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The thing that existed between Daeron and his brother was strange, and had always been so, coming and going in fits and starts. Affection waxed and waned, adoration butted heads with vicious jealousy. Daeron had learned to tiptoe around Aerion’s foul moods, his unpredictable, ever-changing temperament, but he still sometimes found himself caught off guard.
Now, he was out of practice. Three months had passed since he last saw his brother. He’d forgotten how to navigate this relationship; the ease they’d once had had withered and died. He shrunk under his brother’s appraising gaze. Facing Aerion was like staring down a predator, something wicked and fanged.
His brother looked on him sweetly, though, and it was obvious that Aerion had missed him. He’d even hugged him upon Daeron’s shy approach, and nuzzled against his neck, breathing in his scent. Daeron should be angry—he wanted to be angry—but he couldn’t manage it. Couldn’t scrounge up an ounce of animosity. There was no misdeed too large, it seemed, when it came to his little brother.
Still, Daeron’s heart pounded hard in his chest, his pulse beating in the tips of his fingers. He forced his hands not to shake as he reached for the delicate cup of tea and took a slow, careful sip.
Aerion looked put together in his high-necked sweater, his woolen coat, his smart shoes. Daeron had made an effort, but there was nothing to do about the rings around his eyes or his sallow cheeks.
“How’s Valarr?” Aerion asked, running the tip of his pointer finger along the rim of his own cup, pretty floral porcelain.
“Good,” he said, though in truth, he had no idea. He tried to make himself scarce, not to step on any toes. Valarr’s wife, as sweet as she is, was likely sick of him skulking around their house, although she’d never say so.
“You should come over on Friday,” Aerion said. He took a sip of tea, watching Daeron over the rim of his cup. “We’ll cook for you.”
Truthfully, nothing sounded worse. It was hard enough to sit across from his brother. He couldn’t imagine going back to the apartment that used to be his and Dunk’s and watching the two of them hanging off of each other, stewing in his own awkward misery. Not too long ago, it would’ve been Daeron inviting Aerion over, not the other way around.
He worked to keep his face from screwing up in distaste. He cleared his throat and set his cup down with a soft clink against the saucer, his hand trembling slightly. “Maybe.”
“Daeron,” Aerion huffed, exhaling sharply from his nose. Daeron’s eyes snapped up immediately, wide, like he’d been caught doing something wrong.
Even though he was the eldest, it had never felt that way. Aerion had always taken charge, and Daeron was happy to follow. Aerion had always seemed utterly unaffected by his designation, proud of it, even, while Daeron felt confined by it. He never knew if his meekness was learned or ingrained, but it couldn’t be shaken off. Submission came as easy as breathing.
“Let’s go back to how things were.” Aerion leant forward, a frown tugging at his lips. His hand brushed against Daeron’s where it rested on the table, but he didn’t take hold of it. “We miss you.”
At that, Daeron couldn’t keep his face from contorting. His chest constricted tightly, a fresh torrent of pain washing over him at the thought of the tortuous final few months of their relationship. He ducked his head, cheeks heating, tears pricking at his eyes. He missed them too, so much that he didn’t know what to do with himself. It was practically all he thought about anymore; their strange, fractured relationship. It had been good, once, until his little brother had wormed his way in between Daeron and Dunk. And even then, sometimes, it was still sweet, but the how things were that Aerion wanted wasn’t the how things were that Daeron did.
He gave one small shake of his head. “No,” he managed, his throat tight. “No, Aerion.”
It was cruel to do this here, somewhere so public. But when he gave it a moment of thought, of course Aerion had done it on purpose. Take him down a peg, after Daeron’d had the gall to up and leave them.
It wasn’t as if he was doing well. He’d become utterly pathetic, hiding away in his cousin’s spare bedroom and drinking himself sick every night. His drinking—which had really always been a problem, but one he’d had a handle on under Dunk’s guidance—was beginning to get out of hand. The dreams had increased in frequency, and in turn, so had his drinking. His work performance was abysmal. If not for the incredible benefit of nepotism, he would’ve been fired a long time ago.
“Duncan really wants to see you.”
A sharp ache, the twist of a blade. Just the mention of Dunk set him off, like prodding at a raw wound. He scrubbed at his eyes before any tears could fall. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“It’s just a suggestion,” Aerion said softly. His hand that had lingered against Daeron’s finally took hold of him. Daeron’s grip immediately went tight, but Aerion didn’t retract his hand.
“I don’t–” Daeron’s breath caught sharply. “I can’t just forget what happened.”
“I know,” Aerion nodded. “He knows.”
There was no apology. Aerion had never apologized for what happened, not once. For squirming his way into Daeron’s relationship and stealing his alpha out from under him.
He hadn’t meant to, Daeron had to remind himself. That wasn’t his intention. It just worked out that way.
It had worked for a while, the three of them, before things soured and jealousy festered. Then it was all Dunk keeping the peace and breaking up their arguments, Daeron and Aerion at each other’s throats all the time, and Aerion always, always got his way in the end.
Then there was their failed attempt at making a pack, the bites that had only worked two ways. The string that had taken hold between Dunk and Aerion, and firmly excluded Daeron for reasons that none of them understood, but cut Daeron deeply regardless.
