Chapter Text
As cruel and prideful as Aerion Targaryen was, there also was a side to him that not many people would think him capable of. The prince kept that side sheathed within him, as if it was a blade that would certainly come to stab him in the back, where it ever to be noticed.
Ser Duncan learned this quickly after being assigned to be the prince’s sworn protector, much to both their disdain. He first saw it in small ways, like how Aerion seemed defeated when his father didn’t pay him any notice. The carefully crafted facade shattered then and gave way to a silent vulnerability, only visibly through the small cracks.
Especially when he heard him sing, always quiet and hushed, did Dunk recognise this. Aerion didn’t dare sing in public, solely behind closed doors, as if the soft tenor of his voice would make him seem weak. The prince only sang to himself when he could not find rest or comfort; beautiful Valyrian ballads, all powerful but burdened with a certain sadness. Dunk could never understand what they meant, but the words and rhythms soon imprinted themselves on his mind.
Each night, after a day of trailing behind the prince and being forced to endure his insolence, Ser Duncan would take his post outside Aerion’s chambers. It was often a boresome duty, but the knight was grateful to be in service to the royal family nonetheless. Even if it was Aerion he had been sworn to protect.
Aerion had been particularly irritated since his cousin returned to the Red Keep a fortnight ago. Since then, his days had been spent challenging him in the training yard over and over, triumphant when he managed to disarm Valarr and aggravated to no extent when Valarr's skills in combat overshadowed his own.
After one of Aerion’s defeats, Ser Duncan followed him through the corridors to his chambers. On the way, the prince had managed to insult three knights and knock four servants to the ground in his anger, all without a single apology issued. Too enraptured was he in his fury, muttering curses under his breath.
The knight remained at the doors as the prince rushed through, presumably to sulk for the remainder of the night. Hours passed without Dunk hearing so much as a needle drop from inside the chambers. The sun had set long ago and dusk was a distant memory to his eyes, when his ears suddenly caught something originating from behind the thick, wooden doors.
At first they were quiet, muffled moans and the ruffling of sheets, nothing much to take note of, but soon, they grew louder into small cries of anguish. Ser Duncan threw the doors open at once, sword drawn at the ready just in case. The room was dark, except a few candles strewn around, all but burned down. Although he had not known what to expect, he certainly hadn’t presumed to only find the prince tossing and turning in his bed.
With every violent jerk and jolt, Aerion tangled himself further in the red, silken sheets. Dunk approached the bed slowly, sheathing his sword. He saw that the prince’s chest was bare, heaving and glistening in the flickering candlelight, all lean muscle and sinew. If he wasn’t so concerned, Dunk might have spared the thought that he looked beautiful.
His eyes moved further up Aerion’s body, taking notice of how the veins on his neck stood out, pulsing rapidly. The prince’s face was scrunched up in pain.
“The fire… It hurts-”, Aerion muttered between labored breaths.
Ser Duncan dared another step towards the bed, clearing his throat. “My Prince?"
No response came, even as he called out again, only further pained cries and moans. Though apprehensive, Dunk carefully laid his hand against the prince’s forehead. The skin was burning to the touch, yet, somehow, covered in cold sweat. Aerion did not stir from his sleep.
Dunk contemplated waking him more forcefully or calling the maesters, but at a loss for what the right action would be, he decided to comfort the prince. Unsure, he sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking under his weight.
The words weighed heavy and foreign on his tongue as he began to quietly sing, but they came nonetheless. It was more melodically reciting the verses than anything, since Dunk was so focused on recalling the exact tone and tenor of the songs he heard Aerion hum to himself.
Soon, he grew more comfortable singing them, both in his intonation and own voice, and with each verse, the prince’s breathing calmed. The shuddering stilled continually, until Aerion rested peacefully beneath the sheets, his face cleansed from the agony it had shown previously. Dunk’s eyes settled absentmindedly on the orange flame of a nearby candle, humming the melody after running out of lyrics.
Suddenly, a hand weakly clasped around his wrist, scorching to the touch.
“Your broken Valyrian needs improving, It’s an assault on my ears.”, Aerion muttered, voice thin and filled with exhaustion.
