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Loras tosses Renly his apron across the bar as he arrives at work, the café already smelling of fresh filter coffee, bacon and metallic heat from the toaster oven warming Loras’ breakfast roll. They’ve been working at the same branch of Starbucks in London since they were teenagers, the one on the waterfront near the financial sector where most of the people who come in and buy their coffees earn more in a month, some even in a week, than they do all year. Renly catches the apron and throws it over his head, knots the ties around his waist, and looks down to see what Loras has replaced the name on his badge with today. His best friend's ugly scrawl has been replaced with a neat, flowing script suspiciously resembling his sister Margaery’s, announcing that his name is Beryl, and he rolls his eyes. Loras smirks and flashes his own name badge - Terence.
‘One of these days corporate is going to come in and we’re going to get into trouble,’ Renly tells him, swiping his keycard to log into the till. Loras shrugs and goes back to steaming milk for a macchiato, the first of many he will make them both over the course of the day and in blatant disregard for the Starbucks rule of one partner beverage a day and never whilst on shift. Renly picks up a takeaway cup and writes his own order - americano, black, x2 extra shot, for Beryl - on the side before sliding it along the counter to Loras. He glances at the cup and queues it up with a grin.
‘He’s not been in yet,’ Loras says, clicking the button on the coffee machine for two shots of espresso.
‘Who?’
Loras gives him a pitying look. ‘You know exactly who I'm talking about, you absolute loser. Your hot banker.’ Renly blushes, and Loras snorts in a very undignified manner as he tips the coffee shots into the milk and draws a hashed pattern of caramel drizzle over the top. ‘I saw you looking around for him the moment you walked in, so I thought I'd put you out of your misery.’
‘First of all, he’s not my banker, hot or otherwise. He’s not my anything. And second of all, shut up, Terence.’
Loras smirks. ‘But you want him to be.’
Renly doesn’t dignify that with an answer, but god, he does. His banker - as Loras insists on calling him - is a vision straight out of Renly's teenage fantasies, a tall Spaniard with silvered temples who always walks into the cafe wearing expensive sunglasses and with motorbike leathers unzipped over a crisp suit. Renly could barely get the words, ‘What can I get you?’ out the first time he saw him, and the moment that husky voice asked for a cappuccino Renly’s knees gave out. Literally. He fell over, right there behind the counter, to the accompaniment of Loras’ hysterical giggles and that deep baritone asking if he was quite alright as the man leaned over the counter to give him a hand back onto his feet. Loras still hasn’t let Renly live it down, and every so often reenacts it in ever more dramatic fashion whenever business is slow.
The one perk of working at Starbucks, Renly had thought, is that it's standard to ask a customer’s name when taking their coffee order, meaning you learn your regulars’ names quickly. The one disappointment about his banker, however, is that after the first couple of visits he cottoned on to Loras’ prank with the name tags and now gives a different name every time he orders. Things are busy at their Starbucks, and so Renly has completely forgotten the name he’d been given originally. He wouldn’t mind too much except for the fact that it’s sort of nice to know what name he should be sighing into his pillow every night as he wanks himself off thinking about leather-clad thighs and that devious smirk.
He’s allowing himself to get distracted, however, and people are beginning to trickle in through the doors for the pre-work rush. He serves three or four customers diligently before the door whooshes open again and Loras nudges him with his elbow. Renly looks up, takes one look at ‘his’ banker - in his motorbike leathers with his helmet under his arm, though this time his sunglasses are absent and so Renly is met with the full force of those wicked, sparkling dark eyes - and makes an incredibly unmanly squeaking noise, dropping his sharpie. Loras rolls his eyes.
‘H-hi,’ Renly stammers, feeling his cheeks already starting to warm up as he flushes pink, ‘grande cappuccino to go, right?’
‘You remember me well.’ The man smiles, catlike, and flicks his eyes down to Renly's name badge. ‘Who are we today?’
‘Beryl,’ Loras supplies from behind the coffee machine. ‘Excuse him, he always gets a little tongue-tied whenever a–’
Renly lunges for him, slapping his hand over Loras’ lips to muffle whatever was about to come out of his mouth. He might be Renly’s best friend, but he is also his worst tormentor, especially when it comes to hitting on attractive bankers on Renly’s behalf. Loras is about as subtle as a freight train, and Renly likes this regular too much to allow Loras to speak more than five words to him.
