Loras wishes he'd taken the car, wishes he didn't have to walk all the way uphill to Renly's place in the rain with his portfolio inside his shirt beneath his coat. Inside the warmth of the lobby, he fishes his keys out of his pockets and gets the mail that Renly usually neglects. No, nope. Lingerie? Really? Buckingham Palace, he'll burn that anyways...
On the stairs there is the sound of a radio seeping through an open door, the squeak of his rubber boots as he turns the corner on each flight, panting by the time he reaches the top floor. He doesn't knock before he goes in; he broke that habit months ago.
Renly is on his mobile, pacing, and he looks flustered. Loras sheds his boots by the door and drops the mail and his artwork on the coffee table.
"I don't care how lucrative... no! I have no interest in working for you, Stannis." The voice on the other line squabbles something unintelligible.
"Because it would make me miserable and it would be boring and you would beat me to death with a Bible all day."
"No, I will not think about it. We don't need to go to dinner because I-"
"What do I care about his daughter?"
"I'm seeing someone Stannis, have been for months. I thought even you would have gotten that into your thick, bald head by now. Look, I have to go."
"Because I don't want to talk to you, I'm hungry, and Loras is here."
The voice squawks more fiercely than before.
"What do you mean a real relationship?"
Renly barely waits for him to reply before he throws the phone into the fireplace. Loras spends a moment trying to decide if he should tell him off or comfort him.
"That one was pretty new." he says calmly.
"I'm sorry, darling. I'm so sorry. I was angry and I wasn't thinking."
"That bad?" Loras asks, walking over to put his arms around him.
Renly looks as exhausted as Loras feels, beaten down and cold. There are little dark circles under his warm brown eyes from rehearsing late into the night for the last few weeks. Loras will be glad when the play is over, and he knows that Renly will as well, even if he doesn't admit it.
"I didn't call for dinner yet."
"Don't worry about it." "I don't suppose I'll be calling anything tonight." Renly chuckles, but it sounds drained.
"We can just sit for a while."
They head to the futon and Loras immediately wraps of one the many blankets around Renly's shoulders, pulling it up to his head like a hood. Renly leans forward and kisses him before saying, "I look like the Virgin Mary."
Loras almost snorts. "You're not the Virgin anyone."
"Oh that's rich coming from Mr. Threesome-With-My-Sister-in-Spain."
"That was one time!"
"One time in Spain, one time in Italy, one time in France, one t-"
Loras lets the blanket slip down and all but tackles him. Renly doesn't need to know how right or wrong his accusations might be, and he doesn't seem to care as Loras parts his lips gently with his tongue. It is a deep, exhausted kiss, loaded with unvoiced worry and time spent unwillingly apart. Loras feels as though he's come home from a long way off. After a moment, Renly pulls away and presses his face into Loras' shoulder.
"You're still upset about what Stannis said."
"Nah."
"Renly, I know you. I know you, I know you, I know you."
The older man smiles sadly and kisses the younger one again. "He's trying to set me up with the daughter of one of his colleagues from the Foreign Office. I told him I wasn't interested and he said it was time that I found myself a real relationship."
Loras pretends that this doesn't phase him. He knows that if Renly even begins to suspect how much the words scare him, it will only make matters worse. "Why can't he be more like Robert?"
Renly shrugs. "Robert isn't a fanatic. Not to mention he's too drunk most of the time to remember that he himself is married, let alone to remember that I'm not dating a woman. He's usually too drunk to be upset about it once I remind him, too."
"As I said, more like dear Robert." Loras says with staged reverence.
"He'll get over it one day." Renly forces a smile.
Loras slides into his lap, placing his knees on either side of him, and takes his face between his hands.
"You can tell Stannis..." he kisses him.
"That he may pray," - again-
"To whichever god he likes," -again-.
"In any way he likes,"-
"But this" he slides his tongue between Renly's lips and feels him sigh into his mouth,
"is how I pray to mine."
He feels Renly's hands on his back, tremulous, curving lower, grasping hard, pulling him up, pressing him closer. An invisible line has been crossed; he is burning, burning, burning, and there is nothing else.
Renly pauses for a moment to stare up at him with glossy eyes. "And I to mine."
Loras never makes much noise if he can help it. He bites his lips and clenches his slender fingers in the sheets, holding his breath, trying with all his might not to cry out, not to beg just yet. Renly is hovering again, opening his mouth against the curve of Loras' thighs, against his ribs, against the almost painfully tender skin of his chest. I like to explore you slowly, Renly always says, slowly, slowly. Loras tries to be patient. No one has ever explored him slowly before. He's been with boys who only wanted to get him drunk and bend him over. He's been with boys who were too intimidated by him to even look him in the eye. When you're Mace Tyrell's son, you can have any kind you like and no one need ever know a thing about it.
