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Maekar stood in his rooms at Summerhall, staring out the window at the distant mountains. He briefly entertained the idea of running away. Trying for the border of Dorne, hoping and praying for a sellsword or errant loyalist to come across him — never mind his Dornish blood. Perhaps if he left with naught but the clothes on his back, he might die. Maekar was not one for suicide. He wouldn’t cut his throat or his belly, wouldn’t jump from the highest turret to the rocks below, wouldn’t take poison or overindulge in milk of the poppy. But if he left for the border and did not bring anything in his defense… Well that wasn’t suicide by his own hand, was it? He’d fight till the bitter end, he knew he would, but it wouldn’t be hard to best an unarmed man, and Maekar would eventually fall, if not by blade then by thirst or hunger or exposure, and his suffering would finally be ended.
He’d spent much of the last few weeks in this position, leaving the food and wine brought to his chambers untouched, refusing even the comfort of a chair for his aching knees. He deserved more than minor discomfort if he could manage it, so he’d isolated himself. With Aerion departed to Lys, Aegon with the foolish hedge knight, Aemon to Oldtown, and Daeron skulking in his cups, it wasn’t hard to find solitude. The only problem was Baelor.
Baelor, who’d nearly died at the hands of Maekar’s mace, survived but by the grace of the gods. He’d been unconscious for almost two weeks as the swelling in his brain died down, and Maekar worried he’d never wake. But he had, and as soon as Maekar saw the fluttering of eyelids, he’d called for the maester and sequestered himself in his rooms, demanding word of any update they might have of his brother.
He’d wanted to know so desperately if permanent damage had been done with his own eyes. He’d wanted to see the spark of recognition in Baelor’s gaze, hear that measured tone, feel the beating pulse under his hands… But he’d denied himself, tided himself over with secondhand knowledge, because he’d known he hadn’t deserved to look upon the pink flush to Baelor’s cheeks, the proof of life that still-running blood in his veins brought. Life that, in spite of Maekar, persisted.
In the week or so since, Baelor had been confined to his bedchambers as he healed. He took food, water, and had begun stretching his limbs under very carefully surveilled turns about his rooms. All this, Maekar had learned from his maester, as he was still refusing the call of Baelor’s summons.
It seemed, however, that he could hide no longer.
There was a knock at his chambers. Three sharp raps, followed by the doors creaking open on their hinges without permission.
“I do not desire food, nor drink, nor company, nor will I attend to any letters.” He snapped, having already given the order to his servants to leave him undisturbed. The maester was not due to check on Baelor for another hour yet, so it could not be him. “Leave me the fuck alone.”
“And will you attend to your brother, or are you still so pig-headed and stubborn you’d refuse a summons from the heir to the Iron Throne?”
Everything in Maekar wanted to turn to his brother, to fall at his feet and fulfill his every whim, but he held strong. Only clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white and closed his eyes.
“You should be in bed yet. The maester has not cleared you.”
He could hear Baelor shut the doors behind him, and take several steps closer.
“And you would know, would you not? Though you remain unwilling to see me, I know Maester Yormwell reports back to you after every visit. Despite his loyalty to me, it seems he fears your ire even more.”
“It is my duty to —”
“It is your duty to shut up, and listen to me.”
The sharpness in Baelor’s voice cut through the fog of Maekar’s self-loathing for a brief moment, and he shut his mouth. This is what he needed. This is what he deserved. Baelor’s anger.
“Look at me, Maekar.”
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t bear to see Baelor’s face. He had no right.
Behind him, he heard Baelor take another few steps, then falter.
When Baelor spoke again, his teeth were gritted against pain.
“Will you help me, brother? I find I need to sit.”
And that was a request Maekar had to grant. He would not see his brother in pain a moment longer than he’d already done. He turned, kept his gaze to Baelor’s feet as he hefted him under his shoulder and brought him to a chair at Maekar’s writing desk.
