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they say your body is full of sin (it's the door through where peace begins)

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Brienne sat with her head pressed against her steering wheel, trying to find the confidence that had overtaken her when she’d turned her camera on for Jaime and let him see her for the first time. But then, she'd been sitting in the same spot for three minutes, and still hadn't seen a scrap of said confidence, so perhaps her supply had been exhausted. It was as if the woman from the past two days had been someone else, someone brave and reckless and optimistic, and now that woman had decided to take a vacation.

Not that she was incapable of being brave, of course, but it was so much easier to do so for the needs of others. It was one of the things she loved most about her job, and undoubtedly what made her so good at it. When she saw people hurting or being exploited, it was easy for her to enter the fray, to pick up her notepad and wield her words as effectively as a sword. 

It was so much harder to do so for herself. 

She hadn’t planned on spending her day like this, sitting in her car and trying to find her courage. She’d hoped that they would meet one day, but it had been a fuzzy thought for a distant future. Jaime had sounded so triumphant in his messages, though, so free and happy that she couldn't have denied him even if she’d wanted to. She'd been prepared to drive halfway across the North if it meant that she could finally see him without the barrier of a screen, or touch his skin instead of her own. She'd been riding high on that feeling all morning--at least until he’d sent her his address and she’d realized her hours-long trek and mental bolstering time had been reduced to a fifteen minute drive across town.

The knowledge that he was so close had shaken her for reasons she didn't understand at first because it seemed like it should be a good thing. It had taken her til lunchtime to realize that she had still thought of Jaime as unattainable, even with the declarations and demonstrations. He still seemed like he couldn't really be hers. 

Knowing that he was? Thrilling and terrifying all at once.

Her phone buzzed from where it was tucked underneath her thigh, and Brienne slid it out with a trickle of trepidation. 

It was Jaime. Of course it was.

Should I be worried that you're 5 minutes late and that there's an unfamiliar car parked outside of the complex? Or am I just being paranoid and ridiculous?

Brienne laughed despite herself, some of her nerves thawing at the thought of Jaime watching for her, nose pressed against the window like a puppy.

Maybe ridiculous, but not paranoid. 

He wrote back immediately. So I SHOULD be worried?

Gods, he was so cute. She'd never understand how a man who was so devastatingly sexy, so unapologetically erotic, could also be so fucking adorable. It was frankly unfair.

It’s just Jaime , she told herself. Jaime, who she'd had multiple orgasms with; Jaime, who she'd talked to about how it felt when she'd broken her elbow her senior year of college, two weeks before Nationals; Jaime, who had gotten choked up when they'd watched A Flea BottomTale and the father had fought so hard for his son. 

Jaime, who had told her so much about his life and the way he’d struggled to break free. Jaime, who’d made her laugh and who’d made her heart ache and who’d let her see him so broken that she’d felt bold enough to let him look into her eyes so that she could try and hold him together. Even though that moment before she’d turned her camera on had been one of the most nerve-wracking of her life, it had been worth it. Jaime's face had been so open to her, so awed and moved and hungry, that she'd immediately known there was no artifice behind it. Even now, she couldn't describe the sheer relief she'd felt at knowing he accepted her as she was, that he wanted her as she was.

She hoped it was the same sort of relief he'd felt in knowing that he was accepted and wanted too. 

It was still just Jaime, and not having a screen between them surely wouldn't change everything else that was.

No need to worry , she typed back quickly before she could lose the speck of bravery that had found her. I'm on my way up.

He sent her an unreasonably long string of emojis that included a party hat, a shocked face, water droplets, four eggplants, a lemon, and a face with heart-eyes amongst others. She refused to examine it too closely. 

"Here we go," she whispered, fluttering her hands over her hair before forcing herself to open the door, her frame tense at the idea of Jaime watching her.

He watched you have an orgasm two nights ago, Brienne , she told herself. Walking to a building is not a big deal in comparison.

It felt like a huge one.

She took the stairs up to the third floor, wanting to give herself those few extra minutes to center herself. Despite that, her thoughts began to spiral as she opened the door to exit out into the hallway. How was she supposed to greet him? How did you say hello to someone you'd never met and yet knew so intimately? Why was there no book of guidelines for this situation? Surely online friendships and relationships were common enough that there should be some sort of etiquette standard by now. 

Brienne tried to regulate her breathing as she passed door after door, her eyes blindly looking at apartment numbers. Should she hug him? Kiss him? Pick him up and carry him to his bed? This was torture, worse than her first public presentation in college--at least then she'd had a rubric. She wasn't sure she knew what she was doing here.

And then she turned the corner and felt her feet stutter to a stop at the sight of Jaime, standing outside his door. His expression was the same open, blindingly hopeful one she'd seen two nights before, and she knew exactly what she was doing there.

Because it was just Jaime, and she'd never been as safe with anyone as she was with him. 

"Hi," she said, feeling a decidedly silly smile stretch across her face. 

"Hi," he echoed in a wondering voice. "You're really here." He took two steps closer to her, his eyes roaming over her face with the same dazed appreciation she'd seen when she'd turned the camera on.

"I'm here," she agreed. Her feet carried her to him without her permission. Her eyes were as hungry as his, taking in every detail of him as if she'd never seen him before. She supposed she hadn't; not like this. Jaime on video was painfully appealing, but Jaime in person, without the barrier of a screen between them, was devastatingly beautiful. 

There was an awkward moment as his hands lifted and then retreated, hers raising a half second too late, then dropping again as his came up one more time. She huffed out a laugh and Jaime chuckled with her, the sound as dark and rich as the chocolate he favored.

"I'm glad I'm not the only one who wasn't sure how to do this," Brienne muttered, her skin pinkening a little.

"Oh, I know how to do this," Jaime told her huskily, his eyes dragging over her in a gaze so intense she could feel it press against her skin like fingertips. "Trust me, I've spent a lot of time thinking of exactly how I want to do this." Brienne felt a tremor ripple through her, both at his words and the expression in his eyes. For a moment, his eyes sharpened as he cataloged her reaction, watching as the blush on her face deepened. He grinned then, his eyes shifting from heated to playful. "I just spent more time thinking about later , not necessarily the initial five minutes."

"Jaime," she groaned, covering her hands with her face.

"Let me guess--you can't stand me?" His laugh now was much louder, but still as affectionate. 

"I really can't."

He looked at her another second, and his smile slid right through Brienne, his happiness hooking into her heart. "Even though you can't stand me, can I hug you, Brienne?"

She'd heard him say her name hundreds of times before, had heard him say it in a laugh, choke on it in a moan, but somehow it seemed like she'd never heard him say it quite like this. Jaime’s combination of hope and want and vulnerability had always destroyed her, right from the very beginning, but never quite like this, with all of it so freely worn on his face.

"Jaime," she said helplessly. "Of course . Yes, you can hug me."

"I didn't want to presume," he started to say, but it came out muffled as their bodies finally worked in accord and their arms slid out to wrap around each other.

Gods, if she’d thought the stretch of Jaime's body against hers would be the best thing she'd ever felt, it still didn't do justice to the reality of him in her arms, or of her in his. She could feel the slight tremble of his muscles beneath the warm stretch of him, could feel the heat of his wide palms pressing into her shoulder and her ribs as he held her tightly, the long, firm line of his thighs snugged against hers.

Jaime let out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a purr, angling his face to press into her neck, his nose skimming along her neck before nudging against her ear. Brienne bit back a whimper at the sensation, at the shock that erupted along the path his touch had taken, and tried to center herself with a deep breath. It only served to fill her lungs with the scent of him, something fresh and masculine and subtly woodsy that despite going straight to her head, also made her feel vulnerable and safe.

She turned her face towards him, burying it into his hair as her arms tightened around him. There had been so many times over the course of her life that she'd wondered if she'd ever find where she belonged, a space that was made just for her and nobody else. 

