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Renly Baratheon knew nothing about football, and yet here he was, celebrating his twenty-first birthday in Greenhand Stadium with his brothers. It had been Robert’s idea; he had three tickets to the game, and when his wife and oldest son declined to join him, he had enlisted Renly and Stannis instead, and pretended the whole outing had always been intended as a lavish birthday present.
So Renly had traveled up to Highgarden and donned the shapeless black and gold Stags jersey Robert presented him--another thoughtful gift--before the three of them muscled into the stadium to watch the Storm’s End Stags play the Reach Golden Roses.
“Nothing like gameday, is there?” Robert shouted over the noise of the crowd, hoisting his beer and sloshing some of it on the family sitting in front of them.
Renly gave Robert a tight smile and raised his own plastic cup. “Nothing like it,” he agreed, because it really was a unique and terrible experience, sitting on metal bleachers in the last of the August heat, seventy thousand people around him well on their way to getting drunk.
Renly glanced over at Stannis, who looked just as pleased with the situation as Renly was. He caught Renly’s eye and handed his drink over. Renly promptly forgave Stannis for giving him a gift card to Payless and a used copy of Infinite Jest, then chugged one beer and started in on the other.
Most of the spectators around Renly wore green and gold; the Golden Roses were, after all, the home team. Renly and his brothers stuck out like sore thumbs, and Robert was already antagonizing the Golden Roses fans around them.
Renly zoned out as the teams took the field and the game got underway. He stared morosely at the time clock on the Jumbotron, counting down the seconds until this cruel and unusual punishment ended. He snapped rather suddenly out of his daze of self-pity when the Jumbotron began flashing player names and stats over the stadium, because the first player on the screen was easily the most beautiful man Renly had ever seen.
His eyes were what caught Renly’s attention first; they were golden-brown, deep-set above high cheekbones and full lips tilted in a haughty smirk. His hair hung loosely over his shoulders, a cascade of soft brown curls, and Renly’s throat went dry. The captions by his photo informed Renly that this was Loras Tyrell, quarterback for the Golden Roses, a sophomore out of Highgarden, 5’11, 175 pounds, and when another player’s profile came up on screen, Renly looked frantically out at the field.
The quarterback was the important one, he thought. The one who threw the ball or gave it to someone else or … well, Renly wasn’t really sure.
“Which one’s the quarterback?” he asked Robert.
Robert gave him an incredulous look. “He’s the guy under center, and he’s too fucking small to play quarterback, but you know what? You know what, Renly?”
“Hmmm?” The players began to move, and there was number seven, TYRELL emblazoned on the back of his jersey, backing up with the football in his hands.
“The Golden Roses always play undersized quarterbacks and they can’t see over our defensive line--FUCK!” Robert spilled beer on Renly’s arm as he stood up in a fit of rage, and Renly tuned back into the game just in time to see a Golden Roses player waltz into the endzone.
The Jumbotron replayed the touchdown, and suddenly Renly saw a certain beauty in the game; the way Loras Tyrell gracefully dropped back from the men crashing into one another and threw the football in a perfect, beautiful arc was stunning to watch. As was his ass.
***
The Storm’s End Stags lost by a disrespectable margin of forty-four to seventeen, but Renly was hardly bothered as he followed Stannis and Robert out of the stadium. Robert kept up a steady rant about crooked officials and cheating bastards and illiterate coaches while Stannis guided him through the crowd by his elbow, gritting his teeth all the while.
On Robert’s insistence, they ended up at a bar that turned out to be more of a hip college hangout than the dirty dive Renly expected, and he wished he was wearing something nicer than a jersey that still smelled like beer. He also wished he was being accompanied by anyone other than Robert, large and old and loud and tipsy, and Stannis, with his fanny pack full of sunscreen and ibuprofen.
But it was Renly’s twenty-first, and he did want to get mind-bogglingly drunk, so he sat down with his brothers in a booth that was much too small and proudly produced his ID when a waitress came around to take their order. He got a gin and tonic, thinking it best to start off with something Robert would find suitable before moving on to the more garish drinks with their inviting paper umbrellas.
“The problem is,” Robert said, ignoring the drinks the waitress set down in front of them in favor of continuing another rant that Renly had long since lost track of, “the referees are too politically correct! Gotta throw a flag every time anyone touches Tyrell, or they’re homophobic!”
“There was helmet-to-helmet contact,” Stannis said stiffly. “A fifteen-yard penalty was the correct call, regardless of the quarterback’s sexuality.”
Renly nearly choked on his drink. “He’s gay?” he exclaimed.
