Knightfuckers Anonymous

Criston huffed, taking another deep breath. He shouldn’t be here, spread out in his ex-fiancé’s adjacent hotel room. Yet he was lonely. He’d already planned to find some nameless pointless woman to fuck on the business trip with Alicent’s entitled brother— head of sales for the Oldtown branch.

Yet Gwayne’s irritable charm and pretty blue eyes had started to wear on him. Add a couple of Negroni’s at the happy hour and the rest entailed. He’d never even slept with a man before, Criston honestly was picturing pounding the lean fucker into the bed.

Instead, Gwayne pushed him down, pressing hot kisses on each inch of skin revealed under his pressed suit. The prat leisurely divested his clothes, all long creamy limbs and elegant lines while Criston was panting like a dog on the bed.

Then Gwayne’s lips were around his cock, expertly bobbing his head while cupping his aching balls. Criston gasped and let out throaty moans, hands fisted into the bedding, thighs helplessly spreading. Gwayne’s nimble fingers curled up behind his balls, Criston had yelped, eyes bugging as he looked up.

“What? No girl ever slips one in?” Gwayne snorted, purring.

Criston shook his head, grumbling, “No, fucking hells, of course not.”

The redhead laughed a haughty noise, his eyes crinkling, lips a darker color from the stretch. Gwayne sat up between Criston’s thighs, pale hands contrasting with olive skin as he rubbed Criston’s hips. His pretty cock was bobbing against his trim belly, flushed.

“You should let me,” he murmured, eyes lidded and sultry, voice lowering.

Fuck.

Criston sucked in a breath, throwing his head back on the pillows. He wanted it. He wanted it bad. The Stormlander was no idiot, he’d heard about the prostate, how the orgasm was intense. His jaw gritted, trying to muster words.

“Relax,” Gwayne chided, firm hands gripping Criston’s thighs.

“Fine, fine, yeah- I want it,” Criston said.

Gwayne’s lips stretched into another feline smile as he rubbed circles into Criston’s inner thighs. Criston moaned softly, Gods, he felt as if someone had sparked every nerve ending in his body.

Criston’s mind was a warzone by the time he had gone to the bathroom to ‘prep’ as Gwayne instructed. He was anxious and uncomfortable once more. His thoughts were a jumble of Alicent, his sexuality, and fucking the whole thing up.

He exited, dark eyes scanning the darkened bedroom. Gwayne was idly tugging on his prick, soft noises leaving his swollen lips. The thoughts began to disappear when Hightower’s eyes drifted over as he sat up once more, voice soft, “You won’t have to think, I’ll take care of you Cole.”

“You can call me Criston.”

Gwayne rolled his eyes, beckoning Criston over and pulling him into a searing kiss. Criston’s hand wrapped around the back of Gwayne’s head, fingers slipping through copper strands. The heat was growing again with every slide of their tongues, lazily moving.

“You’re gorgeous, gods, even if you look like you swallowed a lemon,” Gwayne murmured as he pulled back, one hand rubbing Criston’s flank as the other slowly stroked the brunette back to full mast. He growled back, “Shut it pretty boy.”

“Mhm,” the redhead hummed, sliding a thumb across the tip of Criston’s weeping cock— sending a jolt of molten desire up his back. Criston pressed his mouth hungrily against Gwayne’s, his own calloused hands feeling the smooth expanse of pale skin.

“Turn over, c’mon,” Gwayne ushered as Criston did so without a second thought. He was aching again, he felt an insurmountable pull towards this— whatever it was. Criston could always silence his head when he was intimate. All he knew was that Gwayne Hightower was going to take care of him and that was that.

The Stormlander jolted again when Gwayne pulled him by the hips, mouth falling open at how exposed he was. Hands slid around, settling on Criston’s firm ass. He moaned, head dropping when he felt Gwayne’s lips kiss across tender skin.

Gwayne didn’t waste any time, lapping at his ass, groaning deeply, hands gripping. Criston outright whimpered, thighs twitching at the foreign feeling, but gods— Gwayne’s hot tongue lapping at his hole was going to send him to an early grave.

