"Thank Christ for us ogling isn't illegal," Robb sighed, content sound escaping before drink was again brought to lips equally as saliva-slick as Jon's. Blimey, I can see why he's fancied him forever...
A very choice piece of meat, for certain, and thus getting into the spirit of things he too found a bit of better half's real estate for some surreptitious fondling - worming sly, slender digits under the back of fitted waistcoat. From there, it was easy-peasy, lemon squeezy to create a small gap between the neat tuck of shirt and trouser waistband. A big, crocodile grin appeared once he'd hit paydirt; Jon's flesh so nicely cool and inviting. Perhaps it was the heady combination of alcohol and high heat but Robb couldn't wait to get him home and peel him out of his kit, one piece at a time, for a slow shag then equally slow fondle-suck-scrub to wash away all the accumulated dust and dirt of their fun-filled day.
Come to think of it... when didn't he want to do that?
Only if I'm half-dead, Robb thought, pleased as pleased could be and no longer so eager to trot off to the paddocks for a looksee because he'd noticed Dany's smile dancing along the very edge of his field of vision, and wasn't about to pass up the opportunity to stir up the hive. Nothing too extreme, of course, for he didn't wish to embarrass his friend, nor get what was left of her glass of champagne thrown at his face.
Just a tiny elbow nudge, really. Nothing more than seeing what was what. Like Master Baggins the Burglar entering Smaug's den, treading carefully as he searched for the fabled Heart of the Mountain.
"He looks lonely," pointed out with a turn of the wrist, half-melted ice cubes clinking against the inside of his glass. "Dany, you should go chat him up and come back with juicy details."