Renly isn't sure why he feels so nervous this time. He's been to dozens of auditions before, very successful ones at that. Perhaps it's because he's been waiting here all afternoon as the other actors were called in one by one. Perhaps because he's the only one left now, the only one left in the entire building it feels like. He glances at his watch, almost seven. He takes a deep breath to stop his stomach from growling. All of the sudden, the hall is filled with the persistent echo of a noise: tap tap tap, tap tap tap.
Renly wheels around to see a boy sitting with his legs crossed, back against the far wall, a head full of mussed, golden curls bent over a notebook in his lap.
"I didn't see you there." Renly says, by way of greeting.
The tapping stops as the boy raises his head, and Renly feels his breath catch somewhere low in his chest. He has always seen love, or sex more specifically, in shades of grey. He doesn't have to make a thing of it; A man every now and again doesn't have to mean anything, but men don't usually look like that. Seven hells. At least seven.
"I saw you." the boy says. The way he bites his lip as he looks up timidly, straining his skin across the high bones of his face, is enough to raise Renly's eyebrows up into his hair. He can't seem to muster up the courage to breathe, let alone speak in response. He turns back around and crosses his arms across his chest, as if to contain himself. After a moment of silence, he hears the boy chuckle softly but decides to ignore it. The tapping starts again.
"Could you stop that?" Renly snaps as he wheels around again. Instantly, he regrets it. The boy looks up at him sharply, a frown playing at his fine lips, something slightly pained in his wild, green eyes.
"God. Sorry. I didn't mean to shout at you. You're- I'm just, a little nervous. That's all. Forgive me." Renly would like to say please don't look like that, I'll do anything, but it seems over the top.
The boy doesn't reply, he simply nods and begins to sketch in his notebook again. His hair falls away from his face as he tilts to the side, examining his work. Out of the silence, he says pointedly, "There's really no need for you to be nervous."
"Easy for you to say. You're not auditioning."
"Wrong. Easy for me to say because I know you're a brilliant actor."
"What do you know about my acting?"
"I saw you in Hamlet year before last."
"You don't look old enough to have been allowed on a college campus year before last." Renly teases. What was it that his brother Robert always said? If you want to let a woman know you like her, insult her. Would that tactic work on impossibly beautiful men as well? He'd have to call and ask, just for the reaction.
The boy half-scowled and stood up, still sketching with his head tilted, a look of impeccable concentration on his flawless face.
"What are you drawing?" Renly asked, as the boy began to circle him.
"You."
"Are you Studio then?"
"Something like that."
Just then, the door creaked open slowly and a woman stepped out. "Renly Baratheon?" she asked. He nodded. The boy brought the notebook to his chest and the rubber of his pencil to his lips. Renly nodded to him curtly and went to follow the woman, feeling his stomach turn to ice. Just before he passed through the door, he heard the boy's voice call "Wait!"
Renly wheeled around and peered from behind the door. "What?" he whispered hurriedly, barely concealing an elated grin.
The boy wore a wry smile as he looked Renly up and down again. "Once you're done, tell them Loras wants you."
"And who is Loras?" he asked incredulously.
The boy tucked the pencil behind his ear and turned to go before calling out, "I am."
A week later, Renly still can't believe that it actually worked. The part, the part of the King, is now his, and he can't shake the idea from his head that he somehow owes it to the mysterious Loras. He hadn't felt it was appropriate or wise to ask the directors exactly what influence Loras had over such an important production, especially given the heady looks they had exchanged with one another following his bizarre declaration. To make matters worse, the boy was nowhere to be found when Renly emerged from the audition room, and he hasn't been anywhere in the Arts building since. Renly knows this because he hasn't stopped looking for him all week, searching the top of every head and the face of every passerby. He even plotted to eat his lunch alone outside the doors of a first-year Studio Art seminar, only to be severely disappointed when the outgoing crowd did not include Loras. It is only appropriate to thank him, Renly tells himself, and that is really going to be the end of it.
