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Daemon was late to the meeting that day. He was late every day. He found his position as Master of Coin to be dull. Too many numbers, swimming about in his head. It didn’t matter. The crown would find money, no thanks to Daemon. He’d served in his role for less than a month, and he already couldn’t stand it.
Coins and bureaucracy were not for Daemon Targaryen. He was made for battle. He wanted to fight something, kill something. There were skirmishes being stirred up in the Dornish Marshes. No one was quite sure who invaded who, but the Stormlands were firm in their statement that it was Dorne who tried to invade them. Daemon thought they should attack hard and fast, send a battalion and kill them all. It was bad enough that they couldn’t invade Dorne, but letting them invade Westeros was too much to handle.
He wiled his days away, and drank and whored his nights away. His lady wife was in the Vale, and if the Gods were good, she’d never come back. Of late, it had been more and more difficult to perform, and Daemon had grown more frustrated and angry. So he extended his drinking hours into the day.
And that was why he was utterly piss-drunk that afternoon, when he stumbled into the Small Council meeting.
Otto Hightower sat at the head of the table that day, since Viserys had some infected cut off the throne and was bed-bound. The maesters said that he would be better within the week, but even without their consolation, Daemon wasn’t worried. His brother would survive. He just knew.
“I’m glad you’ve decided to join us, Prince Daemon,” Otto condescended.
If it were any other day, the young prince would grimace and flush in embarrassment, but sit down in the end. But he was far too cockeyed to think straight. “And I am over the moon to be here, Lord Otto. Simply elated. I long for these meetings each day, to debate over such frivolities, and never take any action.”
“Sit down, Daemon,” Lord Lyonel Strong commanded.
“You want me to sit?” he snapped. “Or do you want me to leave, huh, Strong? Do you think I care about your damn coppers? I don’t want to sit here planning tourneys and allocating funds.”
Otto glared at him. “You’re inebriated, Daemon. You may regret it if you don’t stop talking.”
That was it. He couldn’t stand Otto’s damn voice, the way he talked to Daemon like he was some child or pup. He drew a dagger from his belt, and Lord Corlys shot to his feet. “Regret it? I will never regret showing you what a little rat you are.”
“Daemon . . .” Corlys said, as if trying to calm down a spooked horse. Though Daemon was no horse; he was a dragon.
Though, as he looked around the room, he saw the expression on the faces of the four men around him. They weren’t scared of him. They didn’t care that the Rogue Prince himself was threatening them. If he couldn’t intimidate anyone, who was he?
Daemon dropped his blade. He bowed his head, feeling the closest emotion to shame that he was capable of. He pulled out a chair at the other end of the table, and finally sat, as he was commanded. But he didn’t apologize. He couldn’t.
He listened, as the men around him discussed how best to fight crime in the Landing. Daemon had a few notions — the City Watch was in shambles. But he remained quiet. He no longer felt the roaring drunk he’d been mere minutes ago. He slipped into depression, like he did most nights. But this was spectacularly early to already be coming down from his high.
“Does the Crown have the funds for this?” Lyonel asked at one point. Daemon didn’t know what he was referring to.
“Yes, I believe we do, but I’ll run the numbers after we depart for the day.” He felt Otto’s eyes boring into him, saying that he knew Daemon was a little lying fool.
The discussion continued, and he wasn’t called upon to answer. He spent the rest of the meeting eying the wine pitcher in the middle of the room. He wanted to not care what people would think. He wanted to drink it all in front of everyone, and let them sneer and scoff. He just wanted his lost boldness back.
“You’re all dismissed,” Otto finally announced, once they had exhausted their list of trivial matters. Daemon stood, along with the other three, before Otto added a severe addendum — “Prince Daemon, I’d like to speak with you. Take a seat, why don’t you?”
Every bone in his body was screaming to draw his sword and remove Otto’s cunt head from his body. He fought the urge, and sat down, a grimace on his lips.
Otto waited until the other men were gone and the door was closed before he spoke again. “Would you like a cup of wine? It’s a delightful sweet red from the Arbor.” Daemon looked up at him and slightly cocked his head. He didn’t know what Otto was getting at. But he was offering him wine, which was exactly what Daemon wanted. It beat out the cheap tavern ale he was used to every night.
