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"Homecoming is next week," Cregan says, apropos of nothing.
Jacaerys' boyfriend is standing in the kitchen of his condo, cooking them both dinner while Jace studies. It's so domestic, it makes the twink insane. Three years ago, he would've laughed his ass off at someone suggesting this very scene would one day become his reality, but now, he can't imagine life any differently.
It's been a little over two years since King Cregan Stark bent the knee, just like his ancestors did before him, but instead of accepting fealty and then taking off like Aegon the Conqueror did after Torrhen Stark knelt, Jacaerys Velaryon Targaryen-Strong has stuck around to finish out his degree—and fallen in love with his northman, the North itself, and all of its traditions in the process.
Well, most of them.
Jacaerys sets his highlighter down and glances over at where his boyfriend is chopping vegetables. "What about it?" He has a feeling he knows what's coming, and his belly twists a little at the thought.
"You guys still doing the blackout party?" Cregan doesn't miss a beat as he chops—indication of the man's strained thoughts, as if the tension across his muscular shoulders isn't enough of a sign on its own.
Jacaerys runs his hand through his curls. "Yes, but I'm not—" Jace works his jaw for a moment, thinking of the teasing he'll be forced to endure for breaking with tradition, but then shakes his head. He made up his mind when they first voted him in as frat prez. He's not going to change it, now. "Nobody is sucking me off on the balcony, Cregan."
He expects some sort of protest from the Alpha Zeta alumni—the former president of the frat, the man who was king when Jacaerys was just a pledge, trying to find his footing in the snow after a lifetime spent shouldering the weight of what it means to be born into one of the realms most famous, most watched, families.
It's tradition; the president of Alpha Zeta gets a blowjob during the blackout party—no phones allowed—while everyone stands around and cheers for it. It's a pretty twisted tradition, though, and Jacaerys isn't exactly keen on the idea, particularly because his boyfriend graduated three years ago.
But Cregan was.
In fact, Jacaerys will never get over the image of Cregan himself engaging in the tradition three years ago—of how the man leveled him with one look from atop a balcony attached to the room that now belongs to Jacaerys as Arra Norry dropped to her knees and sucked him off before the entire Win-U Greek System.
He remembers it because it was the moment he realized how fucked he was. How fucking gone he was for someone who was nothing more than an asshole at the time. He'd retreated to the pledge deck and tried to angrily jerk himself off, but was interrupted by Garibald fumbling around with a girl who ultimately never even got naked, meaning Jace fell asleep with a rock-hard dick and the full force of the anger inherited from his father swirling through his pint-sized body like a storm without end.
(It wasn't a great night.)
But the thing is, Jacaerys of today would actually get it, were he back there, now. Cregan is nothing if not a sucker for tradition. He loves Alpha Zeta. Loves being an alumni, too. As does his own father, and the rest of the Starks that came before them both. (In fact, Rickon Stark still sends a check to support the frat every year, despite the fact that Cregan graduated three years prior and has his own cushy salary at Stark & Co.) So the mere fact that Cregan brought it up means that Jacaerys is kind of expecting a protest, now.
But there's nothing.
Cregan simply shrugs, says, "Okay," and then starts scraping the vegetables into a bowl.
Jacaerys frowns. "It's a stupid tradition," he says, reaching for his glass of wine and taking a sip. "I'm not doing it."
"Yeah, alright, baby," Cregan responds without turning around. "If you don't want to." He wipes his hands off on the kitchen towel tucked into his apron—seriously, so domestic it makes Jacaerys want to scream—and moves on to do something else in the kitchen that the twink can't quite see.
Falls silent, again.
The thing is, Cregan may not be the realm's best communicator, but he's not a quiet guy. Not by any means. So the silence is deafening as he continues cooking and Jacaerys continues watching his muscles tense and release beneath the thin cotton of his tight t-shirt.
A couple of years ago, Jacaerys might chalk it up to his man trying to let him study…but Cregan isn't exactly known for simply 'letting' Jacaerys study. There's a reason that Jace has a room at the frat live-out, despite spending most of his nights here in Cregan's condo.
It means something is off.
Jacaerys pushes up out of his chair and pads over to the kitchen, wrapping his arms around Cregan's waist. He rests his cheek against his boyfriend's shoulder. "You sound upset."
