Brienne had Jaime nearly sitting on his arse, backed against the seawall as she held her tourney sword crosswise to his throat, her hard knee pinning his sword arm to the stone. Jaime briefly considered trying to knock her blade away with his useless right arm, but knew if probably wouldn't work and would also hurt like the seven hells.
He'd given up wearing the gold hand since Bronn had yanked it off and used it against him during practice. Though in truth, his anger and disgust with Cersei had more to do with his rejection of the useless prosthesis, but he'd not give her the satisfaction of saying so.
"Yield, Ser Jaime?" Brienne was asking, and he chuckled. Why would she question rather than demand his surrender? Ever since she'd begun sparring with him she'd been hopelessly respectful. If she only knew how Bronn treated him. Now that he thought about it, he wished she did. He'd enjoy watching her knock his ass into the dirt. Or onto the stone, as it were. Brienne might have few qualms about verbally abusing him once in a while, but he knew she wouldn't tolerate it from someone of Bronn's station.
It amused him to think she'd become strangely protective of him with anyone else, even while seldom allowing him any leeway herself. It was like he was hers alone to abuse.
"I yield, Lady Brienne," he said, smirking up at her.
She snorted at him and withdrew her sword and her knee from his arm. He was relieved she was not clad in armor; he had more than enough bruises these days.
"I know: you do not like to be called 'Lady,'" he said, not bothering to rise from the stone bench she'd pressed him against.
"As your sister informed me, Ser Jaime, I am a 'lady' whether I choose to recognize the title or not."
This wasn't the reaction he'd been hoping to provoke in her.
"Please sit, then, Lady Brienne," he tried again, and she sank down on the wall, an arm's length away. Her arm's length away. It seemed very far.
"I don't bite, Wench. Don't make me shout just to speak to you."
Brienne smiled briefly, but the sun was behind her and in the shadows it might as well have been a grimace.
"Do you prefer 'Wench' to 'Lady,' pray? I would call you whichever makes you happiest." He said, softly enough he knew she'd need to lean closer to hear him.
"Brienne," she said. Damn her abnormally good hearing.
"Sorry, what's that, Wench? My old ears couldn't quite make that out."
"Brienne," she repeated, louder.
Giving up, Jaime moved closer to her, "Now, what was that again?"
"By the gods, Ser Jaime, just call me 'Brienne.'" She said.
"Briennnne," he said, drawing the name out as though considering it, "I will make you a promise, Brienne. I will call you by your given name if you will, as I have asked you to at least two dozen times, just call me Jaime." He didn't know why it had become so important to him that she say his name without the addition of his titles. At least she'd stopped calling him 'Lord Commander' after he'd lashed out at her for it one day. Hearing the echo of Cersei's derisive title from Brienne's lips had bothered him more than he wanted to admit.
He'd been unable to take much satisfaction from convincing her not to; the hurt in her eyes from his harsh words had been like a spear to his gut, and she'd avoided him for the rest of the day. She'd been nowhere to be found, and he thought he knew all of her favorite hiding places in and around the Red Keep.
"Jaime," she said, under her breath.
"Better," he said, unsmiling.
"But I don't know what is so bad about being 'Ser.' You are a knight, and deserving of the title."
"If being deserving is what it takes to be a knight, then you would be one as well, Brienne. It is not the title that matters."
"I thank you, Ser…er…Jaime. Sorry."
"Now, about this title my sister informed you of," Jaime said, resting his leg up on the wall so he could face her, "Was this when she was speaking to you at the wedding?" His curiosity about that conversation had plagued him for weeks, but Joffrey's death and Tyrion's upcoming trial had made asking about it seem indecorous.
Interestingly, Brienne flushed a dark red. Over time she'd managed not to let him embarrass her as often, but whatever his sister said had flustered her deeply. Her only answer was a nod, decisive and not inviting further questions. She should know that never works with me.
"What else did you two speak of? It was too long a conversation to just be her snarking about you being a Lady. Come, what else did she say that has your skin such an alluring scarlet?"
"It was of little consequence, Jaime. I hardly remember myself."
"You are a terrible liar, Brienne."
"If you must know, we spoke of Renly, and Lady Catelyn, and you. Truly, the conversation was not so fascinating that it bears repeating."
Jaime could tell what she said was true, but not the whole truth. She was worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth, and picking at the coiled wire on the hilt of her sword with long fingers. Her eyes were averted, avoiding his gaze.