The other man’s tongue was slow and almost tender, settling in and pleased with his hums and throaty little noises. Criston was a trembling mess, unable to keep the moans and drawn out slurring of Gwayne’s name as he was eaten out.

Time seemed to melt, Criston couldn’t tell you, his head was cloudy, body like syrup with pleasure. Gwayne pulled back, warm breath ghosting across his skin.

“Want me to go a bit further now? All soft and sweet for me.”

Criston garbled out a yes, eyes unfocused as he swallowed down drool. Gwayne’s hand gently pressed down on the nip of his waist, voice hoarse, “Stay like this, it’ll feel amazing, I promise.”

He trusted him for some damn reason, shifting as he felt a finger breach his entrance. Gwayne cooed his name, praising Criston. He sounded so sweet, voice low, “There you go, yeah, lovely. Just stay like this Criston.”

He trembled, chest expanding with his heavier breathing, getting used to the slim finger sliding in. Then another, Criston licking his lips, a whine slipping out. Gwayne pressed a kiss to his tailbone, fingers sliding back and forth.

Criston was moaning again, the discomfort giving way to another throb of heat. His lashes fluttered as Gwayne built up a rhythm, fucking Criston with his fingers. More praise. The brunette whined Gwayne’s name, whole body feeling like putty.

Then Gwayne’s fingers shifted, pressing downward— one, two, three, and sparks exploded behind Criston’s lids. He shouted out, eyes flicking open. He felt his cock leaking, a spurt of pre. Criston babbled something, begging likely.

“There it is,” Gwayne rasped smugly.

He began to focus on the gland now, every quick stroke and push of his fingers stretching Criston thin. Criston could feel everything buzzing, his prick and balls throbbing. He whined again, “Fuck, Gwayne, s-shit don’t stop- oh gods.”

“I’ve got you, just feel it love.”

Criston dropped further into the bed, mouth ajar as he moaned helplessly. He could feel his back arching, and legs shaking as the heavy pleasure draped over his body. The brunette knew he was making a mess, dripping all over the expensive bedding. Gwayne seemed to love it, encouraging and very, very giving.

He was close, he was sure, the heady ecstasy growing more and more, spreading from his hole to his chest. Criston gasped, then again, a loud keening erupting from his wet lips. Gwayne sounded pleading as he sped his movements up, “You’re there love, right there, so tight, good fucking boy.”

He blanked out for a moment, the most powerful orgasm washing over Criston’s body, waves of white hot ecstasy. He knew he was probably loud but all he could process was the blood rushing in his ears, blowing his load, and the hands of…

Gwayne, Gwayne, Seven Hells, Gwayne Hightower.

Criston came back to his side, Gwayne petting his dark curls back, eyes roving over the bigger man as he breathed through the aftershocks, twitching here and there. He felt like he was floating, body pleasantly worn.

“Smith’s balls,” Criston breathed.

Dark brown met that brilliant blue, Gwayne right next to Criston, wiping his fingers on the bed. He cocked his head, lips turned up as he regarded the other man’s wrecked state.

There was a vulnerability in the heir’s eyes as he asked a simple question.

“Did you like it?”

Criston felt his lips curl into a smile, lazily responding, “Better than good. That mouth of yours…I can’t come up with an insult.”

“Then I’ve done my job,” the redhead sniffed, a strange expression on his face. The air was stagnant, waiting.

Criston gripped Gwayne’s hip, looking up with a renewed intensity. He had to return a favor. More than that, Criston wanted to see Hightower come undone, he needed it. Criston growled, “Not yet. You’ve got some more to do, pretty boy.”

The soft din of breakfast being served drew you out of your thoughts. You scanned the room, seeing your sickly father— your mother rubbing his shoulders, a furrow between her brows. You were nineteen, Rhaenyra twenty-two, and set to inherit the family company. Aemma couldn’t have children anymore and now your father had cancer. Things needed to be tidied up considering her gender. Idiotic but whatever, she was intelligent and driven, you idolized your sister.