"It's fine," Cregan cuts in. Liar. He's literally acting like Jacaerys just told him that his cock is too sensitive for a blowjob, or that his ass hurts and Cregan can't fuck it—nor rim him. He sounds…petulant.
It's pretty cute, but Jacaerys doesn't say that. Instead, he stands up on his tippy-toes and hooks his chin over Cregan's shoulder. "Doesn't sound like it's fine."
"Why wouldn't it be fine?" Cregan starts chopping more vegetables, despite the fact that the bowl is filled up with them. "You don't want to do it, don't do it."
"Um," Jacaerys presses a kiss to the stubble on Cregan's neck, "you are the single most possessive person I have ever met," he reminds the man. "Since when were you going to be fine with the idea of someone else sucking my cock in front of half the school?"
When Cregan doesn't respond, Jacaerys frowns.
Then it occurs to him.
"Cregan," Jacaerys says, slowly, tugging at the former fraternity president's wrists until he stops savagely chopping vegetables and turns around, taking the twink into his arms. "Baby, you're an old man, now. I don't expect you to come back to Win-U for some stupid frat ritual with a bunch of college kids."
The flash of irritation is so quick, Jacaerys isn't quite sure it's there—because then, Cregan's expression is softening as he leans down, dropping a reverent kiss to Jace's forehead. "Okay," he says, easily. Then he grins. "Once I put the vegetables in, we've got an hour."
"Oh yeah?" Jacaerys asks. He's suspicious at how quickly Cregan has allowed the topic to drop, but he's also very interested in the flames smouldering in the big guy's silver gaze—because he recognizes that look, and his cheeks flush beneath it. "An hour?"
Cregan slips his hand beneath Jacaerys' sweater, burning a promise along the flesh of the boy's hip. "What do you say we spend it naked?"
"Incorrigible animal," Jacaerys teases, standing up on his toes again for easier access to Cregan's mouth.
"You love it," Cregan points out.
And he does.
He really, truly does.
***
Homecoming week is a blur—a complete and total blur. By the time the blackout party hits, Jacaerys can hardly remember everything that happened, but he's having the time of his life up in the DJ booth, spinning a tune while the guy they hired takes a break.
Which is, of course, when Garibald sloshes into the booth all drunk and disorderly. "Yo, bro! Package arrived with your name on it!"
"Fuck off!" Jacaerys shouts, rolling his eyes as he spins the record, counting the new song into the one finishing up—a perfect segue from one beat into another. He's hot, sweating in his tiny black shorts and his crop top, spinning records while his friends get trashed. He figures Garibald will get bored and take off, but it doesn't happen.
He comes closer. Shouts louder. "Jace! Package! It's in your room, better check it out!"
"What the fuck are you on about, man?" Jacaerys asks, starting to get annoyed. "We're in the middle of a party."
But Garibald is insistent.
***
The music is thumping through the live-out as Jacaerys climbs the steps, silently cursing Garibald for pushing him to end his set early. Jace has been really doing a lot with music ever since he dropped the pre-law track—has released a lot on his SoundCloud and been noticed by some labels. He's not making any decisions, yet, not until he graduates, but there's buzz. People are starting to know him for more than just his titles.
It means being kicked off of the stage at his own frat's blackout party isn't the worst thing. There'll be other, more important, gigs. But it's fucking annoying, because he'd been having fun.
"This better be worth it," Jacaerys mutters, adjusting his dick in the tiny shorts he's got on before pushing open the door to his bedroom—and stopping short. In a flash, he's thrown back in time. Feels like a fawn-legged, doe-eyed freshman all over again as he takes in the sight of a big man in a Win-U hockey jersey lounging on his bed with a bottle of Grey Goose.
"Cregan," Jacaerys breathes, shutting the door behind himself and throwing the lock. "What are you doing here?"
The bass ripples through the live-out, making the floor tremble as it pounds, and the twink feels like he's eighteen all over again as he stumbles forward.
"What do you think I'm doing here?" Cregan asks, twisting in the bed to set his feet on the ground—thighs spread, bulge visible beneath the denim of his jeans. "C'mere, baby."
"You are—" Jacaerys moves forward, rubbing his palm down his face "—impossible. You're impossible. Who even let you in?"
"Garibald. Obviously." Cregan grins. "What else are littles for, anyway?"
"Cregan," Jacaerys groans, a little drunk but not nearly drunk enough for what he knows the man is here to propose. "It's not happening. I already told them I'm not doing it—and even if I wanted to, I've had like, one drink tonight. There's no way."
