Archive of Our Own

During Dunk's second year at University of London he meets Maegor.

A fellow alpha, with hair colored like the finest sands of beaches Dunk has only ever seen in magazines, heterochromia in his eyes—a trait that attracts all the attention, Maegor had joked brazenly once—which has him sporting a lilac iris and a blue one, quite similar in tone to that of Dunk's own blue eyes. He's smaller than Dunk, but that's most people, and he's quite bright and vivid, lively, an uncommon trait in most alphas.

They're both Biological Science students, funnily enough—the only two alphas taking said path, and they make quick friends once they ally with each other instead of bothering the poor, exhausted omega classmates they have with their presence.

Maegor transferred after his first year away from home because he couldn't take the distance, his system, built in with all the properties to set him free from the den once he grew into adulthood, just never caught up with what was going on around him. He told Dunk he couldn't stand being so far away from his mother and his younger sister, Rhaenyra, who was barely nine years old and would phone him every night. His mother, displeased but understanding, managed to sneak him into UoL with the heavy weight of their family name with not much fuss, and now he's a few hours away from home.

Something Dunk found curious, though, was that Maegor never spoke of his father.

He knows the boy has one because he's been mentioned in passing, always regarded as father, never by name like his mother—who Dunk has memorized as Aerion—and he's never involved the man into the rants about how homesick he is, about what he misses most.

So, of course, Dunk's shocked and horrified when, halfway through the year, Maegor's father passes away and the young alpha finds himself having to pull back from class. Maegor goes home after talking to professors and superiors, agreeing to do some of his courses online and have the rest of the work prepared upon his return.

Maegor never mentioned any illness haunting his family, and in his lonesome hours Dunk begins to wonder if he's been a bad friend, clearly not noticing that Maegor has been having a hard time, but the boy's never shown any signs of emotional pain. Maegor, until the same day of his travel, kept being the same as when Dunk met him, and shockingly enough; he comes back the same, too.

They're sharing pints a few days after his arrival, the pub's buzzing with life, Maegor overpaid the bartender to play a song he likes, and he's laughing at something Lyonel says when Dunk asks, "Are you alright, Mae?"

"Never been better," Maegor tilts his head back, he has that familiar glint in his eyes, the one he gets when he's convinced he can take on the world like a storm. "I'm gonna need your notes, though. Like… all of them, I think."

Dunk drinks, enjoys himself, but ideas stir in the back of his head and he wonders a lot about Maegor's attitude. He knows, thanks to years of therapy, that each one of us deals with grief in our own way. Dunk, once orphaned, then adopted, then orphaned again at the cusp of adulthood, knows this better than anyone. He chooses to stay beside Maegor, to be his companion, in case the boy ever falls.

The holidays are harsh, have been harsh since he lost Arlan a few years back, but he tries to keep up with the spirits nonetheless. He goes out with friends, decorates their apartments, eats half-baked cookies and buys Friendmas gifts for his designated half, but then the live-in dorms become barren, empty of their usual loudness, and he's all alone again.

Except, this time, just a weeks leading up to Christmas, Maegor remains behind.

Dunk's nose is colored a deep crimson, he returns from the store after an emergency flee to grab some noodles he'd forgotten for a recipe, and Maegor's splayed on the couch with a blanket draped over his lap and his brows knitted in a deep frown, eyes set on his phone.

"You're not going home, mate? You're usually gone by now."

Maegor sputters. "If you want me gone, just say that," His tone is not serious, not at all, he turns to Dunk then, "I am, well, more like… We are."

Dunk pauses over his pan. "We?"

"Well, I spoke to mother last night on the phone, after speaking to Nyra for two hours, and I told him you're always staying here alone while the rest of us run off with our families," Maegor shrugs. "He couldn't have it, he said, and he told me to take you with me."

"Mae—No, I cannot be an intrusion in your family—You've recently had a loss—,"

"That is why you must come with me, Duncan! After my father's passing it's been grim and boring back home, a friendly and kind presence like yours would benefit us all!"

Dunk wants to argue, and he'd love to be more offended over Maegor airing out his loneliness to his mother, but the alpha has a point—when sunken in grief, what helps the most is the warm company of friends and family. Dunk drowned himself in his friend's presences after Arlan passed, and it made it easier.

But still, his nerves aren't sated by knowing he's wanted there by the whole family, not really. As much as he distantly knows about Maegor's mother he still has never met an omega his age, nor has he interacted much with omegas at all in life, so through gritted teeth and the risk of making a fool of himself he nods. Maegor's eyes widen, then he's scurrying out of the couch and pushing into Dunk's space, arms wrapped around the bulk of him.

"Alright, alright, relax," Dunk huffs a puff of laughter. "When do we leave?"

Maegor peeks into the pan, cringing. "When are you done with this sorry excuse of a dish?"

The drive to Maegor's home takes up most of their day, they begin as soon as Dunk's done packing up for the week. He's a way's away from the University, his home tucked into a private neighborhood that made Dunk feel overly poor the moment Maegor first mentioned it.

He's always known Maegor comes from a wealthy family, and it's old money, too, but Maegor's never acted superior because of it—of course, he has his tastes that don't match that of a normal student's and his accommodations were arranged in his favor when he first arrived, but that has never been the louder side of him. Maegor, for the most part, tends to dress casually in a rather casual way, akin to that of an early Blur's Damon Albarn, closer to the laboring man than to the gold-cloaked monarchy he comes from.

Dunk can't help but feel too conscious of his own second-hand Nike and sportswear he bought for cheap at Primark, shadowed by his winter clothes that he owned after Arlan. He's anything but like the crowd people like Maegor usually hang around of, but that's never been mentioned nor brought up by the alpha.

The sky darkens, turning into a deep gray, almost black, by the time they're pulling through the gates of the enclosed neighborhood. The guard upfront greets Maegor warmly, used to his presence, as Maegor was raised here, and wishes them happy holidays before letting them through. Most of the houses look like they were pulled out of posts online about the most beautiful homes ever and Dunk feels his stomach rolling as they inch closer to Maegor's, which is tucked into a secluded corner, kind of shadowed by trees and a wide front garden with an even wider back garden. His home stands tall, proud in its foundation, with an outside decked in all black stone and red, almost purple, vines taking over some of the walls.

It's as breathtaking as it is a complete showdown of power, Dunk understands. The gate opens to greet them without having to call anyone, Maegor rolls the car forward, fingers tapping on the steering wheel, mindless as he's always been.

"Don't be nervous," Maegor chides, smiling as he unhooks his seatbelt. "Mom loves you already from how much I talk about you, you'll be fine."

Dunk nods, swallowing, trying to convince himself of that but failing to do so.

They grab their bags and walk up to the door, where Maegor doesn't wait to be received, he grabs a key from his pocket and pounces in—Dunk stares, frozen behind his friend for a moment before the roll of a freezing chill has him stepping inside too, ridding himself of his shoes by the door like Maegor. He's shy to follow, quiet in his gigantic steps. The house is soaked in the scent of cinnamon, smoke and caramelized sugar, Dunk finds himself taking a big whiff of the air.

Steps rush down the elegant staircase, tiny yet quick. Dunk watches as a silver-haired young girl—Rhaenyra, just as Maegor described her—zooms towards the pair.

"Mae!" She yells. Maegor drops his bag in favor of widening his arms to catch her in them, lifting her off the ground and spinning her until she's laughing, all bright and vivid like him.

"My princess," Maegor fawns, he sets her down and bends to her level. "You've grown taller than the last time I saw you."

Rhaenyra, who was too caught up in her brother's arrival, seems to notice Dunk a second later—her eyes, lilac to the fullest, widen in surprise and then she's extending her arms at him. Dunk looks at Maegor for approval, for a sign, to which he merely laughs and shrugs, as if telling him to deal with it. Dunk grabs her from beneath her arms, lifting her high enough for her to get a little scared, before setting her in his shoulders.

She's an alpha, like them—Dunk presented this young, too, and he's surprised about the sharpness of her scent; smoke and mint, mixed in with apricot and blood oranges.

That leaves the omega, the only one in this house, and Dunk smells him before he sees him.

Blood, a copper-like scent trails from upstairs, where the footsteps are delicate and regal, but not in an unpleasant way. There's citrus, too, lavender and roses mixed into a floral cocktail that makes Dunk think of the early spring, and something close to a campfire that's burning bright. Dunk swallows harshly, Maegor has no reaction, too busy joking about how tall Duncan is with Rhaenyra to even notice his mother coming down.

Aerion's presence hits Dunk like a blow to the gut, dull, strong. He'd seen pictures before, but in them Maegor was far too small and Aerion closer to their age, youthful and soft.

This Aerion is anything but. He's dressed down in black and red silk, which hugs his figure quite nicely, the pudgy edges and his thin waist all the same. He looks young, yes, but there's a sharpness to his mature features that reminds Dunk of the years and the experience between them all—His hair, brighter, closer to Rhaenyra's, is long past his shoulders, looking like he's walked out of a shampoo commercial. He carries himself with the regal elegance that makes Dunk feel like he should be kneeling, and when he lifts his gaze their eyes meet, lilac upon blue, and Dunk feels his lungs drying up.

Aerion's gaze sharpens so slightly, his eyes raking over the younger man with no shame, his hand flexes where he's grabbing onto his cloak, then he speaks. "Maegor."

Maegor meets his mother's eyes, there's a beat of silence, "Mother."

Dunk half expects them to leave it there, he releases a sigh of relief he didn't know he'd been holding the minute Maegor rushes to his mother, melting into an embrace proper of two people who've missed each other like hell. Maegor's scent spikes, all his rowdiness and his vividness, as his mother purrs and chirps at him as if he were a baby cat. The moment feels far too intimate for him to just be staring at them.

Nyra breaks the silence, one hand braced on the crown of Dunk's head. "Look, mama! I found a giant, like the one from my books!"

"Rhaenyra, that's improper," Aerion mutters as he pulls from the hug, his hand still buried in Maegor's silver curls, and there's no bite behind his tone. "This must be Duncan Pennytree, am I right? You're quite famous around these parts, boy."