Taken aback, Dunk tried to pull back his hand from where it still lay on the prince’s forehead, no longer as hot. Aerion held it there with a quiet, yet decisive determination in his eyes.
“Apologies, my Prince. I only meant to comfort you. You seemed in great distress.”, Dunk began to say, seeking to once again free his wrist from Aerion’s grasp and rising to his feet. “I will take my leave now.”
Aerion responded by tightening his grip. “Stay. I command you to.”
His voice left no room for defiance.
Ser Duncan had difficulty controlling his expression, his emotions always written on his face. His brows furrowed in confusion. “My Prince, I must take my post outside your chambers. It is my duty to guard the doors and protect you.”
Aerion hummed, clearly displeased. “It is your duty to protect me and I command you to protect me from these agonizing nightmares.”
With that, he finally released Dunk’s wrist and turned around, struggling to disentangle himself from the twisted sheets at first. Then, with a content sigh, Aerion buried himself beneath them.
A moment of silence followed. Dunk stood still as a statue beside the bed, unsure of what precisely was asked of him. “My Prince, if you wish me to stay, I shall take my post here for the night.”, he responded, already turning to stand guard at the entry of the chambers.
Aerion groaned and turned once more to face the knight. “Gods, must you be so simple? Continue your singing.”, he commanded, before resting his head on the pillows again.
“Your Grace, I do not think-”, Dunk began to object, before being interrupted.
“Yes, you do not think and it is for the better that you do not. That big head of yours if all but filled with air.”, Aerion sneered, voice muffled by the sheets. “Sit. Continue your singing. It’s an order.”
“Yes, my Prince.”, Dunk replied with a short nod, retaking his seat on the edge of the bed, still uncertain. Aerion’s words agitated him more than he allowed himself to acknowledge, believing he had long grown used to his insolence and insults. Still, there was a part of him Dunk that longed to put the prince in his place, to shut him up, even if only for a brief moment.
As he hesitantly opened his mouth to resume the song, Aerion stirred once more.
“I shall teach you the proper words tomorrow. Can’t have my sworn protector butchering the tongue of my house.” Once again, his voice was firm, giving the knight no choice in the matter.
Dunk issued another nod, even though Aerion’s eyes were already closed. “As you wish, my Prince.”
The rest of the night, Ser Duncan remained by the prince’s side, softly singing to him well after he was sleeping soundly. The nightmares did not return.
⊰══════════⊱
Aerion seemed to ignore him the following day. He would rarely meet the knight’s eyes, only barking commands while his sight was set somewhere else. From dawn to dusk, Aerion remained in the training yard, unfaced by everyone’s glances and mutters. His face was stoic, whether he would win or lose a fight.
Dunk noticed how Aerion acted more rash than usual that day. He would challenge whoever stood closest to him, aggravated by their mere existence. There seemed to be a barely contained wrath clawing at his throat, urging him to exert himself.
Even when Aerion managed to unarm Valarr in a vicious clash of swords, there was no pride on his face, only a resigned shade of hatred. Ser Duncan could not say who that hatred was aimed at.
Only as his face was red and dripping with sweat, his hand shaking around the hilt of his sword, did Aerion relinquish his efforts. With a short whistle, he signaled Dunk to follow him into the Red Keep. The knight gritted his teeth at that, biting his tongue so wouldn’t lose his temper and tell the Prince that he was not to be ordered around like a dog. For now, he endured it, swallowed the words and followed.
At night, Ser Duncan once again stood guard outside the prince’s doors. Servants or members of the royal family would walk past him occasionally, but otherwise it was quiet.
Dunk was running his thumb over the pommel of his sword absentmindedly, when he heard his name being called through the wooden doors. Shaken out of his thoughts, he entered Aerion’s chambers.
“My Prince, you called.”, Dunk spoke while bowing his head.
Aerion stood beside his desk, scowling at the knight. “Have you grown deaf as well as stupid? I called for you several times.”
Dunk ignored the protest rising in his throat. “Apologies, my Prince.”
Aerion only hummed, his eyes moving from the knight to a book on the desk. Without looking up, he beckoned Dunk to approach with a quick flick of his fingers.
