Chapter Text
Dunk watched as Aerion rearranged his nest for the hundredth time, a look of sharp dissatisfaction written across his fine-boned face.
“Give me another one of your tunics,” Aerion snapped. He yanked a pair of Dunk’s old, heavy-spun breeches out of place, wadding them up into a tight roll to use as a pillow. He flopped back, resting his silver head against the rough fabric as he glared up at the ceiling, one hand unconsciously drifting down to trace the seam of his heat-slicked folds.
“Don’t touch,” Dunk ordered from where he squatted on the rim of the nest. He put as much gravel and authority into his voice as he could manage. But he was no alpha—he lacked the commanding rumble that could bring an omega to heel. Aerion usually decided whether to listen to him or not entirely on a whim.
This time, the prince chose to obey. Sulking, he pulled his hand away from his mound and brought it up to his chest instead, pinching and tweaking at his nipple. Dunk merely shook his head, letting it go. He knew better than to think he could win every battle.
“Your tunic,” Aerion repeated. He rolled the flushed bud between his fingers and tugged, his back arching slightly off the bedding. Outside of his heat, Aerion’s chest was hardly sensitive at all—he only let Dunk mouth at his tits out of a mild tolerance rather than actual enjoyment. But during his heat, every square inch of the prince's pale skin seemed alight with nerves.
Dunk sighed but relented. He reached up, shrugging the linen garment over his broad shoulders and handing it across the nest. If he didn’t, Aerion would only pout and gripe until he did anyway.
Aerion snatched it out of his hands. A low, vibrating purr rumbled in the omega’s throat as he buried his face in the fabric, inhaling deeply. “You haven’t washed this lately,” he noted, looking thoroughly pleased.
“Knew your heat was coming up,” Dunk shrugged. “I know what you like.”
The thrum quieted instantly as Aerion’s violet eyes snapped to his, hot and demanding. “If that were true, you’d already be fucking me by now.”
They had done this countless times before. Aerion knew the routine of his heats by heart, but he never accepted the explanation any easier.
“Your heats last too long for me,” Dunk explained patiently, reciting the truth Aerion was well aware of. “If I start spending myself now, I won't have the vigor left to help you when the worst of it hits you.”
He had made that mistake when they were first mated. Back then, Dunk had been eager and naive, taking Aerion as soon as he begged and as often as he pleaded. Though by the end of the day, Dunk’s body had been utterly spent. Exhausted and worn to the bone, he hadn't been able to harden his manhood anymore, leaving Aerion to suffer through the most agonizing throes of his fever alone. Ruined, desperate cries had torn from the prince's throat as he wept and cursed, calling out for a touch Dunk hadn’t the strength to provide.
It had been nearly impossible for Aerion to bear, and almost as hard for Dunk to watch. Dunk the lunk, he’d told himself bitterly back then, thick as a castle wall. He had sworn he would never let it happen again. Over the past few months, they had learned how to temper the flames of Aerion’s body the best that they could.
Aerion grumbled a petulant sound, but he didn’t argue further. He pulled Dunk’s tunic up until it almost completely covered his face. Dunk would have laughed at the absurd sight if he didn't think Aerion would try to claw his eyes out for it.
Still, the lingering scent of Dunk’s sweat and leather seemed to soothe something deep in the omega’s frantic mind. Aerion finally took his hand away from his nipple, which already looked angry and sore from his own rough handling.
“What do I smell like right now?” Aerion demanded from beneath the fabric.
“Like peaches and summer rain,” Dunk answered immediately.
In truth, Dunk could scarce smell a thing. But Aerion took immense pride in his scent and loved to hear how intoxicating it was, so Dunk always obliged him. In the early days of their courting, Dunk had gone so far as to corner Egg, badgering his squire to tell him exactly what the omega smelled of, so he might commit the words to memory. Aerion firmly believed his scent was potent enough to pierce right through Dunk’s dull nose, and Dunk intended to let him believe that lie for the rest of his days.
“Have you ever smelled anything so good?” Aerion preened, peeking out from over the linen collar, his lids hooded as he looked up at him. He was as arrogant as ever, though over time, Dunk had found himself charmed by the vanity instead of annoyed by it.
