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"Bronn."
You nudged him. As Tyrion's two sellswords, you two often had to sit around with nothing to do, guarding the outsides of doors that nobody even wanted to get in. Today was one of those days.
"Bronn."
Bronn ignored you, continuing to stare at the wall. You briefly considered leaving him alone, he'd had a bit too much to drink last night, and he could get snappy when hungover. But honestly, you'd rather get snapped at than keep sitting here in silence.
"Bronn."
Nothing.
"Broooooonnnnnnnnnnnnn."
He twitched, but otheraise showed no signs of acknowledgement.
"Bronn," you poked him, "Bronn."
Another slight twitch, but nothing more. You'd have to up your game.
You took a deep breath. "BronnBronnBronnBronnBronnBronnBronnBronnBronnBr--"
"THE FUCK DO YA WANT?"
Success. You grinned at him.
"I'm bored."
"You're also obnoxious."
"I know, thank you."
He just grunted and stopped looking at you.
"Oh come on, why are you so pissy today?" You crossed your arms.
"The better question is why aren't you? We woke up an hour ago, I'm hungover, an' we've gotta sit here and guard this fuckin' door for who the fuck knows how long." He groaned, pushing a hand through his hair. He really did look hungover. You once again considered leaving him be, but having nothing to do was killing you.
"Exactly, we have to wait out here forever, we might as well have fun." You shoved him gently, careful not to jostle his head too much, gods know it was probably pounding. "C'mon, why not play a game with your very favorite person?"
You stared at Bronn, making the stupidest sad-eyes possible. He looked over at you, then cracked a smile.
"Fine, but I get ta' choose the game." He said. He smiled wickedly, and you couldn't help but grow suspicious. Still, anything was better than sitting out here in silence.
"Fine. I'll beat you at anything, i bet." You stuck your tongue out. Bronn nodded, stood, and started back in the direction you'd come from.
"Hey, what're you doing, we still have to guard the door, dipshit!"
"Relax, love, ill be back in three minutes. I need something for the game."
--
Bronn returned exactly three minutes and twelve seconds later. With a candle and matches.
"Take off your bracer." He said, sitting back down on the floor next to you.
You did as he said, albeit hesitantly. He did the same, then took your bare forearm and put it against his. Eyes widening, you watched as he placed the candle across both of your forearms, and struck a match.
"Sure you still wanna play, love?" Bronn smirked at you.
You smirked right back.
"Yeah, and I'll kick your ass."
"Alright, but don't say I didn't warn ya when ya lose." Bronn lit both ends of the candle, and the game began.
This was a game you grew up playing. Variations of it, at least. Not in this manner before, but other tests of prolonged pain tolerance or fear. You'd seen how many kicks to the shin you could take, how high you would jump from a tree, how long you could stay in the woods at night. And you had won. A lot.
Then again, this wasn't your average village kid that you were facing. This was Bronn, the only other person in the world that would do this kind of shit for fun past the age of twelve. And fire was uncharted territory for you.
It burned. Obviously it did, it's fire, but the sensation of burning was much more unpleasant than you'd originally expected. You suddenly felt stupid for underestimating fire.
Bronn must have seen you wince, because he raised a brow.
"What, are ya scared, love? Haven't played with fire before?" He snickered.
"You think I'm scared of a candle? I've been to the aerie. I would think you'd be smart enough to know that it takes more than a candle to scare me."
"Good. I'd be dissapointed if you lost so quickly."
You grinned, but it was interrupted halfway by a hiss of pain, a hot bead of wax dripping onto your skin. But you did not move your arm. It stayed firmly pressed against his.
You'd grown up playing and winning games of chicken, but you were used to it looking like a group of scrappy teenagers kicking each other in the shins. This version, though? It felt almost intimate. It was just him and you, your bare arms pressed together, and the candle flickering in the wind of your breath.
Bronn's arm twitched a little, as the burning wax met his skin, and you weren't doing much better. You clenched your teeth and forced your arm to stay put.
You found yourself staring at him. To distract from the pain, you told yourself. His sly eyes, his many-times broken nose, his stupid, smug smile. You'd never really looked at him like this before, really looked at his face and took in his features.
He was looking at you, too, you noticed. Staring, really. His arm pressed against yours a little harder. The candle flickered. The wax dripped. His eyes burned into yours.
This was no longer just a test of pain tolerance.
---
Bronn stared you in the eyes, biting his lip to stop from grunting as he felt more wax drip down his arm. He hadn't expected you to last this long. Longer than most, sure, but for this length of time? Maybe this wouldn't be such an easy win after all.
He watched you hiss, feeling the usual smug superiority he always did when he was winning. And yet, he hoped that you'd hold on for a little longer. This moment was to be savored.
Chances to be physically close like this, to feel bare skin on his, were rare. Save for screwing around with whores, but he hadn't done that in months. And that wasn't the same feeling as this, anyway. In a world where everyone walked around in armor, this contact was a rare luxury. This was a very strange and painful way to experience it, granted, but it was a luxury nonetheless. And even moreso because it was you.
This chance to look you over, too, to really stare at your face, without getting a whack in the head and a 'what're you lookin' at?' was a rarity. In truth, he found you quite beautiful, even if he'd never say it out loud.
And you were so close. All he'd have to do is lean in.
And he would've done it, if the door hadn't slammed open right at that fucking moment.
---
"What the actual fuck are you two doing?"
You whipped yourself away from Bronn, and he from you, sending the candle flying. Tyrion looked down at you from his spot in the elevated doorway. You looked up at him from your very unprofessional seat on the floor.
Tyrion looked at you, and then at Bronn, and then at the red on your arms, and then at the candle, which was now sadly rolling along the corridor, and then back at you and Bronn.
"Are you shitting me?"
"We were bored!" You protested. Bronn just shrugged.
"So you set yourselves on fire?!"
"It was his idea!"
"Hey, you're the one who kept botherin' me 'til we did something!"
Tyrion groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You two have got to be the worst guards I have ever met. Get up, we still have work to do."
You pulled your bracer back on, hissing as the tough leather scraped across your raw, burnt skin. Now that you weren't distracted by Bronn and the determination to beat him at something, you were feeling the pain a lot more. You got up anyway.
"Don't make that face, I'm not feeling sorry for either of you. You quite literally did this to yourselves." Tyrion said, starting back down the corridor, you and Bronn close behind.
"Next time, I'll beat you. As long as we don't get interrupted again." You nudged Bronn in the side.
"Wouldn't count on that, love."