It was insane and ridiculous and too soon, but she didn't think she'd wonder about that anymore.

Brienne didn't know how long they stood there in the hallway, Jaime's door slightly ajar behind them, wrapped around each other and swaying gently from side to side. Long enough that her arms began to ache slightly, and a neighbor passed by with his dog, giving them a look that was both curious and concerned. 

Finally, though, their embrace loosened, and Jaime pulled back to smile softly at her. "I'm really glad you're here," he told her, his eyes still soft and wondering. "Are you hungry?"

For what? Brienne was tempted to ask, but resisted. "A little bit."

"Then come on in," Jaime told her, releasing her so he could step back and push his door open. One of his hands moved to press into the small of her back, guiding her forward, and Brienne shivered a little as the heat that tickled up her spine as she walked ahead of him.

The silence of his apartment was nearly overwhelming as he shut the door, every inch of her skin alive with the knowledge of how alone they were. In a way, she'd been alone with him dozens of times in this same small space, talking to him as he stretched out on the couch after work, watching a baseball game on a Sunday evening and arguing over a call, even once watching his body curve towards her in desperation as he shook apart and called out her name. 

But knowing that they were alone, that he could bend her over the couch like he'd described, or stretch her out on it with his mouth between her thighs--it added a new tension to her frame.

She found herself looking around as she took her jacket off and hung it beside his, taking in the slightly dingy white walls and basic dark furnishings like she'd never seen it before. His living area stood alone, just a brief entrance area and a boxy room, a door cut into two of the walls, leading to other spaces. She thought briefly of her own open-concept apartment, all the rooms flowing together and filled with sunlight, and her heart ached a little for him, knowing he had snapped up the first place he could afford. There was so little of Jaime here, no photos or decorations or the little random pieces that added personality to a home. Other than a set of keys tossed onto the coffee table, and a pair of shoes beside the door, it looked as if nobody lived here at all.

The handful of times she'd seen it on his video calls hadn't prepared her for how little in common the sparse room had with the man who called it home. 

"Come on,” Jaime said, reaching out to take her hand, his fingers tangling with hers. “I’ve been waiting months for this.” His voice was low and eager, anticipation heavy in every word. 

Brienne flushed at his words, swallowing nervously. She’d been waiting months too, but somehow hadn’t considered that they would just immediately fall into bed without any discussion or lead-up, or anything more personal than just ‘hey let’s get to it.’  She was still trying to decide if she was thrilled by his urgency or anxious about the sudden shift in events as he tugged her forward towards one of the doors. 

“I’ve been planning this ever since the day you told me about your victory tart,” Jaime continued, and she felt a shiver of anticipation at the memory. “I didn’t know if we'd ever get the chance, but I've thought about it."

Well this isn’t exactly how I thought it would go, but really, we’ve talked plenty. We can talk later. After. If I still have the mental capacity to form words. She couldn’t seem to make the words form in her mouth now, though, so it seemed unlikely that she’d be able to after he’d put his hands and mouth and cock to work, and wrung a few orgasms from her body. It didn’t matter now, though, not when Jaime was already pushing open a door and pulling her through it.

But it wasn't his bedroom.

Jaime’s kitchen looked exactly as it always did, aside from the fact that he was regrettably fully clothed. It was small, but completely spotless, and here were the personal touches that showed who Jaime was--a trio of potted herbs in the windowsill; a hanging dish towel with a stylized drawing of an oven and the words When in doubt, pull it out ; the copper pans he’d saved up for and had been so excited to show his viewers. There was a charm and a peacefulness to this room that his living room lacked, a cheerful sort of air that persisted despite the fact that she’d seen him do a number of filthy things within this space.

“Oh,” Brienne heard herself say, then immediately blushed when he smirked at her, mortified that he’d picked up on the slight ring of disappointment in her voice. Just because she wanted to talk a little before having sex with Jaime didn’t mean that she didn’t also want to ride that rush of lust that had been simmering inside her since Maiden’s Night. “What exactly have you been planning?”

Jaime pulled them to a stop as he turned towards her, shifting a little closer until she was pressed against his counter. His eyes were teasing, but full of a heat that she recognized, and when he spoke, his voice was the low purr that she’d heard so often. “I think at the moment I’d like to hear what you thought I was planning. Or maybe what you were planning.” He studied her face, his lips quirking a little as he lifted a finger to trail down her neck and across the line of her clavicle, his eyes going dark. “What’s made you turn so red, Brienne?”

She didn’t know how she could want to hide her face and also bury her tongue in his mouth at the same time, but she could feel her blush spreading even further and her heartbeat picking up speed. “Shut up, Jaime,” she said instead, scowling a little when he chuckled, close enough that the warmth of his breath washed across her skin, low enough that she felt her belly clench. 

“What?” he murmured. “I was just wondering what sort of depravities you thought I’d lured you here for, Ser B.”

The nickname was somehow also worse in person, and Brienne briefly wondered if she’d be able to survive the night. “I can’t stand you,” she heard herself say, a familiar refrain by now.

It was as if a switch flipped immediately, his sultry expression washed away by the glow of his smile. “So you’ve said,” he told her, and the joy in his voice was possibly more deadly than the desire. “For some reason, I don’t believe you.” He hugged her again, quickly this time, just a brief squeeze of his body against hers that left her skin tingling nonetheless. “Regardless, I meant that I promised you a hands-on lesson, remember?” She did remember, remembered how she had shivered when she’d seen those words on the screen. “Now, I meant a cooking lesson, since you obviously need the help, but if you wanted a different sort of hands-on instruction, I’m sure I can help with that too.”

“I do not need the help,” she said indignantly.

“With which one?” Jaime asked, smiling as he raked his eyes over her body. “You definitely need the kitchen help, Brienne, but I know very well how skilled you are when it comes to your body.” His eyes lingered on the length of her fingers, then on the thickness of her thighs. “Though I’d be happy to see what else we can teach each other about it.” She drew in a shaky breath, her mind suddenly filled with images of Jaime lifting her to his counter, those sinfully competent fingers learning what made her moan and what made her scream. 

His eyes flicked down to her lips and he leaned forward slightly, his own breath coming quicker. “You have no idea how badly I want to kiss you right now,” he told her roughly. “Your lips are even better in person, and it feels like I’ve been waiting years to taste you.” She watched as he swallowed, wanting to lean forward and suck the apple of his throat into her mouth, wanting to scrape her teeth against the line of his jaw to see how his beard felt against her tongue. His gaze pinned her to the counter as she tried to ignore the dampness between her thighs. “But if I kiss you right now, I’m not going to stop kissing you, not until I’ve tasted every long inch of you. And I really want to make you dinner.”

He took a step back, the tension of his body making it clear that he wanted to do anything but. She’d known that tonight would end with her and Jaime having sex, but it had been a distant, abstract thing to torment her. Now she was here, in the room where she’d so often seen him touch himself, with his eyes and those words just for her, and she was nearly overcome with the knowledge that she was going to fuck Jaime, that he was going to fuck her. She could feel herself growing wetter, could feel the impatient little pulse in her clit where it pressed against the seam of her jeans, and had to fight back the impulse to tell him they could order a pizza if it meant that she got to finally feel his cock driving into her.

Knowing that it was important to him was the only thing that prevented her from doing just that.

“Dinner?” she asked, her voice only slightly strangled. “I've never heard that you can cook anything but sweets. Am I about to end up hungry?”

“Oh, I promise I won’t let you leave here hungry,” Jaime said, and godsdamnit, how was she supposed to not squeeze her thighs together when he said things like that? “I told you, I’m more than just a pretty face. I’m full of all sorts of hidden talents.” He winked at her and then stepped back, turning to the fridge.

