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"By all the gods," his brother says disgustedly, "would you bloody well sit down?"
It isn't the first time he's asked, so Baelor flings himself into a chair with a sigh. Maekar breaks a biscuit in half and offers it to him.
"It must be bad, if you're tending to me," he sighs.
"Stop fucking sighing!"
He walks the Serpentine, twice.
"Is your grace looking for anything in particular? We have a new treatise from Tyrosh, on their snail farming techniques…"
"No, out! This is at a crucial stage, 'lor, you cannot fiddle with it!"
"Shiera -"
"No, I don't care that it's your castle. Out!"
"No, sire, there's no further news on the crop yields from the Reach. We have received a missive from House Bracken, however, regarding - your grace?…sire?….hm, must remember that in future. Yes, copy that in fine hand, now, thrice. One is to go in the third ledger -"
He even tries the godswood, and inadvertently discovers Daeron's latest hiding spot. He backs away hastily when he realises Lyonel's there with him, and they're laughing hysterically about Steffon Fossoway's latest attempt to discredit his cousin.
"Apparently, you've been driving everyone mad."
"I may have been… restless," he admits, pinned up against the door by his big, strong knight.
"Missed me that badly?"
"Yes," he breathes, and tugs Dunk's face down to get a proper kiss, winds his hands through his hair, rubs up against him shamelessly, showing him.
"I think I know what you need," Dunk says, eyes bright, hands spread wide on his hip, the door next to his head, and Baelor's caged in but he's never felt so safe. Dunk brushes their noses together, sets the latch on the door. "I'm back now. Will you let me give it to you?"
"Yes," Baelor says, grateful, able to breathe again, "I think I need you to."
"Mm," and his smile is contagious. "Tell me, sweetheart."
"I want to do as you say," he grins at him, bright and happy: Dunk's here with him, he's home. Dunk cradles his head in his big warm hands and slides his lips over Baelor's, a teasing drag that tingles through him, before he's shoved flush against the door by the force of Dunk's mouth against his, devouring and claiming, and he bucks helplessly against him, moaning into his mouth.
It drives thoughts from his head, lets Dunk take up his whole world.
"How -"
"Caraxes, kicking, dropping something," he chants, naming his word and options, too eager for his love to get back here, to kiss him again, to hold him down and take him apart. Dunk's rumbling a laugh against him, nuzzling his temple.
"So eager for me."
"Missed you." He reaches for another kiss, pulling himself up against Dunk, and thrills as Dunk's hands start pulling at his doublet.
Dunk strips him there against the door, easing his breeches down gently, denying him even the graze of his hand over tented fabric. Doublet, undershirt, breeches, boots, all left in a tidy pile next to the door.
He stops at his smallclothes, though, kneeling in front of Baelor, lips brushing a kiss over the skin just above the line of them. Baelor tries to stay still, not to whine, to be good, even as he can see the laughter in Dunk's eyes and the corner of his grin.
"Very good, sweetheart," Dunk says indulgently, leaning down to kiss up the sensitive stretch of his inner thighs, rubbing his beard against the hair there to make him tremble. He leans back against the door and holds tight to Dunk's shoulders, spreads his legs to give Dunk more room and gets rewarded by the flutter of his tongue, tracing up his thigh and dipping under the edge of his smallclothes.
He trembles harder then, a little sound breaking out of him, and then Dunk's big hands are wrapping around the backs of his thighs and he can rest his weight there, for the price of one louder noise as Dunk nips where he's just licked.
"Ah!" and he doesn't buck his hips but it's hard-won. Dunk does it again, other thigh now, and Baelor's hands clench in his hair - when had they moved? - and at the third time he can't help himself and his hips buck hard, just once, as Dunk's teeth bite down.
"Gods," he curses, but he was never going to win, that wasn't the point, Dunk just wanted to push him, to make him wild for him, like he needs the help -
Dunk pulls his thighs wide, so Baelor's open against the door like - like some sort of harlot, and rumbles, "Keep them there." Then he's supporting his own weight on weak legs for a single moment before one of Dunk's hands spreads over his belly, holds him against the door.
