Jaime had never been tortured, but if he had to imagine what it was like, it couldn't have been far off from having to sit in an unforgiving saddle day in and day out watching Arthur fucking Dayne's ass bounce atop his horse. Sorry, Ser Arthur fucking Dayne. The man wasn't even particularly attractive; he wasn't unattractive by any means, but there was nothing remarkable about his person, other than his purple eyes. If he hadn't been the Sword of Morning, Jaime probably wouldn't have given him more than a passing glance.
Of course, he was the Sword of Morning.
He had bested the Smiling Knight in single combat, and Jaime had been enraptured by the way his body had moved and by the modified technique he had adopted to wield his greatsword.
Jaime still had trouble believing that he was a knight now, too. Dayne had said he deserved it for his valor in the field. Jaime didn't agree that he'd done anything particularly valorous. Most of the bandits had been peasants who had never trained with a sword before joining up with the Kingswood Botherhood, and Jaime had barely broken a sweat cutting them down like dogs. And he had not been able to kill the only two outlaws who had presented any sort of challenge, being firstly Big Belly Ben, whom Jaime had stopped from smashing in Lord Crakehall's skull but had to let escape as he stood guard over the old man's prone form on the ground, and secondly the Smiling Knight, whom Jaime had fought to a standstill but hadn't been able to finish off.
Still, Jaime had enough sense not to argue the point. He hadn't expected to have the honor of knighthood bestowed on him for at least another year, and more probably two, and he wasn't about to talk himself out of it happening early.
As he had knelt before Ser Arthur Dayne and looked up the length of his body as the Kingsguard recited the words to make him a knight, Jaime had fallen just a little bit in love with him.
Or at least with the idea of him.
The reality didn't quite live up to Jaime's expectations, as Arthur was far too serious and boring a man to keep Jaime's attention for long. He may be a perfect knight, but he was imperfect wanking material. Even if he had a nice ass.
As if Dayne knew what he was thinking and wanted to put a stop to it, the Kingsguard slowed his horse until Jaime came alongside him and no longer had such a good view.
"Are you excited to return to King's Landing, Jaime?" Dayne asked, as if he really had an interest in knowing.
"I am excited to visit the capitol, ser, but I don't think of it as returning," replied Jaime. At the other man's inquisitive look, he clarified, "I only visited once, when I was six. As you can imagine, I was kept in the wheelhouse until we stopped right in front of the door of the Tower of the Hand, and I was watched over constantly by nursemaids who didn't share my enthusiasm for exploring."
Arthur laughed, bright and loud, and reached across the space between their horses to clap Jaime on the shoulder. It put Jaime in mind of other reasons why the man might grasp his shoulders, and he had to discreetly adjust his position in the saddle.
"I understand, my young friend. I myself only have vague memories of Sunspear, and my younger sister Ashara has none, though our mother loves to talk about our visit as if we were old enough to remember."
Jaime laughed out of politeness and hoped that it sounded genuine. He was not used to having to put on a show for the benefit of others, being not only a Lannister but the Lannister heir. But Arthur Dayne was a member of the Kingsguard, the Sword of Morning, and arguably the most skilled knight alive, besides being the person who had granted Jaime his own knighthood. Jaime desperately wanted the other man to like him.
"Is it the sights, then, that have drawn you to King's Landing?" pressed Arthur, once their laughter had died down. "Or is seeing your father the main attraction?"
"My sister," Jaime corrected him. "It's been three years since I saw Cersei."
Uncle Tyg and Uncle Gery must have said something to Jaime's father when they had returned home from the tournament in Oldtown, because only a few weeks after Jaime had returned to Crakehall, he had been summoned to Casterly Rock. When he had arrived, his sister had been long gone to King's Landing. He had gone into a rage more terrible than any he'd ever had before, even as a young child, and even worse than anything Cersei herself had ever managed. His father had been unmoved. Though Jaime had visited home two or three times a year since then, Cersei had never been there.
Arthur smiled and his purple eyes grew soft. "Yes, I see. I take any chance I can to see Ashara and Allyria. I think that your sister will be pleased to see you as well—Lady Cersei mentions you to me almost every time we speak."