Knowing his sister, she'd said something cruel and cutting, a thing that Brienne had no armor against. He decided not to push her, though his imagination snagged on the idea that they'd discussed him. Had his sister made accusations about the two of them? That Cersei disliked Brienne was obvious, but she would have found the idea of anything romantic between him and Brienne ludicrous. Despite their growing rift, his sister knew that Jaime wanted only her.
Jaime turned so that he was sitting on the other side of the stone wall, looking out at the water of the Bay. There was quite a bit of daylight left, though the sun was low, casting long shadows and making the water sparkle.
"Brienne, turn around and see how pretty the Blackwater looks," Jaime said, knowing the wench would appreciate the golden glow of sunlight on the normally dark waters.
Brienne swung her legs over and faced the same direction he was. He was pleased to find that she'd inadvertently shifted closer to him. Why did he care? For someone he'd previously found a completely uncompanionable creature, he often found himself seeking out her company, wanting her near.
It struck him passing odd that even when he and Cersei had been close, they most often sought each other out for sex, or in Cersei's case, for favors in exchange for sex. Theirs was not a relationship for sharing confidences. He never would have tried to drag Cersei out here just to watch the water, to talk or sit in comfortable silence.
Jaime looked at Brienne's profile, enjoying her rapt expression as she watched the movement of the water, drinking in the magic of something common being so transformed. She turned her head and caught him smiling at her. Her eyes were soft and dreamy as she smiled back in appreciation for the view he'd called her attention to. Jaime shivered at the sudden urge to touch her face, to feel the sun-warmed skin of her cheek. He wanted to find out if her lips were as soft as they looked.
Ludicrous, right? As disturbing as his body's response to the wench had been in the baths at Harrenhal, now that he was back near Cersei, his true love, finding himself reacting to Brienne's presence continued to baffle him.
It was probably because they'd just finished sparring and his blood was still singing with the heat of battle. Brienne's probably was, too. Gods be good, why did he think of that? Surely Brienne was unaffected by the sort of lust that fighting always inspired in him.
Sparring with Bronn didn't make you feel this way, a small, rational voice in his head chided him. That's good, think of Bronn, that'll cool you down. Jaime shook his head and frowned.
"Is something troubling you, Jaime?" Brienne asked. She was always quick to notice his expressions. It was a mark of their friendship that she nearly always tried to ferret out what he was thinking.
"I was just thinking it has been a while since I swam in the Bay. Doesn't it looking inviting?"
"It almost looks like the waters of Tarth in this light. Do you suppose it's warm?"
It looked far warmer than Jaime knew it to be, but for some reason he dearly wanted to convince her to swim with him. It had been years since he'd swum for fun, and the idea of the Wench perhaps stripping to her smallclothes and joining him in the shallows had a strange appeal.
"It should be warm enough. The weather is still mild in this part of the country. Would you care to join me for a swim? We could race, if you like. We both grew up on the water; I'm sure it would be a good contest."
"I've nothing to swim in," Brienne said with a wistful smile, "maybe another time, if I can attain the proper attire."
"What is it you think I haven't seen, Wench?" Jaime said, and then regretted it. Brienne's only reaction was an annoyed flash of her eyes, but the memory of her naked body set his cock to swelling with the desire to see her naked again. What was wrong with him?
Just a residual memory of that arousal was all. Not just when she'd stood to challenge him in the bath, water dripping from her breasts and down her strong thighs, but the more erotic memory of how she'd dressed him after his swoon. She'd forgotten her nudity to care for him; to dry him and shave and dress him. He'd been half dead but his cock had been half hard the whole time. She'd never even noticed. Or maybe she'd just been decent enough not to mention it.
Jaime didn't want to think of all the times that scene had played out quite differently when he thought of it at night, alone in his chambers in the White Sword Tower. Strangely, the memory of her gentle hands combined with that near-forbidden arousal was also what he often thought about when he was just drifting off to sleep. He never gave it any weight in his waking hours; it had become an innocent ritual that comforted him, made him feel almost whole when he ached for all he'd lost.
"And I suppose you're planning to swim naked?" Brienne asked him, sarcasm tinging her voice.
"If you'd swim with me I would wear my smallclothes," he told her, "and you could wear yours. No one would see us; this is a very secluded area."
"Maybe another time," Brienne said, swinging her legs back over the bench and standing up, "I enjoyed sparring with you, Jaime. I wish you'd asked me before you engaged Bronn for it; I hope he leaves you some energy to spar with me again soon. You've picked up some dreadful habits."
"I will always have energy for you," Jaime smirked up at her, "And 'dreadful habits.' Maybe I'll see you at supper later?"
"Perhaps," Brienne said, obviously pleased that he still thought to ask her, even though they nearly always dined together in the hall. Without further farewell, she turned and strode to the cut-stone stairs. Jaime watched her walk up them, back straight, the movement of her hips and arse drawing his eye.
