Chapter Text
“How did you even get tickets for this again?” Renly asked Sansa in disbelief as they walked in past all the flashing cameras and blinding lights. It wasn't them that the paparazzi were taking photos of but it was easy enough to imagine, for even just being there was enough to make Renly feel a little giddy with excitement. Tickets for London Fashion Week were notoriously difficult to get one's hands on and as such, Renly thought he had died and gone to heaven when Sansa had pulled him out of a meeting that very morning whilst waving two bright yellow tickets for the front row in his face.
"Didn't I tell you?" Sansa whispered, glancing sideways at him. “My sister won them in a competition and she said she’d rather pull her teeth out one by one than come.” She gestured around them and Renly knew that if Sansa wasn't so conscious of the famous faces surrounding them then she'd be skipping for joy. “So here we are," she said, her voice barely containing her excitement. "-and if this doesn’t get me a promotion then I don’t know what will.”
Renly laughed. “About that," he grinned, slinging an arm round her and trying not to mess up the hair that he was well aware she'd fussed over the entire way here. "I guess you got a bit of a rough deal there. You’ve got the only boss in my brother's company who sleeping with will get you nowhere. So yes, I'm sure we can find a little bit of a raise for you."
Sansa blushed as red as her hair. It was no secret that she fancied him more than a little bit. That said though, Renly didn’t think he’d had a personal assistant yet who hadn’t fancied him and so he supposed Sansa wasn't alone. She was perhaps the most obvious yet though, and when she'd first got the job, it had been more than a little amusing to watch her come into work gradually wearing less clothes with each passing day just to try and get him to notice her. Eventually, when she'd started to blur that already rather blurry line between a glamorous secretary and a lingerie model a little too much, one of the girls had taken her aside at the water cooler and put her out of her misery.
The line to get in was huge but somehow, Arya Stark- that odd little girl who wouldn't recognise a pair of Louboutins even if someone slapped their red soles in her face- had got her hands on two VIP tickets and so he and Sansa just waltzed right in. Everyone they passed was dressed up to the nines, some opting for glamour whilst others opted simply for bizarre, and Renly had to laugh as he imagined Arya marching in here with the mechanic she was currently dating. From what little he knew of them, Renly imagined that they'd have ignored the dress code entirely and showed up still in their oily overalls from where they'd been working in Gendry's garage. He wasn't quite sure, though, whether they would have been shunned for this or whether their clothes would have been taken as a rather odd fashion statement. It could go either way, Renly mused.
“We even get shown to our seats,” Sansa hissed, leaning heavily on Renly's arm as she could to try hide the fact that she couldn't walk in the stilettos she'd chosen for the occasion.
She was right and within seconds, a very stylish girl holding a cup of coffee came to guide them through the chaos that was London Fashion Week. There seemed to be more cameras than people and everywhere there were models evidently waiting their turn to be made up for the catwalk. They were all wafer-thin, frighteningly so, and Renly reckoned that if he wanted to he would comfortably be able to fit his hands around each of their thighs. Sansa, in comparison, looked practically fat next to them, and Renly prepared himself for the tirade of self-conscious remarks that he knew would no doubt come from her as soon as they were sat down.
"Renly," she indeed started, as soon as they were settled in the front row. "Do you think this dress make my legs look big?"
"Not at all," Renly said, his reflexes serving him well as he set himself to spotting the celebrities amongst the sea of editors and journalists. There were too many to count.
"You didn't even look!" Sansa insisted, poking him in the chest.
Renly just grinned at her. "I don't need to look. I get to see your legs every day. I'm lucky like that."
She looked flattered by his remark but before she could say something back, a man had strolled out onto the catwalk and the words died in her mouth. With a flourish, he drew a piece of paper from one of his pockets and began to announce the list of designers that would be showing. And whilst Sansa would never admit it, Renly knew that she was already memorising the list so that she'd be able to tell anyone who would listen about it afterwards.
Of course, as Renly knew was a certainly at every fashion show, once the compère had finished reading out the designers, he inclined his head apologetically and informed them that they were currently running forty five minutes late. Indeed, nobody who seemed to be anybody appeared to be surprised by this and Renly reckoned a measly forty five minutes was probably pittance compared to how late most shows ran. He supposed that it probably had something to do with having to get so many girls dressed and ready all at once. Even away from the fashion industry, Renly would see three or four of his female employees come in late every day with the excuse that they'd needed to finish their make up or do their hair, and so he reckoned that he could relate a little to the organisers here. All the same, though, he couldn't help but feel a little impatient, and as everyone rose to get drinks to tide the wait over, Renly stood too, pulling Sansa to her very wobbly feet.
"Come on," he laughed. "Let's have a look around. We might as well while we're stuck waiting."
Duly, she followed him as they weaved their way through the crowd
His eyes fell, though, not on the many women, many of whom were milling around in nothing but their make up and their underwear, but on a man that was stood amongst them. He was having some sort of jacket pinned onto him and he looked more than a little bored as he leant casually against the wall, not seeming to care in the slightest that he was making the girl with the pins’ job a lot harder by doing so. And whilst Renly had always thought that models could never be as perfect-looking in real life as they appeared to be in magazines, he was simply forced to eat his words as he stared at this one. He'd seen his fair share of handsome men and yet it was undeniable, this one, even without photoshop or any airbrushing, was the most gorgeous man that he had ever had the fortune to lay eyes on.
