Chapter Text
The note summoning him to King’s Landing was brief enough that it did not cover a half sheet of parchment.
Brother, it said, my sons have succumbed to this illness alongside our father and my lady wife. I mean to take your hand in marriage. I require new heirs, and there must be no doubt as to their lineage. Our enemies would leap at this chance to sow discord, what with the crown so weakened. You will ride for King’s Landing at once. There was a smear of ink after that sentence, as if his brother had written something and then thought better of it. Send word of your departure, it finished. I will greet you upon your arrival to the city.
Maekar thought of protesting, of sending back a flock of ravens all carrying scrolls of parchment that read No and nothing else. Baelor had written him letter after letter after the farce at Ashford. Maekar had read each one and then burned them without reply. He was not under the illusion that he could ignore this summons. Instead, he went and found his stable master, and instructed him to prepare his horses for the long journey to King’s Landing.
Baelor’s lips were devoid of any passion when he pressed them against Maekar’s own. The kiss lasted scarcely half a second, and lacked any tenderness or warmth. He pulled away quickly, and turned from Maekar to the crowd of cheering witnesses. Beside him, Maekar stood still as a statue, his face set in an expression of neutrality. That his brother did not wish for this marriage was evident.
The Gods, he thought with no small amount of aggravation, must have a particularly sick sense of humour to finally have granted Maekar his most secret desire, and yet to have done so in a way that meant nothing. It was only two days prior that he had arrived in the city, but Baelor and his council had not wanted to waste any time.
“A king requires a wife, or I suppose in this case, a husband,” one advisor had said to Maekar rather patronizingly. Maekar had needed to clench his fists at his side so as to not smack the smirk clean off his round, jowly face. It did not help that Baelor had not met his eyes once since his arrival.
The marriage feast felt as if it went on for days. Maekar sat sullenly beside Baelor, hardly speaking, knowing that he could not have been further from the image of the happily blushing maiden. Speech after speech was given, not that Maekar could recall a single word that was said. He ate, mechanically rather than with any enjoyment, and he drank, not enough to take leave of his senses, but enough to dull the ache in his heart.
It was nothing like Maekar had fantasied about, as a newly presented omega, visions of getting married to his handsome, older, alpha brother floating through his head. In the depths of his mind, he had pictured Baelor placing their house’s cloak around his shoulders at the Sept, leaning in and kissing him feverishly. Of Baelor showing him off to the court, telling everyone, “Maekar is mine.”
When Maekar had presented as an omega, to the shock of both his parents and the wider court, it had felt like confirmation of what Maekar already took to be a given. He was meant for Baelor in every way.
A shame then, that Maekar was the only one to think this. More pathetic still, for him to be sat here, a grown man, hoping that Baelor would turn to face him, or lay a hand upon his thigh. Before, he could write off his fantasies as childhood whims. What excuse did he have to hide behind now?
Baelor could not get hard. Maekar lay atop the bed, stripped of all his clothing in preparation for the bedding ceremony, and mentally cataloged the ways in which Baelor was surely finding him to be deficient. He had an alpha’s body, strong and muscled, and even six children had not left him with any noticeable curves. His skin was littered with the scars of war, his jawline firm, and his pockmarked cheeks were surely still visible under the powder the ladies had pressed into his face that morning.
Even his scent was not customary for an omega. Rather than the soft notes of flowers and sweet fruit, Maeker smelt of woodsmoke, orange peel, and a faint undertone of vanilla. An alpha’s scent, to go with his alpha body. The cunt between his legs was the only true omega feature he possessed.
Maekar had known for ages that he was not a comely omega, that he was not the type of omega to effortlessly drive alphas wild. Having it confirmed for him in this manner should not have hurt as much as it did. He shut his eyes, and listened with his jaw clenched to the futile sounds of Baelor stroking himself.
“You will rub your cock raw, should you continue,” he eventually snarled.
The sounds coming from the end of the bed faltered, and then stopped. A moment later, the bed dipped as Baelor lay down alongside him, careful to leave a space between them. Baelor’s own scent, of sea-salt, bergamot and amber, with its subtle traces of smoke, was sour and unpleasant. Maekar knew his own was likely no better.
“I will tell the septons it was consummated, should they ask,” he said eventually, his tone giving nothing away.
As if Maekar gave a single fuck what the septons thought.
“Fine,” he bit out.
“Maekar,” his brother started, but Maekar had no interest in hearing whatever his brother had to say.
“Shut up,” he said tersely, rolling into his side away from Baelor. “If I am not to be fucked tonight, I wish to sleep.”
Baelor went quiet. In the dark, a single tear carved its way down Maekar’s cheek.
They had fucked only once, in Baelor’s tent after the victory at Redgrass. They had both been turned animalistic from the adrenaline, tearing at each other’s armour and clothing, biting viciously at each other’s mouths. It had been less an act of sex than a continuation of the battle they’d just won.
Baelor had rutted into him with a desperation that Maekar had never seen before, making his face look strange and unnatural, holding Maekar’s throat in one large hand, and spitting out, “Mine,” as he knotted him. The sharp points of Baelor’s prominent incisors had pressed just on the edge of the mating bite he already wore from Dyanna. Maekar had longed for Baelor’s teeth to sink into it, draw blood and override the existing claim with his own.