By the second week, rehearsals are about to start. Renly knows the routine, reading through and learning, becoming- not memorising. The script is glued to his hand during every waking moment: on the bus, on the Tube, at breakfast, before he falls asleep alone in his flat at night. This one is going to be tough, he can tell, and not least of all because of Margaery. Margaery. He remembers her from his callback, the way her chin tilted up slightly when she spoke, the way she seemed able to switch from gentle to vicious with absolutely no effort. Her performance had astounded and intimidated him. But he doesn't have to deal with her until Monday, and today is only Friday.
After his last class in the afternoon, Renly takes the bus home and wastes no time before burrowing beneath the mountain of blankets he keeps covering his Ikea futon. Enough for today, he thinks as he wedges his face between two throw pillows. Just as he begins to drift off, he hears the telltale sound of his mobile buzzing against the hard surface of the coffee table. Nope. Not today. If it's Robert, he can call him back. If it's Stannis, that dick, he can not call him back. When are his brothers going to learn to get along without him?
He isn't sure how much time has passed, but he's definitely fallen asleep by the time it buzzes again. Cursing, he plunges out of his blankets and grabs the phone, fighting the urge to throw it out the door. Sure enough, the first notification is One Missed Call from Robert Baratheon, accompanied by a picture of his brother smiling like an idiot and giving the camera a thumbs up. The second, however, is a text message from an unknown number.
It's Margaery Tyrell. Thought we could get coffee tomorrow, get to know each other before things get started. Professionally, of course. Let me know.
Renly groans. The weekend had seemed so empty and quiet on the other side of his nap. He waits a long while to answer, microwaving frozen curry and making tea, flipping through the telly impatiently.
Sounds reasonable. When and where? he finally types back.
Settling on the opening credits of Casablanca, he does his best to fall asleep again before she replies. In his exhaustion, he dreams strange, warm dreams of touching the face of that ridiculous boy from the audition, tasting his fine, thin lips, hearing his voice whisper 'Loras wants you, Loras wants you' over and over again. By morning, he is half-convinced that the boy must simply be a figment of his imagination.
Renly refused to dress up for this, but in the end he finally guilted himself into trimming his well-kept beard and putting on a nice jacket. Now, he is seated alone at the window of a low-lit café, waiting with a kind of long-suffering patience for the arrival of Margaery. She is twenty minutes late when he sees her getting out of the passenger side of a Mercedes-Benz in the parking lot. As she smooths her dress and begins to walk towards the building, the driver's side suddenly opens as well and a figure stands up and calls to her. Renly's stomach disappears, and he leaps up so quickly that his chair almost falls over behind him. Loras Loras Loras Loras, he all but whispers under his breath. The light is dim, but Renly is sure that it's him, absolutely sure. He feels his chest sink unpleasantly as Margaery kisses the boy on the cheek. Loras pulls away from her, wearing a haughty expression, and shouts something that makes her roll her eyes as she walks away.
Renly is still standing in shock, staring out the window, when she reaches his table.
"It's nice to see you again." she smiles as if suggesting a secret.
"What?" Renly asks, feeling pathetic for wanting to watch Loras' headlights as he pulls away.
"He'll be back." she whispers knowingly, leaning down over the table.
"Who?" Renly laughs, feigning innocence.
Margaery sits with her tight-clad legs crossed sideways against the table, a hand propped up in mid-air. Renly can't deny that the woman has a presence. "My brother."
"Oh? Was that your brother outside?" he asks her, feeling a small spark of hope.
"He wanted to come in, but naturally I said no."
"Naturally?"
She shrugs, and gathers her lips together on one side of her mouth the same way Loras had done. "I knew that if I brought him in, you wouldn't pay any attention to me."
Renly is stunned by her nerve and her candour. He can only laugh nervously. "I don't even know him."
"But you want to know him, and that makes all the difference. I called you here to talk about the play, not to watch my brother undress you with his eyes. Like I said, he'll be back once we've had a chance to discuss some things."
"He told me that I should-"
"Nope." Margaery cuts in.
"What?"
"We aren't talking about my brother right now." she leans forward.
"But-"
"Renly..." she warns with an indisputable finality.