That night, as he fidgeted in his bedroll trying to find a comfortable position on the hard ground, Jaime thought about what Arthur had said.
Cersei was not a faithful correspondent. And whatever letters she did remember to send were usually full of court gossip and complaints about various people she felt had wronged her. There was rarely anything in them for or about Jaime himself, usually not even a line to say that she missed him.
Jaime's letters told her about his training and the tourneys he'd been in, of course. There were plenty of complaints about the indignities of polishing an old man's boots and the incompetent idiots he was forced to spar with. Once, he had filled nearly a whole scroll of parchment extolling the virtues of the two new horses his father had sent him, even though he knew that Cersei cared next to nothing for horses. But he usually tried to include things in his letters that he thought she would like to know.
And he had always, always, been sure to say how much he loved her and missed her.
He was still thinking about it the next morning when the towers of the Red Keep appeared in the distance (sometime long after the smell had begun to assault his nose). Had Cersei mentioned him to Ser Arthur because she missed him? Had she done it simply because she knew how much Jaime admired Arthur as a knight? Had she had been trying to promote him to the man?
When they rode through the bronze gate of the Red Keep and into the courtyard, they were met by a small army of servants—stable hands to take care of their horses, serving girls to offer them refreshments, pages to give messages to various lords and knights in their retinue. Jaime ignored all of them, for he only had eyes for Addam Marbrand, who was standing clear on the other side of the enormous courtyard and watching Jaime with rapt attention, as if he were the only person who existed.
Addam seemed to have grown even taller than the last time Jaime had seen him almost half a year ago, and his face had grown leaner and more handsome. His copper hair, which now nearly brushed his shoulders, was shining in the late afternoon sun like a beacon. It drew Jaime off his horse and across the yard, barely noticing any of the knights or squires or servants he weaved through until he finally reached his friend.
Best friend? Lover?
Jaime wanted to kiss him, or at least embrace him, but he settled for a brief, manly display of clasped shoulders.
A grin spread across Addam's face, and a deeper, secret smile danced in his eyes.
"Well met, Ser Jaime. And congratulations."
"Why thank you, Ser Addam," Jaime replied, glad that his back was to the crowd in case the expression on his face really did look as dopey as it felt. "But what are you doing here?"
"Your father sent me to intercept you before you went into the great hall. The king is in a dreadful bad mood today and seems angry at Lord Tywin, specifically," explained Addam as he led Jaime away from the crowd and into the Tower of the Hand. "He thought it best if you stay out of sight this evening."
Jaime shook his head. "That's fascinating, Addam, but I meant what are you doing here, in King's Landing."
Addam was a much more faithful correspondent than Cersei. They dared not say anything incriminating in their letters, in case they fell into the wrong hands, most particularly Lord Tywin's hands. But ever since they had met again at the tourney earlier that year, they had kept each other updated on their lives and travels and spoke about anything and everything else under the sun that came to mind. Therefore, Jaime knew that after Addam had been knighted earlier that year, he had left Tywin's service and returned home.
Addam waved him off as they passed two serving girls coming down the narrow spiral staircase that wound its way up the Tower of the Hand.
Addam and Jaime climbed upwards past several doorways, which Jaime assumed led to various audience chambers and household bedchambers, until Jaime thought they must be nearing the top of the Tower. Even though there were few people as physically fit as Jaime in the Seven Kingdoms, his legs started to burn by the time they were halfway up. A blurry memory came to him suddenly, of his father carrying him in his arms up the stairs to the nursery, with Jaime blearily nuzzling his face into Tywin's shoulder. It was so completely bizarre to think of his father doing such a thing that Jaime was certain he hadn't imagined it out of whole cloth… but if it had happened, it must have only been because his mother had been there. Jaime was sure that every last shred of softness and fatherly affection in Tywin had died with Joanna.
Finally, just when Jaime had begun giving himself a mental lecture to keep climbing the stairs (to not ask for a breather in front of Addam), his friend grasped him by the wrist and pulled him at a near-run down a narrow hallway and through a door. He found himself unceremoniously shoved backwards, his back hitting the door they had just closed behind them with such force that his head nearly bounced off the hard wood as well.
"Gods, I've missed you," murmured Addam just before he crashed his lips to Jaime's.