Baelor slumped in the chair, then said, “Maekar,” and before he could stop himself, Maekar looked up.
The first thing he noticed was that the scrapes and cuts littered across Baelor’s face were healing well. Some were almost gone, even. No longer was there linen holding the pieces of Baelor’s skull together. His close-cropped hair was shining and clean. His cheeks were ruddy. His mouth was curved up into a smile and his captivating, mismatched eyes… His eyes were twinkling with mirth. There was no pain.
“You…”
Baelor straightened in his seat.
“You would not have looked at me any other way.”
“A vile trick.”
Maekar tried to pull away but Baelor clutched his wrist and held him fast.
“A necessary one. Imagine my thoughts upon waking when I found out I’d been unconscious for a fortnight, that my son was in King’s Landing acting in my stead, and my brother… My beautiful, foolish brother was refusing to see me. The last time I’d seen him we were pitched against each other in heated battle and then there I was, bedridden and desperate for answers. And he would not see me. Imagine that.”
Maekar dropped to his knees, anguish twisting his face and causing him to hide in Baelor’s lap. It was true — he’d done this all. He’d hurt Baelor twice over, despite the fact that all Baelor had done their entire lives was protect him. And when the time came, Maekar had failed to rein in his unruly son and allowed Baelor to put himself in danger. It was a most grievous insult. One Maekar could not hope to make up for.
“Your Grace… I will accept any punishment you deem necessary.”
Baelor’s hands began to pet over Maekar’s skull.
“Do not debase yourself, Maekar. In here, to you, I am just Baelor. I will always be just Baelor. Your brother.”
Maekar shook his head, the smooth silk of Baelor’s breeches tangling in his fingers as he tried to pull himself together.
“But you are not. You are the heir and I almost killed you. There is nothing… Nothing I could do to make up for it.”
He wrenched himself away from Baelor’s lap, from his gentle fingers, and knelt prostrate before him.
“If you had not recovered… If you…” Maekar’s throat closed over the unthinkable. “I am not fit to carry your blood in my veins. I have always been unworthy of you and now we both know it—”
Maekar stopped at the sound of Baelor’s huff of laughter.
“Brother… Our father’s good sense and our mother’s sharp wits must have diluted with each child to leave you so foolish.”
Shame prickled over Maekar’s skin at Baelor’s reprimand. He jerked his head up, the Dornish temper only he seemed to have inherited rearing its ugly head.
“Oh, fuck you.” Maekar spat from where he remained kneeling on the floor.
“Yes,” Baelor agreed, nothing but affection in the face of Maekar’s anger. “Your ire is what I deserve, brother, for daring to leave you if even just for a moment. It is I who should be begging for your forgiveness, not the other way around.”
Maekar gaped, but Baelor simply smiled, canines poking out behind his lips.
“I frightened you. I made you doubt yourself. I made you hate yourself. I failed you, little brother.”
Maekar shook his head vehemently but Baelor pulled him up to his knees, pressed his lips against Maekar’s with such sweetness that Maekar had to wrench himself away.
“No,” he gasped. “This is not for me anymore. I don’t deserve it.”
“Maekar,” Baelor chided him. “In punishing yourself you only serve to punish me. You deny me what I want.”
“But I almost… You could have died, Baelor. You very nearly did."
Baelor slid down to meet Maekar on the floor, grasped his wrist, and brought it to the back of his head. Maekar wanted to pull away but Baelor’s grip was stronger than a convalescent’s should have been and he found himself paralyzed.
“Feel.” Baelor demanded, and Maekar felt.
Maester Yormwell had removed the stitches days past, and though the flesh was raised and the hair still uneven around the site of the wound, there was no blood, fresh or otherwise, nor could Maekar find a parting in the skin. He was healing.
“The flesh has knitted itself back together. I am whole.”
“But the scars remain.” Maekar’s voice was wretched as he forced it out. “I will never forget what I did to you.”
