Chapter Text
Aerions POV:
It was the same boring class as always, same old teacher, same material, same textbook things to learn, and there were probably thousands of places Aerion would rather be right now,
Although it's already his second year studying music production and engineering at the Kings Landing Conservatory of Music, he feels like he hasn't learned a thing, which isn’t surprising, considering that he learned most of what he knows about producing from his dad ever since he was little.
If only that man had been a bit more ambitious and continued producing, instead of throwing it all away for his wife and kids, which, at least in Aerion's eyes, are all just stupid morons who are throwing away their life, and just invested a bit more of his life into making music, he could’ve been one of, if not the best producer of all time.
And it would’ve made Aerion's life a lot easier, if his father would’ve been a big name in the music industry, just like the dad of his stupid classmate Vaalar, who by all means wasn't bad at what he's doing, but only got grades that high shoved up his ass because his father is the future owner of Breakspear records and one of the best producers of all time.
If he had the privilege his classmate has, he wouldn’t throw it out the window by making the most generic hits that might chart high, but really are just the same beats with a slightly differing melody and a different singer singing meaningless lyrics. He would’ve gone down in history, as the best of the best, a revolutionary producer, who changed the world of sound forever.
But not being born as the biggest producing nepo baby of all time wasn't going to stop him from achieving his dream. No.
He was just going to keep getting better and better at making music, until he would open his own studio, and beat everyone who only thought of getting in his way.
If only he wasn't sitting in this stupid class right now, where he has learned as much as his brother Aegon would, if they put him in kindergarten again, and which he honestly only attended for the sake of graduating at the top of his class and for a nice look on his resume.
And although he at first firmly believed that he could pick up some new things at KLCM, the past 2 years have proven him otherwise.
Oh, but the things you do for being the best.
While his professor was rambling about sound design again, he started daydreaming.
Of the future he would soon hold in his hand.
His own studio, where he would make music that was actually enjoyable, instead of ear torturing, and about all the fame his name will soon hold.
But unlike his pathetic brother Daeron, who was the equivalent of a madman, he knew that he had to do something, to achieve what he really desired, so instead of destroying his lungs and brain by smoking, he started working.
When he didn’t have classes, he was mostly in his room, experimenting with new ideas he had while zoning out of class, and working on something that would really pave the way into a new era of music. And for the rare times he wasn't there, he was most likely found at the fanciest club he could play at, so that those stupid rich kids, who just go to whatever college their parents want them to go to to submit to them, and follow the dreams they never got to live out, could throw out their money for entry fees of for a club with a DJ who didn’t even care about the crowd.
No, he only cared about what he played, about the bass he could feel thumping in his bones and the melody flowing through his veins.
And although he would much rather be doing either of that tonight, he already promised his stupid professor to go to an event for up incoming producers, where the best of the best would give oh so inspiring durables that they didn’t mean, and where he would be forced to put on a Fassade and act kind all evening to gain connections in the industry.
Well. At least it was better than sitting in this clas, boozing himself to death while thinking about what will soon be.
—later that evening: at the event—
The previous speaker, the manager of some big Popstar he didn’t bother to care about, just finished his speech, with just a final one remaining.
Just a few more minutes he had to sit through, before an evening filled with fake smiles towards the big names, finally truly began. Just one more boring speech about „never giving up“ and „following his goals“ before finally doing something at least slightly useful for his future career.
One last speaker getting up on the podium and making the audience almost fall asleep, and then the main reason his professor told him to attend the event for started.
But as soon as the final speechgiver went on stage, as soon as he saw just who gave the last speech of the night, Aerion wanted to leave.
It was his classmates father.
The man who he had once admired, the best producer of modern times, the future owner of Breakspear records and the sole reason that stupid brunette Valaar was even in his class.
The one and only Baelor Targaryen.
Baelor started his speech, which seemingly was about “Building Artists Instead of Hits“ and „Long-Term Music Careers” and was, to Aerion's disappointment, just as boring as all the speeches before.
Yet, he couldn’t take his eyes off him. Something stood out about the man, because despite his success he didn’t seem rude or vain at all, no, it seemed like he was quite down to earth and kind, he didn’t brag about his success, didn’t make himself out to be better, he just goes on and on about how to support musicians as producers, and how to bring out the best of them. Even the way he dressed, just in a knitted sweater and some fitted jeans that didn’t make him any less elegant than the rest of the guests, who, fittingly for the event, just wore whatever fancy suit or dress they had laying around.
You could just feel how down to earth he was, how he didn’t think of himself of better, how he truly wanted to help everyone in the room who looked up to him.
And that was something that truly pissed Aerion off.
How could his old idol, the man he once wanted to be like just act like he was no once special? How could he act like he wasn't the only person in this building who at least had some sense of originality, how could he pretend, he was just like the rest of them?
