Jon Snow (blackestsnow) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2013-05-19 13:33:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, jon snow, margaery tyrell, robb stark |
RP: Mojito Morning
Who Robb Stark, Jon Snow and Margaery Tyrell
When: 19 May 2013
Where: Robb and Jon’s, Santa Ana, CA
Rating: Low
Status: Complete
Laden to creaking and dressed in the finest linens dug out of a polished sideboard, Margaery’s timely arrival occurred just as Jon began futzing and twitching about the flatware. Shifting each sleekly cast Towle utensil by the handles mere millimeters until they lay perfectly parallel atop emerald green serviettes. Crockery dishes neatly arrayed, fresh flowers from the corner shop sitting short in a fishbowl vase, a centerpiece balancing masculine-feminine tastes. Decor all chosen carefully to appease nesting instincts on full alert, fidgeting in servitude to nervousness.
Jon's new boyfriend - the bloke he shagged ad nauseum and put forth best efforts around - and closest girlfriend - the confidant who knew all his dirty and embarrassing secrets - were about to meet for the very first time. A worrisome sort at the best of times, Jon felt his heart jump inside his stomach for safe keeping at the chime of the doorbell, a turn of the century ditty he was still getting used to hearing.
“I’ll get it!” Jon called to Robb from dining room to kitchen where the scent of smoky cheese, pork fats and lemon pepper tempted his belly to do more than swallow a thumping heart.
They’d spent all week adjusting the menu in tiny tweaks to satisfy finicky sensibilities. Jon digging through dogeared recipes on his lappy and scouring the net for fresh ideas while Robb turned a fickle palate up at nearly every suggestion. Too sugary, too heavy, ‘Fuck no, never, Jon!’ refuting the more elaborate concoctions.
Thankfully he’d offered his own input, both lads eager to base the entire brunch off Mrs. McLellan's recipe for Bacon and Gouda Pannukakku. No fresh berries this time around! Away went traditional pancake topping jams in favour of dumping the season’s lingonberries into double drams of white rum, bubbly club soda and lime juice. Fruity, minty mojitos topped with crushed garden sprigs and whole berries floating like ice cubes. Several side dishes had gone under review as well, steamed spinach and wild mushrooms winning out with dashes of olive oil and lemon pepper.
Twists to every plate, the lads built a meal of their own choosing. A verifiable feast for three and hopefully the start to something wonderful. Strong bonds formed and reaffirmed over the sharing of food and drink.
For a man deeply rooted in tradition, Jon was beginning to love change all thanks to his trailblazing boyfriend. His first serious relationship, the man who devirginized him in so many ways. Introductions to his best friend simply another first in a long line of popped cherries, stems the cheeky Scot collected and hoarded between pearly teeth framed by a devilish grin.
Throwing open the front door Jon gobbled Margaery up in a huge hug, bodily dragging her across the threshold while doing so. 'He's mixing drinks in the kitchen,' he greeted, hiding no hint of anxious excitement. She'd have sensed it anyway.
“Come on through and meet him before I change my mind.”
Margaery, unlike Jon, had very few concerns. She trusted Jon’s judgement and, except for the warning as best friend she would have to give Robb about never hurting Jon, was sure they would get along fine. She did know Jon well enough however to know he would have been fretting all morning, the dear boy.
She had taken longer than usual to chose her outfit, in the end settling on her favorite green Valentino dress. It never failed to make an impression but it was a nice refined one which was what she thought was called for here. It was important that Robb like her and she would do her best to ensure that would happen.
Stepping from her brother’s car she made her way up the length of the walk and rang the bell. It was a nice looking house in a lovely location; she was impressed so far.
Smiling as the door opened she laughed as she was swept up in Jon’s arms, wrapping her own around his neck and squeezing. ‘I’m here now, not even you could stop me,’ she teased, kissing his cheek. ‘Calm down, dear heart, we will all get along fine. Stop worrying.’ She patted his cheek before following into the kitchen.