An hour passes, maybe two, and they do talk about the play. Margaery gives him a run-down of every production she's ever done, starting at age seven. They talk directors and foreign films, idols and aspirations. He is pleasantly surprised by how easy she is to get along with, when she wants to be. The waiter who brings their coffees can't stop staring at her, but she doesn't seem to notice. She speaks with her hands and leans forward in all her wide-eyed glory to drive home the points of her arguments. Renly decides that he likes her, but in the way that one might like a beautiful plant that may or may not be poisonous to touch. He lets himself become so involved in her conversation that he has no warning of Loras' return, and no time to collect himself once he finally notices the smell of mint on the air.
"Loras!" Margaery calls out first.
Renly leaps from his chair again at the sight of him, dressed in an emerald green jacket, all curls and impossible edges.
"You. Where are you?" he demands of Loras.
Loras exchanges a confused look with Margaery.
"I'm right here. I mean, I've just got here. But I'm here." he smiles slyly, thin lips parting ever so slightly.
"Sorry, I mean, where have you been... around? I thought I'd see you... you know again... after all, I wanted to... you know.. thank you... and everything... because I did what you said to do."
Loras puts a hand on Renly's shoulder and leans in to whisper, "You got the part because you earned it. You don't need to thank me."
"You helped."
"Only a little."
"It's something."
"Okay, fine. I helped a little. Is that all you wanted to find me for?"
"What? No, I-"
"Shall we go for a walk, to get some air?" Margaery interrupts.
Renly is suddenly feeling less inclined to like her, but he agrees anyways, hoping that maybe a more public setting will stop him from doing anything really stupid.
Margaery walks between them with her arms linked through each of theirs, a smug expression on her face. Renly steals looks at Loras over her head, always finding the boy already staring at him unapologetically. Renly is reeling, trying to breathe normally, trying to think coherently, speak intelligently.
"If you're not Studio Art, then what are you?"
"Design. Set and costume."
"I didn't know that was a major."
"It isn't, at your school." Loras grins.
"So you don't go to the University?" Renly feels slightly embarrassed after searching for the boy so long.
"No. An Arts academy."
"In London, though?" Renly asks hopefully.
"Yes." Loras bows his head reassuringly. "In the city. Highgarden."
"You're joking..."
Highgarden is the most prestigious, and not to mention the most expensive Arts academy in London. Suddenly, the Mercedes-Benz starts to make more sense to Renly. People who graduate from there go on to comprise the elite of high culture, both in Britain and on the continent. Robert, pressured by Stannis, had though it best that Renly get a traditional University education, just in case, to make him more fit for the real world. The injustice of it all still hasn't quite faded.
"No, Loras is too good to go to University like the rest of us." Margaery teases, and he flicks her in the back of the head.
They carry on that way for a while, Renly bombarding Loras with questions to fill the empty, beautiful shell of an image he carries around in his head. Loras shooting his sly, contained smile over Margaery's line of vision, speaking to Renly more with his eyes than with his words. Eventually, they find themselves lingering on the edge of a fountain, half-sitting while Margaery paces in front of them.
"I just think that working in an office would drain the life out of me. I know they want me to, but I can't do it." Renly admits, after giving the story of his brothers requested by Loras.
"Let's never do it." Loras whispers, leaning in and narrowing his wild, green eyes. "Let's never allow anyone else to control us."
"Promise?"
"Only if you do."
Renly holds out a hand to shake on it, but Loras takes it between both of his instead. Suddenly, there is a monumental splash and Renly feels his face dotted with drops of fountain water.
"Margaery!" Loras shouts, trying to sound stern but half-choking on his laughter.
Renly spots the clothes she'd been wearing lying discarded on the ground. She surfaces a moment later, gasping and giggling, completely naked, lit from behind and below by the lights of the fountain.
"Last one in is a COWARD!" she shouts.
Loras looks affronted for a moment before shrugging to Renly and adopting an inexcusably mischievous smile.
"You cannot be serious." Renly says to him, but he's already taken off his jacket and his shoes and is now working on the buckle of his belt.
Seven hells. Seven million hells. Every single hell that ever was. Loras doesn't even have the decency to break eye contact as he sheds the last of his clothes. Renly crosses his arms against his chest again and turns to the side; Loras laughs at him and climbs onto the edge of the fountain. He whistles, and Renly looks up in spite of himself. The boy's body is a silhouette against the light, lean and glorious as a greek soldier. He places his hands on his hips and tilts his body back far enough to smile at Renly upside down. What would it be like, Renly wonders, to touch him? To run his tongue against the crease of his spine? Farther down? To gather the curves of his flesh against the palms of his hands, to part his legs gently as he exhaled...?
