Jaime

Jaime felt like his soul had been pulled out of his dick; like he'd poured it into her, and might never get it back.

He was feeling pretty okay with that.

He'd never had sex like that before. He'd gotten off, both with women and on his own, but that had just been something that happened in the general area of his groin. A most excellent sensation, to be sure, but this…

This…

This had been something else entirely. This had been something that engaged his entire body. This sex had taken him over from head to toe in some kind of massive brain orgasm that made him feel like he'd been electrocuted. Except instead of spasming in horrific pain, it had been the most intense, almost agonizing pleasure he'd ever experienced.

He hoped he still had use of his legs. He wasn't sure what parts of him would work, if he tried to use any of them at that moment. His mouth certain didn't; he was aware of speaking nonsense but couldn't really recall what specific nonsense it was.

As the sweat dried off his body, he was very grateful to feel something soft and warm pulled over him.

"Oh, another blanket thing," he murmured happily. It felt wonderful against his oversensitive skin, but was on the small side for two people of their size. His feet were cold.

"It's a pashmina," she told him, sounding resigned but amused. "You're very stubborn about this."

He rolled his head to the side, unable to keep from smiling, just happy to see how her amazing eyes glinted in the dim light, looking lit by stars.

"I can be stubborn about a lot of things, as you are going to find out."

Those eyes widened in apprehension. "How do you mean?"

He reached out, intending to pat her in reassurance, but his arm just sort of flopped around. It was the one without the hand, so he wouldn't have been able to pat her, anyway. He settled for tapping his wrist against her arm.

"In just a minute, I am going to hug the hell out of you," he informed her.

"You are, huh?" The smile in her voice made him smile, too. "I consider myself warned, then."

"Or you could hug me, if you wanted to take the initiative," Jaime continued airily. He was starting to feel more himself. And regain sensation in his limbs.

"How about I take initiative and get us under the covers before we freeze?" Brienne suggested.

Jaime took a mental inventory of his body. Yep, everything was still there, somehow, excepting the already-missing hand. He sat up, the blanket thing falling to his lap, and looked to his side, where she still lay, a soft smile on her lips, her eyes starry and gentle.

"Up you get, then," he told her, wobbling to his feet. She did some wobbling of her own, and together they managed to fall into the bed and drag the covers over them. He reached for Brienne, and she curled into his arms as if it had been choreographed, their bodies fitting together like jigsaw pieces.

"So, seriously," she mumbled against his neck. "I was… okay?"

Jaime propped himself up on his elbow to stare down at her, incredulous. "Wench, you damn near killed me. I still don't have full use of my legs. I feel like I was shot into the surface of the sun. None of that has ever happened to me before."

He flopped onto his back, lacking the strength to hold himself up anymore. She nestled her head in the crook of his shoulder, wrapped an arm around his waist. Her breath was warm against his skin. He felt sleep pull at him, and faded out.

When he woke up again a few hours later, it was much as it had been the previous night, Brienne all tangled up with him. He unwound their legs and got up, needing the bathroom fiercely, and padded across the cold wood floor to where he thought it was, snagging his bag along the way.

Inside, he relieved himself, brushed his teeth, and then went to the kitchen where he found the forgotten mugs of herbal tea. Parched, he gulped one of them down, then picked up the other, intending to bring it to Brienne, but when he turned back, he found her standing there, a faint smile curling her lips.

She'd donned a nightshirt and slouchy socks and looked adorable, rumpled and sated, eyes sleepy and lips still swollen from his kisses.

He handed her the mug. She took it gratefully, drinking half while her eyes roamed over him in a proprietary manner, which he liked very much.

"You look pretty good, standing naked in my kitchen," she told him when the mug was empty.

"And how do I look standing naked in your living room?" he asked, walking to that room and posing artistically.

"Just as good," she said, putting the mugs in the sink and following. "But you know where you look best?"

"Where?"

Brienne gave him a heavy-lidded look that made his mouth go dry. "In my bed." Then she closed her eyes and grimaced. "God, that was cheesy."

"It worked anyway."

She opened her eyes, glancing down, and smiled at the reaction her words were giving him. "Already?"

"I'm a man of many talents, when properly inspired."

Although in truth he was a little amazed, himself. He was past his first bloom of youth, and hadn't recovered this quickly since before he'd lost his hand. He was also feeling a bit self-conscious, since Brienne was just standing there, looking at him with avid eyes.

"You're so beautiful," she murmured, her gaze flying up to meet his, a little sheepishly.

But instead of making feel proud of his body, he became more aware than ever of how grievously it was blemished, and angled himself so he could hide his handless arm.

"All of you," she continued, approaching. She grasped his forearm, tugged it towards her, pressed her cheek to where it ended abruptly at his wrist.

He cupped her face with his hand and pressed his forehead to hers, eyes closed. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you."

"How about you start by making love to me again?"

He opened his eyes to find her looking at him, smiling gently. "Well, if you ask so nicely…"

She took his hand and walked backward, tugging him along, while his erection bobbed in the breeze between them.

