RP: The Blind Tiger Who: Renly Baratheon, Robb McLellan, Jon Snow and Loras Tyrell When: 2 August 2013 Where: The Association, Los Angeles, Ca. Status: Complete Word Count: 5,145
It took some adjusting to feel comfortable in the milky embrace of blood leather furnishing so iconic of The Association speakeasy in downtown Los Angeles. Not because the low ottomans and vintage, Depression era loveseats were in any way uncomfortable to melt against; quite the contrary, in fact. Spring coils and refurbished cushions provided all the necessary back and bottom support for a classy night of cocktails and hushed flirtations. It was the company which bristled Jon’s oh!-so-sensitive nostril hairs upon arrival at lion’s head knocker, the “secret” entrance to underground booze den.
Renly Baratheon and Loras Tyrell, to be precise.
Though bumps and bruises to initial friendships had faded, a pesky boggart still felt the need to crash about Jon’s upstairs, rattling his brain with copper pot and spoon whenever the four of them exchanged greetings and farewells. Mostly, this had to do with the mischievous twinkle in lover’s eye as Renly and Robb - longtime besties - reunited. Hugs that lingered past appropriateness complete with wandering hands or faire la bise millimeters too close to a proper snog for Jon’s liking.
He was trying not to fuss about it, though; really, really trying.
Tonight, however, initial discomforts arose from slumbering hurts dormant since mid-June. Location of evening’s rendezvous also POI for Robb and Jon’s first non-date.
Seemed silly to even Jon - as he slid into a darkened booth wedged between boyfriend and Loras and identified the pebble beneath his mattress - but The Association had originally been Robb and Renly’s hideaway. A place for duel kings to strut and flounce, pluck a tasty devoted subject from the crowd and crown them prince or princess for the night. Felt off to be there now, sharing the space scant feet from the spot where he and Robb had shared their first kiss, driving tetchy, oftentimes downright clingy babe to subtly press thigh to thigh all while object of his desires chatted animatedly with their companions.
But that was two gin gimlets ago. Jon felt no pain now, half legless and cozied up against his boyfriend, the poorest fitting suit of all smiling goofily and regaling all three lads with tales from latest trip to Blighty.
“... so by the time we got in, the sun was already up. Managed to get her to bed not five minutes before Father rang, still smelling of the Thames and soaking wet to boot.”