. . . Is green luck or just the dead image of life? —𓍢ִ໋❀ Ser Gwayne Hightower.
# 𝔨𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔢𝔡 :: independent portrayal of SER GWAYNE HIGHTOWER of george r. r. martin's creations, also based on s3 gwayne. written by elio, 25, he/him. blog will occasionally include mature, sometimes triggering & dark themes. dni if -21 . promo.
@glasskinship : "Who's that talking to me right now? Who's that coming out of your mouth? 'Cause it's definitely not you. You're too smart to be spouting that kind of baloney."
* 『 𝕯 』 “ you think me a child incapable of my own judgement ! ” the retort comes out swiftly, almost cutting the other off. the young prince doesn't often speak so clearly to his elders, let alone raise his voice. gwayne simply has the disadvantage of being so dear to daeron's heart that he allows himself to speak to him without fear. “ admit it, uncle . . . ”
his hands are clenched into fists at his sides. the accusation feels like one he'd been holding in for a long time, unbeknownst even to himself. gwayne. gwayne, who had never done him any harm except leave him, might also not believe in him.
“ if both my brothers are gone and missing then i have to step up and defend our claim to the throne. ” the words 'be king' do not leave his mouth. they sound wrong, they sound like treason. and it will be, if his brothers are found again. it is not something that he wants to do. yet if duty commands him to act then what he wants does not matter. “ have you already given up on us ? like your friend, cole ? ” he prods, cruelly.
Daeron’s intentions are perhaps not cruel but his words are. It is why they make Gwayne flinch so, why they force the elder to look away and enjoy the view of the floor instead. This does not happen often—
Gwayne does not often distaste his nephew’s company. Gwayne does not want to reprimand Daeron violently or strictly. That is not who Gwayne is or aspires to be and yet.
And yet, the mention of Cole awakens something bad within him. Gwayne does not feel lost or angry but he mourns. It is the most dangerous he has felt, all because he mourns without expressing it.
“You did not—” His hand rises, not to strike, but to point at Daeron with accusation. He feels his eyes burn but he is not ashamed, only tired. “Not you. Ormund dares torment and mock me, mock Cole’s passing, but not you.”
The storm in his heart does not pass even when Gwayne tries to will it to do so. “Do not speak like him.” It comes out as a plea, one that Gwayne does not stop. “I cannot look at you when you do.” The revelation hurts him but he's honest towards his nephew who Gwayne truly loves. His boy — yes, Daeron was that to him. Because around Daeron were the moments he felt closest to being a father, a parent that cared too much for his own.
He was Alicent’s, not his own. He was an uncle , , , But Gwayne could not tell the difference. “No, I have not given up. I worry and lose sleep with the turn of these events. But I will not hide from you how much I do not care of this war. How much it sickens me to my stomach.” Gwayne says and looks away because, indeed, he cannot handle Daeron when his words remind him of Ormund’s voice and influence. “It sickens me and the only thing I care about is you coming out alive from it. Not myself or Ormund or anybody else. Just you.”
Gwayne has a soft spot for Daeron and Helaena. Those two are his favourite nephew & niece. He assumes he does not let favouritism control him, but often it is evident by his words and actions that he's weak for the two.
His faint smile was swallowed moments later by Daeron's mouth and the action delighted him. Gwayne lowered himself carefully atop the other until his chest pressed against Daeron's and his elbow took responsibility for his weight on the grass.
Gwayne did not find the need to speak immediately.
He kissed Daeron back and this time he was bolder and more confident with it, invading the prince's mouth with his tongue. Goosebumps erupted along his skin as his tongue tasted Daeron's with a hunger he could not recall ever having. Definitely not for something that others would consider , , , unpure.
His hand moved from Daeron's ear so Gwayne could tangle his fingers through the other's hair. He felt the length of them, the messiness and how softer they were from the Knight's. It only made sense considering how Gwayne spent much time outside, training or combatting.
Still, the distinction between them — Daeron's softness — nudged at Gwayne's heart with protectiveness and more.
"The debt will be endless if you wish to share the barn with I. It is a great cost," Gwayne said between a few kisses, before sliding his knee between Daeron's thighs and kicking them apart. There was that look on his face again, as if Gwayne asked for permission silently, while his knee stilled against Daeron's crotch. "Or will you , , cower from me?"
