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Dunk couldn't get used to a good bed. He and Egg had traveled to many places, but in King's Landing, he was always greeted by the finest bed—soft feather mattress, silk sheets, and the most delicate pillows.
Baelor spoiled him. For some reason, he enjoyed it, and Dunk could only let him—even now that Baelor had taken the throne.
He tried to resist, at least inwardly. He didn't think he should be spending his nights in the king's chambers, but Baelor had become surprisingly persuasive in his propositions. One look was enough, and Dunk found himself ready to kneel before him and stay there for the rest of his life.
He had done just that the other night, when they'd first returned. Egg had left him to attend to his own matters after they'd greeted his dear uncle. Baelor had been genuinely glad to see him. He had aged noticeably, his gaze grown heavier after all the misfortunes he'd endured, but he remained handsome.
Dunk couldn't deny him anything—he simply had no right to. He didn't want to stop Baelor from drawing him into quiet corners where they could be alone, or kissing him once the doors closed behind them. Dunk didn't want any of it to stop, but he knew it should—sooner rather than later.
But who could contradict the king?
That was why he woke beside Baelor. The sheets had smelled fresh the night before, but by morning the scent had changed, and Dunk couldn't suppress a foolish smile as he rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow.
Almost immediately, a warm palm slid across his lower back. It drifted lower, and strong fingers gripped his thigh. Dunk let out a strangled groan, and then he heard a soft laugh behind him.
"I like seeing you in my bed, but you keep slipping away," Baelor murmured, continuing to caress him beneath the covers. "I also understand your nature cannot be changed. I imagine you'll keep disappearing even after my dear nephew grows up and decides whether to stay here or elsewhere."
"I pledged you my life, Your Grace" Dunk replied, turning his head so he wasn't speaking into the pillow.
But his voice grew louder when he couldn't hold back his moans. Baelor stroked him between his thighs with the edge of his palm, squeezing the muscle there, grazing his fingers against the heavy weight of his sac. He did it carefully, almost thoughtfully, clearly lost somewhere in his own thoughts.
Baelor often voiced whatever was in his head. Dunk liked hearing his thoughts, even as they stirred a deep longing for the man who belonged to the Seven (or Nine) Kingdoms yet still let Dunk into his bed. Baelor was corrupting him, and Dunk was growing greedy—but he could blame no one but himself. He was too weak, and he became even more vulnerable whenever he saw Baelor smiling at him so gently.
Soon Baelor pressed against him from behind, pulling him close and biting down sharply on his shoulder, briefly branding him with the mark of his teeth. Dunk flinched, but he didn't cry out—just gasped and rocked his hips back. Baelor licked the bite, gave his thigh a light slap, and in that same moment, Dunk turned onto his back.
"Strong, handsome knights are usually kept close," Baelor said. There was amusement in his eyes, but Dunk noticed how his expression softened when he looked at him. "You're big and strong. A king might need such a guardsman."
Dunk exhaled loudly as Baelor's hand landed on his stomach and slid wherever it pleased.
"Armor would suit you," Baelor sighed, gripping Dunk's cock firmly. Dunk hissed, biting his lower lip. "Perhaps one day, they could be gilded."
They often spoke of this. Dunk had no real purpose in life—he could do it. He could stay, serve his king day and night. Baelor had married a couple of years ago, but he still spent his nights with Dunk whenever he and his squire returned. They usually remained no more than a week in the Red Keep, and it was always both too much and too little.
Dunk missed his nights with the king. But staying in one place grew wearisome.
Of course, he had already seen the world. There must be something for him here. But Baelor never asked him to stay, even though every parting, when he watched Dunk and Egg leave, his eyes held the same longing.
Dunk sometimes wondered: did people notice and attribute it to his affection for his nephew, or did everyone understand the truth? Servants had seen them together, and they knew Dunk rarely slept in the chambers assigned to him. But they were loyal to the king. And Dunk always crept in at night and rarely rose early.
Even today, they had woken at dawn. He could have slept longer, but Baelor already held him in his arms with clear intent.
