That day, the air was warm in King's Landing, laden with the scent of the ocean breeze. Summer had been kind for the past years, but this - this was a day of remarkable beauty. There were white, pristine clouds in the sky, and the sun shone gently, laying a soft golden cloak upon the city. In days like this, Cersei would remember Casterly Rock with fondness - and, perhaps, with a repressed hint of nostalgia.
She would remember her homeland, for there, many Summer days had this particular golden glint, this charming quality about them. As a child, she would pretend to be a princess of myth, living in a castle built of gold and embellished with rubies. Later, through several years of her youth, she would evade the eyes of her mother and her servants and search for precious little hideouts. She would lie amid glades - or somewhere by the sea, upon the rocks that were lashed by constant waves - and gaze at her twin brother, Jaime, half-dressed and gilded by the sun. The light made him look almost saintly, she thought, and desirable in a way that was almost heretic. It was tantalising, looking at him - his face, so much like hers, his hair so fair, and his body... So similar, but so different from her own. And as she looked deeply into her reflection, she would often find it to be staring back at her.
But these times were long past. Their love was made for escapades and hidden trysts, for the darker nooks and unseen pathways, and this fact became even clearer for them once they moved into the Red Keep. Cersei was queen, now. She was another man's wife. She dwelled on this thought with a certain bitterness, as she looked over the city with a stern gaze. Her ambition had led her into an unsavoury position – next to a man she despised, and who seemed to care little about her. Her only solace, now, was her brother's presence. Together, were able to evoke the best days of their youth, to revisit those rocky beaches where the sun seemed to shine brighter than anywhere else. She longed for these scarce moments of joy, and she longed for him.
As she stood at the balcony, lost in her musings, there was a rumour at her chamber's door. It should be Jaime, she thought. It had to be him. She had been expecting him ever since her husband had departed to another of his hunting getaways, several hours earlier. Moments later, as the doors swung open, she found that, indeed, it was him. He looked particularly glad to see her, and there was a familiar eagerness in his smile. He walked in, and approached her at the very moment the doors were closed behind him.
"You certainly took your sweet time getting here", she said, turning to face him.
"Not on purpose, Cersei. I would have been here the very moment Robert departed, if I could. But there were duties..."
"Knightly duties, yes – I know. But I needed you here earlier, and I'd very much like you to pay more mind to your queen's necessities in the future."
Jaime could not help but smile at her, lowering his head in counterfeit bashfulness.
"I apologise, my queen. If it were my choice to make, I would have been in bed with you for hours already."
"Promises, promises", she mutters, but there is a hint of amusement in her expression. "Now tell me, how did a dutiful, honourable man such as yourself ever manage to get into his queen's chambers without her express permission?"
"These guards outside your door – they know me, and they know better than to defy me. I merely had to tell them I had urgent matters to attend to with my sister, the queen. I am a knight of the Kingsguard, a slayer of kings, a Lannister. No one could deny me a thing, sweet sister. Not even you." Jaime came closer to her as he uttered these final words. He wrapped a single arm around her waist, and caressed the curves of her collarbones with his other hand.
"Couldn't I, now? Don't underestimate me, dear. I could have you beg me for release, if I wanted to."
"That I would like to see. You are too eager, Cersei. Too selfish. You could never deny me pleasure, because that would keep you from achieving your own."
He brushed the tip of his nose against her cheek, feeling the softness of her velvet skin. At his touch, she moaned in a sort of intermittent hum, a sound that seemed almost like purring. But when he moved towards her mouth, seeking to kiss her, she moved away. She responded to his bemused glance with a self-satisfied little smile.
"Are we playing games now, sister? I thought I had heard you say you needed me."
"Oh, but I do. However, you seem to have proposed me a challenge, and that is something I never walk away from."
Cersei unravelled herself from Jaime's arms and clutched at her robes' waistline, while meeting his eyes with a defiant stare. With slow, leisurely movements, she undid her gown – from the layers of blood-red embroidered silk to the lighter skirts underneath. Her garments fell, each in its turn, settling around her feet in a blend of textures and shades. She unlaced and undressed away, until there was nothing left but the thin cotton of her underclothes.
Jaime watched her in reverent silent, for there was pleasure in the very act of watching the mechanics of his lover's flesh. He feasted on each portion of her as she revealed it to him, consuming her with avid eyes. Her body had been the same as his, once – once, in a past so primordial it seemed to belong to another consciousness. Perhaps because it belonged to the amalgam between his and her mind, that fraction of him which was never complete without her. They were the same, still, but they had grown to fit each other differently – more fully. The differences between them mesmerised him, even though he had seen his sister's body develop alongside his.
