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Lord Shawney spat on the grass beside the tent that was to serve as a prison, his spit bloodied from the impact of the blow. He ran his tongue over his teeth and cursed. There was a sizeable gap that had not existed a mere minute ago, before he had been socked in the jaw.
“Fucking cunt,” he wheezed. The Omega who was responsible for his missing canine glared hatefully at him, but thanks to two of Shawney’s men forcing his arms behind his back, he did not strike again. He raised a hand, half determined to rid the Omega of his own snarling teeth, but a grim-faced Aegor forced him to drop the strike.
“You heard my brother,” he snapped. “My Omega nephew is a prisoner. A hostage. No good to us if you strike him dead.” A smile crept over his hardened features. “Maybe after my cunt half-brother has surrendered, I might even take this one to wife someday. I like an Omega with a bite.”
Indeed, that had been Daemon’s grim command when the hard-won capture had been made. Nearly a dozen men had died in the attempt, but their lives were not in vain. For now, the Blackfyres had the most prized hostage of the realm that could turn the battle on its head. Daeron’s own Omega son, the accursed brother-wife to Daeron’s precious heir. It was his efforts, alongside his brother-husband’s that had led to the Blackfyre army suffering a humiliating defeat, that led to this final standoff, where Aegor stood with only a handful of remaining men. Their livelihoods depended on this wretched Omega.
It wasn’t natural for an Omega to fight like Maekar Targaryen. The Blackfyre men had underestimated him, both in their abduction, and even now when he had been brought before them. Lord Shawney’s missing tooth was now testament to that.
It wouldn’t happen a third time.
Maekar growled, and wrestled his captors’ grips, in vein. But the burning hatred in his eyes was undeterred. “You’re a fucking fool, Uncle,” he spat at him. “You think you’ll live another to see the morrow?” He scoffed. “You’ll meet your end on Baelor’s lance before you know what’s coming to you.”
Aegor glared at him with contempt. “Really, nephew? Is that so? Then tell me — where is your noble brother-husband? I don’t hear tell of him.”
Lord Shawney laughed. Or at least, he tried to laugh. What came out of his throat was more akin to a gurgle, thick with blood. Somewhat due to the bloodied gums where his tooth had once rested. Largely due to the arrow that was now piercing through his neck, and had not existed a breath previously.
One of Shawney’s men exclaimed. “What the — “
He never quite got to the intended expletive, for he was cut off by another arrow, flying through the air with a deadly precision, striking him down in the moment.
His companion cast a fearful eye towards Aegor. He didn’t have time to query the onslaught, for a third arrow finished him neatly. When he sank to the ground, choking on his own blood, Maekar acted quickly, seizing the sword from the sheathe of the man who had held him captive. He refused to be but a feeble Omega, patiently awaiting rescue from his Alpha. Maekar raised the sword. It wasn’t quite as familiar in his hands as his own beloved Mace that he had been stripped off upon being taken prisoner, but it would suffice. He wouldn’t sink to being a mere hostage, pretty or otherwise.
Aegor cursed. “He’s has the high ground,” he bellowed to the dwindling remainder of his men. “Fucking Bloodraven!”
Maekar’s heart soared. If Bloodraven and his archers had already advanced this far, that could only mean one thing. Daemon had fallen, just like his army earlier that day. Another arrow, then another. Then they began to rain. What little remained of the Blackfyre men were falling like flies.
Aegor looked at his fallen men, then scoffed. “It hardly fucking matters — I still have a hostage,” he said. “And a pretty one at that. Nephew, put down that sword. When you act like a proper Omega, I daresay you are nearly as beautiful as my half-sister. The only difference is — “
The exact details of how Maekar’s appearance stacked up to Shiera Seastar’s were interrupted by the familiar caw of a raven. Maekar smiled.
But it was not Bloodraven who burst through the crowd, accompanied by a series of heavy clangs, a furious roar and the clamour of steel.
It was Baelor.
Bloodied, armour dented, helmet askew and his dear nose broken yet again by the looks of it, and with a gleam of pure, uncharacteristic madness in his mismatched eyes. Baelor. Maekar had never been so happy to see him.
