InsaneJournal

RP: Soul Siblings
Who: Margaery Tyrell, Jon Snow
When: 16 April 2013; evening
Where: Margaery’s Bedroom
Rating: PG 13 [language/sexual topics]
Status: Complete



In Margaery's room sitting on a shelf was a picture, and in that black inked, pencil pasteled world was a family.

The Tyrells to be more precise, or as close a caricature approximation as any could come by. Seven, distinctly quirky individuals stained in varying shades of emerald green and sweet corn yellow. Jon could name half of them at best.

Margaery was easy to spot, his best friend all busts and hips and a smile more crooked than her true slightly askew grin. Next to her, as pompous and tittering as usual stood her brother Loras. A cartoon does him justice, Jon thought, smiling inwardly at the flowing, shoulder length locks, a silky, buttery essence somehow captured on paper with lead substitute. Grandmother Tyrell was in the drawing as well, but Jon only recognised her for slumped posture and wearing a bag of skin with more wrinkles than a dress shirt in the dryer.

Although Jon could not name the rest, he wasn't really looking at the individuals. Whether they were mothers, siblings, uncles, or cousins, they were all Tyrells.

The Starks had probably at some point done up a similar portrait. For a holiday greeting card or maybe during one of their various family adventures to Disneyland. The original print most likely looming over some forgotten parlour mantle, unnecessarily large and stupidly expensive. There were many others like it throughout Stark Manor, Jon knew, professional photographs and even some classic paintings elegantly framed in elaborate, handcrafted mahogany or gilded gold. Eddard, Catelyn, Sansa, Arya, Brandon and Rickon.

Jon Snow's face did not appear in a single one.

Someday, Jon thought as he surveyed the rest of the room, impressed by Margaery’s accented wall and simple yet homey decor, I’ll have a house and a family of my own and we’ll fill every corner with happy memories.

Sitting cross-legged on an embroidered hand-me-down duvet, french-knotted rosebuds circling their platter of homemade guac and melted brie, Jon held his wine glass up by the stem, giving it a good swirl. As the vintage settled, he watched red, silky legs creep back down the sides of the glass, artfully splitting and traveling paths of least resistance.

Jon had taken a wine tasting class once, an hour proving too snooty even for his blue-blooded pallet. Who needed to understand terms like bouquet, capsule, mousse or maderization when one could simply walk into an off-key and purchase the cheapest bottle with the most interesting label?

In the end, they all got you drunk.

Still, it was good for a laugh. And with Margaery, Jon smiled and laughed the most.

‘Well, my love. Here’s to finally living within two thousand miles of one another.'

Margaery remembered teasing Jon about that wine tasting class, having amused her no end that he'd even gone. Though in the course of trying a number of different wines - so Jon could show off his new found skills - they had found one which remained to this day their favourite. The one Jon had brought with him in fact. A very nice French merlot which went very well with their guac and cheese.

They did laugh a lot, it was great to have someone with which you could relax and not worry about saying or doing anything wrong. He knew her better than anybody and despite the distance, they had been through a fair amount together.

She smiled and raised her glass to his. 'It’s been a long time coming. And I fully intend to take advantage of you being so close,’ she told him with a grin.

Obligatory toast complete, they drank slow, savoy sips while grinning at one another over thin-lipped glass rims. This was just the first bottle of the night; work may have awaited each less than twelve hours from now but they would relish every second of the freedom lushing on wine, gabbing and generally being irresponsible as their youth allotted.

Hangovers be damned!

'I've been horribly remiss about keeping in touch,' Jon admitted after a swallow.

True to point, living so close to one another seemed to have created a false connection. Emails, Skype dates, even ringing Margaery up felt bothersome and redundant when his bestie lived a short jaunt down the I-5. Practically tin-can-and-a-string distance by comparison to the 5,000 miles which had separated them not several weeks ago.

