It was on one of those unexpectedly clement summer days.
He was under the canopy of leaves. He was sitting, quietly, thoughtful for once. His usually smiling, joyful face was not marred with stern lines that would make him a Stannis, no. Renly's visage simply lacked the usual carefree aura it casted around him.
Loras stood , his rainbow cloak flicking lightly in the gentle breeze. He'd just received it. The weight of it was not even a day old on his shoulders, but it felt as if it was one he'd waited all his life to carry.
His sister had the title and the ring, but he felt that the cloak was more appropriate for a love token than any other grace Renly might bestow on sweet Margaery.
Loras remembered as he observed his King, his posture that of the perfect Kingsguard.
It was barely a year ago, and they were still, then, the knights of summer. Renly was still the king's brother and no more, and they had plotted together to get his sister to beguile Robert and finally rid him of that awful Lannister woman. Renly had no love for Cersei, and if that was how he felt, then Loras felt the same way.
They'd laughed, that day, and jokingly, Renly had said, as he nudged Loras companionably, "My brother may get the taste of one of Highgarden's sweetest fruits, so why shouldn't I?" The Knight of Flowers had felt inexplicably warm and had nudged back, not really offering, though the way he looked at Renly left little to interpretation as to which fruit he wished to see plucked.
Renly had laughed, and said, "Oh, I can see my brother already, kissing your sweet sister on the lips," he said. And Loras had chuckled, and suppressed the little shiver of displeasure at the mental image. "I wager a kiss from house Baratheon can be sweet," he replied, though it wasn't Robert he was thinking about.
There was a moment of silent understanding, and Renly reached, to kiss his cheek, lightly. "I suppose now you can decide if you won your wager or not," he murmured, close enough to tease Loras' skin with his breath. "I should think such a test would demand a rather longer trial," Loras heard himself reply, though he had not planned it in the least.
The next time Renly kissed him, it was on the lips, long, sweet and tender, but smelling of man and oozing with contained strength. Their lips parted and the kiss deepened, and the canopy of emerald-green leaves seemed to close around them, to shield them from the world, like a complacent theater to their forbidden fruit-plucking.
To Renly, nothing was sweeter than a peach from Highgarden.