuck a prince, let alone two?
Taking a settling breath, he opens the door and steps into the hall, and Baelor, leaning against the wall, smiles.
“Uncle.” Aerion says upon his door closing, facing his vanity as he throws back a cup of wine. A red silk robe is loosely clasped around his waist, one shoulder starting to slip down, “What did you decide to bribe the hedge knight with to–”
His words die in his mouth when he turns, discovering the hedge knight in question right there in his very room. Dunk watches surprise, confusion, and anger flit through those pretty pale violet eyes, sliding from Dunk to his uncle.
“I'm glad you should ask, Aerion.” Baelor folds his hands pleasantly in front of him, “I've given him you.”
A huff leaves the prince, and his lips curl into a sneer, “What is this?”
Baelor wanders further into the room, standing just before Dunk, who's currently lost his bravado. The Brightflame Prince, he'd known, would be no easy feat, but staring the dragon down now had to be tantamount to the real thing.
“It is as I say it is. Ser Duncan has requested to bed you, so you will give him everything he desires.” Baelor says, “It is a small price, Aerion, for our carelessness.”
“Fuck that.” Aerion snaps, cheeks warm with wine, “I would sooner spread the word myself that I let my own uncle fuck me, than let a fucking hedge knight touch me.”
“You will let that hedge knight touch you, because I say you will.” Baelor's voice is as even as always, “You will bend over and let that hedge knight stick his cock in your cunt if it is what he so wishes.”
“And if I refuse?” Aerion bristles.
Dunk doesn't think he can do this, “Prince Baelor, if he doesn't wish to–”
“You will not refuse.”
“If. I. Do?” Aerion challenges, watching his uncle stalk toward him without backing down.
“Oh, Aerion.” Baelor sighs, lifting his fingers to caress his knuckles down the younger prince's face. Without warning, he winds back and slaps Aerion across the face, hard enough to wrench his head to the side and make him stumble.
Dunk inhales sharply through his nose, going tense as he braces for Aerion's ire. But as he straightens, rubbing his smarting cheek, Aerion looks up at his uncle with rapidly dilating pupils. They flick past him to inspect Dunk from over his shoulder, much like he did the night past.
“You won't refuse.” Baelor says again, leaning in to plant a chaste kiss to his cheek, moving his lips to his ear, “Do you want to know why?”
Aerion lists toward him, “Why, Uncle?”
Baelor ignores his nephew's obvious arousal to instead turn and walk away from him, straight to Dunk. The Crown Prince's fingers slide over Dunk's face to the back of his head, and he pulls him down to his mouth once again.
This time, hands free and unrestricted from the tub, Dunk allows his head to quiet and his instinct to take control. He settles his hands at Baelor's waist, stepping in closer to press their bodies flush. The older prince relaxes into him, steering them around so he can throw a glance Aerion's way.
Dunk cracks an eye open, and his cock jolts to life at the heated look in Aerion's already blown eyes. His shoulders are pinched with tension, body wound tight, his fists clenched at his sides. It is obvious he is holding himself back, but whether it's from stabbing Dunk for daring to take Baelor away, or from joining in with them is the question.
Their eyes meet, just as they had in the stables, only this time it is Dunk staring over Baelor's shoulder. Aerion's lips part.
“You dare.” He breathes, face contorting in a snarl as he marches across the room, “What new game is this, Baelor?”
The kiss is broken by Baelor being ripped away, and the Crown Prince turns to his lesser with a smile, “Do you yet refuse?”
“I–” Aerion's gaze flicks to Dunk, uncertainty flickering in the pale depths, “Did not know you liked to share.”
“I'm coming around to the idea.”
Dunk stares, head a fog of confused arousal. He is, after all, a young man who has admittedly never done the deed before. Now, so close to being able to do so, kissed as wildly and as deeply as he had been, he considers abandoning all thought of consequences and just grabbing Aerion and having his way. He doubts Baelor would do much, mostly because this was all his idea. Mostly.
“Have you even fucked before?”
It takes him a moment to realize Aerion is talking to him, and he clears his throat, “Of…course I have.”
Aerion's indignant gaze finds his uncle once again, “You want me to take his virginity?”
“Virgin–” Dunk scoffs, “I've done things!”
“Not counting your hand?”
Dunk huffs, “Well that's…”
“You cannot be serious.” Aerion poses this to Baelor, “A prince of the realm does not bend over for a low born.”
“Come now, Aerion. Why don't you reserve your judgement until you see his cock?” Baelor suggests, “It is quite impressive. I think you will be satisfied.”
Aerion sighs, his throat working as he swallows. Dunk watches the motion, watches the fine, pale column of it flex with his every minute movement. His eyes travel from there to the sliver of pale shoulder peeking out from where his silk robe had slipped down. He has a sudden, savage urge to sink his teeth into it, leave his mark on that pretty, unblemished skin, run his tongue over the indents just to feel what he'd left behind. His fingers twitch at his sides, aching to grab him and pull him to his mouth like Baelor had done to him. He wants to taste that mouth, hear the furious protests and swallow them whole, feel the prince go pliant under his big hands.
“He's yours, Ser Duncan.” Baelor says quietly, and Aerion's lilac eyes are on Dunk's blues, “Take him.”
“Touch me, and I will ensure your death is slow.” Aerion grinds out, but that look in his eyes betrays his interest, “I will gut you like the swine–”
Dunk steps forward, his hand outstretched until it twines in the prince's soft, white hair, and yanks him forward. Despite all his colorful protesting, Aerion goes easily, his lips parting before they crush to Dunk's. His hands momentarily flatten against his chest, running up and over his pecks, before balling in the loose sides of his robe.
This prince's mouth is softer than the other's, lips plump and full and easier to take between his. This prince is also more bold than the other, wasting no time and pretense by running his tongue teasingly over a lip, but instead pushing his way into Dunk's mouth to curl with his. Hot, sharp arousal strikes through him, and he groans softly, his other arm snaking around Aerion's waist to pull him closer.
He tastes like sweet red wine, the kind Dunk has never had the privilege to try, and he wrestles away his tongue to lick further into his mouth. It curls into the roof of it, against the back of his teeth, teeth that come down to nip. Dunk makes a surprised noise at the sting, but doesn't pull away. Rather, he angles his head, removing his tongue to let his lips press harder.
At the same time, the hand in his hair drifts lower to join the other at Aerion's back, and together they run over the generous swell of his ass, hooking around his thighs to pick him up. The prince's arms wrap around his shoulders, legs around his waist, and it's all Dunk can do not to gasp when the head of his cock nudges against him.
Cracking open an eye, he finds a velvet chaise settee across the room, and makes his way to that. Baelor finds his way next to him when they sit, and he pulls Aerion's upper half down so that his head is in his lap, legs in Dunk's.