She was being courted around by the Velaryon shipping heir— you had a feeling she’d found a loophole. Your sister in a sarong, Alicent on her arm passed by, heading down to the pool to have breakfast, sparing no glance your way. You’d noticed Laenor certainly spent more time looking at men himself. A match was a match.

It was summer in the Northern Hemisphere. When the annual holiday to some destination most people couldn’t afford occurred. A neat bow for a two-week chance of expanding business. You went along for the ride, as was your duty.

This year it was Aruba. The Hotel Americana, sitting on lovely Palm Beach. You’d read about it in the Times. ‘Those who wish for familiar hotels with many resort amenities, nightlife, shopping, and gambling will like the scale and variety available.’

Hm. You had a feeling Otto was steering your father towards the economic boom of the United States right now. You went to University in Chicago, grateful for the warm weather. You were a bit shy and awkward, used to pubs and not clubs. Regardless, you liked the spa, courts, and the beach even if you looked like a ghost with that zinc-laden sunscreen your mother ‘offered’.

Not everyone had arrived yet. Uncle Daemon was to join with Laena, scandalously young, but she was strong and mature. Much like the women were in your family. You forked some eggs into your mouth, frowning. Laena calmed him, but he was certainly…chaotic. Daemon and Otto’s arguments were highly entertaining at the least.

Alicent was excited her brother was coming.

Gwayne Hightower was the enigmatic heir, a wildcard by all accounts, but he kept family ties. As a Targaryen looking in, it was expected of him to be ingratiated into the international conglomerate. Alicent was best friends with your sister, she knew all of you and held you as a baby.

The younger brothers who weren’t shucked off overseas in boarding school had their divisions to run and oversee. Where a Targaryen loomed, a Hightower stood in the shadow, pulling the strings, combing the pieces. Except Gwayne. He took off and moved to the States, you’d seen him in magazines.

“A male model, pah! He’s running from his birthright, he’ll learn once he arrives,” you heard Otto scoff to your father over breakfast, tossing a magazine out of his sight. You fiddled with your food, purple eyes peering out the large windows, scanning the bay.

You wondered if Otto held some hope for him. Alicent seemed to be doing just fine in his stead. Yet the idea of Rhaenyra becoming CEO ruffled feathers. Women in business…you certainly didn’t want it.

You thought about Gwayne again. He was handsome. Haughty, yet smiley with who he liked, a gleam in his eye like he held a secret, pretty teeth, and fine features. You were such an ugly duckling the last time you saw him. Baby fat, braces, pigtails. Horrid.

“You must be the other one,” he had laughed at some corporate dinner, earning some giggles and smiles. You smiled until you were alone and cried, watching your sister gleam, a shining star you wished to be.

The other one.

Perhaps you weren't too keen to see him again. Probably would bring a fellow model to strut around the beach with. Probably had a dumb smirk on his face, just like Criston used to. Probably would take a look at you and scoff about growing up and filling out.

You realized you were white-knuckling your utensil and carefully released your grip. You sighed, standing up to get dressed for the day, nodding at your parents.

It was always a flurry of neurotic dressing, comparing yourself to the willowy frame of Alicent and the athletic build of Nyra. Your therapist told you to dress how you wanted, not what you thought people expected. It was the age of athletic, leggy bodies— and you qualified for what felt like neither. Even if you played good field hockey back in school.

It’s not as if you were turned down often, but a bad relationship or harsh word left you insecure now and then.

“Curves, curves are pretty,” you muttered, tying on the top, a neon string bikini— one you'd bought on a whim shopping with your sister before the trip. The bottoms were cut high too, so you wrapped up in a big fishing shirt and slithered downstairs to hit the beach, a towel in one arm, a bag slung off your shoulder.

You walked out of the elevator, a clipped and haughty voice interrupting. They called, “Rhaenyra?”

You frowned. Not Rhaenyra. You turned to see the offender, lips set in a pout. Shock morphed your face. Gwayne Hightower, dressed in designer, his reddish hair all slicked and handsome, smug as you remembered. You blanched, blinking. Recognition flit over his blue eyes— a Cheshire smile upon his lips.

“Oh my, all grown up aren't you?”

He grinned, moving, holding you up as you tried to pass with a polite smile.