Dunk feels his cheeks flush, which he can blame on the cold contrasting with the indoor heat, and he nods, bowing. "Aye, that's me, ma'am. It's such a pleasure to meet you, I've heard so much about you, too."

Aerion glances down at Maegor. "Only good things, I hope."

"Only the best things, yes."

"Come here," Aerion beckons him further. "Let me take a look at you."

Nervously, Dunk sets Nyra back down, she rushes back to her brother as Dunk takes two strides to stand before the omega. Aerion's eyes are boring into him, their size difference makes Dunk feel lightheaded—Aerion's tiny, just coming up at Duncan's chest, and his hands are soft like cotton when they come up to grasp Dunk's jaw. He's sizing me up, Dunk things, trying to play it cool and not let his scent flare in retaliation.

Can he tell all my clothes are made in mass production? Can he read my mind? Can he feel the way my mouth waters, how my blood rushes, when we're standing so close?

The moment breaks when Maegor clicks his tongue. "Mom, stop terrorizing him."

"I'm not," Aerion pulls back, and Dunk has half the mind to not push further into his space to chase the touch. "It's normal to be curious, look at the size of him—Tell me, Duncan, were you always this tall?"

"Aye, I always stood taller than most," Dunk nods. "It's… genetics, I guess."

Aerion deadpans. "You guess."

"Stop," Maegor laughs, grabbing his mother's hands in between his own. "You can ask him all about this later, once we're well settled and we have our bellies full. Dunk, come with me."

Dunk hums, offering a soft smile to the omega before ducking past him, feeling those sharp, cat-like eyes follow him until he's disappearing behind Maegor into the stairs.

Maegor helps him into one of the guest rooms then shows Dunk his childhood room, which is decorated as Dunk would've expected it to be given Maegor's social status—There's books spanning the shelves from the ground to the ceiling, Blur posters (of course) plastered on the walls, Oasis too, and a CD rack that's overflowing. Dragons make up the majority of his toys, which are now tucked into a chest he keeps by the end of his bed, and he has a really decent comic collection for both Batman and Superman.

There's a framed vinyl in one of the walls, Blur's Leisure signed by the whole band.

"My grandfather got me that when I turned fifteen," Maegor comments from behind as he unpacks his back. "And Damon's signature, but that's tucked into my journal."

Dunk laughs softly. "That's fucking incredible."

"I was hoping you'd get to meet the whole family," Maegor says, Dunk prepares himself to be there for him, to listen and lend a shoulder, but he's not talking of his deceased father. "My grandfather is in Prague, celebrating with his the rest of our family. Mother gets fussy while traveling, and he's not at his best right now, so—next time, yeah?"

"Yeah, next time, Mae."

Maegor nods, offering one of his bright smiles. "Let's go down to eat something, I'm starving! Oh, maybe mom popped that new wine open! If he didn't, then I will."

Dunk follows, quietly chuckling at Maegor's enthusiasm. Once back downstairs they hover towards the kitchen, which is nicely decorated for the season, tiny lights twinkle overhead, freshly baked pastries and bread lay atop the counter-top. Maegor's home looks like a scene plucked out of a holiday movie.

Nyra returns, she's got a headband with tiny dragon wings and socks up to her knees, she is Maegor's shadow, as he's always said, and his bestest friend.

All in all, it doesn't look like time has stopped in this home. Maegor mentioned his mother being unwell, yes, but Dunk understands that as the sole head of the home there are times in which he might just suffer by himself to spare the children any grief—a pang of something blares through him at the mere thought. His stupid nature and animalistic instincts sense an omega in distress and he feels like he's bound to fight a war in their name, not because of the reward that might come after, or the satisfaction it might bring, but because Dunk doesn't want anyone to be in pain, let alone an omega who's carrying so much of it all on their own.

"You best not be making a mess, Maegor."

That startles the young man, who's currently busy making hot cocoa for three. "Mother, when have I ever done such a thing?"

Aerion walks into the kitchen, hands held just above his stomach, his brow raised in an elegant arch. "You'd like me to recount all the times you stood in that very same spot practicing magic while you were a child? I can do so in front of Duncan, if it pleases you."

Dunk perks up. "Magic?"

"Oh, yes," Aerion turns, his gaze set on Dunk's face, he then turns and comes to take the stool beside him, his warmth and scent stronger the closer he is. Dunk shrinks in his seat, as if that were even possible. "My older brother, Daeron, once brought back a book from Transylvania and Maegor became fixated, said he'd make the best wizard London has ever seen, help people with his spells."

Maegor groans, his pale neck has turned a deep crimson. "Mother, please."

Aerion's lips curl in a cruel, sneering smirk, joyful at the boy's instant cringe. "A most noble career path, dare I say," He leans in, lilac eyes glinting under the mixed lights of their surroundings. "He did almost set the kitchen on fire once, even."

Dunk's heart does something silly at the sight of Aerion's smile, his perfect bone structure lined up by his features, all sharp and carefully sculpted. Aerion's the most beautiful omega he's ever seen, that's for sure, and guilt consumes him as it dawns on him that this is Maegor's mother—his friend, the guy who has his coffee order memorized and restocks the dorm fridge without ever asking Dunk for half of the bill. Maegor the Kind, who goes to his rugby games despite not even liking the sport, always cheering so loudly for him.

All of it lodges inside Dunk's stomach like a rock, making him sit stiffly under the attention.

More stories are shared, Dunk responds to the questions thrown his way, even to those Nyra asks him which are mostly about how he grew so tall. Dinner is a calm, warm event with Aerion sat at the head of the table, nursing a glass of wine while stealing glances at Dunk, who tries to keep his head cool while Maegor is talking about school.

Aerion retires early, dragging Nyra with him despite her whining about wanting to stay a little longer with her brother, but it's well past her bedtime. Dunk and Maegor linger downstairs after dinner, sharing a Guinness and enjoying the warmth of the fireplace, thrown across the carpet and just quietly laughing about whatever and anything. Dunk feels his chest warming up, feeling so full and content, that all the stress of his earlier anxiety dwindles down the moment he lies his head on the pillow and drifts to sleep quite easily.

It is early when he wakes, maybe too early, but Dunk's always been an early riser. Your only flaw, Lyonel had said the first time Dunk stayed at his apartment.

He opts to shower despite the cold, hissing as his feet touch the floor, scurrying to the bathroom to get under the boiling stream with a sigh of immediate relief. He washes the past day's grime away, opting to use the soap with the least far-away label he recognizes, and doesn't think too much about the lavender-coconut scent mix of the shampoo and conditioner.

Maegor is still sleeping, Dunk knows this because he lives with the man, has seen how he has slept through power outages and storms, even the dreadful heat. There's nothing that could come between Maegor and his rightful eight, sometimes ten, hours of sleep, so Dunk doesn't bother on checking past the closed door of his room as he takes himself downstairs. He feels weird, has always felt weird when staying at other people's houses, but the hyper-awareness about the omega has him on his tippy toes. Aerion is awake and already at the kitchen when Dunk walks in, awkwardly standing here.

"Good morning, ma'am."

Aerion turns, his hair is braided today, beautifully pale. "Morning," He nods. "But it's just Aerion, please, you make me feel ancient."

"Ah, sorry, I've—I didn't mean to cause any harm, ma—Aerion."

"Do not fret," He holds up a hand. "I'm merely jesting, Duncan. Sit, I will pour you some coffee."

Dunk does as he's told, slipping into one of the stools. He watches Aerion's every move with an intense interest, as if the omega merely existing was just about the most exciting thing he's ever witnessed—Aerion's dressed just as elegantly today, which seems to be a theme with him. His clothes are mostly dark, contrasting his pale complexion and his silver hair, enhancing the lilac of his eyes, and today's no different; he has a beautiful dress on, dark purple, accompanied by accessories and jewels Dunk's sure cost more than anything he's ever owned before.

In simple words, Aerion's the perfect image of an omega.

His slender fingers touch everything with such delicacy, as if he fears everything might break under his hold, which Dunk doubts. Dunk's stomach swirls with that same guilt from the previous night, though his alpha hivemind brain is quietly simmering with all the ideas he shouldn't be getting, making him feel warm all over in different ways.

Aerion slides a steaming mug of coffee over to him, smiling tightly as he offers sugar and creamer, then some pastries and bread.

"Thank you, Aerion."

"Enjoy it, Duncan."

It's not a command, but it is spoken like one. He guesses that's just Aerion's manner of speech, as most of the words that come out of his mouth feel like a silent order.

Dunk enjoys his breakfast indeed, mindlessly listening in to the soft sounds of the TV in the living room, where the news reporters are vividly talking about the holidays and an upcoming charity event. He grabs the handle of the mug, realizing there's some bold lettering on it; Dunk twists it around, his eyes widening, throat closing up, as he realizes what he's holding in his hand.

WORLD'S #1 DAD.

He splutters, audibly so, startling Aerion.

"Duncan, are you—oh," He stops, face unchanged from its stoic posture. "That. Do not worry, it was a mere pleasantry."

Dunk doesn't know how to respond to that. "I'm… sorry for your loss, felt wrong not saying it earlier."

Aerion's form stiffens, his posture is taut, as if he'd been thrown against a wall, he lets himself relax against the counter as he folds his arms over his chest. "Have you ever lost someone, Duncan?"

"Aye," Dunk nods, humming softly. "My parents, then—Well, he adopted me but as an uncle kind of thing, he passed a while before I met Maegor."

"That's an striking amount of loss for someone so young."

"My parents died when I was young, and Arlan—my uncle, he was old already when he adopted me, I kind of annoyed him into doing so. My last name is his, actually."

Aerion nods, softly taking it all in. It's quite a personal talk, Dunk guesses, mainly for two people who've never spoken much before to have, but Aerion might just want to find some solace in knowing he's not alone—Dunk can offer that.