She bet he was. “If you can cook, then how come you’ve never done that on any of your shows?”

Jaime paused, and then turned to look at her over his shoulder as he opened the fridge. “Food is one of my favorite things, you know, and one of the first ways I learned how to express myself as something other than a Lannister. For me, baking is easy and fun, something I can do that always seems happy. Desserts are those fun moments in life. They’re celebratory, or rewarding, a pick-me up or a moment of triumph.” He bit his lip, looking suddenly vulnerable. “Cooking is more than that. It’s the everyday survival, and the steady comfort, and the bad days at work, and the nights when you’re exhausted. It feels less impressive than baking does, but that’s what makes it so good. Does that make sense? Cooking isn’t about the big moments, but all the small ones that make up a life. I don’t want to cook for the show, Brienne. I just want to cook for you.”

The surge of tenderness and affection she felt at his words (and the tickle of something else that she refused to examine too closely) was probably ridiculous, but she couldn’t have stopped it if she tried. Food was just food for her, or at least it had been until she’d discovered Jaime baking chocolate lava cakes. But food was more than that to him, and knowing that he wanted to share this part of himself with her, only her, was empowering and humbling all at once.

Jaime held her gaze for another moment, looking uncertain, and she smiled at him, hoping that it would tell him what she couldn’t quite put into words. His shoulders relaxed and he smiled back, a soft curve of his mouth that seemed to pierce right through her and fill her with warmth. She didn’t understand how someone with such a sweet, hopeful smile could’ve survived the nightmare of his family, but she was thankful he had, thankful that he’d come into her life even under the unusual circumstances of their meeting. 

“So what are you making me?” she asked as he began to rummage in the fridge.

“Oh no,” he said teasingly. “I’m not doing all the work while you just watch me, Brienne, no matter how many times we’ve done that in the past.” He turned back towards her, his hands full, and began laughing as his eyes once again roamed over her blushing skin. “I’ll never understand how you manage to turn so red after everything, but I hope it never changes,” he told her fondly, moving past her to deposit his supplies on the counter. “Come on, let’s wash up, and we’ll get started. I think you’re going to love this.”

There was something quietly intimate about standing next to him at his sink, washing their hands in silence, and Brienne could feel her anticipation rising again with every brush of his arm against hers. She wondered if that was just how it was to be around Jaime, to ricochet back and forth between white-hot lust that seemed to crackle down her spine, and a silly sort of warmth that glowed in her chest. She had been around people who had done one or the other, albeit with less intensity, but never anyone who could so easily conjure both.

“The original recipe was actually for zucchini, but I remembered you didn’t like it as much, so tonight we’re making a marinated squash with hazelnuts and ricotta,” Jaime told her once their hands were dry. “Chosen because it’s simple and delicious, but also because you said you loved vegetables but were getting really tired of salads.” 

Brienne was touched that he remembered a conversation from so long ago, a throwaway comment once made as she ate lunch and pouted. She didn’t think she’d ever had anyone pay such close attention to her, who collected those little slivers of herself that she unknowingly handed out. “It sounds wonderful,” she said, smiling back at him. He was wonderful. “My future lunch break self thanks you in advance. So what do we do first?”

“Well first, we preheat the oven to 300,” Jaime told her, moving to do just that. “You remember how important that part is, right? We’ve talked about the necessity of making sure it’s really warmed up and prepared before you put it in.” His grin was wicked and playful, and she laughed even though the memory of him teaching his audience about that was anything but humorous. She had thought about it often, imagining him using his mouth and hands to make sure her body was ready for him.

“I remember,” she said, her voice sliding out low and a little dark, enough to have Jaime arching a brow at her as he re-joined her at the counter. “I may have replayed that culinary lecture a few times.” 

Jaime made a noise, something hungry and pained as he took two quick steps towards her, almost as if he couldn’t help himself. “Have you?” he asked, his voice just as low and dark as hers had been. “Did you think about it while you were in your kitchen, or did you think about it later, when you were alone in bed? Before you made yourself a meal? Or before you made yourself come?” His pupils had spread, the inky black overtaking the green. “Do you ever think about me when you touch yourself?”

Brienne lifted her chin, arching a brow at him. “You know I have, Jaime.”

He moved towards her quickly, a growl slipping out from his mouth, then a grunt when she held up her hands, stopping him before he could press against her. “You’re driving me crazy,” he said, his eyes falling shut as his head fell forward. “I’ve thought about you like that so many times, stretched across your bed, riding your fingers. I wanted it to be true. Knowing that it is and not being able to touch you, not being able to taste you--it’s killing me.”

“You’re the one who insisted on dinner first,” she pointed out, though she couldn’t deny the rush she felt from knowing how much he wanted her, the curl of satisfaction that licked across her skin at knowing she could delay the inevitable and drive them both a little insane in the process, stoking those flames until one of them finally snapped. But for now she forced herself to take a step back and lighten her tone, refusing to give into the urge to tear his tee shirt off his body and put her mouth on his nipples. “What’s next?”

She could tell he wanted to say something suggestive, wanted to pull that very loosely tied bow on her control and see how far he could push her, but he held himself in check. His voice when he answered her was rough and needy, his hunger a tangible thing just below the surface of his words. “You can cut the squash in half lengthwise, and then toss it with a little bit of kosher salt in the colander. It needs to sit for about ten minutes, and then be patted dry. And I guess I’m going to treat my blue balls by roasting the hazelnuts with some oil. Sound good?”

“Yes sir, chef,” she said. It was supposed to come out a little cheeky, overly enthusiastic like the men and women she’d watched on numerous shows over the years. Instead it was low and husky with just enough invitation in her tone to make Jaime’s throat bob again. She wondered if he liked being in charge, if he had stroked himself to the idea of having her firmly in his command, or if he preferred the idea of her taking over, of her using her strength to make him want to obey her.

She’d always imagined both.

Jaime watched her for a moment, the tip of his tongue peeking out to slide across his lip, and Brienne had to force herself to turn away, to take the pre-washed vegetables and a cutting board and focus on the task she’d been assigned, her belly once again knotted with want.

They worked in companionable silence for a while, both of them focused on their tasks, the tension between them a constant low hum. “Now we make the vinaigrette,” Jaime told her once they had the squash sitting and the hazelnuts roasting. “I already have everything measured out just for efficiency’s sake.”

“Do you always do that?” Brienne asked curiously, pulling the mixing bowl to her.

“Only when I feel like I’m not wanting to waste time,” he said. “It saves me about fifteen minutes during my show.”

“And tonight?” She glanced at him as she began to add the garlic, vinegar, sugar, red pepper flakes, and oil into the bowl one at a time.

Jaime leaned on the counter, watching her hands for a moment before looking up at her. He didn't even have to speak for her to know that the shaky equilibrium they'd managed to build as they worked was no more, the lingering thrum of want between them crackling to life again. “Even if it saves us one minute tonight, it’s worth it. I’m looking forward to feeding you, Brienne.” 

She shuddered almost as if he’d commanded it, her heart and hands and cunt all clenching at the heated promise in his voice. She remembered their first interaction, remembered how she’d imagined sitting on his face while she sucked his cock, taking each other at the same time, and had to bite her lip to hold back the moan that wanted to burst free at the thought. “Jaime,” she said, a little helplessly.

“Are you remembering the same thing I am?” he murmured, sliding closer so that his body was pressed against hers, and she cursed at the feel of him against her, the stirring firmness of his cock against her hip. “When you asked me if we could feed each other at the same time?” His hand came around to palm the small of her back, his skin searing hers even through the thin cotton of her shirt. “I think you are,” he continued, leaning forward slightly to brush his nose against the shell of her ear. “Do you know how many times I imagined that after you said it? Have you thought about it too? Are you picturing it now?” He nipped at her ear, his teeth catching lightly on the lobe, and Brienne had to grip the countertop to prevent herself from simply reaching out and dragging him to the floor. 

