Fanfiction: Nothing Gold Can Stay
Title: Nothing Gold Can Stay
Author: lokiyan
Fandom: Game of Thrones
Characters: Sansa Stark, Jaime Lannister
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: "Jaime/Sansa- Jaime helps Sansa escape the Vale, but too many people already know the secret of Alayne Stone- it's time for another disguise. They dye her hair blonde this time." - from the Game of Thrones Kink Meme
He, like his sister, was naturally blessed with the good looks that so bitterly evaded their shared sibling. Unlike his sister, however, he never manufactured beauty with paint pots or hair knots. No, he let the sun do the work for him, let it run its fingers through his golden locks and shine emeralds in his eyes.
When the question came, then, to adopt yet another disguise for the much sought after little Lady Stark, Jaime sought the help of an establishment off the Kingsroad that Tyrion had frequented. The girls pulled at Sansa's locks, now a mess of auburn deepening into brown and tsked their displeasure before pushing her through a sea of beaded curtains. "Transform the girl, if you will," he told the Madam as he poured a month's earnings onto her books. "Your discretion is much appreciated."
He tired of the girls who considered themselves clothed with a drape of sheer cloth clipped at the hip and requested two rooms for the night. When the girls were done, he had requested that the lady be sent to him for inspection before they both retired for the night. Stannis' men would be hot on their trails and they must leave by dawn, but he could hardly be seen with that shock of red hair far off from the riverlands. He casually suggested fair hair, perhaps, as the farthest he could think of from her current disguise. Perhaps they could be perceived as siblings or cousins traveling together until the talk of the lost Stark heir ran its course like the Targaryen children who fled to the East. All men thirst for new gossip and quickly discard the old.
Jaime heard them before he saw them - the tinkering bells of women's laughter which he had so missed. When Cersei laughed as a young girl in Casterly Rock, the birds stopped to listen. One day, she stopped laughing and Jaime stopped listening for it. Here, as he lounged back with his elbows rested on cheap satin throw pillows, the laughs were inescapable and disrupted only by the slamming of the door behind them with the girl shoved in and left behind like a rag doll.
From behind, their work was impeccable. They stripped her hair of lingering color and replaced it with a warm honey sheen that appeared to glow in the moonlight. Where Cersei's was perfectly groomed without a stray hair in place, this head of hair was unbound and just shy of wild as it curled around a narrow waist. "Let's see it, then," he beckoned before he set down his wine.
Sansa turned slowly, as a prey would avoid sudden movements to alert its predator but still, Jaime nearly choked. He was thirteen again, young and confused and intrigued and seduced by the beauty of youth. Her unkempt blonde hair set off her wide, unlined Tully blue eyes and strawberry mouth, the colors a visual feast against the smooth canvas of her milky white skin. The way her lower lip dropped open just so made his heart pound in his throat the way it hadn't since cynicism placed its heavy cloak around his shoulders. "Do I look-"
"Shhh," he placed his finger on his lips, careful not to shatter the fleeting illusion. Jaime placed a hand on the edge of the bed and made to stand, an unsteady task before he eventually righted himself. He pinched two sprigs of cheap white angel's breath between his thumb and forefinger and, after a drunken meander toward her, tucked it just behind her ear before stepping back at what he had inadvertantly bought - a glimpse back to the sliver of magic between boyhood and man.
He had this and the adjacent room for the night - no one would bother them even if she screamed. Somehow, something about the girl inspired more honor in him than he ever imagined for himself, even in his most feverish fantasies. "I should like to kiss you." Sansa. He couldn't bring himself to say her name, nor could he trust himself from saying the other name. He licked his lip as he watched her worry hers between her teeth. Her mother's eyes met his in a nod and without a second thought, he crushed his lips to hers and entangled his hands in that wild, wild hair, full of life and joy and all that it meant to be beautiful and young at Casterly Rock.
She gasped and turned her head for air when the back of her knees hit the bed and they tumbled forward in a knot of golden hair and pale limbs peeking out from coarse cotton dresses and breeches. With his mouth and tongue still tracing the line of her neck, he lifted her onto him, pressed her hip against his pelvis and delighted in the exciting friction that, perhaps with the help of wine, felt new again. The cheap perfumes and dyes they used transformed into the smell of lemons in the wind as her soft hair kissed his battle worn skin and fell like a curtain of sunshine around them.