"I did not love him, and he did not love me, in my family we don't do the whole getting married for love thing," Aerion grits out. "I did it out of responsibility. My family's name looked good next to his, I gave him two children, we raised them amicably, but his love for them was dry and cold, while mine was the love like that of any mother's."

"Not any mother," Dunk mumbles, because he's not sure what to say to soothe the years of grief and regret washing over Aerion's pretty face. "I can tell you're quite special."

A beautiful pink flush spreads across Aerion's cheeks, it thrills Dunk to his very core. "Careful, Duncan," He warns, voice low, in a way it shouldn't be. "Flattery may lead a man to paradise if his choice of words fall upon the right person's ears."

Dunk feels overwhelmed by the attention, by Aerion's beauty, by the fire's warmth.

Footsteps echo from upstairs, Maegor's, for sure. Aerion's eyes dart towards the staircase, he straightens, smoothing his palms over the soft fabric of his skirts and then he turns back to his cooking—Dunk finishes up his breakfast, moving to rinse his cup under the tap, and he doesn't miss the way Aerion's shoulder grazes against his back as he walks past him to greet a freshly awakened Maegor.

"Is Nyra not up yet?"

"No, but I'll go get her, you sit down and have breakfast," Aerion presses a kiss to the crown of Maegor's head, soft, motherly. "I'm gonna need you to run some errands for me later, okay? Take Duncan with you—Rhaenyra too, she would like to come with."

Maegor nods, Aerion walks upstairs and leaves the two young men to their morning chatter and shared laziness.

Later, once well fed and ready to face winter's biting chill, Dunk and Maegor climb into the latter's car, with Rhaenyra practically secured like a prisoner in the back seat, buried behind all the bundles of dark red clothing her mother had put her in so she would not freeze while outside with her brother.

Their first stop is the postal office, then a butcher shop, where Duncan gets offered a job because it would be good to have a big lad like him around. Rhaenyra lives up to her nickname as she's carried in Dunk's shoulders everywhere to go, refusing to use her tiny legs because, in her own words, princesses shouldn't walk. Neither man can argue with her logic, and Dunk doesn't get tired easily, so he doesn't mind her, and she weighs next to nothing. At some point they stop at a neat little café for a refreshment, Maegor takes a million pics of Nyra's milk mustache to send his mother, then snaps a selfie with Dunk that receives a heart reaction and the response, what a handsome pair.

That makes Dunk's face burn, which he blames on the icy, biting cold, of course.

Their final stop is the grocery store, where Rhaenyra falls asleep in Dunk's arms halfway and Maegor pays for a few items with a black card that earns him an exhausted look from the cashier. The ride back home is quiet, with Nyra fast asleep and buckled in the backseat and Maegor humming along to don't look back in anger while Dunk quietly spirals. The house smells like a mixture of incense and sugar when they arrive, there's a re-run of Home Alone playing on the TV and Dunk takes care of unloading the gathered goods while Maegor takes Nyra to bed. He slips quietly inside, not wanting to bother anyone, but finds Aerion lounging by the back sliding door, his eyes catch onto the cigarette in between his fingers and the tilt of his slender neck.

"The freezer is in the basement, that's where the meat goes," Aerion says, he doesn't even turn, he'd merely smelled Dunk. "The rest Maegor can deal with, Duncan."

"Alright, miss."

A soft chuckle abandons Aerion, it makes Dunk's hairs stand up, goosebumps sparking through his course skin. He does as he's told, carrying the meat to where the freezer is, then helping Maegor put everything else in its rightful place—Maegor doesn't say anything about his mother, and when Dunk walks past that side of the house again Aerion's no longer lingering by the door.

Pathetically enough, the two young men spend the rest of the day holed up in Maegor's bedroom, punching each other's shoulders over Fifa and unresponsive digital players.

Dinner is amazing, yet again. Dunk doesn't even mind the fact that the dinners aren't holiday themed, maybe to the family they are, it's just too good to even care about such a thing. The wine flows a bit more easily this time around, which has them ending up with a slightly tipsy Maegor who insists he can stay around a bit longer but is actively dozing off in his chair—Dunk carries him upstairs, chuckling at his friend under his breath and then tucking him into bed.

He's not sleepy yet, he's restless. Dunk turns back downstairs, minding his footsteps for the young Rhaenyra sleeping upstairs, given that Maegor's out like a light.

He waltzes into the kitchen, hazy-eyed and standing tall, with his shoulders loose, product of the wine. Aerion's by the sink, hand washing his dishes under the tap, "Mind if I help?"

Aerion turns to him, an eyebrow arched. "You can dry them off."

Dunk nods, taking his post next to Aerion and grabbing a dry rag to begin drying out all the plates and glassware passed to him. It's rhythmic, quiet, save for the clinking of glass and fine china. Aerion's brows are set on a stern, concentrated frown, while Dunk's face is far more relaxed.

"Are you always this favorable, Duncan?"

"Hm, it's how I was raised to be."

Aerion shakes his hands over the sink. "Was your uncle an alpha too?"

"Yes, he was, but he was no common alpha—he never fed me any of the weird traditional bullshit everyone tells young alphas about omegas," Dunk squeezes the rag with all his strength, barely noticing the dazed look in Aerion's eyes at the protruding veins of his arms, the sheer power in his wrists. "I was raised knowing it was my duty to protect the innocent and the weak—not that—not that omegas are weak, just that… alphas can be mad creatures."

"That," Aerion hums. "Is quite true, Duncan."

"Maegor's quite well raised, too."

"He knows that if were to ever act like a rabid mutt I'd be the one to put him down," Aerion says, like it's nothing, like the seriousness behind his words doesn't startle Dunk. "His father was quite the weak alpha, never held any much power or fierceness within him, so for the first few years of his life he felt lost, aimless,"

Aerion's moving, gathering two wine glasses and popping a new one open, one with a red label and a carved three-headed dragon. Dunk shouldn't drink any more, he knows this, but he accepts the glass offered like it'll be his last drink on earth. "A family blend," He says, then motions for Dunk to follow as he continues his rambling. "Most of the men in my family presented as alphas at quite the young age, just like Nyra and Maegor, so they were the ones guiding him when it came to his troubles that I could not understand."

They sit on the couch, Aerion with his legs folded underneath him, dress draped around his legs like a princess. Dunk feels like a lowborn commoner in his presence, blessed to be speaking to his beauty that has crawled out of the heavens.

"Come on, taste it."

The words do something to him, which makes him realize he's stupid, and drunk. Anyway, he tilts the glass, tasting the richness of the wine flowing down his throat. Copper, smoke and grapes mix, blood and fire and triumph in a bottle. It's good, it's more than good—It's the best wine Dunk's ever had, probably won't ever have it again once he leaves, but he wishes he could steal some in a water bottle to take for Lyonel to taste. He'd lose his mind.

"That's… amazing."

"At some point my family grew bored of the dramatics and got into the business of wine, though this one we don't sell," Aerion sips his own, slowly, carefully, like someone who's been schooled into how to drink alcohol. "A side hobby, if you could call it. My father and uncle bought vineyards in Italy, it's fermented there, then harvested and picked up when they deem it ready to be."

Dunk nods, suddenly too curious about wine. "How old is this one?"

"About forty years old, I think. My brother sent it as a gift when my husband died," A smile curls Aerion's lips, fondness taking over his face. "He's a drunk, and a fool, but he knows how to make me laugh. And it it damn good wine."

"Aye, that it is."

They drink in silence, which isn't uncomfortable, nor is it odd. Dunk settles into the couch, letting the heaviness of his limbs be soothed by the aid of the wine and the warmth around him, not to mention Aerion's scent lingering in the air. Everything smells good, everything feels good, his head swirls beautifully.

Dunk thinks about drowning in every sensation he feels. It'd be nice.

A hand in his shoulder makes him blink up lazily, looking up at the omega through half-lidded eyes, his touch gentle yet sharp. Dunk's skin burns under the cotton, finely cut nails scrape against the fabric, finger-pads lightly press against the solid muscle. Aerion's studying him once again, Dunk can't find it in him to pull back this time.

"Tell me, Duncan," Aerion's voice is quieter now, softer but not gentle. "Has Maegor bedded an omega yet?"

"I—I don't know if you should ask me such a thing, miss." Dunk feels his cheeks heat up, a crimson flush taking over his neck and up his ears.

"He wouldn't tell me," Those clinically still fingers travel down, making Dunk's skin erupt with goosebumps, golden hair standing up. His arm is tapped like Aerion's trying to find a vein to poke him in, then it moves back up, slowly. "I think the only reason he'd tell me would be if he got someone pregnant already."

Dunk swallows, between the touch and the sudden question he can't think, mix it all with the alcohol and he's basically forgotten how to speak English. "Not that I know of," He mutters. "He hasn't brought anyone to our dorms."

"Hm, he's a good boy," Aerion's eyes meet his, sharp as always, but something behind them makes Dunk shudder. "What about you, Duncan?"

I should've punched Maegor harder earlier.

"No," He confesses, a sudden spark of vulnerability traveling through his veins. "I haven't—Not for a lack of interest, I mean… I've had my chances but I've always been scared,"

Aerion pulls a face. "Scared."

"Aye, scared," Dunk nods softly. "Of hurting 'em with the size of me."

Aerion's hand stills on his arm, he holds Dunk's gaze for a moment, then he's drawing his hand back, bringing it to the ribbons on his chest.

"You've never done anything at all, then?"

"Just… just kissing, once. With a beta girl."

Aerion clicks his tongue, he starts to undo the ribbons that hold the front of his dress together, sending Dunk's mind reeling. He should get up, grab a blanket and cover the omega, run upstairs and stand under the freezing water until he's dying of hypothermia. But he doesn't, he's frozen solid against the couch and can only helplessly watch as Aerion's dress falls apart by his own doing.

Dunk's seen naked bodies before, sure, but never this up-close. He's just an alpha, after all, and his ruts are spent locked behind the door of his room with whatever he can use to calm himself—sometimes it's a nice fleshlight, other times it's the porn in his computer.