The line of thought is interrupted by a second splash as Loras throws himself into the water, his laughter echoing out into the empty street along with Margaery's applause. Renly finds himself clinging to the damp stone ledge, knuckles white. Loras surfaces again after a moment, and swims over.
"If you don't get into this fountain, I am going to pull you in." he says with a devilish grin, reaching out and cupping a dripping hand behind Renly's neck.
"You couldn't!" Renly retorts.
Loras brings their foreheads together and pulls Renly closer by his waist. "Do you want me to try?" he asks in a low, stern voice.
The walk to the car is a quiet, content one. Margaery wears only her underwear with Loras' discarded blazer, and doesn't seem to care when cars zoom past on the empty street. Renly shivers against the damp of his clothes and the heat of Loras' firm skin where their arms touch.
"I can get the bus, it's really no trouble." he offers.
"Don't be ridiculous."
Loras topples headfirst into the back seat, laughing, as Margaery plugs Renly's address into her phone. Suddenly, he leans forward and turns to his sister.
"Have I complimented your breasts lately?"
"Not lately."
"Speaking from a standpoint of complete objectivity, I think they look lovely tonight."
"Oh, Loras! Do you really?" she exclaims, parting his blazer and presenting her chest to him. He cups one in his slender fingers and squeezes teasingly.
"Would I lie to you?"
"Probably, but we'll pretend like you wouldn't. Now get off so I can drive." she kisses him on the cheek and they both laugh.
Renly tries to hide his bewildered expression as Loras turns to him, yawns, and rests his chin on his shoulder. His damp curls tickle Renly's neck as he leans down to breathe them in.
"Thank you for cooperating." the boy whispers right into his ear. Renly is suddenly thankful for the discouraging chill of his clothes.
"I like to do things on my own terms." he chuckles.
"Uh-huh."
Margaery is smiling her wry smile, tapping out a beat onto the steering wheel when they arrive at Renly's flat.
"See you Monday?" she shrugs.
"Monday." Renly replies.
"You have to get off now, Loras." she prods him.
"I don't have to do anything." his voice is muffled against Renly's neck. In a moment of boldness, Renly places a quick kiss on his forehead and slides out of the car. Loras quickly takes his place in the front seat, and holds out an arm to keep the door from closing.
"Hey, I'll see you soon. Yeah?" Loras looks up at him, timid as ever, biting his lips again. Renly wants to carry him upstairs and hold him, just hold him against his shivering body. Has he ever just wanted to hold someone before?
"Yeah. See you around." he replies, trying to be nonchalant, but his voice shakes ever so slightly. Loras' face lights up at the words, and Renly closes the car door between them as gently as he can.
The afternoon is dragging on as Renly stares up at the lights, waiting for Margaery's soliloquy to end again. Petyr, the director, has made her run through it at least four times just today because he seems to think it's the most important part of the entire production. Renly looks down again and his vision is cluttered with spots of black and searing white. His head gives a warning throb and he covers his eyes with his hands.
"What's the matter Renly, bored of being King?" Petyr shouts at him.
"Look, I think she's got it okay? Couldn't we move on for today?" Renly snaps.
"Sure. We'll move on. You. Start at the second scene. The feast." he shouts again.
There is a scramble onstage, a sound like paper wings as scripts fly and pages flutter. Renly hears the door of the auditorium creak open and slam closed, but he knows better than to let himself be distracted by it. He begins speaking from memory, glancing at the script only as a precaution. A stillness has fallen over the other actors, a silence over the straggling crowd of tech students in the front rows. There is always something so thrilling in captivating other people, drawing them in and setting them alight. He lives for it, for the moment when the line between reality and fiction, the face and the mask, become intertwined. Most days, he can feel the never-ending earth barreling down beneath his feet, solid to the core. Today, he feels like a god.