“If you’re wanting to actually get this meal cooked before anything happens, your plan is extremely flawed,” Brienne managed to choke out. 

“My plan isn’t flawed, just my restraint,” Jaime said, but he stepped back, his hand falling away slowly. “But I’ll behave. I think.”

Brienne nodded, looking blindly down at the bowl, uncomfortably aware of how wet she was. They stood together in silence for a moment, both of them breathing a little hard and fighting for control before Brienne was able to ask, “Anything else go in this?”

“Oh, the mint!” Jaime said. “I always pick it fresh, hold on.”

She turned to watch him move to his potted plants, his face serious as he examined the one in the middle. His hands brushed over the leaves, his fingertips feathering over them before following a stem down to grasp and pluck with a twist of his wrist. It shouldn’t have made her nipples tighten, imagining the way those fingers would play with them, but it didn’t surprise her that they did.

Jaime had possibly ruined any normal relationship she had with food and cooking.

He returned to her side and smacked the leaves against the cutting board a few times. “It helps release the flavor,” he explained before tossing the three sprigs into the bowl. “Give it a stir while I pat down the squash and get the hazelnuts out.”

Brienne focused on her stirring, refusing to look at him as he handled the vegetables and bent over the oven. She wondered how long this meal would take, how long she would have to stand there with her wet underwear, avoiding looking at Jaime so she didn’t fuck him senseless amidst the scent of mint and hazelnut in the air.

Attempting to distract themselves from the need to touch each other, they made small talk as they worked, Brienne telling him about the weirdest show she’d seen on JerkStream, and Jaime telling her about his friend Sam finally asking out the woman who owned Craster the Baxter in town, but only after he’d put on fifteen pounds from trying her daily cupcakes and trying to work up the nerve to talk to her about something other than her store. It was different, she realized, watching him work like this. When he was streaming, everything was planned out, tightly structured, each minute accounted for, each dessert as carefully prepped as possible. She didn’t get to see all the little details of Jaime, like the way his hips would sway in a little happy dance as he crushed the hazelnuts, or how he tapped a magnet on his fridge every time he opened it, the way he’d hum as each step was completed. She knew so much about him, but being with him like this showed her there was still so much to learn, so much she wanted to learn. But there was none of the awkwardness that Brienne had worried about, none of the weird empty silences that so often happened when on a first date. Conversation flowed just as easily with both of them in the kitchen as it did when they were yelling at a baseball game or laughing at a movie, like being with a longtime friend after a long separation,  and realizing that all of your pieces still fit together. 

So it was comfortable in one sense, and yet the more relaxed she grew, the more companionable they felt, the harder it became to ignore how badly she wanted to kiss him. Jaime seemed to lose himself in his work, his movements thoughtful and focused,  while each one seemed to slice away at her nerves until the only thing left was the awareness of how much she wanted to touch him, to taste him, to feel his naked body slick with sweat and settled between her thighs. She wanted to lick his hip bone, wanted to curse with his fingers gripped in her hair, wanted to feel his cock driving inside of her until she bit down on his shoulder and shattered apart. The tension was still there, simmering in the air between them like the squash in the pan, but they were able to keep it at bay while Brienne sliced the squash and then carefully tossed it in the dressing she'd made, sprinkling it with coarse salt and pepper as Jaime watched her with a small smile, not even realizing how close she was to fucking him senseless.

It was her turn to watch him as he took the lemon zest from her and added it to a bowl of ricotta cheese, along with some oil and kosher salt. His face was a mixture of serene and focused, layered with that same satisfaction she’d seen so many times when he checked the progress of a dessert. She found herself entranced by his forearms as he stirred, the way his muscles bunched and released with each motion, the way his palm cupped the curve of the bowl. It was reminiscent of the way his arm looked as he gripped his cock, massaging himself in quick, steady strokes. 

He pulled a platter out, still humming quietly to himself as he worked, spreading the lemon ricotta across the bottom in long sweeps of his arm, turning it artful with a curve of his wrist. “Now the squash,” he murmured, in his own little world, and she moved closer to him, as unable to look away from him as she’d been that first night. He carefully placed the squash across the layer of cheese, his fingers sure and steady, and then spooned the juice from the pan around and across the vegetables. “Will you hand me the lemon?” he asked absently, wiping a fleck of juice off the edge of the plate. 

Brienne did as he asked, moving closer again until she was nearly pressed into his side, sliding the lemon half into his waiting hand, her fingers brushing his as she did. She liked his fingers, liked how long and thick they were, how clean and trimmed his nails were. She liked the callus at the base of his index finger from the hours he spent with a knife in his hand, the little white scars from the same. He had big hands, the palms wide and rough, hands that were competent and sure, delicate and careful, forceful and focused. 

She wanted them on her body almost more than she could bear.

That want thrummed through her as she watched him squeeze the lemon, drizzling juice over the squash and ricotta. “Almost ready,” he said with a quick smile at her, too preoccupied to realize how intensely she was watching him. “I hope you’re hungry.”

She was.

Not for the dish, as beautiful as it was and as wonderful as it smelled, made even more so as he scattered the crushed hazelnuts and remaining mint leaves across it. She was hungry for the man, for every piece of him that she’d seen in the past few months, and every piece of him that she hoped she’d get to see in the future. She wanted his body, wanted the strength of his broad shoulders, the snap of his hips, the bruises his hands would undoubtedly leave on her thighs. She wanted the smile that was so bright and open and soft, the smirk that made her belly knot up and her breathing come fast. She wanted the gentleness she’d seen when he garnished miniature cheesecakes and the boldness she’d seen when he told her that making her come would taste like victory. She wanted the heat and the hunger and the heart of him.

“There we go,” Jaime said with satisfaction, setting down the oil he’d just splashed across the meal, and then scooping up the sea salt to top it off. “Marinated squash with hazelnuts and ricotta so my Ser B doesn’t have to eat salads every day.” He turned to her with a smile, one that faltered as he finally realized she was staring at him. “What?” he asked, his eyes roaming over her face, his tongue sliding out to slip across his lip.

“You forgot one of the most important things,” Brienne heard herself say. “It was one of the first tips you taught me.”

“What’s that?” Jaime asked softly, leaning forward just a bit as if he were helpless to do anything else.

“You didn’t taste the ricotta,” she said. “You said that it’s always important to taste as you go, that you didn’t want to find out when it was too late that it wasn’t to your liking.”

“I’m very confident in my palate,” Jaime said, his voice even lower, a scratch down her spine. “I know what I like.”

“Will I like it?” Brienne asked. Her heart was fluttering wildly in her chest, quick pulses that echoed low in her stomach, lower in her cunt.

“I guess we should find out.” Jaime kept his eyes on her as he reached out to slide his finger across the lip of the bowl, gathering up the cheese and lemon mixture as he went. Carefully, watching her face for any sign that she was uncomfortable, he lifted his hand to her mouth, his breathing unsteady as he waited to see what she would do.

She kept her eyes locked on his as she dipped her head forward, moving slowly, savoring the coiling heaviness in her belly. She felt powerful like this, with his breathing already ragged and the muscles in his arm quivering. It felt like that first night she'd watched him, when that cloak of anonymity had allowed her to be reckless. This was so much better, though, because it was Jaime who made her brave, her inhibitions stripped away by the look in his eyes. 

Brienne paused with her lips barely brushing his skin, letting the significance of the moment stretch between them, the anticipation singing in her body. There would be no turning back from this--though if she were honest with herself, there hadn't been any turning back for months now.

She kept her eyes open and on him as she closed her lips around his fingers, one hand coming up to wrap around his wrist and hold him steady. Jaime let out a choked breath as she slid her tongue along the seam of his fingers, the same path his had taken the night he made her lemon tart, easing them apart so she could taste each one individually.