The slap of Dunk's hand against his thigh makes him convulse, gasp for air as the sensation goes straight to his cock. And again on the other, landing straight atop the bite marks because his love is a very, very clever man, and he's moaning and arching into the hits as Dunk's hand lands again and again and again. Broad open handed smacks, not hard enough to truly hurt - a single corner of his brain marvels at all that control - but hard enough to turn his thighs red, make his cock throb and leak, dry out his throat with moans, turn him into a desperate pile of need.
"Dunk, Dunk, Dunk," he's begging by the time he stops, and he can see his love's eyes are wide and dark as he looks up at him, squirming against the door from the touch of his mouth and hand. He looks hungry, and Baelor thrills at it, but that doesn't mean Dunk won't make him wait for it, won't make him work for it.
Dunk presses a final kiss to the inside of his knee, and presses himself up to his full height, towering over Baelor again. He uses one big hand to push Baelor's jaw shut, kiss his lips, absurdly chaste, but it rockets through Baelor as he's held against the walls in just his smallclothes, cock rock hard and untouched, thighs sensitive and trembling, his knight still in the clothes he rode in on, taking what he wants from him.
"Good?" Dunk checks, and grins at whatever he sees in Baelor's eyes. Baelor leans forward for another kiss, waits for Dunk's nod before pressing up against him, another simple press of mouths, and as he pulls away he says, "Yes, Dunk, so good," and he can hear the haze in his own voice.
He's expecting the bed, but Dunk tows him to the fireplace, settles him in Dunk's own big armchair with one wide hand spread across his collarbones. He nods and nestles into the cushions as Dunk pours a cup from a flagon and drinks, then pours again and holds it to his lips. He sips obediently where he'd normally protest the fuss, and like this he can bask in the care, the surrender of letting Dunk decide how he drinks, how he moves, what he gets. He just wants to be good, to make Dunk happy.
He's not floating - he's probably too excited to get there today, but he might. Instead he's present, and waiting, and wanting.
He takes careful sips until Dunk's satisfied, eyes locked on him, and he's careful not to meet that gaze lest he shudder and spill the contents of the cup all down him.
It's a big chair, made for Dunk specifically, and he sinks into it, aware all over again of just how big and broad his love is. When Dunk comes to get him, he lifts him in his arms, takes the seat for himself and settles Baelor so he's sitting across his lap, holding his legs together with one warm hand cupping the backs of his knees, the other arm curving round him so his palm spreads over Baelor's ribs. He nestles happily into his knight, rubs gently up against his shirt and breeches, relishing his size, and his own bareness where Dunk is still covered sends shivery excitement through him.
Dunk indulges him, kisses him, runs a hand slowly down his calf and back up, but not for long before he breaks away.
"Rules," he says, tapping their noses together, and Baelor takes a slow inhale, nods.
"You can say whatever you like, your hands are yours, but the rest of you stays where I put you."
He nods, that's easy enough to follow, and he doesn't have to focus on staying quiet. "Understood," and gets a quick kiss.
"Questions?"
Dunk hasn't mentioned it, so he already knows the answer, but -
"Can I come?"
A rich kiss, Dunk's tongue pushing into him, all-encompassing and he opens wide under him, gives up air and the line of his spine, melting into his love.
"When I tell you," Dunk says sweetly.
Dunk spends a minute or two just - playing with his cock, running a thumb over him through his smallclothes, running his fingers over his balls, thumbing at the growing wet patch he's leaving. Never truly touching him, not providing much pressure or heat, just playing. He's not even holding Baelor's gaze while he does it, watching his hand and the shape of his cock through the fabric instead as Baelor clings to him, and it proves the point all the more, sends it scorching through his veins.
"Mine, aren't you, sweetheart?"
"Yes," Baelor tells him easily, and doesn't roll his hips the way he wants to. "All yours."
"And this?" and one big hand closes around the length of him, and his eyes roll back in his head at the feel of it, at the nearest Dunk's come to touching him since he came through the door.