‘Shut up,’ he hisses in Loras’ ear, and Loras smirks against his palm and licks his hand.
Renly yanks his hand away in disgust, wiping it on his apron, and glares at Loras.
‘Excuse him, he was raised by wolves.’
‘Accurate when it comes to Grandma, but a bit rude about Mum and Dad.’ Loras finishes the previous customer's skinny dry extra shot sugar-free hazelnut latte and calls it out as he pushes it to the end of the bar. He holds his hand out expectantly for the to-go cup Renly is still holding.
‘Uh, who's it for?’ Renly drops down behind the till to pick his sharpie up and turns back to the customer, pen poised over the side of the cup.
‘Whoever you like. Surprise me.’ The man grins.
Renly nods, fighting the blush spreading and brightening in his cheeks, and scribbles something on the side of the coffee cup before handing it to Loras. The customer leans slightly on the counter and smirks at him.
‘Pink looks lovely on you, darling.’
Renly's stomach erupts in butterflies at the nickname, and he swallows hard before speaking again.
‘My uniform is black.’
Loras sighs deeply from behind the coffee machine and fixes him with an exasperated expression before gesturing very obviously at his own cheeks. The penny drops, and Renly’s blush only intensifies, to the sound of a deep, musical laugh from the customer and a muttered, ‘Give me strength!’ from Loras.
Renly has to take a couple of minutes to remind himself to breathe as Loras busies himself making the guy’s coffee. Two minutes later he’s calling out, ‘Grande cappuccino for - Inigo Montoya, Renly, really?’ and rolling his eyes at him as he hands the banker his drink.
Renly’s banker seems to find it funny, though, chuckling and tipping Renly a wink as he heads out of the café. Renly watches him go with a slightly dazed expression, and Loras groans.
‘Jesus Christ. You need to get laid. Badly.’
‘Shut up, Terence,’ Renly tells him, and starts restocking the pastry cabinet.
Loras insists on dragging Renly out for drinks with Jon and Robb after their shift is over. They meet at the Starks’ pub in Kensal Rise, where Mr Stark - Renly can never bring himself to call him Ned, no matter how many times Mr Stark reminds him that Robert does - is behind the bar. Renly gets the first round in, as is traditional, and puts Loras’ cider and Robb and Jon's bitter in front of them before settling down with his own beer. Jon immediately fixes him with one of their patented Jon Snow Spill It looks. The sparkly gold eyeliner somehow only adds to, rather than detracting from, the expression.
‘Have you shagged that banker yet?’
Northerners. Blunt to a fault.
‘No, I haven’t, and I’m not going to. He’s about twice my age for starters.’
‘Two times nineteen is still only 38,’ Jon says, sipping their bitter. Loras throws his hands up in the air.
‘Right? He’s doing my head in. Every time the bloke walks in, his jaw hits the floor and I have to mop all the drool up from behind the bar–’
‘You do not, I’m not that bad!’
‘You are a little bit,’ Robb grins, holding out his thumb and forefinger a couple of centimetres apart to illustrate his point. ‘I’ve heard the stories from these two.’ He takes a large swallow of Guinness and runs his hand through tangled auburn curls. Renly had had a bit of a crush on Robb at school, mostly centred around a fierce but secret desire to wind those copper curls around his fingers, run his hands through his hair, and just generally touch it as much as possible. He credits - or perhaps more accurately, blames - Robb for his thing for long curly hair.
As such, his banker, with cropped, tousled but undeniably straight locks, is something of a break out from his usual type.
Jon makes an exasperated noise, pouting and blowing their long dark hair out with a huff. ‘For God’s sake, Renly, just fuck him and get him out of your system. Christ knows if I have to listen to Loras’ bitching about your mooning around any longer, I’ll bloody pay him to shag you.’
Renly sticks his tongue out and takes a drag of his beer, deep in thought.
The next time the banker comes in, Renly - a barista at a fucking Starbucks - forgets the word for coffee. It flies right out of his head, the man’s amused eyes on his face and that infuriatingly sexy smirk pulling at the corner of his lips and his body there all long and lean and entirely too clothed in leather that clings to strong thighs and wraps around broad shoulders and a muscular chest; Renly opens and closes his mouth at him like a stunned guppy before regaining enough mental faculties to at least try to take his order.
