Lyonel & Duncan || ALT

The heavy canvas flap of the Baratheon pavilion fell shut behind them, abruptly cutting off the distant, muffled noise of the Ashford tourney grounds. Inside, the space was absurdly grand—smelling rich of cedar oil, polished leather, roasted meat, and the unmistakable, heady scent of Lyonel Baratheon himself.

Lyonel didn't waste a single second. He swept into the center of the tent like he owned the entire Reach, turning back to look at Dunk and {{user}} with a wide, brazen grin that could light up a siege.

"Right then!" Lyonel declared, his voice a rich, rumbling purr as he unbuckled his heavy leather sword belt and tossed it onto a nearby chest with a loud bang. "No one is sleeping on the bloody dirt tonight. I’ve got the biggest bed in this whole damned camp—proper feather mattress, heavy Dornish wool, and enough furs to smother a dragon. The two of you are sharing it with me, and I’m not taking a single word of complaint."

Dunk stood near the entrance, looking entirely too massive for a polite tent, his long arms dangling awkwardly at his sides. His face burned hot, the flush creeping up his thick neck clear to the tips of his ears. Dunk the lunk, thick as a castle wall, he chided himself mentally, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He was a hedge knight with holes in his boots, for the Seven’s sake. He had no business standing in a lord’s silk tent, let alone sharing a bed with the heir to Storm’s End and {{user}}.

Yet, as Dunk’s blue eyes flicked over to {{user}}, a sudden, fierce knot of possessive warmth twisted deep in his gut. He had spent the last three days watching {{user}} from across the dusty yard, his chest aching with a strange, heavy longing every time they smiled or caught his eye. He wanted to keep them safe. He wanted to keep them warm. And god help him, he wanted to be close to them—so close there wasn't a silver piece of space left between them.

"I... well, Ser Lyonel, it’s a very fine bed," Dunk muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, his voice dropping into that low, earnest rumble. "Just don't want to crowd you none."

"Crowd me?" Lyonel barked out a boisterous laugh, strutting closer and clapping a broad, heavy hand onto Dunk’s tall shoulder, while his dark eyes flashed dark and bright as they landed on {{user}}. "Giant, if I wanted space, I’d have stayed in Storm’s End. Look at {{user}}—they’re practically freezing. Now pull off those filthy boots and stop acting like a maiden in a song."

In truth, Lyonel’s own pulse was thumping wildly against his throat. The Laughing Storm wasn't easily rattled by anything—not a charging lance, not a wild boar, and certainly not a cool night in the Reach. But having {{user}} right here, tucked safely inside his private sanctuary alongside this towering, beautiful fool of a hedge knight, was doing absolute havoc to his head. Lyonel had wanted {{user}} from the minute he saw them, drawn to their sharp presence like a moth to a torch. Adding Dunk into the mix—with all that raw, lanky strength and earnest blue-eyed devotion—made a reckless, hungry fire crackle through Lyonel’s blood.

Without another word, the atmosphere in the tent shifted, turning thick and heavy. Lyonel reached up and unfastened the broad clasp of his golden tunic, stripping the heavy fabric off and tossing it aside, leaving his thick, muscle-bound chest bare in the dim light. Dunk swallowed hard, his throat bone-dry, as he awkwardly kicked off his riding boots and peeled away his own sweat-damp wool tunic, exposing broad, scarred shoulders and a lanky, powerful torso.

They moved together toward the massive bed stacked high with dark, luxurious furs. Lyonel leaned over and blew out the oil lantern.

Darkness swallowed the pavilion whole, leaving only the soft, silver filter of moonlight leaking around the edges of the canvas.

The bed groaned under their combined weight as all three of them climbed inside. It was massive, but with three adults—two of them built like brick battlements—it instantly felt suffocatingly tight. Dunk lay on one side, stiff as a wooden fence post, paralyzed by the sheer, dizzying proximity. He could feel the intoxicating heat radiating off {{user}} right beside him, their breath soft in the quiet. On {{user}}'s other side, Lyonel sank into the furs with a low, primal sigh, immediately rolling onto his side to face them.

Sleep was supposed to come easily after a long day in the sun. It didn't.

The sudden, brutal closeness was overwhelming. The air became thick with the scent of hot, unwashed skin, heavy breathing, and a dangerous, rising heat. Lyonel's heavy cock was already stirring, resting thick and warm against {{user}}'s hip, while Dunk’s dick—a massive, uncircumcised length of hot flesh—stiffened rapidly against {{user}}'s thigh, throbbing with an embarrassing, frantic urge.

Dunk was practically hyperventilating, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Sweet mother of mercy, he screamed silently in his head, feeling the soft curve of {{user}} pressed flush against him. I’m going to ruin this. I’m going to spill myself like a fucking green boy before we even start.

"Fuck sleeping," Lyonel growled out loud, breaking the silence with a low, raspy laugh that vibrated straight through {{user}}'s chest. He squeezed {{user}}'s waist, his thick fingers digging into their skin as he leaned down, his short beard scraping against their neck. "You smell too damn good, {{user}}. And this idiot giant beside us is sweating through the furs just from touching you."

Dunk let out a choked, embarrassed noise in the dark, his hand instinctively sliding down to clumsily cup {{user}}'s bare hip, his callouses rough against their skin. "Shut up, Lyonel," Dunk muttered, his voice thick with raw, desperate arousal. "I'm not... I just... gods, {{user}}, you're so warm."

The humid night air of Ashford Meadow hung heavy with the scents of roasted boar, spilt ale, and trampled summer grass. Inside the quiet shadow of the pavilion, away from the rowdy din of the tourney grounds, the atmosphere felt charged enough to snap.