He poured himself a cup, and drained it. “It’s good,” he slurred out. “Really good, my lord.”
The Hand hummed in approval. “Did you find your little outburst today satisfying?” Daemon stayed quiet. “Tell me. I want an answer.”
“For a moment, I did. But then it all set in. And I didn’t exactly want to yell and wave around a sword anymore.”
“Good.” Otto sat down at the seat next to him. Even though the chairs had been reasonably spaced, Otto felt too close to him. The older man was a commanding presence, truly. His stare was legendary. Each word he said felt deliberate, rehearsed. He walked with purpose and poise. When he entered a room, Daemon looked. He’d always been intrigued by Otto, since he was a boy. He was always going to rise high. No one knew how far he’d go, but by all means, he surpassed everyone’s expectations.
Daemon squirmed in his chair, not taking his gaze away from Otto.
“You will not do that again, now, will you?” Daemon gritted his teeth in anger. Otto was speaking to him like he was a little boy. He was a man grown — a knight, a lord, a member of the Small Council.
“Not sure, my lord. Depends if you give me a reason to draw steel on you.” Daemon knew he was playing into what Otto thought of him. He didn’t care. The Hand had despised him since Viserys appointed him; why should he seek his approval?
Otto shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “I don’t think you’re fit to sit that chair, Prince Daemon.” He spat out the title like an insult. “I think you know that. You’re a brute. And a spoiled child. You want to drag us all down to your level.”
“Aye, I do. Have you ever felt something, any real emotions, Otto?” He dropped any formality from his speech. “Or are you always a right cunt with a stick up your arse?”
Even then, Otto kept his composure. Daemon wanted him to hit him, or give any response to his insults, but the Hand simply wouldn’t. “Stop it, little prince.” Daemon bristled at the pejorative. “I’m the Hand of the King. The second most powerful man in the Realm. You will not provoke me with petty violence.”
“You didn’t answer my question, Otto,” the prince snarled. “Do you feel real emotions? Ever? Or do you fuck your wife with the same dispassion with which you rule the kingdom?”
Otto tutted. “At least I fuck my wife. As far as I know, you and your lady wife have yet to consummate your marriage.”
His blood boiled. The Hand’s words were true. He didn’t want his Bronze Bitch. He wanted — well, he didn’t know what he wanted. He thought he wanted whores. Young and pretty and, if he was lucky, silver-haired. But when he was there, in the moment, he never could perform.
“Perhaps it’s not your wife you don’t like.” The prince’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Are women not to your liking, little prince?”
Otto’s insult cut through the clouds of his drunken mind. He drew his dagger once again, and shot to his feet. He pointed it at Otto’s neck. “What do you think you’re insinuating?”
The Hand simply stood up, calmly, as if he weren’t being threatened by the greatest warrior in the Seven Kingdoms. Quick as the snake he was, he grabbed Daemon’s wrist and jerked it to the side. “Drop it, boy.” His voice was dark and somber.
Daemon pouted, but let go of his dagger.
“You know what I’m insinuating, little prince.” There was an odd twist to the way Otto said his mocking title. It wasn’t all bitter anymore, but almost as if he was teasing him. “Have you ever lain with a man?”
It was too much. Daemon could handle Otto’s condescension, the way Viserys listened to him like a dog obeyed its master, how everyone discounted him every single day during court and their Small Council meetings. But his ridicule and flat out lies was too much. He was slandering Daemon, trying to ruin him.
The Rogue Prince pulled his fist back, and tried to punch Otto. But the wine had made his movements slow and clumsy. He easily blocked his fist, and managed to spin him around, slamming him face down on the table. “You didn’t answer my question,” Otto mimicked, pushing Daemon down.
“No! I’ve never fucked a man.” He struggled against the Hand.
“Well, have you ever been fucked by one?” Otto whispered in his ear, leaning over Daemon’s prone body.
