Work Text:
“Say it,” Dunk hisses into Aerion’s ear, tightening his grip in the man’s—no, the boy’s, he may have reached of age but he had the temper of a rotten child—hair as he bares him to their audience. Pain lances through him with every movement. It only brings him some pleasure that Aerion too spits blood.
“I—” Aerion gasps then grits his teeth. This is harder than yielding, for this hot-blooded, arrogant cunt. Dunk understands this. He also understands humiliation, as stupid as others may erroneously consider him to be. His goodness lies in the mud with Aerion’s helmet for now, crushed under hooves and boots, so Dunk kicks Aerion’s legs wide until he’s stumbling. He’s saved by the grace of Dunk yanking him up by the hair so hard that some of it tears.
It is then that Aerion’s scent pierces through the sludge of the fight, an unmistakably earthy and burnt thread that couldn’t come from the rain. It finds Dunk and curls into his senses. It invites him, lets him know.
Unbelievable.
The scent is not intoxicating. No, it’s fucking infuriating. Had all this been because of— because Tanselle had the misfortune of aggravating a bitch in heat?
“Say it,” Dunk repeats, louder, ignoring it. Trying to. He’s filled with nothing but adrenaline and hate and his blood runs hot with it. Runs south with it, suggests to him there’s another way to teach the little lizard a lesson. Once Dunk’s brain twigs onto the idea, he can’t let it go. It would be so simple.
Aerion squirms, trying to free himself and Dunk shoves a thigh between his legs to trap him and—
“I withdraw my accusation,” Aerion shouts but it’s too late because animal instinct has taken over and Dunk bares his teeth, no longer tasting his own blood but Aerion’s call. He yanks Aerion’s head to the side, ignoring the yelp as he stares at the column of bruised skin.
“What the—” Aerion starts and before even Dunk can catch up with what his own body is doing, his teeth pierce into flesh. Aerion screams and tries to move but Dunk has him trapped, the fury of their clash still pounding in his heart. A lesson. The boy needs a lesson. Dunk’s mouth floods with blood as on the field, in front of the hungry crowd, in front of honourable knights, in front of the lords, he claims Aerion Targaryen’s impending heat for himself.
Strangely, Dunk isn’t immediately beheaded. He throws Aerion to the ground to deal with his bleeding neck and stumbles off the field, eager to find somewhere to collapse.
Shortly after, Baelor looks at him through his helm and makes the fatal mistake of beckoning Raymun to remove it. Dunk swears he sees humour twinkle in his eyes before the flame extinguishes completely.
“Thanks for the laugh,” Baelor mutters before the gods take him and selfishly, Dunk wishes the rest of the Targaryens were there to hear it. Now, he’s pretty sure this week will end with his castration at best, his body broken and fed alive to the hogs at worst.
Yet, neither happens.
Dunk faints on the straw floor and wakes up in a clean, large room. Lyonel’s leaning back in a chair at his bedside, debating the finer details of primae noctis with Raymun. When he sees Dunk awake and alert, Lyonel grins wide.
Dunk sits up and though his body is sore, he isn’t as battered as he thought he’d be. Like he’s been out for a while, or someone with access to real medicine has treated him. Likely both.
“My boy,” Lyonel claps Dunk’s shoulder, hitting a bruise. Dunk winces but it doesn’t hurt as much as it should. “We were just talking about you.”
“I don’t doubt many people are,” Dunk mumbles and Lyonel snorts while Raymun scoots his chair closer to Dunk.
“My cousin left me,” Raymun says. “Took the tent too. I’ve been telling ‘em you’ll need me by your side when you wake as I heal so I’d appreciate it if you told them the same. I’ll tell you, the beds here have been impressing the missus.”
Dunk blinks. Before he can ask Raymun who this missus is, Lyonel says, “Maekar won’t have your head on a spike. There’s some good news.”
“Can’t have Aerion going any madder than he already is,” Raymun adds and a ball of lead drops in Dunk’s gut. “He’s been kicking up a right storm. Tried to take a knife to whatshisname’s neck when he was told killing you won’t make it stop.”
Dunk flops back onto his pillows and stares up at the silk canopy.
The weight of what he did crushes him. He had hoped it had just been a fever dream. That he had not been stupid enough to claim a noble’s heat in front of a crowd. Maekar will keep him alive just long enough to complete his duty to Aerion so that his son doesn’t grow more wrathful, claimed but unfulfilled. As soon as Aerion’s heat is over, Dunk’s sure there’s a butcher blade with his name on it. He could run, he thinks. He should. But Aerion’s blood filled his mouth and the traces linger on his tongue. Heat simmers low in him.
