after the storm parte II

[janie_tangerine]

 III

 

 

 

“Of course I can bring the kids to the aquarium, if they want,” Brynden tells Cat when she asks him if he could take both Robb and Jon for the afternoon - she and Ned have the yearly anniversary dinner and he’s always kept an eye on Robb for them while they went, it’s not as if he’ll have a problem keeping an eye on his cousin, too. “It’s just, I have a late day. I mean, we’re doing a joint exhibition with an American museum and their responsible will be in the office when it’s seven PM here, and I’ll be there until nine at least. I don’t know if I can take them back before then.”

 

“It’s fine,” she says, “if you can’t, they’ll probably have fun anyway. But just so you don’t have to worry about them into the evening, too, I’ll let you know if we can find someone to drive them back without you having to do it.”

 

“Great. Let me know then,” he tells his niece, and goes back to the e-mail he needs to send to this one marine fish farmer who should send over a few rare species for the aquarium, if he ever decides on a price.

 

He gets a text.

 

We found them a ride, it’s that friend of Rhaegar’s he named Jon after. He says he’ll be there around six.

 

Brynden texts her a brief reply, nodding, and doesn’t pay much more attention to the issue at hand.

 

——

 

Two days later, he’s making sure Robb doesn’t throw himself into one of the tanks - he doesn’t worry about Jon doing it, he’s entirely too well-behaved for that - when someone clears his throat behind his back.

 

“Uhm, Mr. Tully?”

 

He turns and finds himself face to face with a man who he supposes has to be the infamous ride and the firs thing Brynden thinks is well, he’s certainly good-looking. He’s just slightly shorter than him, with hair of a lighter shade of red than his own, large pale blue eyes and a well-kept beard, as bright as his hair - he’s definitely younger than him, some ten years at least, and he has a pleasant enough smile as he extends a hand.

 

“Please, it’s Brynden,” he says, shaking the man’s hand. He has a nice, strong grip. “Jon, right?”

 

“Yeah. Jon Connington,” he replies. “Nice to meet you. I see that I finally ran into the other glorified babysitter, or am I wrong?”

 

“Nah, you’re not, but it could be worse. It’s not like I can spoil my kids, anyway. Robb, if you fall into that pool you’ll get me fired and you don’t want that,” he says, raising his voice as he sees from the corner of his eye that Robb’s leaning maybe a bit too much. It does work, though.

 

“Sorry!” Robb calls back apologetically.

 

“Maybe I did spare myself a few headaches,” he says.

 

“Maybe you did,” Jon agrees. “Well, I’ll get them out of your hair. Good luck with your fish smuggling or whatever it was that Cat said you were up to.”

 

“Thanks, I’ll need it.”

 

Jon has both kids out of his hair after they say goodbye, and Brynden goes back to his office thinking that he did seem like a nice guy and he certainly was an attractive nice guy.

 

He thinks of the mark on his hip.

 

He shakes his head, figuring that it’d be just his luck - he’s been with at least fifteen people named Jon in the years, some way or the other, and none of them ever was the right person.

 

Still -

 

He does look nice, and he did like him, for those three seconds they talked.

 

Well, if they ever run into each other again, he’ll see what to do about it, and he goes back to his fish smuggling, and puts the thought out of his mind.

 

For now.

 

——

 

They meet again at Jon’s birthday party, which is a fairly small affair but evidently not for the poor kid who, at that point, had apparently been unaware that people actually celebrated their birthday.

 

“His grandfather had ideas on the topic,” Jon Connington tells him later, after they ended up talking while eating a piece of cake.

 

“I suppose they wouldn’t go on any parenting book.”

 

“Hell, no,” Jon says, shuddering. “Listen, I wouldn’t have taken the liberty of informing your niece and her husband that letting him stay there was a very bad idea if it hadn’t been necessary.” His voice turns a tad sad at that before he stabs that piece of cake with a lot of enthusiasm.

 

“Uhm, should I have kept my mouth shut about that?”

 

“No, of course not. It’s just - ah, never mind, it’s not like it’s a mystery. Rhaegar, uh, Jon’s father, he - he was my soulmate.”

 

For a moment, Brynden can only think, what the hell.

 

“Your soulmate? But if he’s with Lyanna -”

 

“Oh, he was my soulmate. I never said I was his. Well, he actually didn’t have one, and Lyanna hadn’t either, and that’s how they found each other.”

 

“… Fuck,” Brynden says, apologetically. “Sorry about that. I can’t even imagine how it must feel when it’s not returned.”

