They can see Margaery's eyes roll to the back of her head.

However, staggering pleasure is far from written on her young, lovely features.

"Gods be good, is that how you fuck your Lord and King?" she sighs, as if exasperated.

Loras makes an offended noise at this, as it is impossible for him to not be, twisting his neck round to her and pausing mid-thrust.

"… Beg pardon, dear sister?"

"You can beg for it as you like," Margaery chirps, hands folding to her lap of silk and myrish lace. A sweet and deceptive smile blossoming to her heart-shaped mouth. She blinks in mock-puzzlement as Renly chuckles beneath Loras, despite having his ankles and legs pulled up towards his shoulders. His arse gripped and speared full of his beloved knight's oiled cock.

The smell of the orchids and golden roses drift in through the lone, tired window, fragrant and heavier than the beginnings of intercourse, from the courtyards.

"Your Grace, if I may, are you… pleased with my brother?"

Loras' eyes sweep over her, calculating.

"Very much so," Renly murmurs, and he does something that makes the Highgarden man clench all of his back muscles and groan loudly, bucking forward into his heat, "But, I—aah—fear that isn't the answer you are seeking to gain."

Margaery clucks her tongue, giving no indication of a 'yes' or 'no'.

She smooths her little, womanly hands over her seawater-green dress. It's not ivory samite, nor cloth-of-silver, but she's not the character for it.

"I don't believe I extended an invitation to have you glimpse upon my private affairs," Loras tells her, scowling at the headboard. His voice goes up jerkily when his grinning king thrusts minutely against him, tightly crowding his bollocks as if impatient.

"As His Grace's future queen, I only wish to assure his happiness."

Renly's hands wander over Loras' sculpted sides, over his tailbone and cupping his arse. It's getting harder to listen to his dreadfully cunning sister, her whisper-gentle tone, with blood singing and pounding in Loras' ears and head. "My guidance should often be welcome, as expected," she insists.

"She is to bear my child one day," Renly points out, face buried in the other man's throat, jaw loose. It's like bursting heat on the surface of Loras' skin, and it churns his gut.

"And that makes her an expert on fucking?"

The sarcasm is hardly appreciated. Even with their hands pinned back, fingers interlocked… even though he is the rightful King's head of the Rainbow Guard, his most trusted adviser… Renly's blue eyes harden. "It makes her my Queen, and I should like to hear what she says."

He can practically feel Margaery's pride swell at the misguided show of authority.

Loras eyes the pair of them in mild suspicion, leaning up on his haunches, still seated deep in their king.

She takes his further silence as momentary defeat.

"Go slowly, it's a dance," Margaery commands, her spine erect in her patterned, fine silk-embroidered chair across the bedchamber. "The position looks uncomfortable. Release him. He'll get no leverage if you are holding him down like a whore you mean to despoil."

An indignant, red-faced sputter. "I would never—!"

Renly shushes him, thumbs rubbing mindful circles to his lower back. Begrudgingly, Loras huffs and allows Renly's legs to fall naturally to the bed.

"Savor this with him, dear brother. Worship your king."

He does, feeling every inch, every physical twitch connecting them and hitches of breath. Renly knows how to rock and writhe into him, to arch, to moan low and hoarsely, enough to surge a white blaze of flame into Loras' belly. He drags his nose and opened mouth against Renly's thick, black hair, his neck. Suckles tiny, red marks to pale, perfect flesh.

"That's better, yes. Now… circle your hips," Margaery says primly, her heart-shaped mouth pinkening where her teeth chew on her tender, bottom lip.

"Loras—Loras, gods!"

Renly cries out, eyes snapping wide, legs embrace round his waist. With a splitting, delighted grin, Loras aims to press again on that special, familiar place, ignoring where his King's hands and fingernails dig pinchingly at the tops of sun-freckled shoulders, close to drawing blood. "I'm—uh-uhh, please—!"

His sister makes a thoughtful noise with closed lips, watching them, hawkish.

"See how he calls your name when you fuck him, Loras?" Margaery's voice crawls over him, like a wash of light, and like saccharine-flavored sin never to be procured by his tongue. "His Grace calls to you like a reckoning before the old and new gods. They are nothing to him. He will succumb with your name on his lips, gasping for air. A poor, glorious, drowning man taking all you give."

Renly always will, and Lora will never deny him.

He spends himself with that cavernous, wondrous heat, pressing his chapped lips to Renly's trembling, petting his King's hairless calves—newly shaven and overly sensitive to touch.

Margaery hums, cutting through the euphoria.

"Taste him," she orders. A vision with flushed skin and glittering-bright eyes, but her words dark and nasty. "Suck him down and let his seed fill your throat as if it were my cunt, or so help me, I will flog you naked in public myself."

Not for the barely-veiled threat, but for Renly's gleeful look, Loras immediately covers his mouth over that proudly jutting cock. Tracing his saliva-damp lips over the purpled veins and inflamed ridge of the tip. As soon as he gives a hard, clamping suck, the first spurt lands on Loras' tongue, warm and sweetly bitter.

His name does pass Renly's lips, but affectionately and softly, as bejeweled fingers comb into flowing, brown hair.

"I do believe this was productive," Renly informs them, though winded.

Loras nips at the inside of his thigh, enjoying the whimper and his sister's high laugh.



A very special Valentine's gift to the ASoIaF/Game of Thrones fandom (because y'all are great) and to mumfordness (my daaaaaarling valentine this year~) from Tumblr. I hope everyone enjoyed this and any comments/questions will be received with loads of hugs and kisses.