Chapter Text
Dunk thinks the date was going well.
He watches the man across from him swallow down his Guinness over the rim of his own. A little flash of competitiveness spiking in his gut as they race to finish their pint. When they reach their tipping point Dunk bangs his hand on the table, and they slam down their drinks with a hearty laugh.
When he looks down, Dunk finds that he was left with two mouthfuls whilst the other barely got halfway through his own.
“Aw, no way you got me beat! You really like this stuff huh.” The man no- Quinn says, Dunk had only met him an hour ago but they seem to have hit it off. They’ve been messaging for a couple days and met through a dating app which Dunk redownloaded after Raymun had eventually persuaded him.
It was all so strange to him. Dunk had long forgotten the song and dance of dating and all the pleasantries that came with it. Evidently, his last relationship was messy and stormy, which left him feeling like a seaman that had been sailing on treacherous oceans for years, and now he felt foreign to the calm stability of land.
At 28 he should be wanting something more normal. He should be focusing on settling down and fuck- he doesn’t know, buying a house or something equally as serious and grown up. He was done playing games.
This was good for him. He repeats those words to himself like a mantra, holding on to that belief like a desperate man holding on to rope slipping from his grasp. Anything to escape the thoughts in the dark corner of his mind that rears its ugly head to scoff and roll its eyes at Dunk’s efforts.
‘Isn’t it all just dreadfully dull?’ It drawls but Dunk swats the haunting voice away like a fly.
“Well you know I’ve been drinking this stuff since I was a lad, so it’s basically like water to me at this point.” Dunk gives an awkward shrug and a half smile. He stares at the dirty foam of the drink, suddenly self conscious, and he feels the other man watch him as his mind wanders.
“I don’t know how. I hate that stuff.” Quinn sighs and Dunk's eyes snap from his drink and widen in surprise.
“Wait what? Why did you order it then?!” He laughs incredulously and shakes his head.
He knows Guinness wasn’t everyone's first choice of drink, but Quinn didn’t even stutter when he said ‘I’ll have what he’s having,’ and a playful nudge. Dunk believed it could’ve been one of the few things they had in common but was wrong, and he tries not to be too disappointed by the deceit.
“I dunno, maybe I just wanted to impress you.” Quinn shoots him a charming smile. He was a dishwater blond, his roots darker than the rest of his wavy hair that he was able to tuck behind his ears, he wore slouchy jumpers, and his eyes were a benevolent green. He was easy-going, handsome, and laughed at Dunk’s jokes even though they couldn’t be that funny.
So, Dunk thinks the date is going more than okay, and a small bloom of hope unfurls in his chest.
Maybe this was his chance to finally move on.
They talk about various topics and the pub slowly fills up as the night deepens. Quinn mentions his family in the countryside and growing up in a small village, whilst Dunk shares how he was always on the road with his adopted father, never really settling down in one place for too long.
He retells the story of having to sleep in the car when they couldn’t find a place to stay (which he considers a funny anecdote) but Quinn just looked at him with pitiful eyes and Dunk tried to shrug off the irritation that pools in his chest. There was nothing to feel sorry for and those times wandering aimlessly with Arlan were some of the fondest he’d ever had, but Dunk might as well have told him he was abandoned in a cardboard box in the rain.
At least they share a love for sports. Dunk’s lifelong fondness for rugby, whereas Quinn grew up playing football but eventually stopped after an injury to his ankle.
“It scared the hell out of my mum. She thought I was never going to walk again.” Quinn rolls his eyes at the memory.
“Aye, I don’t blame her, footballers seem a bit delicate. They don’t know what it’s like to really fight for the ball and spend more time rolling around clutching their knee from the looks of it.” He playfully jabbed.
“Oh shut up. Just because we don’t find an excuse to eat mud and call it sports.” Quinn kicks him lightly under the table and shakes his head, but he hides a huff of laughter behind his glass.
Dunk grins wickedly, but whatever retort he had on the tip of his tongue disappears when the sound of glass breaking makes him turn his head instinctively.