And then the speech ended.
Aerion didn’t notice it at first.
He was still staring at Baelor.
At the way he spoke with his hands sometimes, calm and controlled, not dramatic like the other speakers who tried to impress everyone in the room. At the small crease that appeared between his brows whenever he was explaining something he clearly cared about. At the way he occasionally smiled — not the fake, polished smile that most people in the music industry had perfected, but something quieter, almost shy.
For a moment Aerion had completely forgotten where he was.
Until the room suddenly erupted into applause.
The noise snapped him out of whatever strange trance he had been in.
People were already standing up. Chairs scraped over the floor, conversations started everywhere at once, and the polite but stiff audience that had been forced to sit quietly for almost two hours immediately dissolved into clusters of networking students and industry guests.
The networking part had started.
Aerion leaned back in his chair for a moment, annoyed with himself.
Great.
Now he had to actually talk to people.
He stood up slowly, fixing the sleeves of his dark blazer and letting his eyes wander through the room.
Most of the guests were exactly the kind of people he had expected: managers, producers, label representatives, all surrounded by eager students trying far too hard to appear interesting.
Aerion grabbed a glass of wine from a passing waiter.
If he had to endure this, at least he wouldn’t do it sober.
The first person he ended up talking to was Lyonel Baratheon.
Not that Aerion had planned that.
It just happened.
Lyonel was standing near one of the tall cocktail tables, speaking with two other industry men. He was a large man, broad shouldered, with thick dark hair and a beard that was starting to grey at the edges. His suit looked expensive but slightly wrinkled, like he had stopped caring about appearances years ago.
Aerion recognized him immediately.
Founder of StormEnd Studios.
Known for signing several successful rock and indie bands.
Also known for absolutely despising his father.
Which became obvious the second Lyonel looked at him.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“Well,” Lyonel said slowly, swirling the drink in his glass. “If it isn’t Maekars son.”
Aerion forced a polite smile.
“Good evening.”
Lyonel huffed.
“You look just like your father.”
That didn’t sound like a compliment.
Aerion leaned casually against the table.
“I get that a lot.”
The man studied him for a moment longer before taking a sip of his drink.
“Your father once stole one of my artists,” Lyonel said flatly.
Ah.
There it was.
Aerion had heard the story before.
Years ago, Maekar had convinced a small indie singer — someone Lyonel had been developing — to sign with another label. The singer had blown up a year later.
Apparently Lyonel never forgot that.
“Business is business,” Aerion replied coolly.
Lyonel let out a short laugh that didn’t contain any amusement.
“Yeah. I suppose it is.”
The conversation died quickly after that.
Lyonel clearly wasn’t interested in continuing it, and Aerion had absolutely no interest in trying harder.
So he moved on.
For the next twenty minutes he did exactly what his professor had told him to do.
He talked.
To managers.
To producers.
To some influencer who apparently ran a record label now.
To a woman who kept explaining how important social media was for music success, as if Aerion was living behind the moon.
Aerion nodded at the right moments.
Smiled when necessary.
Pretended to care.
But none of it mattered.
None of these people were interesting.
None of them had anything worth saying.
And somehow, without really paying attention to how he got there, Aerion eventually found himself standing near the far side of the room again.
Right next to Baelor.
Baelor had stepped down from the small stage earlier and was now standing near a tall window that overlooked the campus courtyard, speaking with a small group of students.
He looked even more relaxed now that the speech was over.
One hand resting casually in his pocket.
The other holding a glass of water instead of wine.
Typical.
The students around him were asking questions — probably about internships, or advice, or something equally predictable.
Baelor listened patiently.
Actually listened.
Not the way most industry professionals did, where they nodded while already looking for someone more important to talk to.
No.
He seemed genuinely interested in what they were saying.
Eventually the small group drifted away, one by one.
Until Baelor was standing alone.
And before Aerion could talk himself out of it, his feet had already carried him over.
Baelor noticed him immediately.
For a brief moment he simply studied Aerion, until a warm, easy smile appeared on his face.
“Well,” Baelor said gently, tilting his head just a little. “Hello.”
Aerion asked himself, what he has gotten himself into, before politely replying „Nice to meet you sir, my name is Aerion.“
„Aerion…, you study with my son, if im not mistaken.“
And before he could stop himself, Aerion asked „Valaar, right, the one who gets all the good grades although he's as generic as everyone else, right? It's not like we all don't know that the Professors favor him because of your status sir.“
And just like that, even the slightest chance of him leaving a good impression in front of the future owner of Breakspear records vanished, he realised, so why not fully drop the act now. „Its not like hes going to beat me though. I will easily graduate top of my class, by a mile, and then go on to open my own studio, and becoming the best there ever was.“
Baelor didn’t answer immediately.
For a moment he simply looked at him.
Not offended.
Not angry.
Just studying him.
