something something modern au where baelor and maekar run a very large company together, two ultra-rich co-ceo's of some morally deplorable corporation or another. they're not playboy millionaires that get photographed on yachts, they're the kind of rich that stays hidden from cameras, declines every interview request, has intense security and privacy protocols to keep their day to day goings-on top secret. most of the people who protest outside their businesses headquarters don't even know what they even look like.

it's why you're not surprised that they have you sign an nda- as well as a load of other legal documents- when you're hired on as their personal assistant. so far as you know, they've never had a p.a. before, so you're bound and determined to be a shining example of the profession- the epitome of professionalism and discretion.

at first you only see them at the office, meeting their car as they drive up together in the same bulletproofed car, immediately setting to work as maekar barks out a list of things for you to get done before they take their meeting with the heads of lannister inc. you bust your ass knocking everything off the list before they break for lunch.

all in all, it's not a bad gig so far as corporate p.a. work goes. it's demanding, and maekar usually has a chip on his shoulder, but his gruffness is nothing compared to what you've dealt with before- and baelor seems more than adept at soothing his business partner's temper when it flares.

it's odd, though, the more you learn about them, the less things make sense. it's hard to know if they're family or maybe potentially married due to the same last name and the fact that they share everything- cars, meals, clothes, even their mansion... and a late night google search reveals that any and all personal information about them seems to have been scrubbed from the internet entirely.

whatever, rich people are notoriously weird about privacy and it's not your fucking business what the targaryen's are to each other. neither of them has hit you, groped you, thrown anything at you, called you slurs or threatened you. they still get their money's worth out of you, giving you plenty of tasks to tend to, multiple balls in the air- but they're not outright cruel, and it's enough to buy your loyalty and incuriosity.

so when you're finally called to their mansion for the first time, you keep your head down and eyes focused on your work. you don't ask questions when baelor steps out of the back bedroom only to be followed by maekar only moments later, don't gawk at the small herd of outrageously blonde children, and don't ogle as they stand closer to each other than normal in the kitchen as they both outline upcoming events you have to prepare for.

everything is fine and normal and definitely not your fucking business.

as you drive home that night, you realize it was a test of sorts. how good you are at being a professional outside of the office. the whole time you were there, three violet eyes and one deep brown one were constantly affixed on your face, keeping watch for potential questions or a raised brow- but you'd kept it together and asked nothing personal, and over the course of the day baelor's demeanor warmed and maekar's scowl softened, if only minutely.

after that, you're brought to the house more often. the targaryen's claim it's just easier to work from home, that it's less hassle for them, but you're not blind. you won't be the frog that's caught unaware by the water boiling around her- you can see the steam rising, you know what's happening, and you're choosing to stay put and see where this goes.

every day they toe the line of inappropriate- a lingering touch here, an offhand comment about the length of your skirt there, personal questions casually lobbed at you over the lunch baelor insisted on making for you himself. you can feel yourself hurtling towards something, but it's hard to say exactly what.

they take you along on their annual 'family vacation' to their beach house, claiming they might need you- but they never ask you to do any official work. instead, it's always small, personal favors. fetching fresh fruit so baelor can make cocktails, accompanying the children to the beach while your bosses get some 'alone time', applying copious amounts of sunscreen to maekar's back as baelor sits close by with an unreadable expression on his face.

on the last night of the vacation, baelor invites you to sit and talk with him while maekar oversees the children building a bonfire on the beach. he pours you a glass of wine and tells you a bit about himself, little anecdotes about being rich and connected his entire life. he scoots closer to you, thighs touching, as he tells you about how maekar had invited him and his boys to live with him when baelor's wife passed. how they decided to make the living arrangement permanent when maekar also became a windower. how his family means everything to him, how important it is that he share everything with maekar.

it's... a strange monologue, but you aren't stupid. it's a shovel talk, you think. maybe. the main jist you're picking up is that baelor loves his partner-slash-permanent room mate and would do anything to keep him happy and safe... that's basically a shovel talk, right? you've seen the way maekar's violet eyes always seem to track you around a room, been steered by his hands on your hips when he wants you to move, heard the comments about your blouses with more open necklines. maybe he's expressed interest in you to baelor, and baelor's just trying to protect him... but something about it feels off, and it's hard to put your finger on exactly what.

baelor leans in close, doing a decent impression of someone who's a little tipsy- but you can clearly see his glass hasn't been touched. he tells you that his family likes you- his boys and most of maekar's children adore you (aerion is a lost cause and you're fine with that), and he's grown to appreciate your diligent service over the past several months.

before you can even formulate any sort of reply, maekar is dropping onto the seat next to you with a groan, scooting in close, pressing up against you the way his partner is on the other side, fully boxing you in. they talk over you like you're not even there, the only acknowledgement of your existence being the warm, heavy palms resting on your thigh and shoulder. you don't say anything, don't react at all, just stare off towards the glowing bonefire on the darkening beach, ignoring the way maekar starts kneading his fingertips into the plush fat of your hip.

that night you manage to make it to bed without further incident, but it's impossible to sleep. you keep feeling the heat of their hands and bodies pressed to your sides, as if you'd been somehow branded by them. there was a shift tonight, you felt it. a boundary being pushed and found uncontested. something's going to happen- but you can't tell what or when, and it makes you restless.