Daeron’s gaze caught on the neck of Aerion’s sweater. The collar was high enough to mostly hide the bite on his neck, but it just barely peeked out, taunting him, a shimmering pink impression of Dunk’s maw. A healthy, successful bond. On the opposite side lay Daeron’s bite, which was likely still visible, but would fade away entirely in time. Daeron’s already were, after they’d festered and swelled. After he’d finished a round of antibiotics and suffered through a bout of rejection sickness.
He recoiled, retracting his hand from Aerion’s grasp. Suddenly he felt sickly, too hot, humiliated. He couldn’t make himself meet Aerion’s gaze.
He felt eyes on him from all sides, and couldn’t tell if they were real or imagined. Did they look like brothers, to an unaware eye? Aerion with his white hair, Daeron with his muddied blond. Could everyone in this cafe see what they were? Was their perverse relationship plain to see?
Aerion’s foot nudged his beneath the table.
He cleared his throat, tried to make his voice come out steady. “No. I don’t think I can.”
“Please.” Aerion never begged, and the tone of his voice was enough to make Daeron lift his head. A little pinch had formed between his brows. Daeron wanted to reach across the table and smooth it out. “Please, Daeron. For me.”
Aerion went on, when Daeron stayed silent. “Fine, not for me,” he said, a little snippy. “For Duncan.”
Aerion always called him that: Duncan, though Daeron knew that Dunk preferred his nickname. He must not mind, when it was Aerion. Always the exception.
Daeron dropped his head into his hands, rubbing at his temples. “Do you want me to be miserable, Aerion? Is that it?”
“No, Daeron,” Aerion snapped, irritation slipping into his tone. “I want to fix things. Don’t you want to try?”
Yes. More than anything. He thought of little else. He had nothing else, nothing left, no reason to be. He felt unmoored without the two of them, his brother and his alpha, the two most important people in his life. The most dear to him.
He stood abruptly, his chair squeaking against the floor as it was pushed away. “I have to go,” he said, gathering his things with shaking hands. “I’ll– see you.”
He turned for the door before Aerion could get up, protest or try and hug him again. He couldn’t lift his gaze from the floor, couldn’t breathe until the door of the cafe closed behind him.
Daeron went back to Valarr’s house, and drank until the sharp ache in his chest melted away.
—
When they were little, Daeron and Aerion shared a bedroom. In the first house they’d lived in with Mother and Father, before Aemon and Egg and the girls came along and they had to move into a bigger place.
When he was young, and would wake in the night from a bad dream, he’d tiptoe into his parent's bedroom. Maekar knew without asking what was wrong, and would open his arms to him, and Daeron would cuddle up beside him, safe in his father’s arms, listening to his mother’s soft breaths.
Aerion always made his way there shortly after, squeezing in beside them, even though Daeron was careful not to wake him when he left their shared bedroom. Aerion could sense, he guessed, that Daeron had left him.
Aerion could never let him have anything to himself, even then. He was always right on his heels.
Just let me have this one thing, Daeron remembered thinking, the first time Aerion had met Dunk after coming back from Lys unannounced. Dunk, who felt like the first thing that had truly belonged to Daeron, and Daeron alone. He’d watched Aerion’s face carefully, and saw the interest blossom there. I’ll share everything else, but not this.
But then he had, of course.
—
When Friday came, he spent the entire day sick with nerves. He skipped work, he drank, and he clung to the toilet bowl.
A pit had formed in his stomach the moment he woke, and refused to leave, thinking about what was to come later. In the early afternoon, his phone light up with a text from Aerion. He groaned aloud and buried it under his pillow.
7:00. Come.
At 4, he managed to get himself into the shower. He spent a long time standing under the hot spray, and an equally long time sitting on the floor of his closet, pondering what to wear. Most of his clothes were still back at his and Dunk’s apartment. Most of his stuff, actually, was still there. He’d only packed a single suitcase when he left, and he’d only gone back once while the two of them were out to grab a few things. Importantly, there was a shirt of Dunk’s that lived under his bed, wrapped up in a plastic sack to preserve the scent, which he only brought out on particularly bad days.
He went back and forth with himself, splayed out on the floor, debating whether or not he should actually go. Did he want to open that door again? Allow himself to be hurt anew? He already loathed himself for becoming something so pathetic. Helpless, without the two of them to buoy him.
He pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, and left the house with nothing but his phone. He walked without a destination in mind, walked until 7 o’clock had long passed. He ended up at a park, and made endless loops around the perimeter of it, growing warm in his hoodie despite the cold, wired with nervous energy. His phone began to buzz every few minutes, but he didn’t pull it from his pocket.
It wasn’t exactly safe, wandering around a park by himself in the dark. He was unmated, and his scent reflected that—and besides, he probably reeked of distress and vulnerability. An easy target, begging to be taken advantage of. He didn’t have an alpha to scold him for that kind of thing anymore, his ill-thought-out, reckless decisions. He was prone to self-destruction, without someone there to keep him on track.
Finally, when he tired, he settled down on a park bench and buried his head in his hands. His feet tingled from the exertion. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and groaned. His head pounded from the ceaseless nagging of his thoughts. He wished he’d brought his flask.
“Daeron.”
Daeron’s head snapped up. Up, up, until his eyes landed on Dunk’s. He was wearing that expression that he always did when Daeron had done something he disapproved of, his mouth set in a grim little line. At least he looked worried, and not angry at being stood up.
At the sight of him, his boyfriend, his alpha, he wanted to fling himself into Dunk’s arms. Bury his nose against his neck and breathe in his scent, which he had missed so terribly. Except that wasn’t what Dunk was to him anymore. This was his brother’s alpha. His brother’s boyfriend.
