"Loras," he breathed out, savouring the taste of the word on his tongue and feeling the warmth of his own minty breath between their faces. He watched the man closely, seeing the pain on his face and wishing he knew how to wash it away. He missed the sensation of Loras' palms against his cheeks when those hands pulled away, and so he leaned in to press the side of his face against Loras' neck. "Loras," he whispered, this time against the man's ear.
"Loras Tyrell." One last time, and he punctuated it with a kiss, tipping his head back and gently pressing his mouth against the middle of the other man's forehead. It was an intimate, tender gesture - the kind of thing that he never did for the men that he occasionally found himself in bed with. Yet it had felt natural, coming from somewhere deep within for this man who bewildered him completely.