Aerion almost wished he would get angry. It would have been easier to deal with.
Instead Baelor let out a quiet breath that almost sounded like a laugh.
“Well,” he said calmly, “that is certainly… a confident introduction.”
Aerion lifted his chin slightly.
“I prefer honest ones.”
Baelor tilted his head a little, the same thoughtful expression he had worn during his speech returning to his face.
“You think my son only succeeds because of me.”
Aerion shrugged, taking a slow sip from his wine glass.
“Does he not?”
Baelor’s eyes narrowed just slightly, though there was still something calm about him.
“Valarr works very hard.”
“Sure he does,” Aerion replied lazily. “Just like everyone else here. The difference is that he has the luxury of failing and still ending up successful.”
Baelor studied him again, more carefully this time.
“You don’t seem to like luxuries you didn’t earn.”
Aerion scoffed.
“I don’t need them.”
“Of course not.”
There was something about the way Baelor said that which made Aerion’s jaw tighten.
It didn’t sound mocking.
If anything it sounded amused.
And that irritated him even more.
“So,” Baelor continued mildly, “your plan is to graduate top of your class and become the greatest producer in the industry.”
“Yes.”
“Just like that.”
“Yes.”
Baelor hummed softly, taking a small sip of his water.
“And everyone else should simply step aside while you do.”
Aerion leaned slightly closer, eyes sharp.
“If they’re smart.”
For a brief moment neither of them spoke.
The noise of the room continued around them. Glasses clinking. Laughter. Music playing quietly somewhere in the background.
But the space between them felt strangely quiet.
Baelor’s gaze dropped slightly, looking Aerion up and down in a way that was far too slow to be accidental.
Aerion noticed.
Of course he did.
“So,” Baelor said eventually, voice lower now, “you think my son is generic.”
Aerion smirked.
“Yes.”
“And everyone else here too.”
“Pretty much.”
“And you are the only one with originality.”
Aerion shrugged again.
“I didn’t say that.”
Baelor raised an eyebrow.
“You didn’t need to.”
Aerion tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“Does that offend you?”
“No.”
The answer came far too quickly.
If anything, Baelor looked thoughtful.
Then his eyes darkened just slightly.
“But I do wonder something.”
Aerion raised an eyebrow.
“Oh?”
Baelor took a small step closer.
Not enough for anyone around them to notice.
But enough that Aerion could suddenly feel the warmth of him.
“Is this how you normally talk to people you want something from?” Baelor asked quietly.
Aerion didn’t move.
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“No?”
“No.”
Baelor studied him for another moment.
Then he leaned down slightly.
Close enough that his voice wouldn’t carry beyond Aerion.
Close enough that Aerion could feel the warmth of his breath near his ear.
“You’re being very provocative,” Baelor murmured.
Aerion’s grip tightened slightly around his glass.
“And?”
Baelor’s voice dropped another fraction.
“And if you continue behaving like such a brat…”
There was a small pause.
A hesitation.
As if Baelor himself knew the thought shouldn’t be spoken out loud.
“…I might start feeling the urge to teach you a lesson.”
Aerion slowly turned his head, their faces now only inches apart.
His eyes were bright with something dangerously close to amusement.
“Is that supposed to scare me?”
Baelor’s jaw tightened slightly.
“It should.”
Aerion leaned closer instead.
“Why?”
Baelor looked at him for one long second.
Then he lowered his voice even further.
“Because if you keep pushing me like this,” he whispered, “I might decide to fuck the brat out of you.”
The words hung between them.
For a moment neither of them moved.
Baelor seemed to realize what he had just said.
His expression shifted slightly, something conflicted passing through it.
He straightened again, as if putting distance back between them would somehow undo the moment.
But Aerion didn’t step back.
If anything, he looked even more entertained now.
His eyes glittered.
And slowly, deliberately, he tilted his head.
“Is that a challenge?”
Without saying another word Baelor turned around and slowly headed toward the exit, while passively making sure Aerion followed him, and although everything in him told him to stop right there and let the man make an absolute fool of himself he did.
He followed Baelor.
And wasn’t even entirely sure why.
Every reasonable thought in his mind told him that this was ridiculous, that he barely knew this man, that this was the father of someone from his class, that this could very easily turn into the most embarrassing mistake of his life.
And yet he followed anyway.
Baelor didn’t look back once while walking through the crowded hall, moving calmly through clusters of students and industry people who were still talking and laughing and exchanging business cards as if nothing unusual was happening at all, as if the air between the two of them hadn’t turned unbearably thick within the span of a few minutes.
Aerion kept a few steps behind him.
Close enough that he could watch the way Baelor’s shoulders moved beneath the soft knitted sweater he wore, the steady, controlled pace of his steps, the faint tension in the way his hands remained tucked into the pockets of his jeans.