As it is, an image has already begun to creep in the corner of his mind. He did not take to whoring as enthusiastically as Arlan did but Dunk, for all his lack of grace, had managed to bed here and there. Despite this being the first time he’s ever been idiotic enough to claim a heat, his body knows what to anticipate. And anticipate it does. Dunk remembers the ragged, angry expression on Aerion’s face after he battered him, the impending glee on the little rat’s face as he commanded his men to pull his teeth, and his mouth goes dry. His fingers tingle with the phantom memory of baring Aerion to the crowd and marking him and his cock twitches.
Dunk groans to no one in particular. Lyonel pats his shoulder again and says in a voice just a hair above a whisper that he’ll sneak Dunk out.
“It’ll have to be after you mount the bitch, of course,” Lyonel mutters and Dunk knows. Everyone knows. An unfulfilled claim is less than ideal.
It’s a mutually destructive thing.
Egg tries to kill Aerion. Daeron relays this to Dunk and Dunk’s well aware he cannot laugh. Not in front of Daeron at least, so he settles on a trite, “Did he say why?”
“Maekar didn't ask,” Daeron shrugs. “But I think the little twerp means to defend your honour.”
Dunk frowns. He fiddles with his bedsheets, staring at the fading bruises on his hands. He won’t admit it to Lyonel, but the maester overseeing his health is leagues above the old crone under Baratheon’s employ. “Is he to be punished?”
“Perhaps for not succeeding.” Daeron’s feet are propped up on Dunk’s bed, boots on and all. He levels Dunk with a sharp stare. “Do you still mean to take my brother?”
“I refused Maekar,” Dunk says. That Maekar asked at all came as a surprise. “Egg made for a good squire, but I cannot keep him on.”
No more princes. Even if Maekar offered him greatness. Baelor took Dunk’s will as he died.
Daeron arches a brow.
“That’s not the brother I speak of,” he says and Dunk exhales, the tips of his ears heating. Maekar had told him Aerion had been taking ice baths to stave off unpleasant symptoms. It was all Maekar would speak on the topic and for that, Dunk was grateful. But he knows he’s being kept here instead of made to heal on the roadside because he’s needed to right what he did. Dunk wonders what it would take to convince Egg to try and kill his brother once again. Probably not much.
“Does he mean to be taken?” Dunk asks in return.
Daeron’s eyes drop to his lap. They remain there for a second and Dunk folds his hands over the sheets. Daeron drags his eyes upwards until they reach Dunk’s again, and merely smiles.
Later, a burning fire in his veins keeps Dunk awake.
It’s been four days since the tourney and he’s stripped raw from how much he’s had to get himself off.
His body has been promised something and it’s yet been delivered. He jerks himself, tries to fuck an oiled hand but it doesn’t work, not until he gives in and imagines that it’s Aerion who’s wrapped around him, hot and yielding and clawing at Dunk to go harder. Shame floods him but he can’t help it, can’t help thinking about what it would take to humble that haughty face.
He could do it, he knows.
It wouldn’t take much strength to put Aerion on his belly and pin his head down, rut him like an animal, knot him. Wouldn’t take much either for Dunk to press his fingers into the bite mark as he fucks him, adding to Aerion’s pain, his pleasure. Not that the prince would whelp a bastard for a low born, but Dunk could easily put Aerion through the inconvenience of having to rid himself of unwanted get. Or maybe Aerion would, would let Dunk breed him, would let Dunk humiliate him the same way Aerion very vocally threatens to humiliate others—
Dunk comes over his hand with a low moan which, by the grace of the gods, does not shape into any particular word or name. He slumps in his bed, his head clearing but only in fragments, enough to be aware that the hunger in him remains.
He doesn’t even know where he’d start to relieve this. Knock on Aerion’s door, apologize? Ask him politely for a fuck so that they can be on their merry way? No? Perhaps a mutual gelding instead?
Dunk envisions Aerion sticking him with a dagger. Maybe he should let him. Lust can be as strong as longing and if Dunk’s in this state, he doubts Aerion is far behind. Probably pissed beyond reason too. Briefly, Dunk wonders if Aerion would chop his own dick off, should it accidentally point toward him.
Fuck.
He presses the heel of his palm against his brow to ease the impending ache before belatedly remembering it’s got his spend all over it.
It is, in the end, not Dunk that has to seek Aerion out.
He goes to sleep on the fifth day, after the maester declares him fairly fit minus his left leg, which'll give him some trouble for some time. He wakes up to a knife pressed against the jut of his throat and a body heaving on top of him.
“Undo it,” comes the hiss.
The moonlight illuminates a column of pale skin and there, flanked by violent purple and blue and deep green skin, sits the dark imprint of Dunk’s teeth. Dunk’s eyes slide to Aerion’s face, partially obscured by shadows. The young man looks like a dragon, eyes overbright and nostrils flaring. His scent rolls off him in waves and Dunk learns he hasn’t been the only one wallowing in desire.
It must have killed Aerion, to constantly crave a big oaf like him. Aerion presses the blade further. It’s the dull end of it. Dunk laughs.