The ricotta was cool and creamy on her tongue, warmed by the slightly sour tang of the vinegar and the whisper of a bite from the red pepper flakes. Brienne curled her tongue around him, scraped her teeth across the skin of his knuckle, teasing the inside of his fingers to work out the thickness of the oil, the coolness of the mint. She worked her mouth around the curve of his nail, sucking a little firmer when he used her grip on his hand to tug her closer.

"Brienne," Jaime growled, and she could hear the fraying edges of his restraint in her name, could see it in the darkness of his eyes. 

"Hmmm?" she murmured, letting his finger slide out of her mouth so that she could drag her tongue down to the knife-worn callus at the base of it. She could taste him underneath the tart zestiness of the lemon, and the salt of his skin was better than anything she'd ever had in the kitchen. She wanted more of it, wanted to taste the hollow of his throat and the line of his thigh and discover all the different flavors of him.

"I think I should taste it now, just to be on the safe side."

She released his fingers slowly and skimmed her tongue across her lip. "I thought you said you were confident in your palate."

"I definitely am," Jaime agreed, nudging her around until her back was pressed into the counter, his hands coming up to rest lightly on her hips. "But you know what a perfectionist I am in the kitchen." He shifted closer, the long line of his body firm and impatient against hers. "It's good to be sure."

Before she could reply, his mouth covered hers.

Her body jolted hard against his, somehow still unprepared for the heat and lust that crashed through her system. His mouth tasted even better than his fingers, unobscured by the different notes of the food, and she let her own mouth open further, her tongue sliding out to brush his, inviting it inside so that she could chase his flavor, to absorb it with lips and teeth and tongue until he was all she could taste.

Jaime let out a muffled growl, surging against her as their mouths separated for just a moment before crashing back together. He was kissing her hungrily now, wresting control back from her, his fingers digging into her hips as he tried to yank her closer. She slid her own hands up, tangling one in his hair as the other skated across his jaw, enjoying the soft bristle of his beard against her palm. She’d wanted to touch that beard since he’d talked about how he’d never been with a woman since growing it, had wanted to be the first one to lay claim to it, to feel the burn of it against her thighs. Her fingers clenched in his hair at the thought of rocking against it, at the way it would sharpen the pleasure she knew his mouth could provide, and Jaime let out a moan, rolling his hips into hers.

“Oh fuck,” Brienne whimpered, her head falling back at the sensation. She’d seen his cock numerous times, had watched him grip it and stroke it and roll it into his bed, but actually feeling it pressed against where she was hot and aching was more intense than anything her fingers had done. Jaime ground against her again, the blunt pressure of him hard and heavy and so close to where she needed to feel him. “Jaime, fuck.”

“I think that’s the plan,” he murmured, his lips planting nipping kisses across her chin and down her throat. The rasp of his beard was just as good as she’d thought it would be, adding a slight sting to sharpen her pleasure. One of his hands lifted to tug at the collar of her shirt so that his lips could latch onto the slope of her shoulder, sucking a bruise into the skin and soothing it with his tongue while his hips continued their slow, firm roll into hers. “But I really was going to feed you dinner first.”

“We made dinner, I think we get points for that,” Brienne managed to say. “Besides, you can still feed me. As long as I can feed you too. That was the deal, right?”

Jaime pulled back to look at her, his pupils blown, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He looked halfway to wrecked already, as if he’d been well-loved and well-fucked, and she felt her cunt clench, wanting to feel him inside her. “I bet it tastes even better cold,” he told her. He studied her for a moment, his eyes warm on hers, reaching out to take her hand in his own. “Come to bed with me, Brienne," he said softly, his thumb brushing over her knuckles, sending a streak of heat up her arm. "But know that if you do, I may not let you leave for a few days.”

Brienne smiled, leaning forward to kiss him slowly, languidly. “I packed a bag just in case.”

His smile bloomed over his face, something happy and disbelieving and hopeful all at once, somehow blending perfectly with the focused lust that was already there. “I do love a woman who thinks ahead,” he said, and though her heart pitched at that word in his mouth, she couldn’t bring herself to care as he stepped back, her hand gripped in his, and began to tug her out the kitchen.

He moved quickly, hauling her back into the living room and through the other door before she could get her wits about her, directly into his bedroom that she’d seen so often recently. She wanted to look around, to take a moment to steady herself, to see what pieces of Jaime she could find in here, but before she had a chance, he kicked the door shut and seemingly somehow teleported them across the room. Their arms locked around each other, hands sliding over each other's bodies as their mouths came back together.

They stumbled out of their shoes and socks, Brienne tripping a little as Jaime shifted his mouth to bite down on her jaw; her body arched into his, a moan falling from her lips. “Shirt,” she panted, feathering her fingers down to his hips so she could grip the hem. “I want to see you.” They hauled it up and over his head together, hands fumbling a bit, and then he tossed it somewhere behind her, trying to wrap his arms around her again.

She held out her hands to stop him, her fingers itching to press into the curve of his shoulder and trail down over his chest. “Gods, Jaime,” she breathed, her eyes roaming over his body. “Can  I touch you? I’ve wanted to since Maiden’s Night.”

“Fuck yes,” he said. “Put your hands on me, Brienne. Please.”

So she did, sliding her palms across the span of his chest, enjoying the tickle of chest hair, the way his nipples tightened when her thumbs brushed across them. She took her time, mapping out the thin skin over his ribs, the little give of his belly, the sharpness of his hips. Her head dipped down, and the sound he made when she ran her tongue across his clavicle had her clenching again, a surge of wet heat that made her shift restlessly.

Brienne took her time, refusing to let him rush her, nuzzling her nose into the golden gray hair on his chest that she’d admired, then bumping it across his nipple before she circled it with her tongue. “Oh fuck,” Jaime grunted. “Brienne, you’re going to kill me.”

She hummed a little, sucking the pebbled skin into her mouth, scraping it with her teeth. Jaime had one hand fisted by his thigh, the other wrapped around her bicep, and the noises he was making were going straight to her cunt. She wanted to hear him make more of them, wanted to feel him writhe and shift underneath her mouth, wanted to make him shake and curse until she nudged him to the edge of his control and he fucked her, hard and fast and deep.

That thought had her releasing his nipple, moving her mouth down until she was able to slide to her knees in front of him. He made a choked sound, and when she glanced up, his eyes showed her that perhaps that edge of control wasn’t that far away. But until then, she was going to taste every inch of him that she could.

She moved her tongue across the jagged white scar above his hip, the one he’d gotten when his appendix had burst at the age of thirteen and the surgeon chose to forego aesthetics for efficiency. She liked the way it felt on her mouth, but she really liked the way Jaime shuddered when she nipped it with her teeth. Brienne followed the scar over until her tongue was circling his navel, dipping down to follow the trail of hair that led to the band of his jeans. She lifted her eyes to his, a surge of lust and power and pride bursting through her at the way he was looking at her. Jaime had driven her so crazy over the last few months that it’d been easy to think he couldn’t be as impacted by her, but it was impossible to think that now. He was so clearly enthralled by her, lost in her, that she felt the last tiny seed of doubt fall away, replaced by a reckless sort of thrill that made her want to explore. She wanted to feel his cock heavy on her tongue; wanted to slide her body over his and mark his flesh with her tongue and her teeth; wanted to tie his wrists to the bed and ride him until he broke; wanted to fuck him so thoroughly that he was forever ruined for the touch of another woman. 

She’d never felt like this before, this sort of animalistic, instinctive hunger to take and be taken, but she liked it. She liked it a lot.

Brienne slid one hand up his leg, palming the hard ridge of his cock with a considering smile. “This looks familiar,” she said teasingly, squeezing the heft of him slightly before continuing on to unsnap his jeans. She slowly pulled his zipper down, her knuckles brushing against the firm heat of his erection in a way that made him curse. 