When they stepped outside the building the night air felt cooler, quieter, the campus courtyard almost empty except for a few scattered groups of students lingering near the pathway lights.
Baelor stopped near the curb.
A taxi passed.
He raised his hand slightly.
The car slowed and pulled over.
Only then did Baelor finally glance back at him.
Not fully turning around, just a brief look over his shoulder, his expression unreadable in the dim yellow streetlight.
Aerion hesitated for exactly one second.
Then he opened the back door and slid into the seat.
Baelor followed.
The driver barely looked at them before asking where they were headed, and Baelor calmly gave the name of a nearby hotel in the city center, his voice steady again, controlled again, as if nothing strange had happened at all.
The taxi started moving.
For several moments neither of them spoke.
Aerion leaned back slightly, one arm resting along the seat, his gaze drifting toward the window as the campus lights slowly disappeared behind them.
The silence between them wasn’t comfortable.
It was thick.
Charged.
Every small movement suddenly felt louder than it should have been.
The faint rustle of fabric when Baelor shifted slightly beside him.
The low hum of the engine.
The occasional streetlight flashing through the window and briefly illuminating Baelor’s profile.
Aerion could feel it.
The tension.
Still sitting there between them like something alive.
He glanced sideways.
Baelor was staring straight ahead, jaw slightly tense, one hand resting against his knee while the other remained loosely folded in his lap.
For someone who had just threatened something outrageous only minutes earlier, he suddenly looked almost too composed.
Aerion tilted his head slightly.
“You always invite strangers to your hotel room after networking events?”
Baelor exhaled slowly through his nose, though the corner of his mouth twitched just faintly.
“No.”
Aerion hummed quietly.
“Good to know I’m special.”
Baelor finally turned his head then, meeting his gaze properly for the first time since they left the building.
There was something darker in his eyes now.
Something that hadn’t been there earlier during the speech.
“You are certainly… memorable.”
Aerion smirked faintly.
The taxi slowed a few minutes later, pulling up in front of a tall hotel building with large glass doors and warm lights glowing in the lobby.
Baelor paid quickly.
Neither of them spoke while walking inside.
The elevator ride up was quiet too.
Small.
Far too small for two people who had already crossed a line that hadn’t even fully been spoken yet.
Aerion leaned casually against the back wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest, watching Baelor press the button for his floor.
Baelor avoided looking directly at him.
Which only made it more interesting.
The elevator doors opened.
They stepped into a quiet hallway.
Soft carpet under their feet.
Muted lighting.
Baelor walked toward one of the rooms at the end, pulling the key card from his pocket.
Aerion stood just behind him.
Close enough now that he could see the faint tension in the back of Baelor’s neck.
The door unlocked with a quiet click.
They stepped inside.
The door barely had time to close behind them before everything that had been held back during the entire evening suddenly snapped.
Baelor turned.
Fast.
One moment Aerion was standing in the middle of the room and the next his back was pressed firmly against the closed door, the impact making the handle rattle faintly behind him as Baelor’s hand caught the door beside his head.
The movement was sudden enough to steal the breath from his lungs.
Baelor was standing very close now.
Too close.
The calm composure he had worn all evening was gone.
In its place there was something far less controlled.
His hand tightened slightly against the door as he leaned in.
“You have absolutely no idea what you’re doing,” he muttered under his breath.
Aerion tilted his chin up slightly, completely unbothered by the position.
“Oh, I think I do.”
Baelor stared at him for a long moment.
Then he kissed him.
Not gently.
Not carefully.
Aerion responded immediately, grabbing the front of Baelor’s sweater and pulling him closer, their bodies pressing together as the kiss deepened quickly, messily, the quiet hotel room suddenly feeling far too small.
Baelor’s hand slid from Aerion’s collar into his hair as if to keep him from moving away again, but the moment Aerion responded the control slipped almost immediately. Aerion kissed like he did everything else, bold and provoking, pushing back just enough to make it clear he was enjoying the reaction he was getting. And then Baelor felt it. The small, unmistakable press of metal against his tongue when Aerion parted his mouth further. Baelor paused just for a fraction of a second in surprise before the realization settled in.
Baelor pulled back first.
Breathing a little heavier now.
He looked at Aerion like he was trying to regain control of something that had already slipped too far.
“This is a terrible idea,” he said quietly.
Aerion raised an eyebrow.
“Then stop.”
Baelor let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
“I should.”
His gaze dropped briefly.
Then returned to Aerion’s face.
“You are about the same age as my son.”
Aerion shrugged slightly.
“And?”
Baelor shook his head faintly, almost to himself.
“And I know exactly how wrong this is.”
Another small pause.
“But I also know that if you keep looking at me like that I am not going to stop.”
Aerion’s lips curved slowly.
“Then don’t.”
That was apparently the final piece of restraint Baelor had been holding onto.