Jaime was mildly surprised, for only a few seconds, then he melted into the kiss. It was a bit awkward physically, given that Jaime was a full two inches taller than Addam and was wearing armor when his lover was not. And it was a bit awkward mentally, because he had always been the physically dominant partner in every encounter he'd ever had (even if Cersei had been the one directing him what to do, he had been physically in control). But after a very short time, Jaime decided that he thoroughly enjoyed the feeling of Addam's body pressing him against the door, and the way that Addam's tongue demanded entrance to his mouth and his hands tangled in Jaime's hair.
Unfortunately, the blasted man pulled away just when Jaime was starting to really relax. Jaime scowled at him and leaned forward to chase his retreating mouth. Addam allowed another, brief kiss through his laughter.
"There's no time, Jaime," he said, his lips brushing against Jaime's with every syllable. "There's a bath waiting in your chambers, and Lord Tywin expects you to join him for dinner in less than an hour."
"You shouldn't start what you can't finish, Marbrand," declared Jaime. He had meant to sound harsh, but it came out more like whining than anything.
An attractive blush crept across Addam's cheeks as he confessed, "I didn't plan this. But then I saw you ride in with your golden armor on your golden stallion, and I couldn't wait until tonight for a taste."
"You could always come wash my back for me," Jaime cajoled him, only half teasing.
"No!" cried Addam, although he was laughing again. "Go! Bathe, dine with your father, and come back here tonight." Then, before Jaime could offer further objections, he opened the door, sending Jaime stumbling backwards into the hall. "One floor up, last door on the left."
Jaime sulked all the way to his chambers, but as soon as he got there he realized what Addam had meant. Whereas the floor just below had been seemingly empty except for the two of them, here there were servants fluttering about everywhere. Even a quick encounter (and he wasn't keen for Addam to think of him as quick) would have made the servants suspicious about what had taken him so long to get to his chambers. And certainly Adam couldn't have kissed him or stroked his cock with so many servants running around to help Jaime out of his armor, offer him clothing (since he was only traveling with a small saddlebag), and rinse his hair for him.
He spent longer than he ought in the tub, luxuriating in the still-warm water well after he had finished scrubbing the filth from his hair and body. After spenidng the last several months sleeping on the ground, shitting in the woods, and having blessed few opportunities to dunk himself in a handy cold stream, he had to admit that the bath was almost as good as having Addam suck him to completion.
It ended up that his hair was still damp when he entered the Hand's private solar at the top of the tower, despite him not having gotten what he wanted from his friend.
He certainly looked a sight, with his wet hair and too-short sleeves and his doublet too-tight across the chest and shoulders. He knew that his borrowed clothing must belong to his father—the quality was far too fine for it to belong to anyone else—and it had amused Jaime to know that he had finally outgrown Tywin. But upon entering the room and meeting his father's eyes, all amusement was instantly replaced by nerves and longing and a feeling as though he had disappointed the man.
"Jaime, how lovely of you to join me," said Tywin as Jaime found a seat across from him. "Given you were so eager to visit that you only gave me a few hours' notice of your arrival, I'm surprised at your tardiness now."
He was only five minutes late, but the only person in the world who was allowed to be late was Tywin. Well, and the king, Jaime supposed, but only because Tywin couldn't openly rebuke the king.
"I apologize for the short notice, Father. I didn't have a raven about my person or my own riders to send ahead."
The corner of his father's mouth twitched, and for one glorious, delusional moment Jaime thought that he might have managed to amuse him. But no, he couldn't have.
"Where's Cersei?" he asked before Tywin had a chance to say anything else.
He looked about the solar as if he might have missed her presence, although obviously she was not likely to appear from behind the drapes or from underneath the desk.
"She is dining with Princess Elia. She did wail and rage that I wouldn't let her break her prior engagement to dine with you, but one does not simply back out of a commitment to a member of the royal family."
Jaime was surprised to conclude, from the way his father was looking at him, that Tywin had only added that explanation at the end for Jaime's benefit. He was so startled by his father's unexpected attempt at kindness that he found himself unable to respond.
