Hey guys sorry for any typos in the stories, sometimes I read back over them and I'm like...what was I saying? Anyways, I'm too lazy to change the minor ones so...maybe I'll get around to it. THANK YOU ALL for the reviews! I love a good, in-depth review, but just a little note to tell me if you're following along is great too!

Also, sorry if some of you are bothered by the sexual side of Jaime/Sansa...I felt like the books hit the older/younger couples really accurately for the time period, especially Danaerys and Drogo! Soo, I don't know if it bothers any of you or not...you probably shouldn't read this if it does.

Her green eyes glowed sensually as he laid her down in the king's own bed.

The great fat fool had fallen asleep on the floor, not even able to make it to the bedchambers. Jaime knew that she had had enough of him, his hard hands and his wandering eyes. Jaime had always had eyes only for her.

She sighed his name, her slender fingers tangled in his golden curls. Her soft thighs wrapped around his waist, urging him on as he bent his head to kiss her full, heaving breasts. It had only been softness, soft everywhere, her hips beneath his hands, her breasts against his mouth, her belly pressed against his. He pushed up through the golden curls that touched her lower lips, and it was softness inside too. She whispered his name, Jaime, not the king's.

And his mouth was on hers, his tongue between her lips and his cock between her legs, and it was Jaime and Cersei and Cersei and Jaime, and nothing else mattered but that they were together and in love, and her head tossed in delight and her golden hair blinded him, as bright at the sun, until-

Jaime woke suddenly, the sun bright in his eyes. It was morning, and he was throbbing with desire from the remnants of a vivid dream. Wondering what had brought it on, he slowly came to his senses and felt that same softness on him now; his lady wife was still fast asleep on top of him, entirely unaware of the raging erection pressed against her thigh.

Holding his breath, he tried to ease the girl off of him, but doing so rubbed her thighs against him, and his hand clenched suddenly on her shoulder. She woke with a gasp, and their eyes met as she quickly caught up to what was happening.

"I...um...I, oh, good morning, my lord," she managed, blushing furiously. She had frozen, not sure what he wanted her to do, and frankly he wasn't sure either. His hands were on her shoulders, both the good and the gold. He had put them there to push her off, but now he found his thumb trailing along her silky smooth skin. Like he had so many times before, he cursed Vargo Hoat for taking his right hand; his left was woefully inadequate, not nearly as dexterous as the right had been. It was often more forceful than he had intended, and he had to constantly remind himself to be careful.

He was careful now, touching his wife lightly. He ran his fingers down her back, her arm, her side, reaching to give her bottom a soft squeeze. He watched her face the entire time, hypnotized by the emotions that flew across her face. Innocence, shame, resentment, timidity, but also defiance, daring, strength, and he could have sworn pleasure. But when he touched her between the legs, all emotions gave way to fear and pain. She was still afraid of him, and he couldn't blame her.

He turned over suddenly, flipping her onto her back and trapping her beneath him. He felt her entire body tense in fear and surprise, but he was already off of her. Moving back, he pushed her thighs open with his hand. She made an indignant noise and tried to snap them shut again, but he sat up and gave her a look, and she let them fall open again meekly.

He'd never looked at women other than Cersei, and he was surprised at the difference. Cersei's curls were golden, like her head, but Sansa's were a very dark red, and not as curly. Her inner lips were a little darker, but delicate and subtle. He leaned forward and kissed them gently.

He heard her gasp, felt her legs move and her hips try to pull away, but he wrapped his left arm around her leg and kept a firm hand on her abdomen, holding her still. His right arm he curled behind her. Struggle as she might, he was still much stronger than her and wasn't particularly concerned with her escape. He kissed her, again and again, heat spreading through his body as he kissed her lower lips as passionately as he'd ever her mouth. His tongue pushed inside to taste the honey she offered him, and his eyes closed in bliss. A throaty hum escaped his lips, and he felt her jerk beneath his mouth.

Every drop of nectar he lapped from her seemed to feed the growing fire within him. Shooting her a warning look, he untangled his left arm from her legs and rubbed himself gently. And, for the first time ever, he didn't have to think about Cersei. He watched his little wife, and for once appreciated her for the beauty she was. Her eyes were closed tightly, a pink flush tinted her from her cheeks to her breasts, her brows knit and her mouth slightly open. Her tiny fists were bunched in the sheets and a light sheen of sweat gave her body a lustrous glimmer.