“You absolute horsefu—” Aerion starts and Dunk interrupts him by surging up and tackling him, slamming him so hard against the mattress that a slat below cracks. It doesn’t slow Aerion down. He tries to knee Dunk in the balls and when Dunk intercepts it, he uses the distraction to punch him. Dunk spits to the side, his face stinging and when Aerion tries to go for him again, he grabs his wrists and twists them, relishing in the soft crack of them. They wrestle again, Aerion not one to give up. He puts up a fight and Dunk hates that the physicality of it stirs a fire in him, one that he’s been trying so hard to douse.
The knife clatters to the floor and Dunk shoves his hand under Aerion’s shirt. Aerion shouts and twists away but Dunk manages to dig out the other two daggers he had shoved in his waistband, tossing them to the side. Dunk grabs Aerion’s right wrist then left, wrenching both above his head and pinning them under one palm. Aerion tries to kick at him and Dunk slams his left knee down on Aerion’s thigh, relishing the grunt of pain he gets in return. He jams his right thigh between Aerion’s legs, more to trap him than anything.
They both freeze. Dunk looks down between them, then back up at Aerion.
“Don’t you dare,” Aerion hisses and it rushes into his head that it’s been days of repressing the need to fuck the man below him stupid, so Dunk dares, pushing his thigh further against Aerion. Aerion bites down on his lower lip so hard it splits an old wound and bleeds. Dunk tries to imagine the impetuous prince kicking up a storm because he couldn’t find relief and has at least some sense not to laugh.
He exhales instead, amused. His left leg pangs where he’d been speared and he shifts it off Aerion’s thigh. Dunk doesn’t miss the small sigh of relief.
“Have you been hard since you snuck in?” Dunk asks. Aerion throws him a dirty glare and struggles for a few seconds and then it’s not a struggle, it’s his hips twitching.
“Fuck,” Aerion says and to Dunk’s surprise, he concedes an answer. “It’s been like this for days.”
Only by the grace of the ice baths did Aerion have enough of a mind to crawl into Dunk’s bed to threaten him, Dunk supposes.
“You don’t know how to touch yourself?” Dunk cocks his head. Heat radiates off Aerion in both scent and temperature. Dunk’s half hard too. Has been since he woke to the blade. There’s no use hiding it. His hands had brushed against Aerion’s stomach when wrestling out his daggers and all he can think of now is how deep he’ll reach when he takes him.
Shit.
If.
Dunk hides a cough under a bemused huff. “Or you’re just used to Daeron doing it for you?”
Hot anger flashes across Aerion’s face and he roars as he thrashes, surging against Dunk’s hold. He snaps his head to the side and tries to bite down on Dunk’s forearm.
Dunk yanks it back just in time and then the anger is in him too because for all they blamed him, none of this would have happened if Aerion wasn’t such a fucking brat. His reflexes are quick and he manages to cut through the melee. Dunk slams his hand against Aerion’s neck and squeezes.
“Behave,” Dunk commands and Aerion’s eyes go wide.
He tries to claw at Dunk’s face but Dunk draws back, tightening his grip around Aerion’s throat. It’s dwarfed under his hand. Frail. All of Dunk’s blood flows south.
A vein bulges at Aerion’s temple as he struggles, tries to tug at Dunk’s hand, arching away and then toward until Dunk realizes Aerion is rutting against his thigh. He groans, rolls his hips, seeking more friction through their braies. Aerion’s lower half arches up and then he’s slapping Dunk’s forearm, a plea in his eyes that Dunk’s seen only once before as he desperately mouths out I yield.
Dunk lets go.
Aerion wheezes, clutching at his own throat as air rushes in. Dunk looms over him as he tries to catch his breath. Some of the fight has left Aerion’s eyes; the front of his breeches are damp. Dunk’s eyebrows raise. He opens his mouth to speak but then he tastes the scent of Aerion’s spend on his tongue. His own breathing’s gone shallow, Dunk realizes.
“I did touch myself,” Aerion says, trying to take as big gulps of air as possible. “It wasn’t enough.”
“No one’s marked you before?” Dunk asks, painfully curious and Aerion cuts him a hard look.
“Some have tried. You’re the only one that’s managed to live to actually do it.”
There’s enough defeat in Aerion’s voice that Dunk decides to ease up, just a little. He sits back in his haunches, freeing Aerion but still watching his movements.
“I can’t undo it,” Dunk says. Aerion lets out an undignified snort.
“I would ask you what the fuck you were thinking, but I know you don’t do that,” he says. He doesn’t get up. Just lays there and stares at the canopy.
Dunk tastes the embers in the air and watches as a red flush creeps up Aerion’s face. The moon’s grown brighter. Dunk would be tempted to light a lamp if he was not absolutely certain that Aerion would try and stick him with it.
