He leaves tomorrow morning – first thing on a truck full of other young men leaving the rest of their families behind. It'll be green, she thinks to herself. She can picture the dark military colours as if the vehicle were sat outside her window instead of the empty pavement that greeted her gaze. It would stay empty if she could do anything about it.
Some might rest safe in the knowledge that their brother was leaving under the protection of their father, but the thought of being left alone washes away any comfort she might have otherwise felt. They haven't been apart since the day they were born; not for more than a few days at least. This time he'll be gone for months, and she hates him for it. Deep down she knows he has no choice in the matter, but she doesn't care. He's her twin and it's his job to find a way to stay by her side.
When the door to her bedroom swings open behind her, she knows it's him. Who else would it be? He's silent for a moment and she can feel his eyes on her as though they are able to bore into her very soul. Sometimes she thinks they do.
"Cersei." It isn't a question, or a greeting. He says her name like a cry for help, and she knows this is as hard for him as it is for her. I'm not the one leaving, she thinks bitterly to herself. If she were the man she'd not let the rest of the world dictate her life. If she were the man, she'd not be the one left behind.
When she doesn't answer, he steps into the room and the door falls shut behind him with a soft thud. "Please don't do this, Cersei." He's pleading with her now. She knows she's being cruel, but she blames him for both of their pain. She needs someone to blame, or else she fears she'll break down in the face of losing her other half.
When his hand touches her shoulder, she shrugs him off and pushes herself to her feet. "Don't." It's a warning, but she hates the way her voice breaks halfway through the word. She's supposed to be strong. Her mother had always called them her little lion cubs. How could she be a lion when all courage seemed to have evaded her? In that moment she felt like little more than a kitten.
This time when he reaches out for her, he doesn't waste time with tentative brushes of his fingertips against her shoulder; he grabs her waist and turns her into his arms. She puts her hands up onto his chest in a feeble attempt to resist, but he's stronger and holds her in his embrace regardless.
"Jaime-," it's a weak protest, and he silences her effectively with his lips against hers. She fists her hands in his shirt, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away. He doesn't care for her feeble protests.
Soon his hands are everywhere; tangled in the long blonde strands of her hair, grazing down the curve of her waist, sliding up the backs of her thighs. His fingers pull her dress up in their wake and she doesn't try to stop him. The desperation in his kiss has already been her undoing.
She's left standing in her underwear within seconds. Half-naked and breathless, she's given little time to think before he's on her again like it's the first time she's let him touch her. She revels in the fact that he needs her.
It's seconds later and she's grown impatient. Her hands moves greedily over his clothes, untucking his shirt from his trousers and trailing upwards to attack his buttons. She tears them open in the end. The sound of buttons scattering across the smooth wooden floor beneath their feet is the soundtrack of their passion as he hauls her into his chest and her legs slide around his waist. She feels him then; hard and wanting through the scraps of material that separate them. She thinks she's never hated clothing more than she does in that moment.
He seems to read her mind – tossing her down onto her bed and dropping his hands to the fastenings of his trousers. The zip is barely down before the weight of his body presses down upon her. He doesn't get to take the garment off. Her hands beat him to it and she's shoving his trousers down over his hips as though she'll never get to again. She doesn't want to think that she might not.
Her underwear is gone too, and she doesn't remember how they got there but suddenly his fingers are between her legs. The digits dance over her skin, brushing over the sweet, sensitive nerves of her clit and driving her into a wanton, quivering mess beneath his body. She's silent save for the soft panting of her breath, until he slips his fingers inside of her and seeks out that spot that makes her cry out. He muffles the sound with a kiss.
It's when she's teetering on the edge of oblivion that he stops the steady thrust of his fingers and the rhythmic rubbing of his palm over her clit. The digits slide out of her with a wet popping sound and she finds herself whimpering before she can think to stop the sound. In that moment she shows her weakness. Her eyes on his speak louder than any words ever could, pleading him silently to make her feel whole again. And he does.
When he buries himself inside her it's like the rest of the world ceases to exist. There's no tomorrow, no war, no Tywin Lannister, or their brother Tyrion. They aren't twins fucking in some forbidden act of sin; they're two halves of one whole come together at last again.
He takes his time at first, memorising every inch of her body with his lips and hands as he claims her with every steady thrust of his hips. She arches into him and allows herself to be his for a while. The gentleness doesn't last long.
Seconds pass and they're rutting like animals. Her cries of his name are muffled by heated kisses and the sound of skin colliding with skin. Their need is shown in their hands, and their lips, and the sweaty writhing of their bodies as their hips move in desperate unison.
His hand is on her clit again and it's over before she wants it to be. She comes apart in a rush of sensation, her head falling back against the soft sheets of the bed as her lips part in a cry of his name that he quickly muffles with his hand. She forgets about their mother along with the rest of the world, but he hasn't quite taken leave of his senses. She thinks it wouldn't matter if she found out when he was due to leave in the morning.
When he cums it's buried deep inside her. She feels the heat of it filling her, lighting her nerves on fire as he muffles his moans into the skin of her neck. She likes to hear her name on his lips, but his mouth on her throat is too pleasurable to push him away.
They collapse in a mess of sweaty limbs and golden tangled hair. Where one ends and the other begins, neither truly cares. Her legs are threaded between his and her head comes to settle on the hard muscle of his chest. She hears the rapid beating of his heart and it reminds her of a clock; ticking down towards zero. It reminds her of how short a time they have left.
"Don't leave me." She finally speaks into the skin of his chest. He doesn't answer, but she feels him nod against her head, and even she doesn't know whether it's for tonight or for eternity.