‘You want the thing,’ he says, his cheeks reddening - Jesus, Renly, you sound like an idiot! - ‘the thing, with the foam and the hot and the - oh no.’ He buries his face in his hands, because he’s Renly Baratheon – he is, as Loras loves to complain constantly, never lost for words – and yet here he is, a gibbering idiot in front of the first vaguely attractive man since Loras when he was sixteen to actually give Renly the time of day. He genuinely has to turn pleadingly to Loras for help.
‘Loras, what's the word for - the thing?’ He flails helplessly at the brew machine.
‘What - coffee?’ Loras prompts in disbelief.
‘Yes! Yes. Coffee.’ He turns back to the customer with scarlet cheeks, kicking himself internally. ‘You’re here for coffee.’
‘I am,’ the man agrees, smiling with such sparkling amusement in his eyes that Renly wants to cry, he’s so embarrassed. ‘A cappuccino, please. Grande. To go.’
‘Of - of course. I remember now. S-sorry.’
‘There is nothing to be sorry for, sweet boy. It is charming.’
‘It’s stupid, is what it is,’ Renly groans, but grabs a cup and writes down the order obediently. His hands are shaking a little, the C for cappuccino looking more like a malformed tick, and he looks up at the customer again to ask for a name.
‘Oberyn,’ he says with a soft smile, and Renly swallows and nods.
‘That’s pretty. Like the king of the fairies in A Midsummer Night's Dream.’ He doodles a small crown over the name and passes the cup to Loras.
‘Is it? I confess I have not studied as much Shakespeare as I should have.’ He shrugs. ‘Perhaps my mother did.’
‘Your name is actually Oberyn? Really?’
‘Yes. I take it yours is not – what does that say?’
‘Oh. Ronald. No, that’s not my name, thank God.’ He blinks up at Oberyn. ‘I’m Renly.’
‘Beautiful,’ Oberyn says, in the sort of voice that leaves Renly unsure as to whether he’s talking about his name or about Renly as a whole, and Renly blushes.
‘Ah. More so.’
‘Stop or I’ll combust,’ Renly almost moans, scrubbing his palms over his burning cheeks. ‘I swear you do this on purpose!’
‘What? Make lovely boys blush?’ Oberyn smirks, the cat that got the cream. ‘Perhaps.’ His face turns serious. ‘If you wish me to stop, you need only say the word and I will leave you be.’
‘N-no,’ Renly mumbles, ‘not really. Just – s’embarrassing. Every time you see me I look like a tomato in a Starbucks apron.’
Oberyn laughs and reaches out to pat his cheek gently with one ringed hand. The silver of his jewellery shines brightly under the lights of the cafe, cool next to the warm olive tone of his skin. ‘As I said, sweet boy,’ he grins, ‘it is most charming.’ He saunters to the end of the bar and collects his coffee from Loras with a wide smile, turning the cup around in his hands to admire the drawing on the side.
‘An artist!’ he says, delighted.
‘Hardly,’ Renly shakes his head shyly. ‘It’s just a doodle, a scribble, really–’
‘I will treasure it, darling,’ Oberyn says as he picks up his helmet from the counter and makes his way to the doors. ‘See you later.’
Renly’s heart skips in his chest, and he studiously ignores Loras’ eye roll from beside him.
The next day is a Saturday, and Renly’s banker makes a surprise appearance - this time with someone else in tow. Renly - today labelled ‘Ted’ to Loras’ ‘Bill’ - is brewing a new pot of filter coffee when he hears the deep, musical voice and glances over his shoulder to see Oberyn with his arm around the waist of an equally statuesque, striking woman. Catching his eye, Oberyn leans down to whisper something in her ear and she smiles, her dark eyes flashing in his direction before looking up to scan the menu board. Loras is on the till today, and he takes their orders - Oberyn’s usual cappuccino and this time an English breakfast tea, black, for ‘Ellaria’, both to drink in - before passing them to Renly.
‘We don’t often see you on weekends,’ Loras says to Oberyn, who responds with a charming smile directed over his best friend’s shoulder, right at Renly.
‘No. I do not work on weekends. I was simply in the vicinity and thought I would pay a visit to my favourite barista.’
