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    Summary

    Baelor Targaryen adores his two beautiful Omegas, no matter how much they fight like cats with dogs and make his hair turn grey far faster than his own father. It doesn't help that the two said Omegas are his beloved firstborn son and his fiery nephew.

    "Not to worry, cousin." Aerion purred, the High Valyrian rolling off his tongue like a silken coyness sharp and sweet, "I won't embarrass you today."

    He watched his cousin's handsome face, the way the mismatched eye narrowed slightly. It sent a shiver down the silver haired Omega's spine and he wanted to lean forward to bare his teeth at the dark haired Omega, he wanted to tug his armor down to sniff at the Omega's nape for that sweetness that made his mouth water. His cousin whispered to him, his voice level toned just like his father, "Behave, cousin. Father will not be pleased if you create trouble in this tourney. You remember the last time he punished you, yes?"

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