He knows omegas are soft, delicate things, that their bodies are like marble and porcelain, he's heard his friends talk about their beloveds or the lovers they take time and time again, describing their bodies while basically salivating. Dunk has always been curious, because, as stated before, he's just an alpha sometimes, but he'd rather spend the rest of his days not knowing than spend them feeling regret and guilt over having hurt someone who can't fight him off even if they wanted to. Aerion, however, may wear the mask of delicate and doll-ish perfectly, like a perfect second skin, but it's clear that he's much more than that.

His body, though, fits every other tale told by his knot-headed friends, by the erotica publications and the obscene things he's read online.

The front of Aerion's purple dress falls open easily, revealing two small yet perky tits, with pink pebbled nipples with leftover bite-marks of teeth much too small. Is Rhaenyra still drinking from Aerion? She's nine, too old to do so. Dunk's breath hitches, he can feel his own scent blooming, rotting the air around him with its roughness and its rustic drawl, he sits up straighter, eyes focused on the pale chest. Aerion's hair, now unbraided and curled, sits around his shoulders, he's… beyond this world. Dunk chokes on his own desire.

Aerion smiles, cruel, sharp, triumphant. "I take it you've never seen this, then."

Dunk heaves out, he shakes his head. "No, I—no, oh my god."

"The bite-marks?" Aerion glances down. "After I was pupped last I was left… inconvenienced, the doctors call it a rare condition, I call it nonsense—my own body betraying me into producing milk despite Rhaenyra being well past her nursing years."

"Does it," Dunk swallows. "Does it hurt, Aerion?"

Aerion seems slightly startled by the question, it takes him a second to nod. "If I don't make her feed, yes, which is proving harder as she grows older and does not enjoy the taste of my milk nor wants to be latched to my chest like an infant. It is our co-joined suffering, and I blame that fool turned to ash for this."

Dunk feels crazy. He's going crazy. He's going to—Well, he doesn't know what he's supposed to do, if this is some kind of test. Will you or will you not fuck your friend's mom? A whole new fucked-up segment on a version of Survivor nobody but a bunch of perverts would watch, which is already the common denominator for the viewers of normal Survivor.

The omega's husband is dead. The body might have still been warm when Dunk stepped into the house, maybe. Their children are sleeping upstairs—Dunk's good friend.

Aerion sports no ring. None that proves any sign of marriage, for that matter, but Dunk has caught glances of the faded mating scar. He's wondered if it aches, if it forces Aerion into a grief he does not want to feel, but Aerion's omega seems to be relentless and fierce, meeting the strength of a bond with blood and teeth. He does not yearn for a dead alpha, instead he blooms beautifully for the young man before him, whose mouth is dripping with saliva at the mere sight of a pair of breasts. Aerion had birthed two children by the time Dunk was mature enough to understand the world, he realizes this with a gulp, it does not ease the thrum of heat that travels downs his spine.

He's doomed. He was doomed the moment he walked through that door, when his head turned immediately thanks to that scent, when his body straightened and his heart raced.

"Can I help?"

Aerion holds his gaze, one nod is all it takes. Dunk pushes forward, careful yet eager, and presses his lips to the warm, unblemished skin.

Aerion's soft, slender fingers find their way to his hair, messing it up and traveling through the golden brown as if he were attempting to map out his scalp. Dunk's nose is pressed to him, his scent is so strong, flowers and blood and wine and milk. How had he missed the milk when he first met him? It is mostly intoxicating, Dunk feels his brain fogging as his lips latch onto the paleness, his teeth scraping softly against the flesh as if he was a sculptor carving out the finest piece of marble. A soft sound escapes Aerion, a reward for Dunk.

He noses at Aerion's jaw, pressing kisses to his neck, never biting, but nipping. His cock is hard and leaking in between his legs, pressed against his sweatpants, dirtying his briefs, Dunk doesn't care. He'll deal with it later, all by himself. It's all about Aerion now.

He looks up, at Aerion's eyes then down at his lips, as if asking for permission.

"Kiss me." Aerion whispers. Dunk's never had to be told anything twice.

Their lips crash against each other's, the kiss is passionate, almost rough. Dunk savors the wine inside Aerion's mouth, there's an underlying sweetness, too, maybe something wholly omega. Aerion gasps into his mouth, opening for him, letting Dunk's tongue slip inside with no problem—The moan he receives goes straight to his cock, he knows Aerion can smell his arousal, their scents are mingled in the air, mixing so well together that it makes him dizzy.

A trail of saliva connects them even as they part, Aerion licks it back into his mouth.

Dunk glances down, at Aerion's breasts, "Can I, uhm,"

"Suck my tits?" Aerion arches a brow, grinning. "Well, no, they're merely for decor, you see."

"I'm sorry."

Aerion sighs. "Don't be," He runs a hand through Dunk's hair. "Go on, don't be afraid."

I should be, Dunk wants to say, because it is my friend sleeping upstairs, his mother I am defiling. His recently widowed mother, at that.

But he doesn't say any of that.

Dunk bites his tongue, exhaling deeply as he nods. Just one of his hands is enough to cover Aerion's whole breast, the sight alone is exhilarating, how small Aerion is in comparison to him, how he doesn't seem to be afraid of him—it is a new sensation for Dunk, who's always used to others cowering or moving out of the way, mainly omegas, which he can't judge them for, but it has always stung ever so slightly.

Aerion takes him as he is, putting his own small hand over Dunk's, looking down at him with those lilac eyes of him that make Dunk feel like such a peasant.

His tongue swirls around a pink bud, Aerion's reaction is immediate—A gasp, an arch of the spine, his nails pressing against Dunk's flesh. Dunk massages the underside of Aerion's breast while he suckles on his nipple, allowing himself to shut his eyes as he indulges himself. He knows it feels good because Aerion's face has gone from practiced stoicism to a certain softness he hadn't seen before, making a small swell of pride travel up his throat. Dunk softly nibbles on Aerion's flesh, over the bite-marks made by the young princess, and continues to suck and lick until he tastes it—

A small dribble, at first, but then it's assaulting his mouth.

Aerion's milk tastes like the sweetest refreshment Dunk's ever tasted, like a summer day, like frosting. He groans, too animalistic and loud, his hips bucking involuntarily, as he drinks until his mouth is full of Aerion's milk—Underneath it all, beyond his hazed mind, he can smell the scent of Aerion's slick, his arousal potent in the air. Everything about Aerion is sweet except for him, which is beautiful, Dunk thinks. He doesn't want him to be sweet, pliant and soft, like all the other omegas, Dunk likes that he has a bite to him.

"Duncan, my goodness," Aerion gasps, head thrown back now, eyes half-lidded and the lilac has gone dark. "That's it—sweet boy, drink from mama's breast,"

That tickles something inside Dunk. The praise, the nickname, everything about Aerion makes Dunk feel like he's somehow stepped into a world where his fantasies and needs are all laid out for him on a table like a feast, in the form of a silver-haired omega who tempts him to come forward, to crawl up the mahogany and devour him.

He moves onto Aerion's other breast once he's drained one, pulling back for a few seconds just to admire his work; Aerion's chest is a mess of blotchy reds and purples, bite marks that are too large and hickies that'll be there for days. Dunk's hunger doesn't subside, it grows fangs as he stares at the mess he's made out of the omega, so he latches onto the other nipple and receives a beautiful melody of moans as a reward. He's not sure how loud they're allowed to be, but he has kept it in the back of his mind that he can't get carried away. Dunk's hand finds Aerion's thigh, he tests out the waters by sneaking his fingers beneath the fabric, Aerion doesn't pull him away.

Slickness meets him immediately, coating the inner side of Aerion's thighs, warm and trickling. Aerion rolls his hips into the touch, trying to get more than this, clearly.

"You're so wet," Dunk grumbles, face half-pressed to Aerion's chest, a manicured hand holding him steady by the back of his neck like a bad pup. "Can I—Do you want me to finger you?"

Aerion's lip is trapped between his fangs, he nods rapidly, saving himself the shame. "I wouldn't complain if you did."

"Could've asked," Dunk mumbles, pressing a kiss to Aerion's chin.

"Oh, Duncan," Aerion gives him a soft look, tilting his head. "It'll do you good to learn that I don't ask, nor do I beg. What I want, I get. Now, fingers inside my cunt, alpha."

Dunk's mouth goes dry, he doesn't have a witty response this time around, he merely nods like an idiot and his fingers find the wet mess of Aerion's soaked cunt, pushing the ruined lace aside to have an access to his folds. He's dripping, Dunk didn't know omegas could get this wet, or maybe it's just another one of Aerion's unique traits.

His head is pushed back against Aerion's tit, which he suckles on as he feeds Aerion one, then two of his fingers—It's a tight fit, it makes Dunk think about things he shouldn't be thinking about. He wonders if Aerion's husband was a good fuck, if he has been fucked by any other alpha like this, if he has a habit of having young alphas line up at his door to service him as he pleases. The thoughts that spiral through his brain make him feel odd, he adds a third finger and doesn't miss the way Aerion's spine goes taut, his teeth jittering.

The taste of milk, Aerion's scent, his slick gushing down Dunk's wrist… It's enough to bring a man to his knees. Dunk unlatches from Aerion's breast and pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Let me eat you out, mama."

Aerion's scent turns stronger, blood mixed with lavender, he bunches up his skirt and slips off the ruined lacy panties. "Kneel before me, come on."

Dunk's knees his the carpeted floor with a soft thud, he crawls to Aerion where he sneaks right in between those slender, soft legs, claiming his rightful place. He hoists Aerion's legs up, pulling them over his broad shoulders so he can have more leverage, then presses a kiss to Aerion's womb before diving right down—Aerion's hand flies to his hair the very moment his tongue makes contact with the wet mess of his pussy, which is far prettier up-close, and smells far too good.

What he lacks in experience he makes up for in enthusiasm, Dunk realizes, because Aerion's quite pleased with how he's being treated.