Despite everything, Dunk loved waking on royal pillows. The main advantage, of course, was Baelor, who kept him warm in bed. He was as hot as the flame itself. Dunk was always warm with him. He reluctantly recalled the times he'd slept in the bushes or damp stables.
Baelor really had spoiled him quickly. Dunk had grown accustomed to pleasure, to the attention of the king—handsome and passionate. Baelor chuckled when Dunk grew so drunk on it that he had to roll him over, pressing his back into the mattress and pinning him down with his body. Dunk admired the deep wrinkles around his eyes and the gray in his hair. Even completely naked and relaxed, Baelor looked majestic and strong.
He was lean and sturdy, as if he'd spent his life traveling, braving rain and wind on horseback. Dunk wanted to worship him—but not in the way all those lords and ladies did.
Soon Dunk was between his thighs. He took Baelor into his hot mouth, demonstrating what the girls in Dorne had taught him. Later, he planned to show what he'd learned from the young men there, but for now, he simply enjoyed listening to Baelor's breathing and his heavy sighs. Baelor called his name as Dunk hungrily sank deeper.
His thighs trembled beneath Dunk's hands, and Dunk pulled back just in time. Baelor was smiling at him. He beckoned him up and kissed him, not seeming to mind what Dunk's mouth had been doing. Baelor kissed him slowly, as if deciding to let himself cool down.
Dunk felt a little dizzy. When he felt Baelor's fingers between his thighs, slick and warm, he moaned loudly into the king's mouth.
The first time they'd done this, it had been hurried and painful, but Dunk had returned to the man's arms despite the way he'd wept beneath him. That was long ago—years had passed—and now Baelor was more careful.
Dunk still wept. But now it was from pleasure.
Taking the king's cock, Dunk couldn't smile seductively like the whores did. When he sank down, he was tense, as always, but Baelor's firm hands guided him gently, allowing him to descend almost without pain. The night before, Baelor had brought him to his knees right there, settled himself behind him, and tormented him for so long that Dunk had buried his face in the pillow and screamed, staining the sheets with his seed—he'd spent three times.
That was why he was softer today. Today, he didn't need to wait before rising and falling again with confidence. The bed rocked with his movements and Baelor's thrusts—they were both big men. But Dunk felt incredible. His cock was leaking, and Baelor took advantage, stroking him slowly with one hand while the other remained on Dunk's thigh.
Dunk threw his head back, baring his throat, and groaned deep in his chest. Baelor suddenly growled and began thrusting harder. Dunk shuddered and spilled into his palm as Baelor's cock reached that place inside him that made him see stars. Then Baelor seemed to grow even larger and hotter, and soon he followed, spilling deep inside.
The sheets were a ruin. But no one minded. Baelor wiped his hand on the corner of a pillow and tossed it to the floor, then helped Dunk ease off and lie down beside him.
Dunk regarded the king's seed with a strange reverence, as if he might somehow carry a prince from it. He was also pleasantly tired, pleasure softening his limbs, so he sank into the bed and let himself be drawn into a gentle kiss.
Baelor stroked his hair, then slid his fingers to his cheek. It was nice. Dunk thought about falling asleep again, but the sun was nearly up.
"You can stay a little longer, if you like," Baelor offered quietly.
Dunk didn't ask whether he meant the bed or the Red Keep. He just shook his head.
They were meant to leave at midday.
"Then you can return whenever you wish."
Dunk could smile now.
He liked that sometimes he could allow himself to sleep in a soft bed, touched and kissed by the man who had once saved him.
"I pledged you my life," Dunk repeated.
"That was a long time ago," Baelor sighed wearily. Dunk disagreed again.
"It doesn't matter. I'll keep my oath."
Baelor laughed, a little bitterly, then kissed him sweetly.
"Good. Then come back whenever you want. Or whenever you're needed."
Their life wasn't easy, and Dunk preferred to return when they were simply passing through, or when Egg suggested visiting his family. He hated coming back because of terrible things.
But he could only accept it. He could only nod and return the kiss, a little more hurried this time. Baelor hadn't thrown him from his bed or from the castle, but Dunk had to go. Still, he knew he would return—and he knew he would always be welcomed.