“Uncle,” growled Baelor, his face like thunder. “You fucking cunt.” Breathing heavily, but without lowering his sword, he cast his gaze upon Maekar. “Did he touch you, sweetling?” He sounded almost pained to ask it.
Maekar laughed. “No, husband. As much as he claims to have wanted to.” It was incredible how much better he felt for being able to see his Alpha, bloodied and bruised as he was, to hear the possessiveness in his voice, smell the heavy pheromones he was spreading.
“The battle is over, Uncle,” Baelor snapped. “Daemon is dead. My father is the King, unchangingly so.”
Aegor’s lip curled. “You Dornish fiend,” he spat. “May the fucking gods curse you and your crazed cunt of an Omega.”
Baelor didn’t rise to the insult. “Bloodraven awaits you, Uncle,” he said. “His one condition of this battle was that he be the one to cut you down. I hate to deprive him of such a joy, but … “
Aegor fought. Of course he did, with the same rash impudence that lent him the courage to think he could instill his Blackfyre bastard of a brother on the throne. But he was outnumbered, two to one, Baelor with his favoured sword, Maekar with a stranger’s instead of his mace. Still, they fought together seamlessly. Aegor didn’t stand a chance. Nobody would. The hammer and the anvil would be the stuff of legends, one of their men had declared following their earlier battle tactics. Maekar suspected he would be proved right.
When Baelor struck the killing blow, a raven cawed ominously as Bittersteel collapsed on the floor, glassy eyed and still.
“Ignorant cur,” Maekar said casually, as if his Uncle had been a mere irritating street vendor.
Baelor said nothing, but grabbed him by his wrist, with an undue force, and dragged him into the now-dead Aegor’s tent. It was hardly much to talk about. Small, underwhelming. Erected to hold a prisoner, and little else.
“What are we doing here?” Maekar demanded. “You need to see a Maester. Your nose — “
Baelor waved him off. “Tis fine. It isn’t broken.”
Maekar stared at him flatly. “It looks broken,” he snapped.
“Looks can be deceiving,” snapped Baelor. “Now, gods be good, be quiet Maekar and let me — just allow me to — “
Maekar sighed, feigned irritation. “A battle waged, a throne won,” he said drily. “And all you can think about is sullying your Omega.”
Baelor groaned. “I thought I’d lost you,” he snapped. “I was kicking myself for my own stupidity, for not doing enough to circumvent their attack.” He swallowed. “i thought I’d never see you again,” he choked. Maekar was startled to see his brother had tears brimming in his eyes. He felt alarmed — Baelor never wept.
“But I am here,” he said awkwardly. He had always felt largely useless in the role the world so often demanded of an Omega — the soothing balm to an Alpha’s agitation. Thankfully, he very rarely had to provide such a service. Baelor rarely strayed from calmness, while Maekar often remained agitated enough for the pair of them. It was rare they found themselves in the inverse.
Baelor smiled wanly. “Yes, my love. Here you are.” He cupped Maekar’s face in his hand, drew him towards him. “And how many men did you kill since I’ve seen you last?”
Maekar shrugged. “I lost count around the tenth.”
Baelor sighed happily. “My crazed cunt of an Omega,” he proclaimed, echoing their Uncle’s insult. Somehow, he managed to make it sound romantic. “Kiss me, my love. Remind me this isn’t a fanciful dream. Remind me that I got you back.”
“Fool,” Maekar chided. “Does this feel like a dream to you?” Still, he rose to the tips of his toes, placed his lips against his Alpha’s, swallowed Baelor’s heady groan with an embarrassingly giddy fervour. “Happy? Are you convinced you are awake?”
Baelor shrugged. “Ah. Perhaps I could do with more convincing.” His eyes pointedly flickered downwards.
Maekar raised a brow, thoroughly unimpressed. “Surrounded by corpses,” he said drily, “and all you can think of is my cunt?”
Baelor laughed. “Only when I become a corpse myself — that is perhaps the only time I shall not hunger for you. And even then, the Stranger himself might see fit to leave me behind, for I shall beg so thoroughly for just one more night in the world so I could have one final sup on your glorious cunt.”