Blue eyes meet violet and his smile dies.
Aerion Targaryen leans against the edge of the bar, broken glass glitters at his feet and a smirk tugs at the edge of his pierced lips. The bartender glares at him and the words exchanged between the two are drowned out by the liveliness of the crowd.
He hadn’t seen Aerion in the flesh since the explosive fight that ended it all. It was the final straw that resulted in Dunk breaking it off for good. Even still, for reasons beyond Dunk he wasn’t blocked immediately after their breakup, and he had stupidly kept following Aerion on all his social media which showed that he had carried on with his usual antics even without Dunk on his arm.
Endless nights Dunk had scrolled through Aerion’s pictures and tapped on his story to see him post long night outs and sinful selfies. Pictures of Aerion with strangers after strangers sharing cigarettes, stumbling through the city, or flying out to a different country just to do it all over again.
In Dunk’s eyes, Aerion seemed to be completely fine without him.
“Hey. Are you okay? I didn’t actually mean for you to shut up, I was just joking.” Quinn’s concerned voice cuts through the sirens in Dunk’s mind and he swivels his head back to his date. He tries to speak but his mouth feels like it was filled with cotton and he gapes like a fish for a couple moments.
Right. The date. Moving on.
“Uh no- I mean yeah, yeah I know you were joking,” Panic rises in his chest as he sees a dark figure slink towards them out of the corner of his eye as Aerion strides in their direction like a blood sniffing shark. “Um, it's getting kind of loud in here. Do you wanna go someplace else?” He speaks quickly and Quinn gives him a puzzled look, but Dunk knew it was already too late.
“Huh? I can hear you just fine. Are you sure you’re-“
“Duncan? You bastard, Is that really you?” A smooth voice sickly sweet like tar interrupts the two men. They both look up to the new arrival. Aerion stands with a new drink in hand, something golden and strong and his eyes are narrowed in Dunk’s direction. His smile was sinister and painfully familiar.
He was dressed in a black mesh shirt, a pattern of skeletal snakes running along his lean chest and curving up his neck, where a heavy silver chain of thorns glints and snatches at the low lights. His usual red spiked leather jacket hugged his shoulders and a pair of tight, black jeans that were slashed at the knees. He smelled of smoke and ill intentions and it made Dunk’s gut tie in knots.
“Aerion.” Dunk mumbles stiffly.
“What? Do you two know each other?” Quinn says his eyes flitting between the two of them cautiously.
“I don't know..do we, Dunk?” Aerion raises a pierced eyebrow and cocks his head towards the taller man.
“He’s an old friend.” Dunk lies and Aerion rolls his eyes, muttering something unkind under his breath.
“Sure. Whatever. Room for three?”
He doesn’t wait for a reply as he pulls up a chair and sits between the two of them. Kicking Dunk’s shin with his heavy steel boots and pushing the empty glasses hazardously to the edge of the small table so he could sprawl his own arms over the sticky surface.
“Aerion! This is unnecessary!" Dunk groans exasperated. “Don’t you have anywhere else to be besides here?”
“Why? Isn’t this just a get together of friends? My plans got changed at the last minute tonight and I find myself rather bored.”
His words were a threat since Dunk knew that a bored Aerion meant something was at risk of being destroyed or blood being spilled. He feels the ice under his skin splinter and his mind stutters for an escape route, but his tongue fails to conjure up even a single excuse to leave.
Luckily, Quinn picks up on the suffocating tension between them and the deviant energy that radiates from the pale haired man. He clears his throat loudly, cutting the intense eye contact between the two men short.
“We were just about to leave actually.”
Aerion turns his head, and he looks at Quinn like a piece of rotting meat.
“I see. And what exactly were your plans after this absolutely riveting pub crawl?” Aerion drawls sarcastically but there was a fire behind his eyes.
Dunk’s eye twitches and his knuckles turn white at the table's edge, the sense of looming danger hanging over his head.
“That is none of your concern.”