He could see nothing but her face and, in that moment, he never want to look at anything else again.
And yet that face was so young and bright that Jaime was afraid he had fallen into yet another perversion that was only whispered about in Littlefinger's brothels. He supposed she must have suffered the gaze of those who were so inflicted if she remained in the bastard's care for as long as she claimed and suddenly, Jaime's heart ceased with a panic. Relief wrapped itself around him like a welcomed friend however, when he reached beneath her skirt and felt the curve of a woman's hip. When he breathed, it was the soft swell of a woman's breast against his chest. Her soft sighs were music, her fingertips a song against his skin. When she settled on him and rocked against him, she was soft everywhere and she held his face in her small hands and covered him in kisses. Like the maidens in the songs that Cersei scoffed at but he secretly treasured. Like Florian and Jonquil. Yes, his brother may have been a dwarf, but he was always a fool...
With a clash, Oathkeeper fell from its spot against the wall and brought Jaime to a sobering halt. Beyond the golden hair, he could picture the red and the woman from whom those eyes were passed along. His grip on her hip stilled her rhythm and she brushed his sweat drenched hair from his brow with one hand and traced his cheekbones with the other. The look in her eyes, eyes so blue and full of desperation - a need to be saved - spurred him on again and he flipped her onto her back, her hair fanned around her like a halo. He pressed a kiss against her ankle, and another on the inside of her knee.
He hovered just above her, terrified and excited to re-enter all the same and his lips whispered a ghost just against hers "I'm wretched, my dear, despicable. I am a truly condemned and wretched soul."
And again she captured his face in her oh so capable hands, a cage of light and flesh. "Wretched, condemned and despicable you may be ser-" she kissed his cheek, "-you stole me away from the devil himself." The bird's pretty words and bright eyes were enough to convince him to lose himself once more. Though both names held the serpentine hiss at the first and second note, Jaime found them impossible to confuse. It would be confusing dark and light itself. The hunter and the prey. The guilty and the innocent.
It never occurred to him that she never bled nor flinch, having been long past saving several moons ago.
Author: lokiyan
Fandom: Game of Thrones
Characters: Sansa Stark, Jaime Lannister
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: "Jaime/Sansa- Jaime helps Sansa escape the Vale, but too many people already know the secret of Alayne Stone- it's time for another disguise. They dye her hair blonde this time." - from the Game of Thrones Kink Meme
He, like his sister, was naturally blessed with the good looks that so bitterly evaded their shared sibling. Unlike his sister, however, he never manufactured beauty with paint pots or hair knots. No, he let the sun do the work for him, let it run its fingers through his golden locks and shine emeralds in his eyes.
When the question came, then, to adopt yet another disguise for the much sought after little Lady Stark, Jaime sought the help of an establishment off the Kingsroad that Tyrion had frequented. The girls pulled at Sansa's locks, now a mess of auburn deepening into brown and tsked their displeasure before pushing her through a sea of beaded curtains. "Transform the girl, if you will," he told the Madam as he poured a month's earnings onto her books. "Your discretion is much appreciated."
He tired of the girls who considered themselves clothed with a drape of sheer cloth clipped at the hip and requested two rooms for the night. When the girls were done, he had requested that the lady be sent to him for inspection before they both retired for the night. Stannis' men would be hot on their trails and they must leave by dawn, but he could hardly be seen with that shock of red hair far off from the riverlands. He casually suggested fair hair, perhaps, as the farthest he could think of from her current disguise. Perhaps they could be perceived as siblings or cousins traveling together until the talk of the lost Stark heir ran its course like the Targaryen children who fled to the East. All men thirst for new gossip and quickly discard the old.
Jaime heard them before he saw them - the tinkering bells of women's laughter which he had so missed. When Cersei laughed as a young girl in Casterly Rock, the birds stopped to listen. One day, she stopped laughing and Jaime stopped listening for it. Here, as he lounged back with his elbows rested on cheap satin throw pillows, the laughs were inescapable and disrupted only by the slamming of the door behind them with the girl shoved in and left behind like a rag doll.
