the rom-com of westeros for gabybloodofpykeMarch 18 2012, 04:22:08 UTC
Winter is coming, the Stark words said, and Brienne wondered if somewhere one of the Stark girls was shivering, finding warmth in those letters.
They weren’t helping her, though, and she shivered under the thick cloak draped around her shoulders. She was fine, though, or would be; it wasn’t snowing at least, and Pod was out gathering firewood, and Ser Hyle was nowhere to be found. Thank the gods, she found herself thinking, picturing him and his smirk and his little japes and she shivered again.
And, then of course, Ser Hyle showed up, dropping to the ground next to her, stinking of days-old ale, and she shivered once more--though, not, she thinks, from the cold this time.
“You know,” he said, leaning in close, his hair tickling her cheek, “there are ways to keep warm in this weather beyond furs and ale.”
“You are the most-”
“Abominable excuse for a knight? Look at that, we’re finishing each other’s sentences already!” And he grinned at her, crinkled eyes and gleaming teeth, and she wanted to scream, but she cold, and she was sick of him, so she kissed him instead.
She kissed him, and he tasted like ale and the cold, and it took him a minute to respond, to catch up with what was happening. And then his hands were in her hair, and his tongue was in her mouth, and she almost pushed him away.
Almost.
But she didn’t, and then his hands were running down her body and unlacing her breeches and she was was climbing on top of him and she didn’t know what the hell she was doing, but she felt warmer already.
The cold was still biting at her skin, but she couldn’t feel it, could only feel Ser Hyle’s hands around her waist, could only feel his heartbeat against hers, and him, underneath her, in her, and she leaned down and kissed him again.
And then something behind her was clattering to the ground, and someone was stuttering, “Ser? I mean, my lady? I mean, ser? Are you-are you alright?” And she was up and blushing, hands scrambling for her laces, for her fur, for her dignity. And Ser Hyle was still lying half-dressed on the frostbitten ground, and he was laughing, looking up at her. “Glad to see you know how to have some fun after all,” he told her, and it was all Brienne could do to not scream, or slap him, or just leave.
They weren’t helping her, though, and she shivered under the thick cloak draped around her shoulders. She was fine, though, or would be; it wasn’t snowing at least, and Pod was out gathering firewood, and Ser Hyle was nowhere to be found. Thank the gods, she found herself thinking, picturing him and his smirk and his little japes and she shivered again.
And, then of course, Ser Hyle showed up, dropping to the ground next to her, stinking of days-old ale, and she shivered once more--though, not, she thinks, from the cold this time.
“You know,” he said, leaning in close, his hair tickling her cheek, “there are ways to keep warm in this weather beyond furs and ale.”
“You are the most-”
“Abominable excuse for a knight? Look at that, we’re finishing each other’s sentences already!” And he grinned at her, crinkled eyes and gleaming teeth, and she wanted to scream, but she cold, and she was sick of him, so she kissed him instead.
She kissed him, and he tasted like ale and the cold, and it took him a minute to respond, to catch up with what was happening. And then his hands were in her hair, and his tongue was in her mouth, and she almost pushed him away.
Almost.
But she didn’t, and then his hands were running down her body and unlacing her breeches and she was was climbing on top of him and she didn’t know what the hell she was doing, but she felt warmer already.
The cold was still biting at her skin, but she couldn’t feel it, could only feel Ser Hyle’s hands around her waist, could only feel his heartbeat against hers, and him, underneath her, in her, and she leaned down and kissed him again.
And then something behind her was clattering to the ground, and someone was stuttering, “Ser? I mean, my lady? I mean, ser? Are you-are you alright?” And she was up and blushing, hands scrambling for her laces, for her fur, for her dignity. And Ser Hyle was still lying half-dressed on the frostbitten ground, and he was laughing, looking up at her. “Glad to see you know how to have some fun after all,” he told her, and it was all Brienne could do to not scream, or slap him, or just leave.
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I seriously love everything that this chooses to be.
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