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

Chapter Text

If anyone would have told Jaime even two weeks ago that he'd be getting ready to masturbate in front of a group of strangers, he would've laughed--but he wasn't laughing now.

Instead, he took a deep breath, trying to settle the nerves that were running rampant throughout his body. There was still a part of him that felt like this couldn't really be happening, and yet that was definitely his dining room chair sitting in the center of his bedroom floor with his flashlight aimed at it. His laptop was really balanced on his secondhand desk, the webcam aimed and on, but not yet streaming.

Fuck, he was really going to do this. 

He shut his eyes, trying to clear his mind so that he could just power through this final step. It was how he'd approached this entire endeavor, by breaking it down into little, harmless steps. It had been easy to propel himself forward that way, to set up his chair and create an account, to do some push-ups and arrange his lighting.

But now he was down to the sticking point, and it turned out that was a lot harder to push through. 

Should he put music on? Change his clothes? Or maybe he should have shaved. Lit a candle. He had no idea what he was doing which was essentially the problem.

"Fuck it," Jaime said, letting out a breath and trying to embrace that same reckless, defiant courage that had always gotten him through in the past. 

He raked a hand through his hair then smoothed his tee shirt down before taking a seat and leaning forward to peer at the waiting room, hoping there was at least one name present. He just needed a foothold, something to build on. One viewer could be enough, at least to begin with.

There wasn't one viewer, though. There were six.

Jaime grinned, reading those six names over and over. They were the sorts of names he had expected to find on a site like this: BustyBabe_69; OllieLuvsOrgasms; Loaded~N~Lonely. Lots of hormones, but nothing truly original.

But he didn't need originality, or to be dazzled by some stranger's wit. He needed money. 

"Okay, Lannister," he told himself. "Let's do this." Ignoring the jumble of nerves that were knotting tighter and tighter, he leaned forward to move his mouse over the button that would stream his video to his six viewers and hopefully alert others that he was available for watching. 

"Hey everyone," he said, pulling out the same wicked smile that had gotten him nearly everything he'd ever wanted since he was fourteen. "My name is XXXJaimeXXX, but you can just call me JaimeX. This is actually my very first night as a camboy, and I'm a little nervous." The corner of the screen lit up briefly and he felt a ripple of excitement as he realized someone had given him a token. "But no matter how inexperienced I am, I'm also very excited that you're all here for me to help me lose my virginity."

The screen flashed again, two more tokens appearing in his account. I can do this , he realized. This can work .

"The last time I lost my virginity, I was a lot younger and folded into the back of a convertible so this already feels much more comfortable." He stretched his body, aware of the way his muscles would bunch and his shirt would ride up, and bit back a smile when more tokens appeared. As he ran one hand consideringly across his belly, Jaime licked his lips, making sure to move a little slower than normal, his eyes trained on the laptop right in front of him. "Let's get started shall we?" And with his grin firmly in place, Jaime stripped his shirt off. 



Most people would think that it had started a few days ago when Jaime had first heard about being a camboy from one of the young women that worked with him. Others would think it began when Jaime simply walked away from his entire life, family and job included, three years before his fortieth birthday. 

But if they’d asked Jaime, he could have told them it began thirty years before when his mother had died. He knew most people expected those early childhood memories to have faded with time, but for Jaime they had only grown sharper in the way that all impossible dreams grew more vivid with each wave of longing. He took them out and examined them so often that they had no choice but to stay clear. 

He could remember her smile, how it was bright and joyous and always quick to appear, and he could remember the way she would laugh, a sound that seemed to ripple up from her chest and dance to his ears, even when he was on the other side of the house. He remembered baking with her after she would nudge the chef into taking a break so that they could have the kitchen to themselves. He remembered what it was like to curl up in her lap when he was tired or scared or just a boy wanting his mother, and the way she smelled when he buried his head against her neck so that her hair would drape around him like a golden cage of protection. 

He had spent three hours in a perfume store once when he was fourteen, smelling each bottle to see if it was what his mother had smelled like, but had left with only a mild ache in his head and a much larger one in his heart.

But what he remembered most about his mother was how losing her became a clear mark of division, the golden early years of before, and the empty despair of after.

When Joanna Lannister died, she left behind her two seven-year olds, a strangely quiet newborn with misshapen legs and a large head, and a husband who no longer seemed to be interested in anything but making sure he could control every facet of his life. 

It was said that nobody had seen Tywin Lannister's smile since the morning his wife went into labor three decades ago. Jaime certainly hadn't. 

In a way, Jaime felt he’d lost both parents that day. His father might not have ever the sort of dad that sitcoms insisted existed, but he had been less rigid,more human before his wife died. The father who had occasionally smiled warmly at his children, or who would read to Jaime once his dyslexia was diagnosed, that man might as well have been dead too. Tywin's body might be up and moving around rather than lying in the family crypt, but it amounted to the same thing.

Every bit of joy bled out of the Lannister house just as surely as every bit of life had bled out of Joanna Lannister in the master bedroom on the third floor. She had labored most of the day downstairs in the den, breathing through her nose as Cersei had shown her the pictures she was drawing for the new baby, holding Jaime's hand as she paced in front of the fireplace.

It was after dinner when she finally agreed to go upstairs, hugging both her children close even as sweat beaded her forehead. "I need you both to be so good for Daddy, okay? Promise me you'll be good until I come back."

They had both sworn they would, sworn they would listen to their father and the nurse that had been hired to mind them while their mother was in labor. Jaime could still remember standing there, clutching his sister's hand as their mother was guided away. He wanted to cry, wanted to go with her, but he had promised to be good for his daddy until his mom returned.

She never did.

Jaime tried anyway. Despite the slaps to the head and the cold silences and autocratic demands, he had tried to be a good brother, a good son. When his father grew more demanding, when he moved the goalposts just a bit, Jaime hadn't complained, not even once. He just kept pushing forward, determined to show his father that he was everything he could ever want in a son.

He played the sports Tywin told him to play. Joined the clubs Tywin told him to join. He went to the university Tywin had gone to, and majored in what Tywin had told him would be most beneficial to the family company.

He watched his brother grow into someone bitter and jaded, watched his sister be shaped into an appealing chess piece for his father's schemes. The baby he had rocked and soothed when his cries had been ignored slowly morphed into a man he didn't like. The sister he had climbed into bed with, both their cheeks wet with tears, was as coldly calculating as the father who had appeared after their mother had gone.

Jaime had followed their path for years. Every time he started to flinch from another demand, another cruel rebuke, he had heard his mother ask for his promise to be good, and he had dug a little deeper, tried a little harder, silenced his internal screaming a little more.

It wasn't until he had been sitting at his father's dining room table on a Wednesday night four months ago that Jaime had realized he had to escape. He had been chewing on a piece of lamb despite the fact that his father knew he hated lamb, his tie slowly choking him, listening to the small talk of his family and their guests, when Tywin had said, "Jaime, now that you've met Ermesande and her guardian, Roger, I believe we can announce your engagement in six month's time. I know custom is a full year, but you're no longer a young man, and some haste would not be amiss."

The scene that had followed hadn't been pretty. Tywin had been mildly surprised and deeply offended that Jaime had objected to marrying a woman he had known for only an hour. Roger and Ermesande had left forty minutes later, both smiling and still under the impression that she would be marrying Jaime. His objections, at first polite and then less so, had been completely ignored as Tywin and Roger had laid out a schedule that would begin with Jaime and his future bride being spotted at lunch in two days time and culminate in a long weekend in Dorne and the appearance of an engagement ring.

Cersei and Tyrion had been no help, not that he expected anything different. They had both married who their father had told them to marry, and despite the blatant infidelity and rampaging alcoholism that both of them and their spouses exhibited, they apparently had no problem assigning Jaime to the same fate.

