The Courtship

By hye-kyo

Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply.

Author's Notes: So I realized it's high time I write some Jaime/Brienne fanfics (considering that pairing is all I think about these days). This will be a series of one-shots. This one is set some time in the future, just a quick one-shot, the setting can be anywhere.

Title: Begging

Rating: K+

Genre: Romance/Humor/General

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He was old in years and she was not and it was odd how she would be unknowing of certain things when she had seen much of the world.

"When I say I want to kiss you I mean I want to kiss you wench," the last word he said almost as an afterthought. The word used to be a taunt but years of fighting, winter and shared body heat had lent the word an oddly comforting appeal, a reminder of what they had been through together.

"You do not," she was flushed and her eyes were an unfathomable ocean of blue, anger and disbelief. She took a step back, one arm folded in front of her—a defensive stance as if he was some enemy and he frowned.

"No need for that wench," he furrowed his brows, shame creeping into his gut. He had never felt the need to seduce a woman before (though there was only one woman who he had allowed to share his bed); women were always tripping over their skirts for him (at least before he had lost his hand, but even after there were still so many willing women). "I am not asking for a fight Brienne," he said pointedly, his voice faltering a little and he winced and hoped he did not sound like he was begging. Gods, begging!

"Then what are you saying Jaime?" she took one more step back, her eyes trained at him. He fought the urge to roll his eyes at her.

"Am I not speaking in the common tongue? What exactly is it that you do not understand?" he ran a hand through his hair exasperatedly; he never pleaded, even when he was taken captive never had he pleaded for his life, but she was making it hard for him, so hard, and he was so tempted to beg, prostrate before her and beg and plead and make a fool of himself.

"You," she avoided his eyes. There was a faint blush spreading through her cheeks, one freckled and one ruined. Realization came to him suddenly, like an epiphany, and he took a step forward and then another until he had covered the ground she had left bare between them. When she tried to counter with another step back he lifted his good hand and snaked it around the small of her back. She could push him away, strong as she was but she never did. There was a storm in her eyes and waves and whirlpools but he pulled her closer to him.

"This," he gestured with a nod of his head to the two of them entwined, "Is what I mean Brienne." He traced the line of her mouth with his eyes and scrunched his nose in displeasure when she turned away, hiding her face.

"But you would not," she whispered, "Please do not…I cannot suffer another…"

Of course he knew that her insecurities run deep, he had seen it once too many, had heard men's taunts and japery; and once he enjoyed taunting and mocking her (though he still enjoyed it now if only to see her blush and be flustered). She was far too afraid of things she cannot fend off with a sword, like words and scornful looks (though sometimes she lets her sword answer for her, honor issues notwithstanding). He had not been there when the knights at Renly's camp made the bet that scarred her, far deeper than the disfigurement Biter left her. He understood that it would never be easy. Even for him. Especially for him seeing as he was as disfigured and as insecure as her.

She did not face him even as he brought his left hand to touch her cheek, his stump to replace the hand he had on her back. She did not move but there was a glistening moisture on her eyes which made him feel so stupid and so uncertain.

"Brienne," he urged closer if that was even possible, desperation lacing his voice and he sought her face, the bridge of his nose against her freckled cheek and he could smell all that she was, bravery and courage and goodness and sweetness, so sweet and he fought the urge to taste the underside of her chin with his mouth, the lobe of her ear and dip his tongue in the warmth of her mouth.

"This is hardly proper Ser," her voice was rather steady but only an attempt to hold on to the walls she built around her.

"Ser?" he frowned yet again, his mouth moving to catch the words she spilled from her mouth to his, needing to breath the air she breathed. "What is proper Brienne? They call you the Kingslayer's whore!" He steadied himself, he was getting angry. "We are beyond propriety Brienne, we are as good as one in the eyes of the Seven."

She turned her head slightly to see him, to express her bafflement and he caught her, his mouth on her chin, his good hand moving to cradle her neck.

"I am yours as you are mine. You did not wear my cloak but you are under my protection, as I am in yours, though to allay your fears I could carry you to the sept now and be done with the formalities," he whispered in her ruined cheek, his mouth brushing softly against the ruddy skin.

He tasted tears in her eyes and she tried to move away, afraid to let him see her at her weakest but he did not let her though it took all of his strength to keep her in his arms. She hissed in defiance but his mouth found hers and she stilled and grew slack against his touch. It had all the clumsiness of a first kiss and he felt like a little boy in front of her, unsure of what to do but knowing that this is what he wanted to do all his life. He was briefly reminded of his knighting in Harrenhal many years ago when he was a wide-eyed and idealistic sapling, ready to die for honor and his king. This was Brienne and not his king but he was ready to die for her all the same.

He pulled slightly as she heaved, her modest breasts pushing at his chest and he burrowed deeper into her warmth, feeling selfish and he let his hand splay on her side as he eased her against a wall. "Jaime," she whispered and her mouth moved some more but there were no more words.

"Say it wench," he nipped at her neck, "Say it and I will have a red cloak ready."

"You are proposing," she managed, her voice airy, gasping for air and she lifted a hand to forcefully wipe at a few stubborn tears.

"Obviously," he let sarcasm edge his voice and she did not miss it judging by the sharp intake of her breath. His mouth traveled down to kiss her collarbones, a tongue dipping to trace the marks left by the bear at Harrenhal. She shivered.

"Are you certain?" her voice had gained a steadiness and her hand slid to tangle in his hair. "Because if you are not—"

"Are you saying yes?" he stopped his ministrations and pulled away a little, just enough to meet her eye to eye, though the beating of her heart still echoed in his chest and he knew he could match it beat by beat.

"Well—"

"Are you?" he immediately countered, one hand on her stomach tracing lazy circles on her linen shift.

"Yes!" she breathed.

He did not know that he had held his breath until he released it. He broke into a satisfied grin. Her eyes were wide and blue and her hands had dropped from his hair to circle his shoulders and he could feel the slight humming in her body as she hissed with another sharp intake of breath. Clearing his throat, he found that he could not shake the giddiness that overcame him like he was a squire again, winning his first tourney. He pulled away quickly, moving to the door to call for any servant. He asked that a red cloak be prepared (and a blue one with the Tarth sigil he added) and the septon be alerted, the grin still plastered on his face. When the orders were made he drew back, shut the door and faced his bride.

"The cloaks are being readied my Lady," he breathed, edging nearer, his good hand itching to pull her closer. He settled between her legs, pressing his body flush against hers, feeling a ridiculous amount of smugness as she shivered some more, shy yet accommodating him. His teasing mouth traced the curve of her lower lip as he hummed, "If it pleases you my Lady, I want to kiss you again."

A/n: Read and review!