Cersei had her eyes upon his as she unbuttoned her chemise and her underpants. Jaime could have worshipped her, then and there. He felt himself harden against his breeches at the mere sight of her. He loved her breasts and the curve of her hips. He adored the shape of her bones, the long fingers in her hands and the way her thighs were fuller than his. He was in love with her clavicles and shoulders, and how the locks of her hair looked against her skin. And her eyes – her jungle-green eyes that bore a spark of something feral. Eyes of wildfire, he thought. And they were just like his.
"You'll have to pardon me. I fear my handmaid is far more skilled at this than I am", she interjected, with a rather unapologetic smile, as she started to untie the strings of her corset. "Could you help me?"
She turned her back to him, almost fully unclad. Jaime was quite glad to help her. He pulled at the strings until they were detached from the back of her corset, and let it all fall to the ground. Then, albeit unbidden, he rid her of the only piece of clothing left upon her body – her chemise. At last, there she was – his lover, bare for him. It made him ache for her. His arousal was intense, almost intolerable. He grabbed her waist and turned her around, forcing her to face him. Her eyes burned bright, still defying, enticing him.
"I hope you're well aware that you won't seem like much of a threat to me if you keep giving yourself away so easily."
Cersei wrapped her hands around the back of her brother's neck. She crossed the gauze-like distance that separated them and pressed her lips to his, forcing her body against the fabric of his clothes. His coat had a rough feeling to it as it grazed her breasts; it felt almost pleasant, but she yearned for skin, and so she removed it. Their tongues and tastes merged as they suckled and kissed with a sort of rapture that turned to inflamed haste. They leaned on each other's foreheads as they slowed down, panting for air, each inhaling warm breath out of their lover's lungs. Before Jaime had the chance to conjoin their mouths again, she pulled back from his embrace.
"But you don't have me yet", Cersei started, as she lowered herself towards the ground. "In fact… I just might be the one who's caught you."
She knelt down and unfastened his breeches, sliding them downward to expose his erection. The touch of her soft hands against his cock made him groan softly, longingly. His eyes wandered towards her, and he marvelled at how regal his sister could seem with her knees dropped to the ground. Her eyes were commanding, and her lips – now painfully close to him – were pursed into the complacent smile he adored.
Cersei approached him softly, at first. She let the scent of sex engulf her nostrils and her mouth, inebriating her. Then, while holding the base of his length in her hand, she parted her lips, taking in the tip of her brother's cock. Her pace was deliberately slow and, at times, she would look into Jaime's eyes and seem to relish in the sight of his tortured panting. She drenched him with the spit from her warm tongue, taking more of him as her own arousal intensified.
"Cersei… Oh, Cersei, yes."
Soon, the pace of each motion was set by the rhythm of Jaime's groaning. Encouraged by his sounds, Cersei would suck and lick with increasing intensity. Unwittingly, he started to move his hips, thrusting himself in and out of her mouth, seeking to deepen his pleasure. Jaime's moans grew louder and his words became indiscernible, as the sensible part of him was drowned into the mixture of his sister's spit and his wetness and the unbearable warmth, the softness of her.
Cersei, too, was lost in him, her hips rocking slowly, seeking him there, between the heat of her thighs. But part of her consciousness returned as his muscles began to tighten with strain. His thrusts were deeper, quicker; his eyes were tightly shut and he seemed close to the peculiar sort of desperation that precedes bliss. But he would not reach it yet.
"Oh, oh fuck, Cersei… Cersei… Please, oh, please, just—"
She took her lips away from him, looking a bit dazed as she sought his eyes. He glared at her with what could have been rage or lust, or a deranged combination of both. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, and his cock was stiffer than it had ever been that afternoon. As she smiled at him, her lips coated with the sheen of her own saliva, there was no complacency, no smugness – it was the smile of a wanton.
"I cannot deny I yearned for your seed inside my mouth, but, lover… I would much rather have it in the confines of my womb."
Jaime bent down to take her in his arms. His grip was firm, rough, but she did not protest.
"You have played your games, Cersei… But I will have it my way now."
He carried her to bed, where he laid her, face down, and pinned her down with his arms. "Don't..." she mumbled, her body wriggling underneath him. "Don't." He could hardly make out her faint protests underneath her panting. He fumbled with the clothes that still restrained him, unbuttoning his doublet, hastily stepping out of his breeches. Once bareness came, it was a sort of relief in itself.