The moment the door had closed on their guests, Tywin had clamped his hand on Jaime's collar and dragged him into the office. Jaime had stood there while his father had berated him like a child, the angry lash of his insults and demands washing over him as they had done so many times in the past. He barely felt them anymore. He carried his father's disappointment on his skin like tattoos that were visible to his eyes alone, and could feel himself going numb as he continued to stand there, could feel himself wanting to simply surrender.

But letting his father pick out his wife wasn't like letting his father pick out his college or his major or his condo. It wasn't like letting him dictate what suit he wore to which function, or even which bland woman he allowed himself to be photographed near at galas and fundraisers.

Despite Jaime's slowly dwindling trickle of dates, he wanted to get married one day. But he wanted to marry a woman that he fell in love with, wanted to find someone he could be partners with, someone he could trust to have his back and be his best friend.

Ermesande was not going to be that.

It was when Tywin had moved into the 'I'm your father, and I know what's best for you and your future' portion of his speech that Jaime realized his eyes were locked onto a picture of his mother, the only one that existed outside of his room as far as he knew. She was caught mid-laugh, her hair golden and windblown and tumbling down her back, her mouth starting to open under the weight of her joy, her eyes open and shining and full of delight. She looked young and free and thrilled to be alive, not knowing that in just over a year she wouldn't be. 

Had he ever felt like that same wild happiness, that same reckless pleasure of simply existing? If he had he couldn't remember it, though he supposed he'd had moments of it in his childhood before things changed. There had been pockets of it in his adolescence, but even then, his father's expectations and demands had lingered in the back of his mind, tainting any scrap of peace he may have found. It seemed like those moments had been stretched further and further apart until he couldn't even remember the last time he had felt it. 

Jaime kept his gaze trained on the photo, using it to anchor himself as his father insulted and threatened and demanded. He could feel his throat getting tighter, felt as if his suit jacket was also suddenly tighter across his shoulders. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to be with his mother in that frozen stretch of time, wanted to be young and free and drunk on sunlight and the promise of happy days. 

He was still thinking about it hours later as he lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He couldn't stop thinking about it. What did it say about him that he couldn't remember the last time he had felt excited and hopeful and happy? Or anything at all except for the bleak sense of hopelessness he finally could name as despair?

He was thirty-seven years old, living in a condo that his father picked out, in a bed that would soon be filled by a woman that his father picked out, and he'd never felt quite as pathetic as he did in that moment. It hurt to think about how things could have been different for him. If his mother had lived, if he hadn't ripped his knee to shreds in the last game of his senior season, if he hadn't agreed to go to his father's alma mater, if he had taken the position in Riverrun instead of returning to King's Landing.

He could have had a different life if he had only taken the opposite turn just once. He could've had a career he enjoyed, maybe a wife and a few kids instead of being stuck in this loop of misery. He had that same feeling now that he'd had as he mailed his acceptance letter to college, the same as when he’d shaken Brynden Tully's hand at the end of his internship and thanked him for the opportunity before walking away. 

He was at another fork in the road, but this time he didn't think he could do as his mother asked all those years ago. He wanted to be a good son, wanted to be a good brother, but the price seemed to get higher each year, and Jaime didn't know how much more he could pay without breaking for good.

He spent the next two days unable to think of anything else, imagining what shape the rest of his life would take if he showed up at Baelor's for lunch with Ermesande, and he didn't like the future he saw. Dread curled his belly into knots until he had to call out of work on Friday, certain he would be sick if he had to go in. As he watched the minutes on the clock begin to bleed into hours, he was barely aware of what he was doing, driven blind by his panic. 

As one o'clock grew nearer, he found himself moving quickly, shoving random clothes into suitcases, transferring money to a private account, grabbing photos and memorabilia that he couldn't replace. He had no clue what he was doing, but the urge to run was nearly choking him. He hadn't had a panic attack in two years, but could feel it building in him now, bands of anxiety and fear tightening around his lungs.

By the time he was supposed to be sliding into a seat at Baelor's, waiting for Ermesande to arrive so he could press a kiss to her cheek, Jaime was at the airport, buying a ticket for Winterfell simply because it was the next flight out of King's Landing.

He didn't know what he would do when he got there, didn't know where he'd live or where he'd work, but he assumed that he had enough money in his personal account to cover at least a year of expenses, to buy him time to figure everything out.

He assumed wrong. 

It turned out that when you had spent your entire life in a lavishly wealthy bubble, you didn't have a single clue how expensive basic living could be once it popped. By the time he had spent a week in a hotel, signed a lease on a modest apartment, and bought basic furnishings and supplies, his bank account had started to wheeze a little. And money just seemed to bleed out of it. Had seafood always been so expensive or was it just the import cost? Was it normal for satellite television to cost more than an electricity bill, or was he being robbed? Having his ignorance highlighted so starkly made him feel like even more of an idiot.

His decision to keep the majority of his money in the account opened by his father when he was fifteen was biting him in the ass now. His father had closed out the account by the time Jaime had landed in Winterfell, probably driven by the less than formal resignation letter he had emailed as the plane readied for takeoff. He knew the only reason his company phone hadn't been turned off was because of his father's need to track and call him, so he got rid of it immediately which was another expense he hadn't realized was so significant. All he had was his rapidly dwindling personal account, and the trust from his mother that he couldn't touch for another three years. It didn't take long to realize that his casual belief that he'd be able to relax for a bit so that he could plan was as foolishly naive as he was.

It took him longer than he wanted to find a job. He had worked for Lannister Holdings since he was sixteen, and it wasn't like his father or siblings were going to write a glowing reference for him. And he didn't want to be in that corporate world anymore, at least not the one ruled by his family.

By the time he was hired on at The Godswood, one of the nicer restaurants in The North, he was close to broke for the first time in his life, and beginning to get desperate. Maege Mormont hadn't been impressed by his degree in economics or his career in financial consulting, but she had been pleased with his marketing knowledge, his ability to function in a kitchen, and his attractive looks.

He enjoyed his work at the restaurant, enjoyed the weird blend of tasks he'd been assigned. Whether he was suggesting new promotions or events to bring in a larger crowd, or delivering plates to tables, or even in the kitchen helping with preparation and being trained on the line, Jaime felt good at the end of each day. The work was difficult, but fun, and his coworkers all seemed to be reasonably friendly. 

One of them, Hildy, had hit on Jaime within three minutes of meeting him, but seemed to have taken his rejection in stride, even though she was still blatantly flirty. She was also the one that told Jaime about the wide world of camming when they had all been on break between prep and the dinner hours. Jaime had been working his way through a plate of pasta, bitching to Jon about money (a thing he had never done in his previous life), when she had piped up and suggested that Jaime look into stripping.

"Never gonna happen," Jaime said, stabbing a chunk of tomato with his fork.

"Is it beneath you, Mr. Lannister?" Hildy purred, though with a hint of a sneer in her voice. 

Jaime looked around him, gesturing at their cramped surroundings. "Hildy, nothing is beneath me at this point. I'd clean shit up off the streets if it paid well enough. I just can't dance."

They had laughed, this motley crew of coworkers and maybe friends, but it had been a good-natured laughing, one that washed over him rather than stabbing him. 

"What about being a cam boy?" Hildy asked. "I saw an article on Cawfeed about it. People are making really good money. You just need a webcam and an account on JerkStream."

"I didn’t understand a single word of that," Jaime told her, feeling unbearably old all of a sudden. 

"JerkStream is an adult website," Hildy explained. "But instead of produced porn, you enter rooms. Each room has a livestream going, male or female, and they perform for their viewers. Some have schticks, some have interactive things, but the goal is to basically build up regulars who will watch you and give you tokens, which are then turned into money."

"Perform? I just told you I can't dance. I also can't sing or play an instrument or do any of that. The only thing I'm good at is soccer, and maybe baking."

