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Lyonel stood outside his pavilion, a goblet of Dornish wine in hand, riding the wave of excitement that had filled him throughout the tourney's opening day. The incident with Prince Aerion, if one could call it that, had done little to dampen his spirits. He had performed brilliantly, as he always did, and he knew it. A grin spread across his face as he recalled the way the people cheered for him each time he knocked the crest off an opponent's helm and sent it flying into the crowd, and how visibly frustrated the knights had become in response.
It was a habit of his, one he had no desire to change. He took great pleasure in watching knights get riled up over something as trivial as losing a simple crest. And then the crestless knights challenged him too. He had to laugh each time one of them knocked upon his shield. How brave they were, he thought, to even dare to challenge him. How amusing it was to have them trying not to lose their temper as he kept laughing even as they charged each other.
On any other night, he would still be in the pavilion, enjoying drinks and laughter with the others, even having a little fun with whoever caught his fancy first.
Today, however, was different.
Today, Prince Baelor was here.
He had noticed him right away, of course, as the Hand sat beside Lord Ashford, dressed much more simply than the other nobles around him. After every victory, Lyonel made it a point to catch the prince's gaze, laughing and showing off even more so that was his wont when facing a new challenger. He realised he was being bolder than usual, but the prince's presence spurred him on to impress him even further.
He licked his lips, warmth already coursing through his body as he impatiently awaited the summons he knew would come.
For years now, this had become a little habit of theirs, ever since the birth of one of his nephews nearly a decade ago. Whenever they met, the prince would call for him, and Lyonel would gladly join him.
They were both aware of the recklessness of it all, yet they never spoke of it—not about what had transpired at Storm's End all those years ago, nor about the unspoken bond that deepened each time Baelor summoned him. He would send for him whenever they saw each other, and they would spend the night together.
"Ser Lyonel, Prince Baelor is expecting you," a member of the Kingsguard announced, approaching him with a mildly annoyed expression. It was Ser Roland Crakehall, if Lyonel remembered correctly.
"Is he, now?" Lyonel replied, grinning.
"If you would follow me, ser."
"Lead the way," Lyonel said with an exaggerated bow, suppressing a laugh at Ser Roland's disgruntled demeanour.
He knew, of course, that neither he nor Baelor could afford for their secret to be discovered. The Kingsguard were sworn to secrecy; they would never gossip about their prince or expose him. That was why Baelor always sent one of them to fetch Lyonel. Still, he couldn't deny how amusing it was to see a member of the Kingsguard playing the role of an errand boy.
As they made their way to the castle and up to Lord Ashford's solar, Lyonel thought about how Lord Ashford likely felt obliged to give his own quarters to the prince, although Lyonel was certain Baelor would never request such a courtesy.
Arriving at the door, the knight left him without even a backward glance.
"Good night, ser," Lyonel called after him.
He laughed when Ser Roland completely ignored him. Although he knew he shouldn't make a habit of teasing the Kingsguard, he couldn't resist poking fun at them whenever he had the chance.
Now alone in the dimly lit corridor, he raised a hand and rapped sharply on the heavy wooden door, his mind racing with thoughts of the man waiting for him on the other side.
Impatient as always, even more so that evening, he pushed the door open and stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, letting the door close behind him.
Baelor stood by the tall window, his tall silhouette outlined by the moonlight; his hands were clasped firmly behind his back. As the prince turned to face him, his neutral expression betrayed nothing of his thoughts.
His voice was soft and steady as he spoke.
"Ser Lyonel."
It was his eyes that betrayed him. Already, Lyonel could see the heat that the prince couldn't entirely conceal.
"My prince," Lyonel replied, bowing deeply, his heart racing as he finally stood in the presence of Baelor for the first time that day, "you sent for me."
"I did indeed."
It was a familiar dance they performed. Baelor would summon him and then behave as politely as ever, as if there was nothing unusual in inviting the heir of Storm's End to join him in his quarters late at night. Lyonel had quickly understood his role in this game. It was his task to draw out the prince's reactions, to allow the tension simmering just below the surface to slowly unravel.
"I heard you were busy with Lord Ashford after the little mishap with Prince Aerion and poor Ser Humfrey's horse," Lyonel began, stepping closer to the prince.
Baelor immediately closed off, his jaw tightening as he looked away.
"You only know the half of it, I fear," he said.
Lyonel cocked his head, eyebrows rising in surprise at the sudden cold fury in the prince's voice. Baelor was usually better at concealing his emotions.
"Let's not dwell on my nephew right now, if you please. I'll fill you in later if you wish."
Pouring wine into two goblets, Baelor offered one to Lyonel before taking a sip of his own.
"Now, tell me what you think of the tourney so far. You fought well today."
Lyonel didn't immediately reply. He could see the tension etched across Baelor's face, and he had half a mind to continue pushing the prince about his nephew. He often tried to tease Baelor, especially when he noticed how tense the man was, believing it might help him release some of his anger.