Baelor leans down to press his mouth to Aerion’s, and Aerion groans as his hands snag in Baelor’s shorn hair. Their kiss is audibly arousing, one of Baelor’s hands skirting down Aerion’s side to grip his hip. In Dunk’s lap, he reaches up to slowly slide the ties of his robe loose.
Aerion groans into Baelor’s mouth when Dunk pushes the ends of his robe open, exposing his lithe, nude body underneath. The creamy paleness of his skin makes Dunk's mouth water, but even more than that, the trim, white hair sitting atop an already glistening pink cunt. It's puffy with arousal, clit engorged and practically aching for Dunk to put his mouth on it.
“Seven–” Aerion gasps when Dunk does, tongue dipping between his lips to teasingly brush his clit, “–fucking hells.”
“Now aren't you pleased you decided not to fight this?” Baelor asks, holding Aerion's face in his palms, “Ser Duncan is doing what you've always begged me for.”
“Mm.” Aerion stares up at him defiantly, even as he squirms on Dunk's tongue, “Adequately will be the question.”
Dunk takes that as a challenge, maneuvering himself off of the chaise to kneel on the floor between Aerion's legs. With no proper clue as to what he's doing, he hooks the back of Aerion's knees between his thumb and index fingers, and pushes them back to delve into his cunt.
It tastes unlike anything he was expecting–heady and just a little bit sweet, like fruit. It draws another pleasant noise from Aerion. A little gasp, his hips roll, and then fingers are curling in Dunk’s hair, and oh…yes. He likes that. They tug at the strands, pressing him in harder. Yeah, he really likes that.
Above him, Baelor reclines back to watch Dunk feast on Aerion's cunt, mismatched eyes dark and full of that carnal desire he'd been talking about. The Crown Prince's hands fondle Aerion's chest, his thumbs teasing over pert, pink nipples and catching them between his fingers.
Dunk presses his tongue into Aerion's sopping hole, dragging it out and up to his full clit. The prince lets out a proper moan for the first time, and Dunk's cock throbs in answer at the sweetness of it. Aerion holds his head steady with the grip in his hair, rolling his hips up as Dunk captures his clit in his mouth to suck.
Aerion's back arches, he can feel it bend where he holds his hips, and lets out another choked-sounding moan. A gush soaks Dunk's chin, dripping down his neck, and he's not sure whether it's from his own saliva or if the prince is just that wet.
“Enjoying yourself, Ser Duncan?” Baelor asks, his hand flattening out to caress along Aerion's ribs and over his flat, heaving stomach.
Dunk lets Aerion have a breather, pulling off of his clit with a lewd sound, and sits up to gaze dazedly at the Crown Prince, glistening chin and all, “Very much so, Your Grace.”
“It translates.” Baelor smiles, “Unfortunately I must admit that I shy away from what you are doing, despite my nephew's many attempts to persuade me. It is quite enjoyable for me, too, getting to watch him writhe.”
“Is it?” Aerion breathes, still panting lightly, “Does it arouse you, Uncle, watching someone other than you touch me for the first time?”
“Yes. I find that it does.” Baelor strokes his fair hair, “Though you already know that, don't you?”
Aerion nuzzles his face further into Baelor's groin, revealing a thick bulge that rests against his cheek. His pale lashes flutter.
“For the first time?” Dunk blurts, his mind having latched on to that tidbit and not let go.
With a sigh, Aerion rubs a palm over Baelor's clothed cock, eliciting a small breath, “You should feel privileged, hedge knight. I meant what I said. No one has touched me but him, and now you.”
Baelor's eyes meet Dunk's, “It is a special exception. I don't like sharing what is mine.”
“Well,” Dunk nods, nearly speechless, “the honor is mine, my princes.”
Dunk ensures Baelor’s eyes on his as he sinks back down to pull Aerion back into his mouth, and he has the pleasure of watching Baelor’s gaze dip to where his lips suction around Aerion’s clit. He wonders what’s going through Baelor’s head, watching someone else with their mouth on the person he seems to have claimed for one reason or another. Dunk doesn’t think he’d like it, but Baelor looks on the verge of touching himself at the sight.
He doesn’t have to though, because Aerion rolls his upper half over, pulling at the laces of Baelor’s trousers until they're yanked far enough open, and gets Baelor’s cock into his mouth. Dunk’s own, still laying hot and untouched against his thigh, flexes as Baelor’s head falls back, jaw going slack as Aerion drags his tongue along the underside of him.
Dunk picks up his intensity, flicking his tongue over Aerion's clit, sliding it down to lap at his hole, sucking a lip into his mouth. It gets him humming into Baelor’s pelvis, and the Crown Prince stares down at Aerion's mouth thrusting on his cock.
“Here, Ser Duncan, let me help.” Baelor says, voice gravelly like Dunk’s yet to hear, and he pulls away to watch Baelor shove two fingers into Aerion's cunt.
Aerion is looking down at their onslaught out of the corner of his eye, his lips stretching as he shoves down on Baelor, gagging wetly into his lap. Baelor grunts, hips jerking into Aerion’s mouth, but he has enough sense left to start pumping the fingers buried inside him.
Untangling himself from between Aerion's legs, Dunk chooses now to lean over him and palm his navel. His fingers are long enough to reach his mound, and he rubs it in circles as Baelor adds a third finger.
“F-fuck.” Aerion chokes out, “Fuck that’s–mm.”
Dunk can’t help it anymore, he shoves his hand past the opening of his robe, and grabs himself tightly. He times his own jerking to Baelor’s hand, imagining that it's his cock plunging into Aerion instead.
Aerion moans, loud and dirty, his clit throbbing under Dunk’s fingers. The hand Baelor isn’t using to finger him finds his nipple again, and Aerion whimpers at the pinch. His eyebrows furrow, head falling back on Baelor's thigh.
“I'm. Gonna come.” Aerion groans, hips lifting, “Duncan–”
Dunk lets him go, which earns him a protesting grunt, but Aerion's hand reaches up to splay across Dunk’s face. His index finger trails down until it catches on the swell of Dunk’s lips and presses.
And Dunk gets the hint.
The noise Aerion makes when Dunk swats Baelor's hand away and sucks him back down again, can only be described as a choke and a gasp and a moan all in one. He only gets a couple more strokes of his tongue in before Aerion traps Dunk's head in between his legs, quivering and mumbling incoherently as he comes. Dunk swallows every drop of his release, and by the time he’s done, Aerion is panting and pressing his palms to his eyes in Baelor’s lap.
Dunk pushes his legs from around his shoulders, and Aerion slides down to the floor with an indignant squawk. There’s not a care in his mind, though, as he shucks the robe from around him, throws it to the side, and gets a hand around himself to relieve the pleasure-pain of arousal. He’s way too horny to not have any attention for one second longer.