"Gods, Lannister, did you miss the name of the website?" Bronn asked with a friendly sneer. " JerkStream . Nobody is there to watch you sing a little song, you fucking idiot. It's a site where people beat off for others to watch."

"That's not all it is!" Hildy said defensively even as everyone else laughed and Jaime blinked, genuinely taken aback. "I mean, yes, it's mostly that, but people do all sorts of things. One man keeps his face covered and provides sex therapy through fantasy description! There's a woman who shows you the proper form for exercising! Another one reads poetry. There's a lot more to it then just getting yourself off on camera!"

"You know a lot about it, Hildy," Bronn raised a brow at her. "Been moonlighting on there? Or spending your tip money being a voyeur?"

"Oh piss off," Hildy said in exasperation. "I got curious when I read the article, and so what if I checked it out? I'm just saying that there's a lot of variety, and people are making a lot of money doing it. If you're as broke as you say, Jaime, what's the harm in looking into it?"

The rest of their group laughed again, whether at her indignant expression or the idea of Jaime Lannister, a thirty-seven year old former rich boy, jacking off for money, he didn't know. It was a ridiculous idea, though. Masturbating on camera? Trying to build up a following of people who wanted to watch him get off on a regular basis? His father would have a stroke if he found out.

Later Jaime would admit that it was that thought that spurred him forward. 

He had gone home and looked into it, reading the article Hildy had mentioned, clicking through the website to see if there were any strings tucked away. He had talked himself into making an account (just in case), staring at his gray screen name as he debated whether it was worth it, and within an hour had seen it shift to orange as he selected to be a cam provider. But even then, he had been hesitant, at least until he got a notification that his electric bill would be withdrawn in six days and he pictured his father's smug, sneering expression at seeing Jaime struggle, and his apoplectic rage at discovering his heir, his legacy, was making

money jacking off for strangers.

Now here he was, spreading his legs in the chair, one hand resting on his chest, his thumb idly dragging across his collarbone, while he let the fingers on his belly slowly dip down to tap against the button of his jeans. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "When my friend first told me about this website, there was a voice in my head telling me that nobody would be interested." He trailed his index finger around the snap, glancing down a little for the sole purpose of looking back at the camera through his eyelashes. "I'm not exactly a young man anymore, as I'm sure you can see." He popped his jeans open, the snapping sound loud in the quiet of his room, and fought back a delighted smile as more tokens appeared.

"I didn't know if anyone would want to see me like this, if anyone would pass over the college boys to watch a man who's nearly forty. But you're here aren't you? Which means you know something other people don't." His thumb curved, mindlessly stroking the ridge of his firming cock. "Do you wanna know what that is? Do you want me to tell you?"

Jaime dragged his teeth over his lip, and then slid his tongue across the skin. "Us older men," he said slowly, pressing his entire palm over his zipper now, squeezing and releasing himself once. "We may have a bit more gray in our hair, and a few more lines on our face, that's true." He grasped his zipper now, tugging it down slowly. "And our bodies may be a little bit softer." His other hand drifted from his shoulder down to his belly, fingers brushing against the soft muscle there before continuing on to help peel his pants open. "But our cocks aren't soft at all."

Jaime lifted his hips so he could shuck his jeans down, rolling his pelvis a little more than was necessary. He kicked them off, thankful he was already barefoot so he didn't look like a jackass pulling socks off. He was breathing a little faster now, excitement beginning to burn in his blood at the idea of being watched, of being wanted for something as simple and basic as pleasure, to be wanted only for something that would make everyone involved feel good.

Jaime slid the fingertips of his left hand underneath the band of his boxer-briefs, scratching his nails against the tender skin where his pubic hair began. His other hand skimmed over the bulge of his erection, his hips shifting as his cock grew even more. "And we're patient," he continued, his voice just a little bit rougher. "Even when we're in a hurry to come, we know how to take it slow, how to draw it out." His eyes flicked up to the camera more firmly now, his mind conjuring some blurred facade of a woman, someone he wanted to make feel good. "I don't want to rush my pleasure. I don’t want to rush yours. There's plenty of time for us to shake apart. Older men know how to savor that time, we know how to savor you ." He released his grip on himself and slid his hand up his thighs instead, feeling his cock throb impatiently. 

"And there's another reason I decided to give it a shot," Jaime said, slowly hooking his thumbs into the sides of his boxer briefs. "Do you wanna know what it is?" The flash of tokens being added told him that they did. He lifted his hips up with a bitten off moan, easing his shorts down so that his cock sprang free, thick and erect now and ready to be touched.

"I walked away from my entire life not long ago," he confessed, leaning back in his chair and spreading his legs wide again. "I completely cut myself away from my family, my friends, my job. Everything and everyone I've known for the past thirty-seven years." He eased his hand down his thigh so that his pinkie could brush against the curve of his erection. "And I've been a bit lonely since then. I miss being known, miss being touched." Jaime let his hand slide across his cock once, twice, before he gave in and curled his fist around it. "And even though you can't touch me tonight, knowing that you're watching me feels almost as good."

Jaime began to move his arm in long, slow strokes, watching the muscles in his forearm bunch and release as he settled into a steady rhythm. "Fuck," he bit out, breathing heavier through his nose. "It's been so long since I've had someone touch me." He let his head fall back for a moment, leaving his throat exposed to the camera as he began to rock his hips. "What about you? Do you miss being touched too?"

He gripped the base of his cock firmly, stilling his hand as the chat box lit up repeatedly. He had more viewers now, he saw, and had a moment of confusion before he smiled. "Ollie, you sent out a Raven about me? I hope that means you're enjoying the time we've spent together so far. Is there anything in particular you're wanting to see?" He stroked his hand up one more time, flicking the pad of his thumb across the head of his cock while he waited for a response. When it came it made him smile even broader.

"I can do that," Jaime said, shifting to stand up so that for a moment his camera caught nothing but the plane of his belly and the thick jut of his cock. "You wanna see me fuck my hand, Ollie?" Jaime turned to the side slightly, planting his left foot on the seat of his chair and bending over slightly to brace his hand on the wall. "I don't know how long I'll last like this. Older men have patience but we also know how fucking good it can be when you just let it take you." 

Jaime began to roll his hips, thrusting deeply into the circle of his palm, moaning when the sensitive patch beneath the leaking head of his cock rubbed against his newly formed calluses on his hand. "Gods, I wish all of you could feel how good this feels. I hope it feels good for you, hope you're right here with me, hope you're fucking yourself with my voice in your ears. What should we do, hmm? How do you want it? Should I go slower?" Jaime decreased the speed of his hips, fucking his hand with long, deep thrusts, his head falling backwards on a moan. "Or do you want me faster, want to see me to fuck even harder?" He sped up again, his hips snapping against his hand furiously, a growl erupting from his throat as his head fell forward against the wall. "Tell me, oh fuck , tell me what you want to see. You can have it."

Jaime turned his face towards his camera, aware of how wrecked and desperate he looked, his body gleaming with sweat, his hair a mess, his cock throbbing in his hand. His entire body was trembling as he tried to focus on the words on his screen. There was a stream of comments now, the usernames all lit up in different colors, the purples and blues outweighing the greens and grays, but his eyes landed on his token counter and picked a name from there. 

"Some of you want me to go faster, and some of you want me to go slower. What do you want ValeVixen? You pick for me tonight. Such a lovely tip deserves to have a reward. Let me reward you the only way I can tonight. What should I do to make you happy?"

"Idc if it's faster or slower, i just want you to come."

Jaime moaned and took his foot from the chair, turning towards his desk so that his camera caught him from face to thigh as he gripped the desk and leaned towards the laptop. "You want to see me come?" he asked, and his hand was moving faster now, pulling his cock to a quick and steady beat, his grip firmer than before. "Is that what you want? It's what I want. Fuck I want to come, and I want you to come with me." 