“A mouth on you.” Dunk tries to will his erection away, at least partially, but it’s a lost cause. In their tussle, the front laces of Aerion’s nightshirt had come undone, revealing pale, bruised skin. Marks from the fight. Now, he has the urge to leave more. “I suppose it’s my right to shut you up then, isn’t it?”
Aerion lolls his head and speaks more to the ceiling than to Dunk.
“I hate that I’m in heat,” Aerion says. “And I hate that I want to fuck a low born.”
Dunk pauses. The words ring in his head.
“You want it,” he repeats. Aerion hadn’t said need.
“You really are a lumbering, good for nothing imbecile, aren’t you—” Aerion starts and Dunk shoves two fingers into his mouth, just to shut him up. He thinks for a moment, weighs his ideas, then leans in, ignoring the indignant sounds.
“Here’s what,” Dunk says into Aerion’s ear. His fingers are slick with spit now, some of it trickling down the side of Aerion’s mouth. “I bit you. I claimed your heat. We can’t undo that. I’m sure you’ve spent a pretty coin trying to figure out how. I saw the maester had a broken finger when he visited me today, so I suppose you’ve not been successful.”
Aerion muffles out something that sounds vaguely like dogs fuck your mother and Dunk continues.
“Everyone saw what happened, so there’s no question of dignity. I think I only need to knot you once, anyway. Any more than that and I may hang myself instead.”
Crack. Dunk cries out in pain and yanks his fingers from Aerion’s mouth. Aerion hasn’t bitten them off but pain shoots up none the less. Aerion props himself up on an elbow, brows pinched, eyes drifting down to Dunk’s lap. His mouth parts and the tip of his tongue darts out, wetting his bottom lip. Naked hunger sits on his face. Dunk reaches for his own cock, squeezes it through his sleeping breeches.
“I should kill you,” Aerion says and Dunk grins.
They light a lamp, in the end. It’s Aerion who does so, insisting that Dunk may paw at him poorly if he doesn’t. Dunk rolls his eyes but lets Aerion fire the wick as he slides off the bed and peels off his own shirt.
“You don’t have to do that,” Aerion mutters but his eyes don’t leave Dunk’s chest. His gaze drops and his mouth parts and it’s different from the way Daeron had leered at Dunk. That was amusement; this is a thirst.
“You’ll overheat,” Dunk points out. “Don’t tell me you’re self-conscious.”
Aerion snaps out of his haze, expression pinched as he reaches for the hem of his shirt. He drags it up slowly then tosses the thing like it’s personally offended him.
In the low light, Dunk can take full stock of Aerion. There’s bruising around his cheekbones, a cut above his eye. Dark fingerprints have started to form around Aerion’s neck and the bite mark stands out stark on his skin. Dunk’s tongue grows heavy, his mouth already dry.
“Breeches,” he says without thinking and Aerion looks like he’s reconsidering the whole thing. Dunk approaches the bed again, pushing down his own pants. Aerion’s eyes widen as Dunk kicks them off and sets one knee on the bed.
“I will not lay under a hedge knight,” Aerion blurts and Dunk can smell his heat in spades. Dunk knows how to be tender. Has a preference for it, even, but he has to be drunk on whatever Aerion puts off because all he can think of is fulfilling his claim. He dared to bite a prince in front of a crowd, in front of his kin. There would be no use turning shy and retiring now. Dunk’s head goes light as he reaches for Aerion.
“Ride me then,” Dunk says. It doesn’t matter. He’ll be taking Aerion regardless. Dunk grabs one of Aerion’s ankles and yanks. “But I’ll need to enter you somehow. Breeches.”
Dunk gets a kick to his head instead, right against a bruise on his jaw. Before he can react, he’s hit in the face with a bundle of cloth.
The seduction was the fight and now, Dunk’s focus narrows down solely on consummation. He tosses Aerion’s pants to the side and descends.
They don’t kiss, not in the way lovers do. It’s more tongue and teeth as Dunk tastes his way down the side of Aerion’s neck. Aerion’s even smaller when he’s naked and when he twists a hand in Dunk’s hair, Dunk drops the full weight of his torso and pins him, just because he can. He licks at a bruise below Aerion’s collarbone, tasting salt and salve as he elicits a hiss. Aerion tastes good, though it might just be the heat muddling Dunk’s brain. He wants more, so he seeks it.
Aerion’s legs fall apart. His arousal is heady in the air. Dunk takes a nipple between his teeth and pinches hard. A fist hits the side of his head. He smooths his tongue over the sensitive skin in apology, sucking it gently as his hands span Aerion’s rib cage. It wouldn’t take much for Dunk to crush the bone and he’s never been more aware of it than now. He sucks harder as his hands’ journey continues, one of them making it between Aerion’s legs. He brushes a barely healed wound from where he had stabbed Aerion, presses a thumb on it.