Daemon froze. His head was screaming at him to yell ‘no!’ and shove him off. But he couldn’t. The press of Otto’s body against him was unlike something he had ever felt before. He wanted — needed — more. The young prince whimpered involuntarily. “N-no,” he stammered.
He practically felt Otto’s vicious grin, even though he couldn’t see his face. “I’ll bar the door, little prince. Don’t move.” He pulled off of Daemon, and walked the few meters to the door, before coming back. “Where were we?” he asked himself. “Oh, yes, how could I forget?”
He grabbed his ass roughly, and Daemon let out a long whine.
“Needy, are we?” Otto taunted.
Daemon reluctantly nodded and murmured out a soft, “Yes.”
“I’m the Hand of the King. You’ll address me as such.”
A growl escaped Daemon’s lips, as he was degraded and subdued by Otto. He was supposed to be in control. He was always in control.
But he hadn’t been able to get it up in weeks. It couldn’t hurt to try something new. If he were less inebriated, he wouldn’t want Otto. He was the Prince, the heir to the Iron Throne, for Gods’ sake! He shouldn’t be bent over for some lesser lord. The alcohol had gotten to his head, however, and he wanted nothing more than for Otto to take him.
“Yes, my lord,” he muttered.
“Good boy,” Otto praised, eliciting a soft moan from the prince. He reached around him, and began to undo the laces on his breeches. Daemon struggled slightly, but gave in, letting the other man pull down his pants.
Daemon was still soft, despite his arousal. He wanted more, wanted something to make him feel good again. “Otto, please.”
The Hand swatted his bare ass. “What are you supposed to call me, little prince?”
“My lord,” Daemon corrected himself.
Otto pressed his hardening cock against his ass, and Daemon whimpered. “Do you like that?” The prince nodded, flushing with embarrassment. “You want my cock, boy?” That time, Daemon moaned aloud. “You’ll get it soon. I just need to prepare you, sweetling.”
Daemon had expected Otto to be brutal and cruel during sex, much like his constant mocking of the young prince. But he wasn’t. He was gentle and kind, leading Daemon affectionately with the care of an older brother or a father.
It was almost worse.
Like Daemon wasn’t tempting enough to throw down and fuck like an animal. Like he were a stupid boy who didn’t know left from right. He didn’t want Otto to be loving; it gave Daemon a reason to not want to rip his throat out.
“I don’t have any oil, so this will hurt.”
The words didn’t even register with the prince, he was too enraptured by Otto’s voice, rough and low with arousal. Even so, he didn’t care how much pain he’d be in. As long as there was some pleasure at the end of it. Daemon didn’t want to think of what was happening in that moment, how he was bent over like a whore for his worst enemy, and worst of all, how he was enjoying every minute of it, giving in to the Hand of the King, letting him touch him and turn him into a moaning slut.
Otto’s calloused hands began to knead his ass, spreading his cheeks. He heard him spitting, then felt his saliva drip onto his hole. Daemon shuddered at the sensation. Otto began to prod at him with his fingers, pushing one in to his first knuckle.
The prince let out a strangled groan — it was all he could do to not scream out in agony. He was burning from the inside out. Otto’s finger was impaling him, ripping him in half. He had no idea how this sheer torture could be misconstrued as pleasure. If this was less than one finger, Daemon thought Otto’s cock just might kill him.
The Hand forced his finger in the rest of the way, and began to thrust it in and out. Daemon found himself unable to catch his breath, gasping in pain. His fists clenched tightly, nails digging into his palms.
“Breathe, little prince,” Otto reassured him. “Don’t fight it. It will only hurt more if you don’t relax.” He began to stroke Daemon’s side with his other hand, as if taming a wild animal.
Ever defiant, the Rogue Prince didn’t relax. He didn’t want to let Otto in, if it hurt this much. Daemon didn’t want to admit it, but he was terrified. This was entirely new, an utterly foreign sensation. He tried to imagine how he felt the first time he bedded a woman, when Viserys took him to the Street of Silk when he was five and ten. He was nervous, but that was mostly buzzing with excitement.
This was different. This was terror and pain and suffering.
