Chapter Text
Dunk usually has a pretty good sense of direction. It is one of the many survival skills he ended up acquiring during his travels with Ser Arlan, having seen much of what the realm has to offer, from Sunspear to the Neck. After meeting young Prince Aegon at Ashford Meadow and somehow proving his worth in the tourney for Lady Gwin's name-day, he traveled even more, this time as a knight sworn to House Targaryen, tasked with making a squire and perhaps, eventually, a good knight out of Egg.
He's never been lost, so to say. He might've once or twice mistaken an unmarked road for another, or took the long way without meaning to, but Dunk has never lost his way and he doesn't intend to start now, not while accompanied by a presence so… peculiar—
"You're unbearably witless," says such company, aggressively tossing a bucket full of fish at Dunk for him to descale for their meal. He'd hoped the prince would be away longer, as fishing can be such a painstakingly slow way of getting food, but it seems his companion is adept not only with his sword and words, but also with sticks and string. "Four days, Ser Duncan. Four days, and I am yet to see sign of life apart from this fucking endless river. My brother spoke so well of you, but I should've known that little rat wouldn't know a hedge knight from a fool."
"I'm certain there is an inn two days north," Dunk provides, watching as Prince Aerion angrily wipes sweat from his forehead. The weather is oppressive, the sun unbearable. Chestnut and Thunder are within a stone's throw away, munching at what little grass there is, while Maester watches him and Prince Aerion talk with mild interest. "Maybe less, if we ride hard, but I'd rather not do that if we can help it. There's no hurry to reach Raventree. And please, my prince, your brother meant well."
"My brother meant for this little escorting adventure to distract my father from the fact that he's developed some sickening affection for that Blackwood girl. What a pretty little excuse to remain at Raventree for at least another moon," Prince Aerion doesn't raise his voice, even as he paces, visibly vexed. It's one of the things Dunk finds quite fascinating about such a spoiled, ungrateful, cruel prince; he never does need to raise it. The way he carries himself ensures anyone near would already be inclined to listen to whatever he has to say. He's lost none of his arrogance while exiled. "He's betrothed to our sister, he'd do well to shut the fuck up and bear it, be quiet if he wants to get in bed with some other wench in the meantime, like the rest of us do. And now, after years of exile due to a little misbehaving, I'm stuck with you somewhere in the Riverlands and I fucking stink."
Dunk winces. Egg is barely a man grown, and he finds Prince Aerion's casual way of talking of his little brother bedding a proper lady such as Betha Blackwood quite disturbing. Not to mention the incest… if someone cared to ask Dunk, which rarely anyone does, Egg is rather smart for trying to get out of that mess. Princess Daella is lovely, of course, but she is older as well, and doesn't strike Dunk as one eager to marry, least of all marry her own brother. But Dunk, as per usual, keeps any word of Egg to himself, since he's very well-aware of how much the brothers dislike each other. He decides to comment on something else instead, a soft correction.
"If you'll excuse me, my prince—"
"I will not," Prince Aerion snaps, undoing the knots of his shirt to let some fresh air into his skin. Dunk had done that an hour earlier and it had not helped; so cruel is the sun today. He must be red-faced, no doubt, while much like his brother, Prince Aerion seems to soak up the light, his skin visibly tanned in places where his clothes did not cover him so well. Dunk stares at the tanline left by his open collar, ignoring the way one of the prince's nipples almost peeks out. "But that will not stop you from talking, will it? You insolent fool, Aegon has spoiled you rotten, has he not? He's never had the sternness needed to put respect into the likes of you."
"I wouldn't call your actions a little misbehaving," Dunk continues indeed, ignoring most of his words, not intimidated by the way Prince Aerion glares at him. He is quite fierce in battle, the scar on his side from their devastating joust at Ashford proof enough of it. Dunk had almost died. But it's been years since then, and what started out as hatred between them has mellowed into begrudging mutual respect, and the general acknowledgement that they will never see eye-to-eye. With the Blackfyres stirring trouble, there is no reason to hold onto childish grudges. "We all saw you do what you did to that lording. It was quite disturbing."