"Yours," he gasps, and Dunk smiles at him, brushes their lips together incredibly gently given his hand is still curled over Baelor's cock, and then relinquishes him to finally free him from his smallclothes.
When that's done and Baelor's fully bare against him, he thinks they might move again, but no: Dunk pushes his knee open, kisses him soft and sweet as he traces one blunt finger around his hole, lets Baelor breathe hard into his mouth.
"Gonna take what's mine," he promises, and Baelor shivers into him.
"No court tomorrow," he says.
"Mm, so I can take you as hard as I like," Dunk says tenderly, and he fights a whine, a shudder.
"Please," he settles on, and he attacks the collar of Dunk's shirt, pulls the neck aside so he can press his face there.
Baelor loves taking Dunk in him, does it regularly, but they don't indulge in the full use of Dunk's strength as often as he'd like. He can hardly go limping through the Keep, after all.
Dunk oils his fingers, starts opening him up, laying kisses on his neck and shoulder as his finger works carefully into him. Baelor breathes through the stretch - Dunk had been away for weeks, and he doesn't get much from doing this to himself, so it's an even fiercer sensation than usual - and relaxes as Dunk's finger begins to move easily in him, settling against his love. He lets his legs loll open, lets Dunk take what he wants.
"Perfect, sweetheart. So good for me," Dunk praises, and he lets it sit golden in his chest as his finger pushes in and out of him, relaxing into the steady motion.
"Ready for a second?" he's prompted a few moments later, and he nods, Dunk brushing a kiss across his cheek, and his breath picks up as the second nudges into him, the stretch sweeter and stronger. He shifts his hips just once, to get used to it, and then tries to do as he was, to be good and still and let Dunk use him.
He's breathing harder, and Dunk isn't trying to avoid that spot inside him but he's not aiming for it either, so Baelor paces his breathing to the movement of Dunk's hands, doesn't push back and grind down against them, instead winds his hand into Dunk's shirt, searches for a kiss from his love.
Dunk gives it to him, but he gasps and bucks up as a third finger starts nudging at his rim.
"Settle," Dunk tells him, and he tries but two of Dunk's fingers are filling him already and at every brush of the third, sparks travel up his spine and sink into his cock. He can't relax now, but he keeps his legs spread, pants shallowly, leans back into the arm Dunk's cradling him with.
"Yours," he breathes, and Dunk runs his eyes slowly over the whole length of him. He hadn't forgotten, exactly, but it hits him anew how - how wanton this is. He's nude and spread across Dunk's lap, who's not even removed his shirt. His knees are spread wide with two fingers up his arse and wanting more, cock red and stiff, and he can see his inner thighs are still blushing pink from being spanked earlier.
Dunk sees his cock twitch as it all hits him, and laughs gently at him. "Mine," he says, and pushes the third finger in, and Baelor tilts his head back and moans. Dunk didn't even have to tie him up to have him this way, Baelor did it willingly just to have him, needs it, and he'd do this every time if it got him Dunk's cock, his mouth, his fingers, and he's so full. Dunk's staying so gentle, pushing in and out of him like he has all the time in the world, and if he wasn't being good he'd be clenching down and grinding and getting Dunk's hand on his cock because this is enough, he can absolutely come like this, but he knows that's not what Dunk wants today. The promise of being filled by his cock helps him stay his hips, even as he holds tight to Dunk's shirt and breathes out little moans as Dunk's fingers rock back into him.
He finds something, some sort of peace, and he can stay there and be hard and full but not pursue it, not try to come, and he focuses on breathing and lets the pleasure pool around him, through him. Oh, he's beginning to float.
"Perfect," Dunk rumbles against him, and he feels a little further away for all he's deep inside him, so he tilts his head to see his knight. Dunk's looking at him, eyes full of love and lust, and Baelor unwinds just an inch further, knowing he's being good, he's giving Dunk what he wants.
Then the fingers are gone, and he moans at the loss. He's empty, and he wants to be full, but there's lips covering his and he remembers to be good, tilts his head up into the kiss.
He doesn't know how long he'd been arranged like this, how long Dunk's been opening him up and playing with him, but his legs are shaky when Dunk pushes him to standing.