“Insatiable wretch,” Maekar said, even as he could feel slick pool in his smallclothes. Even now, surrounded by the heavy stench of death, his body still responded in earnest to his husband’s filthy words. He was not the only one aroused. Baelor’s eyes were hungry, his pupils dilated. Maekar could smell it on him, the hunger for their carnal joining. Perhaps others could smell it too. The paltry tent provided visual modesty, but little else. It would do little to conceal their sounds, to prevent the scent of their lovemaking from wafting through the air.
Maekar decided he didn’t care.
He hadn’t been wearing his full body armour when Aegor’s men had struck, something he was grateful for now. It meant getting shrugging off his clothes was a quick enough task, one he had accomplished in mere seconds. This was not the case for Baelor, who needed assistance with his armour. Still, the battle was won. Bloodraven was taking care of what remained of Bittersteel’s men. They had time.
“In another lifetime,” Baelor muttered, as Maekar finally removed his cuirass, “you would have made a most diligent squire for me.”
Maekar snorted. “How long would that have lasted before you pinned me down in the armoury and had your wicked way with me?”
Baelor didn’t deny the insinuation, just shrugged, before freeing his cock from his breeches. He was hard, pre-cum already beading at his flushed tip.
“How do you want me?” Marker asked coyly, but he didn’t get a verbal response. Instead, his Alpha responded by simply arranging him how he liked, on his hands and knees against the thin flooring of the tent. It wasn’t anywhere near as comfortable as their ornate bed that Maekar was used to being taken on, but when he felt Baelor’s cock teasing expectantly at his sensitive entrance, he decided that didn’t matter very much.
Behind him, Baelor groaned. “Look how wet you are for me,” he said. “Did you think of me during your capture, brother? Did it make you wet, to imagine being rescued by me?”
Maekar smiled to himself. If his brother wanted to play the role of the dashing hero from a song, who was Maekar to deny him?
“Yes,” he said breathlessly. He spread his legs further, displaying more of himself to Baleor’s hungry gaze. “My gallant hero. My noble Alpha. Fighting to win me back, at any cost.”
“Oh, sweetling,” Baelor purred, and Maekar’s stomach fluttered at the pet name. Embarrassing, really. A lauded warrior and Targaryen Prince, so easily undone by his husband’s chosen term of endearment. “I’d wage a thousand wars for you. Drive my sword through any number of men.” As he spoke, such violent words with by such a loving tone, he began to sink his cock inside.
Maekar hissed — without any kind of preparation, he could feel the heightened burn of the stretch, but it was a pleasurable ache, one he delighted in. He wanted to be fucked — badly. But he wanted to make Baelor work for it. “And our Uncle Aegor?” he challenged. “He who sought to take me for his own. Would you kill him again for me?”
Baelor only laughed, stilling momentarily inside him, his cock fully sheathed. “He signed his death warrant the moment he laid his filthy bastard eyes on what is mine” He leaned forward, until he was bracketing Maekar’s frame, his breath hot and heavy against Maekar’s ear. “Don’t you know what you do to me, even now? What you’ve always done to me? Had Father not granted me your hand, I would have gladly stolen you too, marked and mated you with or without my King’s blessing. I would have faced exile or worse, all for the pleasure of having you. Fuck Aegor, and fuck every Alpha suitor that has given you a thought. You were always meant for me. Always destined to be mine.”
Maekar clenched around the cock inside him, relishing Baelor’s moan at the sensation. “Remind me of that,” he demanded. “Come, brother. Fuck any recollections of Aegor — or any other Alpha in the realm for that matter — out of me. Remind me who I belong to.”
Baelor growled, and without delay, withdrew his cock until Maekar was pathetically empty, before thrusting it back inside without warning or reprieve.
“Oh, fuck — “
But Baelor ignored his cursing, didn’t give him anytime to recover or adjust. Instead the pace he took on with punishing, unrelenting. “Mine,” he snarled between thrusts. “My pretty brother, my sweet wife, my perfect Omega.”
