Color Jon the ultimate Doubting Thomas but Robb wasn't about to question nor quibble over what he now knew to be absolute, carry-it-to-your-grave fact.
A single, knowing glance from Lord Strange was all it took to make him a true believer. Again.
Now, he hardly ever doubted Renly's tales of the fantastic, only crying "Bollocks!" when stories became so monumentally unreal that Robb couldn't help but snort a bawdy laugh and shake his auburn head. Clever one-upmanship was yet another foxtrot step in crowded stage canteen, exchanging sexually explicit narratives like a randy G.I. days from shipping off to war scribbling their name on pretty girl's dance card. It was the glue that held their friendship together. Simple pleasures of manhood a mutual give and take, and Robb wouldn’t trade it for a pile of purest dwarven gold or an elf’s immortality.
And while brooding lover continued his chat, Robb made what he thought to be a very good use of the time. 'Borrowing' Jon's hand he lifted it to his mouth to suckle at the fat, fleshy part between wrist and thumb. Creating wet spot and a starting block for strutting cock of the walk adult beverage, forthright Scot laved and hummed and nommed quite thoroughly. He even let his eyelids drift shut for a brief moment, imagining posh Catalina Island suite promising spectacular views and all the amenities. Jon in naught but wee Speedos running towards Sargasso blue surf, his oversize manhood folded and crammed into tight spandex confines till seams threatened to burst. Evening meals taken at their leisure under swaying palms or spread out before en suite fireplace a gentle reminder of home. Long walks hand in hand; one pausing to pick up a shell or smooth piece of sea glass while the other looked on with fondest of smiles.
All too soon he broke away from lover and those sunwashed daydreams, but a grin appeared nevertheless. A dash of salt, shot of Cuervo with orange and tomato juice chasers and he was ready to take the night’s festivities to the next level.