His breathing was coming rapidly, his words devolving into a tangle of growls and grunts and moans as he furiously fucked his hand. "Oh fuck," he whispered, feeling the knotting low in his belly spiraling to twine with the gathering of pressure in the base of his spine. "Right there, right there. Come on, come with me, please, oh fuck."

Jaime's back arched, curving forward toward his desk as his orgasm ripped through him and over him, his vision whiting out with sheer pleasure. He stumbled forward as his knees buckled, his thighs shaking as he collapsed into his seat. 

"Holy fuck," Jaime murmured, and he could hear the sleepy satisfaction in his voice, a feeling mirrored on his blissful face. He was blushing a little now, could feel the warmth in his cheeks as he examined his belly and hand that were smeared in his come. "I gotta admit, friends--I was a little worried I'd have trouble getting hard knowing I had people watching, but I'm definitely not worried about that anymore. That was intense ."

He leaned down to pick up his tee shirt, absently cleaning himself up while leaning forward to read the comments. Some were super explicit but others were almost sweet, almost friendly.

"Gods Jaime, I hope you're planning on making this a full time job."

"I want you to bend me over your chair and fuck me."

"No, I'd rather he let me bend him over the desk and fuck him. That ass is chef's kiss ."

"You did really well, Jaime. Are you blushing? After we just watched you come all over your hand? Adorable."

"I miss being touched too, Jaime. But it doesn't feel safe to me anymore. This is safe. So...thank you."

Jaime smiled softly, absurdly moved by the variety of responses. Some of these comments made him feel like he was doing a good thing, like it wasn't just a crude way to make a quick buck. He knew it was silly to attach a deeper meaning to masturbating on camera, knew that it wasn't something heartwarming and tender by most people's standards, but hadn't he decided he wouldn't live by any standards but his own?

Fuck it.

"Thank you everyone," he said much more honestly than he would've expected an hour earlier. "Sincerely. I was so nervous about tonight and all of you made it so easy." His eyes roamed over the comments again, his smile growing into something wide and joyful. "And if you come back again, I promise I'll do even better. I'm going to figure this out, for me and for all of you. If you'll bear with me during these growing pains, I think it'll be worth it. There's a lot we can experience together if you're willing to take a chance on me."

Jaime watched as his tokens counter and comment box exploded again, laughing a little in disbelief. "I'm gonna go take a long, hot shower and then crawl in bed, but I hope to see all of you again next time. I'll be back in three days, at midnight. I hope you can come too." He winked at the camera, and kept the smile on his face while he ended the livestream and closed the window.

"Fucking hell," he said when he was sure his camera was off, and he was alone once more. He had been so certain that tonight would be a flop, either via his cock or with one lonely viewer. Instead he'd had a user send out a Raven about him, had seen his viewer count grow from six to thirty-two in what felt like a matter of minutes. He had gotten tips, including one for thirty dragons. He had earned nearly two hundred dragons in half an hour. He was already getting notifications that people were saving his channel, or subscribing to it for a small, one-time fee.

Jaime had expected to feel cheap or dirty afterwards, had thought he'd feel shameful and pathetic for making money by jacking off on camera. It was the exact opposite, though. He felt good, his body loose and relaxed, his spirits high. And most importantly, he didn't feel quite as hopeless or quite as alone as he had four hours ago. He wouldn't be forced to find a tiny apartment with four roommates and a community bathroom. He wouldn't have to take on a second or third job in hopes of making ends meet. And he wouldn't have to go crawling back to his father, his spirit more broken than ever.

"Well, Father, you told me to go fuck myself the last time we talked. Who knew it would be so profitable?"

At the thought, Jaime laughed until he cried.

Chapter Text

If anyone would have told Brienne at graduation that she would one day use her degree to watch men and women masturbate on her laptop, she would've laughed--but she wasn't laughing now.

Journalists had gone down some odd paths in the name of a story, but she hadn't expected to actually do that herself. The blog she and Arya had started as a way to vent frustration had morphed into something bigger and more successful than she'd ever dreamed. It had expanded into a genuine business, with viewers all over the world, and things like payroll and taxes. Over the course of the last few years, her role for their site had gone from crime to social issues to politics to some convoluted blend of all of it, and now she was diving into how the perspective of sex and sex work had changed over the years. She still wasn't sure how that had ended with her as a multi-registered user on JerkStream, watching snippets of different shows, but regardless of intent, that's what had happened.

Brienne hadn't even known a site like this had existed. She had studied magazines and fan letters, had spent way too much money talking to a phone sex operator about decidedly non-sexy things, had interviewed porn stars (and even declined a job offer at one studio), and had felt very adventurous and mature for delving into that world. But it had been one of the adult entertainment actors who had told her about camming.

"A lot of us get our start there now," Shae had said, rifling through harnesses. She was getting ready for her next scene, and had been happy to talk to Brienne as long as it was while she prepared. She hadn't mentioned that preparing would include selecting the perfect strap on, or modeling them for Brienne in the hopes of soliciting her opinion, but she supposed those were minor details for Shae. "It's only been around for a year or two, but it's really taken off. Models, exotic dancers, adult actors--a lot of us come from there, or even moonlight for extra cash."

"Do you?" Brienne had asked, trying to keep her face from turning red.

"Not anymore," Shae had shrugged carelessly, stepping into a shiny black harness and bending over to adjust the straps at her thighs. "Once I got signed with Mockingbird, I was making enough money to give it up. I didn't like the pressure of performing in front of customers. The money was good though. And there are a lot of different people there. Really all sorts of backgrounds and skills." She’d fiddled with the electric blue dildo, making sure it was attached securely, then had turned to grin seductively at Brienne. "What do you think?"

Brienne had flushed but made herself take in the full picture.Shae had been stunning, there had been no doubt about that, and Brienne was slowly becoming more used to nudity from others. "You look fantastic," she had said with a small smile. "Nice color-coordinating with the jewelry."

Shae had laughed, flicking one of the sapphires dangling from her nipple. "It's all in the details, love. I gotta get out there, but feel free to stick around. I'd be more than happy to give you a hand after work."

Brienne had definitely flushed then, her face practically glowing in the bright dressing room. She wished she was attracted to women, wished she could have returned the interest she had received from Shae and countless other women during her research, but she was fairly sure she was straight enough that her sexuality could be used as a ruler. "Thank you, but I need to get going. What was the name of that site again? The big one?"

"JerkStream. Definitely worth checking out."

So she had. Several times, actually, growing more comfortable each time, though she kept creating new accounts so she could interact with each channel she subscribed to without any interference. 

After all, she didn't want to taint her research.

In the past few months, Brienne had watched cammers of all genders, races, and sexualities; had watched singles and couples and groups. She had watched a man recite the poetry of Pablo Neruda as he rubbed his body in rose petals and masturbated with a handful of them. She had watched a woman lead yoga and tantric meditation sessions while completely nude. She had even watched a surprisingly intense game of strip Uno between a group of five. Really, she had plenty of material for her article series, so there was no good reason for her to be sitting on her couch with her computer open, a glass of Scotch nearby, trying to think of a new username. 

If anyone had asked her, she could've definitely explained exactly why she needed at least one more cammer to include in her set, one more type of show. Her notes on heterosexual males were a little light, though truthfully that was reflected in the demographics of cammers. Brienne could detail exactly what else she needed to add weight to her thesis, what kind of information would solidify the way the lens of society had changed. She could.

But if she were honest with herself--and gods knew she was always brutally honest with herself--she was feeling a little curious and a lot lonely. It was a bit demoralizing to realize that her mother had been right when she had told Brienne not to bury herself in school and sports when she left for college, that it was important to devote as much energy to developing a social life, but Brienne had thought that if she shone in the classroom and set fire on the field that her long-dormant social skills would burst forth, finally set loose by the freedom and debauchery of college life.