 

“Well, I made peace with it,” Jon sighs. “But I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Wait, you don’t have a problem with it?”

 

“What? With you being into Jon’s father? Did Cat ever tell you I got throw away from my own house because my brother found out I had a guy’s name on my hip?”

 

“… Oh. Shit, sorry to hear that, too. I hope it was worth it, though?”

 

“I had a nice life,” Brynden says, “but I never ran into the guy. Common name and no other indication.”

 

“Must have sucked, though.”

 

Brynden shrugs. “It did, but I mean, I never got fired even if they found out when they still could have, all of my old roommates are still around and I am talking to my brother now, more or less. Could have been plenty worse.”

 

Jon grimaces as he eats the last of his cake. “Fair point. I wish I could say the same about the roommates. I mean, I didn’t have any, but - I volunteered at this one GLF circle through the end of the eighties.”

 

“… I imagine you’ve gone to more funerals than you’d care to count?”

 

“It’s probably really sad that I never risked much also because I was waiting for Rhaegar to come around and I thought I shouldn’t be with anyone else in between.”

 

“I don’t really think it’s sad, especially if you had known him that long. That said, you can see that you having a man’s mark on you is not a problem for me.”

 

“I can see that,” Jon says, his shoulders slightly relaxing.

 

The conversation ends there - Brynden is this tempted to ask Jon if he wants to get a beer sometime, but he looks not really in the mood for it and he looked tired when he came in and now he looks sort of sad, so - he doesn’t go there.

 

Maybe next time.

 

——

 

“I don’t know,” Jon tells him when he does ask, the next time they run into each other because they were keeping an eye on both kids separately and brought them back at the same time.

 

“If you’re not interested it’s fine,” Brynden tells him. “Really. No harm done.”

 

“It’s - not that,” Jon says a moment later. “It’s just - there’s reasons - it’s not a good idea, but I’m flattered that you asked. Really.”

 

Brynden thinks about that answer a lot, as he drives back. There’s reasons. It’s not a good idea but I’m flattered. Maybe he hasn’t gotten over Rhaegar Targaryen, and it could be, but something tells him it’s not the entire story. And thing is, he usually would take a refusal for what it is, he’s not the kind of person pestering people into dating him, but that answer wasn’t a no, and shit but he thinks he likes Jon from what he can see anyway, and even if it didn’t go anywhere, he never said no to actually having more friends he could commiserate with about how much he hates that the first thing people say when they learn that he’s not into women is something along the lines of you don’t look gay, as if you have to look like it to be attracted to men.

 

He decides that he’s going to ask a second time just to be sure.

 

——

 

“What if,” Brynden asks him the next time they run into each other, “that offer to go out for drinks is absolutely friendly and not about me putting a move on you?”

 

Jon looks completely flabbergasted when he takes the question in. “Seriously?”

 

“Why, can’t a guy have a beer with another guy without ulterior motives? Most of my old roommates moved in the suburbs and it’s not like I have a regular crowd to get drunk with.”

 

Jon stares at him for a long, long moment.

 

Then -

 

“Fine, if it’s just for drinks.”

 

“Hey, I keep my word.”

 

“Well, you do look trustworthy,” he replies, smiling slightly, and Brynden can’t help thinking that he looks a lot more attractive when he does that, and where did that came from?

 

Shit. He really does like this guy, doesn’t he? But he’s not going to put a move on him if he doesn’t want to.

 

Turns out Jon actually lives not too far from him and they meet at a nice, regular pub, the only one in the area where there is no music blasted period.

 

“Nice,” Jon says approvingly as they get in. “I hadn’t been here yet.”

 

“Moved recently?”

 

“Yes. Mostly because - I mean, I don’t need money in theory, I could live off what I get from my father’s company, but I had thought I’d find something else I actually liked in the meantime. Except that then I spent a lot of time around my GLF circle, and they asked me if I wanted to run some kind of counseling, and I said yes, and they needed it in the area, so I figured I’d just move - I hated my old neighborhood anyway and it’s too close to my old high school. Or to Rhaegar’s place. I guess I wanted a clean cut.”

 

“Sounds reasonable,” Brynden says. “It’s a nice place, really. There’s a reason why I commute.”

 

They talk shop for a while, and it’s a nice evening, and by the time they’ve commiserated over people expecting them to wear pink, exchanged horribly embarrassing stories about Jon and Robb and commiserated some more about their common electricity company, it’s been a lovely evening, and Brynden can’t help feeling like they might have something going on here he can’t quite place.

