Work Text:
Ser Hallsworth tilted heavily to the side, like a ship that had run aground. It was a marvel the man was even standing, considering that he looked more asleep than awake. Ire grew hot in Dunk's chest as he approached him. Ire that the man left the prince so poorly guarded, but on its heel came a sweeping sense of relief. He slowed his steps and cleared his throat.
A jolt ran through the knight's body and he shot up straight, blinking wearily into the dark. "Who's there?"
"Only me," Dunk said and stepped out of the shadows.
"Ah, Ser Duncan, I didn't see you there."
"You look dead on your feet, man. Go and get some rest."
"But the prince…"
"I will guard his door til the next shift, no fear."
"Are you sure?"
"Aye. Sleep dodges me this night, it seems."
It wasn't entirely a lie. After dinner he had gone quickly to his room, but sleep did not find him there. Instead he had laid awake on crumbled sheets, turning this way and that, as images of that simpering lordling kissing the back of Daeron's hand filled his head. Daeron had smiled at him, open and jesting because he knew no other way to be. And Dunk could have gladly tossed that foolish lordling from Summerhall's highest tower, consequences for once be damned. But he had not. He had remained at his spot, three steps behind the prince, close enough that he could smell him. That honeysweetness of cherry trees in the spring, and carrying only the smallest hint of smoked redwood. But it was there, and it was the only thing that had kept him from lashing out. Though later, alone in his room, it had made his cock grow hard between his thighs.
"Well, me it has picked for prey it seems," Ser Hallsworth said, chuckling lowly. "I thank you, and remind me to repay you whenever there is a chance for it."
With that he made his way down the corridor, steps light in the knowledge that his body would soon be tucked into bed. Dunk followed him with his gaze, until the man's back turned the corner and he was finally out of sight. He waited a breath longer, lingering in the stillness.
Then, when nothing but night made itself known, he turned towards the door and pushed it open. As soon as he stepped inside, that sweet scent struck him once more. Full in that way it can only be when it has seeped into every nook and cranny of a room. A space that has the distinct sense of being lived in.
He breathed lungfulls of it, until his nerves calmed. When it corrupted his lungs, his blood, his head, it was so easy to forget the guilt that still came with this.
On the bed, he could make out the siloutte of Daeron, curled up on his side. The omega often slept fitfully, so it was a wonder that Dunk, with his built and clanking armour, had not woken him. But he had been more tired lately, or so he had said.
Careful, as not to wake him, Dunk undid the fastening of his white cloak and let it fall from his shoulders into his waiting grip. With practiced ease he folded it and hung it neatly over the back of a chair by the door. He next moved on to the vambrace which he managed to losen without too much sound, and placed them too on the chair. The breastplate offered up more of a challenge, and Dunk almost wished he had his squire with him, if only to hurry the proceedings along.
"You need help with that?" Daeron's voice murmured from behind him, voice sleep-drunk and rough. It quickened his blood and he turned to look upon the young omega, who had pushed himself up on one arm and now looked at him with a gaze still mostly lost to the world of dreaming. For a moment all Dunk could do was stare, gaze roaming over the tossled hair, the naked shoulders and the alluring dip of the waist hidden beneath a silk duvet.
"I did not mean to wake you, dearheart," he found himself saying eventually.
The young prince smiled, and shook his head. "I tried to stay awake but…"
"I wish I hadn't caused you such pains."
"I don't," Daeron spoke and began moving. The duvet pooling down into his lap as he scooted towards the edge of the bed, revealing his lean torso. The pale skin bright even in the dusk of the room, and his nipples flushed a dark pink. When he rose from the bed, the duvet fell away and revealed him to be naked. The faint trail of hair starting beneath his navel leading down to a patch of gold covering the mound of his sweet cunt. The sight of him, his full body with its dips and ridges, was the most beautiful landscape Dunk had ever witnessed.
After all these moons, Dunk's breath still stole away at the sight of him.
Daeron approached, sinew and light like a doe stepping into a clearing. Dunk reached for him, placed his hand on his hip, curling his fingers towards his back, while his thumb smoothed over the light curve of his growing stomach. Had he not been so well-aquainted with Daeorn's body, he might not have noticed, or not recognised it for what it was. The first signs of a pup. His pup.