“Daemon!” Otto shouted, and the prince snapped back to reality, away from being lost in his own head. “You have to relax. Or I’ll leave you here. All alone. You don’t want that, do you?”
Only moments ago, Daemon wanted nothing more than to make the Hand go away. But now, with the possibility right in front of him, he couldn’t imagine being alone. The shame of it all, of lying on the Small Council table, too cowardly to finish what he started. “N-no, my lord.” He took a deep breath, and untensed all his muscles, doing best to accept the foreign object in his ass.
“Good boy.” Otto stroked Daemon’s hair, then leaned down and gave him a soft kiss on the nape of his neck.
While the young prince was still caught off guard by the other man’s show of affection, he took the opportunity to force another finger into his hole.
Daemon cried out this time, not caring who heard. It was simply too much to handle. “Shhh, little prince,” Otto soothed, running his fingers through Daemon’s hair once again. “It’s okay. I’m going to make you feel good.”
He thrusted his fingers in and out, spreading them to increase the stretch. Daemon focused on his breathing, taking shaky breaths in and out.
His hole began to grow used to the stretch, and the pain faded away. There was still a sort of discomfort there, as the sensation wasn’t exactly common for him, but there was more than just pain. The long, slow thrusts punched him each time, but it became a wound he welcomed greedily.
Shaky breaths turned to soft panting as he was penetrated. “Please, Otto,” Daemon choked out, forgetting himself for a moment.
Once again, the Hand smacked his ass. “That’s not what you’re supposed to call me, boy.”
“Apologies, my lord.”
Otto thrusted his fingers in deeper than he had before, and hit a spot Daemon didn’t know he had inside of him. It was total bliss, and everything went white around him. It was perfect, and he wanted to linger with that feeling forever. He wanted to ask Otto what that was, but all he could do was let out a long, low groan, head lolling back.
“Good, so good for me, little prince.” The Hand continued stroking at that spot inside of him, leaving the prince in a state of pure arousal, whining and moaning at how good it all felt.
Somewhere, in the middle of all of that pleasure, Daemon’s cock grew rock hard, and started to leak. It was his first time in over two weeks, longer than he’d gone without getting off since he was eleven. He needed friction, and started to roll his hips against the hard wood table, trying to use anything he possibly could to pleasure himself.
“Well, well, well, what have we here?” Otto mocked, catching sight of Daemon’s desperation. He reached around, and gave his cock a tug, before drawing his hand back. The prince whined loudly. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you feel good. You have to trust me, little prince. Let me take control.”
Daemon whimpered. His mind wanted to be in control. He kept berating himself for letting Otto take power over him. But his body needed this. And his primal desires annihilated his logic. He let his body go limp, giving himself over entirely to the man standing over him.
“Please, my lord, please,” he mewled.
“What do you want, little prince?”
He paused for a moment before he responded. He didn’t know what he wanted. He just needed something, every bone in his body had some deep longing in his core. “More, my lord. Please, I need more.”
A soft laugh escaped Otto’s lips. “Do you want me to really fuck you? With my cock buried in your maiden ass.” Daemon moaned unabashedly. “Do you think you’re ready to take my cock?” The Hand received the same response as his previous question. “Well, little prince, who am I to prevent you from getting what you want?” There was a certain humor to his voice. Even in Daemon’s lustful, drunken state, he didn’t like it. It scared him, made him think that his desire was one-sided, or worse, that this was all one big jape to Otto, made to humiliate and degrade the Rogue Prince.
Daemon heard a wet clapping noise behind him, unmistakably Otto stroking his cock. The Hand braced himself with a hand on one of Daemon’s shoulders. He pushed in, deliberately, without remorse. The girth of the Hand’s cock burned once again, and once he was fully in, it took a minute to get used to.
All the way through it, while the prince grew accustomed to the new sensation, Otto scratched softly at his hair, kissing him on the back of his neck. It was too good, too kind, far more than the petulant little prince deserved. He half expected Otto to snap out of it, to let go of the act and start fucking him like an animal, as if Daemon were nothing more than his whore.
The prince knew that was true. He knew Otto didn’t actually mean what he was saying. He didn’t think Daemon was a good boy, he thought he was brash and cruel and dim-witted. And that animosity would all come pouring out again, after he got his release.