Not even texting, though? As the girl whom had dragged Jon pouting and shouting - guilty and terrified, actually - from the proverbial closet, Margaery deserved better. A text hardly took a thought; Jon could have sent one between snogging Robb and getting his kit off but he hadn't, too distracted by hormones and hot, freckled Gaelic flesh.

Should have done, though...

Nicking a bit of bread and camouflaging it with brie and guac, Jon continued. 'Catch me up on your life. How's school? Put your professor in her place, yet?'

Margaery knew Jon must be busy with work and generally settling in so she hadn’t bothered him as she too felt it was silly to email or Skype when they were so close. However, had they gone on much longer without planning a get-together she’d have had no qualms about turning up on his doorstep and kidnapping him so they could catch up.

Jon had only ever tried to ignore her once when it had become obvious that their relationship wouldn’t be the romantic sort and he had learned then that Margaery wasn’t a woman to be ignored for long. Far from being angry with him she had helped him embrace his sexuality, their friendship becoming even stronger. She supported him unwaveringly and God help anybody who dared say anything against him in front of her.

‘You have,’ she agreed, ‘But you are lucky that I have been guilty of the same so punishment isn’t necessary this time.' She teased him because she was gracious enough to acknowledge that she could have been the one to text him as well.

‘Life is mostly school,’ she informed him, though she didn’t seem too bothered by it.

‘Of course my professor now understands how we will work together,’ she smiled simply. There weren’t too many people who could get the better of Margaery and a teacher of languages was definitely not going to be one of them. ‘I did have a nice weekend two weeks ago. I taught a very handsome man how to ski.’ And Jack had been very handsome and an incredibly good kisser.

Intrigued, Jon eyed Margaery suspiciously around his nibble of food, careful to chew and politely swallow before responding. 'I thought I was your very handsome skiing bloke?'

That's how they'd met. Two single, attractive youths atop a mount in Switzerland.

Fearless to the point of stupidity and seeking the wildest ride of their lives, Jon and Margaery ascended the mountain as complete strangers. Up and up they went, high as the lifts could legally take them above the blizzard before skiing down a black diamond route and emerging ahead of the storm as life long friends.

'Did you buy him dinner and a pint and get his kit off?' Jon asked, still recalling the night they'd met all those years ago.

The stew, the beer, the enjoyable company.

Before bumping into one another, Jon had been having a piss poor time on his holiday shaking off endless ice slags and annoying bints from his uni society. Each one clinging and squealing down the tamest slopes as if their whinging constituted proper flirtation. No one knew then, not even Jon, that they were all pissing on an electric fence.

And then came Margaery.

Ditched by friends more interested in hitting it off down the clubs, she and Jon latched onto one another. Got to chatting, they found one another's company more than agreeable through a common interest in skiing - apparently harder to find on skiing holiday than generally assumed - and of a sort mutual attraction.

Too many pints too late, nestled hotly beneath flannel cabin sheets Jon had discovered in an immediate trainwreck that for as enjoyable as snogging Margaery's pouty, soft lips had been in the lodge by the fire three sheets to the wind, she simply didn't have all the right bits.

Robb was right... Fate eventually concedes and gives you what you need.

Their meeting had been a blessing in disguise; Jon now had a best friend and a boyfriend and oh, yes! A full glass of wine to celebrate both.

‘Of course you are,’ Margaery assured him, ‘but I couldn’t let this opportunity pass me by.' She grinned.

Part of her had wanted to see what it was about Jack that her brother found so attractive; though of course she could make a very well educated guess on that part. She couldn’t help but commend her brother’s taste once she had seen Jack in all his glory.

She laughed at Jon's question, also recalling that night which seemed oh so long ago now.

‘Something like that,' she nodded. ‘It is my thing after all, as you know. And it worked like a charm. Overall the whole thing was incredibly enjoyable,' she added wickedly.

Switzerland would always have a special hold over Margaery’s heart. How could it not when she had met Jon there? Her loyal and loving best friend. Despite their admittedly disastrous amorous encounter they had come out the other side together which was the most important thing.

‘So what of you? Tell all now,’ she smiled encouragingly as she sipped her wine.