“Ser Duncan.” Baelor says quietly, and Dunk opens his eyes to find that the Crown Prince had risen, and he presses their mouths together without delay.
This time isn’t like the bath, though, as Baelor’s tongue is shoving into his mouth before their lips even meet. It explores Dunk’s teeth, his gums, his tongue, dizzying him with its intensity and the unwillingness to let him have a breath. It slips out of his mouth, trailing down his chin, and Dunk realizes Baelor is tasting Aerion on his skin.
It leaves him breathless and hazy-minded, and even more so when something hot and wet envelopes his cock. He’s able to crack an eye open to see Aerion on his knees before him, his lips stretched around him, cheeks hollowed as he sucks him off.
What a fucking sight that is. A prince on his knees for a hedge knight.
Baelor’s nose presses up into Dunk’s jaw where he breathes in, tongue running up along his throat. It sends hot goosebumps down his arms and his back, and he’s surprised to find that he’s not at all nervous for Baelor to be touching him like this, nor Aerion.
He wants more.
He tips his head toward Baelor’s, practically begging for his lips again, and is rewarded when they catch his. Between his legs, Aerion’s mouth is working wonders, leaving him groaning into Baelor.
“You want more, Ser Duncan?” Baelor whispers, and Dunk’s cock jerks at the sound of his name on Baelor’s sex-drunk lips, “You've waited so patiently.”
“Yes.” He whispers back.
“Aerion, oblige our guest.”
Aerion’s eyes flick to Baelor’s, and they have a silent conversation with each other, very Targaryen like. Something is decided in the split second that their eyes hold each other’s, and Aerion is sliding Dunk’s cock out of his mouth to push him back down on the chaise. Dunk falls in an uncoordinated heap, while Aerion drops lower, spreads the knight's legs, and sucks at his balls. A grunt rasps from Dunk’s chest when Aerion pulls one into his mouth, eyes bright with amusement and dark curiosity.
He’s too busy focusing on the way Aerion’s tongue rolls his ball around his soft mouth, to feel Baelor shifting. It isn’t until his arm drapes across his thighs, warm hand wrapping around his cock, that Dunk moans unabashed.
“My hand is dry, Aerion. Wet it.” Bealer commands, pausing his stroking to hold it out. Wetting his lips, Aerion sits up to lick a wet trail over his uncle's fingers, sucking them into his mouth, and then spits down onto them before returning to Dunk's balls.
It leaves him reeling as Aerion and Baelor work together to oblige him, Baelor’s split-slick hand stroking along his cock, and Aerion’s paying extremely good attention to his sack. His inexperience comes to the forefront then, that and his prolonged need, a release tingling his balls and threatening to erupt over Baelor's fingers.
“Okay, okay.” Dunk pants, putting a hand on Baelor’s to get him to pause. Aerion takes the hint, “I don’t want to come yet, and you both are doing a very good job.”
“Why wouldn't you want to come?” Aerion rests his chin on Dunk’s knee, “You have two princes of the realm on your cock.”
“I…I want to…” Dunk feels his face flush at the prospect of saying his wishes out loud, “Well, it's because I wish to fuck you, Prince Aerion.”
Aerion arches a brow, “Alright? That doesn't answer my question.”
“I won't be able to again.”
“Able to come?” Aerion asks, then snorts when Dunk nods, “Please. You insult me if you think I can't make you come as many times as I wish.”
“Truly, Duncan.” Baelor tsks.
Dunk looks between them, Baelor with his hand still lightly stroking his cock, and Aerion on his hands and knees, trying to determine if this was a jest at his expense, “I've never come more than once.” He says accusatorily.
“Never?” Aerion throws an equally accusing look at Baelor, “Next time you decide to bring someone to join us, try to find someone exciting.”
Dunk scoffs, offended.
“Don't be deceived by his inexperience, Aerion, and look at this gift for what it is.” Baelor sits up, still clothed, “You can mold him any which way you see fit. Teach him exactly what you like, and you'll have no bad habits to break him from.”
“Oh, but I think I would enjoy breaking him.” Aerion answers, holding Dunk's gaze as he says it.
“Then why don't you try, Prince?” Dunk says, returning his defiance.
Aerion hums, then crawls into Dunk’s lap, thighs draped on either side of him. He leans forward to crudely slot their lips together, kissing him like he had earlier. Rough and needy and just a little desperate. Baelor's weight next to him disappears.
“You're bold for a hedge knight.” Aerion says, slotting himself further into Dunk's pelvis. His cunt presses itself to his cock, thick clit rubbing against a sensitive notch under Dunk's cockhead. Their chests brush as he moans softly, the prince rolling his hips to grind himself along the length of him, “You should be groveling that we don't have you executed for treason.”
“What treason would that be?” Dunk asks hoarsely, hands encircling Aerion's waist, barely refraining from picking him up and pulling him down on his cock. As it is, his fingers almost touch around him, and their differences in size have him nearly coming again.
Aerion's arms circle his neck, and he leans in closer, letting the smell of wine and sweet soap wash over him, “Spreading such disgusting lies about me and my uncle. Are you trying to send my father to an early grave?”
“I've been spreading no such lies.” Dunk says, enamored with all the smooth skin and sharp angles in his lap, “But I do find it interesting that your uncle should trade in his brother for that brother's son.”
“A fact that is nothing more than a vicious attempt to sow discontent between brothers.”
“A fact that I wonder if you know the truth of.”
Aerion hums in amusement, “You think I don't know that when my uncle looks at me, he sees my father?” He turns his head, running his tongue along Dunk's lower lip, “What were you hoping for by revealing this to me? That I would suddenly keep you in my bed? My white knight?”
“I merely wanted you to know. Just in case you. Just in case you didn't.” Dunk fumbles through the words as Aerion's mouth moves to nip at his ear.
“I don't fuck my uncle out of some boyish sense of love.” The prince's voice murmurs, “I fuck him because I want to. Because I like the way he looks, and I like the way his cock feels.” He smiles against the side of Dunk's head, “And I like knowing that I satisfy him more than my father ever did.”
“Noted.” Dunk says, grimacing as Aerion’s nails dig into his shoulders. The prince moans, his head falling forward to rest in the crook of his neck as he continues to stroke himself along Dunk's cock.
“Ngh, speaking of.” Aerion breathes, hips jerking, “Feels good, Uncle.”
“You like that Aerion?” Baelor asks, voice like silk, “I wasn't sure, since it's not my cock.”
Dunk’s face burns when he looks down to find Baelor settled on the floor, hand risen to sink its fingers in the pucker of Aerion's ass.