“It’s Loras Tyrell," Sansa breathed, awe thick in her voice as she stared too.
"Of course it's Loras Tyrell." Renly breathed back. "Everybody in the English speaking world could have told me that, your sister could have told me that."
"I wouldn't go quite that far," Sansa whispered, shaking her head and looking a little like she might faint. "But isn't he just stunning?"
“Mmm-hmm,” Renly hummed appreciatively. "Now Sansa, I need you to do something for me?"
"Anything," she breathed.
"Well, you know how you spend all those hours reading magazines at your desk instead of working?"
"Yes," she admitted a little guiltily.
"I need you to put those unproductive hours to good use now and tell me which team Loras Tyrell over there bats for?" A small voice in the back of Renly's mind was telling him that he was in luck here and that Loras Tyrell was indeed gay, but he just needed Sansa to confirm it for him. Even he didn't have the nerve to walk into what could be a certain rejection.
"Both," she said confidently. "He's bi, I'm sure of it. I read an interview with him in February."
"Great." Renly grinned, and without any further ado, he started to head in the supermodel's direction, trying not to bump into any of the very fragile looking girls who blocked his path.
“Wait!” Sansa hissed after him. “We’re not even allowed backstage. You can’t just go up and talk to him!?”
“Why not?” Renly laughed, not even looking back. “I’m sure he’s human.”
Sansa gave up following him then, and when Renly did cast a furtive look back over his shoulder he could see that she was hovering awkwardly at the edge of the sea of models, unable to dare to step foot backstage. She would probably kill him later for abandoning her there, but right now Renly didn't have it in him to care. He was rather more occupied with quite how he was going to go about talking to the gorgeous creature that was now only a few feet away from him. He had always thought that he was rather skilled at making small talk and yet he wasn't quite sure that this talent of his quite stretched to conversing with a man whose face he'd only ever seen on the cover of a magazine or on a billboard. He supposed, though, that he was going to find out.
His approach didn't go unnoticed and Loras Tyrell raised an eyebrow as he got closer. “Can I help you?” He asked lazily, one of his perfect curls falling elegantly over his forehead.
Renly ignored the dismissal in his tone and grinned at him. “Are you appearing in the show later?” he asked, just for something to say more than anything.
Loras Tyrell just looked around him with a frown. “No,” he said, eyebrow arching perfectly with yet more disdain. “I just enjoy having pins jabbed into me in my spare time.”
Renly laughed. “Fair enough. Who are you showing for then?”
“Alexander McQueen.”
Renly grinned and gestured to the masterpiece that was still being pinned onto him. “Can I see?” he asked hopefully.
Renly had fully expected him to say no but he was surprised when Loras Tyrell deigned to stand up properly for him, turning slightly so that Renly could see what he was wearing. The jacket was very nice but for once Renly found he wasn't at all interested in the clothes. Instead, he just sighed as he let his eyes roam up and down the glorious sight before him.
“Do you like them?” Loras Tyrell asked, reaching up to brush one of his curls out of his eyes before he returned to leaning against the wall.
“The clothes?” Renly clarified.
“Obviously the clothes.”
“I do," Renly laughed. "A lot." And seeing that he was still being given him the time of day, he decided to push his luck. “But I was wondering, perhaps, if I could potentially see you without the clothes?”
"Without the clothes?" Loras Tyrell just smirked a little wickedly at him. “I’d suggest Google,” he said. “Or, if you don’t like the internet, you could try Cosmo. The second issue in March last year to be precise.”
Renly laughed. “Well, you know, that’s not really what I had in mind.”
“Is it not?” There was just a hint of a smile on his face.
"No it's not," Renly agreed, risking leaning in a little closer. "I meant it more along the lines of asking you for your number?”
Loras Tyrell frowned at that, a pensive look on his face. Slowly, he looked Renly up and down for a good long moment before he turned. “It’s been nice meeting you.” he said simply, and with that he was gone, disappearing after a couple of very skinny girls through a door that even Renly wouldn't have dared go through.
Taking that as a clear rejection, Renly watched him leave before returning to Sansa.
"Well?" she asked and Renly could see she was resisting the urge to tap her foot like an overbearing mother.
"No luck," Renly sighed as he took her arm to return to their seats. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised. He imagined that when you were as famous as Loras Tyrell was, you had to deal with random strangers throwing themselves at you all too often. It probably became a chore rather than being flattering rather quickly. That said, Renly couldn't even remember the last time anybody had turned him down and it took all the will power he possessed to not dwell on it any further and return to chatting aimlessly with Sansa as they waited for the show to start.
The first girl had just begun her walk, wearing a very odd dress that seemed entirely unnecessary due to quite how see through the fabric was, when Renly was tapped on the shoulder.
“Excuse me?” A tall brunette whispered in his ear, her hand still resting on Renly's shoulder. “I’ve been told to give you this.” She handed him a piece of paper, disappearing almost instantaneously once Renly had taken it from her as if she had the ability to vanish into thin air.
Curiously, Renly unfolded it. There was a number written on it, and underneath in big slanted handwriting-“Call me.”
He couldn't help the wide grin that was spreading across his face and, laughing, he just turned to Sansa.