In the morning, Baelor had silently handed him a cup of moon tea and watched on to ensure Maekar drank it all. They had never spoken of it in the years that followed. Maekar had been trying fruitlessly to forget each vivid detail of it ever since.
In public, they behaved as they were long accustomed to doing. Baelor treated him as his equal, asking his opinions on political matters, on decisions to be taken about various conflicts happening in different locations across the Kingdoms. Maekar was a full participant in all the endlessly boring small council meetings where men talked in circles and never seemed to ever decide upon anything.
Baelor imposed no new restrictions upon him, asked Maekar for nothing that Maekar was unwilling to give. Sometimes, Maekar could spend entire days forgetting they had ever been married, right up until the moment he returned to their joint chambers and was greeted with the shared smell of the two of them.
“How are your children?” Baelor ventured into the silence of their chambers one evening.
Maekar gave an unhappy snort.
“Daeron is likely drinking Summerhall’s wine stores dry as he descends further into madness. In spite of his constant whoring, he has not yet fathered any bastards I am aware of, which has led me to wonder if his cock is defective in the same way as his mind. Aeiron is still in Lys, surely delighting in partying and violence. Aemon is studying at the Citadel, as you well know, seeing as you did not intervene when our father, in his infinite wisdom, decided to send him away. Daella and Rhae are with their grandmother, and Egg is wandering around the kingdom like a peasant boy with that fucking hedge knight. I know he is alive only thanks to the letters I receive from my spies, as he cannot, apparently, be bothered to occasionally send me a raven himself.”
“You could have brought the girls with you, if you had wished,” Baelor said, “Daeron too. I would not have minded.”
“I’m sure you would not have. You do so delight in proving to me what a failure of a parent I am. Having my children here would make such a task considerably easier for you.”
Baelor’s placid expression faltered slightly as he looked upon Maekar.
“That is not what I meant,” he murmured after a beat. Maekar simply levelled him with a ferocious glare, and turned back to the tome he was pretending to read. Across the room, Baelor lapsed back into a silence that lasted for the rest of the evening.
Maekar came to discover that his brother now wept in his sleep most nights, calling out for his sons, and even more damningly, his wife. Maekar lay awake, the space between them in their bed an abyss he did not know how to cross. It was a wretched thing, to be jealous of a dead woman.
Come morning, the only trace of it was the faint redness to Baelor’s eyes, unnoticeable to anyone but Maekar. Anyone who hadn’t spent what felt like half their lifetime staring at his multicoloured eyes and watching, transfixed, at how they changed shades with the light.
Outside of their chambers, Maekar wore a thin collar around his neck so that the court could not see the lack of a mating bite. Baelor would have to fuck him to bite him, and since the disaster of their wedding night, he had not so much as made an attempt at doing so. This was not, however, something that the court could know, and so Maekar kept the collar on at all times, even when sparring in the training yard. If anyone thought his newfound chastity strange, they knew better than to comment on it openly.
Baelor had been diminished, in some nebulous way, by the deaths of his family. Not in a physical manner. He was still strong, tall, and more handsome than Maekar liked to acknowledge, even in the safety of his own mind. Only Baelor would have somehow managed to become better looking with each year that passed. He radiated an alpha’s masculinity that he rarely imposed or even made mention of. This, naturally, made it altogether more impressive. Even so, there was a new sense of distance to him that had never before been present.
Sometimes, in council meetings, Maekar would look over to him and the look in his eyes as he fiddled with the rings upon his fingers was one of such vacancy that Maekar scarcely recognized him. To everyone else, his advisors, the lords, the Kingsguard, he seemed unchanged. Maekar had heard the whispers about how well Baelor was handling it, how he was already such a fine King in spite of his sorrow. Maekar thought the sentiment laughable. His brother slept in the same bed with him each evening, and yet he had never felt more of a stranger.
Maekar hated it, as he had always hated anything that belonged to Baelor and Baelor alone. Baelor had always been able to see through Maekar so easily. It was completely unfair for there to be aspects of Baelor that lay beyond Maekar’s reach.
He had held no intentions of coming across Baelor in the training yard, but come across him he did. As a rule, Maekar largely ignored Baelor outside of official engagements and the time they were forced to spend together in their chambers. It was one of the few strategies he had at his disposal in order to maintain his sanity. Finding him here, where Maekar had planned to spend a few hours beating up lesser knights to take the edge off of his simmering annoyance, was something he could have done without.
Baelor was sparring with one of the Kingsguard. He did not seem to have noticed Maekar, so Maekar took advantage of the opportunity to watch his brother unobserved. Stripped down to a thin tunic, sweat running down his temples, Baelor looked to be almost glowing in the late afternoon sunshine. Maekar had never understood why on earth people critiqued Baelor’s skin tone, the golden brown cast to his body that darkened every summer, or with every trip to Dorne. As far as Maekar was concerned, it was infinitely more attractive than his own pale skin.
Maekar could see the muscles in his arms and shoulders flexing as he swung his sword. It was no surprise that giggling crowds of prospective omegas had always seemed to find time to watch Baelor’s training when they were teens. There could hardly, Maekar thought grumpily, be a better advertisement for Baelor’s virility, his strength.
Baelor finished his fight, dispatching the sword of the Kingsguard in one smooth movement, before wiping a hand over his face and looking up. Seeing Maekar, he smiled, a genuine, happy expression that Maekar hadn’t seen often in recent weeks.