“Yes.” Aerion whines, forehead growing sweaty against Dunk’s neck, “Fuck you. You know what I meant.”
“I know only what you tell me. How much do you love my fingers?”
“I would think–ah–it should be fairly obvious.”
“But you want more, don’t you? You want to be filled up?”
Aerion pulls in a quivering breath, practically trembling in Dunk’s lap, “Yes.”
“Maybe if you ask Ser Duncan nicely, he’ll give it to you.” Baelor kisses Aerion’s ass cheek, and then abruptly bites it, “Give it to you nice and hard the way you like it.”
Aerion pushes himself back to gaze at Dunk, and it’s the same dazed look he had in the stables when Dunk had first seen them together, drunk off of Baelor’s cock then, his fingers now. He sighs, trying to gather himself, and then looks at Dunk through his lashes, lilac eyes still defiant even as he asks, “Please Duncan, fuck me? I know you want to.” His soft lips caress Dunk's, “I can feel how badly you want me.”
“Now, Aerion, that wasn't–” Baelor starts.
But Dunk can't take it anymore, and he nods, trying to swallow but his mouth is too dry, “Yeah—fuck. Gods, yes.”
Aerion lifts his hips, aided by Dunk's iron grip around them, and Baelor's fingers wrap around his cock to hold it steady. Mismatched eyes hold Dunk’s as Aerion sinks down, hot and wet and tight around Dunk’s cock.
“Fuuuuck.” Dunk groans, his head lolling back onto the couch cushion. In a matter of moments, he's seated fully inside Aerion's cunt, staring down at the gap in the silver hair above his mound, where Dunk's cock disappears up inside him. The prince's eyes are screwed shut, eyelids fluttering as they roll underneath them.
“There you go.” Baelor murmurs, “Don't hold back, Ser Duncan.”
Suitably impaled by Dunk's cock, Aerion, with color painted high in his cheeks, starts to rock his hips. Dunk’s hands ease their crushing grip, splaying wide across his backside, dragging him forward with every buck. They breathe hard against each other’s faces, overwhelmed by the feel of Dunk’s cock stretching him so wide.
Swallowing, Dunk changes his hold again, pulling Aerion flush against him to pin him there, holding him steady as he plants his feet on the floor, and then thrusts up into him at his own dizzying pace. It causes the prince in his lap to gasp and cry out, and Baelor sits on the floor watching, enraptured, naked, now, and idly stroking himself until it’s his turn.
The physical exertion to fuck up into Aerion this way makes Dunk’s stomach burn, and he has to pause to grind Aerion’s hips forward for a break. Baelor’s still jerking himself on the floor, and Dunk can’t, in good conscience, let that go on.
Sitting up, he keeps his arms wrapped around Aerion and pushes himself to his feet. Aerion gasps when his cock pushes deeper into him, his forehead falling to his shoulder as Dunk bounces his hips a little. The prince digs his nails into Dunk's back, moaning and grappling his legs around Dunk's waist.
“Ah!–you're–” Aerion chokes against his shoulder, “Fuck, you're deep.”
“Is it alright?” Dunk asks, slightly startled by the ragged sound of his voice.
Aerion nods, his white hair tickling Dunk's chin, “Keep going.”
Baelor watches him carry Aerion around the chaise, watches as Dunk sits his ass down on the back of it and then start to thrust into him again. Aerion clings to his shoulders, leaning back slightly as his legs wrap tightly around Dunk’s waist.
“Yes. Fuck.” Aerion breathes, skin glistening with sweat in the low light of his room, “Fuck me harder, brute.”
Dunk, in the moment, reaches up to wrap his hand around Aerion’s throat, squeezing tight enough that Aerion wheezes, his face turning scarlet. He yanks him forward, pressing their lips together, tongue delving into his mouth, all the while pounding his cock into him the way Baelor had in the stables. A strangled cry leaves the prince's lips, his reddening eyes holding Dunk's as he fought for air.
When he lets Aerion go, the other man gasps, and two tears roll down his cheeks. He’s breathing hard, panting, moaning, rolling his hips forward to meet Dunk’s, using his shoulder as leverage with one hand, the back of the chaise with the other.
Baelor crawls up onto the chaise behind Aerion, pressing his face into the crook of his pale neck and biting. His hand threads through Aerion’s sweaty hair, jerking his head back roughly to slot their mouths together.
The sharpness of pleasure cuts through Dunk like a knife as he watches them kiss, and he’s starting to pull in gasps as sweat rolls down his back.
Baelor pulls away from Aerion, meets Dunk’s gaze, grins, and abruptly pulls Aerion backwards. Aerion’s arms flail and he gasps, landing with his spine bent at an awkward angle. His hips are still on the top of it where Dunk is fucking him, back arched against the backrest, and his head against the cushions so that he’s upside down.
“Open wide.” Baelor says, and Aerion, dazed out of his mind, does as he’s told. Baelor guides his cock into his mouth, kicking his knees up onto the cushions to give him more leverage as he face-fucks him.
Baelor’s hands come up to rest on the couch on either side of Aerion’s hips, and he leans forward expectantly with his eyes on Dunk. Dunk gets the hint, and they kiss to the wet squelching of Dunk in Aerion’s cunt, and his gags from Baelor’s cock. Dunk can feel every time Aerion wretches, his cunt clenching down tight around him. They’re becoming more frequent, and despite how hot they make Dunk feel, he feels slightly bad for the prince.
He pulls back from Baelor, glancing uncertainly down at him and saying, “He might need to breathe, Your Grace.”
Aerion emphasizes by coughing, which sounds more like choking. His hands flail at Baelor's waist.
Baelor sighs, pulling his cock out of Aerion’s mouth if only to appease Dunk. He can’t see his face, but he’s gasping and coughing, sniffling his nose.
“Seven hells.” Aerion pants.
But then Baelor shoves himself right back down Aerion’s throat, and his body spasms between them. His back arches at an even further unnatural angle, and Dunk looks hesitantly to Baelor.
“Don’t worry,” Baelor pants, hips thrusting his cock into Aerion’s throat, “he likes it.” He pulls out of Aerion’s mouth to ask, “Right Aerion? You like it rough?”
“Quit asking me,” Aerion says through his coughing fit, “and fuck me.”
“See?” Baelor grins, “Just like a whore.”
Aerion shoots him a glare, opening his mouth, tongue curling down his chin.
Baelor shoves back in, and Aerion makes a wet, snorting noise that sort of sounds like snot blowing out of his nose. His hands are on his clit, flicking over it almost painfully rough in time to Dunk’s thrusts.
“Fuck I’m close.” Dunk groans upon the sight, losing his pace, “So fucking close.”
“You can come in him.” Baelor says, “Right Aerion?”
Aerion moans in response.