“Nor I.” Baelor agreed. “And I would never want to. The comfort I felt… Knowing you could take me apart. Knowing you did. That my flesh could only be rent by your hands…”
Maekar watched as Baelor closed his eyes, a soft smile upon his lips.
“I wanted you in that moment. So badly. I wanted you to take me right then and there. Make me yours in the eyes of the Seven and all who gathered to watch their judgment.”
It was Maekar’s turn to close his eyes, and he shook his head against the image. He was the younger. It was not his place. To imagine Baelor spreading for him…
As if Baelor could read the thoughts that threatened to rip him apart, he pulled Maekar’s hand from the back of his head and brought it to his lips. Maekar opened his eyes to see the look of awe and love on Baelor’s face.
“Your hands made me feel safe, Maekar. Did you know that the last words I spoke were those of pride? Of my strong brother. If I were to have fallen, it would have been your hands that made it so. And I would not have wanted it any other way.”
A hoarse cry tore itself from Maekar’s throat.
“Forgive me brother, please, forgive me.”
“Haven’t I told you? There is nothing to forgive. If you need forgiveness, you must needs only forgive yourself.”
Maekar shook his head again but couldn’t stop himself. He took Baelor’s face in his hands and kissed him desperately. Baelor’s mouth opened under his easily, hot and warm and wet.
Gods, he never thought he’d have this again. Baelor came into this world before him and Maekar would do anything to make sure he was there when Maekar himself left it, younger brother or no. Baelor was the one who deserved life and praise and light. It was Baelor who would bring peace and prosperity to the realm. It was Baelor who would secure their legacy for a thousand years to come.
If Baelor had spent the last three weeks in bed he was determined not to show it. Maekar could hardly hold himself up against the onslaught of Baelor’s passion, but he wouldn’t let Baelor overexert himself. He forced himself to gentle the kiss, turned his face so Baelor’s mouth pressed against his cheek and not his lips.
“Maekar…” Baelor’s whisper left Maekar breathless. From the moment he could walk he’d chased after Baelor’s attentions. He’d done everything he could to draw Baelor’s eye, to gain his approval. He would have been content to simply stand in Baelor’s shadow for his entire life, the promise of a glance enough to send fire through his veins, but Baelor had always been a step ahead of him.
When Maekar had turned six and ten and finally stood a man, Baelor had taken him on a hunting trip. He’d taken him away from the eyes of their parents and the court, from their brothers who’d only ever made Maekar feel insignificant, and allowed him to set the terms for the first time in his life. It was that faith and freedom that had given Maekar the courage to make the first move, and the approval that had shone in Baelor’s eyes warmed him to the deepest core of him.
That trip, Maekar had learned Baelor’s confidence was a carefully constructed facade, and that Maekar, and only Maekar had the ability to pull those walls down brick by brick. It was the greatest gift Maekar could have ever been given.
Maekar wanted to show Baelor again that his faith in him hadn’t been misplaced, that Baelor could trust him again, that Maekar was worthy of his love.
“The bed, brother.” Maekar said against his lips. “Let me earn you again.”
“You haven’t heard a thing I’ve said, have you?”
“What the fuck are you on about?”
“You do not have to earn me. You only have to accept what I give you.”
Baelor stood and pulled Maekar up with him. Maekar grabbed at Baelor’s waist, wanting to steady him, but Baelor shoved him backwards.
“The bed, you say?”
“What are you doing?”
“To the bed, then.”
Baelor shoved at Maekar again, and Maekar let himself be pushed back toward the bed, his knees buckling as he sat and looked up at Baelor.
“A pillow.” Baelor held his hand out, and Maekar stared at him dumbly. “Well, be quick about it. I do not have your habit of self-flagellation.”
Maekar passed him a pillow, and Baelor dropped it onto the floor, then sank to his knees and spread Maekar’s legs to situate himself between them.