“It should,” Jaime grunted, bracing one hand on her shoulder as he stepped out of the pants she so carefully slid down. “Considering how often you’ve watched me fuck my hand and think about you.”

“You weren’t always thinking about me,” Brienne said, tossing his pants aside. “When it was just us, for sure, but probably only a few times when it was the show.” She leaned forward again, nuzzling the line of his cock, letting her breath seep through the thin cotton of his green boxer briefs. “As long as you’re thinking of me now, that’s all I care about.” She mouthed him through his shorts, the clean scent of his laundry detergent tangling with something muskier and male, sucking a little as she went. Jaime’s moan this time was guttural and loud, his hands coming up to grab her shoulders, tugging her upward impatiently until she was standing and he could kiss her, his mouth desperate and messy against hers. “I wasn’t done,” she managed to say, biting his lip a little.

“I want your mouth on me,” Jaime told her, sliding his hands down her arms until he could grasp the hem of her shirt. “I’ve thought about it ever since that first night, having those lips wrapped around my cock, me fucking your mouth.” He yanked her shirt up hurriedly, her head getting caught briefly in his rush, and then threw it aside. “But no way I’m going to stand here naked, getting my cock sucked, while you’re fully dressed and not as destroyed as I am. I’ve thought of you for months, Brienne. Way more than just a few times on the show. You’re the only person I’ve thought of since we started talking, the only one I want.” His hands made quick work of her bra, his fingers just as competent on the clasp as they were in the kitchen, and his eyes dropped to take her in for a moment before shooting back up to hers. “I can't believe you ever thought I wouldn't want to see you,  want to have you.” He pressed his forehead against hers, his eyes dark and serious. “You’re the only one I want.”

The words she was going to say got swallowed up by a moan as he lifted his hands to cup her breasts, his palms fitting themselves to the curve of her skin, his thumbs circling and dragging across her nipples. He kept his eyes on her face, cataloging her every reaction, his smile dark and dangerous and pleased when she bucked her hips out towards him at the scrape of his nail. “Look at you,” he said, his voice as rough as the calluses she could feel against her breasts. His hands massaged her body, rolling her nipples between the pads of his fingers, plucking them with enough of a pinch to make her cry out. “Listen to you. I’ve been coming with the sound of your voice in my ears for months, but being able to see you, to see how much you like my hands on you? Fuck, it’s so much better this way. I know what you look like when you come, remember? I know the way your face tightens up and your body bows back and those gorgeous eyes go blind before they close. But I don’t know what you look like when you’re being fucked. I want to see that. Want to see just how good I can make you feel, just how out of control I can drive you. Let’s find out, hmm?”

Brienne cried out again as he dipped his head to her chest, his lips latching onto her nipple, sucking it into his mouth with the same kind of satisfied hum she’d heard him make when he tasted his desserts. Her hands came up to clutch at his hair, holding his mouth to her body as he used his teeth and tongue on her. Her hips were rolling restlessly, needing the friction of his body and unable to find it with the way it was curved over hers. She barely felt his hands slipping down to her jeans, too lost in the sensation of his mouth on her skin, little shocked sounds bursting from her mouth as he moved from one to the other, alternating from soft nibbles to demanding tugs.

She had stepped out of her jeans before she’d registered that he’d managed to get them undone and over her hips, her body shocking back into awareness as he tickled his fingers up her thighs. “Your legs, Brienne, fuck,” Jaime breathed as he pulled his mouth from her. “I knew they’d be endless, but gods, my imagination was shit.” He dropped to his knees, his hands skimming up the back of her calves, tracing every curve and dip of muscle he found. “When are you going to go to the gym with me? I want to watch you, watch you do squats and leg presses and hip thrusts. Gods, your thighs could kill a man, but what a fucking way to die.” As he spoke, he wrapped his palms around them, stroking the skin in such an appreciative way that Brienne wanted to apologize to her legs for ever thinking they were too thick. “I can smell you,” he told her, glancing up at her through his lashes when she made a choked sound. “You must be so wet for me, B, just absolutely soaking. Let me see, okay? Just for a second.”

Brienne barely had time to mutter something that sounded vaguely affirmative before he was leaning forward and pressing his mouth to her underwear, his low moan drowned out by the loud cry that escaped her throat. “Jaime,” she managed, white hot pops of sensation shivering their way through her, causing her body to shake and her hands to clutch his hair even harder. He was barely touching her, sliding his beautifully bumpy nose up the seam of her lips until it nudged and nuzzled against her clit, his breath warm through the thin fabric. She felt the wet heat of his tongue press against her, curving along the same path as his nose, and he let out a hungry-sounding growl just before he opened his mouth and suckled just to the side of where she wanted him. 

Her hips were rolling against his face, her grip on his hair nearly punishing as she tried to move him slightly to the right, crying out in frustration when he resisted her. She could feel her clit, swollen and throbbing, a breath away from where his mouth was, and every few seconds his tongue and lips would press the edge of it, direct enough for her to dimly understand that he was doing it on purpose, ratcheting her desire up even as he denied her any true satisfaction. It was like having an itch brushed when you needed a hard scratch, a tortuous sort of teasing that threatened to make her break and beg. “Jaime,” she whimpered. “I want your mouth on me.” 

“I can taste you,” he told her, breaking away with one last suckle, this one just above where her clit sat, close enough that she instinctively lifted on her toes to try and find relief. “Just a hint of you, salty and wet and mine.” He clambered to his feet, his urgency washing away his usual grace as he fit his lips to hers, sliding his tongue into her mouth so that she could taste that slight echo of herself. One of his hands slid up to her breast, the other dropping down to stroke his impatient fingers between her thighs, the pressure more direct and focused than his mouth had been.

“Yes,” she said, sinking her teeth into his jaw. “Touch me, Jaime. Please, fuck, just touch me.” She scraped her nails down his back, just hard enough to make him hiss against her ear, and then snagged the band of his underwear, tugging it down impatiently, getting sidetracked with finally being able to squeeze his firm, round ass in her big hands. He was rocking against her now, his own hands tearing at the sides of her underwear, his mouth clamped on her ear and each ragged breath sending another pulse of heat and anticipation shimmering down her spine and along her cunt. “Off,” she ordered. “Fuck, get them off.”

She was talking about his own boxers, but at her words Jaime swarmed her, his mouth devouring hers as his arms flexed and she heard the sound of ripping fabric moments before the scraps of her underwear whispered down her legs. His hand was there immediately, his finger sliding through the wetness he found, gathering it up and gliding it over her clit. Her head fell back on a long, low moan, loud enough that she found herself hoping that his neighbors weren’t home. “More,” she managed, her hips lifting and rocking, searching for him. “Please, more. Jaime.”

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he said, his voice strangled, easing another finger down and then up so that it entered her in a firm, quick thrust. Brienne cried out again at the sensation, the way he seemed to know exactly how to curve and angle to stroke her where she needed, the perfectly imperfect rhythm of his thumb on her clit. “And tight. How am I supposed to get my cock in you and not come in two seconds? How am I supposed to fuck you the way you deserve if you end up destroying me from the beginning?”

“You’ll think of something,” she muttered, biting her lip as she circled her hips in his palm, chasing the climax she could feel on the horizon. “You feel so good, Jaime, so good. So much better than how it feels when I touch myself, fuck myself, and think about you.”

His finger flexed inside her at her words, his body jolting and his cock thrusting against her hip. “I want you in my bed,” he told her, and kissed her to silence her cry of protest when he removed his finger. His hands cupped the back of her thighs, the fingers of his right hand leaving a wet streak across her skin, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, letting his kiss slide through her before she gasped against his mouth as he dipped down and back up, his muscles flexing as he easily scooped her up off her feet.