Maekar could only moan in response, could barely string together a thought, never mind a sentence. It was unbelievably good, even better than their nightly lovemaking in their opulent chambers upon plush bedding. It shouldn’t have been that good — the ground was hard, the surroundings filthy, Baelor still stinking of death. But it was good. Terribly so. Maekar could feel the beginning of Baelor’s knot beginning to swell, knew his Alpha wasn’t going to last much longer. Knew he wouldn’t be far behind myself.
Using his elbow to prop himself right, Maekar took his hand between his legs, grabbed his cock, tugged on it in the way he liked, but he quickly lost the friction when his hand was pinned behind him, forcefully held in place.
“That’s not yours to touch, sweetling,” Baelor said.
Maekar thrashed furiously but to no avail. His Alpha had him pinned. “Baelor — “ he began with a whine, before a particularly hard thrust from Baelor rendered him incapable of speech.
“You wanted me to remind you who your sweet little hole belongs to, did you not?” Baelor demanded. Maekar could only moan in response. “And here I am, reminding you, as a good Alpha should.” Without warning, Baelor suddenly pulled Maekar upwards, until he was forced back flush against Baelor’s chest. The new position allowed Baelor’s cock to fuck him from an angle that made his vision blur, that made him feel like his orgasm was going to be ripped out of him, whether he liked it or not.
“Mine,” Baelor growled again, but this time against Maekar’s mating mark, while his hand snaked downwards to Maekar’s cock, where a few expert strokes were all it took before Maekar’s peak crashed over him, and he finished with a yell, seed splattering across his husband’s hand, coating his precious rings in sticky white. Baelor followed him with a near roar, his knock finally locking them into place, as Maekar felt hot seed spill inside him in copious amounts, more than enough to quell any lingering uncertainty about who he belonged to.
“Yours,” he managed, still half dazed from his own peak, barely alert, only fainting aware of Baelor nuzzling against him, his knot still spurting seed inside. “Only yours.”
—
Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, Baelor’s sizeable knot finally shrunk and he slipped out. He smiled fondly at Maekar. “That was quite the performance.”
Maekar flushed at the thought of being overheard being fucked so thoroughly. He had little doubt that Baelor worried about such things, and would probably have taken him again, had Maekar allowed it. But Maekar was not so far gone that he would allow himself to be taken a second time in a place like this. He kissed his Alpha again, chaste and sweet. “I grow weary of the stink of this wretched field,” he said. “Take me home. Take me to our Father, so we can tell him of our victory. Let him know that his reign will thrive, uninterrupted by anymore Blackfyre pretenders. That when his time eventually comes, it will be you who takes his place, and only you.”
“Along with you,” Baelor reminded him. “I wouldn’t be able for it alone. I’ll need someone to stop me from being so foolhardy, hm?” He hesitated, his face darkening.
“Baelor?” Maekar questioned firmly.
“Ah — tis just something of that nature that occurred to me,” Baelor said. “Er — it may be a while before we get somewhere we can procure moon tea. And I did knot you — “
An understatement if there ever was one. Maekar dreaded the thought of sitting astride a horse after the onslaught his cunt had just underwent. He thought about it, about their lack of moon tea. About what could come of Baelor’s foolhardy knotting. And he found he didn’t quite hate the thought. He shrugged. “What’s done is done,” he decided. “We have been married for nearly a year. We have no more rebellions to quash, no more traitors to slay. Perhaps it’s time I gave you some heirs.”
Baelor looked shocked. No wonder. Ever since they first lay with one another, Maekar had been zealous in his brewing of moon tea, refusing to allow Baelor’s seed to take root while Father’s reign was so tumultuous, darkened by the shadows of the Blackfyres, when Baelor’s claim would be equally uncertain.
But that wouldn’t be the case, not now. A new era was dawning, a time of peace and prosperity for them, their house. Their family. Wordlessly, Maekar drew Baelor’s hand to his flat stomach, allowed it to rest where he found himself hoping the seed was already taking. It was a pleasant thought.
“You don’t jest, sweetling?” Baelor said, his voice strangled.
“No,” said Maekar fondly, enjoying the gaze upon him so full of love and devotion, that readiness and willingness to kill for him again and again. “Of course I don’t jest. Fool.”