Strangely familiar

AO3

My Writing (tag games, asks, snippets)

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"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."