Loras grins. ‘Well, let me get him for you,’ he says sweetly, and drags Renly away from the coffee machine, pushing him forwards into Oberyn’s line of sight. Renly, predictably, blushes and stammers and tries to busy himself with something, anything, so that he’s not looking directly into Oberyn’s ridiculously handsome face. He’s unsuccessful, of course; he can’t tear his eyes away.
Loras passes him their drinks when they’re ready, and Renly hands them over mechanically, still staring at Oberyn like a baby at the revolving mobile above its crib, completely starstruck. Ellaria tinkles a laugh, silvery and gentle, and it’s her laughter that snaps Renly out of it, his cheeks flaming. He heads around the back to the stock room, his head spinning.
Oberyn was straight. Well, straighter than Renly had thought. He was also clearly in a relationship with this Ellaria woman, who although Renly had absolutely zero interest in women of any shape or size he had to admit was beautiful in the same leonine, graceful way as her partner. They sit down at a small table in the window, Oberyn lounging in the armchair like a king on his throne, muscular legs slightly open and framing beautifully a body part Renly has spent entirely too much time thinking about. Ellaria is his mirror image, though her legs remain demurely crossed as she leans forward to speak in an undertone, something in Spanish that makes Oberyn laugh and his eyes flicker towards the bar where Renly is peeking around the wall. He ducks back again.
He feels so bloody stupid – fawning over a taken, straight man, who is clearly in love with this girlfriend of his. He’s sort of notorious amongst their friend group for doing this, ever since school when he’d bounced from unrequited crush to unrequited crush, including Robb and several other members of the school rugby team. There had been a period in their teens when he and Loras had dated, mostly so that neither had to attend prom on his own or wonder what it was like to touch a cock that wasn’t his own – but Renly seems to have a chronic case of queer eye for the straight guy, and this is just the latest in a long, long list.
He waits out back until Loras comes around the corner, gesticulating and mouthing furiously for him to Get back out here, he’s looking for you!
Renly groans inwardly, bracing himself, and stumbles back out front behind the bar. Ellaria is sat in her chair, eyes on Oberyn’s back as he leans against the bar, clearly waiting for Renly but chatting amiably to Loras in the meantime. He looks up as Renly stops by the till, taking his sharpie out of his apron pocket.
‘Can I get you anything?’
‘Another cappuccino, please, sweet boy. To go this time.’ Oberyn smiles, devastatingly charming, and Renly’s knees threaten to give out again. However, since he has absolutely no desire to give Loras more blackmail ammunition, Renly leans against the counter as he writes the order down and passes the cup to Loras at the coffee machine.
‘What is your name today?’ Oberyn asks, nodding at his tag.
‘Ted,’ Renly answers. ‘Loras is Bill.’
‘Most excellent!’ Loras shouts from behind him, busying himself with pumping flavoured syrups into takeaway cups for a couple of teenage girls ahead of Oberyn in the order queue, and Oberyn chuckles.
‘That reference was, I am afraid, lost on me. Inigo Montoya, however, I am familiar with.’ He grins at Renly.
‘You made my coffee, prepare to die?’
‘Never to die, darling,’ Oberyn says seriously, before his eyes glitter hungrily and he gives Renly another cat-who-got-the-cream smirk. ‘Although, according to the French, a little death is good for everybody.’
Renly goes scarlet, and Oberyn bursts out laughing, patting the counter as he collects his drink from Loras and he and Ellaria depart.
Renly is the one who decides drinks are very much necessary that evening, and so when eight o’clock rolls around, he and Loras close up the café in record time and make their way once again to Kensal Rise to The King’s Head, the Starks’ pub. It’s busy, being a Saturday night, and Robb is behind the bar, covering for Mr. Stark, with Jon sat on a stool in front of him with their girlfriend Ygritte, both ordering the most complex and/or time-consuming cocktails they can think of, just to piss him off. Loras, who loves this game, immediately joins in with a request for two mojitos, and gets a ‘You can fuck off an’ all, Tyrell,’ in response, along with a raised middle finger.
‘So rude! And to a paying customer,’ Loras retorts, shit-eating grin on his face, and leans over the bar to bat his eyelashes at Sansa, who is helping out at the other end along with Theon. ‘Sansa, please could I have a pint of Aspall’s?’
‘You asked me for a fucking mojito!’ Robb half-shouts, outraged, and Loras laughs.
