Indiscretions 2/4heartlesskidsMay 10 2012, 12:00:24 UTC
Robb found himself a frequent guest of Bale’s, much to his own annoyance. Bale didn’t share his frustration, happily ogling Robb as he pleased. Sometimes they didn’t have sex (much to Bale’s annoyance) and instead ate fruit and talked. “Where are you from?” Robb asked, and Bale tensed. “Just a little village,” he smiled. Something about the way his eyes flickered made Robb doubt it. “Far near the sea, you wouldn’t know it.” “Tell me about it,” Robb said. Bale looked down. “It was ugly and cold,” he said baldly. “And gulls screamed everywhere.” He looked at his hands. “We dug for clams in shallow water, and sometimes we bought lemons.” “Sounds nice,” Robb offered. Bale pursed his lips. “It was,” he said tonelessly, and he looked away. -- Robb knew something was wrong the moment Lela looked at him. “Where’s Bale?” was the first thing he thought to say. Lela pursed her lips. “He’s not seeing anyone today,” she bit out. It had to be serious - she didn’t simper Your Grace. “I want to see him,” he said. Lela looked angry. “You can’t, Your Grace, he’s -” She looked down, flustered. “He is - resting, he had a client and -” “Let me see him,” Robb glared. She cringed. “Now.” Lela obeyed, looking angry and worried as she led Robb to a room that wasn’t for clients. She bowed hurriedly and left before he opened the door. When he entered, he knew why. “Fuck!” Robb gasped. Bale was on a bed, wearing only smallclothes. Large bruises peppered his arms and back, and he could see the thin red marks of a knife. Bale looked up, tense. “You’re not supposed to be here,” he said silkily, though it sounded brittle. Robb ignored him and crossed the room, touching his arm. Bale flinched. “Who did this?” Robb hissed. “Don’t worry,” Bale said, gingerly removing his hand. “He paid extra.” Robb slammed his hand on the wall, causing Bale to jump. “Paid extra?” he hissed. Bale glowered. “You’re hurt, how could you -” “I’m a whore,” Bale said pointedly, like Robb was some stupid child. “If I get paid and I don’t get damaged, I’ll play rough.” He smiled and slunk up to Robb, playing with his shirt. “Why, are you jealous? Do you want to hurt me?” “Stop it,” Robb snapped. Bale sat back sullenly. “I want his name, I want it now.” “I don’t fuck and tell,” Bale said dryly. “And you don’t own me.” “You -” “I’m fine, Your Grace.” Bale’s eyes flashed, truly angry. “I know my limits, and a little pain isn’t one of them.” He breathed out. “Have you ever been whipped, Your Grace?” Robb blanched. “No.” “Then shut up,” Bale snapped. “And get out, if you don’t want to fuck.” Robb could have screamed. He could have made him come with him and forced a name from him. Robb shut the door and stormed out.
Indiscretions 3/4heartlesskidsMay 10 2012, 12:05:16 UTC
The next time Robb saw Bale, many of his bruises were fading. The cuts were nearly gone and he was splayed out naked on Robb’s bed, smiling like he belonged there. “Hello,” he chirped. Robb gaped. “Did you miss me?” “What are you doing here?” Robb hissed. It was the royal palace. Bale sat up and shrugged. “You’re leaving in a few days, right?” he said. “Thought I’d give you a proper farewell.” Meaning, Baelish had put him up to it. Robb crossed the room and sat on the bed, uncomfortably aware of Bale’s breath against his neck. Bale nuzzled against his shoulder and kissed his neck, sucking his skin as one hand guided Robb to lie on his back. He climbed over him and grinned, leaning in close. “What’s Winterfell like?” he asked. Robb blinked. “Cold,” he managed. Bale’s hips grinded into his and he swallowed back a moan. “Colder than here, with lots of trees and snow.” “Colder than here,” Bale repeated wistfully. His eyes softened and a sudden, bold thought came to Robb’s mind. “Come with me,” Robb breathed. Bale stared and climbed off of Robb, looking distressed. Robb sat up. “I’ll - I’ll take care of you, I’ll -” “Keep me in a cage?” Bale scoffed, shaking his head. “No. You can’t buy me.” Wrong. Wrong, so wrong, from the whore who'd let himself be cut up and beaten for an extra coin. For some irrational reason, that enraged him. “Yes I can,” Robb hissed, and he lunged. Bale yelped and Robb crushed him into the bed, straddling his waist. Bale scratched at him, cursing, and Robb grabbed his hands and held them down. “I could hurt you,” Robb whispered. He shook Bale and Bale stilled. “I could kill you. There’s fifty people outside this room and you could scream for your life, and you know what they’ll do?” Bale turned away and Robb grabbed his jaw, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Nothing,” Robb said. Bale’s face flushed angrily, eyes burning dark as Robb’s grip tightened. “They’ll do nothing, because I’m a king. Because I have money, and that matters more than you and your fucking dignity.” “Let go of me,” Bale hissed, but Robb had no intention to do so. “They don’t care about you,” Robb said. “Just what you can give them.” “And you’re so different?” Bale trembled beneath him. “You’re not using me to play the good king, the knight saving the sad little whore?” He bucked, struggling against Robb’s hold. “Don’t be so naïve. You’re just like them.” “No,” Robb said, dipping his head so he spoke against Bale’s lips. Bale shivered. “I’m not.” He kissed him softly and Bale went limp, one hand tentatively touching Robb’s face. Robb pressed his palm against it, kissing harder, and Bale kissed back before shoving him off. “No,” Bale gritted out. He looked at Robb, face flushed white. “You’re exactly like them.” He grabbed a robe and slammed the door, leaving Robb alone.