Clad in his very own version of 'dressy casual,' Robb had decided to forego any of the vintage wear Jon had picked out for him the day before, deeming it a bit too... well, not exactly right for their very first 'official' hosting event. Fashion forward via a time machine was Jon's territory, and because Robb wanted to be at his very best, it meant being able to move and socialize comfortably. So out of the wardrobe came a French blue silk shirt casually opened at the neck and his signature two neat turns of the cuff; the color making his eyes pop and auburn curls appear more fiery than usual. A pair of tailored suit trousers in a deep, sooty grey, Italian leather shoes and matching belt gave the ensemble just the right amount of polish.
Robb met the two old friends halfway, the open floor plan allowing him to hear every sound and tapping footstep made on the hardwood floor. Grin firmly in position and cranking at solar-level wattage, he took in the sight of Jon squiring Margaery through the house like she was the Queen of England, twittering and fussing as a magpie would all the while. A striking couple they made, more matched in complexion and coloring than he and Jon ever could - they were a Mutt and Jeff mix, to be sure. Not that he minded. The obvious differences just made it all the more interesting, he'd found.
"Welcome to our humble home, Margaery," Robb gave as way of a hello, followed by a quick, light hug around slender shoulders, careful not to crush her designer dress. "We're really glad you could come."
Had he not already been completely smitten with Jon, Robb would have definitely tried to chat Margaery up and more. Achingly attractive and well-heeled, sporting heavy-lidded bedroom eyes, shining dark locks and a quirky, offset smile, he could immediately see why Jon thought she hung the moon and the stars.
"Bevvies are waiting if we're ready to start..."
Back at the kitchen counter, Robb was deliberate as to which drink went to whom. Jon had woken up completely wired for sound, and no amount of loosely-termed relaxation techniques Robb knew of could calm him down, including sex before their shower and another down on his knees, ‘let me show you again what it’s like to be sucked off by a man with highly controlled gag reflexes’ session during their mutual tidy up.
Lacking anything even remotely like a Valium, Robb had instead gone with a double-shot of rum in Jon's glass as a last resort. Halfway to tipsy and Jon Snow would level right out.
Hopefully.
Growing up Jon shared all the wrong things. His favourite toys battered and broken by less careful peers. Intimate personal details, truths betrayed in the schoolyard. Bastard and motherless git a few phrases shouted back to him when people had grown weary of usual insults. Jon's kindness treated as a doormat, his faith broken, love unreturned, a father five thousand miles away. Nothing truly belonging to Jon Snow except one he longed to give away - his bastard surname.
That was when the hoarding began.
Bit by bit, each piece of Jon's soul gathered behind thick battlements built higher than the keep housing his heart. Stones quarried from pain, distrust, caution, feelings of inadequacy to name a few, mortared together with sticky remembrance of childhood traumas. A motte-and-bailey built to protect against weights too great for a young lad to bear.
As Jon grew, few odds and ends collected behind those walls. Precious hobbies, thoughts, his sexual orientation, even people, all held captive by a ferocious greed to lay complete claim and safeguard the few belongings truly his own. The two standing left and right of him in the kitchen prized gems amongst humble treasures.
For months now, Jon kept Robb all to himself as he’d kept Margaery for years. Would have been quite pleased to continue the secretive affair as well except that Arya, like so many other times, managed to sneak around all defenses and catch him pilfering the proverbial cookie. As it turned out, Jon Snow was not a very good warden.
This meeting though was on his own terms in his own time. His choice to share last remaining private valuables with those he loved. His best friend and his boyfriend now introduced; actual event far less terrifying than the anticipation leading up to Margaery's arrival.
Funny that his heart still bumped unrestrained about his chest cavity.
Hoisting glass, Jon proposed a simple toast consisting of “Cheers,” with a clink of crystal tumblers, choking a bit on the overwhelming sharpness of white rum. “Bloody hell, Robb. That’s quite strong.”
“Thank you so much,” she replied to Robb with a bright open smile. “I am very happy to be here. I have been simply dying to meet you ever since I found out Jon met someone.” And, as her eyes swept over him, she wasn’t disappointed.
Margaery was impressed with Robb’s outfit; he obviously knew what he was doing and what made him look good. She could see why Jon was drawn to him; for a start one could drown in his gorgeous blue eyes she was sure. Yes, on first impressions her best friend had definitely made a good choice.