“I think it is.” Aerion spits and turns back to Quinn, resting his head on his knuckles and narrowing his eyes.
“Let me spare everybody the mystery of what was going to happen next. He-” Aerion points a black painted nail towards Dunk. “ -was going to fuck you after the next drink. Maybe tell you he was gonna take a piss where you would inevitably follow him into the third stall like some desperate puppy and get your mouth on his cock like you wanted to do this entire night. Or he was gonna follow you to the alley round the corner when you go for your smoke and get his hands down your pants and-“
“Aerion!” Dunk shouts his hand flying out to grab at his shoulder. Quinn sips at his drink awkwardly, a placid, uneven smile on his lips but his eyebrows twisted in an uneasy knot. His eyes dance between Aerion to Dunk to the hand on his shoulder.
“So…what are you? An ex or something?”
“Or something,” Aerion doesn't shrug Dunk’s grip off him and continues to lean into Quinn space forcing the other man to the corner of the small table, but he speaks to Dunk without looking at him. “Anyway was I right? Were you gonna fuck this guy in this pub a couple times before you work out the courage to take him back to the shithole apartment you’re so ashamed of showing people on the first date?”
His voice had a manic edge to it, his nails tapping on the sticky wood frantically as he revelled in the mess he was making.
“Shut the fuck up, Aerion!” Dunk hisses through his clenched teeth. Humiliation made his ears burn and there must be something about the look on his face that made Aerion smile like he knew something Dunk was too dumb to catch.
“Okay. Don’t really know what’s going on here but I think we’re done,” Aerion looks triumphant as Quinn stands to shrug on his jacket. “Duncan? Are you coming?”
Aerion's face immediately sours when Dunk stands and downs the last mouthful of alcohol.
“I’m coming with you.” Dunk says.
“No you’re not.” Aerion stands but doesn’t touch him, but Dunk almost wishes he would, just so he could glow in satisfaction when he brushes him off.
“C’mon let’s get out of here. He’s clearly psychotic.” Instinctively Dunk frowns at the comment but Quinn is already tugging on the sleeve of Dunk’s jacket in the direction of the exit.
With his back turned he only catches the sound of a snarl and suddenly a glass is hurled between his shoulders. It shatters and falls to the floor like a million falling stars, the sound of it breaking catches the attention of the packed pub and there’s a beat of deafening silence before everything erupts into chaos.
Dunk turns quickly, barely hearing Quinn shouting ‘what the actual fuck!’ and security running into action, pushing past groups of people hooting for a fight. In the midst of it all, Dunk drowns in the vision of Aerion with his arms open and a sick smile on his face like he was offering himself up for an embrace.
Dunk grabs him by the collar of his shirt, lifting him to eye level.
“Why are you doing this?!” He yells and he hates the way his voice cracks.
Aerion cackles, letting his hands dangle to his sides and his grin shines bright and wild.
“That’s right. Show everyone what a beast you are!” Aerion hisses.
Dunk wants to shake him. The anger and hurt overspilling in his heart. He’s tired of being tormented and haunted by Aerion. Distantly, he feels other hands pulling at his biceps and his back, frantically trying to pull him away.
“Let him go, it's not worth it man!”
“Alright you two break it up! Get out and stop causing a scene!”
“Duncan! Let’s leave already!”
All the shouting just melts into a muddle of noise and Dunk feels like he’s standing under a plane taking off, but in the midst of all the disorder, he just sees Aerion’s eyes, his pupils blown wide and the red rims of eyes still as severe as last time he saw them.
“Show them exactly who you belong to.” Aerion whispers low enough for only him to hear and something in Dunk snaps. He slams Aerion on his back over the table where he once sat on a date, and Aerion’s hands fly to his wrists, anchoring him there. Other patrons desperately claw at him, and the table under Aerion cracks under the weight of the two of them scuffling.
