RP: Storytellers Who: Margaery Tyrell, Robb McLellan (and a late appearance by Jon Snow!) When: 27 June 2013; evening Where: Robb and Jon's home in Santa Ana Status: Complete Word Count: 7,917
Sometimes, all it took was the right company, the right setting, the right glass (or three!) of wine, for Robb McLellan to really feel comfortable enough, willing enough, to tell innermost and often scandalous secrets.
Margaery Tyrell, settled atop adjoining cushion on stylish, modern Chesterfield, heels off and toes curled under her, sipping a lovely Claret de Bordeaux, was Robb's confessor tonight. Jon's vixen BFF and, by virtue of being so willing to help them out with rather sticky situation at the studio, his latest object of friendly affection.
And why not? She was pretty much everything Robb looked for in a woman. The prerequisite dark hair (Jon called the penchant in both males and females a fetish, Robb thought it exactly right), clever and witty to the extreme, drop-dead gorgeous, fashion savvy and, most importantly, so very open.
Daring and bold, Margaery had stepped into the role of Robb's 'lady love' so effortlessly for Red Gum's recent wrap party that it nearly took his breath away. The dress she'd worn - a clingy slip of nothing cut way down to there - had been a pure stroke of genius that left little to the imagination.
Very little.
The ruse had gone off without a hitch, thanks to strict, territorial boyfriend-sanctioned parameters set in place beforehand. Throwing harpies, harlots and harridans alike well off the scent, thus securing his and Jon's secret for the night. Which was a very good thing, indeed. Robb liked his men rough, but not the type of uncouth barbarian that tipped over tables and dragged him out by the collar all because he'd let his hand linger a beat too long at curvaceous female hip.
Well, maybe he liked it just a wee bit.
Leaning forward, Robb paused outrageous storytelling just long enough to snag a small sliced round of sourdough and cover it with a smear of baked brie from a ceramic dish that sat on the nearby coffee table.
"There I was, barely two weeks after I'd turned nineteen. Hanging, naked and on point from a static bar twenty feet up - without a net mind you - with this double-jointed trapeze artist and her equally flexible partner..."
Grinning, Robb waggled his eyebrows suggestively, giving Margaery all the further details as to how that particular wild Russian romp had turned out. A heady rush of danger, the after-hours experience rated one of his top three all-time sexual encounters and one he'd not quite gotten around to telling Jon just yet. Mainly because it was with two birds and that sort of thing only brought out the unhappy, pouting stink face to otherwise flawless features.
"So if a circus performer ever asks if you fancy a go on their swing, make sure you've a good health service plan set in place."