"We can fix that," Cregan replies smoothly, "get on your knees for me, baby."
Jacaerys laughs. "Isn't that my line tonight?"
Cregan only twists the cap off the Grey Goose, lifting it to his own lips and taking a swig. "Fine, come sit with me, at least."
"Seven fucking hells," Jacaerys mutters, cheeks flushing as he steps within reach and finds himself tugged forward the rest of the way, "this is not happening."
"Not without a little liquid courage," Cregan agrees, kissing his bare belly.
"Heathen," Jacaerys mutters. He lets Cregan pull him close, but he doesn't sit. Instead, he tangles his fingers into his boyfriend's hair and shakes his head. "As much as I appreciate the gesture, I'm not— this isn't—" Jacaerys laughs, feeling slightly hysterical "—Cregan, there's no way I'll be able to stay hard long enough for you to suck me off." His cheeks are burning as he admits it, but even with Cregan having volunteered for such a juvenile act, he knows that he can't do it.
He's spent too long in the public eye minding his every move to ever do something like this. Far too long. He'll be way too self-conscious. He's not like Cregan. His family is practically royalty, and not in the way that northerners are royalty. More like, the entire realm has watched his every, single move, since birth. He's been in the spotlight since the day he was born—he can't just, like, get sucked off in public. That's just not something he can do.
Even if it sounds kinda—
Doesn't matter.
It's not something he can do.
Cregan nips at Jacaerys' belly. "You are so fucking sexy in this," he mutters, almost as if to himself. Then he presses on Jace's hip, as if the senior is an animal and will sit on command. "Baby, that sounds like a challenge. You sure you don't wanna claim me in front of the realm? Don't wanna fuck my throat while everyone watches you? Don't wanna show them all who I belong to?" Cregan's voice is liquid sex, and maybe that one drink Jacaerys had was a little stronger than he thought, because his boyfriend's tone licks through his body with more heat than it should as he sets an offer out on the table between them.
Jace's face is burning as he shakes his head. "It would be decidedly unsexy when I went soft because of the audience," he groans, but without really thinking about it, drops down to sit beside his boyfriend on the bed—the very same one they first fucked on, back when he was at orientation and Cregan paying attention to him instead of his dad. Back when Cregan flirting with Jacaerys while Breakbones was within the vicinity instead of sucking up to his famous father had been enough flattery to pull Jace up to this very room for a quickie.
Cregan leans over and kisses him instead of responding, sets his palm on Jacaerys' bare waist like he owns it and digs his fingers in as he kisses—and it's got an edge to it, that same edge that drew Jacaerys back to the man time and time again when he was nothing more than a fuckboy. Cregan knows how to take control when he wants to, and as they sit on the bed, he does exactly that; thrusts his tongue into Jacaerys' mouth like he owns it, moaning loudly—makes their teeth clash together as he wraps a palm around Jace's neck and tugs him closer. He kisses Jacaerys like they've been thrown back in time by three years, and Cregan is a filthy senior, taking whatever he wants, because he knows he's the King of the Campus—and that Jacaerys is a mere peasant, seeking validation from such a man.
The animalistic growls coming from the man's chest are making Jace's balls tighten, and honestly, it's a little bit mortifying, because all it takes is a filthy kiss from his boyfriend, and he's chubbing up in his little black shorts.
Cregan palms his cock aggressively, cups the length with his big hand and squeezes gently like he's promising something more, and Jacaerys shivers with need—groans at how fucking easy he is—and then breaks the kiss, because unlike back when he was a frosh, he can actually do that sort of thing. Isn't seduced and blinded by Cregan's entire presence to the point of stupidity.
Usually.
"Cregan—"
But the man doesn't miss a beat. He lifts the bottle to Jacaerys' mouth, and tilts it, pouring the cool, smooth vodka right onto the twink's tongue.
And Jace? Seven help him, he swallows.
And keeps swallowing.
"We did this three years ago." Cregan's voice is low and husky…greedy, even, as it ripples through Jacaerys' ears while the boy's mouth floods with alcohol, as he tries to swallow it all down, but ends up letting the clear liquid dribble past his lips and down his neck, soaking his shirt in the process, twisting beneath the stream of alcohol as it dribbles into his belly button and down over his cock. "Don't you wanna try again? Have things end a little differently?"