"And I spent years making up for it, did I not?" Prince Aerion points a finger at Dunk, too close, so he swats it away, uncaring of his exasperated grunt at his disrespect. "Now my sword is needed, and instead of sending a proper royal escort, what do my father and uncle decide? To send you to pick me up, alone, falling right into my brother's trap. I've been set up, just because little Aegon is cuntstruck."
Dunk stops scaling the fish for a moment and looks up at Prince Aerion, though he doesn't really need to even bend his neck that much. Dunk has been told he's grown taller since Ashford, but it seems Prince Aerion has stayed just as short as he was then. He rakes his eyes up and down his body, studying him for a second, and decides that they can eat later, or make do with the hard salt beef. Dropping the half-scaled fish back into the bucket, Dunk wipes his hands with the leftover contents of his waterskin, and then reaches for the prince.
"What are you—?" The protest is cut off as Prince Aerion falls over his lap with a yelp, and Dunk is quick to prop him properly, his feet planted well on the ground, a hand grabbing those smaller wrists to hold them together, while the other quickly finds the hem of Prince Aerion's pants. The squirming that had already started intensifies, but Dunk keeps his knee dug into the prince's stomach, making it painful and harder for him to move with his arms held together like this. "You—! Don't you fucking dare! Stop this, Ser Duncan, I will have you skinned alive and hung from your shins! Unhand me at once!"
"Prince Maekar and King Baelor have given me leave to discipline you as necessary," Dunk answers mildly, trying to be too amused about the whole thing, but it must still slip out, because Prince Aerion curses him out in High Valyrian at a speed that rather impresses him. Egg has only ever taught him a couple words, but he's pretty sure Prince Aerion is calling him as cunt as Dunk bares his ass to the world. "If you kill me in my sleep later, they will likely only send you back where you came from. Or somewhere else, perhaps. I don't think Lys taught you much, my prince."
"Fuck you!" Prince Aerion snaps, and Dunk brings his hand down in a slap that echoes through the woods. He doesn't hold back at all with it, letting his hand weight the prince down with his full strength, and it earns him a full-body flinch that, quite notably, almost manages to make Dunk lose his balance. He grips the globe of Prince Aerion's ass tight then, digging his nails in, letting him feel the pain properly as he chokes on his own breath and gasps in shock. "You—you filthy lowborn bastard—!"
"I'll give you ten on each cheek," Dunk informs him, and actually does laugh when Prince Aerion turns his head a little to throw him an incredulous look. It quickly turns murderous, but Dunk is counting on the pain in his behind to keep him settled enough to stop him from actually strangling him in his sleep. "You'll count them out loud for me. If you miss one, I'll repeat it. If you continue to be difficult about it, I'll do fifteen on each cheek instead. Are we in agreement, my prince?"
"Go fuck yourself," is all Prince Aerion replies, so Dunk gives his ass-cheek one last, vicious squeeze, and then lifts his hand up to bring it down again, putting purpose behind it, making it land twice as hard as the first. It jolts Prince Aerion forward, makes him cry out and rub most of his torso and whole crotch against Dunk's legs. It's quite the odd feeling, and sends a flush through Dunk that he wasn't expecting, as he realizes just how close they are. "Fuck me, what is wrong with you?!"
"That's not a number," Dunk replies a little dumbly, feeling the way Prince Aerion's hands squirm in his grip. He squeezes them, just to feel the way the delicate bone shifts, and decides he likes it. "You'll have twenty-two by the end of this if you count now. Come now, my prince, do not be foolish."