Tywin stared at him with cool, assessing eyes, which were the same shade of green as Jaime's but held none of Jaime's warmth or humor. At last, after Tywin had found whatever he was looking for, he said, "I do realize, Jaime, that you traveled here to see your sister, not me, but I could not pass up the opportunity to dine alone with you. I want to discuss your future."
Without interference from your sister, Jaime silently finished his father's sentence.
"What about it?" he asked aloud.
"I have sent ravens to Kevan and Genna," Tywin began without preamble. "You will spend time with each of them every day to learn their respective duties. When I return home, which I expect will happen within the next year, then you will spend time with me instead. It is time that you learn what it means to be Lord of Casterly Rock."
Jaime knew that he was staring with his mouth hanging partly open, but he couldn't help it.
Tywin calmly took a drink from his goblet and leaned back more comfortably in his chair. "Of course, I am hale and whole and may have another forty years left. While I am alive, you will best serve Casterly Rock and the Lannister name by acting as my hand of justice, riding out to deal with bandits and put down rebellions and answer any calls for military aid we may receive. You possess talents and physical advantages that few men have ever possessed, Jaime."
"Thank you, Father," Jaime found himself saying, for that was very close to an admission that Tywin was proud of him.
"Do not thank me for stating bald facts." Tywin frowned and waved his hand dismissively. "The point is that you are destined to become the martial arm of House Lannister, and to that end I plan to give two hundred red cloaks into your service permanently. Not right away, but ideally once you return from your coming of age tour next year. Until then, I have selected thirty men to act as your retinue, to train with you and follow you on your travels. They will be your men, Jaime; they will answer only to you. Although you will, of course, answer to me."
Jamie blinked once, twice, another time. He swallowed down the lump that had suspiciously formed in his throat. He could not think of anything to say.
By the time Jaime returned to his rooms, it was fully dark outside and there were no servants or guards to be found about his chambers anymore. He hastened to change out of his borrowed finery into a plain tunic and pair of breeches, intending to make his way down to Addam's room. When he rushed into the hallway, he almost ran over Cersei. Only his cat-quick reflexes allowed him to avoid bowling her over entirely, but he had to reach out and grab her arms to prevent her from falling.
"Unhand me! How dare you!" she hissed, fierce and furious. Then she looked up from smoothing her dress and her eyes widened, the fury on her face sliding into surprise. "Jaime?"
"Cersei," he breathed out and pulled her into a tight embrace.
"I almost didn't recognize you," she murmured into his chest.
Jaime laughed. "I would have recognized you anywhere, but I have changed more than you in the past three years."
They had last seen each other mere weeks after their twelfth birthday. Cersei had already begun developing her woman's body, and she had only been a few inches shy of the height she was now. Her face had been a bit more pimply and had a bit more baby fat, true, but her features had looked substantially the same as they did now, all these months and years later. Jaime, on the other hand, had been skinny, gangly, baby-faced, and several inches shorter than his sister, and he had essentially grown into a whole new person in their time apart. His face had become leaner, revealing striking cheekbones, and puberty had caused him to develop a strong jawline. Perhaps most noticeably, he had shot upwards to just over six feet during his most recent growth spurt earlier that year, and his hours of training had filled out his chest, arms, and naturally broad shoulders.
Cersei took a step back and ran her eyes slowly over him from head to toe. Finally, she met his eyes.
"Were you looking for me? I wanted to be here to greet you, but Father insisted I dine with the princess."
"He told me," replied Jaime.
He deliberately kept mum on her other question. He didn't want to lie to her within the first minute of seeing each other again, but he could hardly tell her that actually he had been heading out to see his (male) lover and had barely spared her a thought at all since arriving. Cersei was progressive in many ways and often railed against the injustices of traditional gender roles, but he was not stupid enough to think she would go that far in her progressivism. After all, her primary focus was on the ways in which the world repressed her. And he did not want to test whether she loved him enough to support him despite her own feelings.
She ran her hand across his chest and shoulder and down his arm, ending by wrapping her long, delicate fingers around his wrist. She tugged him towards the door across the hall from his.
"Come. I have much to tell you."
His sister's bedroom had identical dimensions to his own, but it seemed much smaller due to the amount of furnishings she had managed to fit in it and the dark red silks she had hung across the walls. She pulled him past the settee and chairs arranged in front of her fireplace and situated him on the end of her bed instead. If Jaime thought it odd, he did not dwell on the feeling.
