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Dunk doesn’t make a habit of mixing business and pleasure.
He’s pretty good at keeping the two things separate, though working for a family like the Targaryens sometimes made it a bit difficult. For example, it’s Friday night, and he and Egg had spent the majority of the early afternoon making progress on his tackles. The kid’s small, but he’s got a lot of potential for a beta. He just needs that push sometimes, as Maekar likes to tell him.
It’d been a good, exhausting day. Will be a good weekend, too, he wagers. He’s got a beer at home with his name on it and reruns of The Office to watch, he’s looking forward to some time alone. Needs it after the week he’s been having.
Except when he pulls up to Egg’s house, there’s dozens of fancy cars outside. All sleek black and pristine, putting Dunk’s old beater to shame.
“What’s all this?” He murmurs, parking behind a Benz.
Egg gives him a sideways glance. “Oh, did Father not tell you?”
“Tell me what?” Duncan asks, brow furrowed.
“He’s throwing a pool party,” he tells him. “The whole family’s here.”
Dunk blinks. He looks past the wrought-iron gates, the string lights wrapped around the spires and glowing. In the distance he can hear splashing, laughter.
“A pool party?” He repeats, flatly.
“Yep.” Egg is already unbuckling his seat belt, smiling slightly. “I’ll run inside and let Father know you’ll be staying.”
“Ah. Um, I dunno-”
“C’mon!” Egg begs, little hands clasped together in front of his chest. “Please stay over, just for a bit!”
Dunk scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. Ah, shit. He has never told Egg this, but he’s not really the biggest fan of the Targaryen family at large. The boy is the only exception, obviously. But he’s really quite different from the rest. Maekar is cold and stand-offish at best, and downright mean when he’s in a dark mood. Daeron, the eldest, is almost always plastered, talking in code in a way that’s all rather spooky. He hasn’t seen the sisters around much, but he knows well enough that they’re just as strange as the others. Aemon is normal but he’s away at college.
And Aerion- Well. He shakes his head. He doesn’t want to think about that right now.
“Please, Dunk?” Egg pleads, eyes wide. “It’s so much better when you’re there. My cousins all want to see you!”
He sighs, resigned. “Alright. Just for a bit.”
Egg’s face lights up. “Yes!” He’s out of the car in a flash, already sprinting up the drive toward the massive front doors, doesn’t even give Dunk a chance to say anything else.
“Shit,” he curses. He follows him slowly, locking his car and checking his hair in the window. Tells himself he just wants to look presentable, even if he’s sweaty and has some dirt smudged under his palms. The closer he walks up the path, the louder the noises get. There must be quite a few people in the yard, though Dunk is thankful to find the inside of the house empty.
He can hear Egg calling from up the stairs. Something about changing into his swim trunks. Dunk hesitates just inside the threshold, unsure of where to put himself. Always feels so out of place here. Everything is black marble and shiny, almost sterile. He’s too big for everything, even the furniture feels delicate. Beautiful and cold like the people who own it.
Dunk glances out the floor-to-ceiling window across from the entrance. Can see straight into the yard from here, to the pool. It’s crowded. A bunch of pale-haired children are running around, with equally pale-haired adults watching on, fanning themselves and holding thin-stemmed glassware full of champagne.
“Dunk!” Egg calls out to him, running back downstairs and toward him. “I just realized something!”
“Hm?” Dunk hums, not tearing his gaze away. He’s looking for someone. Can’t help but feel a bit caught.
“You don’t have trunks, silly. You won’t be able to swim!”
“Oh.” Dunk makes a confused face first before schooling it into faux-dissappointment. “Ah, no worries. I’ll just hang back in here for a bit, okay?”
Egg’s brow furrows immediately. “Alright,” he says at last, nodding once, understanding. “Will you really come out?”
Dunk finally looks down at him. He nods his head, tries to look sincere when he says, “Absolutely. Just need a moment to get my bearings, is all.”
“If you say so,” he sighs. “Just don’t take too long. My cousins don’t believe me when I tell them how strong you are, and I want you to show them.”
Dunk snorts despite himself. “And how should I do that, exactly?”
Egg shrugs. “They just need to get a good look at you, I think. You’re the strongest alpha in the whole world!” He says, beaming.
Dunk’s throat goes a little tight. He clears it, scratching at the back of his neck. “Alright,” he says gruffly. “Whatever you say, boy.”