"I will never—!" Prince Aerion starts protesting, so Dunk smacks him again, twice, in quick succession, just as strong. Same cheek, as well, and the skin is already so red, it'll likely purple soon. Finally yielding, Prince Aerion decides on what's best for his ass if he wants to reach Raventree via horse any time soon: "O-one! Gods, fuck you. Two!"
Dunk shifts where he sits, and wonders if it's normal to feel so pleased about this. He's never spanked anyone before, has barely clouted Egg in the ear once or twice, and he didn't really enjoy that. This feels rather different from that, but maybe that's just because Prince Aerion most certainly deserves this. If he had been properly spanked as a child, maybe he wouldn't be such an unbearable brat.
"Three!" Prince Aerion cries out, voice loud and still incredulous, as Dunk continues to spank him. He squirms each time, violently so, not one for settling down. His voice quivers rather deliciously though, not being able to hide all of the pain: "F-four. Five. Six. Seven—wait, wait, don't be so fast!"
"It's meant to be a punishment, my prince," Dunk replies, swallowing hard as he listens to the way Prince Aerion pants with extortion. He can feel each point in which their bodies connect like this, and with the heat and the squirming, he can also feel Prince Aerion's sweat through his clothes, damp spots here and there. They both truly stink, to be certain, and Dunk decides they should bathe after they're done. Prince Aerion will be glad to learn Dunk brought enough soaps for both of them, and he's also been desperately wanting to wash. "Breathe through, we're not halfway yet. This can't hurt worse than the scar I gave you so many years ago, can it?"
Prince Aerion lets out a breathless, mirthless laugh. "Why, ser, if I didn't know you better, I'd think this was just your way of getting me bare enough to look at your work. But you see it plainly, don't you, from this angle? Are you proud of yourself? Does it please you to see how you've marked me?"
There's an edge to the words that feels… different, from Prince Aerion's usual bite. Dunk feels his breath catch with it, and though he wasn't looking before, he certainly is now. Prince Aerion's ass is pale, untouched by the sun the way his face and arms and neck has been these past couple of days. He might've been just as tanned in Lys, when Dunk considers it, but the letter summoning him back home had been sent several moons ago, and arrangements had been made for him to reside with some wealthy Lysine lord for a time, in preparation for his return. He must've lost all color then.
It is not a bony ass, Dunk notes with some fascination, groping at the beaten flesh. He thinks Prince Aerion must've been somewhat thinner, in their youth, but maybe that's just time blurring the memories, making the prince seem smaller than he really was. They've both changed, grown into proper men, even if Prince Aerion isn't any taller. It feels… nice, to grope at him. He is still very beautiful, perhaps more-so than he was so many years ago. He's got that narrow waist, those strong, lean muscles, and enough curves that Dunk gathers he would've been… quite the tempting princess in some other life.
And lower than his flushed, cute ass, is indeed that scar. It had been so high up his leg, so close to his privates, and so deep. Dunk remembers Prince Maekar almost killing him himself, after the joust, because he'd been so worried his son would bleed out from it. He didn't, for better and for worse. Dunk was glad for Prince Baelor then, and he is even gladder for his now king, years down the line.
The scar is barely so scary now, faded, though it is long. Dunk lowers his hand and traces it with two fingers, from the outside in, his fingers going so deep in between the prince's thighs he can feel the heat of his balls and cock. Prince Aerion shivers in his lap then, squirming, and Dunk realizes both their breaths have grown rather heavy, matching each other's pace. He doesn't take his hand away.
"It does," he says without thinking much of it, replying to Prince Aerion's earlier question. Lifting his eyes from his skin, Dunk finds Prince Aerion's heated gaze, his half-lidded eyes, and it not surprised when he feels the prince's cock twitch from where it's trapped against his leg. He should be. He's never laid with a man, doesn't even know how those that prefer male company even go about sex. But as most things with Prince Aerion, logic and reason seem rather unimportant now. "It does please me. It is a good reminder, my prince."
Prince Aerion's nostrils flare, half in anger, half in indignation. "A reminder of what?"