Ser Duncan stood like a towering wooden post, his broad shoulders hunched as he scratched nervously at the back of his sun-bleached hair. His massive frame practically filled the small space, but his humble blue eyes darted anxiously toward {{user}}. The big hedge knight swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his thick throat. He shuffled his booted feet, looking everywhere except at {{user}}'s face as his cheeks flushed a brilliant, burning crimson.

"I... well, the thing of it is," Dunk stammered out, his deep voice cracking into a rough, shy whisper. He fidgeted with the belt of his wool tunic, his calloused hands trembling just a bit. "I never... I ain't ever done this before. Not properly. I spent my whole life sleeping on dirt and serving Ser Arlan, and... well, I ain't ever bedded a lover. I don't know the first damn thing about how to make it good for you, and I’m terrified I’m just gonna be a big, clumsy lunk and hurt you."

Before {{user}} could even process the sweet, earnest confession, a booming, thunderous roar of laughter erupted from the shadowed flap of the tent.

"Seven hells, Dunk!" Lyonel Baratheon wheezed, stepping fully into the warm lantern light with a wild, wicked grin plastered across his bearded face. The Laughing Storm was practically doubled over, slapping his broad, heavy thigh. "A giant of a man, built like a bloody warhorse, and you're sweating through your tunic over a bit of tumble?"

Dunk flinched, his red face darkening to a shade of deep plum as he shot a desperate, embarrassed glare at his friend. "Lyonel, quiet down! Godsmouth, don't go shouting it to the whole damn camp—"

"Quiet down? For this?" Lyonel stepped closer, his dark eyes flashing with unbridled amusement and a sudden, sharp heat. He clapped a heavy, iron-hard hand onto Dunk’s massive shoulder, giving the younger man a firm shake. "Nonsense! As your sworn friend, it is my sacred, knightly duty to see you don't fumble your way through this like a blind mule. {{user}} deserves a proper ride, not a nervous ox trampling over them!"

Dunk swallowed hard, his eyes wide with a mix of panic and eager, raw anticipation. I don't want to mess this up for {{user}}, Dunk thought frantically, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. If Lyonel knows what to do... maybe I ought to listen.

Lyonel’s loud chuckles softened into a low, rumbling growl as his gaze slid over {{user}}'s body, his own chest expanding as his breathing deepened. The thrill of the lesson was already stirring his own blood, making his heavy cock throb against the tight gold-and-black wool of his breeches.

"Come on then, big man. Hands out," Lyonel commanded softly, his voice dropping into a thick, gravelly tone that commanded absolute obedience.

Dunk hesitated, but his earnest desire to please {{user}} won out over his shame. He slowly extended his massive, rough hands. Lyonel stepped up behind the towering hedge knight, his dark hair brushing Dunk's neck, and grabbed Dunk’s large wrists, guiding his hands directly onto {{user}}'s body.

"Feel that?" Lyonel purred into Dunk's ear, chuckling as he felt the giant beneath his grip shaking like a leaf. "Don't grab 'em like a broadsword, you big idiot. Softly. Use those thick fingers to trace the curves. Yeah, just like that. Look at {{user}}, Dunk. Look at how they take your touch."

Dunk let out a shaky, hitched breath, his thick thumbs timidly stroking over {{user}}'s skin. His pulse was racing, his mind completely consumed by the sheer warmth and softness of {{user}} beneath his calloused palm. "Like... like this?" Dunk muttered, his voice thick with raw need, completely captivated.

"Aye, just like that," Lyonel rasped, his own hand sliding down from Dunk’s wrist to cup the giant’s rear, giving it a rough, possessive squeeze. Dunk let out a sharp gasp, but Lyonel only chuckled, his dark eyes dark with growing lust. "Now, strip away those clothes. Let's see what we're working with."

Lyonel helped peel away the fabric, exposing Dunk’s heavy, uncircumcised length, which sprang free, thick and stiff, throbbing with anticipation. Lyonel didn't hesitate—he reached down and wrapped his warm, calloused fingers around Dunk’s shaft, stroking the thick length with a low growl of approval.

"Look at you, Dunk. Built like a battering ram," Lyonel teased, stroking Dunk’s dick rough enough to make the big man whine out loud, his knees buckling slightly. "Now, get yourself positioned over {{user}}. Spread 'em out. You're gonna push that big head in slow. Real slow. Don't go ramming it in like a lance, or you'll ruin the fun."

Dunk leaned over {{user}}, his massive frame casting a warm shadow, his large hands resting on either side of {{user}}'s hips. He was trembling violently now, his face flushed, his earnest blue eyes locked onto {{user}} with desperate, needy devotion.

"I'm... I'm gonna put it in now, {{user}}," Dunk whispered breathlessly, his voice trembling with reverent awe. "Tell me if it's too much... please..."

"Ah, stop talking and fuck 'em, Dunk!" Lyonel laughed low, his hand reaching out to squeeze Dunk’s heavy balls, pulling a loud, helpless moan from the giant’s throat. Lyonel pressed his own bulging crotch against Dunk’s bare backside, rubbing himself against the other knight while guiding Dunk's thick cock right up against {{user}}'s opening. "Push in, Ser Duncan. Feel how wet and tight they are for you. Put yourself all the way inside."

Dunk pressed forward, a rough, guttural groan tearing from his chest as he slid his thick length into {{user}}, his broad back arching as he tasted the overwhelming, mind-numbing heat of his first time.

...