He stepped back slightly.
His hands moved to Aerion’s waist.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he lowered himself down in front of him.
Aerion’s breath caught slightly when Baelor’s fingers reached the waistband of his pants.
Baelor glanced up once.
Just once.
As if giving him one last opportunity to stop this.
Aerion didn’t move.
Baelor exhaled slowly.
Then his fingers slid to the zipper of Aerion’s pants and pulled it down with practiced ease.
For a moment the room was completely silent.
The city outside hummed faintly beyond the tall hotel windows, distant traffic and the low pulse of nightlife somewhere far below, but inside the room the only sound was the uneven rhythm of Aerion’s breathing and the faint rustle of fabric when Baelor shifted slightly in front of him.
Aerion was looking down at him with an expression that was far too amused for someone who had just been shoved against a door.
Baelor’s hands rested lightly against Aerion’s hips, fingers firm but controlled, his posture steady despite the tension that had clearly taken hold of the room.
Aerion tilted his head slightly.
“You know, that seemed very professional for someone who says he usually doesn't do this.”
Baelor didn’t look up immediately.
His jaw tightened just slightly before his gaze finally lifted.
“You haven’t stopped talking since the moment you walked up to me.”
Aerion smirked.
“Is that bothering you?”
Baelor’s eyes darkened faintly.
“Not yet.”
Aerion hummed quietly, leaning his head back against the door behind him as if he had all the time in the world.
“You threatened to teach me a lesson earlier,” he said lazily. “This doesn’t look very threatening so far.”
That earned him a reaction.
Baelor exhaled slowly through his nose, clearly aware that he was being provoked and equally aware that Aerion was enjoying every second of it.
“You are insufferable,” he muttered.
Aerion’s smile widened.
“I’ve been called worse.”
Baelor shook his head faintly, but the corner of his mouth twitched in spite of himself.
For someone who had spent most of the evening composed and calm, the restraint in him was wearing dangerously thin now.
Aerion could see it.
The tension in his shoulders.
The way his hands tightened slightly against Aerion’s waist.
The way his gaze lingered far too long before moving again, finally, moving his mouth to Aerions tip, slightly teasing him by licking it, before his mouth finally surrounded his dick.
Aerion let out a small moan, the moment the man started moving his head, taking him whole, which most certainly was impressive, considering his length, that he had no reason to be ashamed of.
And as Baelor continued Aerion could hold back his moans less and less, only when he felt that almost reached his peak he gained at least a slight bit of composure back, before calling out the other man's name.
„Baelor, fuck, im close, i cant hold back much longer.“, and for a short moment Baelor stopped, before replying „then take your own advice, stop holding back“ before he continued sucking the younger man off.
It only took a few more seconds before Aerion came down the older man's throat, who then swallowed his cum, before getting up from his knees, pulling the man's pants and underwear up with him and then tilting his head down to Aerion, who immediately closed the distance between them, by hungrily kissing Baelor's lips, without any care of the fact that he had just swallowed his cum.
And as Baelor slid his tongue into his mouth again, Aerion pulled the man closer by his waistband, grinding Baelor's erection again his own dick, that was just getting hard again.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” Baelor said quietly.
Aerion raised an eyebrow.
“Doing what?”
“Teasing me.”
Aerion looked at him for a moment before shrugging lightly.
“And?”
Baelor studied him carefully.
“You’re very confident for someone who doesn’t know what he’s getting into.”
Aerion leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice just enough to keep the moment between them.
“Maybe I like the risk.”
Baelor’s expression shifted then, something more decisive settling into his features, the air between them now feeling heavier than before.
“You’re trouble,” Baelor murmured.
Aerion’s lips curved again.
“So I’ve heard.”
Baelor’s hand lifted, fingers brushing lightly against Aerion’s jaw before sliding to the back of his neck, holding him there just firmly enough that the movement was impossible to ignore.
“You don’t stop, do you?”
Aerion met his gaze without hesitation.
“No.”
Baelor let out a quiet breath that almost sounded like a laugh.
“I noticed.”
Aerion’s eyes flicked downward briefly before returning to Baelor’s face, his expression turning even more mischievous.
“Though for someone who keeps telling me this is a terrible idea,” he added slowly, “you don’t exactly look like you want me to stop.”
Baelor’s grip on the back of his neck tightened slightly.
Aerion didn’t miss the reaction.
Or the tension running through him.
His smirk sharpened.
“Wow,” Aerion said softly, clearly delighted now. “You really weren’t joking earlier.”
Baelor’s eyes narrowed.
“Aerion.” He said in a serious, almost commanding tone, that Aerion hasn't heard before.
“What?”
“You’re pushing your luck.”
Aerion tilted his head slightly.
“Maybe.”
His gaze dropped again briefly before returning upward with unmistakable amusement.