sitting up in bed, you can see the ocean from your window, and when you squint through the dark, you can see the outlines of two grown men standing in the still-warm waves, their passionate kisses illuminated on intervals by a nearby lighthouse. you don't have to even get up for a closer look to know it's baelor and maekar- it's their builds, their hair, their height difference. it's them, without question, and it just confirms your suspicions- they're definitely married- or at least in a relationship. sure, it was a little confusing, the way the kids called the men 'uncle' on occasion- but you remember all the 'uncles' and 'good friends' your mom introduced you to after her divorce from dad, so you get it. kinda.

it's not long after you all return from vacation that maekar gruffly suggests you move into the guest bedroom at their mansion. it'll save you money in rent, gas, and utilities- and they won't have to wait for you to crawl your way through commuter traffic every morning. he says it like it's an obvious choice, like you'd be some sort of idiot to say no- but you've learned to read maekar targaryen pretty well over the past few months. you can see he's antsy, anxious to hear what you'll say- and it doesn't go unnoticed when he visibly relaxes at your 'yes'.

it's not hard falling into a routine around their place- breakfast at 8, lunch around noon, dinner at six, with routine walks around the large gardens and meetings taken in the spacious home office that's bigger than your former apartment. the kids don't bat an eye at your extended presence in the house, and neither does the rather intense security detail that's seemingly been extended to protect you as well.

however, since moving in, the touching has increased exponentially, and they don't even bother pretending it's innocent anymore. maekar routinely pretends to brush an errant hair from your face, baelor rests his hand on your lower back whenever he stands next to you, and you'd swear they rock-paper-scissors over who gets to slide their arm around your waist when you're all settled in to watch movies with the children in the evenings.

one night when the kids are out at a sleepover, baelor invites you to sit between him and maekar as they put on a documentary of some sort. in no time maekar has his arm snaked around your waist, fingers strumming your pantyline, while baelor's arm rests over your shoulders. the documentary runs in the background, entirely unheeded as baelor tells you what a good, obedient girl you are for him and maekar, how they want to reward you for your hard work-

which is how you end up with maekar plastered against your back, grinding his hard cock against your ass as he fingerfucks your pussy, watching breathlessly over your shoulder as baelor kisses you stupid and gropes your tits. maekar takes the opportunity to say absolutely filthy things into your ear, not even bothering to lower his voice to a whisper- and when he tells you that tits like yours were made to be sucked, baelor hums his agreement into your mouth before he slowly starts to trail down your neck towards your chest...

...right when the front door slams open, a cacophany of sound as aerion bitches about something or other as you yelp and dart off into your bedroom before you get caught. whatever caused aerion to come home early has maekar shouting, although you imagine a good chunk of his frustration is due to your rapid disappearance and his subsequent blue balls.

you spend the rest of the night locked away in your room, overthinking and panicking about what this means for not just tomorrow morning, but every morning after that. are you fired? are you going to have to move? or worse- will they pretend nothing happened at all?

after a few hours the voices down the hall quiet, and sleep finally takes you. in the middle of the night, maekar wakes you, pulling at your arms, scowling and urging you to get up. he leads you through a door that you hadn't even realized was there, a panel in the wall that leads straight to the shared master bedroom.

baelor is there, shirtless and waiting on the bed for you, apparently unwilling to leave things where they had left off. the entire rest of the night is spent sandwiched between the two of them, listening to them praise you to each other as if you aren't there, complimenting your softness, your mouth, your cunt, the way you jiggle, and how good you are at taking them both at once.

clearly, they're experts on how to get each other off, each one of them an eager instructor in what the other likes. baelor's more than happy to demonstrate how maekar like his cock to be stroked, and maekar's not shy about showing you the exact right way baelor likes to have his balls licked.

you cum for the first time that night when baelor strikes a bet with maekar- first one to get you pregnant gets exclusive rights to your asshole for a year. your fifth (and last) orgasm of the night hits when maekar pins down your hips and eats you out, cleaning you out as he laps up the commingled spend from your pussy, muttering about how just needs to make you cum one more time to break the tie.

for a while, life is fucking fantastic. you're having insanely hot threesomes with your super rich bosses on a regular basis, their kids (minus aerion) like you, your willingness to suck toes got you another raise, and you're saving a shitload of money by living out of their guest room (despite the fact you're in their bed every night).

things couldn't be more perfect, which is why, of course, the universe decides to humble you in the form of a photograph. in baelor's desk, sitting underneath a pile of documents he'd asked you to fetch, there's a photo of a heterochromatic three year old holding a very blonde baby.

the handwritten caption makes you vomit in the trash can.

except neither he nor baelor (who is by his side, having herded him into an elevator at the first sign of trouble) expected his secretary to be working late, bent over a filing cabinet as she tries to get some last minute work done.

maekar is on her faster than baelor can blink, broad palm smashed against her mouth as he scrambles to shove that cute little pencil skirt off of her. she screams and looks to baelor for help, but the elder targaryen just leisurely locks the door and crosses the room in slow strides, assuring her that she'll be fine, that he'll pay for her compliance and silence, to relax and let maekar take what he needs, and to decide quickly if she wants to be on her back or on her knees for the remainder of the night.

cut to baelor holding a dragon-handled letter opener to her throat as maekar ruts into her like an animal, cursing colorfully against her skin as baelor shushes him gently, ignoring the crying girl under his brother as he assures maekar that the sin belongs to whoever spiked his drink, that maekar can't help it, that if they can't bribe the terrified woman that maekar is fucking so violently that he'll take responsibility for it all.