Aerion arches upwards and Dunk slides his hand further, feels the mess that’s already between his legs. It’s wet, wetter than anyone Dunk’s had before and Aerion looks downright livid about it.
“Hey,” Aerion calls but Dunk’s transfixed with what he feels out with his fingers. He could slip in easily like this. He tests it, pressing his index in just the slightest amount. Maybe it'd be snug, but Aerion is pliant enough that Dunk bets he could fit now if he wanted to. Maybe he’d even find enough give to knot now. “Hey, you big bastard!”
Dunk pauses out of courtesy though he barely listens. He flattens his tongue against Aerion’s skin, just to piss him off, and hums.
“You said I could ride you,” Aerion grumbled. Dunk huffs against his chest and looks up at him. Aerion tries to tug at his hair and Dunk raises his eyebrows, unphased. He is a man of his word, he supposes.
Dunk grabs Aerion’s waist and flips them without preamble, bucking up his hips to get Aerion situated correctly. Aerion squeezes his thighs around Dunk’s waist in warning though for what, Dunk cannot tell. Every movement of Aerion’s is a warning to the point where they become background noise.
He’s not surprised Aerion wants to rush. Both of them have been aroused for days, painfully so. It’s just a shame he can’t taste Aerion properly before they get to this part.
—that is a dangerous thought. He can't get so greedy over a man who made his blood boil mere days ago, Dunk tells himself. But to see Aerion naked and rising to his knees, chest rising and falling rapidly as he reaches back for Dunk, is something else.
“Go slow.” Dunk’s warning curls into a whimper as Aerion wraps a hand around him. Aerion rolls his eyes.
“Shut up,” Aerion suggests as he lines the two of them up. “Let’s get this over with.”
Dunk had felt a degree of fulfillment on the field, pulling Aerion’s helmet off and walloping him. It’s somehow more gratifying to see Aerion suck in a sharp breath the instant they connect, the blush on his face spreading to his chest and his shoulders as rapid as a flame. Warmth spreads in Dunk’s chest. It’s been quite some time since he’s had the spark of pleasure that comes with first pressing into someone. Dunk chews his bottom lips and settles his hands on Aerion’s hips, eager to help. Pushing his hips up, Dunk sinks further into the wet heat, his exhales laboured.
They both exhale some variant of “fuck” at the same time. Aerion’s head drops between his shoulders and his brow pinches as he tries to take more of Dunk but he’s tight, maybe even too tight, no matter how much his body wants to be filled.
“Let me—” Dunk says, rolling his hips up. He manages to seat himself a margin further but Aerion remains difficult. Dunk should have been allowed to touch him more, he thinks, really work him open before they did this. “Maybe if you relax—”
“I’m trying to, you stupid—oh fuck,” Aerion snips and tries to lift up by a fraction, then drops down again. They let out twin groans and Dunk doesn’t know how much more of it he can take. He likes the heat of Aerion’s body and the way it’s dwarfed against his own. He likes that Aerion still wears the marks of being bested in battle. He likes the tiny whimpers that fall from Aerion’s lips as he struggles to make Dunk fit.
It’s overwhelming. He needs more and at this rate, it’ll be dawn before he’s even fully seated let alone sated.
“My lord,” Dunk calls and Aerion’s eyes snap to his.
Immediately, the other man can tell what he’s thinking and Dunk ignores the indignant threats as he sits up. They’re close, all of a sudden, and Aerion tries to draw back but Dunk cups the back of his head and pulls him into the crook of his neck.
“What are you doing?” Aerion asks, breathing ragged and pauses. Then he buries his nose in and inhales, distracted enough by the scent that Dunk easily picks up one of Aerion’s arms and swings it over his shoulder.
He wraps his own arm around Aerion, spanning his waist and gripping onto a thigh as teeth begin to skim across the cords of his neck. Dunk circles his other hand around himself to keep them steady where they’re connected. By the time Dunk starts carefully shifting them, moving onto his knees, Aerion is biting him, chasing the taste of his scent. A moan reverberates against Dunk’s skin as he tries to fuck in slow, deep.
Aerion’s body gives easier this way. They both can feel it and Dunk manages to make it in halfway. Sweat beads at Aerion’s temples and Dunk bites down the urge to lick a drop up. Still—
“Aren’t you in heat?” Dunk grunts, giving a testing thrust up with his hips. It’s sharper than he intends and Aerion’s eyes start to roll back in his head.
“I’ll hang you when this is done,” Aerion mumbles, words breaking in pitch. Dunk gives an honest laugh at that which gets Aerion more incensed.