Dunk hums out a groan, eyes dipping down to watch Baelor’s cock bulge against Aerion’s throat, catching under the thumb he has wrapped around it. Dunk's head goes completely blank.
But before he can come, he watches Baelor’s tongue swipe across his lower lip, and then he pulls out of Aerion’s mouth, leaving the man underneath him blinking. Baelor grabs the hinge of his jaw and squeezes, holding it open wide as he says, “I’m gonna come down your throat.” And then spits into Aerion’s mouth before sinking back into it for the last time.
Dunk loses it at that, snapping hard once more into Aerion’s cunt and spilling cum inside him with a moan that bursts from his chest. He bends over him, hips jackrabbitting into him as he presses his face into the soft part of Aerion’s belly.
Baelor is cursing, hand winding in Dunk’s hair, and Aerion’s throat is working around his cock as he swallow’s Baelor’s cum.
Both of them pull out of Aerion’s body at the same time, and he curls into himself on the couch, panting hard and rubbing fiercely at his puffy clit.
“Come here.” Baelor says softly, and Dunk rolls over the back of the chaise to slump down next to Aerion.
Baelor is between Aerion’s legs, his fingers inside his cunt as his thumb strokes his clit. Their eyes are on each other’s as Aerion’s mouth falls open, a pretty moan leaving his lips.
“Duncan.” Aerion breathes, his forehead tipping against Baelor’s, and he turns his head to look up at him with half-lidded eyes.
“Y-yes, my prince?”
“Once more.” He says, “I want to come while you fuck me.”
Despite all that it had been through, Dunk's cock begins to fill. Baelor chuckles quietly, kissing his nephew with chaste lips, “Why do you think I was preparing you, Aerion?”
“What?”
“Earlier, with my fingers.” Baelor reminds him, “You'll come while we both fuck you.”
Aerion's eyes widen at that, a spark of excitement lighting them up.
“Both?” Dunk asks, working out the logistics in his thick head. His cock, though, has seemed to have already figured it out, standing at rapt attention against his belly.
“We'll need the bed for that.” Baelor says, motioning with his hand to the large, finely upholstered bed the Ashfords had undoubtedly spent an obscene amount of money on for the royals.
Dunk rises to his feet, knees creaking and ankles popping, watching Aerion brush past him on unsteady legs. It allows him a nice view of his milky white skin, of the generous swell of his ass as he saunters his way to the bed. He sprawls himself out over it, letting his legs fall open as Dunk approaches. His own seed is mixed with the obscene amount of wetness and coats his thighs, making him look positively sinful.
Dunk sort of wants to bury his face back in that silver cunt.
“The honors are yours, Ser Duncan.” Baelor says, coming to a stop next to him, “How would you like to do this?”
Aerion pushes himself up on one one arm, turning onto his side to drape one leg over the other. It accentuates the curve of his hips, tapering into the dip of his waist. He waits for Dunk's decision, thighs rubbing together to sate his need.
“I want to be on the bottom.” He declares, finding himself being pulled forward by the bright prince, and then dropped onto his back. He barely has time to blink before Aerion's cunt is sinking down onto him again, and he curses.
A soft chuckle leaves Baelor as he clambers up onto the bed, kneeling his way to the spot between Dunk and Aerion's legs. He shifts Dunk's closed, and Aerion's wide, gently smoothing his hands up his slim thighs to his ass. Dunk can feel it when he spreads him open, watching the Crown Prince gaze down longingly at his nephew's hole.
Aerion is still as he waits, chest heaving with his own unsatisfied arousal and anticipation of what comes next. His hands are balled in the bedding at Dunk's shoulders, twisting it as he sucks in a little gasp when Baelor nudges the head of his cock against him.
Dunk shifts his hold from Aerion's waist to his face, gently holding his cheeks in his palms “Eyes on me, yeah?”
Aerion nods, eyebrows threading together, eyes bouncing between Dunk's, before he gasps as Baelor slips his way into his other hole, moaning out a, “Fuuuuck.”
Baelor thrusts his hips in short bursts, meanwhile Dunk is doing everything he can not to come right then and there as their cocks nudge together inside Aerion.
Dunk doesn’t move, can’t for fear of coming too soon, granted a reprieve in disguise of letting Aerion adjust to having two cocks inside him rather than one. He keeps their eyes locked on each other’s, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs, whispering, “Good Aerion, there you go. Taking us both so well.”
“Fuck.” The prince says again, face screwed up into something between pleasure and pain, his fingers gripping the blankets on either side of them tight, “It's so much.”
“You can take it.” Dunk murmurs, pulling his face close.
Aerion whimpers, the sound swallowed by Dunk's mouth as he kisses him. The whimper turns to a moan, and he arches his back down to open himself further to Baelor.
“You should see yourself, Aerion.” Baelor says, fully flush against his ass. He bends down to press a kiss to his shoulder, “So gorgeous.”
Aerion pulls away from Dunk's mouth to turn into Baelor. He meets his kiss, lips parting halfway into it as Dunk watches his tongue slide into Aerion's mouth. He shifts his hips, pushing himself further inside, and a sound between a gasp and a moan leaks into Baelor's lips.
He hums, giving one last noisy caress of mouths before sitting up and taking Aerion's hips in his hands. There's no more gentle touches, no soft space of time to let the prince relax between them. Bealor's hips pull back, roughly snap forward, and Aerion's eyes roll. He falls forward onto Dunk's chest, groaning with a higher pitch as his body rocks forward.
Those moans mix with Baelor and Dunk's low grunts when they start to thrust, Baelor rolling his hips, rocking him along Dunk’s cock as he strokes up to meet it. Aerion's hands roam, tangling in the hair at Dunk's crown as he caresses his ribs. Sweat rises on his skin with the prince's head is tucked up under his jaw, hot breath heaving against his neck.
Tension coils low in Dunk’s stomach, a mix of the instinctual satisfaction of being buried in a cunt, the knowledge that he was fucking a prince at the same time as the Crown Prince, and at the feel of that royal’s cock sliding and nudging and catching along his in that tight heat.
The three of them fall into a rhythm, rocking into each other with feverish abandon. They were all reaching their wit’s end, Aerion especially, desperate movements turning sloppy and uncoordinated. Dunk had long since given up holding back his moans, eyes cast to Baelor’s, and Baelor holding his as he thrusts hard into Aerion.
He’s not sure how much longer can last, when Baelor lets out a whimper. It goes straight to Dunk’s second head, making him groan involuntarily. Aerion twists his head to look back, shoves his hips back into them, and Baelor hisses.
“Come–mm, fuck–” Aerion breathes, one hand planted in Dunk's hair, the other reaches back to grab hold of one of Baelor's wrists, “Come…inside me.”