Indiscretions 4/4heartlesskidsMay 10 2012, 12:11:02 UTC
It was two days before he left for Winterfell and Robb hadn’t seen any lords or ladies. Instead he was at the brothel, glaring at a woman who had once been so friendly. Lela glared right back. “He doesn’t want to see you,” Lela said firmly, her shapely arms crossed. Robb frowned. “I just -” “He doesn’t want to see you,” she repeated coldly. And then: “Even whores have their limits, Your Grace.” Robb scowled at her, stung. “So he’ll take a beating but he won’t let me speak the truth?” “This is a whorehouse,” Lela said, the utter picture of politeness. “We have no need for truth here.” -- Robb returned to his room and smashed the expensive jar some highborn lady had gifted him. He didn’t want all the flattery and trinkets, he wanted one thing and he couldn’t have it. What the fuck was the use of being a king? -- Bale still refused to see him and they were leaving tomorrow. Robb sat down and did what Sansa would do: he wrote a letter. He wrote how he was sorry, how he was an idiot and he didn’t like people he cared about getting hurt. He stared at the words - when did Bale fall under the list of people he cared about? Nevertheless, he signed it Robb (just Robb) and handed it to Lela grimly. “Don’t let Baelish know,” he warned as he pressed two coins in her hand. She pocketed them with one eyebrow arched. “We’ve had some obsessed men before, but nothing like you,” she drawled. He wasn’t sure it was a compliment until her lips stretched into a smile. “You’re both idiots,” she sighed fondly. Robb wondered if everyone in the South treated kings this way. “I hope it goes well for you.” “Me too,” he said sincerely, and he left her two extra coins. -- They were about to leave (for home, for the bitter embrace of cold and the laughter of his brothers) and Robb looked back at the city streets. He had no love for the South, but he'd almost had a good time here. Almost. “Your Grace,” one of his men called. “There’s a man here for you.” Robb’s heart leapt to his throat and he walked over slowly, forcibly calm. That calm nearly broke when he saw a familiar face with a crooked frown. “Your Grace,” Bale greeted coolly. Robb stared. “Your persuasive skills are much improved in letter form.” “So I see,” Robb managed. Bale smiled and Robb wanted to kiss him, to hold him close and drink him in until he was whole. His Hand, Jon, approached him. “Your Grace, we have another horse for your…friend.” Jon looked to Bale. “If you can ride it.” “I know how to ride,” Bale said pleasantly. Jon nodded. “Jon Stark, isn’t it?” “Yes,” Jon said, frowning. “And you are?” “Theon,” Bale said, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Theon Greyjoy.” "Theon," Jon nodded, and Robb blinked. Theon. "It's going to cold up there, eh?" Theon drawled. "Guess we'll need a way to keep warm." He slipped his hand into Robb's and squeezed. Robb bit back a smile. "I guess so," he said, squeezing Theon's hand back.
Re: Indiscretions 4/4brighterloveMay 11 2012, 00:05:45 UTC
This was all kinds of awesome, and totally needs a continuation. I loved Lela in this. that line “This is a whorehouse,” Lela said, the utter picture of politeness. “We have no need for truth here.” was lile welp! Oh and Jon as Robb's Hand was brillant.