Maybe it was best that the Blackwater was probably cold. When Brienne was out of sight he began to strip, stopping when he got to his smallclothes. After a moment's hesitation, he removed them as well. Bronn had chosen this spot for sparring because of its seclusion. No one was there to see, and if they did, why should he care?
Jaime laid his clothes on the rough stone to protect his skin as he lowered himself over the wall. He picked his way down the large rocks until he stood in the dark sand at the water's edge. The wind off the water was chillier than he'd expected, but it barely cooled his cock, still stiff with forbidden thoughts about Brienne.
Attempts to replace the images of Brienne in his mind with Cersei were disturbingly unsuccessful. As he stood there in the fading light, he tried to imagine his golden twin naked and waiting in the water, the water lapping around her thighs, wetting the hair between her legs. He tried to picture an inviting smile, her dainty hand rising to cup one of her full breasts…
He could imagine her body well enough, but the smile would not appear. He could not conjure her face, inviting or otherwise. Cersei had disdained swimming ever since she'd become a woman. The easy days of their youth, spent in swimming and roaming around the cliffs and caves of Casterly Rock, were long gone.
Jaime closed his eyes against the dazzle of the water, and the memory of his dream came to him: the flooded cave, the guttering blue flame, Cersei turning her back on him. And Brienne…Brienne there with him, both of them naked and armed. Brienne womanly and fierce, her importance in his life unknown before that moment.
He opened his eyes and looked back up to the patio, wishing she'd agreed to swim with him. The sight of his shadow caught his eye, his silhouette sharp against the lighter grays of the rocks. He almost laughed to see that the shadow of his cock was rigidly standing out from his body. Maybe he just needed this, he thought, wrapping his left hand around it and giving it a quick upward stroke.
It didn't really matter who he thought about, did it? His last time with Cersei had been in the Sept, a desperate, stolen moment, the two of them rutting like animals on the floor. The completion he'd sought between her thighs had been quickly over, the deeper connection they'd both sought missing altogether.
Jaime walked into the water, the shock of how cold it really was making him yelp. What would the wench have done when she put that first toe in and discovered these waters were nothing like those surrounding her island of Tarth? He imagined the gooseflesh running up her arms and legs, the cold making her nipples hard against her thin smallclothes…
Fuck. He just couldn't stop thinking of her. Well, by the seven, it was harmless enough, wasn't it? He waded further into the water, stopping when it lapped the tops of his thighs. As long as he was imagining, he thought, once again taking his cock in hand, he may as well imagine she was naked like him. Naked like she'd been in the dream-cave, but standing out here, the golden light reflecting on her pale skin.
The water would shimmer like dew on her breasts, and she'd laugh with him, her eyes meeting his before she reached down and wrapped her long fingers around his cock and stroked; her grip firm and assured. He would lean forward and press his lips against hers, and she would open her mouth, let him taste the warmth of her tongue against his.
Jaime moaned as the images and feelings surrounded him. He imagined his fingers finding the sweet spot between her legs, making her gasp and press against him. His hand worked faster on his aching cock as he imagined laying his Wench down on the soft sand, making her ready with his fingers and then slowly thrusting into her tightness, finding what he needed in her trust and surrender, giving her everything he could.
His balls drew up tight against him, and then he was gasping her name Brienne over and over as he came, his seed arcing harmlessly into the water as his hand moved up and down his shaft frantically.
With a last shudder he opened his eyes and bravely waded into deeper water to wash off. He heard the sound of pebbles falling and turned to look back at the rocks. Seeing nothing, he raised his eyes to the seawall, blinking the glare of sun on water from his eyes.
A flash of light yellow hair, a glint of blue, then a movement quick as a bird, and it was gone. Merely a trick of the light. Jaime shivered and submerged himself, kicking off the sand to launch into a strong overhead stroke as he swam further into the Blackwater.
Brienne was coming back to tell Jaime that she'd decided to swim with him after all when she saw him below, naked as his name day and fully aroused. He looked like a god, limned in the fading light, and not even her treasured memories of the Harrenhal bath, her secret indulgence in the night, could compare. When he put his hand around his cock and began stroking it, her breath nearly stopped as desire surged through her. She stood rooted to the spot, watching his hand sliding up and down his hardness until his head fell back in ecstasy and his seed jetted up and caught the light before falling to the water. When just the repeated whisper of her own name carried to Brienne, she startled so badly that she knocked loose a small pebble and it started a tiny cascade of other loose rocks. She fled.