Had Margaery wished to elate him with the sort of lurid, dirty prose belonging to the pages of a penny dreadful, Jon had provided a window of opportunity. And though details were always preferable - a name, a description beyond handsome; clean-shaven or deliciously roughy-scruffy? Sweep you off your feet romantic vs. throw you into a snowbank and fuck to stay warm deviant? - Jon simply rolled his eyes and sipped his wine, never one to pry. Margaery would say more when she wanted and he patiently wait.

Besides, for once in his life Jon was quite keen to read aloud a few paragraphs from his own dime novel.

With Pincurl, Powderpuff and Gorgon continuing their daily barrage of questions, Jon had been itching to tell someone the truth before Robb's name flew off his tongue out of pentup desperation. Quieting the vile harpy sisters with such a punch would be very bad indeed; they already knew Sansa Stark was his half-sister, information leading to the discovery of Lord Snow and in turn his bastard birth. Chuck in the gay descriptor and Jon's dark curls and brooding eyes would plaster every glossy rag mag Gorgon was so fond of reading.

In light of the weekend and yesterday's decision Jon had very much been looking forward to telling Margaey all about every inch of his six foot Scotsman.

'Well,' he began, 'I've been working quite a lot, as you know. Loving every moment of it practically, which is brilliant because I spend nearly every moment working...'

The start to a sappy, giddy smile sparked, simply uncontrollable despite Jon's mastery of emotions as he heard the next words in his mind before finally, willingly sharing them with another human being.

'... and the times I'm not at work I've been spending with my boyfriend.'

At any other time Margaery would have happily regaled Jon with details as she had many a time in the past - indeed they had spent many an hour laughing at Margaery’s various sexual partners and their varying degrees of performance in the bedroom - however this time Margaery wanted to know about Jon’s current status. She knew something was happening and was determined to fetch it out of him should he need encouragement or persuasion to share with her.

But luckily it appeared he didn’t need her unique kind of persuasion.

‘I knew it!' she told him smiling. ‘I knew there was something going on. So tell me everything. Who is he? Where did you meet him? How long have you been together? How good is he in the bedroom? And, most importantly, when do I get to meet him?’

Margaery wanted to hear all and Jon was going to tell her. She picked up some bread and brie to enjoy while he answered her.

‘Alright, alright, keep your knickers on!’ Chiding for show’s sake because giddy and plied with alcohol, Jon sincerely intended to answer every last question in explicit detail. Finally his turn to repay the debt racked up over years of listening to Margaery’s exploits.

She’d told him everything. Everything. Written word and telephone calls providing easy avenues to pontificate over the success rate of pickup lines and smokey bedroom eyes. The stereotypical fag hag-flamboyant queen bee relationship (without the nail painting or neon body glitter) and Jon didn’t want it any other way. Two peas in a comfortable pod playing kiss and tell into the wee hours.

Grin sticking and growing, Jon reached up to scritch a single nail against his temple and ponder a beginning. ‘We met at work,’ seemed an appropriate choice, but even that tidbit coaxed pearly whites from beneath generally pouty lips.

Smitten kitten indeed.

‘He’s the animal trainer on set so we’re working very closely together on this particular project, if you follow.’

A tight, crooked little mouth told Jon she very much did.

Margaery grinned, knowing there were one or two comebacks she could say to that but refrained in preference of hearing what Jon had to say.

It was true she had gone into a lot of detail but she was sure that’s what best friends were for and she always listened in return. Though to be fair she probably got more out of that than he did.

Margaery nodded when he mentioned work - now they were getting somewhere - and smiled wickedly at his next statement.

'Is he taming your wild beast, Jon?’ she teased with a smirk.

'OH!' The laugh and snort which followed were unlike any Jon had ever produced before. A rouge sealing embarrassment in flesh, deep eyes shining from a combination of drink and amusement. And not because Margaery had nailed the phrasing but because the memories of yesterday's pastry-confessed exchange before a hard to sit through hour long production meeting came flooding back to mind.