Instead she was as she had always been: smart and focused, athletic and quiet. She had a handful of close friends, a slightly bigger hand of acquaintances, and a few people she would nod at if they nodded first. When she became a hermit for too long, her friends would drag her out. When she wanted to have fun, she could find someone who was free. 


Tonight was the final night of The Week of the Seven though, Maiden's Night, a night for lovers, for partners, for people who had someone to share their lives with. Sansa and Margaery were on a beach in the Stepstones, Dacey and Robb locked away in her family home on Bear Island, Podrick undoubtedly snuggled up in his apartment with whichever girl he was madly in love with this month. Nearly everyone in Westeros, even those who followed the Old Gods, was surely sitting next to their hearth, keeping their fire going until the clock struck midnight, hoping that what they wanted would become theirs.

And where was she? Logging onto JerkStream to watch some stranger jack off until he came, her fireplace empty, her tumbler full. Pathetic.

Brienne sighed a little as she finished signing up yet again, and waited for the verification code. She could probably complete registration with her eyes shut at this point, though this time she had used her real email address, too exhausted to create yet another dummy account. 

She spent the next fifteen minutes mindlessly scrolling through streams. She ignored the ones she'd already researched, as if she hadn't watched Rooney use nipple clamps on himself, or listened to ThatCuntOfCarla's make her way through an entire sex shop of vibrators and dildos. On the streams homepage, the channels seemed less sharply defined compared to how they were when they had their camera going. The streamer page was innocuous, at least until you got into the rooms.

She filtered the cammers to look for heterosexual males, figuring it was a good place to start. She had started her searches under a broad umbrella, narrowing them down as she had gotten more familiar with the site, and more comfortable with the premise. 

Tonight wasn't about the blog, though. It wasn't about understanding what drove people to this sort of career move, what they found in it besides monetary benefits, how society viewed them. It was about how long it had been since her body had felt the slide of someone's hands, the hours that had passed since she had felt that rush of pleasure that came with being vulnerable and bare and taken by another.

Brienne paused over one of the accounts, her head tilting slightly as she read the tags. Most of them were fairly common: hetero, cis male, masturbation, props, toys, dirty talk. But the last few were what had made her hesitate in her scroll.

"Personal connections, friendship, and baking ?" she read incredulously. That was possibly the most ridiculous set of tags she'd ever seen since she'd first found the website--and she'd once found a man who advertised with "cock curling, ass cheek art, and scarf tying" which at least made sense on this sort of website. 

Brienne found herself clicking on it, unable to resist the blend of innocence and filthy promise in his tags. She couldn't imagine what would have persuaded this guy to include baking as a way to entice more viewers. She loved baking shows, was an avid watcher of The Grand Maester Bake Off , even, but it wasn't anything sexy.

"Fuck the Seven," she breathed out as the video stream connected and she got her first glimpse of XXXJaimeXXX. It suddenly made perfect sense that he'd included baking as a tag, because of all the things she had seen on JerkStream, nothing had ever appealed to her on such a visceral level as the man smiling out at her from her laptop, standing in a kitchen wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs, cut tight and high on his thighs.

Brienne leaned forward, her eyes greedily taking in every bit of the image on her screen. He was a tall man as far as she could judge, his golden shoulders broad and his body lean, his muscles sharply defined but softened by time and age. A smattering of chest hair swirled between his pebbled nipples and below his navel, mostly golden but flecked with enough silver to make her belly clench. The notch of his hip bones peeking above the band of his boxer briefs made her bite her lip, but not as much as the outline of the long, thick ridge of his cock where it rested against his thigh.

Brienne forced herself to look up at the man's face, embarrassed by the low thrum of arousal that was already quivering within her. "Fuck me," she groaned. Looking at his face didn't help matters at all. 

She couldn't decide if he would classify as a pretty sort of man, or a sexy man, but whatever it was, it appealed to her on every single level. His hair was cut short enough to be respectable, but long enough on top to make her fingers tingle with the urge to grip it and help guide the direction of his mouth. The tidy beard somehow accentuated the sharp line of his jaw, colored in the same golden-gray mixture that topped his head and trickled down his torso. It helped add a toughness to his otherwise pretty face, masking the fullness of his lips and the peek of a dimple through the hair. His nose was big and marked with a bump (a familiar one that made Brienne smile and run a finger over her own), but his eyes were a wicked green, topped with long lashes and framed by laugh lines.

Brienne leaned forward, wanting to introduce her mouth and hands to the body of the man on her screen. She wanted to nuzzle her nose into the spray of hair below his navel, wanted to scrape her teeth along the line of his collarbone. She had desired men before, had wanted to feel them between her thighs, but nothing had ever felt as intense and urgent as this. Every single inch of him was tailored to her specifications, and she found herself clicking the button to add a token to his account.

"Why thank you, KnightWriter," Jaime drawled, and fuck if his voice wasn't as lethal as his body. "Usually I don't get any tokens until I begin, but I hope that means you like what you see. What a nice way to introduce yourself. I'm Jaime X, and I have no doubt it'll be a pleasure to meet you. So to speak." He gave the camera a smirking, wicked grin that Brienne knew was for her, and had her flushing bright red.

"Happy Maidens's Day to all of you joining me tonight. I don't know how it's been for you, but this week has been a little more brutal for me. My work stays extremely busy during this holiday with so many happy or hopeful couples celebrating, so not only am I exhausted, but it feels like a constant reminder that I'm alone." He leaned an elbow on the counter, propping his chin up on his fist. His face was pensive, but Brienne was completely distracted by the way his body stretched across the screen, her eyes traveling across the curve of his hip and down the heavy muscle of his thigh. "Nights like these help, though. Because I'm not alone, am I? None of us are if we're together."

Brienne swallowed, taken aback by his earnest tone and surprisingly kind words. She knew it was most likely an angle, a way to encourage tips from people who were definitely alone, and the sudden glow of tokens being sent seemed to confirm that. But there was a sincerity in his face, a wistfulness in his voice, that made her wonder if some of it was genuine.

"And some of us really aren't alone," Jaime said with an easy chuckle. "I see you've joined us, DornishDuo. Are you spending this final night of The Week of the Seven watching me bake?"

hopefully more than bake, JaimeX. The last time we watched you, we were able to have several orgasms each and then a phenomenal souffle the next day. 

Brienne read the reply as Jaime read it out loud, her cheeks flushing a little. "And which one did you prefer more?" Jaime asked. "The soufflé or the orgasms?"

the beauty of your channel is that we never have to choose.

Jaime laughed again and Brienne impulsively gave him another token simply because she liked the sound so much. She watched his eyes soften as he noticed and felt a surge of pleasure when he gave a subtle wink to the camera.

"Well there's no souffle tonight," Jaime told them, "But since it's the last night of the Week, I thought we'd go with something simple and delicious, something that all of you who choose to date in the future can re-create for your partner or partners. Or it can be a treat for you just like I hope I am.

"Now, as always, I'll post the recipe to my channel after the live show, but let's get started, shall we? Tonight we'll be making Chocolate Lava Cakes. They're small, rich, and decadent, and there's something extremely sensual about pressing your spoon into the top and watching the liquid chocolate pour out onto your plate."

Brienne watched him as he angled the camera toward his gleaming stove and the stretch of counter beside it, ingredients lined up neatly. She was baffled by what she was seeing simply because it seemed unreal that she had logged on to an adult streaming site to watch the sexiest man she had ever seen teach her how to bake a dessert while in his underwear. He had a lot of viewers, though, including several regulars that seemed familiar with each other and his method so this was apparently his thing. His very popular thing.