He watched her slowly lose control, her rich red-brown hair wild about her, her legs flexing on either side of his head, her hands releasing the sheets and flying up to grasp the headboard. Her back arched and his left hand flew up to keep her in place, holding her hip tightly as she bucked. She had been very quiet the entire time, perhaps remembering the first night he bedded her, but as her body neared climax her focus slipped.

Music, he thought absently, listening to her gasps and moans. She was fighting him, struggling to get away from the overly intense pleasure, but he refused to let her go. His eyes were only for her when she cried out, and her fingers moved from the headboard to his curls, which had begun to grow back.

"Oh, gods!" she gasped, "Jaime! Jaaaaime!" He lunged up, then, when he could hold it no longer and plunged into her, thrusting a few times before finishing inside her. This time, instead of withdrawing and turning from her, he rested over her, panting, on his forearms. He kissed her, slowly. He could feel her small feet brushing his calves, her belly flat against his. His hand came up and stroked her long, soft hair.

"Was that alright?" he hummed lazily, catlike eyes soft. He could have enchanted anyone there, an angelic halo of golden hair encircling his face.

"I-if it pleases you, my lord," said Sansa quietly. Jaime froze, his hand still dipped in her hair. After all that, after watching her lose her mind to pleasure, her hands in his hair, she still wouldn't let him in? Whenever he pleasured Cersei with his mouth, she would be practically purring with satisfaction, and any wrong he'd done would be gone and forgotten. He just couldn't understand why she was being so resistant to him, why she wouldn't let him apologize and be done with it.

He rolled off of Sansa, trying not to be upset with her. She didn't really react, and he folded his arms under his head, sighing a little. Some women are flirts on the streets and cold fish in bed, he thought bitterly. I'm not entirely sure that's the worse end of the spectrum...

"I have a few things I have to do for today," he said curtly, standing and rummaging through his clothes. "Feel free to make a break for Margaery's room."

"Yes, my lord," she said quietly, pulling the blankets to her chest. He pulled on his uniform, black breeches and the mail tunic, a black stag stitched on gold cloth woven into the front. Grabbing his belt, he slung his sword around his hips. He was not proficient by any means with his left hand yet, but it was good to be armed, especially in times such as these. Finally, he swung a long black cape over his shoulders.

"You're not part of the Kingsguard."

He looked up, surprised that she had initiated conversation. But he shrugged and began to pull on his boots. "No, Joffrey released me from the Kingsguard so I could be married, but I'm still a part of the guard. I'm unofficially pretty much still in the Kingsguard, but by title a captain." He was pleased to see her show some interest in the going ons of the court, though he supposed that a well-born lady should know of these things. He waited to see if she had anything else to say, but she had lapsed back into silence.

"Well then, good day, my lady," he said, taking three long strides back to the bed. If she was alarmed, she didn't show it; grabbing her hand, he lifted it and kissed her smallest finger. "I'll see you tonight. If I remember correctly, you still have one night left in my bed." He got a very satisfying blush out of her before turning and leaving the room.

Sansa waited until he had shut the door behind him to stand on shaky legs. She grabbed one of the beams of the bed to help steady herself. Blushing furiously, she tried to recover; she had not been expecting anything like that, it was something she'd never even heard from gossiping maids!

But it was difficult to enjoy it when all she could focus on were the feelings of betrayal, the helplessness of being pinned down, how she still felt used even though he was clearly attempting to win her over. Sexual prowess meant little to Sansa, if he was only using it to make up for his thousand deficits. She made her way towards the bathroom, to clean herself before daring to venture around the castle.

She washed quickly, already excited to leave the room. Alisoun came to help her dress, and Sansa suspected that she would have come earlier if the guards hadn't said something. She had a knowing smile as she helped lace Sansa into her dress, a lovely red dress with rose-colored lining and white laces. A floral design in light pink worked up from the hem to the bodice. It had been a gift from one of Jaime's cousins on their wedding.

It came with matching tall boots, white with black buttons down the sides. Sansa wore her hair in a loose, elegant knot that brushed her shoulders, much more appropriate for a married woman. Married...

She thanked Alisoun and rushed quickly from her room. Two of her personal guard accompanied her, making her feel a little safer between their armor and sheathed swords. They helped to frighten away people who might try to force her back to Jaime's room; either that, or they had said something.

Regardless, she made it easily enough to Margaery's room.