Even so, Gwayne kissed Daeron again with the grip in his hair tightening. He pulled at Daeron's locks once, from the base of his nape, and captured his bottom lip between his teeth with a quiet uncharacteristic growl.
There was nothing written on Daeron's face, or in the language of his body, that suggested he wanted this to stop. Only the opposite. He wanted more, shamelessly so. More of Gwayne's mouth on his, more of Gwayne's body against his own. His fingers curled into the fabric at the other's side, tugging at it until the tips of his fingers could slip under it to feel the warmth of skin against the night's chill air.
A breath escaped him at the sudden grip and the sharp little tug in his hair, coming out close to a sound of pleasure, as his eyes looked up briefly to the stars in the sky that made the moment only seem more dreamlike.
"I will pay my debts," the dreamer managed to reply while his bottom lip was being held prisoner by the Sheep King.
He also returned the favor. The hand that was rested on the other's jaw slipped around to the back of his nape, fingers curling through the locks of hair to give it a tug up to guide the man's mouth to his fully. As he kissed him, deeper and with growing desperation, his body shifted down closer to the knee against his crotch to find the friction he needed.
"Tell me something, King of Sheep," Daeron broke the kiss only enough to speak, his lips brushing against Gwayne's with every word. "When ruling this kingdom of sheep of yours.." There was a little challenge in Daeron's tone now, feeling out how far this game between them was going to go. "Are you the sort of King who gives orders?"
His fingers tugged on his hair more, moving Gwayne's head so Daeron's lip could find a home on his neck. "Or do you prefer when someone else decides what happens?" His hips shifted beneath him as he spoke and kissed upon the neck, pressing himself more firmly against the knee to make the meaning behind his question impossible to miss.
The touch against his bare skin felt like a burn that Gwayne ached for. His eyelids fluttered momentarily— not just because of the return of that kiss and the cool digits of Daeron against his hot skin. No.
What drove the knight’s immoral compass was that swift motion of Daeron’s body, that deliberate thrust against his knee. It left no room for doubt in Gwayne's mind about them being different or not wanting this.
“It..it depends.” Gwayne struggled to respond as his mouth moved desperately against Daeron’s, not wishing to pull away. His tongue was busy always, licking every inch of the mouth he was so addicted to. The same mouth he couldn't stop staring back at the tavern, ever since the discussion of the dreams.
But then, Daeron went after his neck and Gwayne could not pretend to be as knightly as he prided himself to be. The place that Daeron had challenged was sensitive and Gwayne felt his body growing impatient and warmer.
“Right now,” He rasped as he moved himself entirely over Daeron, slipping between his legs. His knees settled for the grass next to each of Daeron’s buttocks. Gwayne purposely thrusted forward once, pushing Daeron’s thighs apart in a startling manner. “Right now, I need you to be the one that follows my rules.”
Gwayne pulled back then and used his hands to pull his green shirt off — a lucky situation that he had not worn his armour tonight. His chest glistened briefly with sweat, anxiety and ache had been controlling him for a while. When he shifted, something glimmered hanging from his neck. The common symbol of the seven, the golden star necklace that Alicent had gifted him recently, so he could be protected.
Perhaps it felt like a mockery to wear it while towering over Daeron, another man, in the middle of the forest. Still, it did not distract Gwayne’s burn in the slightest. He had tortured himself countless times for who he was, truly, but Daeron was right there now—
—And Gwayne lowered himself again to attack the center of his throat, biting down as if it was his intention to draw blood. He was angry, terrified too, with his thoughts sometimes, but Gwayne also wanted Daeron now. “I will be fed tonight. But not by my sheep.” His hips melted against the other’s as he defied every sense of boundary and peace that existed within him. Gwayne pressed his bulge against Daeron as he rocked against him, his mouth occupied with biting and sucking at his throat.
A HIGHLY SELECTIVE, MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE & PRIVATE PORTRAYAL OF ❛ ORMUND HIGHTOWER ❜ TAKEN FROM THE WORLD OF A SONG OF ICE AND FIRE / HOUSE OF THE DRAGON. CROSSOVER & OOC FRIENDLY. MODERN VERSE AVAILABLE.
━━ ♜ ⋆˙⟡ purely headcanon based. minors dni. knighted by nini, 25, she/her.