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The Laughing Storm, heir to Storms End, was not meeting the eyes of a mere hedge knight across the crowded pavilion. Dunk was sure it was some of those lofty ideals that used to make Ser Arlan give him a clout in the ear, making him think the blue-eyed lord to be was watching him. If nothing else, the man was too deep in his cups to pay attention to every knight who came to sup at his table. Dunk himself had seen Lyonel take down at least half a dozen cups of what seemed to be a sweet Arbour red, judging by the scarlet liquid the stag was spilling across the table when he gestured too wildly.
And yet, as the knights headed back to their own pavilions for the evening, hoping to sleep off the flagons of wine they drained before the lists the next day, Dunk couldn't help but feel the weight of Lyonel’s gaze settle on him again. He rose to make his polite exit, but there was barely a flick of the nobleman’s wrist, the barest gesture that made it clear Dunk was being summoned to the head table.
Lyonel was bookended by a handsome, dark-haired man who seemed to be some distantly related Baratheon, given his regal features and a sweet-looking blonde woman who had less than subtly been trying to ease herself into the Laughing Storm’s lap. The moment Dunk approached, Lyonel dismissed them both with another flick of his hand, giving a strange sense of intimacy despite still being in the most visible spot of the pavilion, and all almost seven feet of Dunk planting himself across the table from Lyonel.
The man seemed more pleased than anything that the huge knight had responded so quickly to his nonverbal summons, his smile was broad and bordering on flirtatious as he drained another cup before gesturing to the now-empty chair on his left.
“Take a seat, Ser..?”
The question hung in the air between them as Dunk dropped into the chair with all the grace of an aurochs in an armoury.
“Ser Dunk.”
“Of?”
“Just Ser Dunk.”
The Baratheon man’s moniker became clear at that moment as he burst into raucous laughter, he nearly lost the crown of antlers that adorned his head; they slid crookedly to one side, and Dunk’s hand shot out to catch them before the gilded points could do any real damage. This cut Lyonel’s guffawing short as his eyes trailed from the hedge knight's large hand all the way back up to Dunk’s now flushed and apologetic face.
Ser Arlan had taught him sword and the ideals of being a knight, with protecting the weak and innocent, but never whether or not he was allowed to touch the nobility when they were drunkenly going to be impaled on their own antlers or what pretty words to say when he was pinned down under the piercing blue gaze of such a highborn knight.
Before Dunk could begin his fumbling attempt at an apology, Lyonel simply plucked the antlers from his own head and set them atop Dunk’s with a lopsided grin as he reached for another flagon of wine to pour for them both.
“Now you’ll really need to mind your head among the hedges, Ser Dunk.”
Dunk wasn’t sure how long they spoke. Well, the Laughing Storm spoke, mostly regaling the hedge knight with tales of his daring deeds and other dalliances, the kind that made Dunk flush redder than even the sour Dornish wine in his cup. But when he finally dragged his eyes away from the Baratheon sat before him, sat close, so close Dunk could have tasted the words on the man’s very breath, they seemed to be utterly alone in the pavilion.
Prying eyes, ambitious knights and fawning lesser lords had conceded that Lyonel had no interest in anyone but the mountain of a man claiming to be a hedge knight and had left the pair to whatever private conversation or more they seemed to be intent on having.
“I had better retire for the evening, Ser. I thank you for your hospitality and…”
“No.”
The Laughing Storm cut off Dunk’s attempt at pleasantries with the easy confidence of a man who always got exactly what he wanted.
“My private chambers are through there.”
A gesture to the rear section of the pavilion, separated by cloth of gold and the stag of House Baratheon emblazoned upon it.
“I shall require you and my antlers in there. Now, Ser Dunk.”
Lyonel rose with the collected grace of a man who had never tasted a drop of wine, perfectly in control at all times despite the alcohol and stepped around the table, not even sparing the still-shocked hedge knight a backwards glance. No one ever refused an invite from the heir to Storm’s End, not if they had any sense left in their heads.
And despite Dunk being the lunk he was, thick as a castle wall, even he knew he would not be leaving that pavilion before sunup. His legs trembled faintly, helping him lumber past the table as his head swam from the fine Dornish vintage Lyonel had encouraged him to consume.
There was no hope of sobering up when he pushed aside the golden cloth, ducking slightly to allow the antlered crown to ease through the space with him without tearing any of the fine fabrics and saw Lyonel Baratheon stripping out of his clothes, revealing slightly tanned, flushed flesh, the dark hair sprawling across the man’s chest and down his stomach.
Dunk’s eyes followed it to where more dark hair peeked out of the edge of the man’s breeches, giving the hedge knight a strange, tight feeling in his own gut. One he had not felt since the girls in Lannisport had tried to teach him how to kiss, pretty little things perched on tables just to reach his mouth and feeling too delicate too breakable beneath Dunk’s huge hands. He did not think Lyonel Baratheon would break in his hands, the knight was clearly strong, and he felt the urge to reach out and feel the muscles under the stag’s skin for himself.
