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    Summary

    “Silence,” Maekar scolded, “you are not here to voice your inconsequential opinions. Sit pretty and warm my brother's cock.”

    Baelor chuckled, not as easily rankled as either silver-haired father or son. He kissed his nephew’s sweaty temple, pouring out a cup of ice-cold water from the pitcher on his desk. He brought it to Aerion’s lips, pressing it in with only enough force to tip the boy’s head back against his shoulder. The boy obediently gulped it down as fast as he could, but some of it still spilt over, trickling down his neck, over his naked, damp and flushed skin, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. It was his fifth cup in only an hour. Aerion’s thighs clenched together, his uncle’s misintentions now clearer.

    Prince Aerion cockwarms his uncle while his father sits across the desk and helps Crown Prince Baelor sort through Hand of the King duties.

    Language:
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