That is, until he makes the mistake of looking down into the front row. His long strides across the stage stop abruptly and awkwardly near the middle, and the stream of his voice catches thick in his throat. Loras looks up at him with a bemused expression, tilting his head slightly to the side again. Renly smiles blatantly in spite of himself.
"Seven hells, Renly!" Petyr shouts. Loras crumples in silent laughter in his seat, clutching his notebook to his chest. Margaery's eyebrows have all but disappeared beneath the prop crown on her head.
"Sorry... forgot what was next." Renly slurs, trying to put on a bright expression.
He determines not to look down again for the rest of the evening, but the damage is done. The rehearsal barely edges through another half-hour of missed cues and forgotten lines before Petyr has shouted himself hoarse.
"You know what, fuck it. It's Friday, I don't want to be here. She doesn't want to be here. You definitely don't want to be here. Go the fuck home, and you'd better have your shit together by Monday." he finally concedes, slamming his script into his bag and blasting off down the aisle. Everyone on stage pauses for a moment of shock, not sure whether or not they've actually been set free. Slowly, they break off one by one. Renly turns to Margaery, giving her what he hopes is an apologetic look. He knows how seriously she takes this.
"Sorry about all of that." he mutters, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
She studies him for a hard moment before linking her arm through his. Taking the prop crown from her head she says, "Let's take these backstage for today."
He doesn't dare sneak a look into the crowd as he leaves. They walk in silence, arms linked, through the shadow of the curtain and the wet smell of the darkened hall. In the dressing room, Margaery begins to check her own reflection, dabbing the sweat from her face as Renly watches her apprehensively.
"Renly, you need to get yourself sorted." she says calmly. There is no hint of malice in the suggestion.
"What do you mean?"
She shrugs and flatly continues. "I have seen you better than you were today. Whatever it is that's bothering you outside of this, get it sorted."
Renly feels the blood rushing to his cheeks as he glares at her reflection. Their eyes meet and she gives him a gentle smile before she turns around slowly.
"I'm not insulting you. I'm complimenting you. I know that you can be perfect. I have seen you perfect. I want you to be perfect. Do what you need to do. Get yourself sorted."
Renly can only gape at her in confusion as she strides briskly to the open door of the dressing room, and pauses. She seems to remember something suddenly, and speaks without turning to face him, "He loves art museums." she says softly. "Our grandfather would always take us when we were children. The rain on the roof, the whispering, the still life paintings, the ones of roses especially. He loves it all."
Then, Margaery Tyrell is gone.
Renly finds Loras lying flat on his stomach on the middle of the stage, his notebook barely touching the tips of his outstretched fingers.
"Comfortable?"
"Imagining."
Renly hesitates. "Could I imagine with you?'
Loras rolls over onto his side and motions to the newly empty floor space. Renly lays down beside him and closes his eyes, taking in the smell of mint and hot skin.
"You're doing our set, our costumes, everything. Petyr recruited you. That's why you were here for auditions, why you wanted to draw me."
"Well, that's partially why I wanted to draw you." Loras grins almost sleepily under the glare of the stage lights. His eyelashes are impossible, heavy and transparent here.
"Could I see what you've got so far?"
Loras props himself up on his elbows and pulls the notebook towards him. Renly mimics him and lets his head fall onto Loras' shoulder. He can hear the boy's lips part into the short breath of a smile.
"Loras, these are brilliant. I'm not just saying that. I've never seen this kind of attention to detail."
"Do you really think so?"
"Absolutely. Forget about being too good for University, I think you're too good for Highgarden."
Loras rests his head against Renly's. "I know I am. I just wanted to hear you say it."
"You are a cocky little bastard." Renly whispers, tucking a stray curl behind the boy's ear and following it with his lips.
"You don't seem to mind."
Loras turns his head in, and suddenly their lips are clinging together, tenuous and damp. Renly masters the urge to be greedy; he knows that he could do it again, but only hovers. They let the taste linger, the novelty of the wetness, eyelashes and light-fall.
"Do you like... other art?" Renly begins, "I mean... that is to say, other people's art."
"Mhmm." Loras hums into his ear.
"Well... whose exactly?"
"Would you recognise any of the names if I said them?"
"I could learn about them. Teach me."