Cregan pulls the bottle away, traces his thumb over Jacaerys' lower lip—and then kisses him again, steals the answer right from Jace's mouth.
"Cregan," Jacaerys pants when he's finally given leave to breathe, "this is such a bad idea." The Grey Goose has already begun to sink into his bloodstream, though, because he's feeling a little light-headed, a little agreeable as his boyfriend sinks to his knees.
As the great Cregan Stark slips between Jacaerys' thighs, and starts mouthing at the twink's hard cock; his lips roving over the bulge like he's worshipping it, his humming twisting through Jace as though the man is physically pressing arousal into his system.
"This isn't playing fair," Jacaerys gasps.
He gets a wink in return. "Never said I was gonna play fair, baby."
"You're a menace."
Cregan shrugs and begins to suck through the cotton shorts—because of course he knows Jacaerys is going commando. Of course he's gonna take advantage of it. Of course he's going to slip his hand up and cradle Jace's balls with just the right amount of pressure.
Because here's the thing—there's literally nobody that sucks cock like Cregan does.
Most people don't realize it—at least, they better not realize it—because Cregan is such a macho fuckboy, that it's pretty clear to everyone with and without the appropriate boundaries to keep their mouths shut that the big, broad-shouldered man is the one who lays the pipe.
Jace is in a frat.
He's a twink in a frat.
It could be a fucking joke all on its own, but instead, it's just his life. And really, it doesn't bother him, anymore, that his brothers all know how he takes it. It's his fault for leaving the lube and the dildos and the poppers out in his bedroom, but it's not like the resulting ribbing is any different than what the other guys get. Sure, it's annoying, but at least he's not Roger, the 21-year-old virgin with eight fleshlights hidden beneath his bed so that he can save himself for marriage.
(Roger is a weird dude.)
Besides, Jacaerys took gender studies. He knows how to make someone else feel like shit for trying to shove their sexist, heterosexual gender essentialism onto him if they try to make him bottoming into some hierarchical bullshit where he's lesser for his tastes.
So whatever. Jace bottoms. He loves it. But what people don't realize, is that when it comes to sucking cock, more often than not, it's Cregan on his knees—Cregan begging for a taste, Cregan spending hours worshipping Jacaerys' hole, his dick, his body.
Cregan literally throwing a temper tantrum when Jacaerys says that he doesn't want to be rimmed.
Maybe in the beginning, it was Jace sucking him off more often than not, but Cregan is, like, obsessed with Jacaerys—obsessed with blowing Jace nice and slow, pushing him over the edge and drinking it all down before they fuck. He'll, like, light candles and make it all romantic and then spend an hour on oral before even touching himself. It's a kink all on its own; fealty kink, for sure.
He's a simp, more or less, and Jacaerys loves it. Loves when his boyfriend is saying the most ridiculous, lewd things as they get it on in front of a mirror and Jace's soft, spent dick thickens up again as he gets railed.
Because after three years of fucking each other, two-and-a-half spent officially together, he's learned that, well, he's lucky his boyfriend loves it so much. Lucky his boyfriend is always begging to suck him off and rim him. And he has a really hard time finding a reason to see that as bad, which means that it's really more of a Pavlovian response when Jacaerys' blood starts to rush south as Cregan moans between his legs.
Truly, he can't help it if he starts writhing a little, squirming and breathing hard as Cregan uses his mouth to soak the tight black fabric pulled across his cock—as Cregan gazes up at Jacaerys with that look.
The one begging the twink for more.
As he wordlessly passes the bottle of Grey Goose to Jacaerys' hand, and then opens his mouth.
Jacaerys is trembling as he lifts it to Cregan's lips, as he watches the liquid spill down into Cregan's mouth, spill over it into his beard—trickle down the stubble on his neck in a reversal of something so powerfully nostalgic, it makes Jacaerys' heart pound and his entire body float a little higher.
"You're so pretty," Jacaerys murmurs, reaching forward to set a thumb against Cregan's lower lip. "Love it when you're on your knees for me." His neck is hot, his cock is hard, and he can't quite believe it, but he feels his resolve dissipating as Cregan swallows obediently at the mouth of the bottle in the same way Jace once did for him.
After a moment, he sets the Grey Goose aside, feeling more light-headed—drunker—than he did when he first came back upstairs…and not solely because of the vodka.