"Get my laces," he's told, with a sweet kiss, and he goes to sink to his knees but Dunk catches him. "No, I want you like this," and bends him instead, so he reaches for Dunk's breeches while broad hands spread across his arse, cupping and squeezing at him. He tries to focus, but as soon as he tugs at the knot, a slick finger brushes over his loose hole and he jerks at the sparks up his spine, cock brushing against his stomach. "Keep going," Dunk tells him, smiling wickedly, and he grins helplessly, breathes deep, reaches for the laces again.
Dunk does it again and again, teasing light touches across him, and he whines in the back of his throat as he feels his hole flutter, greedy to be filled again. "Please," he begs, face mashed into Dunk's thigh as one broad finger dips just inside him, trying desperately not to push back against it. His fingers are knotted in the laces, which aren't undone one bit.
"Not the hardest problem you've ever solved," Dunk laughs at him, but he backs off, and Baelor kisses his gratitude into Dunk's clothed thigh, returning to his task with renewed focus, trying to make hands stupid with arousal succeed at the delicate task.
He knows he makes some kind of noise when the laces fall open in his hand, and he paws eagerly at Dunk's breeches before Dunk captures his hands, tilts his head up with a hand on his chin. "Ah ah, laces only," he says, and Baelor nods, searches for a kiss, he didn't mean to be -
"You were good," Dunk tells him, "just a little excited for me, aren't you, sweetheart?"
He nods, shameless, because what's shame when he's loose and open from the fingers holding his chin?
Dunk kisses him, strong and sweet, and it sweeps down his spine, soothes away the frantic need to something easier. He follows as Dunk leads him back upright, spreads him to sit astride, kisses him, and his mind is beautifully quiet, happy just to wait for Dunk as he takes himself out, runs oil over himself. It's when he notches himself at Baelor's entrance that his mind comes back to him a bit, and he's somehow almost shocked by the heft and heat of him at his hole, moans into Dunk's mouth at the fingers pressing the head of his cock there.
"I know," Dunk says, eyes on his face, and his breathing's ragged now. "I wanted the first time you touched my cock to be your greedy hole sinking down on it, sweetheart." Baelor pants, locks his arms around Dunk's shoulders, leans in for a steadying kiss, and feels Dunk's hands wrap around his hips and push him inexorably down, breaching him slowly with his cock.
After three fingers, the first inches push in hot and easy, and they're both groaning as Dunk sinks into him. Then he has to deliberately relax as Dunk's cock gets wider, and the oil doesn't stop the slight burn of the stretch, but he's been worked up and down and sideways since Dunk pinned him against the door and it all translates in his head to wonderful hot sensation racing through his veins and he'd be sliding down faster if he were in control, pushing himself open, greedy for it.
When Dunk stops and holds him in place, he's got maybe an inch left to go, and he tilts his head back and just tries to remember to breathe. He's so full, and Dunk is so hot and hard inside him, pressing against all his walls at once, and his cock is a burning line of need but Dunk hasn't touched him there since his smallclothes were on so he probably isn't going to now.
Hot lips and tongue latch on to the base of his throat and he can't control the shiver or the subsequent moan as he clenches around Dunk, and Dunk pulls back, cups his face in one hand.
"Relax," he says gently, and Baelor huffs a laugh at him as he tries, even as the weight and heat inside him makes him want to gasp and shift his hips. But he does as he's told, and after a moment, maybe two, he can lean into the sensations without being overwhelmed. He's still a little floaty, but he takes stock of his situation.
Knees spread wide over Dunk's hips, thighs pink, split open almost all the way down on Dunk's cock, his own hard and proud and untouched, fully bare while Dunk's only lightly dishevelled, breeches pulled open and shirt askew. Dunk's wrapped one arm around his back, low, hand firm on his hip, holding but not pushing him down any further, and the other is still cupping his face, warm points of contact. He's looking at him, warm and hungry and satisfied too, the edge of pride in his eyes he gets whenever Baelor's good for him.
Maybe he should be cold, naked as he is, but if anything he can feel the sweat beading behind his knees, along the line of his beard, the incredible heat of Dunk inside him.