“Maekar,” he called out to him, “Come spar with me.”
Maekar could think of nothing worse. To be so close to Baelor, to smell his sweat as he exerted himself, to potentially end up pinned beneath him, all while knowing that Baelor had no desire for him? He stiffened, straightening up his spine.
“I should think not,” he said icily, “I do not wish to roll around in the dirt with you as if we are unruly children.”
Baelor’s face fell immediately, his smile vanishing as if it had never been there in the face of Maekar’s curt rejection.
Telling himself that he had nothing to feel guilty for, Maekar stalked off. As he moved, he could feel, embarrassingly, how wet he was in his smallclothes, simply from watching how Baelor’s back muscles had shifted with every thrust and parry.
Baelor went away on an extended diplomatic trip that happened to overlap with Maekar’s first heat after they were married. Maekar rather suspected it to be an intentional act on his brother’s part. Denying an omega in heat their alpha’s knot was an act that required a level of cruelty and willpower that Baelor likely knew himself to be unable to achieve. When faced with an omega in heat, even one an alpha did not particularly want, simple biology would be enough to ensure they had sex. Better then, to be safely ensconced in the North, far away from it all. Maekar did not object. He had little interest in Baelor bedding him out of some sense of pitiful obligation.
Maekar rode it out by himself, as he had been doing since Dyanna’s death. Alone in their bed chambers, he fucked himself on his own fingers while pressing his face into one of Baelor’s robes, the smell of him thick and horrifyingly soothing.
In the throes of his heat, Maekar could hear himself crying out for Baelor until his throat went raw. Nothing brought him any satisfaction, his body knowing that he should have a knot, should have Baelor’s knot, and as a result, his heat lasted longer and was considerably more painful than usual. When it finally eased, he had the servants burn the bed linens alongside Baelor’s robe. By the time Baelor returned, any lingering traces of Maekar’s heat had disappeared.
Maekar was already in a vile mood. Earlier that day, he had overheard some lords wondering as to why he was not yet with child.
“Perhaps the King cannot bear to bed him,” one had suggested. “He is certainly a much less enticing proposition than the King’s late wife.”
It had set his teeth on edge, and hours later, they remained that way, even as Baelor entered their chambers and began to undress, removing the outer layers of his clothing.
“I received a letter today, from Ser Duncan. I can bring it to you, should you wish to read it. There are some rather amusing anecdotes about Egg that may please you.”
Anger began to burn slowly inside of Maekar.
“I do not,” he stated, his voice clipped and terse, “Wish to read a single fucking word that that hedge knight has scribbled down.”
Baelor half turned towards him, looking slightly quizzical at the tone Maekar had taken.
“Surely you are not still upset with Ser Duncan? I rather believed us to have resolved this matter some time ago.”
Maekar let out a furious bark of laughter.
“Resolved this matter? Resolved this matter? No, Baelor, we have not. I do not know how it has escaped your attention, but as a point of fact, we have not so much as spoken to each other about the fucking disaster that was the tournament at Ashford since it took place.”
“You chose some random hedge knight over me. You chose some random hedge knight over my children, and you expect me to not hold any hard feelings towards you about it? You expect me to simply have gotten over it, the way you so evidently have. Aerion could have died, not that you seemed at all concerned about that at the time. Too busy protecting your fucking image I suppose. Gods forbid the smallfolk think you anything other than virtuous and righteous. Gods forbid they think you would stand up for your family, your blood,” Maekar snarled, his chest heaving with anger.
Baelor, as ever, was infuriatingly inscrutable, listening to Maekar’s rant with the same dispassionate stare that he utilized when stuck in conversation with some particularly dull lord. This only served to deepen Maekar’s fury.
“Perhaps,” he heard himself hissing, “If you valued your children as much as you value your honour, the Gods would not have seen fit to take them from you.”
It was a horrifically cruel thing to say, but Maekar had always been comfortable wielding cruelty as a shield with which to protect himself.
Across the room, Baelor flinched once, face turning ashen, his eyes flickering with rage as he looked back at Maekar. A rather large part of Maekar wished that Baelor would yell at him, would cross the room and strike him, anything to make him feel as if he in any way mattered to his brother more than all the other people in this bloody castle. Anything to prove that he could stand to touch him at all, even if it was in anger.
Instead, Baelor clenched his jaw so tightly Maekar could see the veins in his neck throb. His hands curled into fists at his side as he spoke.
“I would not have permitted Aerion to die. You think my actions at Ashford were those of a man who does not care about his family, yet I was trying to protect our family by demonstrating to the smallfolk our capacity for honour, our respect for justice. I am aware that you do not tend to concern yourself with such things, but our family’s standing among the people has seen better days.”
“If a rebellion broke out, do you not think your sons may die? Do you not recall how many men died alongside us during the rebellion? How many men, children really, did we see lanced, their guts spilling out of them into the blood soaked ground beneath our horses? How many men did we have to kill ourselves, simply to spare them a long, painful death? How many wailing mothers did we come across who screamed at us, asking for news of their missing babes?”
“I understand why you stood by your children. I have always understood why you stood by your children. What I do not understand is why you are still so blinded to reality that you cannot see what I was attempting to accomplish with my actions. As it is, I suppose you feel I got what I deserved. My sons are dead, and yours remain breathing. I should think that alone would be enough to satisfy the depths of your anger, Maekar.”