Robert shot Renly a blank look. “It was all over ESPN when he got a scholarship.”
Renly rolled his eyes. “I have never in my life watched one second of ESPN.”
“One of the very few life choices I commend you on,” Stannis muttered, popping two ibuprofen into his hand and washing them down with his water.
Renly waved the insult away and took another sip of his drink. “So is he a good quarterback, then?”
Robert scowled. “He’s the kind of quarterback any team would be proud to have. Heisman material. We tried to recruit him,” he said grudgingly. “But his daddy’s got connections with the Golden Roses.”
“And they’re the better team,” Stannis said evenly, and Renly swore for a moment that Stannis actually smirked at Robert. But it may have been a trick of the light, or maybe Renly was already a bit tipsy from the gin and tonic.
“They are not the better team--”
Robert was just winding up for another in-depth analysis of the Golden Roses’ failings when there was a commotion at the entrance of the bar and half a dozen young men walked in, immediately eliciting whoops and congratulatory calls from the rest of the patrons crowding the booths.
“Fucking look at them,” Robert mumbled, glowering at the new arrivals. “Win one game and they think they’ve got the National Championship on lock, well I’ll just go and tell them--”
Renly stopped listening, because one of the men had long, curly brown hair, and Renly’s heart nearly nearly stopped when he realized it was Loras Tyrell. He was even more beautiful in person, but somehow just as much larger than life as he had been on the Jumbotron. He was laughing and high-fiving his teammates and patrons and even the bartender, and Renly couldn’t stop watching him.
“--if he thought that hit was bad, I’ll show him a hit--”
Loras sat down at a barstool, talking animatedly to the bartender, gesturing expansively with long, graceful arms. Renly downed the rest of his gin and tonic, needing an excuse to go to the bar for another, and when he slammed his glass back down on the table he saw Robert watching him with the mischievous look he always wore when he had a spectacularly bad idea.
“Stannis is right,” Robert said, giving Renly a sly grin. “We can’t just fight all of them.”
Renly felt a little uneasy. “No,” he agreed. “We can’t.”
“So,” Robert continued. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to go … be gay with Loras Tyrell.”
“Oh God.” Stannis had his elbows on the table, his head in his hands. “Robert, this is not what I meant to suggest.”
“And when you go back to his place, you’re going to see if he’s got a playbook lying around. Or a training schedule, something like that. Something we can use when we play them next year. I can--I can send it to the coaches. Anonymously.” Robert looked inordinately pleased with himself, and Renly couldn’t pretend he didn’t like the idea. Well, the going back to Loras Tyrell’s place part.
“So you want me to seduce him?” It was the best plan Robert had ever roped Renly into, and suddenly their brotherly outing to a football game was the best gift Renly had ever been given.
“They’re all gonna be drinking and fucking all night to celebrate,” Robert said. He pointed at Loras, who was still sitting at the bar, alone for the moment. “But you gotta be smooth. Speak his language.”
The alcohol had gone to Renly’s head. “English?”
Robert rolled his eyes. “Football. Football pick-up lines. Tell him you want to drill him in the backfield.”
Stannis choked on his water. “You cannot say that. It’s crass and unbecoming. Tell him he handled himself with great composure in the face of a very good defensive line.”
“No, it’s gotta be something like, I wanna make like an offensive lineman and open up a hole for you.”
“Why don’t you just go seduce him yourself?” Stannis suggested helpfully. Renly noted that he was now on his sixth ibuprofen of the night.
“If Renly doesn’t get off his ass, I might have to,” Robert shot back, and that grotesque image was enough to get Renly sliding out of the booth and walking over to the bar.
Loras grew even more beautiful the closer Renly got, and by the time Renly leaned casually on the bar beside him, he was so tongue-tied he almost wished he was brave enough to use Robert’s pick-up lines.
“Hey,” Renly blurted out, and then those brown eyes were on him, sizing him up, taking in his Stags jersey.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Loras said, smirking and raising an eyebrow at the jersey.
“You throw the ball good,” was all Renly could manage. He was screaming internally, wondering why all his charm had suddenly deserted him. “Well. You throw the ball well. And, uh, you run, too. Good running.”
Loras laughed. “I know. But it’s nice of you to say so.”
Renly searched for a way to keep the conversation going. “Do you think you could, uh, sign my jersey?”
“Your Stags jersey?” Loras was grinning, and it lit up his entire face in a way that made Renly weak in the knees. He had dimples, and freckles across the bridge of his nose, and Renly knew at that moment that he was in way over his head.