He feels wrecked, but he's mostly in his own head, and Dunk looks pleasingly affected too, blue eyes dark with pupil, flushed over the tops of his cheekbones.
Those eyes come back to meet his. "Back with me, sweetheart?"
"Yes, just," and then he bites off a moan as Dunk twitches his hips.
"Just let me -" he goes to resettle his weight on his knees rather than against Dunk's arm, the better to rise up and sink down again, but Dunk's hand tightens on his hip and he stops, looking at him for guidance.
"No," Dunk tells him, and he doesn't understand.
"No?"
"Stay exactly how you are, sweetheart," and he tries to search Dunk's eyes for the answer, marshal his thoughts into understanding, but Dunk vanquished them when he was three fingers deep in him and he doesn't understand.
"Just like this," Dunk whispers against his mouth, and he takes the reassurance of the kiss, mouths sliding against each other and turning into something wetter and softer, Dunk's tongue lazily thrusting even as his hips remain still. The arm still holding Baelor's hips relaxes slightly, and he feels himself slip down minutely, moaning to take even a little more.
"You want me to stay like this," he gasps, and Dunk nods, "That's it, sweetheart, you're going to stay nice and open on my cock for me."
"You said -" Dunk swats at his thigh, where he's pink and sensitive from previous slaps, and Baelor chokes on his words, remembers he's supposed to be good.
"Mine," Dunk reminds him, voice low and pleased, bringing his hand back to Baelor's face, cupping it gently. "I said I was gonna take what's mine. I'll do as I like with you, and you're going to take it for me. Aren't you, sweetheart?"
Dunk's tone rolls through him, and he nods dizzily, thigh tingling, taken with the thought of being kept here, spread open for Dunk to have, and he clenches and arches against him as the understanding settles.
"Yours," he moans, "yours, Dunk."
"So good for me," he's told, and he stops holding so tightly to his thoughts, lets himself go a little.
"Can I - can I have more?" he asks moments later, trying to keep his hips still. There's still more of Dunk for him to take, and he wants it, wants to be good for him.
"Yes, sweetheart - well done for asking," and Dunk lets him slip down again. He's almost taking all of him now, and Dunk's grasp remains loose this time. He rocks back against him, lets the sensation settle along his spine, and then leans his head against Dunk's shoulder.
He rests there, full and wanting and Dunk's, and waits. Dunk dusts kisses over his face, twitches his hips gently every so often, and Baelor gasps and rocks against him, channels movement into the grip of his fists in Dunk's shirt. Dunk's eyes stay on his, and he could stay here forever.
"That's so good, sweetheart. Gonna keep you nice and full on my cock, hmm?" Dunk's words drift over him, and he shivers a little, keeps his legs wide.
He doesn't know how long has passed when he notices he's slipping down again, but he moans softly as Dunk slides to the hilt in him. It feels incredible, to be so full, but he doesn't want to move against him just to have to go back to stillness; he'll wait until Dunk wants more from him.
"Perfect," Dunk whispers against his hairline, and Baelor smiles dazedly at him, "you're not going anywhere yet, sweetheart, I want to keep you right here. Perfect place for you, isn't it?"
It is, and he tells Dunk so, gets another kiss for it. He doesn't know what Dunk's waiting for, and there's a pleasant ache settling in at his thighs - he's going to be so sore tomorrow, but it's a distant thought. All he has to do is stay here, and he relaxes into doing just that. Dunk's hands drift over the length of his spine, stroke at a shoulder or smooth down the outside of his thigh, and he drifts, gives himself over to the sensations.
He gasps as something flutters over the rim of him where he's spread and full, and it takes a second for him to recognise one of Dunk's fingers, oiled and pressing gently against him. He presses again, rubbing back and forth lightly, and nuzzles against Baelor's forehead as his breathing picks up.
"So good, sweetheart, just keeping you nice and slick for me." Dunk's thick finger pets all around his stretched rim, and he moans softly, his cock taking notice. He'd softened a bit, soothed and drifting in Dunk's arms, but the slick tease where he's already so stretched sends sparks skittering up his spine, makes him feel anew again the heavy weight inside him, and he wants to move, to push up against Dunk and make him moan.