Aerion laughs and Dunk sees the fabric under his fists tear. He could feel his heartbeat thrashing in his chest and sweat pooling at the back of his neck. Somehow, Aerion burns even hotter underneath him and the feverish flush of his usually pale cheeks travels down to his chest. Dunk’s eyes linger at his lips, where Aerion trapped a piercing between his teeth, and as he follows the red all the way down, Dunk finds himself wanting more.
But unfamiliar hands enter his vision and it’s Quinn trying and failing to pull at his forearm. His desperate words fall on deaf ears and Aerion’s attention is snatched away from Dunk and locked on the intruder. He bares his teeth at Quinn which makes the other man squeak and step back.
Snapping out of it, Dunk remembers that he’s still in a crowded pub and the words ‘call the police’ were echoing amongst the patrons. Self control reins him in once more and Dunk releases Aerion before he goes too far, letting the smaller man slump back on the table.
He finally steps back and allows security to drag him out and his eyes don’t leave Aerion as someone takes hold of him pulling him back on to his feet, Aerion swats and growls at them, fixing his jacket and following after Dunk.
The three of them get shoved out the back door, a tangle of limbs and curses. Dunk lies in cold, dirty water, his head spinning and the shame washing over him.
‘How did this night go so terribly wrong?’
There’s sounds of a struggle and Aerion has Quinn curled up at a wall with a flash of metal and a vicious look in his eyes. Aerion advances on him with slow, deliberate movements that reminded Dunk of a snake cornering its prey.
“Who the fuck do you think you are? Do you know who I am?” Aerion spits, laying the blade flat against the other man’s cheek. “I’ll teach you a lesson about playing with toys that don’t belong to you.”
Dunk hauled himself off the ground before his ex boyfriend could do something unforgivable.
“For gods sake! Just leave him alone.” He reaches out and takes hold of Aerion’s shoulder but the smaller man bats his touch away, his poisonous glare now aimed at Dunk and his mouth twisted in anger.
“And you, you seem to move on pretty quickly. Taking him here out of all places? Do you have no shame?”
Sure, he and Aerion had a couple dates here in the past but the high born Targaryen always made droll comments about the outdated furniture or bleak atmosphere.
“You seemed plenty happy without me,” Dunk says bitterly and plants his feet to centre himself between the two men. “And I like this pub. I’ve been drinking here long before I met you and I will after you.”
Aerion narrows his eyes at him, his tongue flicking out to lick the corner of his mouth. It was a habit Dunk recognises when something particularly annoys him and he’s considering whether to cause a scene or not.
“Let him go.” Dunk says again more seriously, straightening up to his full height to look down on Aerion. He knows he could never intimidate the Targaryen, but watching him crane his neck just a little bit more served as a small triumph in these trying times.
Behind him, Quinn scuttles from Dunk’s shadow and runs out into the street. Neither of them look at him as he disappears.
A few more seconds pass and the two men stare at each other. Eventually, Dunk forces himself to move and exits the alleyway, he passes Quinn who had his arms wrapped around himself and on the phone to someone. When he sees Dunk he hastily says a few words and hangs up. Dunk sighs when he sees him, offering him an apologetic look.
“Quinn, I’ll-“
“This date is over. Don’t ever contact me again. You’re both insane!”
A car pulls up and Quinn jumps inside without even a backwards glance. Dunk feels a shove on his shoulder as a security guard tries to get his attention.
“Hey go home man, or go someplace else I don’t give a shit, just don’t hang around here.”
Suddenly exhausted, he rubs his hands over his eyes, before making the short trek to his apartment. He shoves his hands deep in his pockets and the alcohol fuelled adrenaline in his blood was eventually slowing down to a simmer.
He cuts through a dark street, stumbling though more dirty puddles and piles of trash. A scraping sound pulls him from his thoughts, and when he glances over his shoulder, Aerion walks a distance behind him, his pocketknife unsheathed as he drags it across a brick wall.
The Targaryen doesn’t smile at Dunk and all the frenzied energy that made Aerion an unpredictable fire, had now frozen over into a sinister chill as he stalks Dunk through the dark night.
Dunk sighs. “What do you want now, Aerion? He’s gone now and never wants to see me again.”