It seems to be all Baelor needs, because he gets in a few more hard thrusts, using Aerion's shoulder as leverage, before his head tips back, eyes flutter closed, and his mouth falls open on a ragged groan. His thighs bracket themselves on either side of Aerion's, hips pumping slightly through the tremors.
And Gods please fucking help Dunk one more time, because Baelor is coming inside Aerion as he'd requested, and some of it is dripping down hot onto his balls, and Dunk’s vision is whiting out. Baelor pulls out and falls onto his side, and with him out of the way and significantly more room for Dunk's cock to move, he can’t take it anymore. He flips a gasping Aerion onto his back and spreads his legs wide, plunging into that waiting cunt to pound into it mercilessly.
Aerion lets out a cry, and in the back of Dunk's mind, he can't differentiate if it was in pain or pleasure, but he can't stop. His hand shoves its way between them to rub crude circles around Aerion's clit, and gets more cries to fall from those pretty lips.
Out of breath, stomach screaming, he pulls out, flips Aerion onto his stomach, and fucks back in. He's resting back on his haunches, the prince's lower body pulled up over his thighs while his hands grapple in the bedding. He manages to get a hand around him, going back to rubbing his clit while he brainlessly fucks his cunt.
Aerion, spine bent into a beautiful arch, sobs, grunting out a, “I–I'm…coming…”
And his entire body locks up, knuckles going white in the blanket, while his legs violently tremble on either side of Dunk's. His release gushes out around Dunk's cock, soaking him and the bed, and finally he comes, too.
He thinks he’s moaning embarrassingly loud, which, seven hells, he could be shouting for all he knew. It was the single best orgasm he’d ever had, balls emptying into Aerion until they hurt. His body slides down to the bed when he's finished, softening cock slipping out of Aerion to unleash another torrent of mixed cum that drips down into his silver hair. The blankets have to be ruined.
Dunk pulls himself back up to the pillows, rolling over onto his back to try and catch his breath. His eyes are squeezed closed, and no matter how hard he tries to open them, he can't bring himself to do it.
He must fall asleep, because the next moment he blinks into semi-awareness, the room is dark save for the dying fire in the hearth. Baelor is nowhere to be seen, but Aerion lays on his side, leg and arm thrown over Dunk's body as he curls into him. Sometime in the night, Dunk had wedged his arm under the prince's head to hold him back.
He should leave. He knows it. Aerion would undoubtedly be wroth with him were he to wake in his arms, in his bed. He hadn't even wanted Dunk there in the first place, but seemed powerless to his uncle's demands. But Dunk finds himself thinking that he'd rather face that ire than leave now. Aerion, fast asleep, feels good against him, small and delicate and beautiful in his too big, rough arms. He wouldn't be granted this sight again, and so he stays for as long as he can.
If only not to be so lonesome for just a few more hours.
“Wake up.”
Dunk startles to consciousness, aware of a pale figure staring down at him with pale eyes. It is then that he remembers where he is and what he'd done, and braces himself for the very real possibility that the princes had gone back on their word. That he could be about to die.
But rather than the revulsion and anger he'd expected to be reflected through Aerion's gaze, he looks rather curious. His face is cemented with the cruel arrogance he'd seen on it the night before, but there's something else there, too. Acceptance, maybe. Or thinning patience.
“It's nearly dawn, you should leave now, before anyone has the chance to see you sneaking off.” Aerion says, bare chest making Dunk's morning hardness more bothersome.
“I don't have my clothes.” He says.
“My uncle brought them before he retired.” Aerion lays back down in bed, motioning toward the door. Sure enough, a neat stack of his clothes is there.
Dunk lumbers to his feet, and, he doesn't know why, turns to look back at Aerion. The blankets are barely covering his naked cunt. Dunk can see some of its trimmed silver hair peeking from the hem. His mouth waters. His cock aches for just one more chance.
But he turns away, padding bare-footed across the room to pick up his shirt.
“You're not even going to ask?”
Dunk glances over his shoulder just as two slim arms wrap around his middle. Something wet–a tongue–runs up his back before sharp teeth take a bite. He inhales long and hard through his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as he wills himself not to turn and pin the prince to the wall.
“Ask what, Prince Aerion?”
Aerion's palms flatten over his stomach–soft on the surface but packed with muscle underneath–and skim lower. Dunk keeps trying to breathe.
“If you can have one more go at me.”
The palms ghost over his hip bones, over the creases of his pelvis.
“I wouldn't want to press my luck.” Dunk says, albeit shakily, “The deal was for the night.”
“Mm.” Aerion hums, and one hand wraps itself scorchingly around Dunk's hardness, “The sun is not yet up, if I do recall.”
Dunk swallows, eyelids fluttering as Aerion lightly strokes him, his hips swaying into the motion, “But…but Baelor, I…wouldn't want to upset him.”
“My uncle can say I'm his all he wants,” Aerion says, his other hand reaching down to cup Dunk's balls, and fuck, he's losing all his willpower, “but the truth of that, Duncan, is quite the opposite. I have him right where I want him, wrapped around my finger. He won't do a thing, because he knows that if he does, all I have to do is tell my father what he's done to me.” Another, sharper bite stings against his back, “It started when I was young, I knew no better. A man whose station is above mine? How was I to say no to his advances? He told me such pretty words. I was confused.” His tongue swirls around the smarting bite, voice pitched to a mocking innocence, “I thought he loved me.”
What a little monster, this prince.
“You were the one who accosted him. He told me so.” Dunk says half-heartedly, Aerion's hand like velvet around his cock.
“Mm, yes, well.” He can feel Aerion smile against his skin, “I can be very convincing.”
“You would do that to your own uncle?”
“If he gave me reason to.”
“You're…”
“Mad?” Aerion suggests, “Depraved? Cruel? Do not worry, hedge knight, I've heard it all before. It is all true. And wouldn't you like to put me in my place? A Targaryen prince, blood of the dragon?”
“I reckon I did last night.” Dunk braces a hand on the door, hips bucking forward, chasing Aerion's hand.
“Do it again.” Aerion purrs, “You have until sunrise.”
His back slams up against the door faster than Dunk thinks he'd been anticipating, and his pale eyes widen in surprise. Dunk drops to his knees before he's even made up his mind on what he's doing, and hitches both of Aerion's legs over his shoulders.
He buries his face between his thighs, tongue lapping at his cunt, and Aerion hisses out a language Dunk doesn't know. He latches on to his clit, sucking roughly if only to hear pretty moans and colorful curses. His hands, gripping tight the meat of Aerion's thighs, are going to leave marks, and Dunk moans at the thought.
“Use your fingers.” Aerion demands, tugging at his hair.
Dunk glances up at him, at the pout on his face, and slides one long, thick finger into the dripping hole beneath his chin.