 

And - he doesn’t want to hope that he actually ran into the right Jon, even if he has a feeling he might have, but even if it’s not the case, they do click together, and they’ve had a fairly nice time, and honestly, he’s not getting any younger. If they live nearby there might be nothing wrong with actually going out more often.

 

“So,” he tells Jon as they walk towards the corner at which one of them has to turn right and the other left, “would you fancy doing that again?”

 

“Do you want to?” Jon asks, sounding slightly surprised of it.

 

“Sure. I mean, it went well, didn’t it?”

 

“Is it still friendly?”

 

“If you want it to be, sure.” He doesn’t say, I’m not interested.

 

Jon stares at him, and then - “I’ll call you,” he finally answers, before disappearing in the darkness.

 

Brynden really hopes he does.

 

 

——

 

 

Jon has no idea of what he’s even doing here.

 

If you want it to be.

 

Thing is - it’s pathetic, but at thirty-three he’s never been on the side of the fence where someone makes a move on him, and he’s pretty sure Brynden’s trying, and -

 

On one side, he does like the man a lot - he’s fun, he’s laid-back, he doesn’t buy into the whole glitter aesthetic and he remembers how horrid were the eighties, and he has fairly great music taste from what they discussed -, on the other -

 

On the other, he remembers the damned black mark over his shoulder, and he thinks it’s horribly unfair that he should do anything with anyone until he has a sign screaming unrequited love on his shoulder.

 

Maybe he should just do what a lot of people do and ignore it, but - he always liked the idea of having a soulmate, especially when it’s not as if his preferences give him that great a dating pool, and he’s probably an idiot for even caring about it given that the universe has royally screwed him, and not pleasurably, twice.

 

Still, maybe they could be friends. Or at most being friends with benefits. Sure as hell he wouldn’t mind that too much, especially given that he has seen that Brynden does work out and has the nicely toned kind of body he finds very pleasing on the eyes.

 

Anyway, he stands out the pub from last time as he waits, and then he sees Brynden come out from the other side of the street.

 

The first thing Jon notices is that he’s ditched the usual casual post-work attire for a dark blue leather jacket that really does nothing to make him feel less attracted to the man, damn it.

 

The second is -

 

Wait a moment.

 

“Hey,” Brynden tells him, “sorry for the lateness, I got a work call. Wait, is there something wrong?”

 

He must think that, since Jon is staring at his damned shirt like he’s seeing double.

 

And of course he is, since it’s a white shirt, nicely fitting, with a black trout exactly like the one on his shoulder right in the middle.

 

“Oh. That was - actually, a mock gift from Robb and Jon? Sort of.”

 

“Mock gift?”

 

“Er, see, when I had to leave home, I used to work at a fish restaurant. And I studied fish for a living anyway. When Cat showed up in London way back in the day, she said that people back home called me… the black fish of the family, not the black sheep. I kind of liked it, honestly, and I figured what the hell, I should just own up to it, so they all call me like that sometimes. Except the kids, I don’t even know if those two remember my real name most of the time because they just use that if they’re around me, but at my last birthday they asked their parents if they could give me an appropriate shirt, so Ned had it printed somewhere and that was it. I wouldn’t have put it on, really, I use it when I’m at home because it’s comfortable, but that work call took too long so I didn’t change and - Jon, are you all right? You look like you’re going to faint.”

 

And he might be, because -

 

“Fuck. Fuck, I’m a complete bloody fucking idiot,” he says, and wait, why does his own voice sound elated.

 

“What? I didn’t have that impression -”

 

“No, no, I am,” Jon blurts. “Because - I - I never told you one thing. When - after Rhaegar and Lyanna got together for good, my mark turned black. And then it disappeared.”

 

Brynden’s eyes go slightly wider. “It’s - uncommon, but it happens. So what?”

 

“So I thought - shit, I thought the universe was making fun of me because my mark was black already and not red,” Jon keeps on, feeling like he’s going to hyperventilate, and then he takes off his jacket, unbuttons his shirt’s cuff and pulls it upwards until the black trout on his arm is finally uncovered.

 

At that, Brynden’s blue eyes get even bigger, and then -

 

“Fuck,” he says, “I am an idiot.”

 

“… What, how?”

 

“Oh, shit, they’ll make fun of us forever.”