"Now this recipe calls for ramekins, which I have here, but you can also use muffin tins if you don't have them." He picked up the small white dish with one hand, his fingers long and tan against the glass, and grabbed a can of cooking spray with the other. "First, you want to make sure you spray or grease down the ramekins, and then we'll sprinkle them with cocoa powder. We've talked about how important it is to keep things nice and slick, whether it's with our bodies or with baking. A little lubrication makes everything better." He grinned at them as he sprayed each dish liberally, and then gave them a light dusting of cocoa powder, the brown dust coating his skin. "I always want to lick my fingers clean during this step," he added, raising his fingers near his mouth, his pink tongue sliding out across his bottom lip in a way that made Brienne bite her own. "Don't do that, though. It's very bitter."

Jaime moved to the sink, washing his hands carelessly. "Get your oven pre-heating to the temperature that works for you, depending on where you're located. For Westeros that's 425, but remember to do the conversion if you're abroad."

Brienne found herself oddly fascinated as she watched him roughly chop the sweet chocolate, his knife gleaming as he moved his hand in quick but precise movements. There was something compelling about his easy competence, the sly invitation when he stressed how important it was to work with good quality ingredients to achieve an excellent result.

"There are two ways to melt the chocolate," Jaime told them once he had a neatly chopped pile. "The quickest way is to place half a cup of butter into a microwave-safe bowl, and then put the chocolate on top. You'll heat it for ten seconds at a time, stirring each time, until it's fully melted and smooth." As he spoke he turned the stove on, then filled a pot with water, placing it on the red glow of the burner. "I prefer the old-fashioned way, though, which is creating a double burner." He balanced a smaller pot on the shimmering water before adding the butter and chocolate to it.

"This takes longer, and a lot of people don't want to spend the extra time doing it," he told them, picking up a wooden spoon to move around the pot in slow, lazy circles. "But I like to take my time with anything I'm getting ready to put in my mouth and enjoy. Speed can be nice, don't get me wrong. Sometimes time is limited and you simply can't wait, right? We've all been there, haven't we? That feeling you get when you just need it to happen, when drawing it out seems like torture. I can be greedy and want to move fast, want to rush to the finish line." He peered into the pot and then resumed his lazy stirring while his other hand slid down to his stomach, his thumb tracing the band of his boxer briefs with that same steady rhythm. "But when you can really take your time to prepare? When you can stretch it out and delay the finale so you can savor the process? Hmmmm."

Were they still talking about baking? Brienne's eyes were glued to that broad thumb sliding over skin. She didn't give a fuck about melting the chocolate, not when she could so easily imagine being the one spread out in front of Jaime while he took the time to savor her. Would his hands move across her body with the same focused patience? Would he start off thorough and measured and then be moved to speed by her moans? She wanted to know, wanted to know what he looked like when he was lost in pleasure, wanted to know how his voice would sound as it panted her name against her throat. 

"Once that's done, we whisk the flour, powdered sugar, and salt together in one bowl. I like to have things pre-measured for efficiency." Brienne had to shake her head to get her mind back on the show rather than the images playing out in her mind. She shifted in her seat a little, unsurprised when she realized she had begun to get wet from his voice and his hands and her thoughts.

She let out a long, unsteady breath as he cracked two eggs into another bowl, and then threw back the rest of her Scotch when he cracked another two over a different bowl, walking them through how to separate the whites and the yolks. Brienne didn't know what it said about her that watching his cupped hands move back and forth, the whites sliding through his fingers, had her leaning forward, but she also didn't really care. Not when his voice was in her ears, and his body and competence were on full display for her eyes.

By the time he was whisking the eggs, the muscles in his forearm flexing, Brienne had stripped her shirt off, her fingers brushing across the pebbled peak of her nipples as she watched him. By the time he had added the flour mixture and the eggs to the chocolate and was stirring them together with a thick, rubber spatula, she had slid her sweatpants to the floor, leaving her in only her panties, her hips shifting slightly as her long fingers skated down the sides of her thighs.

"Once your batter is fully combined and without lumps, just spoon it into your ramekins or muffin tins." He worked as he spoke, his movements almost delicate. "See how nice and thick that is? That's what you want." 

Brienne couldn't disagree.

He set the small bowls on a baking tray and bent down to slide them into the oven. If anyone had asked Brienne before this moment if she were an ass girl, she would have denied it, and been positive that she was being truthful. But the thin fabric stretching over that rounded flesh, the dip of his lower back, the long line of spine, and the muscles bunching and releasing all the way up had her re-considering. She wanted to sink her teeth into his ass, wanted to drag her nose up his spine, and bite down on the muscle of his shoulder before settling her mouth on the tendon in his neck. 

Jaime turned back to the camera after setting the timer, smiling slightly as he picked up the bowl that was still streaked with chocolate. "One perk of being alone is that you can clean the mixing bowl by yourself." He dragged the side of his finger around the curve, gathering up leftover batter as he went. He stepped closer to the camera as he lifted his finger to his mouth, his tongue sliding out to trail from knuckle to pad. "Hmmmm," he breathed. "Fuck, that's good." He dipped his finger into the bowl to get a little more before discarding it in the sink. "Do you want a taste?" he asked, holding his hand out slightly. "I wish you could, I wish you were here so I could take care of you, so I could feed you." He closed his lips around his finger this time, his cheeks hollowing out as he sucked forcefully. "The taste is phenomenal, but I bet you'd taste better. I know your mouth would feel better."

Brienne had stopped breathing, her lungs seizing up at the sight of this man mouthing his finger, at the sound of his words. She scratched her nails across her thighs as they spread on the couch, ghosting across the sodden cotton of her panties on the way to her breasts. Her hands cupped her breasts without any thought, her fingers lightly pinching and tugging her nipples to the same rhythm as his mouth sucking on his skin. She wanted his mouth on them, wanted to feel his teeth nip at her skin and feel his tongue flatten against them. 

"I don't really like to mix food and sex," Jaime said as he pulled his clean finger from his mouth. "But chocolate isn't food, is it? It always tastes good, but it tastes better on someone else's tongue. People always want to talk about how it pairs with this wine or this fruit, but for me? Chocolate pairs best with pleasure. I want to smell it on your skin, lick it from your mouth, paint your nipples with it and suck them clean."

Brienne's cunt clenched at his words, and she let out a breathy whimper as Jaime began to touch himself in light, easy strokes. He avoided his cock, though she could see it thickening inside his shorts, but ghosted his fingers over his own nipples, across the line of his clavicle, the strong dip of his hips. 

"I miss baking for someone," he said quietly, his eyes a little softer. "I've made friends I can bake for, but it isn't the same. Would you let me bake for you, let me feed you?" He tilted his head, almost as if he were trying to read an expression he couldn't see. "Or maybe you'd like to feed me, hmm?" He leaned forward a little, hands still idly stroking his body, and grinned at the comment box.

"Well that's a very intriguing idea, DornishDuo," Jaime said. "Is that what you're going to imagine tonight?"

Brienne leaned forward as well and to read what they had written. My paramour would love to sit on your face while I rested between your thighs, Jaime. I think we could all be well-fed and well-satisfied. If only you'd find your way to Dorne.

The image was an intriguing one, but not as intriguing as the idea of her sitting on his face, her clit resting against the bump of his nose, his tongue buried inside her. 

"Who else would let me feed them?" Jaime asked, hooking a thumb into the band of his underwear while one finger slowly traced his cock.

Later, Brienne would blame the Scotch and the loneliness and the fact that she had been basically watching an erotic bakery show, but she found herself leaning forward to type I would let you feed me as long as I could also feed you.

A slow smile spread over Jaime's face as he read her response. "Hello KnightWriter," he purred. "That sounds absolutely delicious to me. Question, though:who gets fed first?"

