Chapter Text
Aerion Targaryen is a man who very rarely finds his pride hurt, but there's always a first time for everything. Once the trial of seven had ended, House Targaryen had asked Ser Duncan the Tall to join the Kingsguard — despite Aerion's complaints about it. They barely got along, with the silver-haired prince throwing a slight against Duncan every now and then when they met in the hallways of the red keep. But this time, it was different.
Aerion cursed his father under his breath. The elder Targaryen had had enough of his second-born and his behaviour. "If you're going to act like a child, then we'll treat you like one." he had remarked before handing Aerion his sentence after he'd decided to beat a young squire with his fists once he'd deemed the apprentice to have failed one of the impossible sword exercises that Aerion had dared him to do. Maekar had decided Aerion deserved a spanking, the young prince had burst out laughing, thinking his father was jesting with him — but once Maekar had remained stern-faced, Aerion knew he meant it. To add further embarrassment to it, his father had decided that the fucking hedge knight would be the one in charge of carrying the punishment.
Aerion laid on the arm of the couch, arms behind his back and arse bare as he focused on the painting hanging on the wall in front of him. His cheeks were red already once he felt the breeze caress his barren soft skin, his breeches pooling at the bottom of his feet as he waited for the first smack.
Duncan stood still, belt in his hand as he stared at the bent Targaryen prince and something in his lower belly stirred, but he remained calm. He cleared his throat before bending the belt in half, lifting it and landing the first smack.
"Count, your grace." Duncan commanded.
"No." Aerion sneered, a groan leaving his lips as he felt the skin of his ass blooming with pain.
Duncan sighed; he'd offered to do this the nice way, but it seemed like the prince had chosen the hard one regardless. He lifted the belt once again, swung it down with more force this time and landed it harshly on Aerion's buttocks. The sound resounded in the room, and a red line started to appear on the prince's skin.
"One," Aerion whispered, pain in his words as he relented to the command.
Dunk nods; he feels like the prince understood that he was appeased, regardless of whether he could see him or not. Dunk landed another whack, this one at the intersection between the curve of his buttocks and the beginning of his thighs.
"Two." Aerion breathed between gritted teeth. Duncan landed another lash, to the top of his buttocks this time, and he could feel Aerion's surprise once he jolted at the touch of leather making contact with his skin. A soft "Three." followed, and Dunk could tell that he'd enjoy this a lot more than he had expected.
Duncan raises the belt again, landing five whacks in a quick succession, and the room is quiet; only the sound of the belt making contact with Aerion's buttocks fills the silence — his counting following right after. He decides to give the prince a break after he completes ten lashes, which is when Dunk hears it. It was quiet; if he hadn't stopped to pay attention, he wouldn't have noticed. Aerion sobbed softly, his breathing quickened, and his hands were no longer held together behind his back. Somewhere along the whacking, Aerion had moved his hands to the front, gripping tightly onto one of the couch's cushions.
"We're not done yet, you've got ten to go and then my hand, your grace." Duncan spoke sternly; he didn't want to make the prince feel worse than he already was, but he took no comfort in cruelty.
"Yes, ser, I understand." Aerion breathed out, lips quivering as he tried to keep his voice from breaking.
Duncan was surprised at the sudden show of respect; perhaps the prince should've been spanked earlier if it meant it got this reaction out of him. He'd never seen Aerion behave this politely; he'd even called him ser.
Duncan holds onto the belt tightly, relishing in the power he has now, and he finds that he enjoys it a little more than he should. He moved closer to Aerion, admiring how red his arse was and how some spots were already lightly bruising. He was sure the prince wouldn't be able to sit down comfortably for days after this. He raises the belt again, landing it on an already bruising spot as he watches Aerion move his body forward, a groan following before he counts a loud "Eleven." He lets the pain simmer for a few seconds, knowing that the radiating nerves were wreaking a frenzy in Aerion's body already.
Duncan takes a deep breath before he holds the belt up again. The sound of a swish fills the air as he lands three smacks in quick succession. Aerion counts each one; he no longer hides the fact that he was crying. His lip quivered, and he stuttered during the counting; his sobs filled the room when the sound of the belt didn't.
Duncan lands another hit of the belt, Aerion's body shook violently, his knuckles turning white as he dug his fingers into the cushion once again.
"Fifteen. Ser, please." Aerion begged, his voice soft and tender. He seemed so broken, yet Duncan knew better than to fall for it. He ignores the pleas of the prince, landing three quick lashings of the belt against already reddened skin. He stops before the final one; he'd caught Aerion miscounting. That was the nineteenth smack, Aerion had proclaimed it was the twentieth.
"So, you choose to lie, my prince? You think you can fool me by counting one more? Shall I start from the beginning to teach you a lesson about honesty?" Duncan spoke, holding the belt softly now, letting the buckle dangle and make a sound in the room.
"No! No, please! It was an honest mistake. I'm in too much pain, I could not— please, I'm sorry." Aerion begged, his hands moving to his back to cover his arse in defence, body broken already by the humiliating punishment.