 

“They’ll - make fun of us?” Jon asks. Brynden shakes his head and turns on his side, raising up his shirt and jacket and uncovering -

 

His goddamned name written on his hip.

 

In red.

 

“Oh,” Jon blurts, realizing that it’s hardly the smart thing to do.

 

“Yeah, pretty much,” Brynden says. “I - I’ve been with a lot of people with that name, but it never really clicked. So I had kind of lost hope I’d ever run into - the right one.”

 

They look at each other, their eyes locking, and then both of them groan at the same time as Jon hears a flare of pain in his shoulder, and Brynden obviously does the same because he slams his hand on his hip, and only takes it away maybe a minute later.

 

His mark has stayed the same.

 

Jon’s, on the other side -

 

Jon’s is burning a bright red, brighter than Rhaegar’s mark ever was.

 

“Maybe we were both idiots,” he says, breaking the silence.

 

“Maybe we were,” Brynden agrees, letting his shirt cover his hip again. “And - so, the reason you weren’t sure of this was that -”

 

“That since I had a black mark I thought it would be unfair to - do anything sort of serious with anyone since I was supposed to be with someone who didn’t reciprocate already, but it obviously wasn’t the case.”

 

“Then, in light of what just happened, I think it’s high time I start repaying you for that? I mean, I didn’t decide it, but I can’t imagine it was such a great thing to get it just after - well. That other one turning black.”

 

Jon isn’t even going to try to deny it - it wouldn’t make sense. Not when it turns out that he’s had his soulmate in front of him for four months and didn’t notice.

 

“Well, fine, it was shitty, but it wasn’t your fault. I might do with the universe repaying me for - shit, I got that mark when I turned six. I’ve spent what, twenty-seven years either waiting for Rhaegar to come around or brooding over it, I think I’m down with that.”

 

“Wait, when you were six?”

 

“Yeah. It was what, ’76? Probably.”

 

“… Let me guess, you were born on February 6th?”

 

“… How would you know that.”

 

“Because I thought I wasn’t getting one until I woke up on the morning of February 6th of the yeah you were born,” Brynden says, shaking his head, and what -

 

The day -

 

“Fuck,” Jon says, “fuck, and I thought - and I thought this entire thing was a joke.”

 

If he thinks that his name has been on someone all along without changes he wants to faint.

 

“Well, I thought the universe hated me because I’ve run into endless people named like you and it always turned out to be a bust, but I don’t think this is one. So, can I put a move on you already?”

 

“Please do,” Jon answers, and a moment later he’s pressed up against the wall with Brynden’s hands on his face and they’re kissing and fuck but Brynden isn’t wasting time here - he’s kissing him like he means it and Jon kisses back with a moan, his hands grasping at the leather jacket, and fuck but it doesn’t feel the way it did with Oberyn or with the few other people he’s been with since he found out Rhaegar wasn’t going to be an option, and a back alley is probably not very classy but as they press up against each other he realizes that he doesn’t care. And no one is passing by, so who cares. For once, he can afford to not give a shit for once.

 

By the time they’re catching their breath, he feels like laughing for the next hour or so. Possibly very much hysterically.

 

“Right,” he says, “if you go on like this, I think you’ll make up for lost time very shortly.”

 

“Hey, I waited a hell of a long time, I also want to make up for lost time.”

 

Jon looks up at him, and decides that for once he’s just going to go for it already and fuck caution.

 

“I live some ten minutes from here. You?”

 

“Five,” Brynden grins.

 

“Your place?”

 

“My place,” Jon agrees, and for once the fluttering in his stomach feels good and not the kind that makes him feel like he’ll feel sick.

 

All the contrary, actually.

 

——

 

They run, damn it, and Jon has a moment in which he suddenly feels like he just was catapulted into one of those rom-coms that he admits he kind of enjoys more than he should, not that he’s ever watched any thinking he was rom-com material.

 

Instead -

 

Instead they do, and then they run upstairs and for a moment he thinks, for not being as young as we could be at least none of us is out of breath, and when they walk in he takes a moment to take in the place - it’s three rooms, he thinks, he can see the living room and the other closed door has to be the living room. The entrance is covered in pictures of exotic fish, he can see a lot of pictures of Cat and her kids and her siblings scattered around the bookshelves covering the wall. It’s nice, he thinks. His own place is better than it used to be back when he lived in his previous apartment near the company’s offices, but it’s still not as nice, he thinks.

 

“So,” Brynden asks, “you want the tour now or later?”

 

Suddenly, Jon’s arm is burning and he decides that he can ponder house aesthetics later.

