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“Come back to bed, my love.” Cregan said softly, rolling onto his side.
Jace was stood by the large doors the opened out onto the balcony, draped in a light silk robe. He had been so quiet of late, so withdrawn. They’d enjoyed long-awaited intimacy that night, and whilst Cregan was still enjoying the afterglow of orgasm, Jace had left the bed almost immediately, wordlessly making his way to the doors.
It was dark, the hour was late, but the ever-present lights of Kings Landing flickered away. Cregan could see them from where he lay, flickering on his lover’s face. Jace had not long ascended the throne, and Cregan knew the grief of his mother’s death and the weight of the Realm on his shoulders was heavy on him. Jace had always been a perfectionist, ever since they had first met all those years ago when the then Prince flew North to gain Cregan’s support in the war the historians now called The Dance of the Dragons. It had been bitter and bloody and yet the ‘blacks’ had been victorious and Queen Rhaenyra had led the Realm through years of peace. As his Hand, it was Cregan’s job to guide him the best he could, to navigate the difficult political landscape. Even now, so many years after the war, many did not think Jace the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. Allegations of bastard and Lord Strong flew around Court, despite how Jace tried to quash them.
Cregan pushed back the furs that covered him, when his lover did not reply. Uncaring of his nakedness in the warmth of King’s Landing, he moved to wrap his arms around Jace’s waist, pressing a gentle kiss to his neck. Whilst his role as Hand was to advise him in matters of leadership, his position as paramour meant he was there to comfort his king, too.
“What weighs on you tonight, my love?” He asked against warm skin.
Jace sighed heavily, relaxing back into his lover’s arms. “I do not know how I can do this.”
“You are doing this, sweet.” Cregan said between kisses. “You are doing a fine job. Your mother prepared you for this moment, and she would be so proud of you.”
“I know what they say of me. Of my marriage to Baela, that after all these years we still have no heirs. What they say about us. My mother had it the same. How can I rule when the Realm hates me?”
“Let them talk. You are a fine King, and the Realm does not hate you. The smallfolk do not care if their king is a bastard, they care if their king is just and fair. The same as they did for your mother.”
“It is not the smallfolk I am worried about.”
Cregan huffed. “Pay the Lords no mind. They will happily talk whilst backs are turned but they remember the last war and I doubt they feel inclined to give the Crown any reason to bring dragonfire to them.”
“I hope you are right.”
“I am always right. This is why I am your hand.”
“You are my hand so I can have you in my bed every night.” Jace grumbled.
Cregan laughed, low and husky. “Is that so? I thought you valued my counsel, but it would seem I am nothing more than a whore with a fancy title.”
That made Jace laugh a little, and Cregan knew he had succeeded in lightening his mood, at least slightly. “You are both. Of course I value your counsel.”
“Good. I was about to take offence and tender my resignation. Return to Winterfell where I don’t have to contend with this godsforsaken heat.”
Jace turned in Cregan’s grip, looping his arms around his neck. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“I would.”
“Ah, you would not. I would command you to stay. Would you disobey your King?”
Cregan grinned, dipping his head to kiss Jace, sweet and slow. “No, Your Grace. I have never been able to disobey you.”
“Good. I would hate to have to command you, my love.”
“I am yours, always.”
“So loyal, Lord Stark.” Jace breathed, stretching up to kiss Cregan. “I am a lucky man.”
“I am far luckier.” Cregan mused. “To be loved by the King.”
Jace’s expression softened, savouring their closeness just as much as Cregan was, craving his touch. As much as Cregan knew he pulled away when he was upset, he was clingy and tactile and he needed the comfort, even if he didn’t say it. He’d isolated himself for so long, he was still getting used to asking for support from his lover. Even after all these years.
“Come to bed. It’s late and the small council are meeting early tomorrow.” Cregan said gently.
“Mm, I am tired.” Jace agreed.
“As am I. You make me work hard, Your Grace.”
“Ah, the price you pay for being the King’s Paramour.”
“Indeed. I wouldn’t change it for the world.” Cregan said, and shifted his hands to lift Jace up. He had put on a bit of bulk since he was a teenager, grown into his frame thanks to years of dragonriding and swordplay. He was still light as anything, and lithe compared to Cregan. He could lift his king as easily as anything, gathering him in his arms.
Jace squealed, though kept his arms wrapped around him to stay stable. “Cregan!”
Cregan laughed. “What, my King? I must ensure you actually retire to bed.”
“I have legs!”
“That may be so, but I want to make sure.”
“You are a menace.” Jace grumbled, as Cregan carried him to their large bed, setting him down gently on the feather stuffed mattress.
“That may be so, but you chose me. You have only yourself to blame.”
The pair of them settled beneath the furs once more, Jace shedding his robe so he could lay skin to skin with his lover. Cregan wrapped his arm around Jace, pulling him close so he could settle on his broad chest. His fingers toyed with a dark curl, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.
“You are a fine king, and I am so very proud of you.” Cregan murmured. “Sleep well, my love. Don’t let that head of yours keep you awake all hours of the night.”
Jace nestled closer, already growing sleepy. “I won’t. G’night. Love you.”
“I love you too.”