"Dunk," he moans softly, can't help it, curling fists into Dunk's shirt, he's winding back up again, just from the tease of Dunk's touch where they're joined. "Dunk, please -"
"Hmm?" There's a laugh in Dunk's voice, and his finger hasn't stopped petting at him, and it's building and he won't be able to keep his hips still.
"Can't keep still!" he gasps, and Dunk laughs into his ear, kisses him and swallows his moans. The arm around Baelor's waist tightens. "Mm, that is your problem, isn't it?"
He can only make a garbled wordless noise in response. He needs -
"You can move," Dunk says indulgently, and rocks his hips up just once. It feels incredible after so long, and Baelor moans raggedly, pushes forward to meet it, but Dunk's arm's an iron bar holding him in place and he can't get far.
"If," Dunk says, and he lets an entirely different groan loose at the laugh in Dunk's voice and kisses the corner of his mouth. "You can choose, sweetheart, you've been so good - I can take you now, or I can have a go at your thighs again. Up to you," and there's a kiss at the tip of his nose, and he has been good, can have Dunk just put him on his back and take him hard, but the thought of Dunk marking up his thighs makes him shiver in delight.
Dunk groans at the sensation, but his eyes are bright as he looks at Baelor, and Baelor grins at him, knowing that Dunk knows his answer but will make him say it anyway.
"Thighs, please," he says breathlessly, and Dunk kisses him before he tilts him back on his cock to get a better angle.
The first smack makes him shiver, and the second makes him jolt and cry out, landing over already tender skin. Any thoughts he had fizzle into nothing, nothing except the white-hot sting of each hand and Dunk's hard cock filling him up, and he chokes on how good it is, gasps and drools and jerks. The arm around him isn't holding him down now, so with each slap he's clenching around Dunk's length, hitching his hips back and forth, trying to dance away and push his thighs wider at the same time.
Dunk smooths his hand over reddened, twitching skin after a dozen slaps, maybe more, he'd lost count, and lets him pant against him, kisses the tears from his cheeks and the corners of his eyes and tells him how good he is. He rocks his hips up again too, just to push a desperate noise from Baelor, and he clenches his fists in Dunk's shirt, tries to rise and find his mouth, presses a messy kiss against where it might be, needing - needing something, and his mind is empty, wiped clean by the intensity of it. He just needs Dunk.
"So good for me, sweetheart. Hold on now," Dunk says, and he is holding on, he is, what does -
The noise he makes when Dunk stands echoes off the walls. He tilts and jostles, and he's clinging to Dunk's hips with his legs, and the change in weight and balance is so much and Dunk's so big inside him, impossibly big like this. Dunk grunts with his arms tight around him and under him. Maybe half a dozen big strides and Dunk's laying him on their bed, still in him, and even as he pulls Baelor's legs to his shoulders, sliding somehow even deeper, the shock of it all has pushed all thought of coming from his brain. He's just lying there gaping at his love, so worked up he can hardly think, Dunk so deep he can feel him in his throat, and Dunk just grins at him before keeping his word.
One hand clamps heavily on his shoulder. and Dunk's first thrust would have shoved him halfway off the other end of the bed without it. The drag of him after being so full for so long lights up every inch of his passage, and he shouts, arching his back as Dunk slams into him. He doesn't give Baelor time to adjust, or breathe, knows he doesn't want it when he can have the bruises from Dunk's hips instead.
Dunk's grinning and flushed and sweating above him, feet planted on the floor and each punishing thrust is pushing the air from Baelor's lungs, pink thighs spread wide and Dunk's arm holding him up just right so the next time he shoves in -
The whole length of him slides over the sensitive place inside him, and he loses the ability to even shout. Dunk's kept them oiled, but there's just enough friction for it to be a delicious scrape and he can feel it in his teeth, needs it again -
Dunk does it again and again, and he remembers almost too late.
"Dunk -" he gasps.