Bursting into the Maidenvault, she was greeted by joyful cries and a rushing of skirts as Margaery and all of her cousins rushed to see her. They had been lounging in the early hours of the morning, nibbling cakes and sipping wine, waiting for it to get warm enough to ride or hawk. Sansa had spent enough time with them to generally know their morning habits.

"Sansa! Oh, you look so well!"

"I'm so terribly sorry for your brothers!"

"You look lovely!"

Bursts of talk and laughter and apologies barraged her until Margaery pushed her way through her cousins with an air of firm superiority. They backed down quickly enough, allowing their eldest to hug Sansa tenderly.

"Are you okay? Is everything okay?" asked Margaery seriously, her brown eyes large and sympathetic. Sansa knew from her voice that she was referring to absolutely everything, not just her brothers.

"I...yes, I'm alright," she said quietly. "and it's not...awful..."

"Oh, are you talking about Ser Jaime?" burst Megga, leaping from one of the cushions and bounding towards them. Two other cousins broke off too and came loping over. "That's not fair, I want to hear, too!"

"Megga thinks Ser Jaime is very gallant," Margaery informed Sansa, rolling her eyes.

"The handsomest knight in the kingdom!" sighed the young girl. Sansa's eyebrows rose; Megga was even younger than she! But she supposed he was handsome for an older man; she'd always preferred the slender, romantic figures of younger men, boys like Ser Loras and Joffrey, once upon a time. Ser Jaime had a handsome face, but his broad shoulders and long legs had always intimidated Sansa rather than attracted her. Boys like Joffrey, she could stand up to; big men like Sandor Clegane, she was at their mercy.

"What was it like?" asked Alla in a hushed voice, her eyes glittering mischievously. Sansa's mouth hung open for a moment before she flushed deeply.

"Oh, leave her be, she doesn't have to tell if she doesn't want to!" insisted Margaery, but Sansa saw the hungry curiosity in the future queen's eyes; her wedding, too, was coming up soon, and Sansa knew she must be dying to hear.

"Sansa, dearest Sansa, lovely, kind Sansa!"

"Oh please, please! Tell us what it's like to be married!"

"Well, it's..." she began, and memories of the night on the floor of the bathing room flashed through her mind, but she was too ashamed to share that particular story with them. She thought of earlier that morning, but that still made her tingle with shame and embarrassment. Her first bedding should be a good, fairly plain story for them. She couldn't resist gossiping with these attentive girls; it had been so long before Margaery that she'd had other girls to talk with.

"He was very good," she whispered, to the giggles of the girls around her. "He's not very chivalrous, and he teases me far too much to really like him, but...he's very...skilled."

"What did he do?" asked Margaery now, her eyes large.

"It hurt a lot, at first," admitted Sansa, still wincing at the memories of the sharp, unrelenting pain. "But he put my feet up on his shoulders, and it was rather nice. He didn't touch me very much, but he kissed me quite a bit, I enjoyed that part." She smiled shyly as the girls sighed, their eyes soft and limpid.

"No hiding anything, Sansa!" scolded Elinor, her smile coy. "There has to be more to the Lion of Lannister than that!"

"Elinor, that's quite enough," said Margaery, coming to Sansa's defense despite her own raging curiosity. "Come, girls, let's go riding!"

They all gathered their skirts and began the walk to the stables, laughing and jesting along the way. To Sansa's embarrassment, she saw Redrick among the singers who joined them for the outing. He did not say anything to her right away, of which she was glad. Alla had her arm anyways, and was confiding about a secret admirer who would bring her strawberry tarts in the morning.

They approached the stables, a group of nearly twenty. The stableboys all leapt up and began rushing out the horses. Margaery's fine white mare, Alla's chestnut, Megga's bay gelding...one at a time, they hurried out the small herd. Sansa waited for her own, a dark bay mare from Winterfell's stables; not a particularly fine horse, but a good one all the same.

The stableboy led out a glossy black mare, with a fine arched neck and a delicate face. The girls quieted, admiring the lovely creature.

"Lady Sansa Lannister," said the young boy, handing the handsome silver bridle to her. Sansa took it, open-mouthed. It was the first time she had officially been referred to as Lady Lannister, and it chilled her terribly, but the beauty of the horse she held was astounding. A name was carved into the side of the bridle; she looked closer, and it said 'Lady.'

Sansa's hand tightened on the reins, her heart pounding. She tried not to think too hard, but instead thrust her foot into the stirrup and lifted herself onto the horse. Lady tossed her head and trotted spiritedly after the caravan; she was an energetic young thing, and her jet black mane almost floated on the cool breeze. Her saddle matched the bridle, a soft leathery silver, with a white blanket beneath that draped over Lady's sides elegantly. Sansa had rarely felt so fine.