‘I know. Because it’s piss easy to wind you up, but I don’t actually want one because who the fuck from Somerset drinks cocktails?’ He accepts a neatly-pulled pint from Sansa and hands over his card to pay. ‘Besides, I only pull your pigtails because you’re so pretty.’ He blows a kiss at Robb, who grumbles and flips him off again before going to serve another customer.
Renly slumps into a seat beside Jon and orders a pint of Fat Tire IPA from Theon, ignoring the roll of his friend’s eyes. He buries his head in his hands and groans loudly, and then louder again when Jon doesn’t immediately ask what’s wrong.
Ygritte looks at him expectantly. ‘Well? Why the fuckin’ dramatics?’
Northerners.
‘It’s his banker,’ Jon explains neatly, and she rolls her eyes expressively.
‘Oh. His banker.’ She shrugs. ‘What’re you doin’ gettin’ yer knickers in a knot over some posh bastard anyway?’
‘Babe, I’m a posh bastard,’ Jon tells her with raised eyebrows, and she nods with a grin.
‘And don’t I know it, Snow. Anyhow. What’s up with Moanin’ Minnie over here and his banker?’
Renly, who knows better than to argue about the nicknames Ygritte gives him, ignores the ‘Moaning Minnie’ and just makes another despairing noise into his hands before answering.
‘He’s straight.’
‘Bullshit,’ Loras argues succinctly, ‘nobody who stares at my ass for that long is straight.’
‘Maybe he thought you were a girl,’ Ygritte retorts, dipping her fingers in her bitter and flicking it at him, ‘yer pretty enough.’
‘Oi, fuck off!’
She laughs, and Renly is reminded why he warmed to Ygritte after all. Anyone who is willing to give back what Loras hands out, he likes immensely.
‘Maybe not, but he has got a girlfriend.’ He sighs, taking a sip of his beer, and rubs at his temples. Ygritte shrugs. Jon makes a small sound of sympathy, patting his back, and Renly gives him a small smile. He’ll take what he can get.
He makes a point from then on of avoiding Oberyn whenever he comes into the café, always making excuses to Loras about needing to do stock checks, date labels for the food items, clean the coffee machine, empty the bins out back, check the ice machine – literally anything that will get him off the café floor until Oberyn is gone. Loras curses a blue streak the fourth time it happens, telling him to stop being such a fucking coward, and the well-heeled private school accent falls away to rolling Somerset tones for a second, the mark of true anger from his best friend, but still, Renly can’t bring himself to do it. It’s too awkward.
He doesn’t get given a choice, however. One night, probably three weeks or more since he last saw Oberyn, the bell above the door rings whilst he and Loras are closing up, and Loras disappears before Renly can escape, literally locking himself in the stock room stairwell to cut off all of Renly’s exit routes. He curses Loras internally for several minutes before finally making his way back onto the main shop floor to face the gorgeous, unreasonably handsome Spanish music.
Oberyn seems surprised to see him; hurt flits briefly over his face before his features settle into something pleasant and neutral, though the expression doesn’t reach his eyes.
‘I, um, I can’t do you anything hot,’ he mumbles apologetically, wringing his hands a little awkwardly, ‘the, uh, the machines have all been turned off and the filter’s being cleaned. I mean, I can probably do you, I dunno, a tea or something. Or a frappe, we can do cold brew and stuff if you want coffee–’
‘I am not here for coffee,’ Oberyn says firmly, his eyes fixed on Renly’s face. ‘I am here for you.’
‘Oh.’ Renly’s gut swoops. ‘Uh, right. What – what can I do for you?’
‘You may start by explaining why you have been avoiding me,’ Oberyn says quietly, and he sounds even more hurt than he’d looked. ‘I was not lying to your friend when I said you are my favourite barista. I have no need to visit any other coffee establishments when I have found one where the coffee is permissable but the company is so enjoyable.’
Renly is speechless – again; Loras will have a field day – for several seconds. He just stammers and stares at Oberyn, taken by surprise, before he manages to find his tongue to speak.
‘I – well, I thought I’d, um, made things awkward. I mean, you’re, like, ridiculously hot, and oh god, did I just say that out loud? But I mean you’re so attractive and – and leather-y – and I’m so, so gone over you it’s not even funny, well Loras thinks it’s funny, he thinks it’s hilarious, but Loras is an arsehole so ignore him – and just. I’ve been trying to flirt with you but I didn’t realise you were taken and I wouldn’t have done that if I did because I’m not that person, I don’t want to be that person ever, I’ve had that happen to me before and it sucked and feel free to stop me any time because otherwise I’m literally going to keep talking until I die of embarrassment, please, god, stop me–’
‘You believed me... taken?’