"You really want to do this, don't you?" Jacaerys murmurs, watching Cregan nuzzle his cotton-covered cock.
"Yeah," Cregan admits, voice low and husky as he kisses the bulge again—finds the head and licks it, making Jacaerys shiver. "Want everyone to know who I belong to, now."
"They already know," Jacaerys murmurs, running his fingers through Cregan's hair. "They've known for awhile."
Cregan makes a sound of desperation. "Please? Just— just let me suck your cock in front of half the school, baby," he begs. "It's tradition."
"This is a horrible idea," Jacaerys mutters, but somewhere between Cregan arriving and the alcohol sinking into his body and the big, bold former king of the campus begging to be shoved down to his knees…Jacaerys made up his mind.
So when Cregan rises up to stand, Jacaerys stands with him, lifting the bottle of Grey Goose as he does. When Cregan moves towards the balcony, shedding his old hockey jersey in the process so that he's in his jeans and nothing else, Jacaerys follows.
And when Cregan pushes open the balcony door, Jacaerys steps out first.
His heart is racing, blood is pounding through more than just his dick, and he takes a moment to breathe it all in. Delta Gamma girls have long shed their trench coats, are dancing around in their lace lingerie as frat boys paw at them beside the pool. A few girls have jumped in already, the lace sticking to their pretty figures and making the straight boys crazy—making even Jacaerys appreciate them as the wholly indecent party rages below; music, laughter, shouting.
People half-naked at the one party a year where there are no phones, no cameras, no nothing that could get anyone in trouble—and so a whole lot of bad behavior.
"Look at them," Cregan murmurs, kissing the back of Jacaerys' neck, "your subjects, each and every one of them."
Jacaerys wants to say something about how that's not true, but honestly? He can't help but…agree. His boyfriend kind of has a point. Every, single man below them cast a vote in favor of Jacaerys Velaryon Targaryen-Strong to become the king of the castle he stands in. They chose him to be the frat president. Him, a gay little twink with a big brain and a snarky tongue and an obsession for sharp beats and big, brawny men named Cregan Stark.
He's the one they look to when they have questions they can't answer, when they need advice or direction. He's the one they hold up above all the rest, the one who got the president's suite, who gets to choose what drinks they stock the frat with, what room he wants when they go on holiday—where they go on holiday.
He's the one they revere above all else, because Cregan is right.
They are his subjects.
And he, their king.
It's a powerful revelation.
"Time to light 'em up," Cregan says, still mouthing at the back of Jacaerys' neck—leaving a hickey, the boy is sure of it, because Cregan may be kneeling tonight, but he's one possessive motherfucker. "Stand on your dais, baby. It's time."
And so he does.
Jacaerys steps to the edge of the balcony as Cregan lights the torches on it one at a time, and he sips from the bottle of vodka as the DJ lowers the music, and as one-by-one, his subjects turn to take in the sight they thought they'd be denied this year.
"King Jacaerys!"
The first shout is a voice he recognizes—Garibald.
"He's actually fuckin' doing it!"
"Is that Cregan Stark?"
"Holy shit, man—holy shit!"
Jacaerys' cheeks are burning, not that they can see from down below, but then Cregan is there; kissing him once, hard, before he's moving into a bow—before Jacaerys is pressing him down, palm to his shoulder, and the former king is kneeling to pay fealty to the current one.
The yard falls nearly silent, though the bass is still thumping at a low level—beating quick and in-tune with Jacaerys' heart—and the twink nearly vomits, because with everyones' eyes on him, his worst fear has come true, and his dick isn't the hard bar of iron it was moments ago.
He feels so incredibly vulnerable that he's positive this isn't going to work.
"Jacaerys," Cregan murmurs, "baby look at me—not them, at me."
Jacaerys swallows, and does. "This was a mistake," he whispers.
"Was it?" Cregan reaches into his black shorts, peeling the wet fabric down to reveal the stem of Jace's cock. He kisses it gently, his rough beard stinging the sensitive skin in a really delicious way. "You sure?"
Jace bites his lip, but doesn't respond.
Cregan peels the fabric a little lower. "I'm gonna make it so good for you," he growls, kissing the tip when it's freed—and then he sucks it down. Takes the entire length of Jacaerys' cock right into his mouth and swallows around it like he's trying to consume the boy's cock before he changes his mind. Puts a hand on each side of Jace's hips, shoves the black shorts down just enough that the twink's round ass pops out of them, and starts to suck like his life depends on it.
