hungry but there’s no “dunk obediently takes lyonel’s crown when he flings it at him to jump into the dancing crowd, and he waits with it held steady in his hands and doesn’t move one inch because it doesn’t immediately occur to him to do so and then, besides, he’s got a task and a role and that’s more of a comforting shield in a crowded pavilion than any drunken haze could be, and he would stand sentry for hours if needs must, and lyonel is so damnably thunderstruck by this lovely ridiculous giant of a man planting himself in place and obeying him to the most extreme conclusion of the order for the simple pleasure of it! to the point of discomfort in the glances he’s suffering and the faint ache of his arms! and of course they make it sexual, fast. cue stress position and honour bondage montage” in my fridge
sorry i need to shovel more bites of this into my mouth now that i'm cooking it - core point: this is the most under negotiated kink - the whole crown-holding thing goes on in the pavilion and Dunk has zero idea of what has just happened there. meanwhile 60% of Lyonel's brain has wandered off to revolve around the sight of Dunk patiently waiting by his throne with his crown on his order and he's melting. a little. - Lyonel is reckless as a rule and to the end of their conversation (he can rapidly see any chance of luring Dunk to his own tent slipping away) pulls a ring off his fingers and stuffs it into Dunks's grasp claiming that it's to ensure Dunk will be back for the next feast with provisions made this time for his squire and horses, so there will be no reason for him to have to escape away into the night. and of course because he has to return the gold sitting in his very clammy hand. Lyonel, in ecstasy: ughh this is so clever of me. and so unbearably hot to imagine him carrying the damned thing about for an entire day and half a night just for the sake of returning it to me Dunk, in fear for his life: is he insane? is this a test? am i to be accused of thievery by daybreak? how am i supposed to take care of a ring? all lords must be terribly eccentric. oh gods i want to bring it straight back to him just to have the weight off my chest and why does my stomach feel - too much wine, I suppose. Dunk ties the damned ring to about three cords of twine around his neck and can't stop pressing his palm to his chest to feel for it and doesn't quite breathe right until he's squeezing back into the pavilion the next night and shouldering his way to Lyonel's side and pressing the ring into his hand and exhaling. Lyonel is having a very hard time not thinking about the ring being warm from Dunk's chest. Dunk has a Very Hard Time standing when Lyonel grins and pats his cheek and calls him wonderfully honourable and - a little lower, a good man. - Things escalate. And Dunk has a lot of thoughts about why he should be excited by servitude, and strange rumblings about the relationships of the peasants and lording class, his yearning for approval, and gives himself a headache. - Dunk eventually ends up in Lyonel's own tent, very emotionally torn up about the entire affair, and would probably continue to agonise about it if Lyonel didn't take matters in hand and very plainly make his case: it feels good. Why agonise? - Key scene to all this: Dunk is fully clothed and told to stand facing the end of Lyonel’s very nice four-poster bed, Lyonel presses himself up behind him, takes hold of both of his arms, and directs them up until he’s standing slightly leaned forward with both hands pressed to the canopy rail (too worried to grip it in case the pretty polished carvings are damaged) and simply tells him not to move his hands or his feet. I could write an essay on Dunk just thinking and his arms twitching as he fatigues but the dogged urge to hold fast is such a hot weight in his stomach that he’d rather die before giving up. And other people walk in and out of the tent seeking Lyonel’s audience and Dunk stays there in his stress position with his head tucked and his breathing heavier as Lyonel lightly tells them not to worry about him (occasionally gets sharp when someone stays looking). And his arms hurt, and his face is so hot, but he throbs everywhere and the simple strain becomes so meditative that he just closes his eyes and lets it wash over him.
(he gets sucked SO good for doing so well. Lyonel fucks his own TMJ beyond the abilities of his maester)
The line i need to sprinkle in is: “and he would do anything for Lyonel, really, not just for the pleasures of being fed and touched and rewarded, but for the thrilling shake that comes over his body when Lyonel says good, and good boy, and sweet, lovely thing and twenty-odd variations of those wonderful words.”