But Renly is different, and especially today. How many times has Loras watched him kiss Margaery in rehearsal? It shouldn't still get to him like this, he knows it shouldn't.
He wishes it were more controllable, that his stomach didn't twist into knotted vines every time Petyr called for another run-through. Renly's tongue is tracing the hollow of his throat now, he feels his palms pressing flat against his thighs. He hadn't been able to watch it after a while; he'd just gotten up and left without a word, slipped out the door of the auditorium and come back here to sketch in silence. You are so beautiful, how are you so beautiful? Renly asks, over and over. He had understood; he always does, even when Loras can't bring himself to explain. Loras can feel his body trembling as he draws his knees up and locks them in behind his shoulders. His hands shake as he slides them into Loras' curls, cradling his head, still whispering. Darling, darling, darling. There is a flash of pain, a slash of light across his vision in the darkness, but then... but then.
There is no such thing as deep enough; they've stopped worrying about hurting one another a long time ago. Loras is trying so desperately to maintain his composure, jaw set and teeth clenched, breathing furiously through his nose in the moment of stillness. He feels Renly's hands on his sides, tilting his body. Good? Loras can only manage a quick nod and a low whine, but it's enough. Their lips collide as Renly drives forward again, and Loras is unnerved by the noise that escapes from somewhere inside his own chest. Renly chuckles quietly, and Loras can feel the vibration between his ribs. Relax. The images of his day are spinning inside his head, wound up so tightly they might break. He tries in vain to hold onto them, to keep the almost gratifying resentment, the distance. But they become dimmer and dimmer each time Renly goes deeper, until finally there is nothing left but the sound of his ragged breathing and the metallic taste of blood on his lips, the dull slam of the headboard with each rapid movement. Loras lifts a hand, and Renly presses it up against the wall, twining their damp fingers together in an impossible grip. Loras feels Renly's mouth opening against his neck, the nip of his teeth, his fingers wrapped around him in the space between their bodies, and suddenly he can't stop himself from crying out. He feels Renly move faster as he grows louder and louder in his string of breathless, inarticulate pleas. His back arches and his hips begin to jolt wildly upwards as they slam together, creating the faint pat of skin against damp skin. There is blackness and light, no breath to be found, an inexplicable need to be taken apart from the inside. But most of all, there is Renly, clinging to him desperately, the smell of sweet spice and heat, the waves of his low voice as he chants Loras' name like a prayer, Renly.
The end is a heady collapse, a few long rises and falls on the other side of a great wave, loose heavy limbs and a hush like dawn.
"I can feel your pulse in..." Renly groans. "I can... Loras."
They learn to breathe again, lying tangled on their sides. Loras lets his eyes fall closed as Renly strokes his hair.
"That's only for you." he says.
"I know." Loras replies.
"No, you don't know. Because if you understood exactly how much I am for you..."
"I do understand I just... things can change. That's all. What if you wake up one day and you-"
"No. That is not the way this works. I have loved you since the moment I saw you."
Loras feels a lump rising in his throat, the remnants of the day, the twisted knot in his stomach. He doesn't want to cry, but the exhaustion is taking over. "I just get very scared sometimes." he manages in a rigid voice.
"Scared of what, darling?" Renly asks, staring intently.
He doesn't know how to explain them, all of the things he fears. He doesn't know how to explain what's it's always been like with Margaery around anyone he cared about, what it's like to be seen as an inheritance instead of a person, to be used as a means to an end, to feel that you're only drifting from day to day in a world where nothing is denied to you, but nothing can really belong to you either. He doesn't know how to explain what it's like to finally feel that you have a home.
He tries to shrug. "Of how things used to be. For me. Before."
"That goes both ways, you know." Renly whispers. "I didn't do anything for you that you haven't done for me a thousand times over."
Loras can't imagine how that could be true, but he decides not to question it tonight. Tonight, he will only nod, will only let his eyes fall closed beneath Renly's lips, will let himself finally drift off to the sound of the rain and the steady breathing of the man beside him. There is nothing else.
Loras doesn't like being told what he can and can't do, and especially not by the likes of Petyr Baelish. He worked for weeks on the set designs for the play, mostly on Renly's coffee table after he'd fallen asleep, because Margaery always keeps their flat full of people. He had to hand it to himself, they were the best he'd ever done. And how had Petyr received this magnum opus? This isn't Coven Garden, Loras. Unless you're planning on paying for all of this yourself, you're going to have to take it down a notch. We have something called a budget around here, not that you'd know much about that...
He knows that none of this is Renly's fault, but he can't stop himself from being particularly icy as they walk to get coffee that afternoon. Walking a few paces ahead with his hands in his pockets against the wind, Loras hasn't said a word since they met up after rehearsal.
"Wait up!" Renly calls after him. "What's your hurry?"
"I'm not in a hurry." Loras snaps. "Maybe you're just slow."