Ser Duncan strode over, halting at an appropriate distance from the prince. “My Prince, what is it you-”
Aerion raised his head to truly meet Dunk’s eyes for the first time that day. He held his gaze with such intensity, as if he had to force himself not to break it immediately. Although his face was blank of any expression, some conflicted emotion still shone behind his eyes.
“I told you I would teach you the words.”, he stated plainly, pointing his head to the book on his desk. “You can read, can you not?”
There was a certain arrogance hidden beneath his question, a glint in his eyes, as if he wished for Dunk to humiliate himself with the admission that he could not.
Dunk, if even possible, only stood taller in response, towering over the prince.
“Yes, my Prince. Your brother taught me.”, he replied, not allowing his voice to waver.
“Of course he would have. Aegon always did have a fondness for…”, Aerion pondered, pretending to search for the right words. “...the less fortunate among us.”
If he had meant the words to hurt, Dunk did not allow them to. “I have been fortunate enough in this life, Your Grace. Even when I had difficulty with my letters.”
Aerion narrowed his eyes, displeased by the response and the fact he was forced to tilt head up when looking at the knight. “I don’t know if I would call a childhood in Flea Bottom fortunate.”
Again, Dunk did not allow the bite in his words to cut into his skin. He cleared his throat sharply. “My Prince, how may I serve you?”
“As I said, I shall teach you the correct words to the songs. Your pronunciation was abhorrent.”, Aerion noted with barely contained disgust, before lifting the book off the desk. He walked past Dunk, over to the seating arrangement in the middle of the room. The furniture was covered in dark red silk and embroidered with dragons in thread of silver and gold.
The prince lowered himself onto a plush armchair, placing the book on the ornate table before. Dunk remained beside the desk while awaiting further orders, hands clasped behind his back.
“Sit.”, Aerion ordered, annoyed and impatient.
Dunk strode over, settling opposite of Aerion. The wood of the upholstered settee creaked as the knight sat down and his knees knocked against the wooden table.
Another command followed immediately. “Open the book. Read the words to me.”
Dunk grasped the book gently in his large hands, as if careful not to break it. The leather binding felt soft and worn as he opened it. He noticed that the letters were different from the ones he had been taught.
“My Prince, I can not read this.”, he conceded.
Aerion glanced at him through his lashes while playing with the ring on his index finger. “That is the point. High Valyrian is old. It demands respect and reverence.”, he mused.
Dunk drew his brows together, contemplating his words. “Then why give me this book at all?”
The Prince raised his head and the corner of his mouth lifted into a malicious smirk.
“To demonstrate to you what this book represents. It’s my heritage, the legacy of my house!” His voice grew louder and graver with each word, until he was almost hissing through his teeth.
Dunk noticed how the muscles on Aerion’s jaw twitched. Though he had been aware of the pride the prince took in his family and their legacy, he felt it all the more in that moment.
Before he could respond, Aerion scolded him further. “You have presumed yourself worthy of this ancient tongue, even if just in song. You are not worthy, knight.”. He spat, as though the word was acid in his mouth.
“My Prince, I meant no disrespect.”, Dunk emphasized, careful to keep his blood from boiling over within.
Aerion scoffed, leaning forward with a threatening smile once more playing around his lips. “You meant no disrespect? But you did, Ser Duncan, and you will make your amends now.”
Dunk learned that the amends consisted of him being taught in the demanding ways of High Valyrian for the remainder of the evening. Aerion was an impatient teacher, furious at each mispronunciation and quick to chastise. As discontent as Dunk was with the way the prince spoke to him, a small part of him delighted in the lesson. With each correction, the foreign words came easier and after several hours of gruesome teaching, they began to feel right.
When Aerion ended his lesson for the day, the knight rose to his feet, expecting to take his leave. While he made his way to the doors, Aerion interrupted him in his pursuit.
"No, you shall stay here.”, he ordered, rising as well.
Dunk halted just in front of the door, hand already reaching for the latch. “My Prince, I must take my post.”
Aerion studied him with a calculating look in his eyes before speaking. “You will remain here, like the night before. It is not your place to question me.”
“As you wish, my Prince.”