It was amusing watching Jon fuss nervously. She hoped he would relax enough to enjoy their time together; all three of them. She understood, of course, it was a big thing for Jon. The boyfriend and the best friend’s first meeting. It had never really happened for them before. Jon had never had this sort of relationship with anyone and Margaery was not really the type to keep a guy for long. Jon knew about all of her conquests, naturally, in more detail than he possibly wanted to but none of them had been serious.
Jon was the only person in the world she let truly know her; he knew things about her even her brother Loras did not know. It was the way their friendship worked. Each knew the other completely; the good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly, everything. Part of her was sad that Jon would now have somebody else he could rely on as he did her, but she loved him too much to be unhappy about it for long. And who knew? Maybe at some point Robb would become somebody else that Margaery could trust without worry or fear of judgement.
Raising her glass with a “Cheers,” of her own she smiled; her drink was well mixed and Jon was not too different than her in being able to handle alcohol. Her eyes flicked to Robb, amusement sparkling in them as she raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow.
Titian eyebrow raised and matched Margaery's darker, sculpted one; a look passed between them, extremely subtle but it spoke volumes. They'd talked, albeit briefly, via text messaging not all that long ago - the initial round of sizing one another up from opposing ends of the field. Robb had found her to his liking then and even moreso now for not calling out his little ruse. Margaery knew the way of it, then, and how Jon sometimes fretted himself to near hysteria. Booze was a final option available to all and sundry today; no other way round getting Jon through the next little while short of clubbing him over the head with one of those god-awful weapons cluttering up the spare room.
That could still very well happen, but being a generally optimistic sort of bloke, between himself and Margaery, they would carefully tiptoe Jon through the garden maze and (hopefully) come out the other end fast friends.
"Give it another go, Jon," Robb replied, all impish and grinning across the rim of his tumbler. A quick wink got directed to Margaery before he focused his gaze back on his dead gorgeous, but high-strung hummingbird of a boyfriend. "I'm sure it'll grow on you..."
Since timing was absolutely crucial when hosting a get-together, Robb put his drink down and quietly went about plating their main entree while the two old chums chatted and made their way to the dining area.
So much cheese and bacon couldn't sit for too long on or off the heat, otherwise the whole thing would turn into a nasty, congealed mess. The pannukakku - a sort of oversized crepe popular in Scandinavia - were already prepared and waiting for rich, gooey toppings. Steamed and sauteed veg sat at table in sleek, lidded serving dishes that kept everything warm and ready.
"This should remind you of home," he said, serving their guest first and not complaining one bit he’d gotten the job of pulling the whole meal together by default. An arrangement that was pretty much standard in the house anyway, as Jon was far better at consuming mass quantities than actually putting it all together.
From over Margaery's shoulder Jon inhaled deeply. “Looks and smells fantastic!”
He'd been smelling bacon all morning, fried and ironed flat strips of smoked and peppered pig rib. The American sort, not nearly as meaty as what the two Brits were accustomed to but the perfect grease trap for all that melted Gouda. Put together, plates on the table, Jon felt floppy ears and a curlicue tail beginning to sprout; Piglet was waking up.
And he was being plied with booze.
Tucking Margaery into her chair, he placed a loving kiss to the top of her head right along the natural crown. “Robb's the chef,” he explained, picking abandoned drink up from the table and finding his own seat before a plate overflowing with heaping portions of spinach and mushrooms.
A surprisingly vain man, Jon's boyfriend; with sugars and caffeine comprising the majority of his diet, Robb took opportunities as they presented to stuff his lover full of rich greens and plain yogurts. Natural foods to help maintain the bodybuilding physique he had grown accustomed to unwrapping daily. A ‘sneaky’ mother-hen bit of devilry Jon found rather endearing, unable to complain, really, knowing extra slips of bacon would be stashed beneath his Gouda as reward for eating every last leafy green and buttery mushroom he'd been served. Only then, if his hollow leg had not been filled would Robb laden his plate with a second pannukakku and more than likely even more vegetables.
“I'm just the disposal,” he continued, tucking into chair and unfolding table linen in lap. “His mum sent us the recipe. She's still living in Scotland.”