“My Stags jersey,” Renly confirmed, and Loras slid off the barstool, fishing a sharpie out of his pocket. Out of his uniform, Loras was shorter and smaller than Renly had expected, and Renly felt just a little sick thinking of some of the hits Loras had taken during the game.
“I’ve signed a lot of jerseys today,” Loras deadpanned, just as Renly was about to ask why he was carrying a sharpie with him. “No Stags jerseys, though.” He contemplated Renly’s jersey, black with gold trim around the sleeves and neck. “I’ll have to sign up here.” He touched a finger to the strip of gold just above Renly’s collarbone.
Renly’s breath caught as Loras moved in close. He smelled clean and sweet, like roses.
“And who should I make this out to?” Loras asked, uncapping the sharpie.
“My name’s Renly,” Renly said, thinking that he probably should have led with that information.
“It’s nice to meet you, Renly,” Loras said, and Renly swallowed hard as Loras’s hand deftly moved the sharpie over Renly’s jersey.
“There,” Loras said when he was done, hopping back up on the barstool. “That’ll be valuable when I get drafted.” Then, “Do you want a drink?”
“I would love a drink. Something sweet, with an umbrella in it.” Renly was still trying to catch his breath. He glanced back at his brothers’ table, noting that Stannis seemed to have ordered an actual alcoholic drink. Robert gave Renly a thumbs up and Renly turned back to Loras.
“So, uh--” Renly wracked his brain for more football jargon as the bartender made their drinks. “Downs, huh? There’s four of them, right? Which one is your favorite?”
“Which down is my favorite?” Loras gave Renly a puzzled smile. “First down, because that means we’ve moved the ball downfield. Towards the endzone,” he clarified. “So we can score.”
Renly saw his opportunity and took it before he could lose his courage. “I’d like to move downfield,” he said, summoning what charm he could and leaning lazily on the bar. “So I can score.”
Renly held his breath, waiting for Loras to react. The bartender set their drinks down in front of them, and after thanking her Loras turned to Renly with a lazy smile.
Loras winked. “That’s both the best and worst line I’ve ever heard.”
***
“I don’t really know anything about football,” Renly admitted, though it wasn’t the type of thing he would normally whisper into a man’s mouth as he kissed him.
“Mmmm, no shit,” Loras murmured. “And here I thought you were an expert.”
Renly could only vaguely recall taking an Uber back to Loras’s apartment, and somewhere around their third drink he had forgotten entirely that Robert and Stannis even existed. He was very drunk, and very preoccupied with an equally drunk quarterback trying to divest him of his clothes.
“I’m an expert at other things,” Renly said as they toppled onto the bed. “Like going downfield.” Renly thought that was a very good line, considering how absolutely plastered he was.
Loras laughed and playfully nipped at Renly’s nose. “That’s my favorite down.”
Renly grinned at him, and then they were too busy using their mouths for other things to talk.
When they finally lay still and panting, Loras rolled over and wrapped an arm around Renly’s middle. The gesture surprised Renly a little, and he grinned, tugging Loras close and turning his head to press a kiss against his forehead. Renly wondered if he was being overly familiar, but Loras just closed his eyes and smiled softly.
Renly dozed awhile, and when he woke the digital alarm clock on Loras’s nightstand told him it was well past one in the morning. Renly sighed, not wanting to leave just yet, but knowing he needed to get back to Stannis and Robert so they could begin the long drive back to Storm’s End. All the same, he didn’t want to sneak out without saying goodbye, so he shook Loras gently to wake him.
Loras blinked up at him with groggy eyes and yawned. “You off, then?”
“My brothers are waiting for me,” Renly apologized. “We were supposed to be back home by now.”
Loras stretched his arms out over his head, and Renly could feel Loras watching him as he pulled his clothes back on.
“It’ll be chilly outside,” Loras mumbled sleepily. “Check my closet, there’s a Golden Roses hoodie you can take. It’s too big for me.”
Renly shot him a puzzled glance. He almost protested that it wasn’t cold at all, but the idea of having something of Loras’s to remember him by was all too tempting. He opened the closet door and fished around until he found the hoodie Loras was talking about; in the moonlight coming in through the curtains, Renly could see that it was a deep emerald green, with a yellow rose stamped on the front. He shrugged it on over his head and bent to pick up his discarded jersey.
“Don’t lose that,” Loras said, just as Renly opened the bedroom door to leave.
“This?” Renly held up the jersey.
“I signed my number on it,” Loras explained, and Renly grinned down at the jersey in his hand. “Text me sometime. I’ve got a lot to teach you about football.”
***