He eats Aerion out like a man possessed, a man who's been starved for far too long and is finally offered a piece of bread, with his nose pressing against Aerion's clit and his tongue pressing inside his pink hole. His saliva drips down the couch, so does Aerion's slick, and one of his hands snakes up Aerion's body to grasp one of his tiny breasts—Dunk's totally gone, his cock so hard it aches, Aerion's legs tighten around his head and he's whining beautifully as he gets closer and closer to his climax. Dunk doesn't let up, he spears Aerion with three fingers again while he latches onto his clit.

The omega folds forward, nails digging into Dunk's nape, his breathing shallow and raspy as he drowns in his own pleasure. Aerion's orgasm comes and it's like nothing Dunk has ever seen or experienced, an explosion of lust and sweetness inside his mouth, the very solid taste of omega now tattooed in the back of his throat.

Aerion gushes, Dunk drinks, laps it up like a good dog. He doesn't stop until Aerion's sobs turn annoyed and he's pushing him away, overstimulation settling over his tired body.

They remain there for a while, with Dunk's head kept on Aerion's lap, fingers threading through his hair and their breathing evening out. The entire living room smells like sex and omega and alpha, like coupling, like mating. Come the morning, it'll once again smell like incense and smoke, like citrus and cinnamon, but right now Dunk basks in the reality and allows himself to contently sigh.

"Come on," Aerion lightly taps his cheek, Dunk looks up lazily. "Up, boy, time for bed."

Dunk groans softly, but he raises, shadowing Aerion completely. The omega fixes his clothing, half-assedly tying up his dress, and on wobbly legs he fetches his ruined panties and bunches them up on his fist. Dunk wishes he was brave enough to ask for them.

Awkwardly, but not wanting to just leave, Dunk mutters, "G'night, Aerion."

"Goodnight, Duncan," Aerion walks toward the stairs, he stops halfway, hand on the railing to catch himself. "Thanks for helping me."

Dunk nods, Aerion nods back, and then he's gone.

It takes Dunk the better part of ten minutes to drag his own ass upstairs, and when he does he walks slowly past Maegor's room. The house is so quiet that he can hear the distant sound of a tub filling up, his mouth watering at the thought of Aerion in the bath, and he rushes into the guest room before he can make any bad decisions—any more than the ones he's already made, to be clear.

Over the next few days everything changes and nothing changes all at the same time.

The morning after their activities Dunk went downstairs to find no trace of what had happened, the house smelled intensely of patchouli, there were freshly plucked red roses in every corner and sweet-scented candles tossed at random. Maegor was having breakfast by the time Dunk gathered enough courage to go down, and informed his mother was out with Rhaenyra, so they could order shitty food and watch a movie.

They sat on the couch with a pizza and a bowl of popcorn, Maegor on the same spot Aerion had sat the previous night. Dunk did not eat a single slice or kernel.

Both guilt and hunger waged a war inside of him that he could not withstand, and now he understood some of the warnings Arlan had given him earlier in life about certain omegas who would use their very nature as a weapon—Never under the guise of making them seem as evil, or morally wrong, but explaining that sometimes it was all they knew how to do with themselves. Dunk doesn't think Aerion fits the latter part of the explanation, but he sure does wear his designation like a dagger upon his hip, glinting against the warm lights of the home he haunts. He cowers before no alpha, and that makes Dunk want him more.

It doesn't help that he notices the intentions behind everything now. It's as if everything had become this quiet game between them, visible only to them, and Dunk can't help but feed into the attention.

Aerion's lingering touches, sometimes in passing, sometimes under the table, the heel of his boot grazing Dunk's calf, his eyes tracking Dunk's every move and his refusal to use Dunk's nickname which makes the alpha frustrated because his name should not roll that nicely off the omega's tongue.

Just the previous afternoon they'd been keeping Nyra occupied while Aerion baked, heaps of coloring books and sketchbooks, watercolors and markers and pencils, all thrown around the expanse of the carpet. Maegor, naturally artistic and talented, was sketching out a dragon while Nyra tried to do her very own, Dunk scribbled for the most part, engaging whenever the young alpha girl would ask him something or try to get his opinion. His mind, however, kept drifting to how Aerion looked like displayed for his eyes only, how wet his cunt was, how he came so hard into Dunk's tong—

"Duncan," Aerion called, his neck almost snapped from how fast his gaze shot up, Maegor barely glanced over his shoulder. "Come here, darling."

Darling. Dunk placed his sketchbook down, messing up Nyra's hair on his way past her to make her giggle. "Yeah, Ae—ma'am?"

Aerion points toward one of the top shelves. "There's a jar of dried fruit up there, I need you to reach it for me."

Dunk nods, stepping past the island and trying to squeeze through Aerion but he can't, not with the omega right there. He licks over his lips, stealing a glance toward where he came from, then low, he asks, "You're not going to move?"

"I do not wish to do so."

Incredulous, Dunk holds his gaze for far too long before he understands that Aerion's wholly serious. He sighs, his hand coming to Aerion's lower back and his body pressing forward as he reaches for the jar. Aerion gasps softly, quietly, but Dunk hears it—he can smell him, too, sweet and tangy. Aerion reaches back, slender fingers cupping him through the front of his sweats, and the jar almost slips out of Dunk's grasp.

Dunk bites back his moan, he sets the jar down, flushed down to his chest.

"Thank you, Duncan."

"No problem."

He makes up some poor excuse for himself, something about a headache and something settling poorly in his stomach, which has Maegor nodding kindly as he excuses himself to the guest room. Dunk tries to keep it quiet as he jerks himself off, down on his belly with his teeth latched onto the pillow.

In the two days leading up to Christmas something shifts, Dunk notices it the moment he wakes, it's in the air he breathes.

The house is a bit dark and closed off when he goes downstairs, which is an unusual sight from what he's been waking up to since he arrived. Usually Aerion will have curtains open, whatever sunlight they get will be spilling in to shine upon the home, but the curtains are all closed and the scents around are dulled out. Maegor is preparing breakfast for a half-asleep Nyra, whose head rests in her hands, hair messy from sleep and eyes lidded.

After coffee and cereal, once they're settled in front of the TV watching Frozen and bracing for Rhaenyra to perform for them, Maegor leans in.

"My mother went into heat," He whispers, Dunk's breath hitches. "It was unexpected, but he's handling it as best as he can, but I gotta take care of Nyra for a while."

Not unexpected. I triggered it. I triggered Aerion's heat.

"I'll help out as much as I can, Mae."

"Thanks, Dunk. You're such a good friend, really."

Dunk vomits the contents of his breakfast minutes later, once Nyra has started her second song and Maegor's laughing violently because she's so out of tune, hiding in the downstairs bathroom where his retching is muffled by the sound of the toilet flushing.

Aerion does not come downstairs at all, which Dunk doesn't expect him to do but it's weird how much he misses him being around. His room, which is located far down the hall, right next to Rhaenyra's, is kept locked and secured with Maegor standing as his mother's watchful Knight—Dunk finds that to be endearing, really. It only worsens the guilt that swims through his system like slow-paced poison. Maegor prepares light food, sometimes assortments of winter fruits with cheese and crackers, other times just broth and stew, and the trays come back quite full every time. Dunk's heart aches as he washes it all by hand, despite Maegor's insistence to use the dishwasher.

Maegor keeps him up late to wrap gifts, there's an exaggerated amount of them, which Dunk expected, and his arms grow tired quick. Yours I will wrap all by myself, Maegor had said with a wink, mom got you one, even, it's under my care.

The morning of the 24th they bake cookies together, Dunk gets scolded simultaneously by both siblings as his clumsy hands can't handle such a delicate task. They're all tree, orb or reindeer shaped—well, the reindeer kind of turn into a weird blob in the oven, which makes them all laugh as they attempt to decorate the monstrosities. Then they build gingerbread houses, which end up half-bitten and falling apart by the time they're done. They eat a quiet lunch, remaining in their pajamas and unwilling to do much at all.

"The thought of going back to class soon makes me wanna vomit," Maegor groans, they're laying on the carpet, right in front of the fire, because Rhaenyra fell asleep on the couch bundled under the blankets. "But… Lyonel did mention he has a New Years party planned, so I'm not all that upset."

Dunk's chest caves in, he hadn't thought about returning since he got too used to being here. "I didn't get an invitation."

"Stop lying," Maegor nudges at him. "He'd cry if you didn't go."

"I doubt Lyonel's the kind of alpha who cries."

"He's just like the kind of alpha who cries."

Dunk clicks his tongue. "He wouldn't cry for me."

"Well, I would," Maegor shrugs. "Alpha or not—I'd cry for any of my friends."

Dunk turns around, blue meeting mismatched eyes, taken aback by the sudden honest in the young alpha. "You'd cry if I didn't show up to a party?"

"Brother, I would've cried if you had said no to coming with me. My mom would've started hating you, probably, because of many tears I would've shed."

Dunk swallows, watching as Maegor settles back into his usual calmness after being so honest with him, and he allows himself to wonder about the what if's—If he'd been born earlier, maybe into a different life, and had met Aerion, would they have been the exception to his family's strictness surrounding keeping honor before happiness?

He wonders if Maegor and Rhaenyra would look any different, had they been born to the coupling between Dunk and Aerion. If either of them would sport his sun-golden hair, if Rhaenyra could've had a pair of deep-sea blue eyes instead of lilac.

Aerion wouldn't have had to lived most of his life in a sad pretense, then. He wouldn't have wasted his youth, the best years of his life, living under the roof of a man who was no alpha, no genuine husband to anyone—Dunk feels angry, incredibly so, on the omega's behalf, which is something Aerion would probably hate but he doesn't need to tell him any of this. Their children would've been raised knowing both parents loved them to death in an equal way, and that their presence in their lives wasn't just about keeping a bloodline but actually a manifestation of the love they have for each other. Dunk, who has never ached for such a thing before, feels like he's missing it already.

Something settles deep inside him, foreign and too new, and his neck cricks as he raises from the carpet and stares at Maegor dozing off before he grabs one of the throw pillows to shove it under the boy's head.