Without paying him more mind, Aerion turned on his heels and paced towards the bed. On the way, he made quick work of undoing the buttons of his doublet, discarding it on the bench beside his bed. Then, he loosened the ties of his shirt, before pulling it over his head in a swift motion, giving way to the pale skin of his chest.
Dunk watched him incredulously from his place by the door. He observed the lean muscle ripple beneath the skin with every move as the prince disrobed to retire to bed.
Swallowing thickly, Dunk ripped himself from his thoughts.
“My Prince, what is it you wish me to do?”
Aerion had already lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, only his dark breeches remaining. “You will sit by the bed.”
Dunk shook his head in disbelief. “For what purpose?”
With an irritated sigh, the prince undid the ties of his breeches. “So I won’t be plagued by nightmares again.”, he admitted, his voice missing the usual bite. His face reflected the discomfort he seemed to feel, lips drawn in a tight line as if he regretted making it known at all.
Ser Duncan was surprised that Aerion had lowered his guard with this, even if it was so slight. The moment ended before it began, as he returned to his usual scowl.
“You will sit by the bed.”, Aerion restated resolutely as he settled himself onto the mattress. “Move the bench closer.”
Dunk did as he was told and sank down on it. Most candles in the room had burned down during their lesson, leaving only a few flickering. In the remaining light, he could still make out Aerion’s lithe body lying in the bed, his skin a stark contrast to the dark sheets.
Ser Duncan watched the prince’s breathing slow as he fell asleep. No nightmares came to him that night.
⊰══════════⊱
Aerion continued to order the knight to guard him while he slept for the following weeks. Each night, Dunk would sit on the bench beside his bed, watching Aerion’s pale chest rise and fall without the terror of another nightmare haunting him.
But one night, the prince’s pulse turned rapid once more as he began to thrash around the bed. Dunk, who had almost dozed off himself, was awoken by the sound of small cries.
Carefully, the knight placed a firm hand on Aerion’s shoulder. The skin was scorching hot and already damp with sweat. “My Prince, wake up.”, Dunk whispered at first, trying not startle him.
Aerion did not wake, only twitching erratically while his face scrunched up in agony. Dunk placed a hand on his chest, holding him down firmly.
“It’s only a nightmare.”, he whispered repeatedly, hoping it would be of some small comfort.
With a sharp gasp, Aerion woke from his sleep, eyes wide and frantically darting around the dark room. There was the faintest shimmer of tears as he sat up.
Still catching his breath, he tore Dunk’s hand from his chest, as if it singed his skin.
“Why are you even here if you can’t prevent this torment? What use are you to me, knight?”, he hissed between gritted teeth.
Ser Duncan closed his eyes briefly in an attempt to recollect himself. He rose from the bench, his legs protesting at the sudden movement.
“My prince, perhaps it would be better if I left.”
Without awaiting an answer, the he bowed his head curtly and turned to leave. In a few, long strides he was at the entrance and exited the room swiftly. After throwing the doors shut once more, Dunk leaned his head against the cool stone of the wall and contemplated whether he had done the right thing in withdrawing without being granted leave.
The corridors were quiet this time of night, but all Dunk could hear was the blood rushing through his ears. Once more he loathed his duty, loathed that he was sentenced to play guard dog for an insolent, spoiled prince. It had been foolish of him to sit by Aerion’s bed night after night, but once the command had been given, Dunk’s hands were tied by duty.
In the corner of his eyes, he made out what he thought to be a shadow rushing around the corner, but when he turned his head, the corridor was empty.
Dunk ran a hand through his hair several times, hoping it would distract him from the conflict in his mind.
The following minutes passed quietly. Dunk rested his hand on the hilt of his sword once more, fingers brushing over the smooth metal. He was certain this would be the last night he had to sit by Aerion’s bed, and although he forced himself to be content with that, there was something else gnawing at him. As much as Dunk attempted to push the thought away, there had been a certain exhilaration in observing the prince.
A noise shook Dunk out of his thoughts. It was faint and hesitant, but there was no doubt that it came from Aerion’s chambers. The knight sighed heavily at the prospect of returning to the room and having to face Aerion’s childish wrath again, but he was forced answer when called.
Dunk waited for another sound, hoping the prince was not truly summoning him. A few moments passed without his ears detecting anything, but then, he heard the call of Aerion’s voice clearly, though he could not make out the words.