“What are you doing?”
“I should think it obvious.”
“But it should be me —”
“Am I not your elder brother?” Baelor asked, a challenge in his voice.
“Yes, but…”
“Do I not know best? Must you not obey my every command?”
“You know I must.”
“Then obey me. And accept this.”
Maekar swallowed hard and leaned back. He moved to divest himself of his clothing, but Baelor again stopped him.
“You are mine to touch. Only mine.”
The steel in Baelor’s voice quieted the maelstrom in Maekar’s head and he simply nodded, propping himself up on his elbows as Baelor slowly pushed back layers of silk and linen, finally exposing Maekar’s cock, which against all odds, was hard.
“It seems your body knows what I expect, even if your mind resists.”
“Baelor —”
“Shh…” Baelor whispered, closed his eyes, and nuzzled against Maekar’s thick, furred thighs. Maekar was so sensitive that the warm scratch of Baelor’s beard against his skin had him trembling before Baelor even made it to his sex.
Baelor dragged his lips over every inch of Maekar’s exposed skin, stopping briefly to suck at each scar and freckle as Maekar’s cock dripped shamelessly, unattended.
He was shaking all over. This would not do. He was no boy of six and ten any longer. He had to be strong for his brother, had to show he could stand for the both of them. He clenched his fists tight against the shaking, digging his nails in so hard he hissed from the pain.
Baelor looked up at the noise, frowned when he noticed Maekar’s actions.
“None of that,” Baelor chided. He reached for Maekar’s hands, gently uncurling his fists and running his fingers over the angry red welts in his palm.
Baelor laved his tongue over the welts, then took each of Maekar’s fingers in his mouth one by one, sucking firmly, swirling his tongue like he would soon do to Maekar’s cock, then dragged his teeth over the sensitive fingertips.
It was unbearable. Maekar choked back a sob, biting his lip now so hard it drew blood. Baelor looked up, met Maekar’s gaze with an agonizing gentleness.
“Why are you so determined to cause yourself pain when all I want is to give you pleasure?”
“It’s what I deserve, brother.”
“No.” Baelor’s reprimand came sharply. “You deserve what I decide. What did I tell you? You. Are. Mine.”
At that, Baelor leaned down and swallowed Maekar whole.
Maekar couldn’t hold back the cry if he’d tried. He felt Baelor smile around him, humming his approval as he brought Maekar to the back of his throat.
“Baelor, Baelor!”
Baelor pulled off, just to say, “yes,” and drew Maekar in again. He knew Maekar’s cock like his own, years and years of learning each other’s bodies ingrained into every fiber of their beings.
Maekar remembered the determination with which Baelor had learned to suck him, the satisfaction when he was finally able to swallow Maekar’s release without gagging, the way he would come to Maekar with a glint in his eyes to practice some new trick he’d learned from a book he had no place reading. And Maekar remembered his own fear when he’d taken Baelor in his mouth for the first time, the embarrassment and shame when he found he couldn’t fit him all the way, how he’d coughed and cried and Baelor had stripped himself and splattered his come all over Maekar’s face, and how that same shame and embarrassment had curled inside him and twisted into a spiky arousal.
As if Baelor could sense his mind wandering, he grasped hold of Maekar’s wrist and moved his hand to circle the back of Baelor’s neck. Maekar’s fingers brushed against Baelor’s scars and he yanked his hand back, unable to bear the weight of his transgressions as Baelor laved attention on his cock.
Baelor pulled off again, eyes narrowed in annoyance.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Don’t make me,” he begged, aware how he must look. Blotchy red blush from his pox-scarred cheeks to his chest, which heaved with sweat. His angry, red cock fully erect and resting against his stomach, where it glistened with Baelor’s spit. “It’s too much.”
“Put your hands where they belong.” Baelor’s tone brooked no room for argument. “I would not have your last touch upon me be in anger.” He softened. “Hold me, Maekar. Be here with me. Do not look away. Know that I am yours."