From behind, their work was impeccable. They stripped her hair of lingering color and replaced it with a warm honey sheen that appeared to glow in the moonlight. Where Cersei's was perfectly groomed without a stray hair in place, this head of hair was unbound and just shy of wild as it curled around a narrow waist. "Let's see it, then," he beckoned before he set down his wine.
Sansa turned slowly, as a prey would avoid sudden movements to alert its predator but still, Jaime nearly choked. He was thirteen again, young and confused and intrigued and seduced by the beauty of youth. Her unkempt blonde hair set off her wide, unlined Tully blue eyes and strawberry mouth, the colors a visual feast against the smooth canvas of her milky white skin. The way her lower lip dropped open just so made his heart pound in his throat the way it hadn't since cynicism placed its heavy cloak around his shoulders. "Do I look-"
"Shhh," he placed his finger on his lips, careful not to shatter the fleeting illusion. Jaime placed a hand on the edge of the bed and made to stand, an unsteady task before he eventually righted himself. He pinched two sprigs of cheap white angel's breath between his thumb and forefinger and, after a drunken meander toward her, tucked it just behind her ear before stepping back at what he had inadvertantly bought - a glimpse back to the sliver of magic between boyhood and man.
He had this and the adjacent room for the night - no one would bother them even if she screamed. Somehow, something about the girl inspired more honor in him than he ever imagined for himself, even in his most feverish fantasies. "I should like to kiss you." Sansa. He couldn't bring himself to say her name, nor could he trust himself from saying the other name. He licked his lip as he watched her worry hers between her teeth. Her mother's eyes met his in a nod and without a second thought, he crushed his lips to hers and entangled his hands in that wild, wild hair, full of life and joy and all that it meant to be beautiful and young at Casterly Rock.
She gasped and turned her head for air when the back of her knees hit the bed and they tumbled forward in a knot of golden hair and pale limbs peeking out from coarse cotton dresses and breeches. With his mouth and tongue still tracing the line of her neck, he lifted her onto him, pressed her hip against his pelvis and delighted in the exciting friction that, perhaps with the help of wine, felt new again. The cheap perfumes and dyes they used transformed into the smell of lemons in the wind as her soft hair kissed his battle worn skin and fell like a curtain of sunshine around them.
He could see nothing but her face and, in that moment, he never want to look at anything else again.
And yet that face was so young and bright that Jaime was afraid he had fallen into yet another perversion that was only whispered about in Littlefinger's brothels. He supposed she must have suffered the gaze of those who were so inflicted if she remained in the bastard's care for as long as she claimed and suddenly, Jaime's heart ceased with a panic. Relief wrapped itself around him like a welcomed friend however, when he reached beneath her skirt and felt the curve of a woman's hip. When he breathed, it was the soft swell of a woman's breast against his chest. Her soft sighs were music, her fingertips a song against his skin. When she settled on him and rocked against him, she was soft everywhere and she held his face in her small hands and covered him in kisses. Like the maidens in the songs that Cersei scoffed at but he secretly treasured. Like Florian and Jonquil. Yes, his brother may have been a dwarf, but he was always a fool...
With a clash, Oathkeeper fell from its spot against the wall and brought Jaime to a sobering halt. Beyond the golden hair, he could picture the red and the woman from whom those eyes were passed along. His grip on her hip stilled her rhythm and she brushed his sweat drenched hair from his brow with one hand and traced his cheekbones with the other. The look in her eyes, eyes so blue and full of desperation - a need to be saved - spurred him on again and he flipped her onto her back, her hair fanned around her like a halo. He pressed a kiss against her ankle, and another on the inside of her knee.
He hovered just above her, terrified and excited to re-enter all the same and his lips whispered a ghost just against hers "I'm wretched, my dear, despicable. I am a truly condemned and wretched soul."
And again she captured his face in her oh so capable hands, a cage of light and flesh. "Wretched, condemned and despicable you may be ser-" she kissed his cheek, "-you stole me away from the devil himself." The bird's pretty words and bright eyes were enough to convince him to lose himself once more. Though both names held the serpentine hiss at the first and second note, Jaime found them impossible to confuse. It would be confusing dark and light itself. The hunter and the prey. The guilty and the innocent.
It never occurred to him that she never bled nor flinch, having been long past saving several moons ago.