Dunk grunts, and doesn't stop the snapping of his hips.
"Please - please can I -"
"Not yet," and Baelor wails at holding back, the rub of him so thick and perfect and all he wants is Dunk, to come, please please please -
Dunk is shuddering and breathing hard as he takes him, as he begs on every thrust. He's so hard, he's so close.
"Please - please - please -"
"So good for me," he'll have a handprint in purple on his shoulder from Dunk using him like this and there's a puddle on his belly where he's leaking steadily and he won't know any of this until Dunk's let him come.
"Please - please -"
He's nearly sobbing, it's so much and he won't be able to hold back. Again, devastatingly deep and hard and the rub of him on the pull back -
"Dunk! Please!"
"Yes," Dunk's eyes are alight on his, and the hand in his shoulder wraps around his cock instead. He's long past the ability to clench down on command, his body working on instinct to keep Dunk clutched inside him, but he thrashes and writhes as Dunk grips him tight and fucks hard into him and he screams as he comes, as Dunk lets him, makes him, Dunk Dunk Dunk -
When he comes to, Dunk's propped above him on his elbows, and he feels fantastic, he feels like he's still -
He looks down, and his cock is still drooling over his splattered, clenching stomach, and he's squeezing rhythmically around Dunk still inside him.
"With me?" Dunk asks gently, panting.
"Aye," he says hazily. "Fuck. So good, Dunk, gods," and his knight laughs gently, making him gasp.
"Did you -?" but as he asks he can feel the answer, warm around the length still filling him, and as soon as Dunk leaves him, tips his hips down, it'll trickle out.
"Mm, with you," Dunk tells him, eyes satisfied and lazy, and rubs a kiss over his mouth. He gives it back, takes it again, happy and dozy and so good, so happy.
"Stay," he orders, tries to loop his uncooperative legs and pull his love down on top of him.
"No," Dunk says, tapping his pouting lips with a finger. "You'll be sore enough as it is, sweetheart," and if he's still sweetheart he still has to be good, so he doesn't complain as Dunk rises back up, pulls gently out of him.
He doesn't stay quiet, though, lets Dunk hear him moan filthily as he leaves his body. Dunk loves him, holds his heart, knows how being empty after so long makes him feel, and as soon as he's stretched out long and warm next to Baelor his fingers are back, tracing warm around where's he's puffy and wrecked open, making him shiver and whine under his breath.
"Yes?" Dunk checks.
"Yes, yes," he tells him, half gone on it all, only here enough to kiss his love who takes such good care of him.
"Mine," Dunk says tenderly.
"Yours," he swears against his lips, and lets his thoughts slide away again so he can clutch at Dunk as a finger circles, catches his leaking spend and pushes it back in.
"Need to keep you full," Dunk says.
Eventually - after Dunk's had two fingers sliding in and out of him to make him squirm, mouthed at the top of his cock to see if he can still clench around him, patiently scooped his seed back inside Baelor half a dozen times - Dunk dusts kisses over his thighs and fetches a basin and cloths to clean up.
He's handed a waterskin and a palmful of dried fruit, and he is hungry, now he thinks about it, so he eats obediently.
Then bruise paste, the one the castle makes in enormous cauldrons for the use of all its knights and princes, and the smell is familiar and comforting as his love massages it into his thighs, sweeping his hands long and slow from each knee all the way up to his hips, murmuring sweetly to him the whole time as if he were one of his horses.
It makes him drowsy and pliant, and Dunk only stops to wipe himself down briefly before climbing into bed with him, laying his head over Baelor's heart.
"All well?" he asks sleepily, sinking his fingers into Dunk's hair.
"Aye," Dunk says. "You?"
He hums happily. He is. Dunk's here, and he's Dunk's, and he'll be sore as anything tomorrow, probably won't be fit to leave their rooms. Dunk will fuss terribly, and ask for his favourites from the kitchens, and blush hotly whenever Baelor winces or sighs, and sooner or later his curiosity will get the better of him and there'll be a pinch at his arse or thigh just to see what sounds Baelor will make for him. He can't wait.
He's not going anywhere.