“It all looks and smells incredible,” Margaery said, the food looking so appetising that she could practically feel herself beginning to drool. She generally watched what she ate very well but this would be able to tempt her even on her strongest of days. Her willpower stood no chance against the feast in front of her. A fact Jon had no doubt passed on to his culinary talented boyfriend. She had a hearty enjoyment of food, when it was the right food, though she had no doubt he would have used different words to describe this. Not that her appetite could be in any way compared to Jon’s, of course.
Taking her first bite Margaery was barely able to hold back a moan of satisfaction, perfectly flavoured with a flawless texture, it really was amazing food. “Robb this is truly beautiful,” she told him. “It is lucky I love you very much Jon otherwise I would be tempted to steal your boyfriend and make him cook for me,” she teased them as she sipped her drink.
“So Robb,” she began, turning the full wattage of her smile on him, “You were born in Scotland, I presume? Was it your mother who encouraged your cooking skills?”
Served and seated, Robb purposely brushed light fingertips against Jon's knee. Stop thinking about feeding her to Weir, you tit, a silent request made while arranging jewel tone linen atop his lap. A teasing bit of table talk from Margaery - for that's what it was, and nothing more - but given Jon's penchant for being extremely territorial, better to be safe than sorry. No wobblies were going to get pitched today; no overturned tables or pouty, lower lip budged out because their guest of honor looked about ready to orgasm over his cooking. Robb would see to it, and do everything he could to make sure their visit went off without a hitch.
Besides, Margaery's dress was far too pretty to get ruined.
"Aye. Eilean Arainn in the Gaelic. But otherwise known as the Isle of Arran." Always more than glad to gab on and on about his island roots to anyone who would listen, Robb added, "It's part of the Firth of Clyde on the southwestern side of Scotland, not that far from the Hebrides."
A more modest amount of food stared up at him and he wasted no time tucking into his meal. While Robb really did love a proper fry up, this was a treat he'd not had in quite a while, and it tugged at his heartstrings. Made him long for the smell of sea air and dark, craggy mountains on the short horizon.
"I'm hoping I can drag this fellow over there sometime soon," he remarked, smiling fondly at Jon. "Show him the wee village where I grew up..."
Fork to mouth and chewing much more slowly than the not-so-wee piglet beside him, Robb savored his bite around that same smile.
"Not really, no. I was too rambunctious to stay still long enough to learn much besides how to put the kettle on. Everything I know came from living on my own."
Jon suspected Robb learned the majority of his talents while skipping freely about backlands and big Russian cities, trailing behind him a leather suitcase, wee tiger cub and a string of broken hearts. Tireless feet on a winding path. No destination in mind beyond the horizon.
Wherever his adventures took him - Jon had heard about a fair few but knew without being told they were simply the prologue to a much longer book series - Robb gleaned tidbits. Information, skills, memories worthy of legend, harsh lessons keenly remembered. The only possible explanation for Robb's level of maturity.
As boyish as he could be sinking top teeth into a wide, bottom lip, mysterious hijinks forewarned in blazing blue eyes, Robb was also deeply layered like well aged whiskey. Not just a quick, tactical mind but intuitive and sensitive, wise, particularly when it came to sussing out people. Knowing their thoughts, sensing their emotions, turning it all inside-out and rebuilding to better suit the needs of all involved.
Robb had carved a career in cut-throat Tinseltown, even owned a house, all at the tender age of twenty-one.
Being one of Robb's many accomplishments made Jon proud, smiling behind his fork.
“You know I'd love to,” he contributed to the conversation. Few words but enough reassurance for both boy- and girlfriend to know he wasn't turning inward and squirming anymore. He could talk to either of them anytime he wished, though; today was about Robb and Margaery getting to know one another so he was content to sit and scrape his plate clean while they chittered away, both pecking at their meals like finches.
“Robb's been on his own since... what, 2009? Whenever he moved to Russia right before joining that traveling circus I was telling you about.”
The very idea that Jon would have taken Margaery’s teasing seriously was highly amusing, as territorial as he may be he was not foolish enough to think she meant it or even stood a chance. They’d had this discussion already. As to feeding her to the tiger, had Robb voiced that aloud she wouldn’t have been able to hold back her laughter. But as it was she was unaware of Robb’s misplaced concern.
