"Oomph!" Brienne caught Jaime beneath the arms, her knees buckling from his unexpected weight. That his face was planted in her cleavage registered immediately, but before Brienne could push him away, Jaime was scrambling backwards, trying to right himself. His arms wind-milled and his footing failed. He landed hard on his arse, his sunglasses spinning away to land in the sand a few feet from them. Thus unconstrained, his hair flopped into his eyes, which widened in surprise at his abrupt change in position.
"I am so sorry," he said, contrition so obvious that Brienne's outrage at what seemed a transparent bid to touch her breasts turned to mortification that he had – and regretted it.
Glancing down to make sure her bikini top hadn't shifted to expose the little it was meant to cover, Brienne braced her feet and offered Jaime her hand. One hard pull and Jaime, just getting his feet under him, rose so fast that Brienne fell back like the winner in a game of tug o' war. Jaime held fast to her hand and yanked, catching her around the waist with his other arm as she fell forward.
"Oh, bravo Mr. and Mrs. L!" Rycky appeared with another tray of drinks, "You like to dance on the beach? How romantic!"
Their bodies were pressed together tango-style, halfway into the dip, bare thighs and hips aligned. Jaime grinned and began to pivot, lowering Brienne slightly.
"Don't. You. Dare," She growled up at him. With a chuckle he brought her upright and she disentangled herself, shaking Jaime's fingers loose from hers.
Rycky maneuvered around them and set their drinks on the table, smoothly scooping up Jaime's sunglasses in one motion and setting them there as well. "There's dancing in the bar later," he said, "Now that your lady wife is here you will finally join us, Mr. L? Yes?" He looked from Brienne, glowering and embarrassed, to Jaime, watching her uncertainly.
"That sounds like fun. Mrs. L? What do you think?" Jaime gave her an appealing look, "Unless, um, you've already made plans?"
"Oh!" Rycky cried, covering his mouth, "Of course! You just got here, Mrs. L.. Perhaps you'd prefer to stay in your room together instead. I'm sure Mr. L has been anxious for –"
"I – he – no. We will not be staying in the – in his room…"
Rycky pulled a small tablet from his shorts pocket and began tapping at the screen. In less than a minute he nodded and held it out for them to read. "Your reservations are at eight. Dinner and dancing!" When neither of them bothered to look at the device, Rycky began tapping at the screen again. "You seem a bit tense." He remarked, "Perhaps a couple's massage? And a mud bath? The schedule is pretty full, but…"
"Maybe some other day for the spa, Rycky," Jaime began brushing away the sand on his arse and the backs of his thighs from his fall. Brienne tried hard not stare as he twisted one leg to check for more sand. You could go a long way before seeing thigh muscles like his. And she had.
"You'll just love it," Rycky promised, "The mud really opens up your pores, and the couples tubs are very cozy."
"It sounds filthy." Brienne muttered.
Jaime quirked an eyebrow at her, "I should hope so, or there'd be no point really."
"I didn't mean that kind of filth."
"Which kind?"
"Well, the kind where, uh…" Brienne faltered to a stop as the man's mouth twitched in amusement.
"Some of our patrons do worry about the mud, Lady L," Rycky hastened to reassure her, "but afterwards the attendants will spray you both down before you get into the jetted tub."
Imagination racing ahead of her need to refuse any such activity, Brienne pictured her accidental companion being slowly revealed as he was rinsed clean of clinging mud. There was a startling rush of heat to her face - and other areas south of it - that had naught to do with the afternoon sun.
"I think not, Rycky." She said firmly, surprised to catch Jaime blushing as he turned away, fresh drink in hand.
He was silent for a long moment, watching the miniature waves lapping at the shore. "So, dinner and dancing?" He said, his back still to them.
"Yes, at eight," Rycky picked up Brienne's old glass with its melting ice and Jaime's, still half full of orange liquid.
"I am a bit weary of eating my supper alone." Jaime said so quietly Brienne wondered if he meant them to hear. He bowed his head a little, blond hair lifting in the breeze, exposing the pale skin on the back of his neck, untouched by the sun. It made him seem strangely vulnerable, despite his broad shoulders and brash confidence.
"At eight. We'll be there," Brienne found herself telling Rycky, "Though I'm not much of a dancer, really."
"No worries!" He assured her, "We have a fantastic instructor. He'll show you all the latest sexy dance moves." Rycky held his tray up with one hand and put the other low on his belly, his hips beginning to swivel and sway in a way Brienne had never been able to achieve.
Jaime turned back to watch, catching Brienne's eye as their beach boy began to hum and move his feet to a rhythm of his own. "What do you call that dance?" He asked.
The younger man stopped humming to answer, but didn't seem to know where his hip's off switch was, "My friends call it the Ryck Roll. I just make it up as I go."
"That's something, isn't it honey?" Jaime was all charm again, and Brienne wondered if she'd imagined the forlorn tone in his voice earlier. She nodded in answer, wondering at herself for being so easily manipulated. Well, she could always cancel before their reservation time.
"Can I get you two a snack in the meantime? Shall I send an attendant out to apply fresh sunblock? Or would you like to swim? I know you always like an afternoon dip, ser. Maybe you'd like an inner tube or two? "
"I fear I may be too...inbrianated to swim." Brienne announced, waving her hand at the water.Besides, this sarong is the only thing keeping me from being ninety percent naked.
"Inbreeniated?" Jaime grinned at her.
She frowned and tried again, "In-ee-breenated."
"In-Brienne-ee-ated."
"No. In-ee-brien…" Fuck. Better not attempt intoxicated either. "Drunk. I am too drunk to swim."
"That's hasn't stopped me," Jaime said.