"Move your hands then, one last lashing of the belt and then you can rest before I start with my hand. I shall let you know, I won't remove my armour for it, you'll feel the metal clash against your skin."
Duncan lands the last hit of the belt on an already red and bruised ass. Aerion shakes, his faint whisper barely hearable, "Twenty." he sobs right after, lumping down on the couch as his body goes limp. Duncan moves towards the front, taking in a good look at Aerion. His eyes were glassy and red from crying, and tears still rolled down his cheeks as he bit down on his bottom lip to keep himself from making his sobs too loud. If it weren't for the fact that he had been commanded to deliver twenty lashings, Dunk would've stopped now — he pitied Aerion Targaryen for once.
Duncan sits down on the couch, patting his leg as he watches Aerion nod and slowly crawl towards him. He lay his body on Dunk's thighs, arse up and ready to take the remaining twenty smacks with whatever pride he had left. Soft fingers grip tightly onto Duncan's leg, and Dunk let him; he was already shaking and sobbing; if holding him brought him a semblance of comfort, then so be it.
Duncan lifted his hand and landed two smacks to the sound of quietness in the room. He waited for a minute before he shook his head. Aerion had forgotten to count; the rules were the rules, and as an honourable knight, he had to keep things fair.
"You haven't counted them, your grace. We'll start again."
"No!"
"Count, then."
Duncan lands three smacks in a quick succession, hitting the left buttock before the right and then back on the center. The metal of his armour hit the prince's skin harshly, breaking some of the spots as he watched the imprint of his hand on Aerion's ass. The prince had counted this time, voice breaking during the "Three." Duncan caressed the other's back, showing him a mercy that he was sure Aerion hadn't shown anyone else. "You're doing so good, such a good boy." he muttered, and he saw Aerion nod. It was a small gesture, but he could feel the other's breathing calming a bit.
The following seven smacks were slower. Dunk hit each buttock before moving to the center and then back to the back of Aerion's thighs. It is on the eleventh smack that he feels it, a burst of warm liquid hitting his leg. He looks down and notices the yellow liquid pooling at the bottom of the floor, splashing against his shoes as he shakes his head. Aerion had relieved himself accidentally after the eleventh hit, and he was sure that the prince was aware that Dunk had noticed, as silence filled the room once again. He could feel Aerion's anxiety; his chest rose and fell faster now against Dunk's thigh. His sobs had become louder, and he was sure that the man's cheeks were rosy with shame again.
"Just nine more and we'll be done, you're doing well." Duncan whispered, watching as Aerion gripped his leg tighter and gave him a soft "Yes, ser."
Duncan landed the next five smacks; he wanted to pick spots in which Aerion could bear it better, but his skin was blooming red everywhere. The best Dunk could do was not touch the bruising spots. He lands the following two smacks softly, granting Aerion some kindness. He counts softly now, his voice weak and defeated.
Duncan lands the nineteenth smack on the back of Aerion's legs.
"Nineteen." Aerion breathes before his lip quivers.
Duncan raises his hand again, landing it on the center of Aerion's ass harshly, and he hears Aerion sucking in a breath.
"Twenty."
Duncan dropped the gauntlets of his armour, laying them on the couch. His bare hands now caressed Aerion's back softly, drawing circles as he hushed the prince. He watched as Aerion's breathing calmed, tears still rolled down his cheeks, and Duncan was sure it wouldn't be over soon. One of his hands caresses Aerion's ass, and he removes it once the prince hisses. Duncan lifts up Aerion to sit him on his lap. Aerion instinctively wraps his legs around Duncan, his arms wrapping around him, and his head resting in the crook of Duncan's shoulder.
Duncan kept drawing circles with his palm on Aerion's back.
"It's over now, you're okay. It's over." Duncan muttered, honorary titles be damned. The prince looked too defeated now, too weak to put up a fight, and Duncan just wanted to comfort him — he wanted him to stop crying.
"I'm sorry." Aerion cried, wetting the metal plate on Dunk's shoulder.
"I know. You already paid for it, my prince. You're okay, try to breathe in and out slowly. I'm here, it's over now."
They stayed like that for a minute. Aerion didn't speak, and neither did Duncan; he let the prince control the flow of the room now. He listened closely to make sure Aerion was okay. When he had noticed that he was breathing calmly now and the sobs had subsided, Dunk moved slowly to look down at the prince. Aerion had fallen asleep, cheeks stained with tears, and his arms still wrapped around Duncan. The knight sighed, reaching for the breeches still in Aerion's ankles and dropping them down on the ground. He lifted the prince up and carried him slowly to the chambers adjacent to the solar room in which they were. Duncan laid Aerion down slowly, lying him on his belly on the bed and pulling up the red Targaryen blankets to cover him. He turns around to leave the room when he hears the prince behind him stir.
"Duncan." Aerion whispers, voice sleepy. "Stay, please."