Re: Shifting, Jaime/Sansa, Mjust_a_dramJuly 11 2013, 16:20:16 UTC
After moons of controlling her passions, it takes very little to make her bite her lip. Her breath comes fast, her head bows back, and her fingers draw neat circles, precise as the stitches she once practiced, bringing her closer to her pleasure.
“You’re doing a bloody terrible job of being quiet.”
Her breath catches in her chest. Her body goes rigid with the need to be still, but her eyes fly open wide, every sense alive, as she prepares to express insult and denial or to feign sleep, anything to convince him that his complaints are unfounded.
The seconds tick by endlessly and she only just thinks, I might have dreamt his voice, for he has not moved, when he stirs, his body heaving onto his back, his head lolling to the side to meet her panicked gaze with eyes hooded from sleep.
“Do you need a hand, my lady?”
You don’t have one to spare, she thinks uncharitably. But it’s a cruel jape, so she keeps it inside, where it cannot hurt him. Besides, he did well enough with one hand; it is the remembrance of just how well that keeps her awake.
She meant to talk her way out of this, she is as good at spinning lies for others as she is for herself, but something about the weight of his stare pins her to the linens, rendering her mute, as he lifts the furs and peers down at her hand cupped over herself.
“You’ll make yourself raw if you don’t pull away this shift,” he advises.
His tone is cool enough, but the taut muscles in his jaw make her wonder, make her wish she could force her hand to cup him in the way she cups herself to put an end to this game of misery.
“I don’t need a lesson,” she says, twisting away from him, putting her back to him as he has to her for so long.
Even if he is right, the flesh feeling warm and slightly abused, not in the pleasant way it did the morning after he forgot himself.
“And I wasn’t planning on giving any, but you’re shaking the damn bed,” he growls, leaning close enough that his beard scrapes the back of her neck, where her hair has been plaited for the night.
She curls in tighter on herself, giving up any hope of easing the loneliness in a wave of pleasure. It wouldn’t have lasted long anyway.
“I’m sorry for disturbing your sleep, ser,” she mutters, hoping it will put an end to his teasing.
Except it’s not quite teasing. It’s more desperate than that, and she knows he is at war with himself as much as she is with herself. Only it is a battle she fears they would have to lose together in order to find peace if there is any peace to be had.
Far away, he keeps telling her, but how far away will they both have to go to escape their demons, which feel closer at hand than those that come from the North?
The rearranging of his limbs, longer and bigger than her own, moves the bed more so than she must have in her tiny moment of approaching ecstasy, until finally he grows still behind her. It is only his breathing that betrays to her that sleep evades him. Thanks to her, it might be a sleepless night for them both, and this the first inn they have dared stop in for almost a moon.
She feels it: his golden hand brushing against the small of her back, his words low and warm, full of regret. “I can’t.”
Can’t sleep. Can’t touch. Can’t love.
His offer of assistance was completely hollow. He expected her to refuse it. Maybe if she had mustered the courage to accept.
Re: Shifting, Jaime/Sansa, MlainemontgomeryJuly 11 2013, 18:11:14 UTC
GAHHHHH IT HURTS SO GOOOOOOOOD. ;-;
This is so perfectly heartbreaking and beautiful. Sansa's conflicted mindset about the situation is PERFECT- she both wants the pleasure she knows Jaime can bring her and wants to keep away from that, because being with Jaime in that way brings up too many difficult thoughts. OH SANSA!!! And Jaime's offers are hollow OF COURSE THEY ARE BECAUSE CERSEIIIIII. My darlings are so alienated and sad and lonely here...which is, of course, just how I like them. Simply stunning!
“You’re doing a bloody terrible job of being quiet.”
Her breath catches in her chest. Her body goes rigid with the need to be still, but her eyes fly open wide, every sense alive, as she prepares to express insult and denial or to feign sleep, anything to convince him that his complaints are unfounded.
The seconds tick by endlessly and she only just thinks, I might have dreamt his voice, for he has not moved, when he stirs, his body heaving onto his back, his head lolling to the side to meet her panicked gaze with eyes hooded from sleep.
“Do you need a hand, my lady?”
You don’t have one to spare, she thinks uncharitably. But it’s a cruel jape, so she keeps it inside, where it cannot hurt him. Besides, he did well enough with one hand; it is the remembrance of just how well that keeps her awake.
She meant to talk her way out of this, she is as good at spinning lies for others as she is for herself, but something about the weight of his stare pins her to the linens, rendering her mute, as he lifts the furs and peers down at her hand cupped over herself.
“You’ll make yourself raw if you don’t pull away this shift,” he advises.
His tone is cool enough, but the taut muscles in his jaw make her wonder, make her wish she could force her hand to cup him in the way she cups herself to put an end to this game of misery.
“I don’t need a lesson,” she says, twisting away from him, putting her back to him as he has to her for so long.
Even if he is right, the flesh feeling warm and slightly abused, not in the pleasant way it did the morning after he forgot himself.
“And I wasn’t planning on giving any, but you’re shaking the damn bed,” he growls, leaning close enough that his beard scrapes the back of her neck, where her hair has been plaited for the night.
She curls in tighter on herself, giving up any hope of easing the loneliness in a wave of pleasure. It wouldn’t have lasted long anyway.
“I’m sorry for disturbing your sleep, ser,” she mutters, hoping it will put an end to his teasing.
Except it’s not quite teasing. It’s more desperate than that, and she knows he is at war with himself as much as she is with herself. Only it is a battle she fears they would have to lose together in order to find peace if there is any peace to be had.
Far away, he keeps telling her, but how far away will they both have to go to escape their demons, which feel closer at hand than those that come from the North?
The rearranging of his limbs, longer and bigger than her own, moves the bed more so than she must have in her tiny moment of approaching ecstasy, until finally he grows still behind her. It is only his breathing that betrays to her that sleep evades him. Thanks to her, it might be a sleepless night for them both, and this the first inn they have dared stop in for almost a moon.
She feels it: his golden hand brushing against the small of her back, his words low and warm, full of regret. “I can’t.”
Can’t sleep. Can’t touch. Can’t love.
His offer of assistance was completely hollow. He expected her to refuse it. Maybe if she had mustered the courage to accept.
Can’t. Or won’t.
“I know.”
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This is so perfectly heartbreaking and beautiful. Sansa's conflicted mindset about the situation is PERFECT- she both wants the pleasure she knows Jaime can bring her and wants to keep away from that, because being with Jaime in that way brings up too many difficult thoughts. OH SANSA!!! And Jaime's offers are hollow OF COURSE THEY ARE BECAUSE CERSEIIIIII. My darlings are so alienated and sad and lonely here...which is, of course, just how I like them. Simply stunning!
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