And who is Jacaerys to ignore the hot, tight heat working his length? The big, reassuring hands kneading his asscheeks? The man he loves, kneeling before him—sucking his cock like he, too, is one of Jacaerys Velaryon Targaryen-Strong's many subjects.
"Oh my god," Jacaerys mutters, his blood starting to leave his head to return to his groin, "this is happening, this is really happening."
"How's it feel?!"
Jacaerys doesn't have any words for his subjects, but the question is enough to shock him into action—because he lifts the bottle to his lips, takes a swig, and then holds it in the air, shakily, as a cheers to his realm. Says the only thing that comes to mind; "To Win-U!"
The crowd goes wild.
People start shouting his name—King, King, King Jacaerys! King, King, King Jacaerys!—and Cregan starts bobbing his head up and down, sucking Jacaerys, because the twink has finally gotten completely hard. It's the most insane moment of his life; Cregan kneeling before him, slobbering around his length as everyone Jacaerys knows is shouting his name, as the music ramps back up, as the party starts to rage harder and people seem to lose their minds at the fact that their president actually decided to do what he's spent all month refusing to even discuss.
And the act itself? By the gods, it's a rush of hedonism that Jace has never felt before.
It's filthy, vulnerable, and entirely inappropriate—but that's exactly why it feels so fucking good. He's the one standing here, he's the one with his cock in another man's mouth. He's the one that is violating all manners of appropriate behavior so that his subjects can watch Cregan Fucking Stark worship his cock.
And it feels incredible.
Jacaerys is aching, his balls so tight that he feels insane. Cregan is loud as he sucks, as he slurps—as he gorges on twink dick like it's the only meal he'll ever get. In fact, the moment Jacaerys looks back to his boyfriend instead of the crowd, Cregan drops one hand from Jace's hip, undoes his own jeans so that his own hard length pops out; the drooling tip somewhat of a tease all its own.
Then he reaches for Jace's palm again. Guides it to the back of his head. Presses into it until things click for the senior and he starts thrusting and pulling at the same time—fucking his boyfriend's throat as the man gazes up at him with glassy, awestruck adoration while he sucks.
Chokes.
Gags.
Strokes himself as he starts to drool around Jacaerys' cock like he's insatiable, unable to stop himself. As tears leak out of his big, silver eyes and drip down his cheeks while the wet glucking sound fills the space between them, harmonizing with the music from the DJ booth and the shouting of the crowd.
And maybe this night is supposed to be about the king, but Jacaerys cannot deny that watching Cregan jerk himself off as he sucks on Jace's dick—as he starts to gag, pulling off for a moment to inhale, lips spit-slick and swollen, throat rasping as he breathes, saliva keeping them linked—is the hottest fucking thing he's ever seen Cregan do.
He wants to snap a picture and frame it in his fucking bedroom, break the moratorium on video for the evening, find a camera, and start filming right fucking now.
Particularly when Cregan stops jerking it and just holds the base of his dick while it leaks pre-cum over his big fist, dripping down the veins of his shaft. Calling to Jace the way only Cregan's body can.
"Fuck," Jacaerys hisses, "you like that, daddy?"
"Love your cock," Cregan growls, throat all scratchy. "Want it. Always want it."
"I know," Jacaerys muses, his heart pounding—he feels so incredibly sexy whenever Cregan says anything like that, when he talks like a himbo, desperate for more. He can't help it. Can't help but be effected by the way his boyfriend treats him like he's a prize. He smiles, and nudges his foot against Cregan's hand, loving the way his belly clenches and his dick quivers as the man squeezes himself obediently. "You look so good on your knees for me. Go on, choke your cock a little more. Wanna see it drip."
Cregan does exactly that, and another dribble of pre slips out of the slit, dripping down the man's fist. He leans forward, but Jacaerys tightens his hand on Cregan's hair—lets the very tip of his prick rest on Cregan's lower lip, but doesn't let his boyfriend take it back into his mouth.
Groans when Cregan responds by moaning like a slut.
"Gods, that's hot," Jacaerys mutters.
Cregan parts his lips, licking them—grazing the flushed head resting on the pillow of his lower lip, sparking pleasure in Jacaerys' body.
"Cregan," Jacaerys warns.