Jon had the good sense to blush. Anything short of beat red cheeks denied the honesty of his excitement and the dirty images clinking about his sex-starved brain.

Coming down from chuckling, Jon nodded enthusiastically, dark tresses bouncing. 'Yes. Very, very much so. In fact, he's taking me up to San Francisco next weekend... for a shag.'

Margaery was extremely happy with that response and laughed even more so when Jon blushed. The animal trainer must be very good if he could cause such a reaction; Margaery was delighted.

At Jon’s confession Margaery threw her arms around him, careful not to spill their wine.

'I am so happy for you,' she told him honestly. It had been a long time coming because while Margaery was very open and enjoyed sex quite a lot, Jon placed more meaning on it which meant it was only somebody special who would win that prize. She was so very glad he’d found someone that he felt deserved the honour.

‘Now,’ she said as she pulled away, ‘tell me more about your animal trainer. He must be very special to have caught you.’

Jon told Margery everything.

Starting with their first non-date over bevvies at The Association, both men dressing the part of the hopeful at pull. Jon in Penfield trousers and suede shoes matching a vintage sweater, Robb looking every bit the swanky King in a suit which fit him better than flesh. That night they had played a dangerous game of confession roulette, prying and pulling until finally the truth had simmered beneath searching fingertips wrapped tight in red and black curls. And Robb had kissed Jon or maybe the other way around, it was hard to say, but tongues had danced and Jon yielded the outer garrison.

Following this first story with suspense, Jon describing his torturous four day wait between heated kisses in LA's elicit liquor dungeon and seeing his co-worker at the studio come Monday morning. How Jon had started bringing him coffees - lattes, two raw sugars because after all, the gossip was in the details - and had simply never stopped gifting caffeinated pressies. Robb had that stupid shirt delivered and after another power struggle with no clear winner Jon explained how they'd torn open one another's trousers locked away in a dark office while the rest of the studio bustled about shoveling papers and answering phone calls. That moment when Jon discovered Robb's cock was just as tall, lean and proud as the man attached.

He'd caved then, too, fallen happily to his knees in worship.

Margaery heard that Friday nights became date nights so naturally Jon hadn't noticed the first time he considered himself permanently unavailable outside of plans involving Robb. He waxed over their shared love of music, Robb's obsession with Bowie and his disdain for Cyndi Lauper. A fault Jon willingly overlooked because Robb liked a whole lot of other things. Such as making out to bad movies and traveling, coming up with creatively catty nicknames for the gaudy women they worked with and pranking one another, Bran, anyone who happened to cross their paths at the right time.

Then there was the way he turned his meals to tiny crumbs rather than eating normally, the fussy sod. Their "first fight" followed by naughty phone wanking; raunchy clubbing the evening when Robb sank to his knees and delivered the hottest blowjob Jon had ever received.

Jon rounded out by explaining how he'd nearly lost his virginity in a frenzy before Arya's drunken interruption. A horrible evening turned saving grace because the disaster lead to a phone call in which Jon had mustered something resembling courage and stamped a label across the whole affair.

My boyfriend. My Robb.

When some of the excitement settled and talk of physical attributes (and talents) had been gone over with a very fine toothed comb, Jon told Margaery about the way Robb liked to sneak a kiss when he thought no one was looking. Right on the lips! Maybe a bit more if desire burned torturously bright. Gentle hand brushes or nudging knees replaced lips when he knew people were looking, and that was just as erotic and sweet and often the siege tower which stormed Jon's carefully guarded palisade.

Jon spoke of Robb's auburn curls and how they never slipped out of place but Oh! When Jon knocked one askew purposefully and it curled and clung around Robb's goofy ears it somehow managed to perfect the picture.

What Jon did not tell his best friend was that the whole of Robb MeLellan's world could be read like a book through the eyes. Orbs so blue and expressive Jon often thought a tidal wave waited to drown him just the other side of long, thin lashes, all perched above a smile that blotted out the sun whenever both were shining. When Robb looked at him with that smile all his own, unspoken attraction bouncing about his wonder-world gaze, Jon submitted completely.