“No one in the Seven Kingdoms has a scent such as yours,” Dunk promised.
Aerion’s pale cheeks flushed with deep, satisfied pleasure. “Then fuck me,” he demanded again.
Dunk threw his head back with an aggrieved groan. Aerion was going to be particularly difficult this time; that much was already plain.
“Not yet,” Dunk said evenly. Before Aerion could scowl or throw a tantrum, Dunk leaned in closer, his expression turning serious. “How bad is the cramping?”
The sneer forming on Aerion’s face halted before it could fully take shape. He went quiet, actually thinking it over through the haze of his rising fever.
“Tolerable,” he said grudgingly. “But it’s getting worse.” His voice caught a bit at the end, thin and strained, and Dunk knew he was telling the truth.
“Right then,” Dunk said, bracing his hands on his knees as he stood up from his squatted position. His joints gave a loud pop that made Aerion mutter and roll his eyes. “You want me to rub you?”
Aerion’s eyes darkened, and Dunk quickly corrected his careless wording. “Your stomach,” he said firmly. “That’s all.”
Aerion huffed but nodded, his eyes tracking Dunk as he moved into the nest. Dunk shifted until he was sitting cross-legged right at Aerion’s hip. Compared to the slender, pale lines of the omega, Dunk felt like a mountain of muscle and sun-browned skin.
“Lie flat,” Dunk instructed, reaching out.
Aerion did so, and immediately spread his legs, flattening his back against the wadded-up breeches and letting his knees fall open in an unspoken invitation.
Dunk ignored the invitation for now, keeping his focus strictly on the tight, trembling muscles of Aerion's abdomen. He brought his other hand down, placing both palms flat against the prince's lower belly, right above the groins where the heat cramps always dug their claws in deepest.
“You said it did not hurt too badly,” Dunk murmured, noting how Aerion hissed against his touch.
“I can handle it,” Aerion bit out, though he winced as Dunk began to apply more pressure.
Dunk didn't just pat him; he used his weight, pressing down firmly with the heels of his hands in slow, circular motions. A ragged, high-pitched gasp caught in Aerion’s throat. His fingers flew to Dunk’s thick wrists, his nails digging hard into the skin, but Dunk didn't even flinch. He just kept the rhythm steady—press, circle, release. Press, circle, release.
“Better?” Dunk asked, watching the tense lines around Aerion’s mouth begin to soften.
“Mmm,” Aerion hummed, a low sound building in his chest. He tilted his hips up, trying to force Dunk’s hands lower. “More. Push harder, Dunk.”
“I’ve got it,” Dunk said. He shifted his weight forward, leaning over Aerion so that the wall of his chest blocked out the drafty air of the room, creating a warm, enclosed canopy over the nest. He let his thumbs slide out to work the tight muscles of Aerion’s hip, using a heavy kneading motion he’d used a hundred times on stiff horses, not that Aerion would care for the comparison.
Under the relentless efforts of Dunk’s huge hands, the tension in Aerion’s belly finally began to unravel. Although as it did so, the slick between his thighs began to flow more freely, pooling onto the sheets, and another purr—thick and loud—started to vibrate through the prince's ribs.
It felt like a small victory. Dunk didn’t slacken his pace, keeping the heavy heels of his palms pressed firmly into Aerion’s lower abdomen, working out the knots that the heat-fever kept trying to tie.
But with the pain receding, Dunk took note of how Aerion’s keen mind quickly pivoted back to its primary fixation.
“Dunk,” Aerion breathed, as he stopped Dunk's hands and trapped them against his stomach. “It doesn’t hurt now. Inside… it just feels empty. So empty.”
“I know,” Dunk said carefully, cautious of Aerion's next move. He didn't pull his hands away from the prince’s torso, keeping him anchored to the bed. “But we’re still waiting.”
“Fuck waiting,” Aerion snarled, the sweetness vanishing as a desperate edge returned to his voice. He reached up, his slender fingers wrapping around Dunk’s massive forearms, trying—and utterly failing—to pull the giant beta down on top of him. “I am dripping, you thick-skulled beast. Look at me. Touch me. If you won’t give me your manhood, use your fingers. Please.”