“Move your hips,” Dunk says and Aerion scoffs. “Like you’re—”
“I’m not some virgin you can—fuck,” Aerion moans as Dunk shifts and cants his hips upwards in an attempt to see if there’s more leverage. It’s a very precise form of torture, where Aerion is so wet and the current of his scent so strong that Dunk’s head spins, but through sheer stubborn will, Aerion’s body won’t make way. Dunk’s surrounded by the heat and it aches that he’s yet to completely sheathe himself in it.
“Let me in,” Dunk says, voice lower and firm. Aerion pulls harsh on Dunk’s hair.
“I’m trying,” Aerion retorts, teeth grinding. “You are sized unreasonably.”
Between them, Aerion drips. He’s so hard it looks painful. Aerion’s threat hangs clear in his head but Dunk can’t bring himself to care anymore. He’ll go mad if they continue at this pace.
“Hold on,” he says, lifting Aerion off completely.
“Huh—no, no, where are you—” Aerion starts then yelps in surprise as Dunk upends them once more, dumping Aerion onto the mattress. Before Aerion can say anything, Dunk grabs both his ankles and tosses them over one shoulder, folding Aerion in half as he bears down on him. He enjoys the sight: Aerion, flushed red and wanting. Aerion, yielding. Then Dunk fucks in and god there’s so much more give this way.
Aerion goes slack-jawed, complaints forgotten as Dunk buries himself to the hilt and mutters, “There we go.”
Dunk gives Aerion a fleeting moment to adjust before he withdraws, thrusts forward again. Aerion curses, curls one hand into the sheets and one around Dunk’s wrist as Dunk starts to move in earnest. It’s a steady pace he sets, the bed creaking rhythmically beneath them.
He groans, low, chasing the heat. Now that they’ve made it fit, now that he can feel Aerion down to the root, Dunk’s head swims in the pleasure. It’s better, much better this way. He’s not the only one who thinks so.
Aerion sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to hold back his moans. They come out as whimpers instead as he digs his fingers into the thin skin of Dunk’s wrist, pressing harsh into a bruise. Sharp pain shoots up Dunk’s forearm, spurring him on to pick up his pace.
He watches Aerion’s face, watches him pant. There’s a thin red line on Aerion’s lip from where it’s been healed and Dunk wants to taste it. It’s a recipe for getting his face torn off so he turns his head, bites one of Aerion’s calves instead as he continues to move. Pleasure spreads through his thighs, his belly, his chest, lust shaping into a beast within him that spurs him on.
Heat rises between them, turning the room sweltering.
Aerion’s scent thickens further as he tries to back bite sounds and fails. Little noises punch out of him, pitched high and sweeter than anything Dunk expected out of the wretch. Everything in Dunk wants to lean down and lay claim to the bastard’s reddened lips. He snaps his hips harder, trying to ignore the foolish thought of it, tries instead to reach deeper. Dunk angles and then re-angles again and again with each thrust until Aerion’s eyes fly wide open. Smug satisfaction floods his veins and Dunk makes sure to fuck into the same spot every time and then Aerion is arching, trying to twist away as he comes with a loud cry that rips through the air.
Finally. Dunk works them through it relentlessly as Aerion spills all over himself. He bites his lip, brow pinching. Sweat drips down his back as Dunk rolls his hips in as deep as he can go, jostling an over-sensitive Aerion.
But as much as his body draws tight, as much as the simmering heat has turned into a fire within him, it’s still not enough for Dunk. And if it’s not enough for him, it won’t be enough to break Aerion’s heat. Dunk slows down.
“Isn’t it—” Aerion clenches his teeth. He’s still half-hard and so wet, Dunk wonders how they stayed apart for as long as they did. “You’re still—fuck, if you stop I’ll—”
“Kill me, yeah,” Dunk cuts him off and ignores Aerion’s glare. He feels the same frustration he sees on Aerion’s face. He’s close, teetering on the edge, but unable to fall over. Dunk chews his lip as he slows to a stop, debating if his next words will be worth his head. “This would be better if we mounted the way beasts do.”
Aerion does not try to claw at him, nor does he lash out. Instead he frowns, pouts really but Dunk vanquishes the thought lest he accidentally say it out loud and actually earn his death sentence. Desire rests across Aerion’s face like a gossamer veil, turning his face from that of an arrogant prince to a needy lover.
“I’m not some stupid beast,” Aerion says. The soft pink of his tongue parts briefly as he licks his lips and Dunk feels Aerion tighten around him. He raises his eyebrows.
“Do you not go around claiming to be a dragon?” Dunk says as he pulls out completely, letting Aerion’s legs drop to the side. He hisses, missing the heat already, dripping onto the sheets. But the image of his own suggestion is now seared into his brain. Dunk is nothing if not determined. “It’ll be more comfortable for you.”
Aerion says something but Dunk doesn’t catch it, already turning him over onto his belly and hitching his hips up. It pleases him that the back of Aerion’s thighs are reddened already, pleases him more to see Aerion try to prop himself up onto his palms but falling back on his elbows as soon as Dunk starts to press into him again. It pleases him most that this time, he seats himself in one slide.