“He wasn’t your type anyway.” Aerion scoffs as he plays with his blade, flipping it through agile fingers.
“You mean he was nothing like you.”
It was the main reason why Dunk agreed to the date in the first place. As a rule, he automatically rejects anyone with white hair, anyone with piercings, anyone who liked metal music, anyone who wore red, anyone who-
Reminded him of Aerion.
“Besides, it’s been weeks of radio silence from you. I thought you left the country or had already moved on. So why can’t you let me move on from you?”
The weeks after they broke up, Dunk was hounded by texts from unsaved numbers ranging from threats, to curses, to comments about his intelligence for his ‘stupid mistake’ of breaking up with the Aerion Targaryen.
Even other members of the Targaryen family had reached out to him, Daeron begging Dunk to take his brother back since he was making it everyone’s problem, and Egg wondering when he would see him again so they could play knights and dragons. He even had a message from Aerion’s cousin Valarr, who was concerned for his safety and advised him to move house.
“We’re worried what he might do to you if pushed too far.”
As if he could afford another place anyway, and besides he wasn’t afraid of Aerion, they had dated for three years, so he was aware of how bad he could be.
Eventually, the anonymous texts from Aerion continued and had grown cruel and relentless to the point where Dunk had thrown his phone down the drain of a random street and got a new number.
“I was in Italy taking care of family business. I wasn’t aware you were still keeping tabs on me. Careful, you brute, you almost sound like you miss me.” Aerion waves his knife playfully.
“I don’t fucking miss you. I wish you would leave me the fuck alone.”
Dunk continues on his route home. Whilst the sound of the blade against the wall stopped, the click of a lighter replaced it instead. He could still see the distorted apparition of Aerion’s shadow as he continued to silently follow him.
Maybe Aerion just wanted to see him like this - pathetic and rejected, and making his way back to his lousy apartment to fall asleep in an empty bed. He was probably silently laughing at Dunk right now and that fire in his chest reignites once again.
No one ever gets him worked up like Aerion. No one ever made him angry like Aerion. No one ever made him as passionate as Aerion did.
He was at the door of his apartment building now and when he stops he hears Aerion slow down to a halt a few paces behind him. He could see the dim hallway light flickering from the small misty window and he grips his keys in his pocket until it threatens to cut through flesh.
“What exactly did you expect following me home like some kind of lost puppy?” He says to the blurry reflection of Aerion in the window, the tip of his cigarette flares and dies.
“I expect you to finish what you started earlier.”
“You’re crazy, I didn’t start anything back there. You were just acting foolish.” Dunk retorts.
“You wanted to put me back in my place. Don’t lie, I could see it in your eyes. You were angry at me and you wanted to show everyone in that shithole that only you could shut me up.”
Dunk was silent. His hands were numb as he flexed them at his sides as he remembered the way Aerion felt under him, his painted nails digging into the soft parts of his thick wrists. The delicious red of his skin, the way he panted hot and heavy that he could feel him heave under his grip.
Aerion steps closer, his boots squelching over the wet pavement and ash flutters in the closing space between them. He approaches him with the same swiftness as a falling guillotine and Dunk briefly closes his eyes, helpless to his doomed fate that was Aerion Targaryen.
“Am I wrong?” He murmurs. Smoke falls from his lips and caresses Dunk’s chest. When Aerion looks up from his pale lashes, the alarm bells that once rang in his head faded into white noise as Dunk sank deeper into the other man.
“No…no you’re not wrong.” Dunk whispers, dazed as if he were under a spell.
Aerion hums, pleased with how the taller man’s walls came crumbling down. High walls built to protect himself and that had taken two damn months to build brick by brick until-
“That’s a good boy. Now hurry up and let me in.”
Dunk turns and unlocks the door, he feels Aerion hook his finger through the loops of his belt, and he pauses and waits for Aerion to stub out his cigarette. Finally with a gentle shove to announce he was done, Dunk leads him to his apartment.
The door echoes in the empty hallway when it slams shut.