Dunk's lips twitch into a smile. "That I've already ridden a dragon before, of course."
Whatever protests were about to reach his ears, they are swallowed by Prince Aerion's gasp as Dunk moves to continue to spank him. The brief respite has apparently already made him forget to stay proper, the slap catching him by surprise, mouth dropping open with a yelp as his whole body jolts forward. He rubs all over Dunk's lap, and he feels it: the spasming of his cock against his leg, the tensing of Prince Aerion's body that does not come from the pain, but rather from the tricky combination of it and the stimulation of his cock.
Most men, Dunk thinks, would be disgusted by this, by the closeness, the feeling of that against his leg. Most men would be ashamed of being in Prince Aerion's place. But a brief meeting of their eyes makes it clear neither of them are feeling anything other than… well. Dunk needs not name the feeling. He keeps eye contact with the prince as he spanks him again, harder, holding his hand against the skin and pushing, so that Prince Aerion's cock properly gets contact against him.
The loveliest moan reaches his ears, as Prince Aerion briefly closes his eyes with it, pink mouth open and letting Dunk get a glimpse of that red, bloody tongue, that uncouth, vicious thing. Heat builds even hotter everywhere they touch, and when Prince Aerion tentatively rocks his hips, rolling against Dunk's leg… he lets him, feeling a spark in his very own spine as he watches Prince Aerion's face scrunch with pleasure.
"Don't forget to count, my prince," Dunk manages to rasp out, throat dry. "It is supposed to be a punishment, and we shouldn't waste the rest of the day on it."
"Punish me, then," Prince Aerion's eyelids flutter as he continues to roll his hips, breath ragged. Dunk spanks him again, watches the prince lean into the touch instead of away, letting out the prettiest whimper Dunk's ever heard. His words are but a low sigh: "Nine, ser."
Dunk snorts, raising his brow. "Eight, my prince. You did not count the previous one."
"Eight, then," Prince Aerion agrees, and he is eager for it now, cock twitching against Dunk, tone gone airy and unhurried. "Eight."
He allows all of it. Allows Prince Aerion to arch his back to receive the spanks better, allows him to rock himself against his leg all he wants, humping him like a dog. He allows him to pull his arms so that Dunk will tighten his grip around his wrists, allows him to moan and yell and whimper all he wants. He hums at him, mumbling praises about how well he's taking it, and watches with pleasure the way the prince's ears redden, not with sun and heat, but with the words, liking them enough that he shivers with them.
He's panting by the time Dunk reaches the number eighteen, his voice gone tight. Both their pants now are a moist, uncomfortable, yet extremely arousing mess of sweat and Prince Aerion's pre-cum. The prince now rubs himself off without a hint of coyness, eyes rolling back in pleasure, biting his lips raw and looking desperate for the next of Dunk's hits.
He presses his hand against the red-and-purple skin now, squeezing, watching Prince Aerion squirm with it and his eyes grow wet. Digging the nails in, leaving imprints on the skin, Dunk leans down to press lips against his ear.
"Come now, my prince," he says, and doesn't resist the urge to bite him, gripping the flesh of Prince Aerion's lobe tight between his teeth. He moans with it, weak, exhausted, but Dunk intends to leave him no respite. "Two left, and we're finished, you hear? You'll be done. You've been so good, so patient. Do you hurt?"
A whine. "Yes, ser, I ache. It burns."
"You like burning," Dunk nods, and smiles slightly when Prince Aerion nods eagerly. "Let's finish you off, then."
It is a fast ordeal: Dunk only has to bite him again, spank him those two times that are left with all of his strength, and Prince Aerion melts against him, sobbing a little, growing so slack that Dunk is glad to be holding him by the wrists, because he feels that otherwise, he might've ended up on the floor. Hot cum presses against his leg, and he really should be disturbed now, with all of it over. He isn't. He truly isn't, because he feels like he's discovered something new, something he's not sure anyone has felt before.