“What are you doing here?” Daeron asked, voice ragged.
“I still have your location on my phone.”
Daeron blinked. His cheeks grew warm. “Oh.”
Had they watched him make his loops around the park? Did they watch him often, his trek to work, back to Valarr’s house, again and again, with little deviation? His sad little life without them.
He felt his defenses go up. Suddenly, the anger he’d been unable to muster for all of those months reared its head.
“I’m not coming.” He stood, and started back in the direction he’d come from. “Just go, Dunk.”
“Daeron.” Dunk grabbed him by the arm, stopping him in place, forcing Daeron to face him. “Wait. Talk to me.”
His eyes pricked with tears as soon as he looked up at Dunk, saw the hurt that painted his face. Dunk was an easy read, could never quite manage to mask what he was feeling. A lump formed in Daeron’s throat, humiliation curling low in his gut. He felt stupid. This was stupid.
“Why are you out here by yourself?” Dunk asked, voice impossibly tender, the hint of a scolding buried in there. He reached up a hand to cup Daeron’s cheek. Swiped away a tear as it slipped free.
“You’re not—” he started, but thought better of it. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
“I always worry about you, Daeron,” Dunk frowned, shaking his head. “You scared me. Aerion, too.”
Daeron tried to look away, to dislodge Dunk’s hand, but his grip on Daeron’s chin tighted, forcing Daeron to look at him.
“Why didn’t you come?”
Daeron set his jaw. “I was afraid.”
Dunk’s frown deepened. “What’s there to be afraid of? It’s just us.”
Daeron exhaled heavily. A fresh headache bloomed at the base of his skull. He wanted to give in. Go back, let himself be hurt. He always fell prey to Aerion; his wants, his games, his manipulation. He was incapable of resisting it. That was why it was best to get away, to put distance between himself and his brother, but there was always that pull, insistently tugging him closer. He didn’t know how to be without him. When Aerion had been gone those two years, Daeron felt as he did now. Untethered, aimless.
No one knew him the way Aerion did, saw all of him, down to the core, and understood. He could fish out Daeron’s private thoughts as if they flowed freely from his own mind to Aerion’s. He could always sense what Daeron was feeling, reading his mood at a glance.
Dunk’s hand left his chin, trailing down to nudge the neckline of Daeron’s hoodie aside, seeking out his scent gland, rubbing his thumb over the sensitive skin there. It felt so good that Daeron immediately melted into the touch, and let his head fall against Dunk’s chest.
“He’s gonna kill me if I come back without you, you know. And he isn’t going to give up. You can’t run away forever,” Dunk mumbled against the crown of Daeron’s head, an arm winding around his waist to keep him close. “I want you back, too.”
“You two–” he started, cut off by a small gasp as Dunk’s thumb dug in, just on the edge of being too harsh. “I left. Just leave me alone.” He sounded unconvincing even to his own ears.
Dunk shook his head. His hand slid around to cup the back of Daeron’s neck, slipping beneath his hoodie. The threat of a scruffing; forced compliance, though Dunk had rarely ever resorted to that before.
“Pup,” Dunk cooed. He took in Daeron’s pained expression, running his thumb over his trembling bottom lip. “Please. I miss you.”
Daeron was weak. Even at his best, his willpower came in short supply. And now, he was far from his best. It was easier to give in, always, always. It seemed to him that he was only good at giving into the things that harmed him.
He pulled away, taking Dunk by the wrist. He set off for the parking lot, where Dunk’s car waited.
—
He felt sick the entire drive there, even with Dunk’s hand resting on his thigh, making easy, one-sided conversation. He didn’t seem to mind that he was the only one speaking.
His stomach twisted as they pulled into the parking garage, as Dunk opened his door and helped him out of the car, as he led him to the elevator. His body thrummed with nerves, alight beneath his skin, even with Dunk’s constant touch to soothe him. Dunk wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him close, leaning in to breathe in Daeron’s scent—likely tinged with his distress, but Dunk made no complaint. Dunk’s own scent came bright and content, entirely at ease.
“You’re alright,” Dunk told him. Daeron watched the numbers tick up, up, before the elevator lurched to a halt.
He was planted in place when the doors opened. “I’m afraid,” he managed, biting at the inside of his cheek. His eyes were damp already, tears threatening to spill. “He’s going to be angry.”
Dunk didn’t even try to deny that. “Only for a little while,” he said. He reached out to cup Daeron’s cheek. “We’ll fix everything.”
Dunk finally coaxed him out of the elevator, keeping hold of Daeron’s hand like he’d turn and run if not for the contact. He pulled him along to the apartment that used to be just theirs, the two of them, until Aerion had come back and strong-armed his way back into Daeron’s life. Squeezed right back into the spot that he used to occupy, new additions—Dunk—be damned; he’d take those, too. Whatever was Daeron’s was also Aerion’s by default.
He was silent as Dunk unlocked the door, gnawing at his cheek so hard that he tasted blood.
When Dunk ushered him in, he was hit in the face by their combined scents, potent after so long away from the smell. It looked as it had when he left. Clean, because Aerion wouldn’t have it any other way. The mess from whatever they’d had for dinner had been tidied up, kitchen lights flicked off. A small, beautifully decorated cake sat beneath a glass dome on the countertop, untouched.