As night draws near and the neighborhood settles for the festivities, Dunk and Maegor prepare dinner as a unit. Nyra helps here and there, but she mostly grows bored and starts gnawing at whatever she can reach, claiming she's hungry and that a princess must be fed before she dies—A tad bit dramatic, but fair. Two grown, mature alphas trip over each other as they discuss the lamb roast which they'd started early in the day but have been taking care of slowly. Maegor mentions Aerion sent all the chefs and maids away after Rhaenyra was born, keen to be the one doing things for his children, but that after Maegor was born Aerion had fallen too ill.

Dunk stands pressed against the counter, arms folded over his chest, watching as Maegor controls the temperature of the oven and snacks on chips. "Ill? From the pregnancy?"

"Mom never talks much about it, I mean, it was traumatic for him," Maegor says, softly recounting his mother's words. "The birth got complicated, I was stuck—He said at some point they had to give my father the choice."

"The choice?"

"Between my mother's life and my own."

Dunk jolts, eyes wide. "Oh."

Maegor's jaw tenses, clicking. Dunk can see the sudden swell of anger, can smell it as his scent flares and grows sour. "I know what he chose," He says, low, resentful. "Mother's never been good at lying to me, so I know he chose me before he chose mother, and I still hold that against him, even if things went right. I don't know if it makes me a bad person."

"It doesn't," Dunk reassures him, honestly so. "We're lucky you're both here, but it is not his choice to make, and it shouldn't be that way anymore."

"You'll be someone's dream alpha one day, Dunk."

Dunk smiles, tight, reserved, and wonders if that's already the case.

Their combined efforts make for a good-enough dish, the side dishes were ready and frozen, thank the stars. Maegor grabs that wine Aerion had brought out that fateful night, making Dunk almost choke on his lamb—He makes a joke about it missing a good bunch before he pours some for the two of them, Dunk doesn't drink it, the mere taste would be too much for him to handle, and instead he goes for a Guinness.

Rich people's Christmases are rather quiet, Dunk realizes. Maegor puts a record on, Wham! it is, before he excuses himself to go check on Aerion.

Nyra dances, then Dunk joins, laughing as she mocks his two left feet. She's graceful, Maegor mentions something about ballet and gymnastics but Dunk barely hears it. Aerion's scent trickles from upstairs, strong, vivid, present in the air they breathe. He's in the thick of it, Dunk thinks as he side steps and sings along to hide the flush of his cheeks and the way his own scent blooms. They collapse in front of the fireplace and remain there until the fire crackles softly, Nyra's sleeping and the clock tilts closer to midnight.

"It feels weird," Maegor murmurs. "Not toasting with my mother."

Dunk looks up, humming. "We could wait—until he gets better, yeah? We toast together then."

Maegor nods softly. "Still," He rises, so does Dunk, he closes the space between them and brings the larger alpha in for a hug which he reciprocates twice as strongly. The clock turns to twelve, outside there's some cheering and the sound of fireworks, as usual, while inside there's only warmth and love and guilt. "Merry Christmas, Dunk."

"Merry Christmas, Mae."

They share a few more drinks, some weird concoctions Maegor makes up on the spot, and Dunk feels positively hazy by the time he's tasked with carrying Nyra upstairs to tuck her into bed. He brushes her hair away from her eyes as he tucks her under the violet covers, lingering for a second too long, letting himself bask in a fantasy that shouldn't be so wedged into his brain, and then he's turning around.

Maegor is positively hammered, more so than all those nights ago, because he can't hold his alcohol as well as he claims—Dunk laughs at him, genuinely, while telling him he'll help him learn how to drink before they graduate.

Vodka, tequila, gin, everything's mixed behind the boy's blown pupils as they trek upstairs and lean against each other not to fall. Maegor mumbles about Damon Albarn as he goes down to the mattress, asking Dunk if he thinks Damon would like him, to which Dunk says aye, I think he might fancy you quite a lot, just to enjoy the crimson flush that violently spreads across Maegor's pale face before he turns to sleep. He closes the door behind him, then drags himself toward the guest room.

To Dunk's credit, he does attempt to sleep, multiple times, in fact.

He tosses and turns around in the sheets, far too soft for him, and tries to count sheep, to think about boring things and make up whatever to doze off but he can't. He can't shake the feeling of dread that fills him as he remembers he sent Aerion into an early heat before the holidays, making it so that he couldn't spend these days with his children, who he yearns to be with every hour of the day. He should've been stronger, as Arlan raised him to be, and not be so whipped by the advances of the first omega that's ever expressed interest in him—Dunk stares at the ceiling with a quiet terror chilling him to his core, and he lies there until he hears the whimpering echoing from outside.

If they offered lordships over bad decisions then Dunk would be Lord Dunk of Idiot Bay, he's sure of this. His tall form is a menacing shadow across the hallway of the upstairs area, the wooden floor creaks under his weight, and he glances back every two seconds to check that Maegor's not there, ready to murder him for what he's about to do.

Aerion's door stands imposing, impenetrable, much like the iron walls he puts up to hide from others. The scent emanating from behind the door is slightly muted but Dunk can still smell it, and God—It's fucking good.

He tries a knock, a mere rapping of the knuckles against wood, and nothing.

"Aerion," He calls, quietly, low on his throat. "Are you alright, Aerion?"

Dunk sighs, stepping back a few feet. He doesn't know what to do with himself, and he should really turn back to his room, let this pass as it needs to and then go back to his dorms with Maegor just to never think about this Christmas again.

He's going to go, really, it's in his plans right as he plants a hand against the door to try and see if it gives but then the door creaks slightly open—unlocked, beautifully so. And when Dunk peeks his head in the scent hits him all at once; so strong, so potent, it has him baring his teeth at first contact. Blood, smoke, citrus and flowers, a summer's day spent laying on the back deck while eating sliced oranges someone else is peeling for you, a campfire at night that's burning bright and true. A garden, vast and imposing, lathered in red and lilac. It's intoxicating, like drugs, like the first time Dunk smoked a joint and then coughed for two hours, like the look you give a slope you're about to fall down off.

Aerion's quiet whimpering comes from his form on the bed, mildly illuminated by the warm lights, toned so low the room is barely visible, where he's stripped bare and twisting against the sheets, seeking some comfort and relief.

His skin is glittering with sweat, the muscles of his back ripple as he arches against nothing, his face is deeply buried into the pillows while his hair drapes across his shoulders like a curtain of silver silk. Dunk's eyes are so wide they might as well fall off his face. There's sugar in the air, Aerion's slick—he knows this—coats the small, pitiful nest he's made for himself.

Leave. Go back to your room. Go back home. Never come here again.

Dunk takes a step into Aerion's room, the door clicks shut behind him.

"Mm—Maegor… leave—mom's not—I can't,"

"'S not Maegor, ma'am."

Aerion's head snaps up, too fast, Dunk worries for his neck while those lilac eyes stare at him like a deer in headlights. Another wave of Aerion's scent blooms across the compressed air between them, Dunk digs his fingernails into his palms.

Not a word is uttered by the omega, Dunk becomes too aware of what he's done—wandering into the room of a helpless omega in heat without even asking for permission, something a barbarian would do, something he was taught to look down upon. He knows how this looks in Aerion's eyes; an alpha coming to stake his claim, to sink his teeth and take what he wants. He tries to make himself smaller, gentler, but it fails. Instead, he tries toe explain.

"You were crying, I could hear it," Dunk stutters. "I wanted to—I wished to see if you were alright."

Aerion just stares at him, wild-eyed, with his precious eyes all red rimmed and pupils blow, his cheeks gone pink and lips parted, shiny with spit. Silence follows, but then, pitifully, he reaches out and cries again, "Alpha."

"Aerion," Dunk's dam breaks, he closes the space between him and the bed in mere seconds, coming to stand at the edge of it. Aerion's nakedness is distracting, yes, but Dunk's far too worried about the sorry state of the omega. "How bad is it?"

"Hurts, hurts so much," Aerion weeps. "Haven't had one—not since—Nyra,"

Dunk's blood goes cold. "This is your first heat in nine years?"

"At random," Aerion can't string together a sentence, which is no problem for Dunk, a man of few words, but he's grown used to that elegant tone and the stoic charm fed by the high-level educational upbringing Aerion had. "Tiny."

"Small ones?" Dunk asks, receiving a quiet nod. "Fuck, this is all my fault. I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, Aerion."

"Alpha," Aerion sighs. "Help me."

Grief washes over Dunk's face. "I—I can't, Aerion. That's… I shouldn't."

"So much pain," Aerion makes a point of grabbing his womb, which must be cramping, probably aching to be filled, Dunk's brain does something funny with that information. "Just once. Just once."

He'd caused this, Dunk thinks, he has made Aerion feel like he's dying just from a heat—It's his responsibility to fix it.

Dunk pulls back, reaching for the hem of his shirt, Aerion's eyes widen slightly again and then he's leaking even more, his body having recognized Dunk's the moment the alpha came through the door and now preparing for what's bound to happen. "Quiet," He mutters. "We have to be quiet, the kids are sleeping."

The kids. As if they were theirs, not just Aerion's.

Aerion nods, desperately.

Dunk sheds his clothes, tossing them into Aerion's nest one by one, guessing it'll soothe him even more if it all smells more like the two of them together. His briefs are already straining against his erection, which had swollen to full size the moment he stepped into the room, and he gives them a graceless tug to free his cock. Aerion's eyes are on it immediately, his mouth parted in a gasp as he takes in the sheer size of it, the omega pushes back against the pillows and seductively spreads his legs to reveal the expanse of his thighs and his pretty pink pussy, ready and wanton.

No turning back now. Dunk climbs up the mattress, stalking Aerion back against the headboard, and then he's capturing the omega's lips on a kiss that's far from gentle.

It's passionate, wet, immediately intense between the two of them as it had been in the couch, and Dunk hisses as Aerion's fangs bite down on his lower lip which causes a tiny wound to open, blood dripping down his mouth and chin. Aerion licks it up, lustfully, and his eyes are taken over by the black of his iris as he brings his hands up Dunk's shoulders and pushes him lower.