He was close, so close to her – closer than worldly restraints would ever allow them to be. This, when they were skin to skin, was the moment when he felt the bond between them at its strongest. Jaime positioned himself between her thighs, and it was nothing short of sublime. She was warm, warm and slick with the dampness that leaked from her cunt, and she felt like coming home. He exhaled sharply, absorbed by the heat and the delight of it all. He was ready – readier than ever – when Cersei's protesting, louder, bolder, made him halt.
"Don't. Jaime, don't."
She stretched her arm behind her, blindly seeking for him. She reached for his right hand – his sword hand, his strength – and grabbed it, seizing her wrist with all her might, immobilising it for a moment.
"Don't fuck me like that – not today. I want you to face me."
Her words sounded urgent, almost like a threat. He withdrew, barely enough to allow her some motion. She moved immediately, despite her body's state of languidness, and rolled onto her back. Her eyes were feral with lust; her blonde hair, all scattered over the bed, graced her like a crown of light. She had her legs spread wide for him, and Jaime wanted her whole. He wanted to kiss her skin and to lick her sweet cunt and to whisper tender words in her ear. But there would be time for sweetness later – first, he needed to ravage her.
He placed himself between her legs and slid his cock along the entrance of her cunt, stirring her clitoris and exploring each portion of her labia. Her wetness trickled out of her – he coated all his length with it, rubbing himself against her, eliciting moans of pleasure from her lips. And then, without warning, he entered her. It was complete, as the act of conjoining that which should never have been set apart. It was the fulfillment of home, and the crashing waves of Casterly Rock, and the golden sunlight that seemed to tint the celestial canopies with its intoxicating shimmer. It was blood and hot, blinding lights and a peculiar sort of ascension.
They were animals, when they fucked. Their bodies would intertwine with feline grace, clawing at each other with a fervour akin to despair. Their little games would be forgotten the moment he slid inside her – then, the impetus that drove them would become raw, a thing of mere instinct. Their minds would be lost to the desire to use each other, to be used in return. To extract every last droplet of pleasure that might exude from their lover's body.
They were a bundle of flesh and sweat, of claws digging into skin, of wild strands of hair and specks of blood and twisted limbs. They were one. No soul that came into that room would have been able to distinguish between each of their bodies, because there was no "each" – there was a single living thing rejoicing in its fullness.
They moved together, with increasing urgency, as their voices grew louder and their caresses became rougher. Nails dug deeper, now, and there would be scars – twin scars for twin bodies. He was buried in the utmost depths of her as their muscles tightened, skins shivered, voices faltered. They were close, growing closer and closer, fucking each other into heavenly oblivion. Release came with the gushing strand of his seed inside her and her walls holding him as tightly as her arms held him – as they held each other. The two of them laid in motionless contemplation, listening to the sound of their heartbeats as their climax subsided. They might have spent hours there, breathing the scent of each other's skin, hearing their lungs work in synchrony. Later, much later, it was Cersei who broke the silence, with a languid voice.
"Oh, Jaime, darling - could there be a pair of lovers any more depraved than us?" She had known this was a superfluous question from the moment she first thought it, for the answer was there - inside her. Yet, the very act of asking it made her blood stir and her sex clench with arousal. She took a quaint sort of pleasure from admiring her - or rather, their - own wickedness.
"I doubt that very much, sweet sister. Depravity runs in our blood, it seems."
"Indeed, it does." Cersei grinned at her brother, who turned to her with a drowsy, loving gaze. A gaze of hunger. He lifted her slightly by the back of her neck and brought her face closer to his. In a moment shorter than a heartbeat, their lips were pressed together. Jaime thrust his tongue against her soft mouth, seeking entrance, completion. She welcomed him into her mouth, enticing his tongue with her own. As they kissed and their hands roamed through each other's bodies with ever-increasing intensity, Cersei felt her brother grow harder inside her. His touch had become rough once more, his breath had quickened - once again, he grew hectic with desire. She shuddered at the sensation, and instinct bade her to move closer to him, hips and chest and sex.
She was depraved, yes, and glad of it. They were thoroughly immoral, basking in the delight of each other's presence. But they were equals - mirror-like images of grace. No viciousness could rival the perfection of their embrace. Each of their trysts was an anointed rite, each fuck a holy oblation. They were the gods of themselves.