“Don’t you want to help a dear Hightower out?” He teased, followed by scoffing laughter. His bright eyes nonchalantly flicked to your face, then down to your tits and back. You would be lying if it didn’t feel good. You wanted him to look at you like that deep down.

What did you want?

You are supposed to be pissed off.

“I’m sure Otto has a whole itinerary for you, Gwayne,” you said coolly.

He shrugged, smiling to hide irritation, “I’m sure he does. I’ll see you on the beach, such a swan now aren’t you, no?”

You scowled, turning on your foot. He remembered the comment, the bastard had read your mind about the ugly duckling. You’d relax by the water and try to forget about his smug face, sharp cheeks, gorgeous blue eyes, and dark lashes- no!

“Fuck!” You hissed, scaring some old couple, ducking your head under your hat.

You’d been dozing under an umbrella, startled as the familiar voice of Gwayne disrupted your peace. He looked annoyed, a dismal look in his eye. The way his mouth pulled down reminded you of Otto and Alicent. You pushed back your hat, looking over at Gwayne lighting a cigarette in the adjacent lounger.

“Hello to you too, I take it you had a warm welcome?”

He scoffed, shrugging, “Oh, it’s always warm when Otto Hightower is in the room. Of course not, he wants me in the business, I want to live my life.” He exhaled a cloud of smoke, staring at the sand.

You mulled over his words, replying, “You could step down.”

“No. I’ll get there on my own time, I listen enough to not get routed immediately. I certainly didn’t come to this island to pour over reports,” he bit out, puffing again.

You hummed, knowing what he wanted. Gambling, girls, glamor. Flowing booze and powder. You saw the appeal, somewhat. Aspects. Perhaps you wanted to be the girl. You looked back at the waves in the distance, sighing, “Then why don’t you go and schmooze up over by the bar and beach volleyball, you’ll find Laenor down there.”

“Laenor,” he snorted, “Yes, playing slap ass I’m sure. He’s a fun time, I’ll admit.”

You pulled down your glasses. No man around you had ever uttered such things aloud. Gwayne laughed, grinning, eyes crinkling. He hummed, “You’re still so naive you know that? You’re a pretty little swan yet hiding out all alone. Men fuck men, it’s real and it’s quite pleasurable, darling.”

You fumed a little, he was tearing you to shreds with his mouth, and tossing the bits around with his hungry gaze. You sat up, glaring, blonde hair cascading down your shoulders. Your manicured nail jabbed at his Ralph Lauren-clad chest, soft voice growing sharp.

“You think you’re going to just waltz in and know everything? Tell me why you’re over here talking about fucking Laenor Velaryon with the spare daughter and not going to ‘enjoy yourself’ or whatever you said. Probably snorting and drinking up the nightclub and blowing your money on rummy. Trust me, I know the type, they just aren’t so blatantly ignorant!”

His smug smile dropped, eyes wide. The man looked chastised. Now you felt bad, frowning. You sighed, rubbing your forehead. Gwayne said nothing, looking to the side, and ashing out his cigarette. You apologized, gathering your scurried emotions.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s not easy, all of this,” you gestured vaguely.

He replied quietly, “I was being an ass to you, you had every right.”

A beat of silence enveloped the air.

“You don’t have anyone else out of the circle to go to do you, Gwayne?”

He nodded- that grim look upon his face. You wanted it to go away. You didn’t like upsetting people. Rarely did you speak so candidly. Granted, he was an ass but you hated this tension. You wracked your mind for a quick solution.

“Do you want me to suck your cock?” You asked.

“W-what?” He spluttered, blue eyes going comically wide, spine stiffening.

You flushed, groaning at your inability to smooth things over. That was stupid. You should talk to your therapist about this. Thank God your mother let you pursue your career. You tried to speak, but your mouth was growing wet thinking about it. Sucking him off. The fucker hadn’t left your mind.

He cut you off, leaning in, voice husky, “So you're not that sweet little swan everyone thinks you are, hm? Using that pretty mouth, dating bad, bad guys like me. What else are you hiding?”