RE: Indiscretions 4/4sammythankyouJanuary 21 2023, 10:19:33 UTC
Robb as King (I like it when Robb is alive and crowned)? Theon as a prostitute (because I love my recurring themes)? And they make it work while staying IC? I'm sold. Like, sold sold
IC and writing style are my conditio sine qua non when it comes to fics, and you juggled them both in an effortless way. Bonus Hand!Jon <3 everything about this is fantastic! Thank you for sharing.
“Where are you from?” Robb asked, and Bale tensed.
“Just a little village,” he smiled. Something about the way his eyes flickered made Robb doubt it. “Far near the sea, you wouldn’t know it.”
“Tell me about it,” Robb said. Bale looked down.
“It was ugly and cold,” he said baldly. “And gulls screamed everywhere.” He looked at his hands. “We dug for clams in shallow water, and sometimes we bought lemons.”
“Sounds nice,” Robb offered. Bale pursed his lips.
“It was,” he said tonelessly, and he looked away.
--
Robb knew something was wrong the moment Lela looked at him.
“Where’s Bale?” was the first thing he thought to say. Lela pursed her lips.
“He’s not seeing anyone today,” she bit out. It had to be serious - she didn’t simper Your Grace.
“I want to see him,” he said. Lela looked angry.
“You can’t, Your Grace, he’s -” She looked down, flustered. “He is - resting, he had a client and -”
“Let me see him,” Robb glared. She cringed. “Now.”
Lela obeyed, looking angry and worried as she led Robb to a room that wasn’t for clients. She bowed hurriedly and left before he opened the door. When he entered, he knew why.
“Fuck!” Robb gasped. Bale was on a bed, wearing only smallclothes. Large bruises peppered his arms and back, and he could see the thin red marks of a knife. Bale looked up, tense.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said silkily, though it sounded brittle. Robb ignored him and crossed the room, touching his arm. Bale flinched.
“Who did this?” Robb hissed.
“Don’t worry,” Bale said, gingerly removing his hand. “He paid extra.”
Robb slammed his hand on the wall, causing Bale to jump.
“Paid extra?” he hissed. Bale glowered. “You’re hurt, how could you -”
“I’m a whore,” Bale said pointedly, like Robb was some stupid child. “If I get paid and I don’t get damaged, I’ll play rough.” He smiled and slunk up to Robb, playing with his shirt. “Why, are you jealous? Do you want to hurt me?”
“Stop it,” Robb snapped. Bale sat back sullenly. “I want his name, I want it now.”
“I don’t fuck and tell,” Bale said dryly. “And you don’t own me.”
“You -”
“I’m fine, Your Grace.” Bale’s eyes flashed, truly angry. “I know my limits, and a little pain isn’t one of them.” He breathed out. “Have you ever been whipped, Your Grace?”
Robb blanched. “No.”
“Then shut up,” Bale snapped. “And get out, if you don’t want to fuck.”
Robb could have screamed. He could have made him come with him and forced a name from him.
Robb shut the door and stormed out.
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“Hello,” he chirped. Robb gaped. “Did you miss me?”
“What are you doing here?” Robb hissed. It was the royal palace. Bale sat up and shrugged.
“You’re leaving in a few days, right?” he said. “Thought I’d give you a proper farewell.” Meaning, Baelish had put him up to it.
Robb crossed the room and sat on the bed, uncomfortably aware of Bale’s breath against his neck. Bale nuzzled against his shoulder and kissed his neck, sucking his skin as one hand guided Robb to lie on his back. He climbed over him and grinned, leaning in close.
“What’s Winterfell like?” he asked. Robb blinked.
“Cold,” he managed. Bale’s hips grinded into his and he swallowed back a moan. “Colder than here, with lots of trees and snow.”
“Colder than here,” Bale repeated wistfully. His eyes softened and a sudden, bold thought came to Robb’s mind.
“Come with me,” Robb breathed. Bale stared and climbed off of Robb, looking distressed. Robb sat up. “I’ll - I’ll take care of you, I’ll -”
“Keep me in a cage?” Bale scoffed, shaking his head. “No. You can’t buy me.”
Wrong. Wrong, so wrong, from the whore who'd let himself be cut up and beaten for an extra coin. For some irrational reason, that enraged him.
“Yes I can,” Robb hissed, and he lunged. Bale yelped and Robb crushed him into the bed, straddling his waist. Bale scratched at him, cursing, and Robb grabbed his hands and held them down.
