interludes - (Jaime/Brienne, Game of Thrones)
Title: interludes
Characters/Pairings: Jaime/Brienne
Rating: R
Word Count: ~1600
Warnings: Sexual content.
Summary: It was something purer, though not in a boring way, like those songs with the virtuous maidens and their knights in shining armor. He was no one's hero, not anymore. But they had saved each other, in their own ways.
Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me, and neither does the world they inhabit.
A/N: This is part of the Made of Steel series, but can be read as a stand-alone fic. And I still haven't read A Dance With Dragons yet, so my apologies if there are any inconsistencies.
Spoilers ahead for all of the books, kind of?
(also at AO3)
“All women are the same in the dark.”
Jaime had heard this phrase countless times in his life, from fellow knights and soldiers, from sellswords and lords, from peasants and kings. He'd had no reason to doubt it - after all, he had only ever been with one woman his whole life.
After Brienne, though, he now knew this statement to be patently false. Are they even touching these women that are supposedly all alike? he wondered. Or do they just stick their pricks inside and pump away, as though she is just a vessel to release their seed inside of?
There could not be two women in the world more different than Brienne and Cersei, in almost every way it was possible to be different. Cersei was golden silk, a beautiful disaster, a frantic lover who liked to pretend she didn't want him when she wanted him more than anything. She was feeble fists beating against his chest while she moaned into his kisses and caresses. She was flames streaking across the sky, a fire that set the world ablaze, before a cold dagger pierced his heart and ended everything he thought was real, thought was good.
Brienne was a slow burn. Hard and coarse, but underneath was a light that she kept from the world and hid behind layers of chainmail. Her strength carried him home, but her private gentleness made home anywhere he was with her. A shy maid that became not so shy under the sheets, and love love love was in her lips, in her rough hands, on her freckled skin that slid against his. Warm and inviting, like a hearthfire in the middle of the storm.
There was no falseness. There were no lies. He had never known a greater truth than Brienne. No secrets, no hidden agendas, just them, and it was this that made their nights together something so unlike his nights with his sister.
Everything had always been so serious with Cersei, even when they were children. Always the possibility of being seen, of being found out, and the air of danger that went along with it, lent their love-making a desperate and somber feeling that was impossible to truly laugh at, or to utterly surrender oneself to.
With Brienne's defenses down, with her armor gone and her caution thrown to the winds, Jaime and her had... well, they had fun. She giggled when he tickled her, and he snorted with laughter when, on occasion, their bodies moved together in a certain way that made amusing noises. It was relaxed and joyous and, Gods, it felt free.
They fucked whenever they could, with what little time they had. His good hand itched to explore her body. His mouth swelled at the thought of kissing her, on her lips, her fingertips, her ankles, between her pale and freckled legs. His cock loved the inside of her, almost as much as the rest of him loved just her. Never would he have thought he was capable of loving someone like Brienne, but oh he did, not in the same way he loved Cersei (no, no one could ever replace her, his twin and his better other half), but in a new way that was utterly... exciting. It was something purer, though not in a boring way, like those songs with the virtuous maidens and their knights in shining armor. He was no one's hero, not anymore.
But they had saved each other, in their own ways.
She was tapping him lightly on the shoulder now. “I want you,” she whispered in his ear.
He slid out of his lion-skin and joined her. “You have me.”
Her scars were like a map, a diagram of her battles and skirmishes. The ridges on her back from when she had fought so nobly and stupidly for his life, the purple plains of bruises on her ribs, the hills of sores on her backside. Her body was its own country, its own battered landscape, and his hand roamed it all, much to her apparent delight, as she clutched him so tight and sighed, sighed. Her blue eyes shone. He drowned in them.
Jaime's lips found their way between Brienne's legs, and he saw the scar on her inner thigh where he had cut her what seemed a lifetime ago. He kissed it. He licked it. She shuddered. His tongue soon swirled around her cunt, and he relished in her quivers. Jaime tasted her, the distinct saltiness of Brienne of Tarth, his left hand reaching and playing with her breasts, fingers grazing and circling her nipples. She was holding back a whimper. He kissed and licked her cunt with urgency; he wanted to hear her, wanted it so badly that his prick was as hard as it could get.