Satisfied, Egg spins on his heel and takes off toward the yard, bare feet slapping against the stone. Through the glass, he sees him make a beeline for where Maekar and Baelor are seated off to the side, both of them smoking, their chairs angled just enough to keep an eye on the pool. Egg skids to a stop between them, says something animated, and points straight at Dunk.
He freezes. After a split second, he lifts a hand and gives an awkward little wave. Maekar doesn’t respond. He exhales smoke, eyes still fixed on the yard like Dunk isn’t there at all. Baelor, at least, glances over. Their eyes meet for a brief moment, and the older man gives him the faintest smile before ashing his cigarette.
Dunk lowers his arm slowly. He watches Egg laugh, unbothered, perfectly at ease among them.
Strongest alpha in the world, Dunk thinks, huffing quietly to himself. He’s never known an alpha to be so frightened of small things. Crowds, and too much small talk.
Or pretty omegas with sharp tongues.
Well. It’s not that Dunk is afraid of Aerion, exactly. More so he’s afraid of the feelings he inspires in him, the real things that worry him. Very unwelcome thoughts. Very inappropriate and dangerous, and he should know better. Dunk knows the rules, spoken or otherwise. He works for this family, and while Egg adores Dunk, Maekar only tolerates him. Would probably lose his mind if he knew the things he was thinking about when it came to his only omega son.
Nothing can happen between them. Nothing would, anyway. On top of Aerion being out of his reach, he also seems to openly hate him. Not a day goes by he doesn’t mention how thick he is, or stupid, or poor.
Dunk sucks his teeth. He tells himself he’s being ridiculous. He’s only thinking about it because it’s a novelty. Proximity and a pretty face. It’ll pass. And, okay, maybe he’s a little upset about the fact that the omega doesn’t seem to be here. Whatever. He pushes himself forward, decides maybe it’s time to join the party. Prove to Egg’s cousins that he can lift three of them at once or something, when-
“Unbelievable.”
The voice cuts clean through him. Dunk freezes, turning around to see Aerion descending the staircase, one hand trailing the banister, the other tapping on his cellphone. He’s wearing what can only be described by Dunk as the skimpiest, tiniest bikini he’s ever seen. It’s red, textured with what looks to be dragon scales. The top is nothing but two small triangles and a pair of strings tied behind Aerion’s neck and back, leaving far a ridiculous amount of skin exposed. The bottoms are worse, barely a narrow strip, riding high on Aerion’s pretty hips and knotted loosely. The only real attempt at modesty is a sheer wrap hung over his pale shoulders, doing nothing to hide anything at all.
In front of his family, Dunk thinks, incredulous. His cousins, his father, his uncles and aunts. Omegas can wear whatever they want, of course. Dunk knows that. He’s not some backwards arsehole. It’s just his brain is sort of going haywire. Everything gets very hot all at once. Didn’t even know there were people capable of looking like that.
Dunk stares for maybe a minute too long.
Aerion spots him, eyes drifting away from the phone in his hand to where he’s standing and staring dumbly at him.
“Oh,” he says flatly. “You’re here.”
“Erm, y-yeah.” Dunk clears his throat. It’s suddenly gone very dry. “Just staying for a bit ‘cause Egg asked after practice.”
“Of course he did,” Aerion scoffs. “That brat. You know what else he’s asking for?”
“Uh-”
“Riverland soda,” Aerion says, shaking his head. “And of course he tells Father and Father then passes the responsibility on to me.”
Dunk swallows, mind not fully caught up to the conversation, yet. Is still a bit focused on Aerion’s body and how much of it he can see at the moment.
“If only the brat could hold off on his cravings a little more,” he mutters. “Stupid soda.”
Soda? Dunk could go for some soda. Seven, he’s thirsty. Seems to only get worse the more he stares, the more he sees. Aerion is rambling on in that quiet way of his. Voice low, bordering on disdain at all times for everything. He’s motioning with his arms, and as he does, his bikini strap loosens just a little. The cup placed over the left of his chest dips forward, and Dunk catches a peek of a rosy bud.
Has his breath stuttering. Licking his lips like some sort of animal.
“Duncan. My eyes are up here.”
It feels like getting slapped. Dunk straightens immediately, a dozen mumbled apologies slipping out of him. Even feels a bit guilty when he notes the slight blush coloring Aerion’s cheeks as he readjusts himself.
“Uh, sorry about that,” Dunk says, his own face burning. “About the soda and erm-”
He stops talking immediately. He’s never been good with words.