 

“Later,” he breathes, and a moment later they’ve almost tripped over a stack of books as they burst into the bedroom - thankfully the bed is large and definitely comfortable, he’d know because he ended up on his back, and he moves back so that he doesn’t have his legs half off it.

 

“Nice,” he says, “I could get used to it. It’s nicer than mine.”

 

“Fair,” Brynden says, “you look good in it,” and then they’re kissing again and getting rid of their clothes - Brynden’s infamous shirt ends up on the ground along with his jacket and Jon’s shirt loses a few buttons in the hurry, but who even cares. He’ll get a new one.

 

“Please tell me you’ve got lube somewhere,” Jon says as he sits up with his back against the headboard, kicking off his shoes.

 

“‘Course I do. I don’t go out often, doesn’t mean I’m bloody fucking celibate.” He stands up, kicking off his shoes on the way, opens one of the drawers and takes out a condom and a small bottle of lube before crawling back up on the bed. Jon is probably not subtle as he stares at the man’s chest and at the still reddish hair covering it.

 

“Like the view?” Brynden asks.

 

“I might be,” Jon smiles back.

 

“So, any preferences? Because I was thinking that for this round, you might just lie back and enjoy yourself, but if you’d rather do something else, I’m flexible.”

 

“I might be as well,” Jon says, even if most times he thought about doing it with Rhaegar he wasn’t below him, but as far as anyone else was concerned, both ways were fine. “But I think - I might do with lying back and enjoying it this time.”

 

“Nice to see we’re getting along,” Brynden smirks, and then he moves back down on the bed. “Well then, I think you might’ve been waiting long enough.”

 

Before Jon can say anything, Brynden’s hands are on his jeans and he’s pushed them down and away along with his underwear, and hellwas he this hard already? Maybe, but it doesn’t matter because a moment later Brynden’s taken his cock inside his mouth and fuck, he needs to ask the man how much practice he’s had at it because he’s gone for it at once, and the moment the man’s tongue runs along the head before he sucks Jon almost howls - it’s been long, too much, and he only manages to bite back on it out of sheer control and because he doesn’t want the neighbors to be entirely aware of what’s going down.

 

Still, he can’t avoid the sounds coming out of his throat, and the yeses and the pleases, and at some point he buries his hand into auburn hair that’s longer than his own and he groans when he feels that he’s getting close, his balls tightening, and he tries to not cant his hips upwards as much as instinct tells him, and then he blurts that he’s about to come if Brynden doesn’t slow down -

 

And he doesn’t, and Jon doesn’t even know how long he’s lasted but then again the time when he’d have felt ashamed if it wasn’t long are long over, and he closes his eyes as he goes rigid and finally, finally lets go, maybe thrusting shallowly into Brynden’s mouth, and fuck he’s actually swallowing, and he’s breathing heavily as a wave of pleasure racks through his muscles and he goes completely boneless against the mattress.

 

“Wow,” he says after he’s caught his breath, “you’re definitely making it worth my time.”

 

“Good to know,” Brynden groans, his voice sounding rougher, and Jon spreads his legs slightly as he crawls back up on the bed. “You mind -”

 

“Absolutely not,” Jon breathes before dragging him down and kissing the salt off his mouth, and by the time they’re done Brynden’s on top of him again and he has a hand on Jon’s thigh and Jon can feel his erection pressing up against his crotch. “And I should probably make it worth your while.”

 

“Anything you wouldn’t want to do?”

 

“Nothing that comes to mind,” he grins, and spreads his legs wider, searching for the lube that was somewhere to his left on the bed. He finds it and slams it into Brynden’s hand.

 

“I think,” Brynden says, “that you can get that open while I get this open.”

 

Right. The condom. Jon nods, sitting back up and getting the damned thing open while Brynden makes quick work of putting the condom on. Jon hands him back the lube and waits until he pours some of it on his fingers. Jon’s absolutely waiting for it when he pushes one fingers inside him, slow, once, twice, and then two, and after then he pours some more and pushes his fingers in deeper (they’re rough, Jon thinks, and he likes it, he likes it a lot) and Jon doesn’t even try to stop himself from screaming out loud when Brynden’s fingers hit his prostate once, twice, and even if he’s just come and he knows his refractory period is hardly what it was when he was younger, he can feel himself getting hard again.

 

“Fuck,” he blurts, “just go for it.”

 

“You sure? I can do it again -”

 

“I’m fine if it’s a little rough. Just do it, all right?”