Baelor did not wait for a response, turning on his heel and leaving the room. He did not come to bed that evening. All night, the rancid smell of his rage lingered in their chambers.
He had been in love with Baelor since he knew what love was. By the time Maekar had thought to stop it, it was already too late. It lived within his very bones, the blood in his veins, such a fundamental part of his soul that there was no separating himself from it. Maekar doubted that it would leave him even in death.
It was entirely by accident that he came across Baelor weeping alone in his solar. In the days since their argument, he and Baelor had interacted with one another even less frequently than usual. Baelor was gone by the time Maekar woke most mornings, and he returned to their chambers so late at night that Maekar could pretend to be already asleep.
He had been passing by on his way to the stables when he picked up on Baelor’s scent, thick and astringent, leaching out from underneath the doorway and making his nose curl in disgust. Ignoring the protests from the Kingsguard stationed outside, he flung open the door and stalked in.
He was stopped dead in his tracks by the sight of Baelor sitting at his large reading desk, tears streaming silently down his face, his shoulders hunched. Maekar did not need to ask what had precipitated the tears. He knew as well as everyone else that today would have been Matarys' four and tenth name day, had he not been dead.
At the sight of it, Maekar’s heart gave a traitorous lurch. Baelor’s sadness had always left him unnerved. He would have liked to be able to blame this trait on his omega instincts, but even well before he presented, Baelor being upset filled him with an almost feral need to fix whatever it was that was wrong.
When Baelor’s favourite hunting hound had died when they were children, Maekar had snuck away from the Kingsguard and into Flea Bottom. He had returned hours later, carrying a small, rather skinny, black and white puppy in his arms that he had proudly thrust at Baelor, uncaring of the panic his absence had caused. He had been grounded for two moons by their parents, and thought it an entirely worthwhile price to pay when he had seen Baelor training the new puppy in the yard, laughing fondly as it licked his face.
It was the same infernal desire to fix it that now had him approaching the desk and reaching out, wrapping his arms around Baelor’s shoulders. At his touch, Baelor tensed in surprise before relaxing into his arms.
“You do not need to do this,” he mumbled hoarsely, “I will be fine in a few moments. I do not wish for you to put yourself out on my behalf.”
“Shut up,” Maekar responded, but his voice lacked its usual venom. Rather tentatively, he made an effort to project his scent, half expecting it to cause Baelor to pull away from him. Instead, Baelor let out a ragged sob, leaning forwards until his face was tucked against Maekar’s stomach. Maekar could see his shoulders shaking, could smell the acrid scent of his grief as Baelor wept against him quietly.
“I miss them, constantly,” his brother confessed, so softly that Maekar had to strain his ears to hear him. “It is an unnatural thing, to outlive your own children. You think I consider you to be an unfit parent. Nothing could be further from the truth. Your pups still live, while my own are gone from me. As far as I am concerned, you have well outstripped me in this regard. Maybe you are right. Perhaps the Gods took them from me as a punishment for my hubris, my stubborn belief that I always know what is correct.”
Maekar swallowed the lump that had taken up residence in his throat. He had always longed for Baelor’s approval when it came to his children, had been desperate to hear Baelor acknowledge his mistakes at Ashford, but receiving it in this manner was a hollow, painful victory that tasted like ash on his tongue.
“I do not think you deserve this,” he said at length.
Baelor let out a joyless laugh against his stomach. “No?”
“No. No one deserves this, brother.”
“I was trying to keep us safe,” Baelor murmured wetly. “I merely wished for us all to be safe.”
Heartsick at the sight of his normally unflappable brother in such a state, Maekar tightened the hold he had on Baelor’s frame, and ran a hand gently through his dark hair. Against him, Baelor eased into him, wrapping his own arms around Maekar’s waist. They rested like that in silence for long moments, until Baelor no longer reeked quite so severely of misery.
When Baelor retired to their bed that evening, Maekar was already in it, lying on what had, by unspoken agreement, become his side. He expected Baelor to undergo his customary routine of reading some final pieces of correspondence before blowing out the last candle and falling asleep, but instead Baelor blew out the light and reached across the bed for Maekar. He did so cautiously, clearly indicating each movement before he made it, as if he expected Maekar to move away or snap at him. When Maekar did not, Baelor carefully embraced him from behind, tucking his nose against Maekar’s scent gland and inhaling deeply, his own scent blossoming in contentment.
“I did not think you found my scent enjoyable,” Maekar admitted quietly. “It is an alpha’s scent. I have been told before that it is not pleasant, at least to most.”
Behind him, Baelor made a disgruntled noise and dragged Maekar more firmly against his chest, now openly scenting him.
“You smell like home,” he said simply, “I have always found your scent to be soothing.”
Maekar wasn’t sure he believed him, but Baelor’s own scent was filling their chambers, rich and pure, lacking the edge of sour misery that had shaded it since Maekar had returned to King’s Landing, and for once Maekar did not wish to fight.
He felt his body loosening in Baelor’s embrace, finding himself becoming drowsy and content. Baelor let out a small hum, and nuzzled lightly at Maekar’s neck.
“Sleep, Maekar. You have not been sleeping well.”
“Neither have you,” Maekar retorted, but if Baelor responded, he did not hear it, already having slid into unconsciousness. For once, Baelor’s dreams did not disturb them.