It was quiet, and Aerion was nowhere to be seen.
He turned to Dunk, “Where…?”
“Come on.”
Dunk led him through the living room, towards their bedroom. His stomach churned as they neared the closed door. He had the strong urge to run in the opposite direction.
“Dunk, wait,” he said, catching his hand when Dunk reached for the doorknob.
“It’s alright, pup,” he soothed, and pushed the door open.
Daeron’s eyes went to him immediately. Aerion was sat in a plush armchair in the corner of the room. The table lamp beside him was the only source of light in the room, and it lit the side of Aerion’s face in a way that, at first glance, made him look sweet, girlish, his long, white lashes casting shadows across his cheeks. He was curled up on the chair, his legs tucked up against his chest, wearing one of Dunk’s well-worn t-shirts and a pair of lacy pajama shorts, a beat-up paperback held open between thumb and pinky finger. Deceptively cute.
Daeron went still, frozen in the doorframe. Dunk’s hand settled at the small of his back, urging him forward, but Daeron pressed back against it.
Aerion looked up, and Daeron’s breath caught in his throat. His expression was unreadable. He unhurriedly dog-eared his page and set the book on the side table.
It was strange; Daeron had seen him only a few short days ago. But here, now, he felt even more unnerved than he had at the cafe. They were now decidedly in Aerion’s playing field.
Aerion waved him over, not unkindly. “Come, Daeron.”
Dunk urged him forward by the hand on his back. Daeron took slow, wary steps, until he stood before his brother. Aerion’s gaze was unflinching, at ease. Daeron couldn’t look him in the eyes, keeping his eyes firmly on Aerion’s mouth. He felt like a child presenting his parents with a bad report card. Waiting for the inevitable scolding. His hands trembled at his sides.
Any fire he’d had, any anger, was extinguished as he stood before him, wilting under Aerion’s regard.
He knew without being told what Aerion expected of him. Slowly, he sank to his knees. Cushioned by the expensive rug that Aerion had chosen when he moved in and redecorated. He flushed crimson, shifting his weight until he found a comfortable position.
Aerion made a small, pleased sound. “Good boy, Daeron.”
His hand sank into Daeron’s hair, patting him like a dog. Daeron’s eyes slipped shut, warming with Aerion’s praise. He resented himself for being delighted by it.
He leaned in closer. Rested his head against Aerion’s knee, nuzzling his cheek against his brother’s leg. Aerion’s hand stayed in his hair, stroking him sweetly. Scratching lightly at his scalp, petting his hair away from his face, tucking the loose strands behind his ears.
How fast I’m broken down by him, he thought, with a great helping of disgust. How pitiful.
Still, he couldn’t help but think that this was where he belonged. At his brother’s feet. It was as if everything that had been knocked off-kilter was suddenly righted.
Even without looking, he could sense the ongoing silent communication between Dunk and Aerion above him.
“Daeron, sweetling,” Aerion called, and Daeron’s head shot up, eyes imploring. Eager to please, to mend. Aerion cupped his cheek. “You know you need to be punished,” he said, his mouth set into a little moue, falsely piteous. “Don’t you?”
Daeron flushed brighter. Unease settled in his gut, but he knew how this went. It would hurt, but it would make things right. It would mend his mistake. He couldn’t manage words, but he gave a short nod.
“That’s right.” Aerion gave him a small smile, stroking his cheek with the pad of his thumb. Looking into Daeron’s watery eyes with tenderness. “Can you lie over the bed for me? Duncan will help you.”
Before Daeron could respond, Dunk was helping him to his feet by a grip on his arm. Daeron blinked up at him, already dazed before they’d even begun. Dunk gave him a kind smile, told him that he was doing well. He led Daeron over to the bed, stopping him before he could pitch himself over it.
“Wait, wait.” He reached for the hem of Daeron’s hoodie, tugging it over his head, then his t-shirt. He shucked down Daeron’s pants and underwear in one go, helping him step out of them, and tugged off his socks, leaving him bare. Gooseflesh pimpled on his skin at the sudden chill.
Dunk sat himself on the edge of the bed first, then pulled Daeron in, guiding him over his lap. It was a not-unfamiliar position, but it had been some time. He made a little sound, half-pleased by the contact, half-afraid of what was to come. Elation slotted right up alongside fear.
“Very good, Daeron,” Dunk praised, rubbing his hand along Daeron’s back. “So good, pup.”
Daeron reached for his hand, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss at Dunk’s knuckles, humming against his skin. This is what they did to him: made him stupid with pleasure, with the need to please in turn. This was how pathetic he was, how soft, how spineless. Only a few words and a tender touch, and his brain was gone to mush and he was putty in their hands.
He tensed at Aerion’s approach, the light pad of his footsteps across the rug. He sidled right up behind Daeron, his thighs brushing against Daeron’s own. He cupped the swell of Daeron’s ass and gave it a harsh grab. Daeron didn’t protest aside from a surprised little gasp, but he nuzzled more firmly against Dunk. Dunk’s free hand, the one that Daeron wasn’t holding, came to rest against the small of his back once again.
Aerion released him. Stepped back.
“Your belt, Duncan.”
At that, Daeron pushed himself up, but Dunk’s hold on him tightened, keeping him in place. “Wait, no. No, just your hand,” he pleaded, his voice already warbling, trying to crane his neck around to see Aerion. “Please, Aerion.”