She felt like a fairy, on this light, fast mount. Sansa had never understood Arya's love of horses and riding until that very moment, in the autumn wind on Lady.

Alla and Elinor had brought their hawks, and the two birds spiraled high over them, diving at the ground occasionally. Margaery's little dog ran barking ahead of the group, and the singers kept up a constant stream of music. Sansa had not had so pleasant a time since before her wedding.

"I see you have a new horse," called a voice to her right. Sansa turned and saw Redrick. She managed a smile and patted Lady's neck.

"Yes, she's lovely, isn't she," she laughed, stroking her horse's soft mane. Redrick shrugged and turned his face away.

"She's alright, I guess. I just didn't think she matched you very well," he said, rather unpleasantly she thought. Sansa felt a little hurt. It was the loveliest horse she'd ever seen, was he insulting her? "You're such a warm, bright person. A fire red, perhaps, or a soft summer brown." She laughed, giving Lady a little kick and loving the immediate gallop.

"Clearly, you don't know what it means to be a Stark!" she called over her shoulder, spurring her horse on. Like the wind, Lady flew over the hills, faster than any left in the caravan behind her. She urged her on, bending low over the dark, lustrous neck, Lady's long mane whipping her eyes. She knew where the roads led, recognized the path from long ago when she and Jeyne Poole had gone to watch the tournaments.

She saw the grand tournament fields, and raced towards it. It was almost entirely empty, she knew.

But she knew he'd be there.

Sure enough, she saw him practicing with Ser Ilyn Payne, the metallic sheen of their swords reflecting blinding bursts of sun. She rode closer, despite how she hated Ser Payne. Lady stayed obedient, quiet, when they reached the field, and Sansa dismounted to wait for them to finish.

It was hard, watching Ser Jaime swordfight with his off hand. He mostly tried to defend himself against Payne's heavy-handed blows, his own skill diminished by having to re-learn how to use a sword backwards. Sansa knew he had once been an incredible swordsman; she had heard stories of his prowess since she had been a very young girl in Winterfell. Watching him now, fighting his handicap with pure skill and talent, was difficult, knowing what he had once been. It wasn't enough; Ser Payne knocked his sword aside and laid the point at her husband's throat. Sansa's heart burst with deja vu, and she couldn't help but to cry out.

"Ser Payne!" she called, glad to hear her voice come out strong and steady. They both looked over, very surprised to see her there. Jaime straightened and cleared his throat. Ilyn Payne slowly lowered the long, deadly sharp sword. "Do you mind if I borrow my husband for a moment?" The terrifying man nodded once, and then turned to hack at a wooden practice dummy. Chips flew here and there as he swung repeatedly. Jaime loped over to her, sheathing his sword as he came. She couldn't quite read his expression, but he quickly settled on amused; it seemed to be his default for when he didn't yet know how to handle things.

"My my, I leave you to yourself and you just follow me around," he teased, stopping to eye the black mare. "I see you got your horse."

Sansa didn't say anything, but slowly, shyly put her arms around his chest. She hugged him to her, her cheek pressed tight against him. He went silent, startled, and then she felt his arms wrap around her shoulders.

"You weren't there," she murmured into his tunic. "How did you know?" She felt him shrug.

"Robert mentioned it to me, once. I remember thinking it was an awful thing to do. How do you like her?" She laughed, and suddenly his heart quickened.

"She's lovely."

"I told them not to give her to you yet...I was going to take you riding tomorrow," he said sorrowfully, resting his chin on the top of her head. Sansa couldn't help feeling a little touched. She looked around, for his golden charger.

"Where's your horse?" she asked, wondering if they could go riding now. Ser Payne would not mind; he never minded. Jaime sighed though, and withdrew.

"He's back at the castle. Ser Payne and I walked down here. We're just practicing," he said mildly, but her eyes lingered on the dark bruise forming on his upper arm. "Would you like to give it a try?" She almost smiled; she couldn't tell if he was teasing her, but she reached forward and grasped the hilt of the sword and drew it, very carefully. It was heavier than she had expected, and she nearly dropped it at first. "Woah! Little wife, Ilyn Payne does enough of that without your help!" he gasped, having jumped out of the way of the swinging sword.

