Strangely familiar

AO3

My Writing (tag games, asks, snippets)

Ripen or Rot Ch3 on ao3 (Ormund/Daeron/Gwayne, 17k, 3/5)

I'm deeply unwell thank you for asking. That last episode was kinda mixed but the knighting scene took me the fuck out and then a second plane hit tumbleton with my-boy-gate and I was barely conscious by the time Gwayne was scrabbling through the rubble. It's just a shame that Ormund died off screen #mysterious #RIPunclepoppers

I'm actually so sad to say goodbye to my normal nuclear family. We got to see so so little of it for how interesting it was and how well the actors were carrying it and it does make me sad to think of what could have been if they had more time

I'll always mourn the lack of a confrontation after Ormund finds out about the betrayal and I hope we get some emotional fallout from it in the next season (though with so little time, I don't know how much we'll get it).

But then I guess that's what fanfic is for, and kinda what I'm trying to do with RoR I guess, fill in the gaps

So yeah, I'm great, can't you tell from the fic that i'm super great and feeling totally normal about these guys? I love waiting two years between seasons. It's great. I feel great. We're all gonna be fine

+++

"What is this, hmm?" Ormund asks, rising from his chair. "I've never seen you like this. So angry. So cold."

Ormund's hands find Gwayne's shoulders, fingers digging into the flesh. When they were young they had a game; the barbaric sort that children like. They would take it in turns to pinch each other as hard as possible, enduring it as long as they could before they cried out. Now, Gwayne realises that they have never stopped playing it, and likely never will.

"What is it?" Ormund says, digging his fingers into the divots above his collarbones. "Are you feeling forgotten? Ignored?"

Gwayne's chair moves forward and he knows that Ormund's front is pressed against it, wood between his crotch and Gwayne's back. He takes a shuddering breath as Ormund leans down, pressing his nose to the crown of his head.

"I have missed this smell," Ormund says softly, breathing deep. "But you are not what you used to be. You are looking older. Haggard. It’s such a pity to watch it happen, and this pointless grief for the Dornishman is doing you no favours in that regard."

Gwayne is disgusted but it makes no difference. He cannot stop himself from leaning back into him.

"You are jealous, aren't you?" Ormund purrs.

"I'm tired."

"You are always tired of late." The chair tips as Ormund presses against it, crowding around him. Gwayne just looks away. He stares down at the table as Ormund strokes a hand over his throat. 

"Yes," he says. "It seems I am."