Trembling, Maekar cupped Baelor’s cheeks in his palms. Baelor nuzzled into his touch as Maekar thumbed away the tears gathering at the corners of Baelor’s eyes.
“Yes, brother. As I am yours.”
Maekar’s palms drifted to the back of Baelor’s skull, not pushing or pressing down but just holding, feeling the steady thrum of Baelor’s pulse in his neck. That lifeblood. He was here. He was still here, and he was still Maekar’s.
Maekar kept his eyes on Baelor as he brought him to the brink of pleasure and then edged off each time, just as Maekar was close. Baelor was insistent. He would pull back until just the head of Maekar’s cock was in his mouth, lapping at the spongy tip, flattening his tongue against the frenulum. He took Maekar so deep that Maekar could feel himself in Baelor’s throat, where Baelor swallowed around him over and over. He sucked Maekar’s sac into his mouth, letting his long, crooked, twice-broken nose rub against the base of Maekar’s cock. And his hands were never idle. He reached for Maekar’s nipples, pinched and pulled because he knew Maekar always like a bit of pain with his pleasure. He ran his nails down Maekar’s thighs, leaving raised lines that Maekar never wanted to let fade.
They’d done almost everything one could do with each other, but it had never felt like this. It felt like a punishment. It was exquisite.
Maekar was gasping, his fingers scrabbling at the back of Baelor’s head as he tried to hold off. His lap was soaked with spit and precome. When Baelor so very gently let his teeth drag on the underside of Maekar’s cock, Maekar could feel himself swell in Baelor’s mouth, so of course Baelor chose that moment to pull off.
Maekar sobbed openly now, insensate as he pleaded for Baelor to let him come.
“Please, Baelor, please, please, I must —”
Baelor stroked Maekar so softly and loosely it was even less than a tease.
“Please what, brother?”
“Please let me come,” Maekar babbled, too far gone to keep any sense of dignity about him.
“Do you think you deserve it?”
Maekar couldn’t answer.
Baelor gripped the base of Maekar’s cock tight.
“Do. You. Deserve. It?” He punctuated each word with a vicious twist.
“Yes,” Maekar gasped desperately. “Yes, please, I deserve it, I deserve you —”
Baelor grinned wickedly, those sharp canines flashing.
“Yes. You do.”
And he swallowed Maekar to the hilt, sucking hard and fast, so slick and hot and wet and Maekar keened as his cock swelled and jerked and spurted rope after rope of thick come down Baelor’s throat. His body was racked with pleasure, he curled over Baelor’s head and held him in place, fucking upwards over and over again with no thought to the wet gurgle of Baelor’s throat as he took everything Maekar had to give.
Even after swallowing Maekar dry, Baelor refused to move off Maekar’s cock, and Maekar’s body twitched with the aftershocks, grip so tight on Baelor’s skull that had Baelor had enough hair to wrap around his fingers, he was sure he’d have ripped it out.
Finally, Baelor pulled off, Maekar so oversensitive that the pain wiped out any chance of pleasure, and the dam broke. Maekar wept openly, slumping to the floor as Baelor took him in his arms on the cold flagstone.
“You stupid, selfish fool,” The words were agony, scraping themselves from Maekar’s throat. “How could you do that to me? Why would you make me do that? You fool. I hate you, I hate you.”
Maekar beat weak fists against Baelor’s chest, but the anvil could not break the hammer. Baelor took it all, his arms so tight around Maekar that Maekar thought for a moment Baelor might take him into the very heart of him, that they would finally become one, so intertwined and inseparable they’d be buried together and nobody would ever be able to tell which bones belonged to who when they burned. He wanted to be ash with Baelor. Ash on the wind.
“I know,” was all Baelor said, over and over. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”
Finally, Maekar calmed enough to pull himself together, sobs turning to sniffles.