"Teach you about art?"
"Say... in a museum... or some other sort of... place where art... might be... you know... kept. For people to see. And go see...together."
"You'd do that?"
"Yes?"
"Just to spend time with me?"
"Of course not, inquiring minds must be satisfied. This is about my artistic education, Loras."
"Then your education will have to be my top priority."
"That means we have to start immediately."
"Tomorrow?"
"When?"
"I have fencing until eleven."
"Fencing?"
"You know, with the swords and the poking people..."
"I know what fencing is, you git."
"And do you remember what that sort of lighting is called?" Loras asks in a hushed voice.
Renly tightens his arms around the boy's waist and presses his face into the crook of his neck. "Chiaroscuro." he whispers.
"Impressive."
"What does that earn me?" Renly demands, feeling fingertips brush against his knuckles.
Loras kisses him again, for what feels like both the millionth and the first time. He wonders if people usually behave this way in museums, but the nip of teeth against his bottom lip drives everything else from his mind.
It is their third trip like this in as many weeks, their third day of wandering through long, low-lit corridors in tomb-like silence, bodies falling together accidentally each time they stop to look. To Renly, most of the pictures start to blur together after the first hour, but they both know it doesn't matter. They are there to feel small together, to be dwarfed by the vaulted ceilings and throne portraits, to intertwine for a stolen moment in the hush of empty, cavernous stone.
When they finally emerge again in the afternoon, Renly is pleased to see that the sun has come out.
"Let's go to the park." Loras suggests, balancing on the handrail of the stairs while Renly prepares to catch him if he falls, the idiot.
They make their way through the city slowly, stopping for sandwiches and iced coffee, making jokes at one another. Renly catches people staring at his hand on the back of Loras' neck, or their arms linked together between them. He doesn't care. Loras' hair shines gold in the sun and his skin smells of light sweat and clean fabric. He is boundless today, dancing circles around Renly with his wide eyes, soaking in the glory of the afternoon. They fall into the grass together, laughing, and he settles his head against Renly's chest. Renly's eyes fall closed as he feels the boy stretch his nimble fingers up to stroke his neck.
"You are awful." he mumbles into a mess of curls, letting his hands slide up beneath the fabric of Loras' shirt to rest in the dip between his ribs. Renly feels him shiver closer, hears him exhale heavily.
"You're worse." he replies shakily, trying to conceal his breathlessness behind a laugh.
"Should I stop?" Renly whispers, pressing against the space between his thighs.
"I want you to touch me."
"I am touching you, darling." Loras stifles a whimper and twists to hide his face in Renly's chest.
Just when Renly starts to feel sure of his victory, the boy emerges grinning wickedly. Then, they are rolling and laughing again, chest-laughing, pinning each other with knees and elbows, stealing wrist-kisses and tongue-tip tastes of collarbones. It is an elaborate game of skin-tag, an endless exchange of subtle movements growing slower and more delicate until finally they are only sitting with their arms around one another again. Renly is missing a shoe; Loras' hair is infested with bits of grass and stray twigs.
"You look like the most beautiful homeless person I've ever seen." Renly teases.
"Okay, Rip Van Winkle."
"Don't insult the beard!"
"I like the beard!"
"I like... you. All of you."
"What about the annoying bits?" Loras asks, avoiding his eyes.
Renly studies him as he looks down, uprooting grass with his artist's fingers.
"Those too." he whispers, pressing his lips against his damp forehead.
They are silent, held together for a while. The day is fading over the edge of the trees in shades of amber and rose; a wind has come from the river to sweeten the air and the sound of children laughing echoes across the bridge.
"I love the summer." Loras sighs. "I hope that winter never comes this year."
"I'm a summer person, too."
"Maybe one day, we could live somewhere it never gets cold."
"I'd like that. Somewhere quiet with a garden."
"Where no one could find us."
"No one."
Renly doesn't say it, he barely dares to think it as they help each other up out of the grass. He shoves the words away on the train, and drowns them out on the way up the steps to Loras' flat. It is only as they say goodbye in the dim light of the doorway and Loras whispers, I'm so glad I have you, that Renly finally dares that admit it to himself.
He has already fallen in love