Dunk's alpha brain does the thing, again, and he lets it take over for the time being—His own internal animal gnaws at him as his hands map out Aerion's naked body, his eyes set over the fading scar in his belly, the stretch marks on his skin, he's beautiful like no other and this is a sight Dunk will never forget. Aerion's fading mating scar remains there, unbothered, and when Dunk noses at his neck he tenses for a moment before letting out a quiet moan, tilting his head to the side for easier access. Dunk nips and kisses, but when he gets to the spot between his neck and his shoulder he licks, letting his teeth merely graze the scar, and then possessively bites his shoulder instead.

Aerion's scent is thick in the air, in his nose, clogging his senses and his logic. Dunk's head is a field of flowers on fire, the scent of them only worsening with the smoke, and he doesn't want to do much else but rest there until he's fully consumed by the flames.

The kisses travel down, Aerion's breasts, which he's gotten quite familiar with, welcome him again as he engulfs one with his mouth and the other with his hand. The omega gives a helpless cry, head tilting back as his legs shake around Dunk, he's so sensitive it slightly scares the alpha but he doesn't pull back. They're a bit swollen, and when that first trickle of milk hits Dunk's tongue again he can't help the groan that escapes him, loud and animalistic, Aerion's hands are on his hair, on his shoulders, raking down his back and leaving red traces of blood as he splits skin open.

"These are so full," Dunk mutters, he barely recognizes his own voice, his own attitude. He squeezes Aerion's tit, pressing a wet, obscene kiss to his chest. "All for me?"

"Mmm," Aerion writhes. "For our pup."

Dunk's mouth goes dry, he unlatches, rising up to kiss Aerion once again, forcing the omega to taste himself—They moan in unison into the kiss, collapsing together.

His fingers travel down south, his hand comes to cup Aerion's cunt, whole palm of him covering his mound. Aerion is so wet, dripping, wetter than he'd been when he ate him out in the couch which is quite the feat, considering Dunk had never seen anyone be that wet back then.

He knows Aerion needs no preparation, his body is ready, has been ready for days, the mere thought makes Dunk sink deep into a fury—he could've been doing this long ago, they could've had Aerion with them during dinner had he just stopped being a weak alpha. Still, he's not aiming to hurt him, no matter how much the omega insists he can take it, so he feeds him two of his fingers at the same time, to be nice. Dunk lowers himself on the mattress, kissing the expanse of Aerion's flat stomach, while his fingers scissor inside Aerion's pussy, stretching him even more.

A third finger goes in, then a fourth, Dunk thinks he could have his whole hand inside Aerion if he liked, and he does like that idea, but it's not the time.

Aerion's body is vibrating, becoming jelly-like more and more as his own orgasm approaches, he's so deep into the throes of his heat that he doesn't seem to have control of his own limbs anymore. All he can do is writhe, shake and take what he's given as he waits for it all to pass, and Dunk feels a pang of sympathy wash over him as he watches Aerion unfold before him.

Dunk presses his lips to Aerion's clit, suckling, licking, and Aerion's first orgasm of the night ends up all over his tongue and chin. Dunk savors this, licks the omega clean and then slurps some more of that delicious slick before he takes his fingers back and wipes them in whatever's around the nest.

Aerion calls for him, weakly, "Duncan."

"Yes, Aerion?"

"I want—I want to be on top."

"I dunno if that's wise, baby, you're quite weak."

"I'm not weak," Aerion glares at him, baring his teeth. "Stupid alpha, I'm giving you an order."

Dunk nods, understanding, "Aye, and I'm deciding against it," He pushes himself up, hovering over Aerion, who almost can't believe someone would ever dare go and step over his word. "Like this is quite fine."

"It is not."

"Hm, then, like this,"

Dunk's hand wraps around Aerion's nape, covering the back of his neck, fingers pressing against the tender flesh of his claiming bite and then he's flipping the omega over. Aerion gives a surprised gasp, face hitting the pillows immediately, and he arches his back to present the moment Dunk positions him on his stomach.

It's quite the sight; all that pale flesh, riddled with moles and tiny scars Dunk would love to know the stories to, on display for him. Aerion's ass perked up in the air, perfectly shaped like a heart, with his dripping cunt all puffy and ready—Dunk understands now why some alphas go mad when their omegas leave them, he thinks. If Aerion was his he thinks he'd also go mad if he ever decided to grow tired of Dunk. There's some pudgy edges to Aerion, right on his hips and his shoulders and his thighs, where motherhood and age have taken their claim over him and Dunk's cock throbs at the sight of that.

"Brute," Aerion grunts, muffled by the pillows. Though Dunk doesn't miss the way he shudders as Dunk massages his scent glands. "Oaf."

"My Queen," Dunk leans over Aerion's body, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. "I'm trying to accommodate you."

"Fuck me."

Dunk can do that.

His hands fly to Aerion's waist, his fingers meeting in the middle of his body, and he brings him lower and pushes him flush against his body. Dunk's cock is big, far too big for someone as small as Aerion, so he worries—but Aerion doesn't need the worry, he needs to be taken care of, and he'll be alright.

He rubs his length across Aerion's folds, letting it rub against his ass-cheeks too, nudging at his rim but never going in despite the dissatisfaction flaring in Aerion's scent.

He could very well fuck Aerion in the ass, avoid the panic of thinking he got someone's mother pregnant, but the pleasure would not be similar to that of fucking him in his cunt. Aerion needs a full womb, he needs to be dripping with Dunk's seed by the time they're done, and he needs to feel it for days on end after his heat has receded and he is back to normal—that's what he needs. Dunk would love to fuck Aerion's tight ass, he has always wondered how it feels, but he guesses that if he's good enough and allowed to return one day then he might just get lucky and find out.

The head of his cock nudges at Aerion's entrance, looking blunt, large, against the tiny pink hole, Dunk doubts it, merely for a second, but then he's sliding home.

Aerion's reaction is immediate, he clamps down, forcing Dunk to groan and hold him tighter. His cock crushed by that velvet heat, Dunk gasps as he tries to get Aerion to relax but to no avail. The omega isn't easing down, which forces Dunk to pull back, up until his tip is all that remains inside him, and then he's basically spearing Aerion with the full length of his cock, cooing and whispering apologies as Aerion's breath is kicked out of his lungs by that gigantic cock inside him. The shift is immediate, their scents mingling, their bodies vibrating, soaked in sweat and feverish with need.

"Just—," Dunk bites down on his tongue. "Relax, Aerion."

Aerion whines, sobbing into the pillows, into his hair. "Alpha, Duncan…"

"I'm here, I'm gonna give you what you need, omega."

Dunk begins dragging it out, slow, paced, so as to not tear anything inside Aerion, but that proves to be useless as the omega's cries only grow louder, his need stronger in the air between them. Aerion doesn't need gentle, he doesn't need slow and sweet, he needs to be taken, claimed, like the tiny omega whore he is, and Dunk can give him that.

The snap of Dunk's hips makes their skin slap against each other's, the slick and sweat clinging to their bodies making for a wet melody of sounds that's utterly obscene. His hands cover the expanse of Aerion's waist, fingers providing him with bruises that'll turn purple and green come the morning, and he's so deep inside the omega's cunt that the head of his cock nudges at the entrance to his cervix. Aerion's purring beneath him, content to be fucked like he's merely a hole, to be filled so deliciously, and at times he'll try and meet Dunk's thrusts, even.

Aerion's velvet walls suck him in, slick drips in between them, down those milky thighs, and he clenches down around Dunk to provoke him, to have him snarl and squeeze at him like he's a toy. The omega, seasoned and experienced, knows how to get an alpha to do what he wishes, and Dunk's too young and stupid to not give into those desires.

Dunk changes their positions, never letting Aerion stray too far from him, and then he's settled against the pillows that are soaked in Aerion's scent, with the omega perched in his lap.

For all his heat-riddled madness, his exhaustion and burden, Aerion manages to look like the one in charge once he's settled over Dunk's thighs, cock buried to the hilt inside him, bulging and denting his stomach, his lilac eyes are dark and hooded as he grasps onto the alpha's shoulders for leverage. Aerion lifts himself up on wobbly knees, barely making it so that Dunk's tip is all that remains of his cock inside him, and then he's dropping himself like dead weight—It's paralyzing, the sensation of Aerion's cunt swallowing him up suddenly and his cock throbbing inside him, and Dunk's hands fly to grab onto the omega as best as he can, uncaring for how rough he's being.

Aerion bounces himself as he pleases, not holding back on his noises or his pleasure, going about taking his fill from Dunk as one does any mundane task. Dunk can only watch, entranced, mesmerized, as Aerion's perky tits bounce with him and he uses the young alpha as if he were a flesh dildo.

"Omega," Dunk mumbles, pussydrunk, wholly consumed by his inhibitions. "You're gorgeous, you were made for my cock."

"It's more like—," Aerion's words are cut off by another jolting cramp punching through him, his empty womb collecting years of debt as he rides Dunk's cock. His whimpers are quieted down by his moans. "Your cock was made for me to use, knothead."

"Feisty omega," Dunk nudges at his jaw, nosing at his neck like a young pup, like Maegor used to do when he was a toddler and sought comfort. His big arms wrap around Aerion's torso, engulfing him, shadowing him, and then he's giving some shallow thrusts upwards, shoving his cock deeper. "'M no knothead."

"Duncan—wait—,"

"Mm, you need this, you need me," Dunk's teeth dangerously graze his faded mating scar, then slip down to his scent gland. "You'll be pupped full, then you won't be so feisty."

With some of his clarity returning, now that he's been given what he needed, Aerion can feel it all so much more intensely—Dunk's fucking into him like he's nothing but a cocksleeve and, with any other alpha, he would've been offended, would've taken the dagger he keeps by the bed and probably sliced them to ribbons.

But Dunk, good, honest, and kind Dunk, who has been nothing if not annoyingly nice, takes what he wants and Aerion lets him, allows him to fuck him as if he were some corner omega prostitute and he a rutheaded alpha.

