Comment fic meme

[gotexchange_mod]

Some members liked the idea of having a kink meme/comment fic meme on got_exchange, especially since the other ASOIAF/GoT kink memes are fairly dead at the moment. (It's only posted on the mod account journal because I don't want anonymous comments on the exchange comm.)

A couple of rules before we start:

- please include the pairing/character (and maybe a short

Comments

Someone Must Protect You, 7/8

[just_a_dram]

He struggles for a second, shifting the weight of his body onto the forearm of his other arm, as he slides his good hand between their bodies and touches her once more there, where it felt so good. She can’t help the whimper that escapes her lips as he rubs her and whispers huskily, “Almost there.”

Almost where, she would ask, but then her whole world closes in on one small point and she is throwing her head back, as her muscles jump and she feels numb and somehow more alive than ever. She is so distracted by the waves of pleasure that roll through her body that she misses the chance to look into his face so that she might see whether he is similarly thrown by whatever this is, as his hips break hard against hers and he mouths filthy, irreverent words until he empties his seed inside of her.

…

Sansa brushes back a strand of hair that has fallen across her brow, and wets her lips before speaking, “I’ll need help in Winterfell. Help rebuilding. And some of the men may not want to bend the knee to a woman.”

He raises his hips up off the bed, sliding his breeches back on, as he answers her, “Have you ever thought of growing a beard?” She frowns and is about to complain, when he shifts onto his side and rests his hand atop her waist. “Men are distracted by your face, my lady.”

“Are you?” she asks, her head tilted on the pillow to face him.

“It’s a good face,” he says with a slow smile.

She rolls her eyes at herself, thinking it was foolish to try to force him into a confession. Jaime is not that easily trapped. Besides, there are beautiful women everywhere, and she suspects that is not the appeal in this case, just as she thinks him handsome, but wants him for other reasons. And if he had stayed with her until now out of duty, out of a desire to reclaim his honor, he has thought very little about honor in the space of the last few minutes.

“Sansa,” he says more seriously, “your brother will provide you with whatever support you might desire.”

She places her hands over his, pressing it into her middle. “Then where will you go, ser?”

The lines between his brows become more prominent as they knit together in thought. “I don’t know.” His hand slips free of hers to wrap around her waist and draw her in towards his chest. “Where do you imagine one handed men with soiled reputations are desired commodities?”

The queen insisted that he not be given Casterly Rock. That was to be Tyrion’s and even if he would have given it to Jaime, she would not hear of it. The eldest Lannister may have saved the whole population of King’s Landing from burning, when he put an end to her father’s life, but Daenerys’ forgiveness only extends so far. She wil not have the Kingslayer establish a stronghold, have men serve underneath him, wield wealth and power. After he proves his allegiance by shedding his blood, she will no doubt want him gone from her sight.

“I’d like to get you out of this,” he adds in a lower register, as his hand strokes her breast through her dress.

She ignores him, since she must speak to her purpose before more time passes and she must pull herself together and return to her own tent in case Jon does come for her. “You would be out of the way in the north. Daenerys could forget about you.” It could be the two of them, the two who were left behind.

“What kind of reckless plan are you proposing?” he purrs, teasing her.

Sansa bites her lip, a habit she once scorned in Arya, but which she sometimes indulges in herself now, a piece of Arya kept alive in her. It gives her the space to breathe before she poses her question as composedly as possible, “Shall I pull one of the maesters away from their healing arts to make me some moon tea or shall I go speak with my brother about whom I should like to be at my side in Winterfell?”

His eyes shift away from hers, the green of them going dark with something other than arousal. His jaw works, as the silence of the tent envelops them. Time slows until he finally responds, “I still love her.”

He could mean Cersei. He could mean Brienne. She is not sure and she knows better than to ask. His confession as it stands still feels more intimate than his bedding her. He would not say those words to just anyone. It costs him to admit it.