He decides not to overthink it. If this gets Prince Aerion to be quieter, milder, lovelier—then it can't be anything other than good for everyone, and for Dunk especially, because they're totally lost. He can admit that now. They are lost, and he is only half-sure they're bound to find a riverside inn soon. This means his travels with Prince Aerion will be longer than originally estimated, and if this gets him to become putty in his arms… well, he only wants more of it.
"Come, my prince," Dunk says, letting go of his arms, watching the way Prince Aerion simply lets them flop down, no strength left in him. Dunk fully discards him of his boots and trousers, leaving him in only that thin shirt he had previously stripped down to. Grabbing him, forcing him to sit his lip, Dunk takes hold of his chin and tilts his head so their eyes will meet. Prince Aerion's gaze is sluggish, but he meets Dunk's eyes with enough clarity to let him know he shouldn't be concerned about his compliance. "Let us bathe off the sweat."
Prince Aerion is too unstable on his feet to stand on his own, and he winces with every step Dunk forces him to take, letting Dunk get rid of his shirt as well. Quite surprisingly, he helps Dunk be rid of his own clothes until they're both bare, and once they're in the water his hands run greedy, almost as if he can't help groping back at Dunk. His fingers dig, quite viciously, into the scar at his side, the once he left behind.
"You're ridiculous," are the first words Prince Aerion properly graces him with, seemingly recovering some of his wits as he stares at Dunk's flesh. "Whoever taught you to treat a man like that? A prince, no less. Do not tell me you practiced this on my brother."
Dunk flushes furiously. "Gods, no! Don't assume such foul things. No one has taught me such things. Egg is a good lad, besides. He'd never do anything that would prompt this, and I'd derive no enjoyment from it even so."
"But you enjoyed hurting me," Prince Aerion stares up at him through his lashes, a filthy smile dancing at the edge of his lips that has Dunk feeling a little short of breath. "And humiliating me. It wouldn't be the first time, I suppose."
"You enjoyed yourself far more than I did," feeling bold, Dunk grabs at the prince, bringing him closer, hands finding his ass again. A hiss reaches his ears, but Prince Aerion does not begrudge him for it, even though he must be in a whole world of pain in his backside. Their eyes catch on one another, and it feels hot still, even though they're bare, in the cool water. Dunk lets one of his hands wander, watching the prince allow it, watching him gasp when he reaches his front and takes a bold hold of his cock. Dunk raises his brows down at him. "Perhaps you've bewitched me, with some spell you learned in the Free Cities. But I find myself curious now, and this… I never knew cocks came in such little size."
Prince Aerion flushes rather fast then, his face getting extremely red. He huffs in offense, half-pushing at Dunk's chest, but makes not move to stop him from fondling his cock—his little cock, it seems. Dunk looks down at it, having not paid much attention to its shape before, but he is now, and the water is clear enough for a good look: his hand swallows it whole, the tip not even peeking out of his fist. It is slender and short, not even a mouthful, for certain. Pale and flushed pink, twitching already in his hold, eager despite having already spent itself. Dunk's heard people make jokes about cock size before, how some poorly behaved men must surely be compensating what they lack between their legs with their attitudes. Perhaps Prince Aerion is one of them.
"Do not make fun of me," Prince Aerion threatens him, but Dunk notices the way his hips tilt, almost helplessly, all but welcoming the way Dunk strokes him. It is a short, slow stroke, a little clumsy because it wants to slips from his big hand so badly. Dunk is far more used to his own cock, which often hangs heavy enough to bother him. Prince Aerion's weights nothing. "I assure you, it works perfectly fine inside any whore's cunt. You wouldn't know how to treat with such delicate things, anyway, you're an oaf from head to toe. Maybe the reason you can't even write or read is because your horse cock claims much of the blood you need in your brain."