In this position, with Aerion sat upon Dunk's thighs, he can taste that alpha cock all the way in the back of his throat, his cervix is battered into and he's sure it'll be bruised for days to come but he can't care much about it. Not as he can feel the incoming orgasm tightening around his insides, constricting his lungs and ridding them of the air he needs to breathe—Dunk's relentless, ruthless, and his stamina is admirable. Aerion clings to those wide shoulders, whimpering and crying and moaning into Dunk's ears just to drive him down the path of lust and perversion even quicker, and when he least expects it he's coming again.

It gushes out of him, a steady stream, then some droplets, but Duncan's thighs are soaked and so are his. Dunk's cock slips out of him due to the force of it, Aerion shakes in his hold, unprepared when Dunk shoves his cock back inside with an animalistic growl escaping him.

He's pushed onto his back, legs folded forward by those forceful, big hands, to the point where he recognizes he's being mating pressed through his blurred vision. Dunk's cock drags deliciously inside him, and the dent in his lower stomach is even more visible like this, proof of their connection. Aerion is little and he's kept a steady routine of exercise over the years, never letting himself fo, so it's no issue for him to be manhandled as Dunk pleases. He can barely move but he loves it, every second of it, more so as Dunk begins to thrust into him with the need of a feral dog, trying to stake his claim inside Aerion as forcefully as possible.

Dunk's fingers thread through his hair, pulling at it with every thrust, turning it into a matted mess of sweat and grime. Aerion can feel Dunk's knot forming, the dull bluntness of it at the base, and his chest blooms with newfound heat.

"That's it," He coos, cupping Dunk's sweaty face, licking over his top row of teeth, tasting blood in his gums and sugar on his tongue. "Breed mommy full of your seed, Duncan, I want another baby,"

"Mommy," Dunk cries out, overwhelmed by his knot forming and Aerion's entrance catching at it, his cunt so slippery and wet around him. Aerion's body is fully prepared to welcome him to the fullest, and it is the single greatest thing he's ever experienced. "I'm gonna—anything, I'll do anything—oh fuck,"

"Knot," Aerion demands, snarling. "Knot me. Fuck me full of your pups, Duncan."

Dunk can only nod at his command, desperately, like a man who's got nothing to lose. His thrusts grow shallow and erratic as his knot begins to catch and swell, filling Aerion like he's never been filled before. Dunk's come is warm, plentiful, and it'll surely take as it floods Aerion's empty womb to quiet the screams in the back of his head, to ease the cramping and the ache burning inside him.

It locks them together, Dunk's fingers find his clit then, Aerion's third orgasm arrives with a knot inside him, he's gushing come and slick around it.

They're both quiet, so is the house. The room smells like the two of them, like sex and blood and sweat, and Aerion's unsure if he'll ever be able to fully get rid of the scent.

Dunk rises, softly, making sure not to pull away too hard lest he risks tearing Aerion in two, and then he's assessing the state of the omega beneath him. Aerion looks properly well fucked, all rosy and content, with his chest easily rising and falling with each breath, and there's a swell in the lower half of his stomach where all of Dunk's seed is stored. A surge of something akin to pride and ownership take over Dunk's alpha senses as he leans down and presses a kiss to Aerion's lips, then peppers a million more across his face.

"We're not done," Aerion warns him, his voice is raw and soft, unlike his usual tone which is sharp and biting. "Don't try to sneak away from me, Duncan."

Dunk gives a small thrust, making it a point to shove his knot deeper into Aerion, who whines and twists around at the sensation. "There's nowhere else for me to go, mommy."

"You won't be so sweet when I'm through with you, beast."

"Mhm, we can put a bet on that."

Once his knot goes down and he's able to detach he's not given two seconds to breathe, with Aerion bending over the edge of the bed as he takes him until he comes all over the omega's backside. Again and again, until the light outside turns a gleaming shade of blue and Aerion's full to last him for weeks, they fuck until exhaustion claims them both. Dunk falls asleep with his cock buried inside the omega, and he wakes to an empty nest and an invitation to join Aerion in the shower just in time to make his escape early.

After the holidays, at some point during the semester, they move away from the live-in dorms and into an apartment that's far too fancy for Dunk's liking.

Everything is paid for by Aerion, which doesn't do much to ease the discomfort in Dunk's chest, but Maegor insisted on him moving with 'cause he couldn't do it by himself. It's a big apartment, with plenty of room to spare and even a game room that they've put to good use through every house party they've thrown the past couple of months. The place is close to the University, close enough that they both walk to class and grab breakfast on the way, and it's located in a safe area, so they don't worry about their arrival times.

Dunk picks up a part-time job as a rugby coach for the kids, while Maegor, much to his mother's horror, finds a position as barista at the same café they frequent. There he meets Tanselle, who he then introduces to Dunk, and they come to find out they all sort of know each other through Raymun, who's in the rugby team and dating Red, Tanselle's friend.

It's a quiet life, nice and warm, surrounded by their friends and filled with weekly pub gatherings, club-outings and discounted coffee.

But Dunk aches, yearns, for how he felt during his time at the Targaryen household.

The alpha in him utterly misses the omega, which is a sad, pathetic fact, because Aerion's not his omega. And he's tried to go on dates, having downloaded the dating apps and even getting as far as dinner before he realized no omega could ever match up to be like Aerion, which then ensued a very awkward string of apologies on his behalf, always excusing himself by telling them all he couldn't do it over his own principles. Bullshit, really, but he's not about to explain how he's madly in love with his best friend's mother to a stranger, thank you very much.

It's one of those days; gray, dull, sad and uneventful save for the laugh he had watching a kid plop face-first onto a puddle out in the field. The apartment is quiet as he clicks the door locked behind him, hanging his bag and jacket by the door after slipping off his shoes.

Some noises come from the kitchen, the clinking of ceramic and the closing of pantry doors, Dunk glances at his watch, fully aware Maegor's shift doesn't end until seven thirty and it is currently five sharp. Had something happened? His chest fills with worry as he rushes towards the kitchen, ready to be faced with bad news, when instead he's left frozen by the sight he encounters.

There, in the middle of their kitchen, is Aerion, holding an empty mug, looking mean.

Dunk can't breathe.

"I knew young men were a disaster, but to not have a single decent brand of tea for me to drink," Aerion clicks his tongue, jaw tensing as he assesses their poor choices of groceries. "You might as well just go live under a bridge together."

"Aerion," Dunk exhales.

"What are those clothes, Duncan? No wonder the hall is a mess, you're filthy—,"

Dunk can't bring himself to be offended, not now, not ever. He crosses the small space between them with decisive, short steps and then he's wrapping his whole body around Aerion's in a hug that suffocates the smaller man, forcing a startled yelp out of him.

He lifts the omega off the ground, safe in his actions as he knows they're all alone, nosing at his neck as he pleases. Aerion might be grumpy but his scent doesn't lie—He's syrupy sweet, melting in Dunk's arms as he grabs a hold of his rugby jersey and squeezes the cheap fabric in between manicured hands. A little laugh even escapes him as Dunk nips at his jaw, his fingers threading through the golden brown of Dunk's hair, which is now buzzed down and shorter.

"Put me down," Aerion commands, missing that sharpness in his tone, the omega in him too content to see his alpha again. "You're gonna hurt the baby."

Dunk's body goes cold, frozen. He puts Aerion down with measured carefulness, his eyes are wide like saucers as he looks down at the omega. "What?"

"I thought you were a biologist, Duncan," Aerion rolls his eyes. "You see, when you knotted me full until day broke, something happened where your seed was so deep in my womb that it took—,"

"I know what I did!" Dunk interjects, now crimson in the face and ears. "But—What am I going to tell Maegor?"

"That when two people like each other very much—,"

"Aerion."

When their eyes meet Aerion's lilacs soften, as if recognizing the inner dilemma going inside Dunk's head, his grief and fear. "The truth," He says, nodding once, firmly. "We will tell him the truth and then go on from there, Duncan."

"Okay," Dunk nods, still feeling nauseous and scared but he lets himself be held by those warm, familiar hands. "Okay, alright."

"Now," Aerion's voice gets lower, his tongue darts out to taste Dunk's flushed skin as he leans in, standing on his tippy toes. His scent flares around them, sweeter, sharper, and Dunk's nostrils flare in recognition of his arousal. "I didn't come here to stand around like an idiot, Duncan."

Dunk takes the lead, lifting Aerion up once more and shaking slightly as the omega wraps his legs around his hips, holding onto his shoulders as their lips crash together.

They strip off their clothes hastily. Aerion's velvet two-piece suit crumpled on the ground, his lingerie—which stole Dunk's breath and had him going haywire—now lies torn somewhere amongst the sheets and he's on his back, with Dunk in between his legs and that fat cock buried so deep he's sated and happy. He's knotted thrice again, for good measure, and he settles against Dunk's bulk right after like he's always meant to be there in the first place.

There's a tiny swell forming in his stomach already, and there's a sonogram and a test waiting for Dunk inside his bag, but moving away from the alpha sounds like torture.

Dunk holds him like he's the most precious thing in the entire world, with those beefy arms that have streaks of mud in them, and in the shower he holds Aerion up and washes his hair with such delicate care it makes the omega feel like he could cry. Of course, he blames these reactions in pregnancy hormones, unwilling to admit just yet how fond he is of the young alpha and his youthful ways of caring. They lie over fresh bedding together, with Dunk tracing his fingers across the edges of the tiny picture of their pup, and letting their scents mingle together.

Aerion's pressed to Dunk's chest, content, sighing happily. "We should let Maegor name the pup."

"Mh, prepare to birth Damon Pennytree, then."

"Okay," Aerion cringes, settling further into Dunk's space. "I take it back, we'll never let Maegor make decisions again."

Dunk laughs, loud and honest, and then he's sliding the sonogram under his pillow and burrowing all of Aerion's warmth to himself, the selfish alpha. They narrow the world down to that bed, to that room and the child growing inside Aerion, and for a moment there's nothing else in the planet but them. It is a nice feeling.