Hi and welcome to this fic. First things first, this is a Jaime/Brienne story with a lot of different pairings (of any kind) and characters thrown in. The inspiration for this was, surprise, Gwendoline Christie's dance style, and therefore this Modern AU!Brienne has a lot in common with her ;) And now, have fun!
Drop It Like It's Hot – (Jaime)
The bass dropped and so did all the booties in the club.
"It's intentional. Female calculation at its finest."
"Those two, maybe. But Brienne?" Jaime canted his head to the side as if it would help him to make more sense out of the display before him. Shae and Margaery were rubbing on each other in a mix of grinding and twerking, not giving a fig how out of date the move was. Brienne, not even a meter away from them, was in a world of her own, doing what amounted to body rolls and headbanging. It was as if the girls were dancing to different beats.
Tyrion had to raise the volume of his voice to be heard by his brother. "She is a woman, last I checked."
"On good days." Jaime was only listening with one ear; the other was poised to pick up the slightest sound of distress from his best friend, who was being danced at by two beefy guys who looked like their parents had fed them steroids since birth. Brienne didn't even see them, with her eyes closed and head thumping to the music. She was so naïve sometimes, he couldn't turn off the instinct to protect her from well-muscled, sun-kissed sleazebags with too many teeth. Why the fuck was Fabio grinning at her?
Oh. She did the hip swivel thing again. That's why.
"Still, an awesome view," Tyrion hollered from his barstool, the bendy straw of the fruity cocktail Shae had pressured him to order hanging out of his mouth.
"But…we, we shouldn't stare," Pod piped up from Tyrion's other side. Jaime had almost forgotten the lad, drawn in on himself to be as inconspicuous as possible. Well over twenty years old by now and still feeling out of his element wherever he went. Poor guy.
Tyrion swiveled round to the boy and sprinkled his shirt with a few droplets of blue liquid that still clung to the end of the straw. "The whole point is that we're looking."
"Not for Brienne," Jaime deadpanned.
"Of course, not Brienne."
Jaime boxed his brother in the shoulder, eyes transfixed on Brienne's wiggly hips. "I can hear your eyes roll."
"Sounds painful." Bronn sauntered up to them while pulling up his zipper. "Line in front of the men's toilets is as long as if every guy suddenly got cystitis. What did I miss?"
He ignored Pod's kindhearted, "Did you go to the doctor's with that?" and plopped down on the seat with his jacket.
The song switched to a pop-y number that sounded like the color pink looked. The strobes' lights cast the girls and every other dancer in neon. Brienne should have looked like a gigantic disco ball, but instead it gave her something fey. Skyscraper-tall, but fey.
"Our girls are trying to make us horny and jealous at the same time," Tyrion answered.
Bronn chose that moment to whistle through his teeth as Margaery bent almost in half, and Jaime rebuffed Tyrion's claim. "You are aware that they haven't so much as glanced in our direction once since they stepped onto the dance floor, right?"
His brother ignored the question, rhetoric as it was, and continued to enjoy the view. Jaime wasn't as enamored because sleazebag one and sleazebag two had started to inch closer to Brienne. Just when he was about to walk over there, a red flash dashed in between the guys and Brienne.
"Oh, Sansa's back from the bathroom too," Pod happily chirped.
Meanwhile on the dance floor, Brienne got play-spanked by Sansa, who was one hundred percent sober, no matter what Marge said, and Jaime suddenly thought he would have preferred Brienne in the middle of a guy-sandwich, because then, at least, he would have been allowed to storm over there.
As it was, he just crossed his arms over his lap and stared resolutely not at Brienne's ass getting slapped. There was something hypnotic about it.
