His scent by comparison was musky and like oak. He had a very...northern smell to him. Margaery enjoyed it to the overperfumed men of the south. Renly was particularly guilty of this; though whether it was from his own doing or from vigorous contact with Loras was unknown. It was only just then in thinking of Renly that she noticed the similarities between him and Will - along with the glaring differences.
Both were tall, strong men. Dark of hair, stubbled chins with strong jaws. But Margaery had known all along that it wasn't her Renly had wanted.
As Will leaned in a bit just then, with his voice so dark and primal, it seemed pretty clear that he didn't share Renly's proclivity for Loras. Margaery bit her lower lip, her eyes flashing to his own as they formed the words he spoke. "The sting of the rose reminds you that it is not completely helpless," she added. "A rose may yet bring pain if not handled to her liking."
Was she still talking about the flower? Even Margaery herself wasn't sure. She didn't move away, she couldn't move away. She had to be right there, she had to be there. If she moved away, then he might do the same. And somehow, deep down, she didn't want that. She wanted him right where he was. No - that wasn't quite true either.
"Have you...no flowers in the north, Master Graham?" She whispered, her eyes flickering down and back up again, focusing briefly on that granite jaw and the curve of his lips. How would it be to feel his stubble against her cheek?
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Both were tall, strong men. Dark of hair, stubbled chins with strong jaws. But Margaery had known all along that it wasn't her Renly had wanted.
As Will leaned in a bit just then, with his voice so dark and primal, it seemed pretty clear that he didn't share Renly's proclivity for Loras. Margaery bit her lower lip, her eyes flashing to his own as they formed the words he spoke. "The sting of the rose reminds you that it is not completely helpless," she added. "A rose may yet bring pain if not handled to her liking."
Was she still talking about the flower? Even Margaery herself wasn't sure. She didn't move away, she couldn't move away. She had to be right there, she had to be there. If she moved away, then he might do the same. And somehow, deep down, she didn't want that. She wanted him right where he was. No - that wasn't quite true either.
"Have you...no flowers in the north, Master Graham?" She whispered, her eyes flickering down and back up again, focusing briefly on that granite jaw and the curve of his lips. How would it be to feel his stubble against her cheek?