“I missed you,” she said. “I missed you, I missed you...”
He smirked against her. “As I did you, my lady,” he said, looking up, her wetness slick against the sides of his mouth.
* * *
Sometimes Brienne wanted him so badly it frightened her. Her thighs would rub together as she walked, and that sunny feeling would fill between her legs as she imagined Jaime slipping his fingers underneath her kitchen wench skirts. Sensations that would leave her in a dreamy fog, longing for his touch, his lips against her, that delicious tingle across her skin that made her knees buckle. Brienne felt about to burst with desire, cooped up in the kitchens of the Gates of the Moon for weeks on end, and she gently rubbed against tables and chairs as she worked, quickly and softly.
It soared her.
She had never needed anyone in this way before, not even Renly, and it was a new and foreign experience for her, but oh how tantalizing it was, Jaime, his warm left hand and his cool golden one running up and down, across her breasts and down her back, kissing her, tasting her like she was a goddess upon an altar. It was like she had been rolled in honey and dipped in stars, stars that lit up so bright, on every pore, every freckle, every scar and every bruise. They could use me to guide ships home on stormy nights, she thought as she pleasured herself one quiet and lonely afternoon. Light shoots out of me like arrows.
She wanted him on her, with her, in her.
And he was, now, Sansa safe and retrieved and in the other cavern, his beard scratching at her mound. His breath was so hot, her head was spinning so high. Her soul was between her legs and rising, and pulled out of her in an exquisite aaahhh.
The world always seemed different colors after she was spent. At times it was a deep, cool purple, or a burning orange, or a smooth and flowing blue . Right now it was the color of peaches, fading to white in the center. Little sparks seem to fly past the inside of her eyelids. She moaned softly with pleasure as Jaime's hand cupped her cheek.
“Is my lady pleased?” came his teasing lilt.
“She is.” A large part of her still could not believe any of this was real, or that it wasn't some kind of cruel jape. Jaime would never hurt me that way, she told herself, and that was true in some fashion, but sometimes, in her darkest thoughts, she wondered if she was merely a warm body for him to press up against and caress, now that she was willing and he was lonely.
But then he would look upon her as he was now, his green eyes brimming over, and she was forced to acknowledge that such fears were unfounded. Gods be good if she knew why, but he loved her, even if he had never said so aloud.
Of course, neither had she.
She almost said it now, but something stopped her. Instead, she climbed atop Jaime and guided his cock inside her, and when he let out a choked gasp, she found herself smirking.
The two of them made a strange pair. She wondered how long it could last. Some nights were so cold, and so long, and their toes and fingers and cheeks became so frostbitten they couldn't even feel them anymore. The winds were harsh and cruel, the snow and ice treacherous. Thoros of Myr had told them that the Long Winter was coming, and that the dead were rising in the north. She felt skeptical still, even after everything that had happened, but if he was right...
But it was ridiculous to think of such things now, as she rode Jaime slowly, his deep groans thrumming in her ears. His fingers dug into the small of her back, urging her to go faster, and she obliged most heartily. She trembled and her hand slipped against his chest, so thin and covered with a golden lion's mane. Brienne could almost feel his ribcage, and she leaned over and kissed it, which sent a violent tremor throughout his body and a too-loud groan to escape his mouth. She rode him harder still, and kissed him to silence his cries, however much she reveled in hearing them, in the idea that she could make him feel this way - the former innocent maiden, the big and ugly wench who knew her way around a sword ring but had never known a man. It was impossible that a woman like her should be with a man like him, but here they were, Brienne of Tarth fucking Jaime Lannister, who was about to come and was pulling his cock out just in time to spill his seed inside her wolfskin blanket instead of her.
As much as Brienne enjoyed the act of love-making (more, in fact, than she had ever thought she would), it was when her arms were wrapped around him, and he was kissing her neck and the two of them were slowly, slowly drifting to sleep, that Brienne's heart warmed and she felt like she was home.