Brienne imagined straddling his face, her hips rolling against the beautiful beard, while her hands gripped his thighs and she tried to break him apart with just her tongue and lips. Her face was burning and she was slightly horrified at herself because she would never be this forward in real life, but that was one of the perks of the anonymity. Why not both at the same time?

Jaime's grin widened. "Another intriguing idea, KnightWriter. But I can see from your stats that you're a female, and I'm a tall man." He used his free hand to gesture at himself. "Simultaneous oral isn't as easy as it sounds, unfortunately." 

Brienne grinned too. I'm 6'3, I think we can manage. 

Jaime's eyes darkened a little as he read her response, and then flicked his gaze back up at the camera. "Now I'm definitely intrigued," he murmured, wetting his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. "I bet your legs are endless ."

Brienne shuddered a little at the tone of his voice, imagining his hands and mouth discovering just how endless her legs were. She watched the hand on the band of his boxers lower, gripping his cock just a little. 

"You've all put so many good thoughts in my head," Jaime said, and the husky, promising timbre of his voice slid right across her spine. "Do you see how hard I am now?" He moved his hand slowly, pumping himself through the thin fabric. "Do you know how much I want to just take these off, and finish what you've started?" The timer beeped once behind him and Jaime sighed, releasing himself. "But burning my cock off isn't on the agenda tonight so I'll need just a moment." He scraped his teeth over his lip, studying them. "Why don't you go ahead and get started without me? If you haven't already."

As he turned around to face the oven, the timer now down to the seconds, Brienne hurriedly pulled her panties down, flinging them to the side without a care to where they landed. Her body was practically vibrating, her thighs pressing together restlessly as he opened the oven and began quickly and carefully removing the ramekins.

"I wish you could smell this," he said conversationally. "It's sinful. Chocolate is one of my favorite smells in the world, one of my favorite flavors." He shut the oven and then turned back to them, his smile as dangerous as before. "Well, almost. I bet you smell better, don't you? I wish I could smell you, taste you. I wish you were here to taste me."

" Fuck ," Brienne breathed. She couldn't stop herself from sucking her fingers into her mouth much like Jaime had done earlier, and then sliding them between her legs to where her cunt was wet and aching. She let her fingertips glide over her clit, once, twice, and then forced herself to slide around it instead, no matter how her hips rocked forward, looking for relief.

She wanted to come, but she wanted to come with him more.

On screen, Jaime was humming as he carefully flipped one of the cakes out on an plate. He looked so happy, Brienne thought absently, as if he were really a man who was content to putter around his kitchen rather than someone who was going to soon be masturbating on video. If it weren't for the firm cock that was so clearly outlined in his shorts, he'd be the picture of domestic innocence. 

"Look at that," Jaime said in satisfaction. "It came out perfectly. You want it firm on the sides, but soft on the top." He held the plate out, allowing everyone to take a good look. "All you have to do now is add the topping of your choice, and enjoy. You can add nearly anything--berries, caramel, peanut butter, whipped cream. My favorite is vanilla ice cream, though. I had planned on having some with it, but I didn't plan on being this hard by the time they were ready." He smiled at them ruefully, lifting his hand to ruffle his hair a little. "So I'll just show you my favorite part, and then I really need to come."

Brienne had never particularly cared for dirty talk when men had done it in the past, which was a disappointment considering how much she liked words. But she had always assumed that it just didn't work for her rather than them not being very good at it. Now she wondered if the problem was who the men were rather than what they were saying, because so far everything Jaime had said had succeeded in making her more wet. 

Jaime took a spoon and let it rest against the top of the cake. "Are you ready?" he asked, something in his voice dark and hungry for more than just cake. "This is the moment of truth, when we know if all our work paid off. Here we go." He kept his eyes on the screen as he pressed the spoon down gently, only lowering them once it cut all the way through. Brienne watched as dark, liquid chocolate spilled out of the cake, pooling around it in a way that was intensely satisfying. "Exactly what we're looking for," he smiled, scooping up a bit of the cake and dragging it through the lava. With his eyes back on the camera, he lifted the spoon to his mouth for a taste.

Brienne nearly whimpered at the sight of his mouth closing around the spoon, the flash of his tongue against the silver, the way his throat moved as he swallowed and let out a quiet breath that spoke clearly of pleasure. His head fell back a little, his neck arching in a way that had her fingers pressing against her clit again, the desire to wrap her mouth around the apple of his throat nearly overwhelming. 

"It's delicious," Jaime confirmed, his tongue chasing away the last traces of chocolate as he set the plate aside. "But right now I want something else. What about you? Do you want to see me come?"

"Fuck yes," Brienne hissed between her teeth, letting her middle finger ease down a little to where she was warm and wet. She watched as Jaime tugged his boxer briefs down and kicked them aside, her gaze heavy on his cock. 

After the time she had put in on researching this particular set of articles, Brienne felt she had seen enough cocks to no longer be phased. They may have come in all shapes, sizes, and colors, but at the end of the day, a cock was a cock was a cock. 

That was before she saw Jaime's, though, or watched his hand wrap around it as if he needed the release too badly to wait. It wasn't the biggest she had seen on the website (that honor belonged to a show best left forgotten) but it was undoubtedly the most appealing. Pleasantly long and thick, it speared up from a nest of coarse hair, flushed a dark pink, gleaming at the head, and with a vein running along the side that Brienne wanted to feel pulse under her tongue.

"Help me," Jaime said, beginning to stroke himself firmly, the muscles of his arm flexing as he leaned back against the counter and began to thrust into his hand. "I want you to touch yourself, want you to press your fingers into your skin and pretend it's me."

Brienne couldn't ignore him if she tried. She spread her legs even wider, planting her feet on the coffee table as she began to move her fingers in earnest, matching the rhythm of his hand as he fucked himself. She pressed her fingers low to get them nice and wet, and then curled them upward so that the rough pads of her fingers dragged across the underside of her clit.

Pleasure shimmered through her, her cunt already clenching greedily anytime her fingers neared it. She wanted to slide her fingers into her body, wanted to grab her dildo from her bedside drawer, wanted to sit on Jaime's counter and have his cock buried inside her.

"Fuck this feels good," Jaime moaned, and Brienne made a noise like someone had punched the air from her lungs. "Are you fucking your hand too? Or maybe riding your fingers? I want you to. I want you to slide your fingers in your body and think of me. Think of my cock inside you, stretching you. Think of my breath in your ear, my teeth on your neck. Let me fuck you, please. I want to fuck you."

Brienne's moan mingled with his as she slid two thick fingers inside her body, rolling her hips forward so she was riding them like he asked her to, her thumb pressed firmly against her clit. She couldn't take her eyes off his hand, the way it slid over his cock, the way his palm rolled over the leaking head with each rough stroke, letting him use his own slick as lubrication.

"How would you want it, hmm?" Jaime growled. "Do you want me on top, my body fitted to yours, our skin sweat-slicked and sliding together?" He lifted his leg a little, bracing his foot on the rung of a bar stool, widening his stance so that he could ease his free hand down to cup his balls. "Or maybe you want to hold me down. Maybe you want to pin my arms above my head and keep me still while you ride me any way you want."

"Oh fuck, fuck," Brienne cursed as the image flooded her mind. She wanted it all. Wanted his cock in her mouth and his mouth on her cunt, wanted to feel the rough grab of carpet against her knees as he took her from behind, his grip and pace punishing, wanted to stretch him out and ride him until his hips were bruised from the pressure of her own.

Brienne scrambled to her knees, rotating on the couch so that her hand was braced on the armrest and her own arm was curled beneath her. Three fingers thrust inside her, and her head fell back, a loud moan sounding from her throat as she began to ride her fingers in earnest, using the slight ridge of her thumbnail to flick against her swollen clit.