"Jaime, darling, undo my laces," she ordered and turned to present him with her back as she pulled her golden hair out of his way.
"Won't your maid come in soon?" he asked, wary of being caught in such a position, but he raised his hands to oblige her regardless.
She scoffed. "Of course not. The girl knows better than to come unless I've called her." She peeked over her shoulder at him, and when she spoke next it was in a much softer tone. "It's been dreadful here without you, Jaime."
Jaime focused his eyes on the ties he was working open rather than look at her face.
"I thought you wanted to be here," he said, remembering her letters and how angry she had been at him for insisting their father let her return to Casterly Rock. She had called him a stupid child and advised him never to offer her help again unless she had specifically asked something of him. "Other than the people you don't like, you love being at court."
"Of course I do. I belong here. I should have been queen someday, if not for Father antagonizing the king so that he chose that mealy-mouthed little slut as Rhaegar's bride instead of me." Her voice had grown harder with every word she uttered, but then she took a deep breath and her tense shoulders visibly relaxed. "But that doesn't mean I wasn't desperate to see you every moment of every day. We belong together, Jaime. We should never be separated."
He wasn't sure exactly how they were supposed to have accomplished being together all the time if she had married the prince and he had become Lord of Casterly Rock. But he had known for as long as he could remember (and, honestly, probably longer than that) that it wasn't worth it to disagree with his sister unless he was prepared to fight a war over it.
"There. All done," he said instead, giving a playful tug on the strings of her stays before he released them.
Cersei turned to make her way behind the dressing screen in the corner of the room, caressing Jaime's shoulder as she went. The room was silent save for the rustling of fabric, and Jaime's mind was free to wander to Addam, who was waiting almost directly below where he was sitting. He hoped that his friend was not questioning whether or not Jaime was coming, but dinner with his father had gone overlong, and he had not counted on being waylaid by his sister. He eyed the door, wondering if he would be able to slip out before Cersei finished changing, and how terrible her retribution would be if he did.
Then his sister emerged from behind the dressing screen, and all other thoughts temporarily deserted his mind. She was wearing a silk robe, in Lannister red and tied only loosely at the waist. Her golden curls flowed over her shoulder, concealing one breast, but the outline of the other was clearly visible through the thin fabric. Cersei was, undoubtedly, a gorgeous woman. Jaime could not imagine any other woman who could surpass her in his eyes. Fortunately, he was not attracted to women, so he was in no danger of shaming himself.
He was, primarily, at a loss to understand why she thought it was appropriate to appear this way in front of her brother, twin or no.
"Jaime, we must discuss your future," she said as she perched on the mattress next to him.
"Everyone is so concerned about my future today. I already had this conversation with Father."
Cersei's eyes glittered. "You did? What did he tell you?"
"Only about my training and his plans to make me his enforcer in the Westerlands," Jaime replied warily. He tried to read the expression on his twin's face but was unable to confidently identify it. "Why?"
"Oh, Jaime, dear heart, Father has not been fully honest with you," declared Cersei. "He has planned a betrothal for you. Her lord father will arrive in a fortnight to discuss the dowry, and Father expects the wedding to take place within the year."
"To who?" cried Jaime, now truly alarmed.
"Lysa Tully."
Lysa? Giggling, simpering, childlish Lysa? Jaime thought, feeling nauseated. How could Father do this to me?
But it was obvious, of course, how and why his father would engage him to Lord Tully's younger daughter. Since Tywin's bride had been from within his own house, he needed Jaime and Cersei's marriages to solidify alliances with other kingdoms. And there were precious few eligible ladies for Jaime to marry—most were either far too old or far too young or were already promised elsewhere, like Lysa's elder sister Catelyn. Jaime would much rather have married Catelyn, if it came down to it. He could at least tolerate her presence. There was something about Lysa he found revolting.
Cersei placed her hand on his thigh and leaned into him so that her breasts pressed into his arm. "There is a way for you to escape this ridiculous marriage. A way for you to stay here in the Red Keep, with me, forever."
"What?" Jaime croaked, dumbfounded.
