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Dance With Me Tonight

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Arianne and Edmure’s wedding is the event of the decade, at least within their specific social circle, and everyone who is anyone is invited.

Which means an absurd number of nephews, nieces, cousins, friends and assorted hangers-on, of course.

“I fucking hate our families,” Arianne says airily as they spin around the enormous dancefloor. “They’re so happy.”

“And we’re not?” he teases, laughing when Elias escapes his grandfathers and runs onto the floor to join them. “C’mon, Ari, I’m a pretty good catch, aren’t I?”

He scoops Elias up, keeps his other arm around Arianne’s waist and laughs as Elias pulls off his tiny clip-on dickie bow and sets it in Arianne’s hair.

“There are worse, I suppose,” Arianne agrees, leaning up on her toes and wrinkling her nose until he bends down to kiss her. “But you’ve definitely got the best end of this deal, Tully.”

 


 

“Never thought we’d see Edmure settled,” Cat sighs, leaning her head on Ned’s shoulder. “Thank the gods we did, though – I thought Doran was going to have him killed when Arianne ended up pregnant.”

“Ah, they’ll be fine,” Ned laughs, wrapping his arm around her and smiling. “Plenty of happy young folk around today.”

“What about us not-so-young folk?” Cat mocks, poking Ned’s ticklish spot just under his ribs. “Dance with me, Ned?”

“Oh, Cat, no, you know I hate dancing-“

“Please?”

“Oh, alright then.”

 


 

“You know,” Marg says, giggling against Nym’s shoulder as they slip unseen into the cloakroom, “we do have rooms upstairs. This is a hotel. We could’ve gone upstairs.”

“What incentive would I have had to go back to the party, then?” Nym teases, pinning Marg’s hands high up on the wall behind her. “At least here, I know we have to leave at some stage in case someone comes in looking for a coat – I bring you upstairs to my room, well, nobody’s going to look for us up there, are they?”

“Filthy,” Marg laughs, breath hitching as Nym nips at her collarbone and rewards her with an absolutely wicked grin.

“You’re just as bad, I was just quicker today because you’re off your face, Tyrell.”

 


 

“You look kind of freakishly like your uncle, y’know. It’s a bit weird.”

“Oh, says the girl who couldn’t look more like her mum unless she borrowed her clothes!”

Robb ducks Cella’s slap and bounds off across the dancefloor, spinning around Ari and Ed and Elias and almost falling over because he’s laughing so hard at Cella trying to run after him in her absurd heels.

“Get back here, Stark!” Cella shouts, and she all but sings her victory when Ed very kindly sticks out a foot to trip Robb, and before he can get back up Cella plumps herself down in his lap and grins.

“So, you want to shag my mum, then? Bit manky, Stark – wouldn’t have said your taste ran towards cougars.”

 


 

“So, feel like dancing?”

Robin blushes, left hand shaking, and Tom gets it, he does, Robin’s been out to his family for a while now but he’s never introduced them to a boyfriend, and Tom really does get that, but he’s also pretty sure that him being here as Robin’s plus one is going to convince even Robin’s mum, who still sees him as six years old and perpetually hospitalised.

“I don’t know, Tom,” he says shyly. “I’m a rubbish dancer.”

“Lucky for you I took after Renly, then,” Tom says firmly, taking Robin by the hands and pulling him out onto the dancefloor. “And I don’t just mean in what Mum calls my “embarrassing predilections,” either. I’m at least as snappy a dresser as him, and John Travolta has nothing on me on the dancefloor.”

“Tom-“

“Come on, this is a slow one – you put your hands on my shoulders, I’ll put mine on your waist-“

“That is not my waist, Tommen!”

 


 

Renly does his best to shush Loras, because everyone (meaning Loras’ siblings and Renly’s nieces and nephews) know that Loras giggles after sex because they’ve all somehow managed to appear over at Renly’s directly post-coitus, and Loras won’t stop giggling.

“Shut up, will you?” he whispers, even though he kind of likes that he can reduce Loras to a mess like this with little more than a quick wank. “You’re disgusting, you are-“

“Oh, stop it,” Loras sighs, finished giggling at last. “I’d better get you a drink-“

“Your parents are right there, Loras!”

“And they wouldn’t have thought odd of anything had you not blushed like a schoolgirl just now – well done, Renly, my mum officially thinks you’re a pervert.”

 


 

“So, our first formal event together is your stepmother’s younger brother’s overdue shotgun wedding.”