"Please, Mr. Lannister, won't you please come and have sex with me again?" she said in a voice full of dramatic pleading.

"Well, I suppose if someone has to…" He heaved an equally dramatic sigh, the effect of which was completely ruined by the ridiculous grin stretching across his face.

In the bedroom, Brienne had switched on the little lamps on either side of the bed, illuminating the space with a warm glow. She pulled back the covers and gestured toward them like a game show hostess presenting a prize. "If you would sit up against the headboard, sir?"

Jaime obediently got comfortable as directed. Not only had he not had sex twice in the same night with anyone in recent history, but never in his life had there been an atmosphere of joking and affection like this. It felt like his heart would burst from happiness. He couldn't stop grinning.

…until Brienne positioned herself on her belly between his legs, propped up on her elbows, her face right over his cock. He stopped grinning, then.

"I've never had a chance to get up-close and personal with one of these," she murmured, running the tip of her index finger around and around the swollen crest.

"You should shake hands," Jaime told her in a strained voice. "Say hello. It's very pleased to meet you."

Turned out that her version of a greeting involved lots of luscious suction and exploratory tonguing on her part. What Brienne lacked in experience, she more than made up for with enthusiasm, and he was very glad he'd come once that night already because otherwise she'd have brought him within two minutes.

As it was, after that two minutes, he was gasping and begging her to stop.

"I want to… I want to… come in you," he panted, and her eyes flared like starbursts, making him groan.

She knelt up, studying him for a moment. Jaime wondered what she was seeing, how he looked to her. He felt like a fiercely aroused man on the verge of falling in love. Wasn't sure how that appeared to others; could be as if he had heartburn, for all he knew.

Then, in a graceful motion, she swept her nightshirt off and moved until she was straddling his hips, placing her wet center right over his throbbing erection and sliding back and forth.

"Ungh," said Jaime, throwing his head back at the exquisite sensation, then groaning again because he'd bonked his head on the wall.

"Poor love," Brienne crooned, just a little mockingly, coming up on her knees to press a kiss to the crown of his head.

Then she made his eyes cross when, upon coming back down, she sheathed him within her body, taking him to the base in one smooth glide.

"Ah—" she panted. "Ah— Jaime—"

He gritted his teeth to keep from coming on the spot. She looked like a goddess, spread across his lap that way, those magnificent thighs framing his hips and her golden pubic hair mingling with his darker brown. Her head was tossed back, exposing the long line of her neck, and the expression on her face was of utter bliss.

"It feels like you're in my throat," she continued in a moan.

"Stop— stop talking," he said desperately. "Or this is going to be over very quickly."

She opened her eyes, a slow revelation of the galaxy of silver flecks in the irises. "I don't mind if it's fast." Her voice was strained, and as she began to rise and fall over him, he realized that she was just as wildly aroused as he was. Perhaps more, if the way she was whimpering on every down-stroke was any indication.

Note to self, he thought dazedly. She really likes deep penetration.

Her nipples were right in his face, cruelly teasing him as she shifted up and down, so he took one in his mouth. They were marvelous nipples, light pink and puffy, crowning two slight handfuls of creamy breast. He recalled, again, his desire to see if they'd fit into champagne coupes. He sucked, then bit lightly, on each in turn, and her whimpering turned to outright cries, which was good, because Jaime didn't think he could last too much longer. Her body was just too alluring, the clinging slickness around his cock was too tight, and he—

Oh, god, he—

Jaime surged up under Brienne, lifting her entirely off the bed as he came with a strangled outcry. Pressing himself somehow even deeper into her made Brienne actually shout, her arms around his neck to keep herself grounded as they both flew off into space.

It happened again. Again. He'd thought it had to be a fluke, coming so hard before, like his life was ending, but no. Jaime sat there, panting, with Brienne draped limply over him, pulsing around him. He drew his knees up, tilting her forward so she was even closer, and wrapped his arms around her.

They clung to each other for a long time. He was quite warm, sandwiched between the upholstered head board and Brienne, but when he felt goosebumps form on her back, he knew it was time to move.

He didn't want to disturb her, though. Sleeping with her in his arms— still buried inside her— sounded like one of the best things ever, so he slid down in the bed until he was flat on his back and she lay on top.

"Gmda mumv. Doovy," she managed to garble against his shoulder, making him laugh.

"No, you don't have to move," he said, pulling the covers over them. "You're not too heavy."

"Zhoor?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Ood."

And it was good, very good. She was asleep in moments, and he shortly after. He woke again when she shifted, disconnecting them, and rolled to her side. He rolled to face her just as she put her arm around him and snuggled closer. There was a faint smile on her lips, and he kissed her softly before reaching to snap off the closest light.

The next time Jaime opened his eyes, it was morning, and warm sunlight was streaming in the window to fall over the bed. Brienne stood in the doorway, the nightshirt once more in place and those splendid thighs almost completely exposed below it. She quirked a smile at him and came forward with a steaming mug in each hand.

"I'm not an expert at making coffee," she said, holding one out to him as he sat up, "but this has to be better than what you had at Waffle House."