She listened to Robb describe his place of birth; she had been to London but never Scotland and it sounded lovely.
“You absolutely should,” she agreed. “I think it would be marvellous for Jon to see where you lived.” She smiled at Jon, happy he was beginning to relax now. “I’ve heard so many people say how beautiful Scotland is, though it can be cold. Not that Jon is put off by the cold of course.”
The hours they had spent skiing was proof of that.
“Oh, of course,” she nodded as Jon mentioned the circus. “Now that must have been an experience but am I right in thinking you had Weir before that?” she asked hoping she had remembered what Jon had told her correctly. Not that he had told her much of course, which is how she preferred it, she enjoyed finding things out herself. It helped her get to know someone.
A storyteller born and bred from a long line of storytellers, and with a fresh set of ears to listen to his tales, Robb opened that wide gob of his and got right down to it.
"Hardly colder than your Sweden," he pointed out in a rumbling, Highland burr, completely hiding the fact he was exactly one-half Finnish and therefore technically kissing cousins with Margaery in a geographic sense. "The terrain can be harsh like the weather, aye. And it's a lot rainier, too. But there’s mountains and a sheltered bay where I grew up so you could say it’s a fair trade.”
Harsh and wet and cold but still home, no matter where he put down roots.
"Oh I don't know about that." Snickering, Robb jerked a thumb in Jon's direction. "Wee bumpkin over here would freeze up on the equator." He was only teasing... sort of. Even with the much warmer summer weather biting their heels like a cranky terrier going after the postman, Jon was still putting cold toes on him every night, without fail. He'd learned the last little while to just go with it, and not try to 'run away' so much anymore. Staying put all the times he normally would've gotten chased across the mattress by his heat-seeking better half wasn't so bad. Turns out Jon made a wonderfully accomodating sort if given the opportunity to squidge up tight. A very willing bedmate for an early morning canoodle.
With a bit of a head shake and a grin, Robb gently corrected the error. "Weir came not long after I joined the circus." Equally surprised and pleased that Margaery already knew of Weir and didn't seem to be turned off by the whole affair, Robb bumped her further up his list of 'people I like quite a good bit.'
"Rode on my back in a rucksack for the first little while, in fact. Bottle fed and cuddled within an inch of her life like you would a kitten."
Throughout their meal, Jon remained mostly silent. Not the natural chatterbox that Robb or Margaery were and more than pleased to sit mute between the two, mouth shoved full of gooey pannukakku as legitimate excuse to refrain from contribution to a budding conversation. One he probably wouldn't have managed to squeeze a word into had he been giving it the old Harvard one-two. A perfect solution to his hermitage, let the gabby gobs do all the talking, earlier eagerness pacified by liquor, food and the ping-ponging of Ruskie-Gaelic brogue against Swedish lilt.
They were getting along quite pleasantly.
By the time he'd cleaned his second plate, conversation had moved from the basics - Where did you grow up? Tell me about your job? How are you enjoying school? - beyond discussion of hobbies and family onto some sort of foreign adventure storytelling one-upmanship where the only rule Jon discerned seemed to be no fork gouging across the table. A positive head-to-head full of laughter and insight ending with recounting one of Robb's more infamous treks involving a shovel and frost-bitten bollocks. Weir had been just the start, oddly the most normal acquisition to come out of his years flicking whips and astonishing crowds, stories which Margaery in the end could not rival.
Which was how Jon found his neck flushing and ears burning following a segue to intimate details on how he and Margaery had first met. A failed attempt at the pull for a young lad completely uninterested in the end goal and how far too many pints nearly proved otherwise.
“Oh, don't tell that story,” he whinged, eyes squinting as if he were looking into the sun, lips pressed tight. The infamous stink face firmly taking root. “Robb doesn't want to hear that.”
Aye, he very well did, the backstabbing tit.
The more they spoke the more she found herself adapting to his accent. She was good with most inflections though she had worried she may struggle with the Scottish. Thankfully that hadn’t been the case.