The most exhilarating nights of his life had been the ones when Baelor finally embraced his emotions, transforming his frustrations into a passionate force. There was something thrilling about seeing Baelor, usually soft-spoken and composed, lose himself in raw desire, pressing Lyonel down and taking him with an intensity that was so unlike his usual polite demeanour.
Yet, there was something different about Baelor now, that cold fury still burning in his eyes, and the disdain in his voice when referring to Aerion made Lyonel hesitate. Taking a long sip of wine, he ultimately decided to drop the subject for the time being.
"Oh, I fought well, did I?" he asked, a sly grin on his face. "Have I pleased you then, your Grace?"
Though the tension in Baelor's body didn't completely disappear, it did ease a bit. Lyonel couldn't help but feel a surge of confidence, believing he was on the right track.
The prince remained silent, though, watching Lyonel intently, clearly waiting for him to continue.
"Of course," Lyonel went on, "I'm certain I'll remain one of the champions until the very end."
He sighed, feigning disappointment.
"It's such a struggle to find worthy challengers for someone as talented as myself."
A faint smile tugged at Baelor's lips.
Encouraged, Lyonel pressed on:
"I must admit I have a mind to bestow the crown of Love and Beauty to you, my prince."
Baelor let out a soft laugh, shaking his head.
"You truly are insufferable, Lyonel," Baelor said, the smile lingering.
Lyonel flashed a toothy grin and stepped closer to Baelor, feeling the heat radiating from the other man.
"So, would you answer me, my prince?" he asked, lowering his voice. "Have I pleased you?"
There it was, a flicker in Baelor's mismatched eyes, a sudden heat he couldn't quite hide.
"Yes," he replied. His voice remained even, though Lyonel could sense a slight roughness in it.
Lyonel quickly drained the last remnants of his drink and set the goblet down. He could have teased Baelor further, and he would have done so if he hadn't been so eager himself.
He reached for Baelor's half-full glass, letting their hands deliberately brush against each other. Baelor allowed it, his gaze filled with anticipation as he waited to see what Lyonel would do next.
For his part, Lyonel was done playing. He set the prince's goblet down as well before going to his knees. He looked up at Baelor through his eyelashes, his dark curls falling in his eyes.
"Though I have not yet satisfied you, have I, my prince?"
He was aware of how cheap he sounded, but he didn't care. All that mattered was the effect it had on Baelor.
His grin widened as he noticed the prince's expression darken, his breathing noticeably quicker.
"Lyonel," Baelor began, his hands flexing at his sides, visibly fighting the urge to touch him.
"Come on now, Baelor," Lyonel urged, savouring the way the prince's name felt on his tongue. "We both know why you sent for me. We both know what you need."
He placed his hands on Baelor's hips and slowly slid them down to his thighs, gently caressing the tense muscles through the fabric. Still looking up at Baelor, he paused for just a moment before resting a hand over the prince's crotch.
"Oh, but I truly did please you," he said, his voice thick with desire as he felt the hardness beneath his hand.
Leaning forward, he nuzzled against Baelor through the fabric of his breeches. He moaned softly as one of Baelor's hands settled in his hair. Not gripping, not yet, but merely resting there for now.
Lyonel continued his ministrations, eager to finally have Baelor surrender to his desires.
The moment he started mouthing at Baelor, leaving open kisses all over his length, he knew he was about to get what he wanted. The prince's grip on his hair tightened, and a groan slipped from his lips.
Looking up, Lyonel couldn't help but moan again, thrilled to see the Hand of the King biting his lips, face flushed and eyes dark with want.
He went for Baelor's belt, but before he could proceed any further, Baelor pulled him up, cupping Lyonel's face in both hands and kissing him fiercely.
There was nothing hesitant about that kiss. There was no trace left of the soft-spoken prince; instead, Baelor kissed him with the urgency of a man who had been deprived for too long, finally giving in to the hunger of his desires.
Lyonel gasped into the kiss as Baelor pressed him against the nearest wall. His hands went around the prince's waist to pull him even closer. He pushed their bodies together, wanting the man to feel just how much he, too, was aroused and affected by this moment.
As Baelor continued to kiss him, his hands slipped toward Lyonel's intricately tailored black and gold doublet. His fingers trembled with desire as he fumbled to unfasten the clasps.
Baelor's mouth then found its way to Lyonel's throat, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. A breathless laugh escaped Lyonel despite the shivers racing down his spine.
There it was, what he had been thinking about all day: Baelor finally took what he needed. No more gentleness, no more pretences. Just a man knowing exactly what he wanted and just how to take it.
Lyonel knew the prince would soon push him down onto the mattress and claim him with abandon. He would welcome it gladly, legs spread wide, breathless and eager for more. He could already feel it: Baelor's weight pressing down on him, his mouth on Lyonel's throat as he would keep on biting the sensitive skin there, marking him as his own, all while doing his best to stifle the moans that threatened to escape.
That was a side of Baelor he could never get enough of, even after all those years. And though they wouldn't talk about it come morning, he knew that this part of Baelor was meant for him only.