“I could hurt you,” Robb whispered. He shook Bale and Bale stilled. “I could kill you. There’s fifty people outside this room and you could scream for your life, and you know what they’ll do?”
Bale turned away and Robb grabbed his jaw, forcing him to meet his eyes.
“Nothing,” Robb said. Bale’s face flushed angrily, eyes burning dark as Robb’s grip tightened. “They’ll do nothing, because I’m a king. Because I have money, and that matters more than you and your fucking dignity.”
“Let go of me,” Bale hissed, but Robb had no intention to do so.
“They don’t care about you,” Robb said. “Just what you can give them.”
“And you’re so different?” Bale trembled beneath him. “You’re not using me to play the good king, the knight saving the sad little whore?” He bucked, struggling against Robb’s hold. “Don’t be so naïve. You’re just like them.”
“No,” Robb said, dipping his head so he spoke against Bale’s lips. Bale shivered. “I’m not.”
He kissed him softly and Bale went limp, one hand tentatively touching Robb’s face. Robb pressed his palm against it, kissing harder, and Bale kissed back before shoving him off.
“No,” Bale gritted out. He looked at Robb, face flushed white. “You’re exactly like them.”
He grabbed a robe and slammed the door, leaving Robb alone.
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“He doesn’t want to see you,” Lela said firmly, her shapely arms crossed. Robb frowned.
“I just -”
“He doesn’t want to see you,” she repeated coldly. And then: “Even whores have their limits, Your Grace.”
Robb scowled at her, stung. “So he’ll take a beating but he won’t let me speak the truth?”
“This is a whorehouse,” Lela said, the utter picture of politeness. “We have no need for truth here.”
--
Robb returned to his room and smashed the expensive jar some highborn lady had gifted him. He didn’t want all the flattery and trinkets, he wanted one thing and he couldn’t have it. What the fuck was the use of being a king?
--
Bale still refused to see him and they were leaving tomorrow. Robb sat down and did what Sansa would do: he wrote a letter.
He wrote how he was sorry, how he was an idiot and he didn’t like people he cared about getting hurt. He stared at the words - when did Bale fall under the list of people he cared about? Nevertheless, he signed it Robb (just Robb) and handed it to Lela grimly.
“Don’t let Baelish know,” he warned as he pressed two coins in her hand. She pocketed them with one eyebrow arched.
“We’ve had some obsessed men before, but nothing like you,” she drawled. He wasn’t sure it was a compliment until her lips stretched into a smile.
“You’re both idiots,” she sighed fondly. Robb wondered if everyone in the South treated kings this way. “I hope it goes well for you.”
“Me too,” he said sincerely, and he left her two extra coins.
--
They were about to leave (for home, for the bitter embrace of cold and the laughter of his brothers) and Robb looked back at the city streets. He had no love for the South, but he'd almost had a good time here. Almost.
“Your Grace,” one of his men called. “There’s a man here for you.”
Robb’s heart leapt to his throat and he walked over slowly, forcibly calm. That calm nearly broke when he saw a familiar face with a crooked frown.
“Your Grace,” Bale greeted coolly. Robb stared. “Your persuasive skills are much improved in letter form.”
“So I see,” Robb managed. Bale smiled and Robb wanted to kiss him, to hold him close and drink him in until he was whole. His Hand, Jon, approached him.
“Your Grace, we have another horse for your…friend.” Jon looked to Bale. “If you can ride it.”
“I know how to ride,” Bale said pleasantly. Jon nodded. “Jon Stark, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Jon said, frowning. “And you are?”
“Theon,” Bale said, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Theon Greyjoy.”
"Theon," Jon nodded, and Robb blinked. Theon.
"It's going to cold up there, eh?" Theon drawled. "Guess we'll need a way to keep warm."
He slipped his hand into Robb's and squeezed. Robb bit back a smile.
"I guess so," he said, squeezing Theon's hand back.
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This is awesome.
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PERFECTION!
everything about this is made of win
♥
♥
♥
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Robb as King (I like it when Robb is alive and crowned)? Theon as a prostitute (because I love my recurring themes)? And they make it work while staying IC? I'm sold. Like, sold sold
IC and writing style are my conditio sine qua non when it comes to fics, and you juggled them both in an effortless way. Bonus Hand!Jon <3 everything about this is fantastic! Thank you for sharing.
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