Daeron reached out past his cheek and towards his hair, deftly undoing the tie keeping his hair away from his eyes. It feel forward, obscuring the greying of his temples, and framing what he knew to be a roughly chiseled face that held little grace nor beauty. Still, Daeron looked upon him with awe. He never understood why, but he had learnt not to look a gift horse in the mouth.
For a moment, they only gazed upon each other. As if an age and a half had passed since dinner and they could not drink their fill quick enough. Then Daeron tilted his head to the side, sniffing the air.
"You're hard," he murmured, eyes lighting up with barely surpressed glee.
Dunk blushed, he could feel the heat of it rise to his weathered skin. "Uncomfortably so."
"Then I must insist on helping you undress, ser."
Having him so close, with the promise of having him closer still, finally snapped Dunk's careful restrain and he pulled Daeron close. Mouth devouring his lips, his cheeks, the sensitive skin on his neck until finally finding his mating gland. He laved his tongue over it until it was coated with the sweetness of Daeron's scent. This close he could smell the milkiness of a pup.
Daeron moans, tilting his head to the side to expose the full length of his neck, giving Dunk easy access to take what he pleases.
"I could scent your anger in the dining hall," he murmured low, breath ragged. "When lord Blackbar kissed my hand."
"Don't say his name," Dunk demanded, lips pressed to Daeorn's skin. "Please. Not here."
"I wanted to slap him," Daeron whispered, then his scent taking on a ashy hint of guilt. "I wanted you to take your sword to his neck."
Dunk leaned back then, meeting pale blue of Daeron's eyes. He cupped his smooth cheek in one hand and watched on in fond astonishment as Daeron nuzzled into the touch.
"I wanted to throw him from the tower, and then…" he blushed and swallowed. "I wanted to mount you, right there for everyone to see."
The black of Daeron's eyes grew deep with want, and he let out a high keening sound. "I'd let you. You know I'd let you."
With a shuddering breath, Dunk leaned their foreheads together and closed his eyes.
"I want you too much," he said, echoing words that were near a year old now. Back when he had first been entrusted with guarding Daeron, and he had figured out that the best way to keep an eye on him was to place the omega on his knot. "And I can't have you enough."
"You have me," Daeron said and moved one of his hands to his stomach. Dunk spread his fingers to cover as much of it as he possibly could. As if it would be enough to ward off any dangers that could befall the still budding light inside. "You have all of me."
Still holding onto his hand, Daeron moved it down until Dunk's fingers brushed through the hair on his mound, then lower still were he was warm and wet and waiting.
Dunk pushed a finger inside and swore. "May the seven save me."
He had never been a religious man, but at the beginning he had prayed. He had prayed a lot. For absolution from his cursed desire, for forgiveness for betraying the trust of a man he respected and for allowance. Allowance to have this. To have this always.
Daeron moaned and panted against his chin, and placed his hands upon Dunk's breastplate to steady himself.
"We're… ah, right there… unequally matched."
Dunk smiled and pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips. "I am no match for you."
He retracted his finger — Daeron whined at the loss — and sucked it into his own mouth. Gods, but the taste of Daeron's slick was divine. It shot straight to his cock and he groaned, feeling suddenly impossibly caged by the armour.
"Ah…" he panted. "I need…"
Daeron smiled and kissed him long, until they were both breathless with it, before he moved to help undo the breastplate and the rest of the armour. He was careless with it though, letting the pieces drop the floor where the steel of it rang against the stone.
"Be gentle with it," Dunk admonished gently, less concerned with the armour itself and more fearful that the sound might attract unwanted attention.
"Father may buy you a new set," was all Daeron said.
The mention of Maekar made Dunk's blood go cold. The man had entrusted him with the care of his son, and what had he done? Devoured him, taken the omega for himself in all but an official mating bond.
Dunk owed a lot to the man, and even more to his brother. He had served as Baelor Breakspear's sworn sword since he was five and ten and he had stopped the hit of a mace aimed at the heir by the use of his own body. It had happened during the Blackfyre Rebellion, and afterwards Baelor had had him train for his own sword's master and offered him a place amongst the King's guard.
It was his words that had convinced Maekar that Dunk was a suitable choice to guard Daeron's (already somewhat tainted) virtue.
"Your father would rather have my head on a spike."
"Do not say that," Daeron admonished him, even as his fingers made quick work of Dunk's doublet.