“Or maybe you’re just very easy to provoke.”
Baelor stared at him for a long second.
Then something in his expression finally shifted.
The last thread of patience snapped.
His hand moved suddenly, gripping Aerion’s collar and pulling him forward.
Aerion barely had time to react before Baelor pushed him backward across the room.
The back of Aerion’s knees hit the edge of the bed and he fell onto the mattress with a soft thud.
Baelor followed immediately, one hand braced against the bed beside him as he leaned down.
“You really don’t know when to stop,” he muttered.
Aerion looked entirely too pleased with himself.
“I told you.”
Baelor shook his head once, almost like he couldn’t quite believe the situation he had allowed himself to fall into.
“You’re going to regret that attitude.”
Aerion leaned back slightly on his elbows, completely unfazed.
“I doubt it.”
Baelor studied him for another moment.
Then he leaned down and kissed him again.
This time slower.
Deeper.
One hand sliding into Aerion’s hair as he held him firmly against the mattress, Aerion responded immediately, grabbing the front of Baelor’s sweater and pulling him closer.
The room felt smaller now.
Warmer.
And whatever restraint Baelor had been holding onto earlier was clearly disappearing fast.
Aerion grinned into Baelor again which led to Baelor slightly pulling away from him, breaking their kiss, and now studying the younger man's face.
Then his expression shifted again, something darker returning to his gaze as he leaned closer again.
“Careful,” he murmured.
Aerion tilted his head.
“Why?”
Baelor’s voice dropped lower.
“Because you might find out that provoking me has consequences.”
Aerion smiled slowly.
“I’m not made of sugar.”
Baelor held his gaze for one long moment.
Then, with a quiet exhale that sounded half amused and half resigned, he pushed Aerion further back onto the bed and kissed him again.
This time the kiss lingered longer, slower at first, as if Baelor was still attempting to gather what little composure he had left, but the effort didn’t last. Aerion met him immediately, hands sliding to the front of Baelor’s shirt and pulling him closer with a quiet impatience that made the older man pause for just a moment.
When they separated again, both of them were breathing slightly heavier.
Baelor looked down at him for a second, something thoughtful and dangerous settling into his expression.
“You make this very difficult,” he said quietly.
Then his hands moved.
He reached down, pulling the hem of his sweater over his head in one smooth motion, tossing it carelessly onto the nearby chair before turning his attention back to Aerion.
Aerion raised an eyebrow from where he lay against the mattress, one arm propped behind his head.
“I thought you liked a challenge.”
Baelor let out a quiet breath through his nose that might almost have been a laugh.
“That is exactly the problem.”
He reached down then, fingers moving to the knot of Aerion’s tie.
Aerion watched him carefully.
Baelor loosened it slowly, sliding the dark fabric free before tossing it somewhere onto the nearby chair.
“Very expensive suit,” Baelor murmured, almost absentmindedly.
Aerion shrugged slightly.
“You’re the one ruining it.”
Baelor ignored the comment, though the corner of his mouth twitched faintly as he began unbuttoning Aerion’s shirt one button at a time.
The deliberate pace of it seemed intentional.
Each small movement slower than it needed to be.
Aerion shifted slightly under him after a moment.
“You always take this long?”
Baelor didn’t look up from what he was doing.
“Yes.”
Aerion rolled his eyes.
“You’re enjoying this.”
Baelor finally glanced up.
“Immensely.”
The last button slipped open and Baelor pushed the shirt apart, revealing the pale skin beneath.
His hands stilled.
Aerion noticed the hesitation immediately.
“What now?”
Baelor’s gaze had settled on his chest.
More specifically, on the small silver rings that caught the lamplight.
Aerion smirked slightly.
“Oh. Those.”
Baelor leaned closer, curiosity replacing the brief surprise in his expression.
“You didn’t mention those.”
“You didn’t ask.”
Baelor reached out slowly, brushing his fingers over one of the piercings.
Aerion inhaled sharply before he could stop himself.
Baelor noticed.
Of course he did.
His eyes flicked up again, studying the younger man carefully.
“Interesting,” he murmured.
Aerion scoffed.
“Don’t look so fascinated.”
Baelor’s thumb moved again, gently shifting the ring between his fingers as if testing the reaction.
Aerion’s shoulders tensed.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” he muttered.
Baelor hummed quietly.
“Yes.”
Aerion glared at him, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way his breathing had changed.
“You’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” Baelor said calmly, leaning down slightly, “you’re still here.”
Aerion didn’t answer that.
Baelor bent closer then, pressing a slow kiss against the skin of his chest, the gesture surprisingly unhurried compared to everything that had happened earlier.
Aerion’s hand tightened slightly in the sheets beside him.
“You talk a lot for someone who looked so confident earlier,” Baelor murmured.
Aerion huffed quietly.
“I am confident.”