With one last deep inhale, the he strode through the wooden doors once more. He was met with darkness, the last candles seemingly having burned down since he stormed out. Dunk could hardly make out the shape of the bed at the far end as he stood at the room’s entry, awaiting Aerion’s orders.
No orders came, at first. Only both their breathing could be heard, otherwise it was deadly silent. Despite the distance, Dunk heard Aerion clear his throat.
“Come closer, Ser Duncan.” Finally, the prince’s voice cut through the heavy silence, hushed but firm.
Dunk was surprised at the timidity, the sheer lack of sharpness carried in the words.
He approached the bed slowly, as not to slam into any furniture, but stumbled over a table leg nonetheless. The sound rattled through him, as it seemed to startle Aerion.
“Gods, you are a brute simpleton! Is it truly so difficult to-”, the prince began rambling, but stopped himself.
Dunk barely heard him as he was occupied with catching himself and the table before both could come crashing down. Cautiously, he closed the remaining distance until he reached the bed.
“My Prince, you called for me.”, he announced blankly.
“Ser Duncan, I did not permit you to leave.”, Aerion spoke calmly but there was no mistaking the thinly hidden menace underneath. It seemed too controlled, too matter-of-factly, as though he had difficulty remaining polite. Aerion was never truly polite.
I left because you were acting like a childish brat, Dunk wished to say, but settled on the reply that a knight of his station would give.
“I apologize, my Prince. I should have asked for your approval.”
Aerion sneered at that and Dunk’s anger that had previously cooled rose to the surface, and this time, he could not muster the restraint to reign it in.
“I did not see reason to stay as you thought me useless. Perhaps you should mind your manners, for once. I will not be pushed around to no extent. My patience has been worn thin by your endless slights and disrespect.”, he snapped, venting the frustration that had been building up since he had been sworn into service.
For the second time that night, Dunk thought himself foolish. He braced himself for Aerion's response.
Even in the dark, Dunk could see his jaw tightening, his back pushing up from where it rested against the headboard of the bed.
“You will stay here tonight. I will deal with your insubordination and impertinence on the morrow.”, Aerion stated grimly.
In his mind’s eye, Dunk could already see himself being sent to the Wall, although he doubted that Egg would allow it. Without digging himself an even deeper grave, the he nodded shortly and sat down on the bench beside the bed.
Aerion mumbled something intelligible under his breath as he laid his head down on the plush pillows. The room fell silent. Dunk sat stiffly on the low bench, fiddling his thumbs to keep himself from dozing off. A spiteful, gloating chuckle broke the silence once more.
Aerion stirred beneath the smooth sheets, before sitting up. The sheets pooled around his slim waist.
“Take off your armour, Ser.”, he ordered with a taunting smile so thick it bled into his voice.
Dunk choked on his own spit and failed to suppress a cough. “What did you say, my Prince?”
Aerion repeated himself, irritated by the question. “Take off your armor, knight. If you obey without fuss, I ought to reconsider my punishment for your insubordination.”
Dunk contemplated it for a moment, but could not put his finger on why the prince would order him to. Neither could he find a good enough argument to justify denying him.
“As you command, my Prince.”, he sighed and began unclasping the buckles. Dunk felt Aerion’s eyes on him as he shed piece after piece of armor, until only his shirt and his breeches remained.
He clasped his hands behind his back, standing as tall as he possibly could. Still, he felt Aerion’s eyes boring into him.
“Your boots too.”, the prince lazily added as he toyed with the hem of the sheets.
Again, Dunk refused to question it and complied. His boots landed on the floor with heavy thuds.
Aerion seemed pleased for a moment, but then tilted his head, frowning. “On further thought, I believe it might be prudent to take off your shirt as well.”, he mused.
Dunk stared at the prince bewildered, whose mouth twitched with sadistic joy.
“And what possible reason would there be for me to do that?”
Throwing back the sheets, Aerion slid along the bed. “You will stay here tonight. By my side.” The usual bite in his tone was replaced with malicious glee.