Sansa smiled a little. The sword made her think of Arya; she knew her little sister would have loved this sort of thing. Sansa had never been entirely sure that Arya didn't have a sword of her own, anyways. She hefted it into both hands, but it was much too large for her; her arms trembled under the weight. Regretfully, she handed it back to Jaime.

"If you want a sword, we'd need to find you one that's a little lighter," he laughed easily, swinging the sword in one hand. Sansa had always light light, lithe boys, but something about the rippling muscles of his arms drew her eyes now.

"You're very strong," she observed. The sword that had been too much for both of her arms spun lazily in his one left. She could only imagine the power behind his right-handed blows. He laughed, then sheathed the sword. He ran up to her and ducked, swooping beneath her with his left arm, scooping her easily off of the ground with one hand. She squeaked and flung her arms around his neck, in case he dropped her, but he just drew her carefully to his chest. His golden hand helped brace her against him. Sweat dripped from his brow after his practice with Payne, but his smile was bright.

She leaned forward tentatively, her hands like butterflies on either side of his face. Her lips touched his gently, hardly there at all, but his eyes closed and he breathed in deeply. They opened again, lustrous green and filled with desire. He let her touch him though, let her wipe the drops from his brow, run her fingers through his hair. His hair was hot with the breath of the sun, and equally as bright gold. But she remembered when she lost control to him, how frightening it had been. She sat back, managing a smile.

"I fear I've grown weary, my lord," she told him, not even convincing herself. But he seemed glad for the excuse to return, and turned to Ilyn Payne.

"Do you mind if I ride up with my lady?" he called, and the mute gave him a half shrug, then returned to chopping at the practice dummy. "I'll take that as a yes...come, Sansa, we can ride Lady up."

"Can she carry us both?" asked Sansa, eying Jaime and then her long-legged mare. Jaime laughed and swung into her saddle.

"Of course she can. I wouldn't have bought her if she was a frail little thing. Now come on, hop up." He scooted back and patted his thighs. The saddle was only meant for single riding, but it was rather long, and would fit two if she sat in his lap. She stepped forward and thrust her foot in the stirrup, letting Jaime lift her to the saddle so she wouldn't kick him on the way up. He gave Lady the lightest of nudges, and the mare cantered as lightly as she ever did before.

Sansa delighted in the breeze, and the pleasure of the ride, but the motion of the canter incited a rather provocative sway of his and her hips, and though he was not hard at all she felt a chill run up her spine; then a lick of fire. She bit her lips against the raw contact, at first fighting the motion, but that only made it worse. Her face felt as if it were burning, as well as her hands and her belly, though it was a very cool day.

By the time they reached the castle, she was fairly squirming, and once they stopped she instantly slid from the horse. She smoothed her red and pink silks down, taking a few deep breaths. The stableboy came to pick up her horse, and she cast it one more admiring glance before she was taken in.

"I'm sure lady Margaery is looking for me," she murmured, curtsying. "I had better go find her, my lord." He touched her face, his thumb beneath her chin, and tilted it up. He was kissing her lightly before she knew it, and it did nothing to help the fire glowing tortuously in her. But his glowing green eyes simply captivated her.

"I have to meet with my father, and Cersei," he said, drawing back. He smiled, his eyes teasing again. "I'll have a word with the smith and see if we can't get you a little sword made."

Sansa shook her head; she didn't particularly like swords, because they were a symbol of close and deadly combat. "I'd rather have a new lute, my lord, if it please you."

He smiled and touched her lips with his thumb. "It does."

"What's so important, father, that it couldn't wait until tomorrow?" snarled Cersei, her hands on her hips. Jaime closed the door quietly behind him as he walked into his father's study. Cersei cast him one scathing look before returning her attention to Lord Tywin.

"It's just so much work, lording over King Joff's shoulder," drawled Jaime, stepping forward. "You really should take a break sometime, sweet sister." Cersei looked as if she could have slapped him, but merely folded her arms over her full breasts.

"Stop squabbling, you two. Gods, I never thought I'd say that," grumbled Lord Tywin. "But there's been some distressing news."

"Father, I have a wedding to finish planning," growled Cersei, but Lord Tywin raised his hand and she fell silent.

"Stannis's troops are on the move, headed this way. We need to send a force to stop him. Cersei, you're to get this marriage going as quickly as possible. Jaime, you'll be leading the soldiers. You have until tomorrow to get ready."

Ahhh cliffhanger! Till tomorrow-ish, then! Probably!