And then the man whines. Deadass whines like he's being denied something he craves more than life itself. "Please stop teasing me," he begs.
"Wish they could hear you," Jacaerys murmurs, "wish they knew how cock-struck you get like this. How desperate. Fuck, I love it when you're on your knees for me." He relaxes his hold on Cregan's hair. "Go on, then. Suck it."
Cregan doesn't respond. Not with words, anyway. Instead, he growls, chasing after Jacaerys' wet tip again, shoving himself onto it, taking Jace's prick to the back of his throat all over again. He grunts as he works, dragging his tongue beneath the underside of Jacaerys' shaft, slobbering without any sort of effort to stop himself from making a mess, clinging to the base of his dick like his life depends on it.
And Jacaerys…well, maybe he's a little bit of a dick.
Or a king, because what he does next surprises even himself—
He takes a long, slow swig of the vodka, sets it aside, and puts both hands into Cregan's hair. Inhales deeply as he looks out at all of his subjects, inhales the power that he feels at standing on his balcony while the realm watches the formidable Cregan Stark suck his dick…and then gives the command.
"Go on," Jacaerys says in a low tone, gazing down at the man he loves as Cregan groans around him, "come all over yourself so you can focus better."
And just as the words leave his lips?
He tugs.
He tugs hard.
He pulls Cregan down to his groin, until his nose is shoved up against the thin skin of Jacaerys' belly—that place that bulges when Cregan's cock is in Jace's body—and holds him there.
Holds his boyfriend on his dick while the whole school watches.
Cregan chokes, but Jacaerys doesn't let him pull back. Instead, he watches with a hooded gaze—feels drunk and in love and so fucking high on everything happening—as Cregan gags, his body convulsing for lack of air. But Cregan? Cregan is reverential. Obsessive. Just as in love with Jacaerys as the king is with him, and so it's no surprise that Cregan stays on Jacaerys' dick as he fights his body's need for oxygen. It's an eroticism all its own as Cregan's eyes flutter shut and he strokes himself twice while his body jerks against Jace's hold—as he spills ropes of cum up his chest, drenching the sweat-slicked skin in pearly white fluid while he keeps fighting to suck, while he keeps swallowing…while Jacaerys starts thrusting.
And maybe Jace had kind of tuned out the faces in the sea of college students in the last few moments, but they are certainly not tuning out their king, because once Jacaerys takes Cregan with both hands and starts fucking his throat, the chanting becomes deafening;
King, King, King Jacaerys!
Someone gets on the goddamned microphone and starts yelling into it; Jacaerys Velaryon of House Targaryen-Strong, the First of His Name, Prez of Alpha Zeta, Twink Lord of Winterfell, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, the First Men, and all of you fucking peasants!
It's unlike anything that Jacaerys has ever experienced in his life.
It feels good, so fucking good, that he starts talking;
"Gonna fill you up," he rasps to Cregan, "gonna fill your throat in front of all of them—all of my subjects. Gonna paint your face with cum, too. You gonna let me, daddy? You gonna let your baby boy cover your face in cum and show everyone who you belong to?"
Cregan releases a high whine, doesn't bother tucking himself away, and returns both palms to Jacaerys' ass—sneaks a single finger back around to the twink's hole, because he knows, he knows, just how Jace likes it. How he likes it.
How they both like it; when they're both completely, utterly consuming one another in every way possible.
"You can't help it, can you?" Jacaerys moans, thrusting into the hot, wet silk of Cregan's throat. "You need to be inside me, don't you? Just a little, just the tip of your finger, daddy—nothing more, not tonight."
Cregan flat out whimpers, but he wedges the very tip of his finger into Jacaerys' ass—and by the gods, is it enough. He's got Jace's cock so far down his throat, his nose is pressed into the dark hair on Jacaerys' groin, he's inhaling sweat and musk like he wants it, and it's such a magnificent sight, that the king cannot help himself.
"Gonna come," he warns Cregan, reveling in the flutter of arousal that is blazing through his system as Garibald starts shouting his titles through the microphone again, "gonna come all over you, paint your face like it was made for my cum, gonna make you filthy, gonna—"
Cregan presses his fingertip a little deeper into Jacaerys' ass—
And everything shatters.