“No,” Aerion said firmly, with a small shake of his head. “You’ve earned it.”
Dunk tugged his hand out of Daeron’s grasp. Then there was the soft clinking sound of Dunk’s belt being unclasped, being pulled through the loops of his pants. Daeron shifted his weight from foot to foot, toes sinking into the plush rug. He couldn’t keep still, pushing against Dunk’s grip just to test the weight of it.
Dunk repositioned him so that he was more firmly laid over his lap, adjusting the angle to make it easier for Aerion to strike him. He swung a leg over both of Daeron’s, trapping him firmly in place.
“Dunk,” Daeron whined pitifully, clutching at the duvet. His heart rabbited against the walls of his chest.
Dunk shushed him, rubbing at his bare back. “You’re alright, sweetling. It’ll be over soon. We’ll take care of you.”
He knew. He knew that he only had to grit his teeth and bear it. He knew that the pain would absolve him. That was how it had always been, even when it had been their father doling out the punishment. He still dreaded it. Still wished it didn’t have to be this way.
His body tensed in expectation. He flinched when the belt sliced through the air, Aerion testing his swing. It tapped lightly against the back of his thighs, once, twice.
Then there was the sharp swish, and it landed across his ass, leather biting skin. A sharp, stinging streak of pain. He groaned into the duvet, pitching up on his toes. Before he had a chance to recover, the belt came down again, landing an inch higher than the last strike. Again, and again, painting his ass bright red.
Aerion was small, by far the shortest and slimmest of their trio, but he was strong, and his strikes were unforgiving. Dunk, on the few occasions where he’d spanked Daeron, was far more merciful, and weak to his cries.
By the tenth strike, Daeron was letting out pitiful moans, crying in earnest. The belt caught the tops of his thighs, eliciting a yelp with the bright-white slash of pain.
He realized belatedly that he was mumbling breathy apologies. “I’m sorry, ‘m sorry, forgive me—”
Aerion paused, rubbing his hand over Daeron’s heated skin. “I know it hurts,” he said with a put-on tenderness. The belt tapped against his ass lightly, lazily. “But you deserve it, don’t you? Leaving us like that. Ignoring my invitation. Making Duncan come after you.” He clicked his tongue, chiding. “That was childish, Daeron. That was naughty.”
“Yes,” Daeron cried, his chest hitching with sobs. “Yes, I deserve it, yes. I’m sorry, so sorry.”
His cock was hard against Dunk’s thigh, his cunt slick. He jerked his hips, rubbing himself against the fabric of Dunk’s pants, his muscled thigh.
Aerion gave him a sharp, cruel swat. “Behave.”
“I’m sorry,” he sniffed, stilling his hips. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
Aerion picked it back up, settling into a rhythm once again. “I know, sweetling. I know you are.” Three harsh strikes, without any pause. “You won’t do anything like that again, hm? Run off on us.”
“No,” he shook his head, cheek pressed to the bed, tears flowing freely. “No, no. No, I’ll– I’ll be good.”
Aerion delivered a swat so harsh that a loud crack echoed throughout the room, bouncing off the walls. Daeron’s breath caught, his muscles going taut. On an exhale, he let out a pitiful cry, trembling terribly. His legs were shaking with the effort of standing upright, even with Dunk holding him.
“Poor thing,” Dunk cooed sympathetically. He rubbed Daeron’s abused backside. Daeron jumped at the contact, hips canting. “That was mean, Aerion.”
“We’re nearly done.”
Dunk’s hand left him. He adjusted Daeron’s position so that his ass was higher in the air. The burn was terrible, and he reached back to rub at his reddened skin, but Dunk caught his wrist before he could reach it. “No, baby,” he admonished gently, and pinned Daeron’s wrist against his back.
“It hurts,” he blubbered. His eyes were blurry with tears, his face wet. “It hurts, Dunk, please.”
Before Dunk could offer him any comfort, the belt was back. Each strike was harder than the last, unrelenting, and thoroughly covered every inch of skin. He jumped with each swat, his hands curling into fists, nails biting into the skin of his palms.
Aerion went on until Daeron stopped flinching, until he went limp in Dunk’s lap, crying brokenly. Only then, when Daeron had lost count of how many hits he’d taken without pause, did Aerion stop. The belt was tossed aside, buckle clattering against the floor.
Then there were hands upon him, rubbing over his heated skin, up along his back, which shuddered with his cries. Aerion’s hands were on his backside, admiring his work. He’d be badly bruised soon enough. Dunk leant down to pepper kisses along his neck, his scent gland, the marred skin where two fading bites were imprinted.
“That was very good, Daeron,” he said, stroking Daeron’s hair. “You did well.”
He felt too warm, and his skin was slick. Even as the praise and the touch soothed him, he couldn’t stop his crying. His cunt was dripping slick, leaving a wet patch on Dunk’s pants. He felt starved, a hunger so deep he felt delirious. The scent of Dunk and Aerion’s arousal came strong once he’d taken note of it. He lifted his hips, standing on the tips of his toes, displaying himself.
He heard Aerion laugh behind him; a hard-won sound, from him. “Alright. Put him on the bed.”
Dunk wormed his way out from under Daeron, and then he was being tugged up onto the bed. That was something he’d always liked about Dunk; it didn’t matter that Daeron was large himself, bigger than most omegas, Dunk could still lug him about easily enough.