She rubbed his thigh soothingly. "You could join the Kingsguard."
"What?" he found himself repeating.
"You wouldn't have to marry anyone else. You would be mine always. Just as I am yours," she explained, to Jaime's growing horror. "It's perfect, Jaime! And there would be nothing Father could do to prevent it, once King Aerys chooses you."
Jaime stared down at her dazzling green eyes and smiling lips in utter stupefaction, for untold seconds, unable to speak. Until Cersei's hand found its way to his lap, where she cupped his cock through his thin trousers, and he was spurred to action.
"Are you mad?" he nearly shouted as he leapt from the bed. "Even if you could somehow engineer a way to get the king to name me as the new member of the Kingsguard—"
"I can," interjected Cersei. "You can leave it all to me, brother."
"Even if you can," Jaime reiterated as he gesticulated wildly with both hands, "we would not be together! You would still marry someone eventually and leave King's Landing, and I would be at the beck and call of the king."
"Elia will die in childbirth," Cersei told him, as if she could possibly know such a thing. "Everybody says so. She is sickly and frail, and Princess Rhaenys's birth nearly killed her already. She will die trying to give Rhaegar an heir, and he will marry me, as he should have in the first place. I will be queen, and Rhaegar will be only too happy to allow my dear brother to guard me."
Jaime gaped at her, not even caring that he probably looked ridiculous.
"So you will get to marry the man you've always wanted and be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, while I will be forbidden to hold any titles or land. Oh, but I will get to guard your door as you fuck your husband and birth his children."
A frisson of annoyance passed over Cersei's beautiful face, almost too quick for Jaime to catch it. When she spoke, her voice was soft and throaty and held no hint of her anger.
"Jaime, I love you. I don't love Rhaegar. I will only marry him so that I get what I deserve, but I would never condescend to bear his children." She reached for his hand, which Jaime allowed her to take only because he was too stunned to move away. "Aerys and Rhaegar humiliated me by choosing that Dornish cunt over me, but I will have the last laugh. They will make me queen in the end, as it should be, but I will put Lannisters on the throne. Our children. Your children."
If Cersei had argued that he deserved to be a member of the Kingsguard in the same way that she deserved to be queen—because the Kingsguard were the best of the best, and Jaime deserved to be recognized as such—then he might have understood her argument better. But this? Jaime could not understand this. He had been sure that she had concluded, just as he had, that the games of their youth had been childish experiments that should never be mentioned again in their adulthood, much less repeated. Why else would she have been so determined to go to court and marry the prince? Why else would she have called him a stupid child for trying to stop the scheme? Why else would she have been so distant in her letters?
"Cersei," he pronounced her name carefully as he pulled his hand from hers, "I am not interested in you like that."
"What?" it was her turn to say. "Jaime, we belong together! We belong to each other!"
"You're my sister!"
"I'm your twin!" she argued fiercely, green eyes flashing dangerously. "We are two halves of the same whole! And you never had any objections before!"
"Arryk and Erryk Cargyll were twins and both members of the Kingsguard, but I doubt they were fucking each other. Nor are their namesakes, the twins who guard Lady Olenna Tyrell." Although that would be a glorious sight, he mused privately. "And we were children, Cersei. I didn't even know what fucking was. I didn't know what we were doing."
Cersei stared at him mutely for the space of six or seven heartbeats, before her entire demeanor shifted. She reached for the tie of her robe as she leaned back on the mattress, pushing her chest out and displaying her naked breasts and the smooth, golden skin of her stomach nearly all the way down to her cunt to his gaze.
"Jaime, darling, you are only saying these things because you are frightened," she purred as she trailed her hand up her own leg, pulling the crimson fabric up as she went. "But the world has no right to judge us—we are Lannisters. We are lions. They are only sheep. You are the only man worthy of me. Come, my love, take what is yours tonight, and tomorrow I will begin working to have you named to the Kingsguard."
"By the Seven, Cersei, I don't want you!" Jaime shouted as he recoiled from the bed.
