Title: Blood Will Have Blood

Rating: M

Summary: Lions like to play with their food- but so do wolves. Alternate universe.

They'll never have his tears.

Jaime will not allow them that, but he'll give them his screams and curses and wailings of rage and despair. His throat stings and burns, he coughs up bits of blood, but he cares nothing- they have their girl back, but they still won't release me...

Some maester had come with a relaxing potion, and it had required three of Robb Stark's men to pin his limbs to the ground and force his mouth open to receive the drink. His body is still now, arms and legs almost too heavy to move, but his mind races as feverishly as ever- they have their girl, they must let me go back to my father, back to Cersei.

The darkness in this corner of the camp is near-impenetrable, but a tiny leaking of moonlight reveals a woman's figure at the door of his cage. He bares his teeth and snarls as viciously as Stark's direwolf ever did. "Come to gloat, Lady Stark? Or have you changed your mind about my proposal?"

But it is not Catelyn Stark who slips through the door and kneels before him, dirt and leaves smearing into her furs. It is not Catelyn Stark who grips his hair with one hand and his throat with the other, chest heaving up and down with shallow breaths. And it is not Catelyn Stark who drops the furs from her shoulders, naked skin glowing pearlescent in the dim light of the moon.

Sansa is white and red, blood on snow, and he thanks the Gods that his hands are unfettered, that he might dig them into her soft flesh and tear her to pieces, might close them around her neck and choke the life from her, might hold one over her nose and mouth until her breaths fail.

She's made it so simple, walked right into the lion's den. I'll show Robb Stark what it means to keep me in a cage; he'll have his sweet sister's corpse, bruised and naked and cold.

And it is, so very cold- she's trembling, gooseflesh prickling up her arms, her little pink nipples hardening. He feels himself begin to stiffen as well- from anticipation, he tells himself, from the promise of sacrificing this smooth, lissome creature with his bare hands...

But Jaime Lannister is a lion through and through. And lions like to play with their food.

He reaches for her, pulling until she rests her weight fully on his lap. Her eyes blaze and flare, ice blue- he thinks for a moment of the direwolf's eyes, but pushes the image from his mind. I'm the predator, and she the prey.

Her budding breasts fill his hands, and as she arches into his touch, he brushes his mouth over her white neck. I could sink my teeth into her throat and tear it open, he thinks, uttering a little moan into her skin as he kisses and sucks.

He skims one hand down over her stomach and between her thighs to where she's warm and wet- she gasps when he slips a finger into her. Still a maid. He smiles, a harsh and savage smile, one incisor piercing the soft skin at the join of Sansa's neck and collarbone. I'll fuck her first, fuck her until she bleeds. And in the morning, Robb Stark will find his dead sister with blood and come on her thighs, used and disgraced...

After he loosens his laces (one breaks off in his hand- his clothing is all but rotted now), he pushes into her- slick and tight and Gods, it's been so long...she's not Cersei, but this isn't about love or pleasure, it's about revenge...

She tosses her head back and whimpers, and for a moment he thinks it a shame, a pity to kill something so beautiful. When she leans back into him, her red hair falling over her shoulders and swatting him in the face, she hisses his name through gritted teeth- "Lannister."

His hand clenches in her russet hair, and he captures her mouth, biting at her lips, tongue forcing its way past her teeth. I could bite her tongue off until blood spills from her mouth, blood everywhere on her white skin...

He thrusts harder, she screams into his mouth but he won't release her, one of her hands reaches behind him to grip a bar of his cage, and the other-

A sharp sting just below his chin, the cold of metal- had he the reflexes of a normal man, he'd never have stopped it in time. But he is Ser Jaime Lannister the Kingslayer, the finest swordsman of his generation, and even his current physical weakness can't do away with that. He pushes Sansa back and wraps a hand around her wrist, squeezing and squeezing until the bones grind together, squeezing until her little silver dagger falls to the ground.

He looks at her. She looks at him. Blazing, fiery, furious eyes, lion's eyes and wolf's eyes-

She meant to kill me, too. Now he has more reason than ever, he'll be killing her out of self-defense, it's all completely warranted...

But as he stares at her (still inside her, still hard inside her), he feels a peculiar sort of respect for her boldness, for her queer bravery.

Who are you, Sansa Stark?

He wants to strike his hand over her beautiful face until it bruises, wants to twist her little wrist until it snaps. But he only grips her hip and pushes up into her, harder and harder and faster and faster, fucking her until she scratches at his shoulders and bites her lip until it splits open. He kisses her to taste the metallic blood, wetting his lips with it and pressing patterns to the white of her cheeks and neck and collarbone.

His cock surges, and he can feel her trying to lift herself off of him before he comes, but he digs his fingertips into her hipbones and holds her fast, pumping into her until he releases his seed in her cunt.

She snarls at him then, teeth gleaming as bright and sharp as the little knife that lies on the ground beside her. Jaime wonders whether she'll reach for it again, prepares himself to wrest it from her grasp-

But she shifts, extending her foot far enough to kick the blade through the bars of his cell. Before she stands, she draws a pale finger over his neck, the blood from the thin cut pooling beneath her fingernail.

She moves away from him to wrap herself in her furs once more, and he observes the blood stains on her creamy thighs, combining with his seed to trickle down her legs.

They've both drawn blood tonight- and now, a detente.

Lion's eyes of green meet wolf's eyes of blue, and they nod in tandem.