He was laid flat on his back in the middle of the bed, head resting against the pillows. He reached out for them blindly, hardly seeing through his tears, but then Aerion’s hands were on either side of his chest, holding him down.
“Be still,” he said. Not unkindly, but firm. “Lie still, Daeron. Duncan’s coming.”
He let his hands drop to the bed, crying pitifully. He wanted to hold his brother. He wanted to be held. “Aerion,” he whimpered.
“I know, sweetling.” Aerion brushed Daeron’s hair away from his face. “Be patient.”
Suddenly, his legs were tossed over a broad shoulder, lifting his hips from the bed. Aerion shoved a pillow beneath him, and he was settled back down to rest atop it, his hips now elevated. Large hands spread his thighs apart, and Dunk settled into the space between them.
Daeron blinked rapidly, clearing his blurry vision. Dunk was still clothed. Aerion had taken his shorts off, but he still wore Dunk’s t-shirt, which fell to mid-thigh, hiding his cunt and cocklet. Daeron felt terribly vulnerable, laid out and bare as he was, leaking slick onto the sheets.
He reached out for Dunk, wanting him near. Dunk pressed a kiss to Daeron’s bent knee, but came no closer.
Instead, Aerion crawled atop him, straddling his waist. Daeron blinked up at him owlishly, hands automatically going to Aerion’s waist, steadying him.
Aerion had a smug look on his face, mouth curved in a wicked little grin. He took Daeron’s face in his hands, and leaned down to kiss him. With Aerion, it was often rough, hungry. Commanding. Daeron lay back and took what he was given, responding as he knew Aerion liked. Submitting. Whining when Aerion bit at his lip, when their teeth clanked against each other’s. His hard cock bumped against Aerion’s backside, along the smooth, uninjured skin of his ass.
He melted against the mattress, his head suddenly empty of worry, of the distress that had plagued him for the past few months. Aerion would make things right, he knew. Aerion always took care of him.
When Aerion pulled back, he was still grinning. “I missed you,” he said, rubbing the tips of their noses together. “Stay.”
A command, not a request. Daeron was bereft of words, but he nodded dutifully.
Aerion reached behind himself, and without words, took Daeron’s cock in hand. Daeron gasped at the touch, his hands tightening on Aerion’s waist. Aerion lifted himself up, and guided Daeron’s cock to his cunt.
For an omega, Daeron was well-endowed. Aerion was puny in comparison—his cock practically useless, nothing more than a pretty bauble—though Dunk dwarfed them both. Daeron had come to appreciate his length for this exact reason. He’d gotten little use out of his cock, when it’d been just he and Dunk. It was as if it were meant for Aerion, and Aerion alone.
They let out a twin groan as Aerion sunk down, the wet, warm heat of him encasing Daeron. Daeron let his head fall back against the pillows.
He cried out when Dunk shoved two fingers inside of him without preamble, hips jerking up, sending himself deeper inside of Aerion. Aerion yelped, putting a hand to Daeron’s chest to hold himself up.
He’d nearly forgotten about Dunk. He couldn’t see his hands, with Aerion obscuring his view. He worked his thick fingers in and out, fucking Daeron open. His jaw was set, his gaze hungry, focused on the spot between Daeron’s legs.
Already, he felt overstimulated. His hands twitched at Aerion’s sides. His eyes were damp once again. He’d always been quick to cry, and Aerion had always liked it, provoking him just to watch his eyes grow damp.
Aerion was watching him now, his mouth slack. He’d worked himself down to the base of Daeron’s cock. It wasn’t particularly difficult for him; he took Dunk regularly, and Daeron was no match for Dunk. But he didn’t rise up on his thighs to fuck himself on Daeron’s cock. Instead, he bent forward, burying his face in the crook of Daeron’s neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there.
Daeron’s hands slid to Aerion’s back, brushing along the knobs of his spine, holding him close. The familiar scent of him was comforting. Their scents were similar, the smoke and iron of near-all Targaryens despite designation, though Aerion’s leaned floral, while Daeron had an undertone of something hearty and warm.
Dunk worked in a third finger, fucking him open brusquely. He was dimly grateful that Dunk bothered to stretch him at all; he hadn’t even taken his own fingers as of late, libido drained out of him with all of his recent wallowing.
He hooked a foot around Dunk’s waist. “‘s good,” he mumbled. “Enough.”
Dunk hummed in acknowledgment, withdrawing his fingers. There was the slide of a zipper, and then the thick head of Dunk’s cock was pressing against his cunt.
He moaned aloud, head falling back. Aerion had one hand buried in Daeron’s hair, and was scenting him lovingly, moving his hips in tiny, up-and-down motions as Dunk pressed into him slowly, insistently.
The stretch was still painful. There usually was some pain, with Dunk, though he tried to be gentle.
Tears stung his eyes, but it was overwhelm rather than pain that brought them on. There was a strange euphoria, but it felt as if it were trapped somewhere inside of him, walled off, and could only seep gradually through. The larger feeling was one of dread. He’d made a mistake coming here, letting them in again, he knew, he knew.
But gods, it felt so good. Wildly, deliciously good, to be bathed in their attention, to have Aerion’s lips upon him, and Dunk filling him so thoroughly. To wear Aerion’s mark, and to have earned his forgiveness.
“Sweet boy,” Aerion murmured against his ear. “Don’t cry.”