That last word was practically choked out, a rare, bruised admission of need that Aerion would undoubtedly make him pay for once the heat was over.
Dunk looked down at him. Aerion’s thighs were trembling, completely spread, the milky skin flushed a deep, petal-pink. Dunk knew that if he kept refusing entirely, Aerion would start thrashing and rubbing himself raw against the coarse sheets out of sheer frustration, which would only make the next few hours a misery for both of them.
A compromise was needed. Something to take the sting off the fever without costing Dunk his stamina.
“Alright,” Dunk murmured, relenting just enough to make Aerion’s eyes light up with sudden triumph. “Alright, keep still. You can use my fingers, but that’s all for now. You hear me?”
“Yes, yes, anything,” Aerion chanted breathlessly, his hips already twitching in anticipation.
Dunk slowly shifted his weight, sliding one hand down from Aerion’s belly. His large hand looked utterly ridiculous against the omega’s slit, but he used his broad fingers to spread the prince open a bit wider, exposing his weeping folds that were hot to the touch.
Dunk didn't rush. He spit on his middle finger first, mixing it with the copious amounts of Aerion’s slick, and then gently pressed the pad of his finger past the tight, puckered opening.
Aerion gasped, his toes curling into the mattress as Dunk slowly, deliberately pushed the first knuckle inside.
“By the Seven, you’re tight,” Dunk grunted, his brow furrowing as he met the intense, clamping resistance of Aerion’s internal muscles. Even in heat, Aerion’s body wanted to be difficult. “Relax for me. Breathe through it.”
“Shut up and keep going,” Aerion gritted out, his hands flying up to cover his face as Dunk steadily buried the finger to the hilt, immediately followed by a second.
Dunk’s two fingers, thick and calloused from years of gripping a sword hilt, felt like they were about to split Aerion’s tight channel, yet the prince welcomed the intrusion with a desperate, impatient rolling tilt of his hips.
“Slow,” Dunk rumbled as he held his hand still, letting Aerion’s body adjust to the stretch. “You’ll tear yourself if you rush it, Aerion.”
Aerion let out a high, fractured whine from beneath his hands, his silver hair matting against his neck as a fresh wave of sweat broke across his forehead. “Don't... don't stop. Move them, Dunk. Please.”
Satisfied that the omega’s slick was flowing freely enough to ease the friction, Dunk began a slow, hooked motion, curling his fingers upward to find the sensitive, swollen ridge he knew hid just past the entrance.
The reaction was instantaneous. Aerion’s back arched starkly off the bedding, an undone, broken cry tearing from his throat. His legs shook violently, his knees flaring wider as he tried to impale himself deeper on Dunk’s hand. The petulant, arrogant prince was entirely gone, replaced by a creature of pure need.
“Ah, Dunk—Dunk—” Aerion keened, his fingernails digging mercilessly into Dunk’s forearm, leaving angry red crescents in their wake. The vibrating purr in his chest had shattered into a series of breathless, needy pants.
“You’re doing well,” Dunk murmured, leaning down lower so his broad chest brushed against Aerion’s stiffened nipples. The contact made the prince shiver violently. “Just like that. Let it out.”
With every stroke, more of the thick slick slid down Dunk’s hand until it was entirely coated, the heat of the omega’s core radiating straight through his knuckles. It was a temporary fix, a minor relief for a fever that had a ways to go, but it was working.
After a few more minutes of the steady, unyielding rhythm, Aerion’s body suddenly bucked, his eyes flying open as a hard, trembling release rippled through his lower half. The tension bled from his frame, and he slumped back into the nest, his chest heaving as if he had run a league, leaving him dazed and heavy-lidded.
Dunk carefully withdrew his fingers, taking care not to snag the tender skin, and wiped his hand on a cloth he kept near the bedside. He shifted back to his spot beside him, pulling the prince halfway into his lap and running his fingers through his tangled hair, carding through the damp locks as Aerion's eyes began to flutter shut, exhausted by the brief respite from the pain.
“If you leave I’ll kill you,” Aerion mumbled, his voice thick with sleep and the lingering dregs of the fever.
Dunk chuckled softly, settling in for the long watch. “I’m not going anywhere.”