‘I. Yes. A-aren’t you?’
‘I am with Ellaria, yes. But we do not limit ourselves. My heart and my bed have the capacity for multitudes.’ He moves closer, leaning against the bar, his eyes intent on Renly’s, and Renly swallows convulsively.
‘O-oh.’
‘Oh, indeed.’ He smiles at Renly, soft and warm, and reaches out to hold Renly’s hand gently, rubbing his thumb over the boy’s knuckles, and his hand is as warm as his smile despite the multiple rings adorning his slim fingers, palm callused from gripping the handlebars of his motorbike. Renly looks down at their hands, linked on the countertop, and then back up at Oberyn with wide eyes as Oberyn speaks again. ‘Now, silly boy, what other concerns do you have?’
‘Uh, none. That was it. S-sorry.’
‘How many times, darling boy, must I tell you,’ Oberyn sighs softly, lightly admonishing, ‘that there is no need to be sorry?’ He trails his fingertips up Renly’s arm, over his shoulder and then his throat – making the boy shiver and raising goosebumps in their wake – to cup his chin in the palm of his hand and draw him forward to press their mouths together.
Renly makes a squeaking noise in surprise, Oberyn’s lips curving up into an amused, affectionate smile against his, and stumbles, his knees once again going weak as Oberyn continues kissing him over the bar. After a couple of seconds, Oberyn pulls away to sit and then swing long, leather-clad legs over the counter; he wraps his arms around Renly’s waist and spins them around, lifts him to sit there, pressing between his legs to kiss him again. He licks into Renly’s mouth, deeper and hungrier this time, and Renly can’t help the small moan that escapes him.
Loras decides it must be time to come out from his self-imposed imprisonment now, and takes two steps around the corner of the bar before he sees them – Renly clinging to his banker like a drowning man at a life raft as he’s kissed within an inch of his life – and decides to go back downstairs to do that deep clean of the stock room because Jesus Christ. He’ll give them ten minutes and hope he doesn’t come back upstairs to them having moved onto doing the horizontal tango on the counter instead. Nevertheless, as he’s walking down the stairs to the stock room, he’s also pulling out his phone to share the news with their friends.
To: Snow, Robb, Margaery at 7:41pm
Renly’s banker finally made a move. God, it’s like the facehugger scene from Alien out there.
Oberyn’s kisses are as addictive as the rest of him, drawing Renly in deeper with little sucking bites and licks at his bottom lip, and Renly feels like he can’t breathe. He breaks away panting to see Oberyn’s eyes wide and dark and wicked, a smirk dimpling one cheek, and groans softly. This man is going to be the death of him with his leather and his smile and these world-ending, all-consuming kisses, he’s sure of it. Eventually, however, Oberyn lets go, pulling Renly down off the counter by the front of his apron to kiss the tip of his nose playfully.
‘When do you finish?’ he asks, every word deep and throaty and seeming to curl with warmth in the air like smoke. Renly’s stomach erupts in butterflies.
‘Now,’ Loras says over Renly’s shoulder, rolling his eyes. ‘Look at him. You’ve broken him. Just take him, for god’s sake, it’s not like he’s not been waiting for you to do so for the last Christ knows how long.’
‘Loras!’ Renly protests, thumping him on the shoulder in admonition.
Oberyn just laughs, slipping a hand into Renly’s back pocket, and gives him another wicked grin.
‘Come along then, darling. We have all night, and,’ he leans down to whisper into Renly’s ear, lips ghosting over the rim, ‘I want to have you crying for me by the end of it.’
Renly’s blush spreads to what feels like the tips of his toes, and Oberyn runs a finger down the side of his neck, from the rim of his ear to the v of his work shirt with a grin. ‘I will find out exactly how far this-’ he gestures to the flush pinkening Renly’s cheeks, ‘goes down,’ he promises darkly, and Renly nods, swallowing thickly.
‘Yes.’
‘Come along, then.’
Renly goes, and Loras chases them out with a 'Don’t come back until you’ve fucked him into next week!’
Oberyn laughs, settling Renly on the pillion seat of his bike, and flicks the visor of his helmet down.
fin