But Dunk was both inexperienced and shy when it came to matters of the flesh and found himself lingering awkwardly, simply staring at the Laughing Storm, who now let out another chuckle at the hedge knight's hesitation.
“Does the sight of me undressed not please you, Ser Dunk?”
“No! Of course it does, Ser I just.. I..”
Words failed him, and Dunk made a vague gesture to himself.
“You have not lain with a man before, I presume.”
A deeper flush burned across Dunk’s cheeks, and Lyonel paused. His fingers were toying with the laces of his own breeches as he closed the gap between himself and Dunk, his initial plans not stopped but slowed in the face of such innocence.
“Have you lain with anyone?”
The question didn’t sound as accusing as when the girls at the dockside mocked him for staining his small clothes when one of them tried to put her hand down there, but still, Dunk was embarrassed by how clearly he did not belong in Lyonel’s world.
“I have, just, never anyone high born, Ser.”
“I promise my cock likes attention just the same as someone lowborn, now may I undress you?”
Dunk found it easier not to try speaking again and just nodded mutely, letting his arms hang loosely at his sides as Lyonel removed the antlers and took Dunk’s shirt over his head almost too swiftly. He felt almost overexposed as the heir to Storm’s End began trailing those strong, warm hands down the smooth plains of Dunk’s chest, paler and much more hairless than the Laughing Storm’s broad chest, but the noises the man was making did not suggest he was disappointed by the discovery.
Lyonel’s hands dipped lower, and Dunk visibly shivered as the other knight's fingers teased at his roughspun breeches, a caress that slipped between the hedge knight's legs and made the stag grin when he let out a low groan from somewhere in his throat.
“Seems the Seven Above blessed you with much more than just height, Ser.”
There was a laugh, but not mocking or cruel, a genuinely pleased sound that rumbled through Lyonel’s chest as he fondled Dunk through the material for another few moments before he simply pulled the hedge knight’s cock free, stroking it like this was an entirely normal interaction meanwhile Dunk’s head was spinning from the wine, the unknown social expectations as well as the throbbing pleasure in his now hard cock.
“Relax.”
Half a purr, half a command as Lyonel gripped Dunk’s hip with his free hand and steered the man back towards his luxurious bed, laden with furs and silks, just begging to have a handsome knight pushed down on them for the Laughing Storm to enjoy.
And he did just that, taking Dunk off guard so the man landed with a soft grunt that sound became a moan when Lyonel’s hand found between his legs once more, stroking with poise that spoke to having bedded half a hundred knights at tourneys just like this all over the Seven Kingdoms. Well, perhaps not in The North, Dunk had heard there it was never warm enough to undress, and men took their pleasures through furs rather thanon top of them.
But any wonderings about the strange customs of others soon left Dunk’s mind as his hips bucked into Lyonel’s hand, a needy sound leaving his parted lips, surprisingly high and keening for such a large man. The pleasure from his own hand had been a familiar companion, but the stag seemed to have a much better sense for teasing the sensation out of his body, backing off whenever Dunk seemed to get too excited, then taking him to the brink again over and over.
Lyonel’s slightly heavy breathing, the soft clink of his golden stag earring, the scent of warm spice and wine and something deeply masculine. Everything about the Baratheon was assaulting Dunk’s senses, leaving him close to overwhelmed in the desperate urge to drown himself in every part of the highborn lord.
Dunk barely held himself back from making a mess all over the man’s hand and expensive silk bedding as a strangled “Ser!” blurted out, and thankfully, Lyonel removed his hand, giving Dunk a moment to settle down and not behave like a green boy seeing his first maid.
“I should like to bed you now, Ser Duncan…”
The fuller version of Dunk’s name, coupled with a searing kiss where Lyonel’s lips crashed into his, left him even more breathless. It was like he could taste the power searing across the stag’s tongue, intoxicating and tempting as it bloomed in his mouth.
“Ser…”
“You don’t want it?”
“No, no, I do I just, I just need a moment.”
Dunk lay back, staring up at the golden, star-covered, draped roof of the pavilion, feeling deeply out of place when he should be lying beneath his elm looking up to the stars, he even briefly considered leaving despite the aching need in his cock. However, the moment his eyes shifted and met the burning blue set of Baratheon, all desire to leave escaped him like smoke.
A boldness overtook his nerves, whether the wine or the primal desire, Dunk couldn’t say, but in a blink he had Lyonel stripped of his breeches and had finally freed the man’s half-hard cock. Soft black curls framed the base of the length and a slick of precome across the head was caught in the candlelight. A new flush overcame the hedge knight this time all shame had left him and only lustful desire remained.