Something shifted in their relationship after that. Suddenly, Maekar could breathe more easily around Baelor. In the evenings, they now spoke with each other in their chambers, talking about the events of the day over glasses of wine, Baelor laughing helplessly at Maekar’s vicious mockery of the inept lords that surrounded them.
They went hunting together, just the two of them and a handful of guards, riding through the Godswood. At dinner, Maekar noticed how Baelor made sure to serve him the best, most tender cuts of meat, and at breakfast, there seemed to be a never ending supply of Maekar’s favourite fresh fruit. Baelor returned from a trip to the Iron Islands and wordlessly presented Maekar with a new dagger, finely carved, wickedly sharp and with a deep blood red ruby set at the base of its hilt. If Maekar had not known better, he would have suspected Baelor of courting him.
It was a state of existence that Maekar found he could live with. If he sometimes found himself growing wet at the sight of Baelor dressing himself in the morning, or watching him intently as he rode his horse rapidly through the trees, the sunlight cascading over his hair and illuminating his skin, he told himself firmly not to be greedy, to not ruin the fragile peace that had sprung up between them simply for the sake of his foolish desires.
In the end, it was sparring that led to events coming to a head. Baelor had been asking Maekar to spar with him repeatedly for weeks, badgering him about it most days.
“You spar with everyone else,” he pointed out, his voice verging on petulant in a way it never would have in public. “Why won’t you spar with me? We’re the only two who are even close to each other’s skill level.”
Maekar had known that if he let Baelor get that close to him, if he let Baelor touch him in such a way, he would have no hope of concealing his desire from him. It was a reckless, stupid decision, one that Maekar cursed himself for making as soon as he did so. Unfortunately, he was running out of the reserves of willpower required to deny Baelor time and time again, sick of seeing the tiny flash of hurt on Baelor’s face whenever he refused.
“Fuck, fine, alright? I’ll spar with you, if only to spare myself your incessant whining.”
Baelor grinned, a cat that had gotten the cream.
“I’m not whining, brother,” he said, trying and failing to sound offended. “Kings don’t whine, haven’t you heard?”
“This one rather evidently does,” Maekar shot back before ensconcing himself into their bathing chamber, the sound of Baelor’s answering chuckle ringing around his skull.
Agreement secured, Baelor did not give Maekar any time to change his mind, dragging him down to the yard the very next afternoon. For a while to begin with, it was not so bad. Maekar lost himself to the familiar rhythm of a fight, relishing the burn in his muscles as they traded blows.
It was when Maekar found himself pinned to the ground beneath him that everything fell to shit. Baelor had taken advantage of Maekar overreaching, trying to knock his sword from his grasp, and used his newfound lack of balance to tackle him to the dirt, swiping Maekar’s sword from his hand and pressing down on his shoulders so as to prevent him from moving.
“Yield,” Baelor demanded, his eyes glinting playfully with the satisfaction at having bested him.
A barely perceptible noise escaped Maekar before he could stop it, force it back down his throat. The smallest, slightest of whimpers. Hardly anything more than an exhalation of air, and yet Baelor honed in on it like a bloodhound, his gaze sharpening as he took in Maekar with a newfound clarity.
Maekar braced himself against the rejection he was certain was forthcoming. He so strongly anticipated Baelor getting up and walking away from him that it took him a moment to realize that he had been hauled to his feet, and was now being rushed through the courtyard back to their rooms, Baelor’s hand wrapped around his forearm tightly enough to bruise.
Within moments, they were in their chambers, Baelor slamming the door behind him and turning the lock, advancing on Maekar, his eyes wild. Maekar shuddered at the sight of it, aware that his scent was leaking arousal, but unable to prevent it. He didn’t get a chance to say anything before Baelor’s mouth descended upon his, his hands tearing at Maekar’s sparring clothes.
As if in a blur, one moment Maekar was standing upright, trying his best to match the force of Baelor’s kisses, and the next thing he knew, he was sprawled out on their bed, bare except for his smallclothes, Baelor similarly undressed and starting to kiss his way down Maekar’s sharp cheekbones and the line of his jaw.
“Pretty,” Baelor said lowly, nosing along the column of Maekar’s pale throat.
“You need not lie,” Maekar spat, his scent suddenly souring with humiliation, twisting his head away from Baelor’s grasp. “I will fuck you regardless of whatever sweet words you might whisper. I’m not some blushing maiden who you need to charm. I know my duty.”
Baelor stopped what he was doing, rising up from Maekar’s body. “I am not lying.”
Maekar made a bitter, unhappy noise. “You could not pretend to find me attractive long enough to fuck me on our wedding night. You have made it abundantly clear that the sight of me repulses you.”
He hated himself for the way his voice trembled around the words, hated himself even more for the way his eyes filled with tears.
Above him, Baelor closed his eyes briefly, a pained expression flashing across his features.
“You think I did not bed you on our wedding night because I find you unattractive.”
Hearing it spoken so plainly from Baelor’s lips, shame settled heavily in Maekar’s stomach.
“It was the obvious conclusion,” he muttered miserably, swiping roughly at his eyes, “I was lying there bare as the day I was born and you couldn’t even feign arousal.”
He thrust his hips upwards, looking to dislodge Baelor and end this conversation, his own arousal be damned, but Baelor settled himself more heavily on top of Maekar, refusing to budge.