It was then that Daeron realized he was weeping. Making soft little sounds of distress, occasionally cut through by a moan when something felt especially nice. He clutched at Aerion with a frenzied desperation, and held Dunk’s waist in an iron grip with his legs.
Aerion pulled back to look at his face. He cupped Daeron’s cheeks gently. His eyes, a near-identical shade of purple as Daeron’s, scanned his face.
“It hurts,” Daeron said, and could not elaborate further. His chest ached terribly.
But Aerion nodded in clear understanding. His brows came together in a tiny pinch. “I know.”
He kissed the corner of Daeron’s mouth, in an out of character, feather-soft touch. He pressed his lips to Daeron’s own, and did not bite, did not push his tongue inside, only led Daeron sweetly.
He pulled back abruptly with a pained gasp. Daeron chased after him, whining, but he was too far to reach.
Dunk’s hand was around Aerion’s throat, forcing his head back, chin pointed towards the ceiling, a thick, muscled arm holding Aerion flush to his chest. His teeth sunk into the juncture of Aerion’s shoulder and neck, where his mark had already been made. His eyes stayed on Daeron; bright blue eyes full of hunger. Aerion’s face was contorted in pain, hands grasping at Dunk’s wrists, but he moaned aloud.
“Ah, fuck—!” he hissed. His pretty eyes welled with tears. His cunt clenched around Daeron’s cock, achingly tight. Daeron’s hips twitched, fucking into him. Hidden beneath Aerion’s worn, over-large shirt, Daeron could see the imprint of his cock, the little thing standing as tall as it could manage, leaving a wet patch against the fabric. He wished he could see it, red at the tip, leaking.
Two of Dunk’s thick, long fingers pushed past Aerion’s lips, quietening his sounds. Aerion accepted them, eyes falling shut, obediently sucking them. Daeron nearly came just at the sight of him, wrecked and desperate. His thorny, mercurial brother made docile. He could only watch, open-mouthed, gasping, hands clutching at the sheets as Dunk pistoned into him without pause, unrelenting.
It was Aerion who came first, with a high, keening moan around Dunk’s fingers, clenching so tight around Daeron’s cock that he very nearly followed him. Aerion’s nails dug into the skin of Dunk’s wrist so hard that he drew blood.
He went limp, crying. Dunk’s thrusts jostled him, so that he still bounced slightly on Daeron’s cock. Dunk pulled away from the bite, licking at the blood he’d drawn, kissing the wound, and his arm loosened around Aerion’s neck, his head lolling forward. Dunk helped lower him down, so that Aerion was draped against Daeron’s chest, his head tucked into the crook of Daeron’s neck. Aerion immediately took to sleepily mouthing at Daeron’s scent gland, a hand reaching upwards to bury itself in Daeron’s hair. He still had Daeron’s cock inside of him, keeping him warm.
Dunk lifted Daeron’s legs higher, fucking into him impossibly deeper. Daeron moaned loudly, clutching at his brother. Needing him closer, closer, closer still.
“You missed us?” Aerion mumbled against Daeron’s sweat-slicked skin, mouthing at the line of his jaw. He tugged at Daeron’s hair. “You missed me? Missed your alpha?”
His alpha. An ugly sound crawled its way up Daeron’s throat. Fresh hurt. Delirious, fevered need. Yes, he’d missed his alpha. Missed Aerion, who felt like such an intrinsic piece of Daeron’s very being. He would come back, doubtless—there would be no leaving again after this—but could he even call Dunk his? Nothing had changed, really. Their bond had failed. Something had fractured that he wasn’t sure could ever be repaired.
There was the sharp crack of a hand meeting flesh. Aerion shrieked in surprise, jerking forwards with the slap to his backside. “Be nice,” Dunk scolded through gritted teeth.
Aerion grumbled unhappily, but Daeron’s chest bloomed with warmth at Dunk’s defense. He reached a hand out, wanting Dunk near. Dunk obliged, leaning over Aerion to kiss Daeron sweetly. His movements slowed, languidly fucking into Daeron’s cunt as he forced his tongue into Daeron’s mouth, groaning.
Daeron’s head swam. He could do nothing but lie there and take it. Aerion bit harshly at his collarbone in what felt like retaliation, canines scratching skin, drawing blood. Daeron pulled away from Dunk’s mouth with a hiss, a hand going to Aerion’s hair, tugging. Aerion licked over the mark, looking up at Daeron from beneath his eyelashes, the picture of innocence.
Dunk straightened up, and Daeron startled when he pulled his cock out and quickly replaced it with two fingers, fucking him brusquely. He pulled them out, wet with Daeron’s slick, and slid his cock back inside as if nothing had happened. A moment later, Aerion shrieked, jerking forwards, nearly unseating himself from Daeron’s cock.
“Duncan!” Tears sprung to his eyes, and he let his head fall to rest against Daeron’s shoulders, gripping the bedsheets in his balled fists. Letting out groans and little pained whimpers, twitching against Daeron.
Daeron watched Dunk’s determined face, the set of his jaw, his eyes focused on Aerion’s backside. He realized belatedly that Dunk had stuck his slickened fingers into Aerion’s ass. He was pumping them in and out as he lazily fucked Daeron.
The thought was so arousing that Daeron tensed, and spilled into Aerion’s cunt with a cry. He clutched at his brother, hands sliding along his back, nosing at his fragrant neck.