"Blessings upon you," he muttered. It was damned good coffee, even if it weren't the gourmet stuff he usually had in the morning, and he complimented her on it.

Sipping, he wondered what he should do or say now. He hadn't woken up with a woman in over ten years. Usually he'd slip away in the night, or the woman would, while he was asleep. He settled for looking around at the bedroom, since he hadn't had a chance to look at it the previous night, being occupied with all the sex.

It was a huge old thing of white-painted iron, another quilt having been used to upholster the head board, and spread with yet a third quilt and a fluffy duvet on top. The sole window had fragile-looking antique lace swathed over to one side, and there was a tall stack of books crawling up the opposite wall almost to the ceiling.

"Your place is amazing," he said. "It feels so comfortable. I don't ever want to leave it."

She blinked at that. Coming on too strong, stupid, he admonished himself.

"You have good taste in decorating," he followed up, lamely, and wished she'd join him in the bed.

"Thanks." But she just stood there, leaning against the door jamb, drinking her coffee, an unreadable expression on her face.

"So," she said at last. "We didn't talk or do anything about protection last night."

Jaime felt like a yawning pit had opened in him. "Oh, shit," he breathed, putting his mug on the side table.

"I'm on the pill, to regulate my periods, since I hadn't ever needed it for birth control before," she said, a touch wry, "and since that was my first time, I know I'm clean. Are you?"

"Yes," he said right away, and got out of the bed. The yawning void vanished. Danger averted.

It seemed… weird, at that moment, to be naked, so he found his discarded jeans and pulled them on before approaching her. "I'm so sorry. I never— I've never forgotten, like that, before." He slid his arms around her waist, tugged her against him. "You seem to make my IQ drop by half."

"I don't feel all that smart around you, either." She smiled, but it was faint, and instead of returning his embrace she just patted his shoulder with her free hand. "What are your plans for the day? It's almost ten o'clock, should you not get moving on them? I'm sure Tyrion's expecting you eventually."

The void reappeared. Confusion rippled through him, with a touch of alarm, and a cascade of thoughts and realizations tumbled through his head.

She's brushing me off

She doesn't want anything more than this

She doesn't feel the same way I do

She didn't feel it like I did

She wants me gone

The smooth, urbane mask slipped over his face effortlessly, locking into place easily, from long habit. How many times had he had to pretend nothing was wrong when his father was berating him, or when Father and Cersei were neglecting and then actively persecuting Tyrion? If he'd managed it with them, then doing it with a woman he'd only known two days would be a snap.

"You're right." He took a step back and offered her an easy grin. "Need to find a few Christmas presents for Tyrion and Shae."

He gathered up the rest of his clothes and went in search of his bag.

"If you want some breakfast—" she began, but he shot her another grin, this one cockier than the first.

When in doubt, ramp up the arrogance, he always said.

He never said that. He was pulling it out of his ass in an attempt to hold himself together in front of her.

"Nah, I'm good. I'll just grab a quick shower and go."

"There's more coffee—" she tried as he passed her en route to the bathroom, but he didn't reply, just shut the door.

Even her bathroom was homey— the ancient claw-foot tub had surely had countless numbers of backsides washed in it, and the sink was made out of an old-timey foot-pedal sewing machine. He turned the water on as hot as he could stand it, scrubbed quickly, dried off, and got dressed in record time.

He emerged to find Brienne stripping the sheets from the bed.

Can't wait to get rid of me, he thought with more than a touch of bitterness.

She straightened and looked at him. He went into the main room and found his jacket, pulling it on.

"I didn't—" she began, following behind him.

"I was honored to be your first." And he was, more honored than she'd ever realize.

"I think—"

He flashed her another smile and made his way toward the door. "Thanks for making the drive fun."

He pulled open the door and, on the landing, stepped into his boots. His hand went into his pocket in search of the car keys, and found the knit cap she'd made him wear the previous night.

"Ah, your hat," he said, and thrust it into her hand.

"Keep it," Brienne said, trying to give it back, but he hoisted his bag, shot her another grin, this one fraying at the edges, with him wanting to be gone so badly.

"Merry Christmas," Jaime told her.

He tromped down both flights of stairs. Outside was the stereotypical winter wonderland, smoothly rolling hillocks of unbroken snow glistening in the sunlight, and a clear blue sky overhead. Plows had come through, and some kind soul had not only shoveled the driveway but cleaned the SUV off, as well. He thanked all the gods, grateful beyond belief that he wouldn't have to muck about with the snow before making his escape, and chucked his bag in the back seat.

The car fired up right away without problem, to his relief. He took one last look at the house as he put it into reverse.

Brienne had come down the two flights of stairs and was standing there in the open doorway. She'd pulled on sweatpants under her nightshirt and was hugging her waist against the cold. Her brow was creased. She looked unhappy.

She's a nice person, he thought. She felt bad giving me the bum's rush.

Then he thought, Felt bad about it, but still did it.

Jaime engaged the four-wheel-drive, and pulled out into the street.