Jacaerys cries out Cregan's name as the crowd loses their shit all over again, screaming and chanting as the king holds Cregan's head against his groin, filling his baby's throat for the first surge of pleasure. He tries to say something else, knows Cregan loves it when he talks dirty, but literally can't bring himself to do it—can't form words as he jerks Cregan's head back far enough to cover his boyfriend's face with seed; gasping for air as Cregan parts his lips and reaches his free hand up to jerk Jace's cock when the twink fails to continue functioning.
"C'mon," Cregan rasps, voice thick with use, "cover me in it, baby. Make me yours, Jacaerys. My king, my Jacaerys—mine."
And Jacaerys might be drunk, fucked-out, and on another plane of existence, but he isn't so blind as to not notice that Cregan has adjusted enough that nobody in the crowd can see the boy's dick.
Gods, he'll never change.
"You possessive— fucking—" Jacaerys half-laughs, half cries as another wave of pleasure washes over him; as Cregan laps at the very tip of his cock while everyone he knows at Win-U whistles and screams like this is a hockey game, not the most debauched act they've ever seen their prim and proper president engage in.
Ever.
And Cregan doesn't let up; he laps at the tip until Jacaerys shoves his head away, then reaches for the king's balls, tries to play with those, next. As incorrigible as a hound being given red meat.
As incorrigible as a Stark, Jacaerys supposes.
But it's a lot.
So much, that Jacaerys' knees buckle with the intensity of the emotions and the sensations ripping through his body, but Cregan is there—because Cregan is always there—standing, tugging Jacaerys into his body, throwing an arm around the twink's back to brace him as he steals a kiss.
The crowd below must realize that the act is over, because the DJ cranks the music back up and they stop watching and go back to partying, and Jacaerys finds himself being lifted up—Cregan, as possessive as ever, holding the twink to his chest so that his dick doesn't flop out as he walks them back into the bedroom that was once his amid wolf-whistles and fading chants.
Jacaerys finds himself laid out on the bed, and he throws an arm over his face as he tries to catch his breath, reveling in disbelief and power and pleasure; the aftershocks still rippling through him, satisfaction spreading to every nerve ending in his entire body.
"Fuck," he finally gasps, "that was insane."
When he doesn't hear a response, he moves his arm—realizes Cregan is gone.
But unlike that first time he ever found himself up in Cregan's bedroom, unsure and insecure, Jacaerys isn't worried about being abandoned. Instead, he listens for the tell-tale sign of the water being turned on, and wiggles out of what's left of his clothes just in time for his boyfriend to come marching back into the room for him.
"Shower?"
"You're so fucking nostalgic, aren't you?"
Cregan lifts him up, carrying Jacaerys into the bathroom with a grin, "and if I am?"
"It's one of the reasons I love you," Jacaerys murmurs, feeling like a heathen as he drags his tongue over Cregan's cheek, licking up a little bit of his own spend—the salty tang a reminder of the debauchery they just got up to. "That was unbelievable."
"You're unbelievable, baby," Cregan murmurs, flicking the light off as he pulls the bathroom door shut. He's lit a few candles, the romantic sap, and it makes the bathroom glow with a dim light, not unlike the very first time they showered together.
Jacaerys finds himself being set on the edge of the shower, and Cregan steps between his thighs—his face still messy with what's left of Jace's cum. "Wash it off," Jacaerys laughs, breathless as his boyfriend does what he's asked, tips his head back and lets the water run down his face. "Now come here, you big sap."
Cregan does as he's asked, crowds Jacaerys into the tile of the wall as the world tightens to just them. "I love you, Jacaerys."
"Well I would hope so," Jace murmurs back, wrapping his arms around Cregan's neck and holding his boyfriend close.
"Yeah?" Cregan asks, stealing a kiss, dragging his beard along Jacaerys' jaw, reaching between them like the animal he is until Jace slaps his hand away.
"Yeah," Jacaerys confirms, leaning his forehead against Cregan's as the steam fills the room, locks them into their own world in the very first place they forged one for just themselves, "not everyone knows how to pay fealty to the king."
"Aye, but I do, because you're more than that to me," Cregan says, "you're my entire heart, too."
And then they're lost once more, lost in the world of one another as the blackout party rages beyond the walls of the fraternity live-out, as the men and women in the crowd shout at one another with disbelief at what they've just witnessed.
As King Jacaerys Velaryon Targaryen-Strong is taken apart once more, piece-by-piece, by the only person fit for the job; former king of the campus, and forever Hand of the King, Lord Cregan Stark.