Cursing the day he had the glorious idea to become a knight, Dunk groaned quietly to himself and all but ripped the shirt over his head. Begrudgingly, he lowered himself onto the bed and swung his legs over the edge. The sheets were softer than he had anticipated and warm from Aerion’s body.
With one last menacing, triumphant chuckle, the prince slipped under the covers.
Dunk laid beside him, stiff as a board and just as uncomfortable, though the mattress was anything but. He closed his eyes and prayed that sleep would find him before the consequences of this peculiar sleeping arrangement dawned on him.
Despite his efforts, Dunk remained awake and judging by his breathing, so did Aerion.
Even though he had not shifted in a while, he was certain that the prince was still restless. During the weeks past, he had come to know the signs of Aerion nodding off. His hands would twitch at first, then the muscles in his shoulder or his neck, before his breathing would finally even out and his body relaxed.
Dunk cleared his throat. “My Prince, may I ask why you commanded me to sleep beside you.”
Aerion took his time to reply, though Dunk could not say whether it was to irritate him further or if he had to contemplate his answer.
“The reason does not concern you.”, Aerion retorted sluggishly.
Whether it was the fatigue or the frustration still cursing through him, Dunk decided to argue. “Seeing as I’m half naked in your bed, my Prince, I’d wager it does concern me.”
Aerion muttered another string of curses. “You ought to be content enough that I did not punish you immediately for leaving your post here. Be still and know your place. Your better wants to sleep, can you get that into that thick skull of yours?”
Dunk’s mouth twitched. “My Prince, I do know my place and it should be at your doors, guarding you. I shall be happy to return to my place.”
That seemed to get the rise he wanted out of Aerion, who kicked away the sheets and turned to face Dunk, stopping all but inches over his face.“You truly do not know how to keep your mouth shut.”, he whispered.
Regarding the man half his size above him, Dunk threw away any notion of guarding his tongue. “Do you know when to keep your mouth shut, Aerion?”, he provoked.
Aerion pounced on him the second the words left his mouth, hands reaching for Dunk’s throat. Without any struggle, Dunk seized his wrist and held them steady, pushing them away once he saw the realisation in Aerion’s eyes that he had begun a fight he could not win by his own strength.
“Release me or I shall have your head for this.”, he threatened through gritted teeth, flaring his nostrils in anger.
“Why should I release you, my Prince? The dragon should be able to free himself from the hands of a mere man.”, Dunk taunted him, his smile tinted with spite.
Aerion didn’t reply, only seething with uncontained wrath. He struggled against Dunk’s hold on him to no avail, only angering himself further by the fact that he could not break free of it.
Dunk shifted both of them with ease, turning Aerion on his back and roughly pinning his hands against the pillows besides his head.
The prince thrashed against Dunk’s hold of him once one, only achieving to make a mess of his hair and the bed. “Release me, you sorry fucking excuse of a knight. I swear, I will have your head for this, but only after you endured unimaginable torture. I will-”
Dunk interrupted his threats. “Seven hells, would you shut up for one moment? I’ll let go of you once you’ve calmed down, so be still.”
The words went in one ear and out the other. Aerion kept up his struggle, exerting himself until his efforts grew weaker beneath the knight’s hands. Eventually, he stilled, exhausted and flushed, but scowling defiantly nonetheless. His heavy breathing caused their bare chests to touch with every inhale.
Dunk did not loosen his hold just yet. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it, my Prince?”, he goaded, no hint of exertion in his own voice.
"What do you want from me? Do you want me to yield?”, Aerion panted, still not having caught his breath. “I will not yield to the likes of you, especially in my own bed. It’s beneath me.”
Fascinated by his unbending defiance, Dunk laughed quietly. “You’re the one beneath me at the moment, my Prince.”
Aerion shot him a glare, before spitting in his face. The knight was unfazed by it, which only angered Aerion more.
“You have yielded to me before.”, Dunk whispered, inching even closer to Aerion’s face. “Would it hurt so much to surrender your pride a second time?”
Aerion resumed his struggle, though with less vigor than before, his energy all but spent. Craning his neck, he attempted to sink his teeth into Dunk’s arm, hissing and crying out when he could not reach.
In one swift motion, Dunk shifted his hold on him once more. Both wrists were now easily clasped within one large hand, the other firmly resting on Aerion’s chest.