Aerion’s tears spilled hot against Daeron’s skin. Daeron kissed his neck, stroking his spine, enamored and endeared. He loved to see Aerion cry, see him stripped of all of his fierceness. He wriggled a hand beneath him, and tipped up Aerion’s chin.
His violet eyes were watery, his lashes wet. His bottom lip trembled pitifully. Daeron leant in and kissed him, swallowing the sob that broke free. He cried as Dunk fucked him roughly, moaned brokenly as Dunk found the spot inside of him that Daeron knew from experience would set his nerves alight.
A few moments later, Aerion tensed as another orgasm was forced from him, further sullying his borrowed shirt. There was a warm patch where Aerion’s stomach pressed against his own. Aerion rested his forehead against Daeron’s, panting, lazily responding to Daeron’s kisses, his hot tears wetting Daeron’s cheeks.
Dunk pulled out of Daeron, and there was the slick sound of him jerking himself hurriedly, before he groaned and came across Aerion’s backside. He toppled forwards, plopping down on the other side of Daeron, draping an arm across the both of them, pulling them in.
For a while they lay there, quiet but for the sound of their breathing, a tangle of limbs, soiled and smelling of each other. Aerion still trembled with his soft crying, tucked up into the crook of Daeron’s neck. Daeron kept up his petting, tracing a little pattern along Aerion’s back. His mind was blissfully devoid of thought.
Finally, when Aerion’s crying had stopped and he peeked out, it was to level Dunk with a glare. “That hurt.”
“Mm. I’m sorry, lovely,” Dunk said, not sounding terribly sorry. He took Aerion’s hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “You were being mean.”
“He likes it!” Aerion protested, but he didn’t jerk his hand out of Dunk’s grasp. “I know him. He likes it.”
Daeron grinned. His eyes had fallen shut, body sore and exhausted, content to listen to their bickering.
“Someone has to keep you in line.”
“Shut up,” Aerion huffed. “Go get a cloth. Clean us up.”
Dunk sighed, but gave them each a peck on the cheek and did as he was told, making off for the bathroom.
When he was gone, Aerion pulled back to look at Daeron. Daeron peeked his eyes open. “I don’t care about the bond,” he said, frank, brooking no argument. “You’re mine, Daeron.”
Daeron blinked, taking in Aerion’s serious expression. He nodded once.
Aerion copied the motion. One quick nod. “Good,” he said. He nuzzled back against him, one hand reaching up to cup Daeron’s cheek. “Don’t forget it.”
—
Upon waking, the first thing that Daeron registered was that Dunk was gone. He whined at the loss, but the linens still held his scent, which was a balm to the ache. Blue, early-morning light peeked in from around the heavy curtains.
“He got called in,” Aerion mumbled against his shoulder. He had a leg hooked around Daeron’s waist, a hand splayed out over his chest. Clinging.
Daeron rubbed at his bleary eyes. His joints ached pleasantly, his ass smarting. It would be bruised, surely. “Oh.”
When it was the three of them, Dunk had often left early for work, leaving he and Aerion curled up together in bed. When they woke, it was to each other’s company, Aerion sweet in the light of the morning, allowing Daeron to preen over him. To kiss his face and stroke his hair, to slide beneath the blankets and take Aerion’s cock in his mouth, to shove a finger into his slick cunt. Aerion’s hands knotting themselves in Daeron’s hair, tugging, allowing himself without reservation to make the sounds that sprung to his lips. The vulnerable sounds that he’d only permit Daeron to hear.
It was like when they were teenagers, long deemed too old to share a bedroom, and Aerion would sneak into his room after the rest of the house had gone to sleep, or in the early morning. He’d wake with Aerion cuddled up close to him, nuzzling against his neck. It was like before—before Dunk, before Aerion had been sent off to Lys. The versions of themselves that only the other knew.
Now, despite what had just taken place, it still felt too fresh for any of that. Without Dunk as a buffer between them, Daeron felt unsettled. Unsure of himself.
“You okay?” Aerion asked. Uncharacteristically hesitant.
Daeron hummed. “Mm. Are you?”
“Yeah. Course.”
There was a beat of silence. Aerion tensed. His hand twitched against Daeron’s chest.
“You don’t want to go, do you?”
“No.” Daeron turned his head, pressed a kiss to Aerion’s temple. “No. It’s okay.”
Aerion relaxed back against him. A longer, more comfortable silence stretched between them. Aerion couldn’t seem to keep his hands off of him; just gentle touches, tracing his fingers along Daeron’s chest, up his neck. Cupping his cheeks, pressing kisses to his jaw.
“I missed you,” Aerion said, pulling back to look at him. His eyes were a little damp, though no tears fell. Daeron spotted the fresh bite on Aerion’s neck, and firmly tamped down his rising jealousy.
He forced his eyes away from it. Back up to the violet of Aerion’s eyes. He took his brother’s hand, bringing it up to his lips. Kissed at his knuckles. “I missed you, too.”
“Was there anyone else?” Aerion asked. His voice was calm, but Daeron knew that if his answer were yes, this barely-mended mess would be upended all over again. “While you were away?”
The thought alone unsettled him. He shook his head. “No.”
Never, he thought. There could never be. Only you two.
Aerion nodded, humming a soft, approving sound. His gaze softened, turning tender, a raw vulnerability buried somewhere in there. A rare sight, on Aerion. “You’ll really come back? You’ll stay?”
Daeron could never say no to his little brother.
“Yes,” he nodded. “Of course.”