Otto pulled out slightly, and thrusted in. Daemon whimpered. He was utterly lost — the whole world melted before him. All that existed was him and Otto and Otto’s cock splitting him in two. His big brother could walk in, and Daemon wouldn’t even notice. Hell, Caraxes could decide to burn down the Red Keep, and he wouldn’t bat an eye.
He was in heaven, lost in so many sensations at once. His brain was already fogged over from the wine, but now he seemed drunk on pleasure.
Daemon had known many women before, but he’d never felt as good as this. Otto continued his assault on his hole, each time punching a small whimper out of the young prince. His head rolled forward, resting on the table, as he allowed the Hand to fuck him relenlessly. He was beginning to fuck him in earnest, slamming into him over and over again. His hands drifted down to Daemon’s hips, gripping them hard enough to bruise.
“So good,” Otto panted. “You’re such a good boy, my little prince.” Daemon whimpered. He started to grind back, trying to take more of Otto into him.
Finally, the Hand slightly shifted his angle and hit that spot inside of him with his cock, mercilessly pounding it. Daemon let out a loud moan, his eyes rolling back. Otto continued in that position, and the prince thought he was going to die of pleasure. It was too good to be real, too perfect. Otto fit inside of him like he was made to, and he never wanted to let him go.
The prince had forgotten all about their encounter just an hour prior, when the two men were yelling at each other, and he’d threatened to kill Otto multiple times. All that mattered was now , Otto inside of him, ruining him, fucking him with reckless abandon.
“Please, my lord,” Daemon babbled, nearly unaware that his mouth was moving at all.
“What do you want, little prince?” he asked softly, draping himself over the smaller man, never ceasing in his conquest.
All the prince could do was throw his head back and let out a wanton whine. He was too full to say anything coherent.
“You like this, boy?” He gave a particularly hard thrust, and the Daemon moaned. “You like my cock in your ass?” He nodded languidly. “Gods, I could fuck you every minute of every day. Your hole is mine, little prince. You’re all mine.”
Otto’s relentlessness was simply too much to handle, and Daemon felt himself nearing that oh so sweet release he’d been seeking for so long. “I need to, I’m gonna—”
The prince couldn’t control himself any longer, and spilled all over the table and his stomach, painting it all with his seed. It was simply wonderful, like he was floating in a cloud. It was better than anything he’d felt before — his first time laying with a woman, his first kill in battle, the day Jaehaerys granted him Dark Sister, his first time flying Caraxes. This was pleasure in its most basic form.
The Hand continued fucking him through his orgasm, but Daemon couldn’t even feel it, he was too focused on his own gratification. He was oversensitive, still whimpering with each thrust, but also utterly boneless, unable to resist the man above him.
Otto leaned down, and whispered in his ear. “I’m going to fill you with my seed, little prince.” With that, he spilled into Daemon’s ass, deflowering him like he were some maiden on her wedding night.
As the older man pulled out, Daemon braced himself for the barrage of insults he thought were coming. Now that Otto had gotten his release, he had no reason to continue sweet-talking him. Seven Hells, the prince had opened himself up to the worst of blackmail. Otto could ask him for anything, and he’d have to obey. He couldn’t let this get out, he needed to stop Otto from extorting him. He couldn’t go on like this he couldn’t—
“You did so good for me, little prince,” Otto praised him, cutting through the bleak musings of the drunken young prince. “Such a good boy.” He stroked Daemon’s hair, scratching at his scalp lightly.
Otto grabbed him by the hips, and leaned over him. Daemon’s eyes widened, staring directly at the other man. He looked so self-assured, so confident, as if he hadn’t been fucking the prince minutes prior. He looked how Daemon assumed he himself looked most of the time. Gods, he was a right prick.
But the man above him leaned down, and kissed the prince on the lips gently, like they were in an actual relationship and it wasn’t just a one-time drunken fumble to relieve Daemon’s frustration. Otto cupped his cheek in one hand, looking down at him with unabashed hunger in his eyes.
“Gorgeous, little prince.”