"We have many lifeguards. We've never had a guest drown yet."
Yet. Brienne looked around, noticing for the first time that there were tall towers set at regular intervals along the beach, all occupied by deeply tanned men and women in red bathing suits.
"We'll take a couple of tubes, Rycky." Jaime smilingly patted the lad's shoulder, sending him on his way.
Brienne watched him leave, trying to decide if he was still dancing or if walking in the sand was making his arse twitch like that.
"To be honest Jaime, I really don't think it's a good idea."
"The inner tubes? You'll love 'em."
"I meant swimming. Going in the water."
"Oh. I've never thought of you as one of those women."
"One of what women?"
"The kind who only wear a bikini for show."
"It's not like I've got any reason to show off." Brienne said coolly.
"I'm not reason enough?"
Brienne sighed. "I meant that I didn't come out here to be seen. It's not like I would excite anyone's notice." She gestured at herself.
Her faux-husband's brows furrowed and his eyes flicked down to her toes and traveled up slowly. He met her eyes, smiled, and repeated his examination. Brienne crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. "What are you doing?"
"Noticing you."
"Well…well stop."
"Too late, sweetling. That ship sailed even before our first date. You haven't escaped my notice a day since."
"There was never any first date." Brienne stomped her foot in the sand, an action as ineffectual as reasoning with this man appeared to be.
"What would you call it then? Is it no longer only a first date when it lasts until the next afternoon?"
"When what lasts?"
"I was talking about the date itself, but there were other things that lasted longer than expected-"
Brienne's mouth dropped open, "We certainly never slept together on a first date!"
"Well, if you're going to call that time we shared a table at the coffee shop a first date, then I suppose we didn't."
"That hardly qualifies as a date."
"I'm glad you agree. If it makes you feel better you can pretend we didn't have sex until date 1.5. It was after midnight, was it not?"
"I don't need to pretend anything."
"I'd be crushed if you had." His grin turned to a pout, "Or ever did."
"We're pretending right now! I'm sorry Mr. Lannister," Brienne uncrossed her arms and put her hands on her hips, "But I'm beginning to wonder if you might be experiencing some sort of delusion. It might be best if find somewhere else to sit." Far away.
"I'm drunk, Brienne. Not delusional. There's a difference."
"Is there?" She bent to pick up the small satchel she'd left next to the chaise, making a few grabs at it before getting a grip on the strap. She stood up slowly, hoping feigned dignity would make up for the fact that her head suddenly weighed five stone and the beach was tilting dangerously.
Jaime reached out a steadying hand and Brienne realized she was swaying like a palm tree in a gentle breeze. "Tell me: are you delusional or drunk right now?" He asked.
"What do you think? I'm obviously not delusional."
"Which leaves drunk."
Jaime's hand had tightened on her arm and with a start she realized he was trying to ease her back onto her chair as he sat down on his. Her legs folded like fresh laundry and she sat with a graceless thump.
"Oh gods," she whispered, "I really am. I'm sloshed."
"Pickled." Jaime agreed in a pleasant tone.
"Schnockered."
"Buttered."
"Buttered? Haven't heard that one."
"It fits."
"Oh." Brienne tried to concentrate. What did the kids call it back in uni? Ah. "Three shits to the wind."
"Three shits to the wind?" Jaime laughed, sliding his hand down her arm until, meeting her fingers, he let it rest there.
"Bollocks. Is it not 'wind?'?"
"No, it's 'wind' all right."
"Good. Also, um, blotto, boiled and…" Brienne let her head fall back and contemplated the sky, searching for another 'b' word. "Besotted!"
"Me, too, I think." Jaime turned her hand over on his knee and traced the lines of her palm with one finger. His touch was light and her hand tingled as he brushed the line curving from her wrist to just above her thumb, and then outlined each finger. The tingling spread and her heart was pounding even harder than her head.
"So what's my fortune?"
"Hm?" Jaime looked up.
Don't stop now. "My fortune. Aren't you reading my palm?"
"Oh. Yes, that's exactly what I'm doing." His sudden grin caught at her fraying resolve to leave. "You want to know what I see?"
Brienne nodded. She'd rarely achieved this particular stage of being drunk, where everything had such a lovely softness to its edges. Generally she careened right past it to praying to the Porcelain Seven and wishing she were dead.
Spreading her hand out on his knee, Jaime examined it, fingers dancing slowly over her palm, "This is your Life Line," he said, following a line near her fingers, his voice so close to her ear that she shivered. "It's pretty long, but it fades up here near the end, when you're about one hundred and fourteen and forced to limit dancing to once a week." He smoothed his finger over the next lower crease and then doubled back and did it again. "And this one is your Heart Line. Do you feel it?"
"Feel what?"
"Your Heart Line. When I touch it like this, does it echo in your heart?"
It sure echoes somewhere."Should it?"Wait; is he giving me a hand job?
"Honestly? No clue. I've never read anyone's palm before."
"Oh." Lulled but oddly roused by his touch, Brienne looked from her open hand on Jaime's knee to his face. Her first impression of him as unusually handsome still held, but up close she was strangely fascinated by the sparse gray and blond stubble along his chin and jaw, the curl of dark eyelashes against his cheek when his eyes closed, and the glint of his teeth as he chewed at his lower lip. How would it feel, to touch those lips with mine?
Dreamlike, Brienne leaned forward, about to bestow a drunken kiss when Jaime looked up from her hand. Their eyes, barely a dozen inches apart, met. Brienne froze, shocked by what she'd nearly done.
"Hola! Time to cool off!" Rycky's cheerful voice came between them like a well-aimed hose and they looked up to see him clutching two enormous inner tubes.