“Jaime,” she protested, trying to slide her legs free. “I can walk.”

“And I can carry you,” he told her, his eyes hot, his voice firm. “I told you I could, remember? I’m strong enough for you, Brienne.”

She didn’t think she’d been carried since she was seven, when she’d seemed to shoot up overnight, towering over all the other children on the playground. She’d always been too much for everyone while somehow being still not enough--too big, too strong, too stubborn. And here was Jaime, with his troubled past and his generous heart, telling her she wasn’t too much for him as he carried her to his bed. His cock was hot and firm against her ass, his gaze dirty and hopeful all at once. She could do nothing but kiss him--softly at first, and then fiercely, as the emotion that she’d refused to look at for so long simply burrowed into her heart. “You’re the strongest man I know,” she told him when she pulled her lips from his. “And you’re all mine.”

“I am,” he agreed, lowering her to the bed before easing down beside her. “I have been for months.”

They kissed again and Brienne lost herself in the sensations: the tickle of his chest hair against her breasts; the way his thigh felt as it slid between hers; the way his back arched when she dug her nails into his ass as he sucked a nipple into his mouth. “You feel so good,” he whispered, dropping kisses all across the broad plane of her chest. “Let me make you feel good, Brienne. Let me taste you.”

“Only if I get to taste you too, remember?”

“Fuck, yes,” he said, rolling over onto his back. “I’ve thought about it at least twice a day since we started talking, Brienne. Now climb up here and sit on my face.” She felt herself shudder a little, at the way his mouth curled around his words. He smiled at her, his eyes trailing over the blush that trickled down her skin. “Please.”

Brienne was a little nervous, having never successfully pulled this off with one of her sexual partners, but they’d all been shorter than Jaime, weaker than Jaime, and definitely not as committed to making her moan as Jaime. She knew that even if it didn’t quite work out as well as it had in her imagination, it would be something they could laugh about, just a small delay on what was shaping up to be a fantastic night. 

But fuck, she wanted it to work.

She shuffled up the bed on her knees until they were flush with his chest, taking a quick glance at his face. Jaime was watching her intently, his lips parted, his breathing ragged, the green of his eyes washed away by his pupils. “It isn’t polite to tease,” he told her, licking his lips, his gaze roaming from her face to her cunt. “Especially not when I can see just how much you like the idea. You’re practically dripping, Brienne, all that pretty blonde hair soaked through.” He reached out to place a hand on her hip, trying to tug her closer. “You can suck my cock or not, it's up to you, I just want you riding my face. Please.”

She shuddered again, his words somehow much more dangerous when she could feel the whisper of them against her thigh. Before she could second-guess herself, she angled her body towards him and swung a leg over his chest, straddling him with his chin tucked against her ass and her hands braced on his thighs. 

Oh , Brienne thought, shifting a little so that her knees were pressed into the mattress near his head. Of course this will work. It’s going to be easy . She could feel Jaime’s breath washing over the dampness between her thighs, making her shiver, and his cock was right there, hard and throbbing and spearing up toward her, making it a simple matter to lean forward and press a kiss against the flushed head.

“Fuck yes,” Jaime hissed, his hands coming up to wrap around her, his fingers digging into the front of her thighs. “Spread your legs just a little bit more, Brienne, let me see you.” She complied, leaning further down to brace one elbow on the mattress by his hip. “Perfect,” Jaime sighed, and then with a tug of his hands, his mouth was on her.

Oral sex was something that she’d tried several times, with different partners, and had always found to be better in theory than in reality. She’d known from the first time she watched Jaime slide his tongue around his stirring spoon that it wouldn’t be the case with him, but she still wasn’t prepared for the way it felt to have that wonderfully dirty and inventive mouth sliding over her cunt.

But this , fuck the Seven and any who came after, it was nothing like she’d experienced in the past. Jaime’s lips and tongue seemed to know exactly where to touch her, knowing where to suck and where to taste, where to nibble and where to tease. Perhaps he was benefitting from how close to the edge she’d been all evening, but it seemed to take only moments before she was rolling her hips against his face, rocking back against his nose, squeezing her thighs to feel the scrape and burn of his beard against her tender skin. 

And the noises , gods. Not just the ones that were ripped from her throat, loud and keening and desperate, but the ones Jaime was making. He was groaning as he nibbled at her clit, cursing under his breath when she rocked particularly hard and his nose rubbed against her, murmuring contentedly as he licked her in long, broad stripes. His cock was beginning to leak a little, and the knowledge that he was so turned on just by having his mouth on her had her stumbling a little closer to orgasm.

Brienne bent forward with a moan, feeling slightly guilty that she’d been so lost in her own pleasure that she’d forgotten about his. She wrapped one big hand around the base of his cock, drew it up and over and then back down over the silky heat of him, using his own wetness to make the slide easier. Jaime huffed underneath her, the warmth of his breath tapping against her clit, and with her own moan, she licked him from root to tip, her tongue following the path of that thick vein she’d first admired so long ago. She licked him once, twice more, smiling a little as his head fell back from her, his hips rising to chase her mouth, and then she closed her mouth over the tip and took him in.

He cried out now, her name and a string of curses falling from his mouth before he latched back onto her with a groan. She let herself get lost in the taste and smell and feel of him, the way he pulsed against her tongue, the noises he made when she let her teeth scrape gently as she lifted her head. She’d never felt this way with a man’s cock in her mouth, never felt so powerful and vulnerable and cared for and desired all at once. Jaime was muttering praises against her skin, sliding two fingers in her, wrapping an arm around her hips to encourage her to fuck his face even as his own hips shifted and jerked.

“Brienne, pull back,” he whimpered. “I’m gonna come if you don’t, and I don’t want to yet.” She nodded, her nose rubbing against the coarseness of his pubic hair, and then pulled her mouth off of him, drawing her cheeks in as she went. “Fuck,” Jaime moaned, and she could feel him breathing hard, trying to control himself. “You’re so good at that, so good with your mouth.”

“Then you shouldn’t have stopped me,” she managed as he began to move his fingers again, each thrust a layer of tension in her belly that would have to eventually break. 

“I want to fuck you,” Jaime told her. “Next time, you can keep going, I’ll come in your mouth, whatever you want. But tonight I want more than that.” She felt his tongue snake out to flick against her clit. “Besides, I needed to be able to concentrate.” And with that, he sucked her clit into his mouth.

She couldn’t stop the cry that erupted from her throat, heat pulsing through her with each pull of his lips, zipping along her spine and across her breasts. Brienne let herself fall forward, gripping his calves and bracing her feet, rocking backward onto his face, her hips moving in long, slow circles. “Jaime, fuck,” she moaned. “Please, oh gods, please. I’m so close.”

“You taste so good,” he mumbled around her, and she could feel him shudder at the huff of air that escaped her and washed over his cock, still damp from her mouth. “Take what you need, Brienne. Whatever you want.” He returned his mouth to her body, insistent this time, moaning against her when she began to fuck his face harder, her body starting to feel heavy and numb as her pleasure began to rapidly build, her hips moving on nothing but blind instinct and greed. 

When she came it was with a cry that was as ragged as the orgasm that ripped through her body, her muscles tightening as she pressed back against Jaime's face, her cunt clamping around his fingers. The pleasure was so intense that it was nearly painful, her vision whiting out as her hips rolled and pressed, her arms and legs shaking as she shuddered through it. She was vaguely aware of Jaime's muffled moans, of the way his fingers clenched on her belly, and the throb of his cock against her cheek as she pressed her face to his thigh.

He gave her a moment, seemingly unconcerned about suffocating under the press of her thighs and cunt, humming happily. His tongue continued to stroke her, softer and slower now, cleaning up the mess she had undoubtedly made until she grew too sensitive and rolled off of him, her foot catching his head as she did. "Fuck," she breathed, her body still twitching, dimly aware of him shifting beside her so that he could slide on top of her.