“Ah, yes,” Aerion says in pleasure, “good, hedge knight.”
Dunk tries to recall the way Baelor's hand had moved the night before, but the angle is wrong for it. So he does the best he can at mimicking it, his tongue pointed and teasing at his clit. It can't be too bad with the way his arousal slowly drips its way down his wrist.
“Another.”
Dunk obliges, enjoying the little hum it brings.
Aerion's blown gaze slides down to him, his tongue flicking out to run across his lower lip. He's beautiful. How is Dunk ever supposed to find someone else who will live up to this? Who in this wide world would ever compare? Not even Baelor, the orchestrator of the whole ordeal, had been so desired by him.
“Sun is almost up, hedge knight.” Aerion says breathlessly, “And as good as you look between my legs, I'd much rather you leave me with something better to loathsomely remember you by.”
Dunk kisses him after he's gotten to his feet, their tongues sliding and sharing the taste of the prince between them.
“All I heard, prince, is that you'll be thinking of me.” Dunk mumbles against his lips, “Will you touch yourself remembering the way I felt, I wonder?”
“Hardly.” Aerion says, but doesn't sound convincing. He doesn't help his case either, when he wraps a leg around Dunk's waist, and allows himself to be lifted. Neither does he when he reaches down to guide Dunk's cockhead to his entrance. And neither when he moans filthily into Dunk's ear when he lowers him down onto his cock.
The door holds Aerion up as Dunk takes him against it, grunting and panting into his soft neck. It's uncouth and unbecoming, but he's exhausted from the night before, and frankly just wants to leave the prince's presence before he does something decidedly more stupid.
He barely pulls out, rocking only enough to draw that intense pleasure from the grip of Aerion's cunt. The prince is dragging lines of welts down his back, muffling his moans by sinking his teeth into his bottom lip. As Dunk watches, a bead of red wells up from beneath his teeth, slowly tracking down to his chin.
Dunk doesn't really know what comes over him at that point in time, whether it's blatant idiocy or sex-induced mania, but he leans forward to catch the drop of blood with his tongue, trailing it up his skin until he can shove it past Aerion's lips.
Aerion's hands leave their clawing at his back to roughly tangle in his hair, crushing their faces together. He groans, thighs going tight, and melts against Dunk as he starts to quiver. Breaths come raggedly through his nose, quick puffs of air, but he doesn't relent his mouth. He kisses Dunk through his release, through the after-tremors, and right to Dunk's own.
“Fuck. Shit.” Dunk pants eloquently, spreading Aerion's legs wider, “Is this what it's always like?”
“With me.” Aerion says into his ear.
“I could fuck you forever.”
“Would you?” He asks, “Would you be as pathetic as my uncle, chasing after me like a bitch in heat?”
“No,” Dunk slides in, hips stuttering, “because unlike him, I wouldn't wish for a different master when I was inside you.”
“A loyal dog of my own?” Aerion laughs breathily, “Obeying my every command.”
“As you saw fit, my prince.”
“Then obey this, hedge knight, and come for me.”
“Yes,” Dunk breathes, “Prince Aerion.”
He lets his head fall to Aerion's shoulder, letting out heavy, punching breaths in place of any other noises, and comes as his prince had commanded.
And all the while, lithe fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck.
“The sun is coming up, Duncan.” Aerion murmurs, “Your time is up.”
“Where were you all night?” Egg demands first thing upon stumbling into camp.
Dunk throws a look at him, surmounting to don't ask, and ponders throwing himself to the ground to sleep. His body is sore in many more ways than one, and his legs threaten to buckle. They haven't stopped shaking since he'd gently set Aerion down on his own two feet.
“If you're going to disappear like that, ser, you could have the decency to let me know.” Egg sniffs, coming to sit next to him by the fire, “What if you'd been gutted in the camps?”
“Would you have stopped it had you known?” Dunk shoots back.
“I could have gotten help.”
“From who?”
Egg avoids his gaze, “Anyone, really.”
“While I bled out in the dirt?”
“Fine. Don't answer my question.” Egg grumps, “See if I concern myself with your welfare from here on out.”
Dunk still isn't sure on the here on out part, but he doesn't mention it to the boy. He remembers what it's like to be young and a dreamer. To think that the world still held grand things in store for him rather than the shit he'd really been dealt. He doesn't want to be alone, and neither does Dunk.
“I was simply lost in my cups, lad.” Dunk lies, trying to make things a bit more right between them, “Nothing more to it.”
“That's why there are bruises on your neck.” He says, sounding endearingly concerned.
Dunk attempts to shift his shirt around, but there's not much collar to it, “Nothing to concern yourself with.”
“Did someone hurt you?”
Aerion and his purple eyes and his sweet moans fill his head. Baelor, dark and quiet. Their bodies writhing as one.
“No lad, it's not what you think.”
“Then what is it, ser?”
“Nothing.”
“Obviously it is something.”
“You'll…find out when you're older.”
Egg rolls his eyes, sighing in exasperation, “Honestly, ser, you're quite frustrating sometimes.”
Dunk was?
“Quiet now, I'd like to get some sleep before the crowds start up.” Dunk rolls over onto his side, facing away from Egg, and thankfully the boy says nothing more.
Try as he might, though, he can't sleep. Every time he closes his eyes, his mind drifts back to the bedroom in Ashford Hall. He forces himself to think about joining the lists and earning the prize money, to go through all the care he needs to do for the horses, yet. But no, he finds something in the mix to remind him of the princes, and relives the whole thing over again.
“A loyal dog of my own, obeying my every command?”
The words have no business affecting Dunk the way that they do, especially not after the terrible implications their speaker said he'd make should his uncle attempt to hinder him. Prince Aerion was cruel, that much had been made known at the jousts, but sadistic?
And what kind of person did that make Dunk, that he'd still kneel and eat that perfect cunt should Aerion come waltzing into the camp, demanding? That one taste of the prince's body had him panting like a dog?
All these thoughts. He's hard again.
The whinnying of horses and thunder of hooves crashing into his camp has him rocketing upright from his saddle prop. Egg sits frozen next to him, eyes wide with terror as the horses rush to circle them. Dunk unsheathes his sword, rolling to his feet to wheel this way and that, anticipating an attack from all angles.
What is this? What do they want? Who are they?
But the flags snapping in the breeze answer that last question, revealing the three headed dragon.
He'd been betrayed then. Baelor had gone back on his word. Or, worse yet, Aerion had acted on those implications against him.
Gritting his teeth, he puts himself next to Egg, ready to defend him until he couldn't.
“Sheath your sword, Ser Duncan. We are no threat to you.” Baelor's voice calls, and the Crown Prince rides into the circle. Behind him trots Aerion.