Although it did not keep Aerion from trying to bite Dunk once more, it did leave him with even less range of motion to struggle.
“Spare your energy and stop this childish fit. You can’t win.”, Dunk reasoned.
Aerion winced and made a noise that sounded like a low, rather unthreatening growl. Though his strength had all but left him by now, there was still a glint of defiance in his eyes.
“You will suffer for this.”, he protested weakly.
Dunk ran his hand over the prince’s chest and up to his throat, more in an effort to irritate him rather than to caress. “From my perspective, you’re the one suffering at the moment.” When his fingers passed over the sensitive skin beneath Aerion's jaw, an involuntary moan escaped through the parted lips.
Aerion snapped his mouth shut instantly, his eyes widening in horror, before he turned away his head. Dunk felt something inside him snap. He let his eyes wander over the prince. His forehead was glistening with sweat, flushed from his waist to his head and a telling blush high on his cheeks. His chest was shuddering with uneven breaths and for the first time, Dunk noticed just how rapidly Aerion’s heart beat underneath his palm.
Perhaps Dunk really was a bit thick in the head.
Incredulously, he grasped the prince’s jaw softly to turn his head towards him again, forcing him to meet his eyes.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”, Dunk whispered.
Aerion glared at him, scandalized by the suggestion. “How dare you, you stupid fucking-”
Dunk cut his insults short as he pressed his lips to Aerion’s. At first, the prince did not reciprocate and Dunk slowly drew back his face, not wanting to force himself on him. Then, suddenly, the Aerion closed the distance between them once more and kissed him like a man starved.
There was no rhythm or coordination to it. Aerion wildly licked into Dunk’s mouth, causing their teeth to clash together on more than one occasion, but that only seemed to further spur Aerion on.
Without warning, he pulled Dunk’s lower lip between his teeth and bit down hard. His sharp canines broke the soft skin immediately. Dunk winced at the sudden pain and pulled back.
Aerion observed him through half lidded eyes, his lips wet with spit and a small spot of blood.
“Gods, why did you do that?”, Dunk huffed, releasing Aerion’s jaw to wipe the blood off his lips.
The prince, seizing his chance, tore his wrists from Dunk’s hold. In an instant, his hands were on Dunk’s face, tugging it back down with renewed strength.
Their lips crushed together in a mess of blood and spit, Aerion’s heated efforts growing yet more frantic. Dunk was starstruck by the intensity, struggling to keep up.
He caught himself just before he collapsed with his entire weight onto him, managing to set his hands on the pillows and support himself just in time.
It was Aerion who broke the kiss, but before he drew his face back entirely, his tongue darted out to lick a bead of fresh blood from Dunk's lips.
Dunk could only stare at him in disbelief, not entirely sure how he found himself in this situation to begin with. Aerion, the bane of his duty as a knight, insufferable and bratty, was lying beneath him, face smeared with his blood and wet with their shared spit.
It was simultaneously the most exhilarating and horrifying sight, yet Dunk could not bring himself to avert his eyes.
Before he could spare the matter another thought, Aerion’s hips bucked up, grinding himself against Dunk. The prince observed his reaction, an unspoken challenge written on his face. “I assure you, I will not be the one yielding."
Dunk ground his hips down in return and was rewarded with a low moan. Determined to finally put Aerion in his place for good, he lowered himself, pinning the prince against the mattress firmly. “We shall see how long you will last, my Prince.”
⊰══════════⊱
In the adjacent room, Valarr laid in his bed, replaying the scene from the corridor in his head - Ser Duncan hurrying out of his cousin’s chambers, visibly agitated. Valarr had not seen the knight stand guard outside Aerion’s door at night for several weeks now. At times, he pondered about how careless it was of a sworn protector to abandon their post in such a manner, but would spare it no further thought.
But now, unable to find sleep, he heard them together. Though the castle walls were thick, the moans that reverberated through them from Aerion’s chambers were unmistakable. A sudden ache struck his chest at the realisation. His fists clenched involuntarily, nails digging into his palms with anger.
The jealousy irritated Valarr, unsure of its origin and its purpose, but it stung nonetheless.