If she'd thought he looked wrecked before, it was nothing compared to how he looked now. His face was flushed, his lips swollen and slick, and his beard gleaming with her. “Brienne,” he said, his voice hoarse and broken. “That was amazing, you’re amazing. Fuck, I almost came just from hearing you, from feeling you coming all over my face. You’re so good.”

Her body felt weak, stretched out and good , as if every muscle had been well-used and satisfied. She had enough strength to reach up and tug his face to hers, sliding her tongue across his damp beard on the way to his mouth, tasting herself and her pleasure on his skin. “Please tell me you have a condom,” she said. “Because mine are in my jacket and that's too far away.”

“Gods, yes,” Jaime said, scrambling off of her to rifle through his nightstand drawer, nearly ripping it out in his haste. It only took a moment before he was kneeling over her, breathing hard as he rolled the condom down over his cock, and then nudging her legs apart. 

Brienne lifted her legs, her knees pressing into his waist, one hand clenching on his back as he arranged himself and then slid inside her with a long, firm stroke. Her orgasm, barely gone, seemed to tickle back awake, her breath leaving her body on a moan as Jaime’s eyes glazed over. “Oh fuck,” he grunted, his eyes falling shut as he absorbed the sensation. “You feel so good, so tight and wet and hot.” His hips were shifting restlessly, the tendons in his neck straining as he tried to breathe. “Wait just a second.”

She didn’t want him in control, though, or careful or restrained. She wanted Jaime just as he was, whether that was patient and teasing or desperate and hungry. “I don’t want to wait,” she said, tightening her legs around him, angling her body up so that he slid a little deeper. “We’ve been waiting long enough.” His eyes opened, dark and wild on hers, and Brienne deliberately rolled her hips, both of them moaning at the movement. “I’m yours, Jaime. So take me.”

He bit off a curse and then shifted to his knees, one hand going to her hip, the other to her breast as he began to move, pushing into her in quick, hard strokes. “Yes,” he said, his fingers pinching at a nipple before soothing it with his thumb. “You’re mine, Brienne, and I’m yours. From the beginning, before I even knew you. You know that. Always.”

His words were quick and jumbled even as his hips slowed, his pace less urgent, but his thrusts harder, deeper. The hand on her hip fluttered over, pressing just above where they were joined, his thumb resting just below her clit. “I told myself if I could have you just once, I’d try to make that be enough,” he said, each surge of his hips causing his thumb to press into her, making her moan. “But that’s a lie. It’ll never be enough. Never. Don’t hide from me again. Please.”

“I won’t,” she said. “You stay, stay with me.” Brienne could feel her body tightening again, each scrape of his thumb and press of his cock pushing her relentlessly closer to climax. “Jaime, please, please.”

He bent over her, his mouth pressing against hers in a panting kiss, the force of his hips snapping into hers, rocking his headboard into the wall. We ll need to fix that , she thought dimly, sucking his lip into her mouth, holding it with her teeth. Every little sensation was magnified: their sweat-slicked bodies gliding across each other, the way her back stuck to the warm sheets, the hard notch of his hips on the inside of her thighs, and most importantly his eyes. They were needy and open and vulnerable, and swamped with so much emotion that Brienne found herself crying out again, wrecked by how clearly she could see him, by how clearly he was seeing her. Her arms and legs clamped around him as she came, needing him closer, her body clutching his as Jaime moaned and came with a cry of his own, drowning out the sound of his neighbor banging on the wall. Everything seemed to disappear except for her body and his, and the rapid thrum of her heart in her chest as it tried to speak to his.

She didn’t know how long they laid there, their sweat cooling on their skin, their heart rates slowly winding down. She didn’t really care. Not when Jaime had his arms around her, his face buried in her neck, letting her run her fingers through his hair. Not when no matter how much her brain said it was too soon, too fast, her heart was certain that she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

Jaime was the first one to speak, of course, lifting his head to look at her. “That was--I don’t even know what to say, Brienne. I’ve never...” He trailed off again, huffing out a small laugh. 

“Me either,” she agreed softly. He didn’t have to say it. Her heart understood his clearly enough. It always had.

"You know that…" His eyes roamed over her face again, his words falling away with a shake of his head. "I just wanted to make sure," he tried again, huffing out a breath when his voice faltered. It almost looked like he was trying to gather up his courage, to find the words he so clearly wanted to say. How funny , she thought, that after all this time of him being the brave one, now he’s the one who’s scared. “I told myself I wouldn’t do this,” he said finally. “I really did.”

An hour ago, she would’ve wondered if he meant having sex with her, but her body was simply too relaxed and too full of emotions to have room for fear or doubt. “I did too,” she said instead, reaching up to smooth some hair back from his forehead. “You don’t have to say it yet, though. It’ll hold, Jaime. And I’ll still be here while it does.”

He smiled a little, his own hand coming up to stroke a finger down her face. “Did my Ser B find her confidence again? I feel like we’ve switched roles.”

Brienne laughed, as loud and free as she ever had, and Jaime’s eyes drank her in just like they did each time she let him see her joy. “I guess I did,” she said. “Maybe you inspired me yesterday, Ser Jaime .”

His smile went a little more wicked, a flash of the man she’d first seen on camera all those months ago, so much more than she was used to, and yet somehow so much less than the man she’d grown to know. “I think we’ll have to play around with this a bit. Maybe get some helmets--oh, or maybe a suit of armor.” His head tilted a little as he thought. “Can you fuck in a suit of armor?”

“Only one way to find out,” Brienne said with a laugh, pressing a quick kiss to his mouth.

Jaime kissed her again after she retreated, his mouth slow and patient on hers. “I’m going to tell you soon,” he told her softly. “Once I know I can do it without making an ass of myself.”

“That could be a while,” she told him very soberly, snorting out a laugh when he gave her a mock glare. “In the meantime, I have a slightly bigger concern.”

“What’s that?”

“I know you can make desserts--which reminds me, I still want my cake.”

“It’s already thawed out and waiting for you,” he assured her. “We should eat it in bed, naked. That’s the best way to eat Name Day cakes. You can trust me, I’m a very famous erotic pastry chef.”

“That’s my concern,” she nodded. “You can make desserts, and you can possibly make dinners, or at least vegetables. But can you make breakfast?”

Jaime scowled at her, dipping his head to bite her chin. “I can’t stand you,” he said affectionately, and she had to laugh at him stealing her line.

“I guess there’s only one way to find out,” she said with a put-upon sigh, wrapping her arms around him again.

"I don't know," he mused. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, after all. You're sure you want to risk it?"

His tone was still playful, but his eyes were soft and searching on hers, and she knew him well enough now to see the question for what it was. Are you sure I'm worth the risk? Are you positive you won't think I'm too much or not enough, and hide from me again?

Brienne lifted her hand to run her finger down the bumpy bridge of his nose, across the dip of his lip. They had both spent so many years afraid to be seen--him from all the people who'd spent his life telling him who and what he should be, her from all the words and eyes that reminded her she'd never be quite right, no matter how hard she worked. 

She stroked one hand along his jaw, her heart swelling as his eyes fluttered shut, a soft rumble slipping from his chest and out of his mouth. Being with Jaime, loving him, letting him see all of the messy pieces of her--it had all seemed so scary just days ago, a step she couldn't quite bring herself to take. 

But she could take it now. She had taken it, the moment she had flipped her camera on, and let him see her, but more importantly letting herself see what he'd been seeing all along.

That they were enough. That they were wanted. And that they were exactly right together. 

“I suppose you’re worth the risk," she said quietly, lifting her head to seal her mouth to his even as his smile bloomed across his face, bright and beautiful and just for her.

He absolutely was. They both were.