She suspected he felt the same way.
Characters/Pairings: Jaime/Brienne
Rating: R
Word Count: ~1600
Warnings: Sexual content.
Summary: It was something purer, though not in a boring way, like those songs with the virtuous maidens and their knights in shining armor. He was no one's hero, not anymore. But they had saved each other, in their own ways.
Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me, and neither does the world they inhabit.
A/N: This is part of the Made of Steel series, but can be read as a stand-alone fic. And I still haven't read A Dance With Dragons yet, so my apologies if there are any inconsistencies.
Spoilers ahead for all of the books, kind of?
(also at AO3)
“All women are the same in the dark.”
Jaime had heard this phrase countless times in his life, from fellow knights and soldiers, from sellswords and lords, from peasants and kings. He'd had no reason to doubt it - after all, he had only ever been with one woman his whole life.
After Brienne, though, he now knew this statement to be patently false. Are they even touching these women that are supposedly all alike? he wondered. Or do they just stick their pricks inside and pump away, as though she is just a vessel to release their seed inside of?
There could not be two women in the world more different than Brienne and Cersei, in almost every way it was possible to be different. Cersei was golden silk, a beautiful disaster, a frantic lover who liked to pretend she didn't want him when she wanted him more than anything. She was feeble fists beating against his chest while she moaned into his kisses and caresses. She was flames streaking across the sky, a fire that set the world ablaze, before a cold dagger pierced his heart and ended everything he thought was real, thought was good.
Brienne was a slow burn. Hard and coarse, but underneath was a light that she kept from the world and hid behind layers of chainmail. Her strength carried him home, but her private gentleness made home anywhere he was with her. A shy maid that became not so shy under the sheets, and love love love was in her lips, in her rough hands, on her freckled skin that slid against his. Warm and inviting, like a hearthfire in the middle of the storm.
There was no falseness. There were no lies. He had never known a greater truth than Brienne. No secrets, no hidden agendas, just them, and it was this that made their nights together something so unlike his nights with his sister.
Everything had always been so serious with Cersei, even when they were children. Always the possibility of being seen, of being found out, and the air of danger that went along with it, lent their love-making a desperate and somber feeling that was impossible to truly laugh at, or to utterly surrender oneself to.
With Brienne's defenses down, with her armor gone and her caution thrown to the winds, Jaime and her had... well, they had fun. She giggled when he tickled her, and he snorted with laughter when, on occasion, their bodies moved together in a certain way that made amusing noises. It was relaxed and joyous and, Gods, it felt free.
They fucked whenever they could, with what little time they had. His good hand itched to explore her body. His mouth swelled at the thought of kissing her, on her lips, her fingertips, her ankles, between her pale and freckled legs. His cock loved the inside of her, almost as much as the rest of him loved just her. Never would he have thought he was capable of loving someone like Brienne, but oh he did, not in the same way he loved Cersei (no, no one could ever replace her, his twin and his better other half), but in a new way that was utterly... exciting. It was something purer, though not in a boring way, like those songs with the virtuous maidens and their knights in shining armor. He was no one's hero, not anymore.
But they had saved each other, in their own ways.
She was tapping him lightly on the shoulder now. “I want you,” she whispered in his ear.
He slid out of his lion-skin and joined her. “You have me.”
Her scars were like a map, a diagram of her battles and skirmishes. The ridges on her back from when she had fought so nobly and stupidly for his life, the purple plains of bruises on her ribs, the hills of sores on her backside. Her body was its own country, its own battered landscape, and his hand roamed it all, much to her apparent delight, as she clutched him so tight and sighed, sighed. Her blue eyes shone. He drowned in them.
Jaime's lips found their way between Brienne's legs, and he saw the scar on her inner thigh where he had cut her what seemed a lifetime ago. He kissed it. He licked it. She shuddered. His tongue soon swirled around her cunt, and he relished in her quivers. Jaime tasted her, the distinct saltiness of Brienne of Tarth, his left hand reaching and playing with her breasts, fingers grazing and circling her nipples. She was holding back a whimper. He kissed and licked her cunt with urgency; he wanted to hear her, wanted it so badly that his prick was as hard as it could get.