Dunk reaches forward and grabs a pillow, nudging it towards Aerion. Aerion has the temerity to throw him a beleaguered look over his shoulder. Dunk shrugs. He withdraws partially and pauses, looking down at Aerion.
Dunk understands now why Aerion did not want to lay beneath him. The heady sense of power that rushes through him at the sight of the smaller, prone body is enough to humiliate anyone who inspires it, let alone a prince.
“Are you going to move?” Aerion complains and Dunk ducks down, sliding in by a fraction as he hovers near Aerion’s face.
Dunk studies Aerion for a moment. Aerion’s eyes are rimmed red and his lips are spit-slick from how much he’s bitten them. He's still panting and he narrows his eyes. “What the hell do you want?”
Heat makes many men stupid.
Aerion’s pretty, Dunk thinks, in a way he’s not quite noticed before. Given, most of their interactions centered around violence, most recently directed to each other, but Aerion is pretty. Dunk doesn’t answer Aerion. Instead he leans in and captures Aerion in a kiss.
Immediately, teeth dig sharp into his lower lip. Dunk tries to tug away but Aerion doesn’t let him and then they’re sliding their tongues together in an approximation of a kiss. The hunger deepens and they moan into each other’s mouths, the vibrations of it reaching their bones. Dunk starts to move again as he licks into Aerion’s mouth and the kiss stutters. Aerion pants against him and Dunk sucks on his lip, runs his tongue over the healing cut as he thrusts. Aerion whines, a high pitched thing and then he suddenly seems to come to his senses. He jerks his head back, tries to spit at Dunk and calls him a lowborn bastard.
Dunk doesn’t falter.
He sits back on his haunches and flattens a palm against the back of Aerion’s head, shoving it into the pillow. Aerion presses back against him and Dunk holds him by his hip with his other hand. His fingers dig deep into Aerion’s flesh as he takes him once more. He’s not as benevolent this time, setting a merciless rhythm, fucking hard into Aerion like he’s trying to reach his throat.
He could in this position, Dunk thinks, and turns the pace bruising.
The headboard taps rapidly against the wall and the sounds Aerion muffles into the pillow get louder and louder. Dunk curls his fingers into his hair and yanks Aerion’s head up, allowing him nowhere to hide his sounds, his curses, his pleas for more that he can’t bite back anymore as he gets screwed out of his mind.
Aerion draws taut like a bow underneath, his back a rigid arch and he lets out a cry. He comes, maybe. Dunk’s too overtaken by the primal urge to claim so he keeps fucking Aerion as his own release starts to build. The legs of the bed scrape against the floor and one of the canopy curtains come undone, falling open as Aerion claws at the sheets, rolling his hips back to meet Dunk.
Dunk drops down, laying flat against Aerion’s back without a pause in his movement, pressing their sweat-slick bodies together. He snakes an arm under Aerion’s shoulders, trapping him and leaving him no choice but to get fucked into the mattress. Aerion lifts his head, twists, and this time it’s less a kiss and more of a filthy slide of their tongues against each other. Dunk drinks it in as Aerion whines into his mouth, broken and sweet, body submitting so well that Dunk could sink in for an eternity.
He’s close. Dunk breaks off the kiss and buries his face against Aerion’s neck, licking at the bite mark. Fingers dig into his hair. Aerion clings onto him as Dunk’s movements turn frantic and Dunk closes his lips over the marred skin. He sucks on it and tips over in his pleasure, Aerion’s moan melting into his own as he swells and knots him.
His world spins.
Dunk groans, grinding forward, unable to see straight as he at last claims Aerion fully, spilling into him. He pants and bites down, bruising Aerion anew. His vision blurs and he aches in a delicious way as the tension releases, flooding him with pleasure. Dunk presses his body hard against Aerion’s, determined to fuse as his hips twitch, determined to get every drop in. Their bodies are entirely congruent and the self-satisfaction that blooms in him is indescribable.
Dunk’s head grows light, clearer than it has felt in days. But not completely.
He has half a mind through his own finish to reach underneath them both and stroke Aerion. Aerion shifts back against him, moving against his lap as Dunk strokes him, squeezes him. He comes all over Dunk’s hand with a haggard cry and a shudder and Dunk eventually manages to slow down, his heart still thundering in his ears.
They lay there for a few moments, Dunk on top of Aerion, bodies locked together. Dunk closes his eyes, noses along the crook of Aerion’s neck and inhales his scent. The embers of it settle into his veins and though his heart is starting to calm down, Dunk knows it’s not the end.
After a time, he decides to show some mercy and roll them onto their sides, biting back a groan at the new friction. Dunk keeps his arm wrapped around Aerion and surprisingly, a very pliant Aerion permits it. To be fair, it’s not like either of them have many options at hand.