You whimpered, feeling exposed, the redhead looking around before gripping your waist and pulling you onto his lean thighs. He grinned again, eyes lidded as he watched your expression. Gwayne cooed, “Acting so shy, I thought you wanted to suck my cock baby?”

“I- I do, I just- I said it too soon. I was going to say I was holding resentments from the past against you and I'm sorry again for insulting you. Something is wrong with me? I think you're very, very attractive,” you rambled nervously.

He laughed lowly, stroking your hips and flanks, hands gentler than you expected. The heir nosed under your jaw, humming, “You’re so soft, God, you feel good.” He inhaled deeply, cock swelling and twitching underneath your weeping cunt, separated by thin swimwear.

“I should just sit out by the waves and take you apart, pretty girl, you want it, don’t you? As an apology, yes.”

You whimpered again, nodding, hands sliding his button up off his shoulders, ogling fair skin and a body he put work into. He wasn’t one of those overbuilt types you disliked. Gwayne grabbed the back of your head, meeting his lips with yours, slow and sensual, humming languidly.

Your left hand wrapped into copper locks, the other skimming his chest, a playful thumb sliding over his nipple. His breath hitched before laughing, “Cheeky.”

You resumed kissing him, growing eager, arching into his body, your hand sliding down to grip his cock, moaning softly. Gwayne’s tongue slipped into your mouth, your jaw widening some for better access, tongues gently rubbing on each push and pull. Your heart was thumping, Gwayne groaning as you squeezed his prick.

“I want it, let me let me,” you pled, lips swollen and hair mussed. Gwayne nodded breathlessly, hand on your cheek, the other grabbing a towel as he murmured, “For your knees at least.”

“There’s those manners,” you smiled, purple eyes flicking upward.

Pop. Gasp.

He snickered as your hands went up to cover your exposed tits. Yet not a soul was around and he was stroking his full prick through his swim shorts, handsome face flushed and smirking down at you. You slapped his outer thigh, huffing, “Just couldn’t take the compliment.”

He hummed lazily, “Mm- I just wanted the whole view, those tits and lips.”

Your lashes fluttered, cunt throbbing at his raspy tone. “Mhm, yes, you’ll get it all,” you murmured, easing down the shorts below his balls, Gwayne grunting in relief. Your eyes peered up at him, tying your thick silver hair up. He wrapped his hand around your ponytail, eyes studying you silently.

With a soft inhale, you lapped up the length of his cock, a hand on the tip, the other cupping his sack. You moaned along with him as you wet him nice and good, drooling on his flushed tip, pulling the skin back some. His head fell back with a sharp grunt, gasping your name as your lips enveloped the ruddy tip. You squirmed, thighs rubbing together as you began to bob your head.

His calloused hand got a handful of your breast, pinching and pulling at your nipple. You whimpered, sending vibrations down the length of him as he panted, thighs spreading. Gwayne murmured, hoarse, “Fuck, sweetheart, fuck, you’re going to make this end too fast. I’ll- oh god!” His hand wrenched into your hair as you circled your tongue around the tip of his cock, playfully flicking the salty pre oozing from the slit.

Gwayne tried again, snapping to get your eyes on him.

“I- I said I’ll make you see stars this week. Play with your pretty pussy until you cry, hm? W-want that? Do you want that baby? I’ll do it, I’ll fuck you good and hard, eat your cunt whenever fucking hell,” his sultry rasp peeled off into an anguished moan, throat bobbing as his cock pulsed and twitched.

He was growing close and you whimpered like a bitch in heat for it. Your fingers slid down to your aching clit as you suckled harder, rubbing in tandem, the soft whines and hums bringing Gwayne closer.

His blue eyes were shut tight as he babbled, “Close baby, so close, keep touching yourself for me, mmmfuck.”

Your amethyst eyes met his blue ones, debauched and messy— clumped lashes, mussed hair, your lips stretched tight. He blew with a long groan, gripping your hair again. You swallowed it down, gagging a little as he fucked into your throat in stuttering movements.

You pulled off, wiping your mouth, gasping for breath. Gwayne grabbed you with no qualms, grinning between his heavy breaths.

“Oh sweetheart, you didn’t come did you?”