Dunk lowers it, looking between them in confusion, “Your Grace, I–” He cuts himself off. Too familiar, no one knew where he'd been last night. What he'd done. “To what do I owe this, uh, this…honor, Your Grace?”
“I was hoping to proposition you, if you will.”
“With?”
“Employment.” Baelor says.
Dunk blinks, sheathing his sword and standing there dumbly, “Employment, Your Grace? Where?”
“In my guard.” Baelor answers.
“Your–” Dunk shakes his head, “I'm afraid I don't think I'm exactly qualified for something so prestigious.”
“You're a knight, are you not?”
Dunk nods.
“Then you are qualified.”
“Why me?”
Baelor smiles, “I think you know the answer to that.”
Heat floods his face. He can feel it roll down his neck and into his chest. The look in his eyes, in the arrogant expression on Aerion's face, is clear.
“The services you provide are quite hard to find, and I myself find them to be…more than adequate. You are a good man, Ser Duncan, and I am in need of good men.” Baelor hops down from his horseback, but Aerion remains seated, “Will you accept? You will have room and board wherever I go.”
Dunk hesitates. Baelor was the one who had started it all, who had afforded him such privilege. He was a fine man, not without questionable tendencies, but good nonetheless. Dunk would be a fool not to accept this offer. A hedge knight turned royal guardian.
But, unbiddenly, his gaze looks past Baelor to the prince behind him, watching curiously from atop his horse.
Baelor spots this and smiles knowingly, leaning in so only Dunk can hear, “You have him to thank for this.”
“What?” He asks incredulously.
“Just because you are under my serviceship, does not mean you can't be his guard, if that is what you wish.”
“I accept.” Dunk says, with no hesitancy this time. Aerion smiles. A bitch in heat, indeed.
“Wait! You can't, ser!”
Egg darts out from under his legs, and Baelor startles while Aerion hums in surprise.
“Egg, hush!” Dunk hisses, afraid now that he may be reprimanded for this outburst.
“No, you cannot accept!” Egg protests, “I am to be your squire, remember?”
Dunk sighs, “Egg–”
“You impudent little wretch.” Aerion drawls, and Dunk's head whips up in further confusion, “What's happened to your hair?”
“I cut it off, brother. I didn't wish to look like you.” Egg says, and Dunk thinks he's misheard him. Brother?
“What?” Dunk breathes, looking at this boy he thought he'd known, but was beginning to understand that he truly didn't. This boy he'd thought he'd seen himself in, who had not an ounce of understanding of the things Dunk had gone through, “Egg?”
Egg looks up at him sorrowfully.
“Aegon.” Baelor takes him by his shoulders, holding him at arms length to inspect him, “Your father has been worried sick. He's out looking for you and Daeron.”
“Daeron is drunk at an inn not far from here.” Egg–Aegon, rather–says, sniffling.
“What are you doing here? And with Ser Duncan?” Baelor looks at him accusatorily, no doubt questioning his judgement.
Dunk raises his hands, “I–”
“Ser Duncan didn't know who I am.” Egg explains, “I lied to him. And I am sorry for it.”
“What was your aim?” Baelor asks, frowning.
“I wanted to be his squire. I wanted to join him in his travels.”
Aerion snorts, “You wanted to be a filthy hedge knight? Are you such a fool?”
He looks at Dunk as he says it.
“At least not so foolish to think I am a dragon in human form.” Egg shoots back.
“I don't think it.” Aerion snaps, “I–”
“Enough.” Baelor cuts in, looking greyer at their bickering, “Aegon, you will return to Ashford Hall with Aerion and I, where you will answer to Maekar when he returns. As for Ser Duncan…” Baelor turns to him, keeping a solid grip on Egg's shoulders, “You swear to me you had no clue.”
“I swear it.” Dunk nods, and the stricken look on his face must earn him some belief, “I had no idea or I would have…”
What would have done? Would he have turned the young prince away? Given him back to his family? Would he have still kept his secret? Dunk doesn't have an answer.
Eggs eyes narrow at him regardless.
“It is perhaps wise that I shouldn't, but I believe you.” Baelor says, “And so my offer still stands.”
“I return the sentiment.” Dunk rings his hands together nervously, squinting up at Aerion, “In that I don't know if I should trust the word of a Targaryen.”
Much less you goes left unsaid.
“But I accept nonetheless."
Egg frowns, but Baelor smiles, clapping Dunk on the shoulder, “I think you will find that in time, you won't regret your decision. Now come, there is much to speak of.”
Dunk blows out a long puff of air, attempting to calm his racing heart. He follows Baelor and Egg at a distance, still reeling from the boy's betrayal. If he could call it that. But he supposes he'd been young and stupid once, too, rebellious and defiant and naive. He can't blame him. He's too soft.
“Good to see you don't lack all sense.” Aerion says as Dunk flanks his palfrey, “You would have been coming with us regardless of whether you walked freely or wore chains.”
“Was I that good?” Dunk snips, still tired and only growing more weary.
“Oh on the contrary.” Aerion's mouth curves into a sharp smile, “There are several things that will need fixing. But with time and much, much practice, I do believe I will make you into a fine housepet.”
Dunk ignores the way his stomach swoops, and especially the heat that gathers low in it. The prince's eyes are alight with malevolent humor as he sits up straight in his saddle, and urges his horse forward.
Dunk hasn't decided whether he'd made yet another mistake, or the best decision of his life.
He's made a Kingsguard in less than a year, when King Daeron dies of the spring sickness and Baelor ascends the throne. He's offered the role of Lord Commander not long after, to which he dutifully turns down. He says it is because he doesn't feel yet qualified, but the reality of it is even more simple than that.
Aerion Targaryen hadn't given him permission.
Dunk had made good on the prince's suggestion, and had become his loyal guard dog. Wherever he goes, Dunk goes with him, the only person allowed and even tolerated to do so. His fellow guardsmen ask how he does it, and he just shrugs his shoulders and calls it duty.
He doesn't say that it is because, at the end of the day, he gets to retire to Aerion's chamber and fuck him senseless. That he is oftentimes afforded the luxury of taking out his frustrations with his prince, on his prince. That Aerion had taught him exactly what and where he needed to touch, how to move, what to do, to make him come. And Dunk, self-absorbed as he is when he's buried in Aerion's cunt, loves to hear the sound of his name moaned from Aerion's lips.
He also doesn't tell them that it's made all the more tolerable when the King himself joins. When he and Baelor work together to take Aerion apart. When they fuck while Aerion rides Dunk's face. Or when Baelor, exhausted from the day's events, comes just to watch.
It's not a bad life. Much better than living in the hedges. Sure there are skirmishes and rebellions and the small subject of Aerion being truly, completely mad, but it is well worth the trouble.
And that Dunk would tell them.