Dunk laughs, and it takes him by surprise how quick the amusement rises in him. He shakes his head at Prince Aerion, looking down at him with helpless intrigue. "Have you thought lots of my cock, my prince, and how it might burden me? I'm only now just looking at yours."
If possible, Prince Aerion turns even redder, but his little cock fills out, making him shiver as Dunk keeps pulling at it. He hisses. "Shut. Up."
"You like this," Dunk points out, ignoring him, quickening the pace of his fist to watch Prince Aerion's mouth drop open, his scowl softening, the pleasure already making him all loose again. "You like me making fun of it. Maybe no one's done it before, just like no one had dared scar you before me."
"Stop it!" Prince Aerion demands, but his hips are following Dunk's hand now, making it all the more tricky to keep his hold and pace steady. It truly is so small, he can't even properly tease his slit with his thumb while holding it, having to twist his hand awkwardly. To fix this, Dunk lets go of it, rubbing his palm against it instead, pressing it against Prince Aerion's own skin to trap it. The prince jumps at the sensation, moaning with his mouth dropped open, humping his hand with a quicker pace. "Fuck, fuck me…"
"I've had women just like this, rubbing their cunts against my hand," Dunk chuckles, unafraid, and Prince Aerion slaps him, hard—a loud smack! that almost makes him turn his head, but neither of them stops moving, far more focused on the way Prince Aerion trembles with pleasure already. "There was no need for that."
"I'll cut your tongue out," Prince Aerion replies, but there is no real danger behind it, because he's clinging to Dunk, squeezing his eyes shut, panting and holding back whines. "For making fun of a prince of the realm, I'll cut out your tongue and eat it!"
"That'd be a shame," Dunk laughs again, squeezing and tugging hard at his tiny cock, feeling it jump eagerly in his hand. "I wanted to take this cute little cock into my mouth later."
Prince Aerion, quite humiliatingly, orgasms right there, as if the words pierced right through all of his restraint.
Dunk watches that cute cock spurt cum, real dragon-seed, and figures that if Prince Aerion had truly been whoring his way around Lys like the rumors say, then he must've tried extremely hard and often in order to sire any potential bastard. With his length, Dunk doubts he would've reached deep enough into any cunt for it to actually take root. What a waste, he thinks, still toying with his cock until Prince Aerion is pushing him away. He would've been better off if he'd been born a princess.
"It hurts," he whines, grabbing Dunk by the wrist to pull him off him. Dunk lets him go, laughing openly once more, and getting another slap for his trouble, this one weaker. "Simpleton. I'll stab you in your sleep with your own sword."
"I'm sure you will," Dunk is still chuckling, he can't seem to stop. He gropes Prince Aerion's ass again, just to hear him groan in pain, then finally lets him go completely, even taking a step back. "I'll help you bathe. You must be quite sore, my prince. From the travels and…"
"From your defilement of my person," Prince Aerion heatedly replies, and yet allows Dunk to reach for the soaps, to lather him, to scrub him. Leans into his touch, flushes all pretty and pink like a maiden. Dunk finds himself curious, hands wandering, thinking of all those men that supposedly find pleasure in one another. How do they manage it? Do they just use their mouths and hands? Prince Aerion has no cunt, obviously, but he does have… "Where the fuck do you think you're touching?"
Dunk halts, fingers almost pressed right against Prince Aerion's asshole. He decides the thought is odd. No man would want to bury himself in such place. It seems filthy, in truth, so he takes his fingers away, sliding them through the skin instead of wash off the sweat of the travels.
"Nowhere," Dunk leans in closer to Prince Aerion, talking in his ear. "I will be honest, my prince. If I had known when we first met that all it took for you to calm was a little spanking and a hand on your cock, I think our joust might've gone differently."
Prince Aerion knees him in the balls.
Dunk almost falls into the water as he doubles-over in shock, gasping, while Prince Aerion simply finishes with rinsing himself off, huffing, puffing, mumbling under his breath at the insult: "To think I thought of returning the favor… shame on you, Ser Duncan the Pervert. I'm no bloody whore!"