Jon rolls his eyes and pulls Wylla sharply into the lift, because he can’t be sure but he thinks he saw Tyrion about to round the corner.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, not necessarily,” she laughs as she unzips his trousers, “it’s just kind of funny – but then, you’re a bit weird anyways, Jonny boy, so I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

If she didn’t have her hand down his boxers he’d make some witty remark, but she has her hand down his boxers and her warm fingers around his cock and really, it’s all he can do to stay standing.

“Will anyone miss us, do you think?” she asks, teeth on his Adam’s apple and he whimpers out a “no,” he thinks, but he can’t be certain.

“Good, because I have a sneaking suspicion that my keycard might go missing until morning as soon as we get into my room.”

 


 

“You should go dance, sweetheart – I’m not going to run away.”

Sansa titles her head and frowns down at Willas, but he’s grinning and it’s hard not to smile back.

“You’re terrible,” she tells him, tapping his cast with the toe of her shoe. “And I’m quite alright just here, thank you.”

He bites his lip when she wiggles in her seat on his good leg, and she winds her arms around his neck and smiles just a bit wider because there’s no way in hell he can let her stand up now, not without severely embarrassing himself.

“Would Ed have chosen me as his best man if I were so terrible?” he demands, nudging his head against her temple. “I’m bloody excellent, you know.”

“And I’m so lucky to have you,” she mocks, nuzzling closer when his arm comes up around her waist. “I wish all of my brothers and Arya weren’t hiding away somewhere.”

“My company boring you, love?”

“No,” she says, lowering her mouth to his ear so she can whisper “but everyone will notice if I disappear now, won’t they?”

She definitely won’t be getting up for a while yet.

 


 

“Would you like to dance?”

Shireen is so completely blown away by the sheer novelty of Quentyn having the nerve to ask anyone for anything that she accepts, and that’s when it hits her – he’s actually really nice, and really sweet, and no matter what Tom and Cella say he isn’t plain or boring.

There is a reason she agreed to come to his sister’s wedding as his date, after all, so she presses a little closer and Quent blushes, and you know what? He’s not plain at all when he smiles like that.

 


 

“Arya, hang on a second-“

“We’ve already been gone nearly an hour! Mum’ll flip her shit if she notices I’m missing!”

Gendry catches her by the wrist and pulls her away from the door to the ballroom, tucking her behind an enormous potted plant, and then-

“Oh, you couldn’t have had your last grope in the lift? Fucking hell, Gendry-“

“Your skirt was caught up in the back of your knickers, I didn’t think you’d want your dad seeing that you’re wearing-“

“We never speak of this again.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I told you not to call me that!”

 


 

Trystane and Ned lean against the bar together, sipping whiskey and feeling a lot cooler than they probably look, but they don’t really care.

“You know,” Trys says, “there are a couple of singletons floating around that neither one of us is related to.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Ned says, raising one eyebrow. “This is your sister’s wedding, we’re not here to pick anyone up.”

“Please,” Trys scoffs, “as if Ari would expect anything less of me.”

 


 

“I’m not letting you steer your wheelchair yourself, Bran – you’ll crash and quite literally burn.”

“I’m not that drunk!”

“You were singing Abba songs, Bran. You’re very drunk.”

They’re barely in the lift but he’s got Meera down in his lap, grinning up from under his too-long fringe.

“You can’t steer my chair if you’re sitting in it too,” he points out with a grin, and as soon as the doors ding open they’re zipping haphazardly along the corridor, laughing and shrieking as they nearly hit the walls at least nine or ten times.

 


 

She doesn’t drink anymore and she’s surprised to find that he’s just as sober, but she laughs when he points out that he has eight daughters and two nephews to keep an eye on.

“Surely there’s some sort of rule that the groom’s sister can’t be left to languish alone over her… Soda water and lime while all the children are away doing a terrible and very tipsy rendition of the Macarena?”

Lysa smiles and lets Oberyn flirt with her, because he’s a very good flirt, but she can’t deny that she’s surprised to find herself flirting back, or that he slips her his number before kissing her hand and bidding her goodnight.

 


 

Lyanna skids the full length of the dancefloor, and Rickon reckons she’s got an unfair advantage because the nylon of her tights is a lot slippier than the wooly cotton of his socks.

“You’re family are really touchy-feely,” she tells him matter-of-factly as he skids past her, almost slamming into the bar but just managing to avoid it. “It’d be kind of nasty if they weren’t so adorable.”

“It is kind of nasty,” he admits, but the Lyanna takes his hand and pulls his sliding across the dancefloor behind her, and he supposes being a little touchy-feely is okay.

Just not as much as his brothers and sisters are. That’s a bit much.