With an apologetic touch, he brushed a loose lock of hair behind Daeron's ear. He leaned in and pressed a kissed to his temple.
"We will need to tell him soon, before you quicken."
Daeron stilled, breathing deep. "Not yet. He will only demand I get rid of it."
A growl rose from the depth of his chest and Dunk pressed the omega closer to him as if he could somehow press him between his own ribs, where nothing could harm either him or their pup.
"Hush now," Daeron murmured, and reached to press his thumb into Dunk's mating gland. "I won't. I will never rid myself of a babe put in my belly by you."
Against his better judgement alpha pride swelled in him at the words. It blossomed into his scent, and had Daeron purr. The scent of his slick permeating the air. It was almost enough to wash away the guilt.
"Aren't you going to ask me how many pups I will carry for you?"
Dunk's hands found his hips, digging his fingers into the soft give of flesh. "Help me out of the chainmail and I might."
A surprised laugh escaped Daeron's lips and he leaned back slightly. "I love you."
It was simple. Only three words and yet it wreaked havoc on Dunk's heart. He couldn't surpress the dopey smile that pulled instantly at his lips. He moved one of his hands from Daeron's hip, over his stomach and up to cup one breast. Daeron moaned, long and deep, as he rubbed his thumb over the pebbled nipple.
"And I you," he murmured. "More than reason tells me to."
"I need you," Daeron whispered, and started to tug off the doublet from Dunk's shoulders.
Together they managed to wrestle Dunk out of the chainmail. From there all they had to rid him off was the linen undergarments. Soon enough he was stood bare before his omega.
Daeron's fingers traced over his chest with familiar ease, skirting over the strong muscles, following the lines of paled scars. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to his throat, then down to his clavicle, running his tongues down to his peck where he found a nipple to latch onto.
Dunk moaned and buried his hand in Daeron's hair. Tugging until Daeron whined, and drew back.
"I will never bore of your body," Daeron murmured and pressed himself close, where Dunk's cock, hard and heavy, pressed into his hip.
"I'm getting old."
Daeron's finger found his length and teased at the head. "Not that old. Not yet."
Dunk moaned. "How many?"
"What?" Daeron laughed.
Walking him backwards towards the bed, Dunk nipped at his ear. "How many pups will you give me?"
"As many as it will take for you to forget your guilt," Daeron said and crawled backwards ontop of the duvet, spreading his thighs wide until his glistening cunt was on full display.
Dunk groaned at the mere sight of it, reaching out to run his thumb over the slick folds. He parted them gently and found the hole clenching in wait of him. Daeron whined, and reached for him, pulling him down atop of him.
"As much as I love your obsession with my cunt, I really need your knot right now," Daeron said, already reaching for his cock, stroking it idly. It was already leaking, hard enough to cut glass with it. "I've been thinking about it since before dinner."
It was a rehearsed dance at this point, but no less exquisite for it, as Dunk sank into the wet heat of Daeron's cunt. They moaned in tandem, lips finding each other as their hands entangled on the sheets. It was quick and dirty. Daeron's long legs wrapping around Dunk's waist as Dunk's thrust kept pushing him up the bed. He had to shift once to ease the strain of his damaged knee, before he buried his cock back to the hilt. The slide made easy by dripping slick. When his knot began catching, he pressed Daeron harder against the bed as Daeron's fingers tangled into his long hair.
"Knot me, knot me, knot me," Daeron panted against his mouth.
"Fuck," Dunk groaned, thick fingers finding Daeron's nub.
Daeron screamed as he came, back arching off of the bed and when he clenched down on Dunk's knot, Dunk quickly followed him over the edge, locking them together.
Carefully, not to tug too much on where they were connected, Dunk shifted them over to the side. Daeron's face found his neck, as Dunk wrapped him up in his arms and buried his nose in the pale gold of his hair. Breathing in the sweetness of cherry trees in spring, and the scent of smoked redwood heavier on him now with Dunk in and around him.
"You're right," Daeron murmured, breath hot against his skin. "We will tell father soon."
Dunk held him tighter, so hard it must bruise. He swallowed down the guilt. Maekar's judgement would befall him soon enough.
"Not yet," he whispered.
For now, he only wanted to hold Daeron and their pup where they were safe from the scrutiny of lords and smallfolk. Just another moment longer.