“Get off me,” Maekar forced out.
“No,” Baelor said stubbornly, “I have allowed you to labor under this misconception for too long already. I had just burned my sons, Maekar! Each time I inhaled, I smelt their burning flesh in the back of my throat. My inability to bed you had nothing at all to do with you or your looks. I think you to be the most gorgeous omega I’ve ever laid my eyes upon. I always have done.”
Maekar let out a disbelieving snort. In return, Baelor made a low, snarling noise, grasping Maekar’s face in between his hands and turning his face to force Maekar to look up at him.
“Listen to me,” he growled out, putting enough command behind the words that Maekar found himself opening his eyes to take in Baelor.
“I have wanted to fuck you since you first presented. You have no idea how tempting you were to me. Father kept me under lock and key during your first heat. The Kingsguard were under strict orders not to let me out of their sight, even for a moment. Father could smell it, you see. He knew that I wanted nothing more than to fight my way into your chambers and claim you as my own. Given half the chance, I would have put a pup in you before you could so much have blinked.”
”I could not walk past your door without finding myself hard and aching. You smelt, Gods Maekar, you smelt so sweet, so rich. I wanted to feast upon your cunt like a man starved. I wanted to fuck you until you were sobbing, until you could not stand, until the only thing you were capable of saying was my name.”
A rush of slick gushed from Maekar’s cunt and trickled down his inner thighs at that statement. He did not volunteer the information that he had stolen one of Baelor’s tunics for his nest in the lead up to his first heat, or that he had worn it for the majority of the time, sticking his nose into the stretched collar of it while frantically grinding his hips against his pillows.
“You never made any indication of it,” he pointed out, his voice sounding churlish to his own ears.
“Father made it abundantly clear that he would never have permitted me to touch you. You know as well as I do what his feelings were regarding our family’s history of intermarriages. He told me, plainly, that he would separate my hand from my body if he discovered I had placed it upon you in any manner other than brotherly. When that wasn’t enough to quell my desire, he threatened to send you far away from me if I could not behave myself. Why on earth do you think they betrothed me to Jena so soon after you presented? It was their way of ensuring I did not, could not, go near you.”
Baelor leaned in closer, his face coming almost level with Maekar’s.
“I knotted my own hand for months picturing you underneath me, your silver hair spread out across my pillows, your muscular body turned pliant under my own, the noises you would make as I spilled my seed inside of your warm cunt. It only got worse after Redgrass. Once I knew what you looked like in my bed, I could not get the image out of my head.”
”I found myself getting hard every time you sat upon your horse or wielded your mace, remembering how you felt around me, still covered in blood and sweat. I should have bitten you then, dragged you home to Father and presented you as my own, consequences be damned. I should have let my seed take, seen you grow round and vibrant with our babe. You have driven me beyond the edges of my sanity for years.”
This close, Maekar could see how dilated Baelor’s pupils were, his eyes darkened with lust. He could smell it too, Baelor’s scent turned musky and heavy with arousal. Deep inside of him, all of his years of careful restraint gave way all at once, and before he knew it, he was grabbing at the back of Baelor’s head and pulling him into another fierce kiss.
“You are a fool,” he spat out when he managed to tear himself away from Baelor’s lips. “We could have been doing this since my first heat, if not for your own ridiculous notions of chivalry and duty.”
Baelor growled, the low sound of it reverberating through Maekar’s chest.
“Yes. I fully intend to make up for the time we have lost.”
Baelor shoved their mouths together in a rough, wet kiss, licking into Maekar’s mouth as his hands began to roam across Maekar’s torso and chest. He pinched at a nipple, teasing, and made a deep noise of satisfaction when Maekar let out a groan at the sensation. His lips replaced his hand, biting and sucking at Maekar’s nipple until it was bruised and swollen from his ministrations, at which point he repeated his actions on the other one.
“Fuck,” Maekar groaned, clutching at the back of Baelor’s skull, hips instinctively moving upwards, searching for some friction against his aching cunt.
Baelor worked his way down his abdomen, tongue caressing the faint silvery lines that ran across his muscled stomach, one of the few pieces of evidence that he had borne children previously. Maekar was dripping by the time Baelor settled himself in between his spread thighs, cunt clenching repeatedly around nothing.
For a beat, Baelor just looked at him, his eyes so dark that for once the difference between purple and hazel was hardly visible as he took in the obvious wet spot at the front of Maekar’s smallclothes.
Placing his face against the front of his cunt, Maekar felt it as Baelor simply inhaled deeply, nose and mouth pressed against where he was leaking through the cloth.
“I could come, just from this,” Baelor confessed, his voice gone gravelly, looking up at him. “Just from rolling my hips into the bedspread and inhaling the scent of your slick.”
Maekar let out a moan, squeezing his thighs around Baelor’s broad shoulders.
“I have wanted you to fuck me since I was three and ten years old. If you waste your seed on the bedcovers, I will find that dagger you brought me and use it to stab you.”
Baelor chuckled quietly, the vibrations causing another wave of sensation to spill through Maekar.
“I’ll fuck you, I swear it. But first…”
Without any preamble, Baelor sealed his lips against Maekar’s cunt through his smallclothes and sucked, wetting the fabric even further, teasing him for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he pulled Maekar’s smallclothes off his legs, chucking them off the side of the bed, and returning to his previous position.