“Passable,” Aerion pants and Dunk nips at his ear in a weak reprimand. He hides his smile, because that may as well have been a glowing review from the man.
Just as well, because when it comes time for Dunk to slip out, the heat hasn’t quite left Aerion yet and he straddles Dunk, this time determined to ride him like a charger. Dunk manages to stake his claim repeatedly, each joining as frantic as the last, Aerion’s scent overpowered by his own. Near the end, Dunk’s sure Aerion’s heat has been completely fucked out of him and that he himself is utterly spent, but Aerion looks up at him with a dazed yet haughty expression that has him hard again. No words are exchanged, but there is an understanding.
So even though it has passed, even though Dunk’s finished his claim, he takes Aerion again and again until dawn creeps through the windows.
Later in the day, no one makes eye contact with Dunk with the exception of Lyonel, who doesn’t stop staring at him with his lips pressed together like he’s holding back all the world's laughter. There’s a red tinge to Raymun’s ears which refuses to leave when he stops by Dunk’s room with a basket of fruit and Dunk thinks that it’s a little embarrassing. For Raymun. Being a newlywed and all.
Aerion hadn’t snuck out of Dunk’s room as much as he’d stumbled out loudly, cursing Dunk when he tried to help him. Though apparently not as loud as they had been through the night, and Dunk tells Raymun to shut up when he starts explaining. At least Aerion didn’t slip out while Dunk was asleep. Dunk doesn’t know why it pleased him to wake up with Aerion in his arms, smelling so thoroughly of Dunk, the fresh musk of it drowning out the fire. Nor why it pleased him to see Aerion naked and pliant against him, vulnerable before he woke up and perhaps for a little while after as well.
He chooses not to examine the feeling closer. Instead, he tries to go about his day as normally as he can, even when Maekar talks more to the window than to him. Dunk thanks Maekar for his hospitality and Maekar swallows, jaw clenching.
They’ll be leaving soon, Maekar says in a voice begetting his eagerness to put this all behind him. Dunk almost asks if Aerion is still being sent away but thinks better of it and holds his tongue. Maekar finally looks at him, like he can read Dunk’s mind anyway and is thanking him for the small mercy of not saying anything out loud.
Eventually, he sees Aerion again. It’s by accident. Dunk visits Thunder and Chestnut, determined to spend time around living things who don’t sniff the air around him and look at him with incredulity.
He’s halving an apple for them to share, courtesy of Raymun’s basket, when he hears a door creak. Dunk turns to look but when he sees a familiar shock of white-gold hair, he ducks. Thunder nickers and he tries to gently shush him.
A throat clears in the distance.
“I know you’re here,” Aerion calls, voice laconic. Dunk remains hidden behind his horse. The air is awkward for a heartbeat and Aerion continues. “We leave this evening. My father would rather risk travelling in the dark than you crawling into my bed again.”
You crawled into mine, Dunk wants to say but there’s some smaller battles he needs to concede. This may be one of them. Then Dunk picks up on the implication of Aerion’s words, and his ears warm. He wants to ask why Aerion said ‘again’.
“Where are you going?” Dunk asks instead, drawing up and looking at Aerion over Thunder’s back. Aerion’s standing a lot closer than he thought, just a few feet away. Dunk startles at the proximity and Aerion rolls his eyes.
“None of your business,” Aerion says. He looks Dunk once over. “Stop hunching. It’s pissing me off. Acting all meek and humble like you’re not the reason I have to ride on a cart instead of on my horse.”
Dunk blushes, frowns but straightens his shoulders. He meets Aerion’s half-glare, half-searching look with his own. Oddly, Aerion seems to have more colour about him than usual. Aerion mumbles something that Dunk doesn’t quite hear.
“What was that?” Dunk says. Aerion wears an expression of great suffering and sighs.
“I said,” Aerion says, words stilted. “I didn’t mind it.”
Dunk blinks. The heat’s spread to the back of his neck now. “Really?”
“I won’t be repeating myself,” Aerion replies. Dunk steps around Thunder. Aerion eyes him and remains rooted to the spot as Dunk draws closer. “My next heat will be after two turns of the moon.”
Dunk’s heart beats in his throat. The words turn his mouth dry and Aerion’s nostrils flare. Two turns of the moon. It’d be near his rut, he’s sure. Dunk swallows and Aerion openly watches the jut of his throat move. He’s got to tilt his head back to do so. Aerion exhales and Dunk finds it easier to reconcile him with the man he had pinned underneath him mere hours ago.
He wonders how long he’ll have to carry that memory with him.
“Oh,” Dunk says. He takes another step closer. Aerion still doesn’t move. “And where will you be?”
“Where will you be?” Aerion retorts and though his mouth is set in an imperious pout, there’s a glint in his eye.
Dunk fights a grin. He loses, and Aerion scoffs.