His head dipped low, and he took Lyonel’s cock into his mouth, his tongue lapping at the sensitive head and tasting the man with a faint groan. The stag’s fingers tangled in Dunk’s hair, and he was briefly grateful for his earlier scrub in the river as the highborn man gripped the strands tight and pushed his head down, rocking slowly into Dunk’s willing mouth with more self-control than either man expected.
Lyonel fucked himself into Dunk’s mouth, even pushing into the knight’s throat several times, almost getting off on having power over such a huge strong man but he knew he wanted to claim every part of the hedge knight not just fill his belly with come. It took every scrap of his willpower to pull back from those spit-slick lips and reach for the oil beside his bed rather than just give in to his impending orgasm.
“Lay back, you need to be prepared for me.”
The oil was faintly scented and a soft golden colour as Lyonel let it drip over his fingers, before he knelt between the hedge knight’s legs, spreading them wider and easing one up toward’s Dunk’s chest. With his clean hand the stag returned to stroking Dunk’s cock but at a much more leisurely pace not chasing pleasure but more encouraging him to relax as the knight's slick fingers found the tight ring of muscle between his legs and began to tease the sensitive flesh there. Before long Dunk settled enough to allow them to slip inside him, the oil and Lyonel’s skilled touch making the strange sensation entirely painless and even added to his pleasure.
Before long, he had taken four of the Laughing Storm’s fingers and Dunk was moving his body instinctively between the hand on his cock and the fingers inside him, moaning wantonly like they were in some brothel rather than at a tourney. Somehow, Dunk found he didn’t care he just wanted to feel Lyonel, all of him, coupled in the bed and drowning in euphoria.
Thankfully for him, he didn’t have to wait long.
Lyonel Baratheon had shown extreme patience and control all evening, but at his heart, the man was a hedonist and he could no longer deny himself the bliss of taking Dunk. Especially not with the knight laid out before him panting faintly, legs spread, thick cock leaking onto his pale stomach and already looking utterly debauched.
The sound of heated flesh connecting when the Laughing Storm finally bottomed out inside Dunk was barely audible over the pleasure-filled groans of the two knights, both of them savouring the sensation before the stag began to thrust, chasing an end to the prolonged denial of their foreplay.
Breath mingled together with moans as Dunk chased Lyonel’s mouth in a clumsy, desperate kiss, tasting every bit of the Laughing Storm’s highborn nobility reduced to baser urges in that moment. Spiced Dornish wine, power and something that was all Lyonel were a heady combination splashed across his lowborn palate, but he consumed them all as a man half-starved.
The hedge knight’s hands roughly gripped the stag’s sides, strong fingers squeezing lithe muscle, marking flesh with little round bruises that darkened in mere moments and became visible even in the soft candlelit bedchamber. He pulled Lyonel closer, forcing the man to maintain the aggressive pace until Dunk was seeing stars.
This time, they didn't stop.
The stag practically bellowed a rutting call as he coated Dunk’s insides with his release, the pleasure overwhelming him until stars, not just the ones stitched in the pavilion overhead, danced across his vision. He cried out again when the hedge knight reached his own climax and the come spurted out across Dunk’s pale stomach as his innermost muscles tightened around Lyonel’s cock.
Sweaty, tangled limbs and shaking breaths interspersed with moans coloured the air between the two men, and neither of them seemed in a hurry to disengage. The Laughing Storm lived up to his moniker and chuckled lowly between almost too tender kisses lavished up the column of Dunk’s throat. His teeth scraped skin, dragging out every last ounce of pleasure from the man beneath him, until Dunk let loose a rather lowborn barrage of curses as the overstimulation set in.
Lyonel finally relented and eased out of Dunk, smirking at the slick mess that leaked from his new favourite passtime even if it stained the silks they were laid upon. He was sure his serving men would spread all sorts of gossip around the tourney when they came to clear the mess at sunup, but the stag couldn’t have cared less.
He dropped onto his back beside Dunk on the sheets, grinning and dishevelled as the colour slowly rose up the other knight's neck and splashed delicately across his cheeks when their eyes met, deep brown and sparkling blue, just barely lit by the last of the candles.
“Ser Lyonel… I..”
Fear. Something close to shame. Realisation of what he had just done with the nobelman, these all hit Dunk in a flood, but the Baratheon knight reached across to cup his cheek almost tenderly and smiled, softer, more genuine than his usual rakish charm.
“Ser Dunk, worry not, we are but men doing as men do. There is no shame in indulging.”
Even as he spoke, his hands caressed Dunk’s chest in an almost possessive fashion.
“Should we meet in the lists tomorrow, I shan’t go so easy on you, I cannot have Lord Ashford saying the laughing storm shamed himself by being unhorsed in the first tilt. I always have the last laugh.”
Another laugh and Lyonel glanced over at Dunk, pleased to see some of the panic had left the man’s expression, and he even caught the edge of a smile playing on the hedge knight’s lips.
“On the morrow then, Ser, we shall see who the Seven Above favour.”