He stumbled back several steps before turning away to make for the door. His sister could not put herself to rights in time to follow him, but her enraged shrieks chased him out of her chambers. Fortunately, there were still no servants or guards anywhere in sight to hear her accusations, for anyone who heard her raving would certainly have known that she had offered her body to her brother and been rejected. Jaime was not sure whether there would be any repercussions to him for thwarting his sister's attempt to seduce him, but Cersei would be reviled and ostracized, and their house would likely never recover from the shame.
The walls of the Tower of the Hand were solid stone and thick enough that Cersei's wailing was barely discernable as he descended the stairs and ran down the narrow corridor leading to Addam's room. He burst through the door without knocking and slammed it behind him.
His friend was visibly startled at his abrupt entrance and even more surprised by the state of him.
"Jaime! What's the matter?"
For several moments, Jaime truly contemplated telling Addam what had happened. He thought he could trust the other man, his closest friend, his lover, not to tell anyone. To protect his secrets just as he protected Jaime's back in battle. But it would mean confessing his own sins to Addam—explaining so that he could understand why Cersei would ever have thought that seducing her own brother was possible—and Jaime could not bear the thought of Addam looking at him differently, which he almost certainly would after learning of the things Jaime and Cersei had done to each other. Even perverts who enjoyed the company of other men did not condone incest.
Besides, despite his disgust and terror at the things Cersei had just said and done, a large part of Jaime could not abide putting her life at risk. And what she had suggested had been not only incest but also treason.
"Father has betrothed me to Lysa Tully," he blurted, rather than reveal the true source of his agony.
Addam frowned and rose from his position lounging on his narrow bed, and Jaime willingly fell into his arms.
"You knew that you would be wed someday," Addam said carefully as he stroked Jaime's back. "It will be your job to provide an heir for the Rock."
"I know," Jaime mumbled into the junction between his friend's neck and shoulder, "but I didn't think it would be Lysa Tully. If Father expects me to sire an heir on her, then he's destined for disappointment. I won't be able to get it up."
An unrestrained bark of laughter escaped Addam's mouth before he could repress it.
"Will you be able to get it up for any woman?"
After thinking briefly about the lines and curves of Cersei's body, and even the cold, disapproving beauty of Catelyn Tully, Jaime decided, "Yes, if I had to. But not for Lysa."
"Perhaps you can convince Lord Tywin that you are happy to marry, but not this particular bride."
"But I'm not happy to marry," Jaime protested weakly.
Addam kissed the side of his head affectionately, his touch quickly becoming more sensual in nature as he trailed his lips and tongue down the side of Jaime's neck. "You'll just have to cope," he said into the flesh of Jaime's throat. "Maybe I will suck your cock just before you visit your bride's bedchamber, until you're hard enough and desperate enough to do your duty. The whole transaction should only require you to be stiff for a handful of seconds to spill your seed in the correct orifice. And when you're finished you can roll right off the poor girl and return to me."
Jaime could only laugh at the ridiculous picture his friend painted, but he couldn't deny that he was at full mast just from Addam's words.
"Maybe I will do the same for you when it's time to produce an heir for Ashemark."
Addam gasped into Jaime's neck. "Would you? Suck me?"
The clear disbelief in the man's voice was, Jaime had to admit, entirely fair. During their one and only night together several months prior, Addam had used his mouth on Jaime twice, but Jaime had only been willing to use his hand on Addam. At the time, he had hardly spared a thought for how discouraging his refusal must have been for Addam. He had been focused on his own embarrassment and the notion that having another man suck his cock was not going too far, but Jaime sucking another man's cock would be a point of no return. He would well and truly be a sodomite.
That thought still lingered in his head, unwelcome though it was, but in the months they had been apart he had realized how silly it was. He was an invert whether he wanted to be one or not (as now, unfortunately, also evidenced by the fact that his cock had not given a single, solitary twitch at the sight of a gorgeous naked woman begging him to lay with her, his sister or no). And given that incontrovertible fact, there was no reason to deny himself all the pleasures of the flesh that came from being with another man.
Not that he felt capable of saying so aloud. Instead of responding verbally, he gently pushed Addam backwards towards the bed, fully intent on proving his willingness through action.
And when face to face with such a large "issue", he thought to himself in wry amusement as he knelt between Addam's thighs and took his first tentative lick of the man's cock, I can hardly be blamed for putting off my other problems until tomorrow.