“Orrr,” Aerion’s eyes shoot up to Dunk’s again, assessing him. “You could go? Make yourself useful.”
Dunk blinks. Tries to drag his thoughts back into line. “I don’t mind grabbing some soda,” he says, a little stiffly. Maybe getting out of here would do him good. “Just tell me what kind.”
Aerion scoffs. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Not trusting you on your own,” Aerion says, like this is obvious. He slips away into the sitting room, coming back with a pair of tiny denim shorts thrown on, unbuttoned. Red matching sandals. He puts his phone in the back pocket.
Dunk is staring again.
“If you come back with the wrong flavor, the brat will sulk, and then Father will be upset, and then I’ll be blamed,” Aerion continues.
“Right,” Dunk rasps. He does not like where this is going.
“So I’ll come with you.”
Dunk hesitates. Every instinct in his body tells him this is a bad idea. Being alone with Aerion Targaryen sounds like asking for trouble. He’s already half hard in his pants and fighting the strong, opposing urge to shut him up, any means necessary. But he also knows better than to argue.
“Alright,” he says after a moment. “Fine.”
“Good,” Aerion says haughtily. “We’ll take your car.”
“My- wait, why?”
“I’m not driving,” Aerion says, already heading for the door. Doesn’t even spare him a second glance as Dunk begrudgingly follows him down the drive.
The supermarket is very out of the way. The estate is in the middle of nowhere, to be fair, but Dunk would lose his mind if he had to drive twenty minutes each way just to buy things to fill his fridge. Also, it’s not helping that inside such a confined space, he can smell Aerion’s scent practically dripping off him, honeyed and sweet. How someone so evil can smell so good is beyond him.
“Can’t believe this still runs,” Aerion says. He sounds unimpressed, a bit bored.
“She does fine for herself,” Dunk mutters. Keeps his eyes fixed on the road. He’s trying not to sound too pissed off. Aerion picks up on his irritation easily and knows the exact buttons to press to rile him further.
“When did you get this old thing, anyway? It’s ancient.”
His first year of college. It’s all he could afford at the time, is what he would tell Aerion if he knew the omega wouldn’t be cruel about it. Instead, he says, “Not all of us have access to daddy’s money.”
Aerion huffs humorlessly. He shifts back in his seat then, and without asking, props his legs up on the dashboard. He’s all bare skin and loose, red string. Knees bent in a way that show off the faint curve of his hips. Dunk has to force himself to not look too long or he’ll veer out of the lane.
“Careful, you’ll scuff it,” he says weakly.
“Oh no,” Aerion says without a drop of sincerity, turning his head to stare out the window. “Not your poor hundred year old car.”
Dunk clenches his jaw. They drive the rest of the way in tense silence. The moment they arrive in the parking lot, he turns off the engine and is already out of the driver's side before Aerion has even unbuckled his seat belt.
Inside, he moves fast. He finds the soda aisle and throws as many flavors will fit into the basket. Recalls that Egg has told him before that lemon is his favorite, so he grabs two of those. The whole time Aerion just trails behind him, just as unhelpful as Dunk knew he’d be.
“I like the strawberry kind,” he calls out.
“Grab it yourself.” But he’s already getting it, tossing it in with the others. Gods, why is he like this? His pulse is in his ears. Doesn’t really like the way some alphas in the store are looking at Aerion. Makes him angry for some reason.
Once they’re at the checkout, it eases. Dunk decides on his course of action. He’ll pay, get them in the car, drive like hell back. Drop everything off and say his goodbyes to Egg and go home. Spend the rest of his evening just as he’d planned. Just needs to keep it together a little longer, though he feels like the back of his neck is getting hot, sweat beading at his temples.
“Oh, I’m grabbing one of these, too.”
Dunk turns around just in time to see Aerion bending to reach into a freezer, pulling out a bright red popsicle.
“That’s-”
But Aerion is already paying, and by the time they’re back in the car, he’s unwrapped it, taking slow and deliberate licks around the edges. His gaze is fixed forward. Absent minded as he swirls his tongue up the length of it.
Seven hells.
Aerion smiles, just a little, around it. “You’re staring again, Duncan.”
Dunk doesn’t respond. No use in denying it. He pulls out of the parking lot and repeats his plan to himself in his head. Drop off. Say goodbye. Leave. His hands are clenched so tightly around the steering wheel, his knuckles are going white. The roads leading back are winding, empty, nothing around. Wishes there was something nearby so he could kick Aerion out immediately. Let him walk home and learn a lesson.