“I missed you,” she said. “I missed you, I missed you...”
He smirked against her. “As I did you, my lady,” he said, looking up, her wetness slick against the sides of his mouth.
* * *
Sometimes Brienne wanted him so badly it frightened her. Her thighs would rub together as she walked, and that sunny feeling would fill between her legs as she imagined Jaime slipping his fingers underneath her kitchen wench skirts. Sensations that would leave her in a dreamy fog, longing for his touch, his lips against her, that delicious tingle across her skin that made her knees buckle. Brienne felt about to burst with desire, cooped up in the kitchens of the Gates of the Moon for weeks on end, and she gently rubbed against tables and chairs as she worked, quickly and softly.
It soared her.
She had never needed anyone in this way before, not even Renly, and it was a new and foreign experience for her, but oh how tantalizing it was, Jaime, his warm left hand and his cool golden one running up and down, across her breasts and down her back, kissing her, tasting her like she was a goddess upon an altar. It was like she had been rolled in honey and dipped in stars, stars that lit up so bright, on every pore, every freckle, every scar and every bruise. They could use me to guide ships home on stormy nights, she thought as she pleasured herself one quiet and lonely afternoon. Light shoots out of me like arrows.
She wanted him on her, with her, in her.
And he was, now, Sansa safe and retrieved and in the other cavern, his beard scratching at her mound. His breath was so hot, her head was spinning so high. Her soul was between her legs and rising, and pulled out of her in an exquisite aaahhh.
The world always seemed different colors after she was spent. At times it was a deep, cool purple, or a burning orange, or a smooth and flowing blue . Right now it was the color of peaches, fading to white in the center. Little sparks seem to fly past the inside of her eyelids. She moaned softly with pleasure as Jaime's hand cupped her cheek.
“Is my lady pleased?” came his teasing lilt.
“She is.” A large part of her still could not believe any of this was real, or that it wasn't some kind of cruel jape. Jaime would never hurt me that way, she told herself, and that was true in some fashion, but sometimes, in her darkest thoughts, she wondered if she was merely a warm body for him to press up against and caress, now that she was willing and he was lonely.
But then he would look upon her as he was now, his green eyes brimming over, and she was forced to acknowledge that such fears were unfounded. Gods be good if she knew why, but he loved her, even if he had never said so aloud.
Of course, neither had she.
She almost said it now, but something stopped her. Instead, she climbed atop Jaime and guided his cock inside her, and when he let out a choked gasp, she found herself smirking.
The two of them made a strange pair. She wondered how long it could last. Some nights were so cold, and so long, and their toes and fingers and cheeks became so frostbitten they couldn't even feel them anymore. The winds were harsh and cruel, the snow and ice treacherous. Thoros of Myr had told them that the Long Winter was coming, and that the dead were rising in the north. She felt skeptical still, even after everything that had happened, but if he was right...
But it was ridiculous to think of such things now, as she rode Jaime slowly, his deep groans thrumming in her ears. His fingers dug into the small of her back, urging her to go faster, and she obliged most heartily. She trembled and her hand slipped against his chest, so thin and covered with a golden lion's mane. Brienne could almost feel his ribcage, and she leaned over and kissed it, which sent a violent tremor throughout his body and a too-loud groan to escape his mouth. She rode him harder still, and kissed him to silence his cries, however much she reveled in hearing them, in the idea that she could make him feel this way - the former innocent maiden, the big and ugly wench who knew her way around a sword ring but had never known a man. It was impossible that a woman like her should be with a man like him, but here they were, Brienne of Tarth fucking Jaime Lannister, who was about to come and was pulling his cock out just in time to spill his seed inside her wolfskin blanket instead of her.
As much as Brienne enjoyed the act of love-making (more, in fact, than she had ever thought she would), it was when her arms were wrapped around him, and he was kissing her neck and the two of them were slowly, slowly drifting to sleep, that Brienne's heart warmed and she felt like she was home.
She suspected he felt the same way.