lorasrenly

hey look i wrote a loras/renly thing

He wonders where he is. Why he’s here. How he got here in the first place. 

The torches on the wall light up the stone tunnel stretching out before him. Walking as far as it leads, he comes to a door. Plain, wooden, with a brass handle. Loras pushes it open and finds himself—

—back at Storm’s End. In his old room from when he was Renly’s squire. 

Renly.

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Loras is gliding the razor carefully over his chin now. Renly hates this part; Loras is too close for too long, concentrating on his task with a focus that makes it too easy to stare at him. And Renly has done far too much staring. He could probably provide a tally of Loras’s eyelashes by now (a staggering lot), or identify which side of his lower lip Loras bites when he’s concentrating (the left), or number the tawny flecks in his eyes (eight in one eye, five in the other). He could probably even find the freckle just under Loras’s eyebrow in the dark. With his tongue. Gods.


Ughh, these tragic gaybies.