That information belonged to Jon alone and always would.

Their beloved bottle of merlot now reduced to dregs, Jon could think of nothing else to share. Cheese cold in its puff pastry filling, guac bowl scraped clean by long devoured bread. Idly, he rolled his wineglass in hand by the stem, vaguely aware of how much time had passed evidenced by the empty spread and a drunken tingling in his fingers and lips.

'I've gone on a bit, haven't I?' he asked meekly, already knowing the answer. Already knowing she'd sopped up every last word like a desert sponge in an oasis.

Good, Jon thought, That felt... good.

Margaery listened intently to Jon’s detailed descriptions, his words shaping the pictures in her head so well that she could imagine the scenes he laid out. She loved their first non-date, the whole idea of it. Two men pulling truths from each other seeming more intimate to her than anything else that transpired that night.

She couldn’t believe he had waited four days; it would have driven her insane but Margaery’s fiery nature was much less patient than Jon’s. She smiled upon hearing about the coffee, a thoughtful almost wooing thing to do and incredibly sweet in her opinion.

And then of course the description of Robb’s cock turned her thoughts from sweet to sensual. It was almost reverent the way Jon spoke.

As he described their Friday nights and the ease they had with each other Margaery felt a slight pang of jealousy which she swiftly brushed away. She was so very happy for her best friend and that feeling overrode everything else, only intensified when she saw Jon’s expression at retelling the phone conversation where their relationship had been defined. She’d never seen him light up as he did upon calling Robb his boyfriend.

Margaery soon discovered that not only were they both hot, horny young men (though really this was rather obvious) but that they were also so damn cute. Honestly, when she saw them together she was probably going to swoon she imagined them so adorable. At least if Jon was anything to go by; his whole demeanour shifted and it was simply lovely to witness.

‘Only in the most wonderful way,’ she assured him before sitting back against her headboard. Her empty wineglass sat on the nightstand next to her, as she regarded him.

‘I have never seen you smitten before,’ she smiled. ‘I like it. And I believe I need to meet your Robb, if only so the two of you can give me toothache by how sweet you are.’ A gentle tease as Margaery reached out to pat his hand.

Turning palm up, Jon laced their fingers together automatically and squeezed. An instinctual habit shared between two friends who’d bonded more deeply than siblings.

Until Robb, there hadn't been another person in the whole world Jon felt comfortable around enough to speak his mind and open his heart. Margaery reigned supreme in that regard, a crown and title earned in the course of a single night in which she did not laugh or ridicule; she'd held his hand instead, quietly listening to a terrified confession as Jon verbalised for the very first time that he was gay.

After that, she'd become his one true confidant. Never once letting him down, nor he her.

'You'll meet him,' Jon confirmed, setting aside his glass to shift up on the bed, joining Margaery against the headboard. It was getting late and Jon was pleasantly, comfortably drunk. It registered in the back of his mind that they should probably clear their dishes from the duvet but far too sappy and cozy he couldn't force himself to give a rat's tit, legs folding about the spread.

'Maybe after our holiday,' he suggested, looking up into Margaery's eyes. She was still smiling, that warm, crooked grin Jon associated entirely with unbridled love.

'No sense in introducing you if it winds up he's a rubbish shag.'

Margaery never would let him down; Jon was far too important to her. He was the only person who knew everything about her - her ambition as well as her softer side - and accepted her just as she was. It was a rare thing to find a true friend like Jon and Margaery was well aware of that.

She’d never let him go.

The thought that they needed to clear up before settling down passed through her mind too but, like Jon, she was far too comfortable to contemplate moving right now, especially as he shifted to sit next to her. She really had missed this and was determined to make sure they did it more often now they lived so much closer.

‘After your holiday,’ she nodded before bursting into laughter at his next words.

‘I’m sure he’ll blow your mind but I’m more than willing to share all I know if he needs any tips,’ she teased, giggling as she lay her head on Jon’s shoulder.