“Do not leave me again.” He begged Baelor.
“Never. But you must not go where I cannot follow. Do not withdraw like that again. I would take your mace a thousand times before I would suffer that look upon your face even once more.”
“I promise.”
They kissed, Maekar so exhausted he could barely do more than let Baelor plunder his mouth, as they reminded each other they were alive. They were each other’s.
Maekar shifted and felt the hot press of Baelor’s length against his thigh.
“Let me?”
Baelor searched Maekar’s face, and, satisfied with whatever he found there, nodded.
Maekar spit into his palm, shoved his hand into Baelor’s smallclothes, and stripped him hard, no grace or finesse, just desperate to feel Baelor’s cock pulsing in his hand.
Baelor needed little else and came apart at just a few strokes of Maekar’s hand, clutching him hard and biting into his shoulder as he shuddered through his release.
Maekar removed his hand and brought it to his mouth, licking it clean before pressing Baelor back into the floor, making sure the pillow cushioned his head. He pulled off the rest of Baelor’s clothing, exposing his soft, wet cock.
Baelor laughed, “What are you doing?”
“I will not see your blood spilled again, brother. But I will gladly see you come again and again, and I would take every part of you inside me that I can.”
And with that, Maekar leaned down and swept his tongue carefully across the tops of Baelor’s thighs, his sac, and his cock, sucking down every last drop of Baelor’s seed.
Baelor moaned, and when Maekar finished, he pulled him up to lay against his chest.
Maekar closed his eyes, letting Baelor’s heartbeat thud against his cheek. Alive, alive, alive, each one said. Mine, mine, mine.
“You know,” Baelor mused, stroking his long fingers over Maekar’s cheeks, his forehead, his hair. “There is only one thing you might do that I would never forgive you for.”
Maekar’s chest tightened.
“Name it. I will endeavor to never see it done.”
“You must never make me live while you are not. When my time comes, you will be the last thing I see, and I will wait for you happily in the next life until we are reunited again.”
“You would make me live with that burden?” Maekar asked, his throat tight. He’d almost lived this very scenario. It had almost killed him.
“Yes,” Baelor said. “It is my one selfishness. There is no world for me without you.”
If Maekar had his way, they would leave the world together. He may have made Baelor wait for him to enter it, but he’d not leave Baelor waiting for him in the next world for long.
“Very well,” Maekar agreed. He propped himself up on an elbow and stared deep into Baelor’s mismatched eyes. The love, the adoration that shined through… There was nobody else in the world who looked at him like that. He’d prove himself worthy of it at every turn. He’d give it back to Baelor a thousandfold.
“What are you thinking?” Baelor asked, his voice soft.
Maekar shook his head, leaned up and took Baelor’s mouth in his again, just a dry, soft brush of lips. A tenderness he never allowed himself anywhere but with Baelor.
“I am thinking we are too old for the floor. Let us to bed, brother.”
Baelor smiled, so very warm and so very alive.
“I think if I can stomach it, so can you,” he teased. “But you are right. Let me sleep, and wake up to you in my arms again.”
Maekar got up first, helped Baelor to his feet and pushed him back into the bed. He turned to the washbasin and wet a cloth, wiping himself, then Baelor down perfunctorily before tossing the cloth behind him.
He slipped into the bed beside Baelor, let their legs tangle as he tucked himself into the crook of Baelor’s neck.
“You’ll give the maester quite a fright when he comes to check on you.”
Baelor dragged his beard against the top of Maekar’s head.
“If I see him again before the year is out it will be too soon. There’s only one old man I want poking about me.”
Maekar closed his eyes, breathing in the sweat smell of Baelor’s body. Sleep pulled at him.
“Poking about, is it? Maybe when you’ve finished healing.”
The last thing Maekar heard before he succumbed was the huff of Baelor’s laughter, and the last thing he felt was a kiss atop his head.
Alive, alive, alive. Mine, mine, mine.