“You’re being awfully quiet,” Aerion murmurs lowly. He makes a wet sound, licking at his thumb. “Cat got your tongue?”
Dunk’s jaw tightens. “Just concentrating on driving.”
“Wish you could pay attention to something else?” He can hear the smirk in his voice. He risks a single glance and wishes he hadn’t. Aerion is turned slightly in his seat facing him, one leg still propped on the dash, the other bent so the knee points toward the roof. He’s all open, nothing to hide. He runs the tips of the popsicle along his bottom lip and stains it a bright, filthy red. “You’re incredibly easy to fluster, you know. For someone so big.”
“M’not flustered.”
“No?” Aerion leans in. The sweet smell of cherries mix with his own omega scent. It’s cloying. Intoxicating in a way that makes Dunk’s mouth water. “Then why are you sweating?”
He’s not wrong. Dunk feels incredibly warm. It’s not hot enough to blame it on the weather, and the AC is cranked. It’s been a while that he’s felt this way, if he’s being honest with himself. Part of him has wanted Aerion since he first saw him, his meanness and cruelty no deterrent to him. He thinks of his pink skin, that rosy bud he’d seen earlier. Wonders how easily he can undo that bikini top with his teeth, how his skin would taste. It’s all he can think about.
“You’re a menace,” he grits, rougher than he means to.
Aerion laughs, then. A genuine one, which is disorienting to hear. Breathy and soft instead of his typical scorn. “And you’re really bad at lying.” He takes another long and slow lick. “C’mon. How much longer are you going to dance around it, Duncan? You want this, too, don’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“So I was imagining you eye fucking me for all these months?” He asks it so softly, almost innocent. Dunk’s not looking at him, but he can imagine the face he’s making. Those stupid eyes he pulls, big and wide and wet. He’s being challenged, he realizes. Is being prodded to action and he’s losing the ability to not rise up to it. Slowly, Dunk’s plan dissolves. Melts the way Aerion’s popsicle is doing all over his chest.
“Seven help me,” he whispers.
He takes a sharp right turn, leaving the main road and bumping down a dusty, deserted lane. It cuts through the woods, a shortcut Dunk sometimes takes. It’s a quiet and isolated road surrounded by nothing but trees.
“Where are you going?” Aerion asks, for a moment his smug facade breaking. “This isn’t the way.”
Dunk doesn’t reply. He drives for another minute, the cars headlights turning on midway as the dusk grows, only stopping when they reach a secluded turnout. He slams on the brakes and throws the shift into park. When the engine dies, all he can hear is the beating of his own heart in his chest.
He turns to Aerion, finally, his chest heaving a bit. His actions must look worrying, because for once Aerion is speechless. His purple eyes are wide and unblinking, mouth slightly open, stained red; his finished popsicle fallen to the floor. His smirk is gone, but there’s something there, too- a flicker of anticipation.
“Now look who's flustered,” Dunks says, his voice rough.
Aerion, instead of answering right away, sighs shakily. He takes a moment to recover but soon enough that pretty sharpness is back.
“Still you.”
That’s all it takes. Dunk is on him in a matter of half-seconds. He lunges across the center console, fumbling with Aerion’s seatbelt. His hands are shaking with a heady mix of rage and need. He gets it free and then he’s grabbing him, pulling his delicate body, pulling him close. Their mouths meet in a messy clash of teeth and tongues. Dunk can taste cherry, cold as ice at first with something hot and distinctly Aerion underneath.
And gods, Aerion kisses back just as fiercely as he argues. His small hands tangle in Dunk’s hair and pull. Tries to take control of the kiss and fails, because he’s pushed him to his limit. He keeps making this lovely soft sound in the back of throat, feeding it into his mouth, making Dunk’s chest vibrate with it. Sends a jolt straight from his heart and into his cock.
Dunk pulls away, panting, his forehead resting against Aerion’s. Licks at the swell of his bottom lip, can’t bear to stop having him. Undoes the sheer shawl and lets it fall away. “Backseat,” he commands hoarsely.
For once in his life, Aerion doesn’t fight him. He scrambles over the console, all slender limbs and pale skin, landing with a soft thud on the worn leather. Dunk follows after him, taking one last look around to make sure they’re alone. His large frame fits in awkwardly in the cramped space, but he’s too far gone to care, and can’t think straight anyway with the way Aerion is licking at his throat, planting kisses on his chin. Arms wrapping around him, so much skin on his. Has enough forethought to kick the driver’s seat forward, just enough for Dunk to spread out, Aerion straddling him.
