"Not really, no." Never missing even the tiniest shift to Jon's outward appearance when they sat this close, he gave lover's bare left nipple a playful tweak, grinning bright and bold as million-watt beacon cutting through bleakest, foggiest of nights. Progress! Lord love him, we're making progress!
"Renly is really strict when it comes to this sort of thing. He doesn't want anyone impaired by drink or drugs when he scenes. He'll expect us showered and rested and - most importantly - ready, so that means we'll discuss beforehand pretty much every detail of what will happen..."
Pausing to snag their drinks, he pressed half-full glass into Jon's hand. There might be an eventual call for his man to have a wee nip or three along the way, and Robb needed to wet his throat, too. Much to process in the next little while, indeed; a lifestyle discussion Jon would find intriguing yet sounding so very foreign to tender, untested ears. Realizing this, he felt equally elated and worried for the coming days, for he would have to bow down to Strange's every command just as much as Jon.
Could he manage without making a spectacular arse of himself and ultimately ruin his friendship with Renly? He truly hoped so. But that was something to ponder later - effectively brushing off doubt with a careless toss of auburn head and a 'Fiddle-dee-dee! I'll think about that tomorrow.' approach. Tomorrow he'd resume mentally preparing himself to bottle up every ounce of his outgoing, headstrong personality. When he was alone and could pace about the house and work it out (aloud, naturally) without anyone giving him a wary "You're mental, mate!" side-eye.
"We've been asked to arrive about four for supper with a lengthy chat to follow. Me and you will have final say in absolutely everything so that's when we're to speak up if something doesn't feel cricket."
"And I want you to ruddy well speak up, love, if something rubs you wrong-" Robb counted on a lot of things rubbing Jon like stockinged feet across a wool rug on a dry, wintry day. Why, he could almost hear familiar crackle of static discharge he knew fussy, over-thinking bairn undoubtedly would create. "-no pulling a face and expecting them to be able to read you like I can."