Margaery was enjoying conversing with Robb, he was an interesting man with many facets to his personality. He was straightforward but intelligent. She had needed to admit defeat when Robb’s stories reached near epic proportions, but she didn’t mind. How could she when he was entertaining and fascinating her at the same time. Yet she still had a few stories up her sleeve.
“Come now, dear heart,” Margaery said, heading off the ‘stink’ face as she had done so many times before. Holding out her hand she waited for him to place his in it before she squeezed and gave him a smile.
“Really it’s much worse for me, you know,” she said before looking at Robb. “There I was ready to be ravished after being led on by this devastatingly gorgeous man only to realise I would never be the one for him,” she placed her free hand on her forehead in a tragic pose before grinning. “Yet it is the night I am most thankful for as without it I would not be blessed to have my best friend.”
Between Jon's thoroughly unhappy puss and the effects of his drink (Robb's third, because lingonberry mojitos were quite fantastic, thanks much), he was all but doubled over laughing by now. Margaery's overly-dramatic retelling only helped to fuel his amusement, and brought tears to his eyes.
"Shame on you. Jon," he verbally finger-wagged, even going so far as to give his boyfriend a bit of a playful backhand slap across the upper arm. "Leading this poor, lovely lass down the primrose path..."
Robb was completely taking the piss, of course. No way in hell Jon would be able to manage a wild bedroom romp of that sort, even with someone like Margaery Tyrell who was, in his extremely honest opinion, quite the looker from head to toe and the type of girl he could certainly see himself falling quite happily into bed with if his situation was different. His track record showed as much, and seldom did he turn down the opportunity for a good shag if the opportunity arose.
Not that Jon would ever learn about this particular little secret. Absolutely not. Bad enough he already knew of Robb's strong penchant for engaging, dark-haired beauties - both male and female,
“I have to tell you, Margaery,” Robb began, holding index finger away from the glass raised partway to his lips, “you’re a far better person than I could ever be if I’d been in your situation.”
He glanced to Jon with eyelids at half mast. “If Jon would’ve pulled that business on me... Well, let’s just say we wouldn’t have come out the other side such fast friends.”
Margaery was delighted with Robb’s reaction, whether it was partly the alcohol or not. (Which was indeed incredibly good, in fact lingonberry mojitos might just become her new favourite tipple).
At the time, of course, it had been an emotionally charged night but they had long ago reached the point where they were happy and comfortable in looking back and laughing about it. There was no other way, really.
“Ah, I am afraid I am an easy target for the sad puppy face," she revealed like it was some terrible, burden-filled secret. “I have built up some immunity over the years but in that moment I was defenceless.”
All she had needed to do then was look at Jon to see all the fears, secrets and sadness he had inside. And in that moment Margaery Tyrell’s heart had melted and when it had reformed Jon Snow had taken pride of place inside it. She had held him as they talked; her offering comfort and understanding as he confided in her like he had with no one else. It was the cement that their relationship was built on.
“Though I cannot say I am too upset about that particular weakness.” she smiled. “Can you now imagine life without Jon Snow? It is a sobering and terrible thought.”
Staring down at the picked over remnants on his plate, Robb considered Margaery's words, his gaze briefly flicking to the pair of hands still twined together so tightly.
Quite a sobering and terrible thought, indeed.
In the short while since Jon had moved in, Robb often tried to recall what his life was like before a complicated, 14 stone bloke with baggage to spare - both the physical and not so physical kind - swept in like a hurricane, uprooting shallow, sand-clutching tendrils and replanting them in much firmer soil. Certainly hadn't been quite this intimate or all-consuming, to be sure. The days back then had been so very, very different. Robb the Lone Wolf, taking what he needed from people emotionally and leaving the rest behind. Sort of like a buffet. Ignore the bits you didn't like and loading up your plate on the remainder.
Robb had friends a-plenty, though; that much he'd never lacked. But it was all the rest - waking up next to the same person each day, sharing toothpaste, sex and laughter in the same measured amounts and jockeying for position in the front of the mirror that made it all worthwhile.
Robb never knew he'd needed someone like Jon Snow until he'd landed smack dab in the middle of his lap.
Grinning, Robb leaned over to buss a kiss to a still rosy red cheek. "No, I suppose I couldn't, at that."