“Look at you.” Dunk grouses. He looks up at the omega, he can scarcely believe he’s got him like this.
“Look at me.” Aerion agrees, eyes glazed over. But he’s smiling. Looks like the cat that got the cream.
The first time he’d ever met Aerion, he’d known he was trouble. Could tell from the get he was going to be his undoing. Still remembers walking into that house and seeing him perched on the kitchen counter, his imperious face still and pretty and mean. Made Dunk want him immediately even through the awfulness of him. Had turned his whole world upside down. He supposes he should return the favor.
Dunk’s hands find the slight curve of his waist and digs his fingers in. Pulls him flush against his lap, and kisses him again, deep, claiming, stealing the air from his lungs. He’s done with his little games. He wants the feel of him all over. Wants to scent him, bite him. Put him in his place, which should always be wherever Dunk is, too.
He trails his lips away from Aerion’s mouth and down the sharp line of his jaw, to just at the pulse of his throat. He can taste salt and sweat, traces of expensive flowery soap and suntan lotion.
“Yeah,” Aerion sighs, tilting his head back.
“You’re so fuckin’ perfect,” Dunk tells him, almost angry about it. “Shit.”
He continues his path, mouth tracing down his collarbone. His hands slide up Aerion’s back. Can feel the smooth shift of his skin under his palms. He reaches the flimsy red triangles of his top, and without a word, hooks his fingers into the fabric and tugs it aside, just enough to bare the dusky, peaked nipple he’d caught sight of before.
Without thinking, he closes his mouth over it. Aerion cries out, his spine bowing as Dunk flicks his tongue against the sensitive bud. He revels in the way Aerion’s fingers tighten in his hair, holding him in place. The omega is grinding against him with slow rolls of his hips. Through the barely-there denim, Dunk can feel the heat of him, the unmistakable slickness soaking through the fabric and onto his joggers.
“You’re wet.” Dunk says. His breath is coming out in harsh pants, kissing the tender skin he’d just sucked on. He grabs at Aerion’s hips and stills him. Can feel the resistance, barely there. Too weak to do anything about it.
“No shit.” Aerion hisses at him.
“If you’re good,” Dunk tells him, “Then maybe you’ll get what you want.”
He leans up to capture his mouth again, but Aerion moves his face to the side.
“You’re going to give me what I want whether I’m good or not.”
Dunk suddenly feels struck stupid. Is aching to kiss him again and it’s all he can think about, though again that irritation is back.
Aerion slides off his lap, then, much to Dunk’s dismay. He turns, settling forward with his hands resting on the center console, knees up and thighs spread, back arching beautifully. He looks over his shoulder. Dunk notes how gorgeous he looks, skin flushed and eyes blown, little silver hairs sticking to his temples.
He raises a brow. “Well?” He challenges. “Just going to stare at me like an idiot?”
For a debilitating moment, Dunk gets this urge to smack him, there on the padding of his ass. Wants to bite down on it, too. His eyes flick to the muscles on his neck where his claiming site goes untouched. There’s this deep, instinctual pull he keeps trying to push down. It’s made worse every time Aerion acts so bratty. Feels the alpha parts of him raging.
But he can’t do that. He won’t. Needs to take his time. Aerion is not an average omega. He’s as complicated and scary as he is beautiful.
Instead of rushing through and giving in to his demands, Dunk’s thumbs hook around the denim belt loops. He drags them down Aerion’s legs, the rough material scraping his skin. Aerion turns his head away, but he can still see how red his ears are. Dunk tosses them aside once they’re off, leaving him in only the tiny red bikini bottoms he’d been gallivanting in all afternoon. The fabric is damp, clinging to the perfect outline of his cunt.
The sight turns his brain off. He leans in, breath ghosting over it. His scent is strongest here. Has him going crazy, can hear himself growling. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to the fabric right over his entrance and moans.
Aerion gasps, his back arching even more. “What in the world are you doing, you-”
Dunk cuts him off by dragging his tongue flat against him. Likes the way Aerion whispers a scandalized sound but still leans back against him. Lets Dunk have his fill, tasting him through the synthetic material, tracing the seam of his folds while Aerion whimpers. His hands fist the leather seats, legs shaking.
“Gods, you’re disgusting.”