Staring at Maekar’s wet cunt, now exposed to him, he breathed out, openly admiring, “Gods Maekar, so wet for me. So pretty, sweetling.”
Maekar felt another bead of slick leak from him at the praise. He kicked his heel lightly against Baelor’s lower back in frustration. “Fucking do something, Baelor, or I swear to the Gods I will -,”
His threat was cut off by Baelor licking into his cunt, his broad tongue working his way into him, tracing the lips of his cunt, before closing his mouth around the swollen red nub of Maekar’s clit. Maekar gave a shout, body spasming. Baelor simply slung one strong forearm across his waist to prevent him from moving and continued to work his mouth against him.
A finger joined Baelor’s tongue before long, sliding into the aching heat of Maekar with ease. Another followed. The metal of Baelor’s rings was a cool contrast to the heat seeping out of Maekar. Maekar instinctively rolled his hips into the sensation, as Baelor began to curl his fingers inside of him, finding the spot that made Maekar’s legs tremble and rubbing his fingers against it while sucking at his clit.
Maekar’s orgasm rushed through him, and he came with a scream, slick gushing out of him, as Baelor refused to let up, working Maekar through it until Maekar was shaking and making small, whimpering noises high in the back of his throat.
Maekar felt another dizzying sway of arousal when Baelor finally lifted his head, his beard drenched with Maekar’s slick, glistening with it. As Maekar watched, Baelor took the fingers that had been inside of him, and slipped them into his own mouth, sucking all his slick off of them, tonging at his dirtied rings while humming contentedly.
“You taste as divine as I always imagined you would, sweetling,” Baelor groaned, removing his fingers from his mouth.
“Fuck, Gods,” Maekar gasped, sitting up and biting once more against Baelor’s lips, tasting himself on his brother’s mouth, almost drunk with it. He could feel Baelor moving against him, his still covered cock seeking friction and warmth, Baelor’s composure fraying. Reaching down between their bodies, Maekar grabbed at him, delighting in the choked-off groan Baelor made against his mouth when he rubbed his hand along the length of him.
“Truly,” Maekar teased, a bit sardonically, “I do not know how you manage to walk straight with this between your legs.”
The sound that escaped Baelor was almost a whimper, his face flushing pink where it was pressed into Maekar’s throat at Maekar’s teasing.
“Shut up,” he retorted a bit unsteadily. “I do not recall you having any complaints about my size previously.”
Maekar laughed, stroking him through his smallclothes a few more times, Baelor’s cock jerking underneath his hand, a damp spot on his smallclothes appearing where he was leaking from the tip.
Too impatient to tease him any longer, Maekar released his length and lay back against the pillows, looking up at Baelor with violet eyes that burned with lust.
“Well? I do believe you promised to fuck me.”
Baelor, mercifully, required no further goading. Raising up, he stripped himself of his smallclothes, his hard cock now on display, thick and long, flushed red at the tip. Maekar swallowed at the sight of it, his mouth watering at the thought of tasting it, of having that heavy weight on his tongue.
“It may be easier for you to take me on your hands and knees.”
Maekar shook his head instantly.
“No. I want to see you.”
Baelor groaned, his cock twitching. Kneeling between Maekar’s thighs, he arranged his legs so that they were atop his shoulders. Taking himself in hand, he pressed the swollen head of his cock to Maekar’s entrance, rubbing it against Maekar’s slit.
“If you do not -,” Maekar started, before the air was pushed from his lungs as Baelor sheathed himself within him in one smooth movement. They both moaned at the sensation, Baelor filling Maekar perfectly, seated deep inside of his wet heat.
“You feel so good around me,” Baelor choked out, bringing his face down to kiss at Maekar’s chest, waiting for Maekar to adjust to the stretch. Maekar didn’t make him wait long, biting out, “Fuck me,” after a few heartbeats had gone by.
Baelor obliged, fucking into Maekar in a deep, grinding rhythm. Every thrust of his hips lit Maekar up from the inside, more slick pouring out of him as Baelor’s cock pressed into the most sensitive parts of him, coring Maekar open around him. Maekar was wet enough that he could hear a squelching noise each time Baelor pulled out and fucked back in.
“Harder,” he demanded, the ache inside of him growing, desperate to feel the full force of Baelor’s strength. Baelor picked up the pace of his movements, pounding into Maekar with a snarl. Maekar could hear the noises spilling from his throat, gasping whimpers and whines, but he was helpless to stop them, helpless to focus on anything other than the sensation of Baelor’s cock moving inside of him.
He felt as if he would go blind from the pleasure of it, the slight pain each time Baelor forced his way inside of him. He chased the feeling, pushing back against Baelor in earnest, hearing Baelor’s answering groan as his stones smacked against Maekar’s ass.
“Yeah, just like that sweetling. Fuck. Your cunt is so hot, so tight, so warm. Just for me, yes? Just for my cock, my knot.”
Maekar’s hands tore at Baelor’s broad back, at his shoulder, nails coming away bloody, head falling back as his cunt clenched around Baelor. The possessiveness in Baelor’s tone tore through him, leaving him gasping with wet eyes. Baelor bit at his cheekbones, at his nipples, hands clutching at Maekar’s hips tight enough to bruise.
“Yes, just for you. Always for you. Gods Baelor, you’re so big inside of me. I can feel you in my fucking throat.”