 

Brynden nods, pouring the rest of the lube on his hand and then running it over his cock, and then he’s lining up and Jon’s moved his legs behind his back and then he’s pushing and it is a little rough, but exactly enough, and he doesn’t even think before his hand grasps at Brynden’s hip just where his name is burning red, and a moment later Brynden’s hand is curled around his arm and they’re looking at each other before their mouths crash together as Jon’s hips cant upwards and Brynden’s slam down, and -

 

It feels right.

 

It feels just right, the way it’s never felt with anyone else, and probably the way it was supposed to be because after all it was meant to be, and maybe he’s not going to come again until the next round but having done it before he can concentrate on how everything else feels and how good it is, and if he had to wait this long -

 

He thinks that this is how it starts, there might be really was worth it.

 

——

 

Later, the sheets are dirty as hell and now he is without breath and Brynden is too and they’re both grinning so hard, he can’t remember the last time it happened.

 

“Well,” Brynden says, “I think we’ve been idiots, but we might be making up for it. Right?”

 

“Shit, we have a lot to make up for. But please don’t count going clubbing into it.”

 

“Great, because I always hated that, too. That said, I can cook better than the average place around here anyway.”

 

“Well, I’m a pro at cleaning and I always sucked at cooking.”

 

“Sounds like we can share.”

 

“We absolutely can,” Jon says, moving closer. Then - “If we tell your nephew and Jon how we figured it out they’ll never let us live it down, will they?”

 

“… No,” Brynden agrees, “but good thing they got me that shirt or we might be dancing around each other still.”

 

“Fair enough,” Jon nods, and then they’re kissing again, their hands on their respective marks, and Jon doesn’t have to look at either of them to know they’re burning bright red.

 

 

 

Epilogue

 

 

 

“That was your favorite place?” Jon asks, wrapping his coat tighter around him. It’s cold, it’s early spring after all, but it was the one time they both could get some vacation time while Cat was still at the old house with the children for Easter vacations and while he’s not thatfond of his hometown Jon still insisted to visit it and said that he he could do with fresh air, and so here they are.

 

Years later, it looks better than Brynden remembered it, honestly, but it’s been a long time and he doesn’t have to hide now, does he?

 

“Hey, if you wanted to be on your own, abandoned train tracks in the middle of the fields were ideal,” he replies, shrugging, still not standing up. He will. Just not in a moment.

 

“Hey, I wasn’t criticizing. It’s pretty. I mean, in a rough kind of way, I guess, but it’s nice. At least it’s green. You know how much green I saw growing up? Not as much as this.”

 

“Fair,” Brynden agrees - London really doesn’t compare. He does miss it, at times. But he couldn’t have gone much farther than here, if he had stayed. “Well, good to know you don’t hate the country.”

 

“I don’t,” Jon laughs. “So, no one knew?”

 

“Nah,” Brynden shakes his head. “And good thing, because otherwise someone else would have known that I read books I shouldn’t even know existed, according to the local priest.”

 

“Such as?”

 

“Maurice,” Brynden shrugs. “No one had marks there but if you wanted to think you could run into the guy of your life, it was fairly nice.”

 

“Did they ever find you having it?”

 

“No. I was good at hiding things,” Brynden smirks, and then he stands up, opening his backpack and grabbing part of what’s inside, that he kept carefully hidden until now. He kind of feels like he’s too damned old for this kind of thing, but neither of them actually could do any of the juvenile idiotic stuff that their friends or relatives could, and at least he dated around a bit even if it was never anything serious, Jon didn’t, and for a moment he thinks that Rhaegar Targaryen really must not have had eyes, but -

 

It did work out in the end, didn’t it?

 

“Hey,” he says, “are you up for some more of that ridiculously sappy shit we never used to do when we were fifteen?”

 

“Such as?”

 

He moves closer and presses a small bouquet of bright red flowers that he got at the florist’s before. “Ned did that with Cat all the time,” he says, shrugging. “She did like it.”

 

For a moment, Jon looks completely flabbergasted, but then his lips curl upwards as he takes them, their fingers tangling together. “Well, I might have had a few moments when I imagined someone else giving them to me, so you won’t find me complaining.”

 

“Good. So, you want to get back?”

 

“Not yet. I said I liked it, didn’t I?”

 

He leans down as Jon’s hand moves under his shirt and over his hip, and it might be cold as they kiss again -

 

And it feels just right.

 

 

End.