Dunk hums against him. Pays him no mind. He curls his tongue and flicks it against where the swimsuit has the most give. Dunk’s fraying thin. He wants to just rip the fabric aside and bury his face into his pussy. He holds back, though. Wants to savor this. Wants the first time that Aerion falls apart on his tongue be on his bed so Dunk can watch his usually impassive face fall apart during.
He kisses back up the knobs of Aerion’s spine. His arms circle around his middle and pull him so that his back is flush to his front. Vaguely, he realizes his hands are still dirty from practice, bits of dirt getting on Aerion’s pristine skin. Doesn’t know why it makes him twitch.
“Move it to the side,” he rasps, motioning to his bikini bottoms.
“Why?” Aerion asks, somehow still teasing despite how ragged he sounds.
“Gonna fuck you.” Dunk isn’t romantic about it. Can’t be right now. Seriously, he can’t wait a second longer. He spits into his hand, though Aerion is so wet, they probably don’t need it. His hand comes up between them to undo the laces of his sweats, not even bothering to push them down. Just takes his aching cock in hand and strokes himself twice before asking, “Is that ok?”
Aerion sucks his teeth and lowers his hand down his front. Doesn’t seem too keen on talking. He undoes the ties on the right side of his bikini. Finally, they’re both bare. Dunk can see the glistening skin of his cunt from over his head, and he salivates. He shifts them one more time. Is careful not to jostle the omega too much, content for a second to just let his length rub against the lips of him before finally, thankfully, pushing in.
“Oh, gods, go slow, you fool.”
Seven, he’s tight. Like putting on a glove three sizes too small. Dunk groans, head falling forward against Aerion’s nape. He inhales him, tries to ground himself that way, but it’s only spurring him further. Once he feels the omega digging his nails into his thighs, he starts moving.
He wastes no time in setting a punishing rhythm. Maybe he’s still sore at Aerion for all the grief he’s put him through, finally in a position where he can have him vulnerable for once. Still, a part of him knows that would sort of be a lie. He’s just eager. Has wanted this for far longer than he was honest with himself for.
In front of him, Aerion is falling apart. He can feel it. One of his hands grips Aerion’s hip and keeps him still, makes him take. The other slides up his front. He pulls the front of his top off, a large palm covering the expanse of a soft pec, thumb brushing his hardened nipple, still wet with his spit.
Aerion cries out. His heart hammers under Dunk’s fingers.
“You drive me crazy, y’know that?” Dunk pants against his skin. “You’re infuriating, you’re horrible, you’re-”
“Stop!” Aerion wails, bouncing back against his thrusts.
“You’re beautiful,” Dunk finishes, almost relieved by the admission. “Gods, I’ve wanted you for so long.”
And-
Aerion laughs. A breathless, honest thing. Dunk feels like maybe he hallucinated it until the omega cranes his body back, panting a kiss to his cheek.
“How sweet.”
His knot pops. Later, he’ll lie awake in bed about it. Will be haunted that he came so fast, all because he heard Aerion Targaryen giggle. It stings a little less when Aerion cries out, chanting his name, eyes scrunched shut. Looks almost pained with how good it feels.
Dunk feels him flutter around his cock, his muscles milking him, and then Aerion is curving back, coming, too. His throat is right next to Dunk’s mouth, and he dares a little nibble against it. Rips a shiver from the boneless mess against him.
The silence after is thick, the air in the car humid with their breathing. Dunk’s heart is a hammer. A frantic drum. His knot is locking them together. They’ll probably be like this for another fifteen minutes. He shift slightly, trying to get them comfortable, and Aerion lets him. Even lets him wrap his arms around him, dwarfing him. Has him feeling like a love-sick puppy when he kisses his temple.
“Annoying,” Aerion murmurs, not sounding annoyed at all.
“Brat.”
As Dunk looks at him, his stomach sinks. The need is gone, and in its place something is taking root that is far more terrifying.
By the time they’re back, there’s considerably less cars and the sun is setting. Not a good sign. Dunk cuts the engine, bracing himself.
Aerion hops out first. “You can carry all that yourself, can’t you?” He asks, not waiting for an answer, already walking off. Hasn’t even bothered to put his shorts back on. Dunk notices that the red bikini strings are all twisted, his sheer wrap hanging off his shoulders.
Looks well and truly fucked. Is probably reeking of Dunk, too. Leaking his spend into his bottoms. Dunk shakes his head and makes a defeated sound. He holds onto his wheel and leans his forehead against it.
Seven, give him strength.