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Margaery smirked that sly smile of hers as she crept up on her boyfriend in the kitchen, wrapping her arms around his waist as he checked the refrigerator. He jumped slightly, but leaned back against her.
“And what are ya’ up to there, Thorns?” He turned his head to try to catch a glimpse of her but she burrowed her face into the bare skin of his back.
“Why do you call me Thorns?” She murmured softly, her breath warm against his skin.
“Everyone gets a nickname from me, ya’ know.” He shrugged as he pulled away from her, closing the refrigerator, and pulling him into his arms. He pressed a kiss against her wavy, chocolate locks.
“I get that, but why Thorns? You call Sansa Sunshine, you call Brienne Sapphire, Shae Lady…” She went down the list of all the female friends they shared, a contemplative expression on her face. They all got sweet nicknames, pretty nicknames, but she was Thorns. “Arya’s Short Stack and Ygritte’s Wildfire sure, but why am I thorns?”
“Ya’ don’t like it?” Bronn’s smile dropped as he lifted her chin up with a gentle finger. “Look at me, Margie, ya’ don’t like it, do ya’?” He asked, lowering his voice. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I… I like it.” She tried to lie, but she couldn’t. “Okay, fine, I just don’t understand it.”
“Come here, Margie.” He led her to the couch of his apartment and sat down, settling her down in his lap. “Ya’ want to know why I call ya’ Thorns? I’ll tell ya’.” He ran his hand gently over her hair, causing her to close her brown eyes and sigh softly. “You remind me of roses.” The sound of his voice and his declaration caused her to open her eyes and look down at him from where she sat atop his thighs. “Yer the most beautiful damn thing on this goddamn planet.” He told her, moving his hand from her hair, to her lips, rubbing his thumb against them gently, tracing over them and their natural shade of pale pink.
“But ya’ know what you got that other women don’t have?” He asked her and she shook her head. “Ya’ got smarts, ambition, all that shit. Ya’ don’t got just another pretty face, ya’ got the brains to match it, ya’ got the nerves of steel.” He went on and she smiled at him, wiggling closer to him. He traced her smile with a gentle move of his hand. “Yer a rose that still has its thorns. Wild and beautiful, the whole fuckin’ package.”
She pressed her lips against his the second he stopped talking. Putting in everything she couldn’t convey into words into that kiss. Their tongues danced, his hands went back into her hair, running fingers gently through it and caressing the silky locks. She cupped his cheeks, stroked the back of his neck lovingly, and kissed him until she couldn’t breathe anymore, and had to pull away, panting.
“That was the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever told me before.” She whispered softly to him, snuggling into his warmth. They had an unconventional love, the heiress and the minder, but he loved her and she loved him, and that was all that mattered. He was as sharp as a whip, could look through her, and see her and through anything she had to say. He had an eye for detail she’d never seen in any other man before, and had even helped her with the small projects her grandmother had given her to test her, to see if she was in fact the best choice to take over a bulk of her companies for when she would pass everything on to someone else and finally retire.
He was also the least selfish man in the bedroom she had ever been with. He was always putting her first, coaxing her to an orgasm with his fingers, his mouth, and more often than not both if he had finished before her. He went out of his way to please her sexually and could read her body if he somehow had the map to it.
He sent her flowers at random, with quotes he’d seen that made him think of her. Sometimes the flowers came with newspaper clippings or magazine clippings of something he’d seen that made him think of her and Margaery found it all too sweet. She would have never guessed that Bronn would be such a romantic, but he was.
She laid her head on his shoulder and listened to him hum a bawdy old pub song he knew. He would sing to her too, off-key a lot of the time, but it was something she enjoyed about him. His scratchy but sweet voice singing tunes without a second thought. Sometimes he’d write her songs too. Funny ones for when she was upset or worried about something, and sweet songs when he wanted to shower her in affection.
She would buy him things he needed but didn’t want to spend money on. He’d kissed the hell out of her when she bought him a new dishwasher and had it installed, and he’d given her the best oral sex of her life when she’d gotten him a new tv for Christmas, updating quite a ways from a small, boxy thing to a new, huge, flat screen.
She closed her eyes and began to hum along to the next tune he started to hum to her, earning her a small chuckle.
“Margie, lassie, want to head back to bed?” He murmured softly and she nodded.
He lifted her up with ease, and she wrapped her arms around his neck just tight enough so he wouldn’t drop her, not that he ever would. His arms around her waist, and just under her knees, he carried her back to his bedroom, to where they had made love just a few hours ago before falling asleep.
Where she’d awoken to him missing, and looking around in the refrigerator. He laid her down gently and crawled in next to her, taking extra care to pull the blankets over her, and then wrapping his own arms around her to make sure she was nice and warm. It was an unconventional love, but it was the best damn love she’d ever felt.