Baelor straightened again, studying him for a moment before reaching for the waistband of Aerion’s trousers.
The expensive fabric of the suit didn’t survive the encounter very gracefully.
The belt came undone first, followed by the button, Baelor pushing the material down just enough to remove the final obstacle between them.
Aerion shifted slightly as the clothing was pushed aside.
Baelor sat back for a moment then, taking in the sight of the younger man stretched across the bed.
Aerion noticed the look immediately.
“What?”
Baelor tilted his head slightly.
“You’re very sure of yourself.”
Aerion smirked again.
“I usually have good reasons.”
Baelor leaned forward again, one hand settling firmly against Aerion’s hip to keep him from shifting away.
“Confidence,” he said quietly, “can be a dangerous thing.”
Aerion tilted his head.
“Sounds like you’re worried.”
Baelor’s gaze darkened slightly.
“No.”
His grip tightened just a little.
“I’m just curious how long it lasts.”
Aerion’s smile only widened.
“You’ll have to find out.”
Baelor looked at him for one long moment.
Then he leaned down again, close enough that their noses almost brushed.
“You really don’t know when to stop pushing,” he murmured.
Aerion met his gaze without hesitation.
“Maybe I just want to see what happens when I do.”
Baelor exhaled slowly.
Then his hand slid lower along Aerion’s side, holding him more firmly against the mattress as he bent down again.
And whatever restraint had been left between them seemed to vanish completely.
The air in the hotel room felt thick, heavy with the scent of Baelor’s expensive cologne and the lingering tension of their verbal sparring.
Aerion lay back against the pillows, his chest heaving as he tried to maintain that signature smirk, even as Baelor loomed over him like a shadow.
The mattress dipped under Baelor’s weight, and for the first time in his life, Aerion felt the true weight of someone else’s authority. It wasn't the kind of power he saw at the conservatory, built on grades or family names: this was a physical, undeniable presence that demanded his silence.
Baelor didn't rush. He moved with the same calculated precision he used when adjusting a soundboard, his hands steady and his gaze unwavering. He reached up, his fingers wrapping firmly around Aerion’s wrists and pinning them against the pillow above his head.
The movement was so smooth and effortless that it made Aerion’s breath hitch, his pulse thundering against the base of his throat.
„Still staring at me like you’re the one in charge?“ Baelor murmured, his voice a low, vibrating hum that seemed to settle right under Aerion’s skin. „You have a lot of spirit, Aerion. It’s a shame you waste so much of it on being difficult.“
Aerion let out a short, shaky laugh, though it lacked its usual bite. „I’m not being difficult. I’m being myself. Maybe you’re just not used to people who don’t fall at your feet the second you start talking.“
Baelor leaned down, his face inches from Aerion’s, his gaze moving slowly over every feature of the younger man’s face. „Is that what you think this is? You think I want you to fall at my feet?“ He shifted his weight, pressing his thigh firmly against Aerion’s heat, making Aerion gasp and arch his back instinctively. „I don’t want your worship. I want your focus. And I think you’re about to find out that it’s much harder to keep up that attitude when you’re not the one setting the tempo.“
Baelor released one of Aerion’s wrists, but the younger man didn't move it. He was already beginning to feel the heavy, magnetic pull of Baelor’s control. The older man’s hand slid down, his palm hot against Aerion’s stomach, before his fingers found the waistband of Aerion’s discarded trousers. He began the work of opening Aerion up, his touch deliberate and slow.
„Keep your eyes on me.“ Baelor commanded when Aerion tried to look away. „I want you to see exactly who is doing this to you.“
He used one finger first, a slow and agonizingly steady intrusion that made Aerion’s eyes widen. It was a sensation of being filled, of being claimed, that Aerion wasn't prepared for. He tried to bite back a moan, his teeth catching his lower lip, but Baelor wasn't having it.
Don't hide your voice from me, Aerion, Baelor whispered, his voice like velvet over gravel. You’ve spent all night talking. Why stop now? Tell me how that feels.
„It’s… it’s too much!“, Aerion managed to choke out, his pride still fighting a losing battle against the pleasure blooming in his lower belly.
„It’s exactly enough.“ Baelor corrected him. He added a second finger, stretching Aerion with a patient, rhythmic motion that felt like it was undoing every one of Aerion’s defenses. „You’re so tight, so full of resistance. You need to learn how to let go. If you can't follow a simple rhythm here, how do you expect to lead in a studio?“
Aerion’s head fell back, his neck arching as Baelor’s fingers found a particularly sensitive spot. A high, broken sound escaped him, and his hips bucked upward, seeking more of that incredible pressure. The arrogance was draining out of him, replaced by a raw, desperate need to be filled completely. He felt Baelor’s thumb pressing against his hip, anchoring him in place as the older man continued his slow, methodical preparation.
