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Dunk woke before the alarm.
He always did now.
Fatherhood had kind of rewired something primitive inside him, like some ancient sentry instinct that no clock could compete with. But if he tells Aerion that, his husband would probably just laugh at him.
So even before his phone vibrated on the nightstand at five thirty, his eyes opened to the dark blue hush of the bedroom, his body already tense with the thought that he had to be up, dressed, out the door, downtown before sunrise to shadow Baelor through another day of meetings and charity galas and political breakfasts.
The house was silent, and Dunk was grateful for it.
Silence had become a luxury after Maegor was born.
Those first few months they had spent in the city, crammed into a miserable apartment with paper thin walls and windows that never quite shut out the noise. Sirens screamed through the night often enough that Dunk had started hearing them in his sleep. Their neighbors were worse, stomping overhead, slamming doors, shouting in hallways at all hours. Every sharp sound had felt like a personal attack when they were surviving on fractured sleep and a newborn who startled at everything.
This house had felt like a miracle when they found it.
A real yard. Wide quiet streets. Trees instead of traffic outside the windows.
And, thanks to the salary Baelor insisted on paying him, Dunk could actually afford it.
He turned and expected that beside him, the crib attached flush to their bed should have held Maegor and Aerion should’ve been at his side but it’s empty.
Dunk pushed himself onto one elbow, instantly more awake. Not alarmed, not really. Aerion had become uncannily good at slipping from bed with the baby without waking him. Still, the mattress was cool where Aerion had been, and Dunk walked outside the room.
At first, there’s nothing.
Then, faintly, from downstairs.
A tiny cry. Another one, followed by a low murmur.
The stairs creaked under his weight. He paused halfway down when the kitchen came into view.
Aerion sat at the table in one of Dunk's old gray hoodies from high school and still he looked tiny in it. His legs tucked beneath him on the chair. His white blond hair was an utter disaster, sticking up in every possible direction, soft and luminous in the weak yellow light over the stove. He looked half asleep still, his face pale and delicate and rumpled.
Maegor was bundled in his arms, pressed to Aerion's bare chest beneath the loose hoodie, making those tiny noises as he nursed.
Aerion's hand cupped the back of the baby's head.
His thumb moved in slow circles.
"Greedy little dragon," he whispered, voice still rough with sleep as he adjusted Maegor more securely in his arms. "Starving, are you, huh? Poor thing. Poor neglected beast."
He dipped his head to nudge his nose against the baby's soft templey. "Cruel papa left you defenseless. Left you to perish while he just snored. Had to come rescue you myself, didn't I?"
Maegor made a noise, like he agreed.
Aerion clicked his tongue softly. "Yeah, yeah, I know. A big baby like you is always hungry." His hand slid over the baby's back in a slow soothing pass, and despite the absurdly dramatic words there was something helplessly tender in the way he looked at him. "My vicious little monster. Papa's got you."
Aerion huffed a quiet laugh and bent to press a kiss to Maegor's temple.
Dunk stayed exactly where he was on the stairs.
He should have kept moving. He knew he should. He had to leave in less than an hour, and if he stood there too long he'd be late again, and Baelor would give him that long suffering amused look.
But Dunk could not make himself move.
Aerion looked beautiful like how Dunk had seen him years ago. But then he was all expensive clothes, sharper words, that had punched him square in the mouth.
Now, his white blond hair was a complete mess, his face creased from sleep, his oversized hoodie slipping off one shoulder while he cradled their son like something infinitely precious. His lashes hung low as he looked down at Maegor, and every few seconds his mouth curved with these tiny private smiles he never wore for anyone else other than them.
Dunk had tasted blood then when Aerion punched him years ago, stared at this furious pale man with murder in his heather colored eyes, and, with what he’s friends had said was terminal stupidity, thought in perfect clarity, Fuck, he’s beautiful and I’m fucking done for.
Then he thinks that he will never, ever get tired of feeling that same punch-drunk helplessness all over again.
"You have your daddy’s big eyes," Aerion continued softly, looking down at him with mock solemnity that could not hide the fondness in his face. "Tragic. Absolutely tragic." His thumb stroked over Maegor's warm cheek. "No one is going to be able to tell you no with eyes like that." He bent to press a kiss to the baby's brow, smiling against his skin. "You'll ruin us both, sweetheart."
Maegor made a tiny snuffling sound.
Aerion smiled.
Dunk felt his chest ache so hard it almost hurt.
He leaned against the banister, sleepy grin spreading over his face, and simply watched.
Then Aerion glanced up and caught him there on the stairs.
"Look," he murmured to Maegor, shifting him just enough to tilt the baby's sleepy face toward Dunk. "Daddy's watching us with his big eyes again."
Dunk huffed a quiet laugh, his grin turning helpless.
"See that?" he whispered to Maegor. "That's the face he makes when he loves us too much."
Something warm and aching spread through Dunk's chest, so sudden and so full that standing still became impossible.
He was down the stairs before he thought better of it.
"Duncan," Aerion started, laughing under his breath as Dunk crowded into his space, but Dunk only cupped the back of Aerion's neck and kissed him.
Aerion kissed him back immediately, soft and warm and tasting faintly of tea, smiling into it when Dunk made that helpless little noise in his throat like he physically did not know what to do with this much feeling.
When they parted, Dunk bent instinctively toward Maegor.
Aerion turned his shoulder at once.
"Oh, absolutely not."
Dunk blinked. "What?"
"You have not brushed your teeth."
"I ain't kissing his mouth."
"I do not care if you're kissing his foot, Duncan. Morning breath is morning breath."
Dunk let out a quiet laugh, forehead dropping briefly against Aerion's. "Papa is so mean, Maegor."
Maegor made a tiny noise between them, blinking up with wide unfocused eyes. “C’mon, you heard him. Brush your teeth or no kisses.”
Dunk made a grumbling sound but bent to press an exaggerated, ridiculous kiss with sealed lips to Maegor's round cheek. Maegor jerked in surprise, then let out a bubbling coo.
“Duncan…”
"But he loves me."
Aerion rolled his eyes, shifting Maegor higher against his chest. "Go brush your teeth before you're late."
Dunk stole one more quick kiss from Aerion's mouth just because he could.
Then he looked at both of them, his husband half rumpled and glowing in the kitchen light, his son blinking in his arms, and felt that same stupid aching fullness threaten to split him open.
"Yeah," he said softly, already backing away toward the stairs. "Yeah, okay."