The pleasure built, Baelor carving a space inside of him, in and out, in and out, as Maekar lost himself to it. His peak approached, hovering just out of his reach, and he instinctively drew a hand down between their bodies, searching for his clit.
Baelor slapped it away. Maekar let out a desperate whine.
“Baelor, please. I’m so close. Allow me to touch myself.”
“No,” Baelor breathed roughly against his ear. “A good omega would come just from my cock inside of them. You’re a good omega, aren’t you Maekar? You can be good for me, you can do as I wish, come just like this, squeezing your tight little cunt around my cock-“
Maekar jerked violently underneath him, cunt spasming around Baelor’s cock, legs shaking as he came apart, squirting slick between the two of them.
“Gods,” Baelor groaned, awestruck, eyes gleaming with satisfaction, “That’s so good. I knew you could do it, sweetling.”
He kept rutting into him, Maekar clawing at his hips, overstimulated. It was too much, all his nerves frayed, but he would rather have died than have Baelor stop. His head clearing slightly, he could see that Baelor was close, could feel his knot beginning to swell as he thrust into him.
“Knot me. I want to feel it Baelor. Want you to spill your seed deep inside of me, so deep that it takes, so deep that you see me swollen with your babe.”
Tension lined the muscles of Baelor’s shoulders as his rhythm faltered. His final strokes went so far into him as to feel as though they were carving new paths inside of Maekar, his knot swelling to its full size, trapping Baelor inside of him even as Baelor worked desperately to fuck his knot further into him, warm seed coating Maekar’s insides as he came, panting violently against Maekar’s mouth.
The press of Baelor’s knot inside of him was enough to send Maekar over the edge once more, cunt milking Baelor’s cock for all it was worth. Baelor dislodged himself from Maekar’s lips and pressed his open mouth against Maekar’s neck, feverishly licking and sucking where a mating bite would go.
Maekar could feel the edges of his teeth on his skin. “Do it,” he urged. “Make me yours.”
Baelor growled, knot twitching fiercely, and sunk his teeth into Maekar’s neck, hard enough to break the skin. Maekar moaned, eyes rolling back in his head as Baelor licked over the bite he had made, then shoved his tongue into Maekar’s mouth, letting him taste his own blood on Baelor’s lips, the proof of his claim.
“Mine,” Baelor said firmly when they eventually stopped kissing. “You’re mine, Maekar, just as you always should have been.”
“Yours,” Maekar agreed, a slight smile crossing his face, his body thrumming with satisfaction. “It fucking took you long enough.”
Maekar gave birth to a baby boy on a day just shy of the two year anniversary of their marriage. Baelor had ignored the maesters when they had told him to wait outside of the birthing chambers, instead staying by Maekar’s side the whole time he laboured, holding his hand, stroking his hair, and offering him cool sips of water what felt like every half minute. As Maekar had screamed obscenities at him, gripping his hand tightly enough to bruise the bones beneath, cursing both his husband and his husband’s cock, Baelor had simply kissed his forehead, saying gently, “That’s it sweetling, you’re doing so well.”
The babe came out healthy and hale, screaming his lungs off in protest at having been removed from the warmth of Maekar’s womb. The maesters wiped him off before placing him on Maekar’s chest. Looking down, Maekar could see that the baby had a shock of silver-white hair, disrupted only by a small streak of brown hair above his right ear.
He looked up to see Baelor coming to the same realization, and watched as Baelor reached out a shaking hand, running one finger lightly along the streak, his throat convulsing.
“He looks…it is as if…it is the same as Valarr’s.”
His brother’s voice broke apart on the last word, tears filling his eyes. Maekar’s own heart ached. He knew the loss of his two sons still haunted Baelor. Even now, there were nights when he was woken up by the sound of Baelor calling out for them, though by now it was second nature for Maekar to wrap himself around Baelor and allow him to scent him until his panic had eased. Baelor had been uncharacteristically anxious the entire time Maekar was with child, quietly terrified that he would lose one or both of them.
He shifted over slightly on the bed, motioning to the space beside him.
“Come here,” he offered, and Baelor did, carefully lying down. Maekar lay his head on Baelor’s shoulder, and passed the baby over to him, watching as Baelor held the boy close against his chest, scenting the top of his head, a few stray tears sliding down his cheeks and into his beard. A small smile formed on his lips, melancholy and happiness both prominent within his scent as he once more ran his fingers through the babe’s hair.
Contentment filled Maekar at the sight of his husband cradling their son to his chest, so obviously in love with the baby already. The smell of it spilled out of him and covered the room.
“You are well?” Baelor asked, turning his head to place a kiss upon the top of Maekar’s sweaty forehead, and then one softly against his lips.
“Yes,” Maekar murmured sleepily. “I have all that I’ve ever wished for.”
He hesitated slightly before turning to glance at Baelor. “Are you well?”
Relief coursed through him when Baelor nodded without any pause. “Yes. You have made me happier than I thought possible, when I was in the depths of my grief. It feels like a second chance. I am not sure I deserve one, but I will selfishly cherish it all the same.”
Maekar smiled fondly at that, tucking his face firmly into the curve of Baelor’s throat, sucking in deep breaths of his scent, the love Baelor held for him thick enough that he could almost taste it.
“Rest,” Baelor said warmly, “Your son and I will be here when you wake.”