„That’s it,“ Baelor said, his voice dripping with a quiet, satisfied approval. „Listen to your body. Stop trying to compose the scene and just let it happen. You’re doing so well for me.“
By the time Baelor withdrew his hand, Aerion was trembling, his skin flushed and his breath coming in ragged gasps. He felt empty, aching for the weight he knew was coming next. He watched through hooded eyes as Baelor prepared himself, the older man’s movements still calm, still entirely in control.
When Baelor finally moved between his legs, the shift in power felt absolute. He took Aerion’s wrists again, pinning them back, and leaned down to press a kiss to the hollow of his throat.
„Breathe for me, Aerion,“ Baelor murmured against his skin. „This isn't a competition. Just feel this.“
As Baelor began to move into him, Aerion felt his carefully constructed world narrowing down to just the two of them. The sensation was overwhelming, a tidal wave of heat and pressure that made his thoughts scatter like static. He felt his fingers curling into the sheets, his body trembling with the effort of trying to stay composed, but Baelor was relentless.
The rhythm Baelor set was intoxicating, an inescapable cycle of heat and friction that Aerion couldn't fight. He was drowning in the sensation, his mind finally quiet for the first time in his life. The need to be better, the need to be the best, it all faded away into the simple, raw reality of what Baelor was doing to him.
Aerion let his eyes flutter shut, his head falling back against the pillow as a small, broken sound escaped him. He felt Baelor’s hands on his skin, his breath against his neck, and for a moment he wasn't Aerion the best there would be, no, he was just a man caught in the grip of someone much stronger than himself.
Baelor leaned down, his voice barely a whisper in Aerion’s ear. „That’s it. Give me that. No more talking. No more arrogance. Just you.“
The intensity increased, Baelor’s movements turning more urgent as he felt Aerion’s resistance finally crumble. Aerion was no longer trying to push him away or prove a point, he was following Baelor’s lead, his body moving in sync with the older man’s in a way that felt entirely too right.
„Open your eyes,“ Baelor commanded, and Aerion obeyed, his vision blurred but his focus entirely on Baelor’s face. He saw the tension in Baelor’s jaw, the way his eyes were dark with a hunger that was finally being fed.
„There you are,“ Baelor said, his voice thick with emotion. „I’ve got you.“
Aerion felt a sudden, sharp surge of sensation, a wave of heat that seemed to consume him from the inside out. He let out a loud, breathless cry, his body arching off the bed as he finally hit his peak. Baelor followed him a moment later, his own composure finally fracturing as he buried his face in Aerion’s neck, his hands tightening on Aerion’s hips.
For several minutes, the only sound in the room was their heavy, synchronized breathing. The city outside was still humming with life, but in the hotel room, the world had come to a complete standstill. Aerion lay limp against the sheets, his skin flushed and his heart slowly returning to a normal rhythm. He felt Baelor shift, moving to lie beside him, one arm still draped over Aerion’s waist.
Aerion didn't move. He didn't say anything. The sharp, witty retort he usually had ready was nowhere to be found. He felt small, exposed, and strangely peaceful. Eventually, the heaviness of the night won over, and he drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.
He woke up while the room was still draped in the pale, grey light of the early morning. The sun hadn't even begun to touch the tops of the buildings yet. For a few seconds, he remained perfectly still, his body feeling heavy and warm. Then, the memories of the night flooded back: the way he had surrendered, the way Baelor had dismantled his pride, and the fact that he was currently lying in the bed of his rival’s father.
A sudden, sharp coldness washed over him, as he thought to himself, „what am I doing here?“
The bravado he had carried all evening felt like a lie.
He had spent years convinced that he was the only one with true talent, yet he had allowed himself to be tamed by the very man who represented everything he was supposed to be fighting against.
If Valarr ever found out, if the school ever found out, he would never be able to show his face again.
He moved with a frantic, quiet desperation, sliding out from under the heavy duvet. He kept his eyes locked on Baelor’s sleeping form, terrified that the older man might wake up and trap him with that calm, authoritative gaze again.
Aerion scrambled to find his clothes, which were scattered near the chair. His expensive suit was a mess of creases, his shirt missing buttons.
He dressed in a blur of motion, not even bothering with his socks. He shoved his feet into his shoes and gripped his dark blazer like a shield. He took one final, lingering look at Baelor, who hadn't stirred.
The man had warned him that confidence could be a dangerous thing, and Aerion realized with a bitter sting that Baelor had been right.
Without a sound, Aerion turned and bolted for the door. He didn't look back as he slipped into the quiet hallway, the soft carpet muffling his hurried footsteps. He didn't wait for the elevator, opting instead for the stairs, his heart hammering against his ribs in a way that had nothing to do with pleasure this time.
By the time he reached the cool, morning air of the street, his only goal was to disappear into the city before the rest of the world woke up to see what he had done.