He walks off towards the shore, intend on leaving Dunk to clutch his hurt pearls, and he watches him go, feeling light despite the pain. Prince Aerion is already limping, struggling to walk straight, and his ass is already so dark, he won't be able to ride at all, not for a couple days at least. It gives Dunk more time to pretend they aren't lost, and it also makes his cock twitch with interest.
Prince Aerion turns as he reaches their camp, letting Dunk get an eyeful of his little cock again. Licking his lips, Dunk decides that, indeed, there's no rush to reach Raventree, and Egg has been making steady progress courting Lady Betha without his father knowing. The two of them lingering around wont hurt anyone.
Later that night, after a meal of hard salt beef because he never got to descaling the fish, Dunk lets Prince Aerion believe he will finally leave him alone. He watches him, when he turns to lay on his travel cot; they've got no tent, because Dunk preferred to go without, and they had all assumed this would be somewhat of a short trip. Dunk waits until Prince Aerion is settled, and then, with no subtlety, he moves his own cot to lay right next to him.
"Ser Duncan," comes his stern voice, watching him with a glare that would send a lesser man running for the hills. "What are you—?"
Much like earlier, Dunk simply grabs Prince Aerion, hard, steady, not letting him get away even as he tries to scratch and bite and punch and slap. Any other time, with any other person, Dunk wouldn't be like this—but the fire behind Prince Aerion eyes doesn't speak of denial, it speaks of a fervent desire to challenge Dunk, to have Dunk challenge him back. Maybe sparring like two normal men would satisfy him, as well, but now that they've discovered this, that Dunk has seen what he looks like unraveled with pleasure…
There's no turning back. Dunk wrestles him around, pins him to their cots, and yanks his pants down, smiling like an idiot through it all. He presses Prince Aerion's hips into the ground, feeling the bone, ignoring the way he winces in pain. His little cock is already filling out again, and Dunk laughs, earning himself a proper clout in the ear.
"You have no shame!" Prince Aerion gasps, incensed, embarrassed. And then he moans, because Dunk's taken him fully into his mouth, not struggling with the length or width at all even though he's never done this before. He sucks, hard, makes the prince pull helplessly at his hair as if needing an anchor. "Gods, ser!"
He tears three orgasms from Prince Aerion like this, with only his hand and mouth. At no point does he stop to think of his own pleasure; Dunk is hard, no doubt about it. He yearns for Prince Aerion's tiny hand against his cock, wants to see if he can even fully close his fingers around it. But there's some sickeningly sweet satisfaction in rendering Prince Aerion down to a mess of a drooling mouth, red lips, teary eyes and flushed skin.
Dunk cannot resist: once he is done, he brings himself up the length of Prince Aerion's body, and forces a kiss into his mouth even as Prince Aerion tries to fight him off, perhaps disgusted by the taste of his own cum. But Dunk holds him by the chin and forces him to take him, and it's not long before he's eagerly kissing back, clinging to Dunk's shoulders, letting him rest his whole weight on top of him.
When they separate, Prince Aerion seems exhausted, and can only blink sleepily up at him, not moving anymore. It doesn't still his tongue: "You're a brainless beast."
"Aye, my prince," Dunk agrees, tucking them both into their cots, letting himself hold Prince Aerion close. No protests about it reach his ears. This is oddly perfect. "Rest, now. We'll walk tomorrow, enjoy nature. We'll be at an inn before you know it."
"We are lost," Prince Aerion mumbles, half-asleep, against Dunk's neck. "You won't admit it."
He won't. "Sleep, my prince. You did well today."
Prince Aerion doesn't snore, as much as he lets out the cutest little huffs of air, almost hissing. Not unlike a dragon, he gathers.
Dunk stares up at the stars, and wonders if he's lost his damn mind.