Renly grabs his shoulder roughly and turns him around. "It's not my fault you're fighting with Petyr. I wouldn't care if you tried to set off fireworks at the end of the third act."
"I never said it was your fault." Loras pouts. "You don't seem to have a problem taking it out on me, though."
Loras scoffs and bites his lip. "It wouldn't kill you to stand up to him sometime. You're supposed to be the most important character, Renly. This play doesn't exist without you, and you let him treat you like shit."
"You'd rather me act more like Margaery? Their shouting matches waste half our rehearsal time. Not to mention he threatens to replace her at least twice a day!"
Loras is tired of arguing, so he pulls himself out of Renly's grip and starts off down the street again. There are surprisingly few people out today, because of the cold, and he feels even more isolated as they pass into a narrow space between two buildings. He notices a man with long, greasy hair sitting on the ground with a hat turned upside down, begging for coins, but he brushes past him.
"Give a man a pound?" the beggar says to Renly.
"Loras, hold on." Renly calls up to him, "I don't see why not." he says to the man, smiling as he pulls out his wallet.
"Renly, do NOT-" Loras shouts, but the man has sprung up from the wall with the knife in his hand.
"Give me the whole thing!" he shrieks, pressing his knife flat against Renly's chest. Loras freezes for a split second. Renly looks over at him and their eyes lock, bewildered.
"No need to get pushy," Renly laughs nervously. "I was trying to give you something anyways."
"You too, pretty boy! Or I'll cut out his heart and let you wear it as a necklace." the man actually winks.
Afterwards, it would all be a bit of a blur to Loras. What had his fencing instructor always said? Here you fight like a gentleman. In the real world, there are no gentlemen. The next thing he knows, he is holding the man by his filthy hair against the wall, pressing the tip of the blade just barely into his neck. There is a giant welt on the man's forehead, a clump of sick-dark blood trickling down into his eyebrow.
"Renly, I hope you have your phone." he says with a calmness that even terrifies himself.
The man cackles through his shattered teeth, and Loras bashes him across the nose with his elbow.
They stand in the gathering darkness amidst the flashing lights, giving their statements to a stern woman in uniform.
"And you did that to him?" she asks Loras incredulously, looking him up and down, taking in his expensive clothes, the green blazer, the scarf, and trying to imagine someone like that winning a fight.
Renly has his arm around his shoulder still, and they turn to look at the man once again, sitting in handcuffs in the back of an open ambulance, covered in blood and howling every time someone dabs his nose.
"I'm stronger than I look?" Loras suggests. Renly is shaking with silent laughter.
"That's all right and good, but next time don't play the hero. A wallet isn't worth it, Mr. Tyrell. I'd think you wouldn't be upset to lose a few dollars..."
Loras grimaces. "It wasn't about the wallet."
"I thought you said he was trying to rob you?"
"He was." Renly says, looking at Loras with a puzzled expression.
"He had a knife to your chest."
"And he would have put it away-"
"No." Loras feels his mouth curving painfully downward. He shakes his head furiously.
They hail a taxi to take them back to Renly's flat, and the ride home is a silent one. Loras stares out of the window, focusing all his energy on keeping his mouth from turning downward into that childish frown Margaery always teases him about.
"Cheer up, Edmund Dantes. You were very brave." Renly whispers into his ear. He tries to laugh, but it comes out more like a whimper.
The flat feels strange to Loras when they enter, as if he's somehow changed since the last time he was there. Everything seems so fragile all of the sudden, the wine glasses that hang above the cabinet, the rain-pelted windows. The clock on the mantle suddenly looks so precarious to him, as if it might fall at any moment. He notices that Renly is watching him with a certain caution, as if he might be preparing to explode. Loras finally breaks the silence, hugging his arms to his chest.
"He could have killed you and there would have been nothing I could do about it."
"Loras."
"Nothing. It could have happened so quickly."
Renly closes the space between them and puts a hand on each of his shoulders.
"You smashed his head against the wall, broke his nose with your bare hands and held him at the point of his own knife. I think it's safe to say you did something about it. Anymore something and we'd probably be having this conversation from an interrogation room in Scotland Yard."
"I should have killed him." Loras says finally, his voice barely rising above a whisper.
"No. You should have just let me give him my wallet and run. What would you have done if you couldn't get the knife away from him?"
"Kill him anyways."
"Loras, stop talking like that. You've never killed anyone and you're never going to."
"I don't care. I would. For you, I would."
Renly looks exasperated for a moment, but the expression shifts to something more tender. He pulls him in, and Loras slides his hands under his shirt.
"Off." he commands simply, and Renly doesn't argue. He rests his head on his bare chest, pressing his face into the spot where the greasy-haired man held his knife. The next thing he knows, they are on the floor and his head is throbbing from weeping.
"I'm here." Renly whispers, touching his hair. "I'm always going to be here."