"There you go," Jaime was saying when she managed to turn her head back to the screen. "That's it. Take what you need, take what you want from me. I'm going to take what I want from you, going to take anything you want me to take. Fuck, fuck ." His voice was guttural now, and the sound of it helped nudge Brienne closer to the edge. 

She could feel her orgasm building, feel the layered anticipation growing low in her belly. She wanted it, wanted it to wash over her, wanted to scream until her throat was hoarse and her muscles shaking. Her fingers were good, they were so good, but gods she wanted Jaime's cock in her, wanted to roll it deep inside her until she clenched and came around it.

"Look at me," Jaime rasped, and Brienne forced her eyes open, locking her gaze on his face. "I'm going to come, and I want your eyes on me when I do. Can you come with me? Can you let me--" his voice broke off in a loud moan, his hips thrusting rapidly into his hand before they stilled with an arch of his back.

Brienne broke, the sight of his face in rapturous agony too much for her. Pleasure, nearly painful, ripped through her body, her cunt clamping down on her fingers eagerly, her body pulling them further inside as she came and came and came with Jaime's name filling her living room. 

She was sprawled across the couch, trembling, when she came to, her muscles weak and her skin sensitive and shivery. She wanted to stretch out and sleep til morning, wanted to laugh in sheer delight at the force of her orgasm, wanted to press her mouth to Jaime's as she panted through the aftermath of her release. Instead she could only flop over onto her back, watching with bleary eyes as Jaime shuddered and shook on the screen, his hand and belly shiny with his come.

"It's always so good," he said sleepily, lowering himself to the stool on shaky legs. "Even after all these months, it still surprises me. Is it weird to feel so comfortable with people I've never met? What does it say that I'm more relaxed jacking off in front of people I've never met than I was at a party surrounded by people I've known my whole life? It makes me worry sometimes, worry that it means I can't connect with people I meet in real life. I hope that's not it."

Brienne's heart squeezed a little, a sense of kinship settling within her. She knew that feeling too, of always feeling a little out of step. She had started writing for the blog because she had a lot to say but not the confidence to say it out loud, and though it had helped her gain some spine, she still felt like many of her connections were either superficial or brought on by forced proximity. The quiet melancholy that played across Jaime's face was the same quiet tune that often sounded inside her.

She sat up to read the chat room, wanting to see what people had to say to him.

I don't think it's that weird tbh. I mean, a lot of us have been getting to know each other for months. We're not strangers anymore.

It's always so good for me too, Jaime. 

I wish you wouldn't be sad after you make me come that hard.

You connect with me just fine. 

Brienne frowned a little at the responses, and at the small smile that Jaime offered in return even as her fingers flew across the keys. "Thanks everyone," he said quietly. "I know I shouldn't be so maudlin." Brienne hit enter and watched as his eyes dropped down, his body stilling as he read what she wrote.

I think it says that you feel safe with the screen between you and others, but that doesn't mean you won't be able to make a real connection without it. It just means you need someone you feel safe with. That's what we're all really looking for, right?

Jaime inhaled a breath deeply, his jaw working furiously for a moment. "Thank you, KnightWriter," he said finally, his voice thick in his throat. "That means a lot to me. I hope you're right about me. You're absolutely right about what we're all looking for, aren't you?" He smiled at the screen again, his eyes bright. "You really are a Knight huh? Just swooping in to save the day. I hope this isn't the last time you join me on my channel. I don't always need to be saved, but I like knowing I can be."

Brienne swallowed as she took in the two bright spots of color on his cheeks, the joy so clearly illuminated in his eyes, and groaned. I can't believe I'm going to do this, she thought, even as she typed in I will, and saw his smile grow even wider. I am such a fucking idiot, she added as she tipped him twenty tokens before hurriedly exiting the channel. 

I am never going to be able to watch The Grand Maester Bake Off ever, ever again.


Chapter Text

Jaime was grinning as he let himself inside his apartment, absently kicking the door shut behind him. Work had been brutal tonight- a full house, they had run short on potatoes, and Maege had chewed all of their asses off for the delay in service, but none of that had mattered the minute he had swung into his bus seat. Because work was over, he had two days off, and most importantly his JerkStream app had been glowing with an envelope notification. 

His life had taken quite a turn in the past six weeks, and it had been all for the better. He had been taking on more responsibilities at work, including dessert prep in the kitchen and spearheading a new marketing campaign in the office. He felt like he was finally making real friends there, people he could grab a beer with or watch a game with. His camming channel was very popular, and more importantly (at least to him) full of regulars that he felt like he sort of knew. 

But best of all was her. KnightWriter. Ser B.

Jaime had messaged her the morning after she had first joined his stream, unable to resist after spending all night thinking about what she had said. The moment he had hit send, he'd wanted to yank it back, certain it was crossing a line, positive that it was creepy. He had received plenty of messages the first week or two on the site, at least until he had learned how to not allow messages unless it was from someone he had contacted first. It had seemed like a smart move after some of the weird notes he had gotten, and he'd never thought he would actually want to message someone on there.

He hadn't planned on her.

When Jaime had written to her, he hadn't really had any expectations about what would happen if she bothered to reply. He had just wanted to thank her, to tell her that her words had resonated with him, that it had been like someone letting a window open in and a fresh breeze blowing in. 

He had kept it less pathetic than that, though.

But for whatever reason, she had written him back that afternoon, and he had responded again, and somehow messages from her had become a highlight of his day. When he looked back on it, he couldn't even pinpoint when the shift had happened, when the conversations had gotten deeper, when the thoughts had become a little less guarded. Somehow, despite having never seen her face or heard her voice, she had become the person he looked forward to talking to most.

Now, as he kicked his shoes off, and flopped down on his couch, Jaime opened his app up again, and re-read her last message.

Either I'm a shit baker, or you're a shit teacher. I tried making the chocolate eclairs and the shells were soggy and flat. They didn't look anything like yours.

Jaime couldn't help but laugh at her disgruntled tone. Common mistake , he told her. Either your dough was a little too runny to start with or you took it out the oven a little too early.

She responded immediately, and Jaime was once again grateful that her hours were as strange as his own. That's crap. I followed your recipe exactly, I did everything you did! It should've worked.

You did EVERYTHING I did?

He swore he could practically feel his phone warm in his hands, as if the blush she'd told him she often wore had leaked through. Jaime tried to curb his instinct to flirt, tried to not make everything suggestive, but it had become increasingly difficult. Partly because the more they talked, the more relaxed he became, and partly because of how much he liked her. As time had passed, he'd stopped hiding his interest from her, unable to pretend that he was anything less than fascinated by her.

I did everything you did in terms of baking techniques, Jaime. Shut up.

His smile grew even wider as he leaned back against the pillows. What? I was trying to solve your problem! I thought I had figured out why your dough was a bit too...wet.

He watched the dots appear, disappear, and then appear again before she finally responded. I can't stand you.  

Jaime couldn't help but laugh at the refrain that had become so familiar. It was hard to be offended by the words when they felt so affectionate each time. And here I was going to offer to make anything you wanted tomorrow night. 

She wrote back immediately this time. What? Like a pity show?

Jaime suppressed his first instinctive reply and instead wrote I was thinking more like something you've always wanted to learn how to make, something you can't always get your hands on when you want it. What's your favorite dessert?

He stood up while he waited, shucking off his jeans and shirt and kicking them to the side. He desperately needed a shower, needed to wash the smell of the kitchen off of his body, but removing the clothes would have to do for now. He had maybe an hour before B went to bed, and he wasn't going to waste a single second of it.

It had taken her three weeks of daily talks for her to even tell him the initial B. He had called her KnightWriter at first, and then shortened it to Ser which had evolved to Ser B once she’d finally given him that scrap of a detail. In a way, he still didn't know much about her. He knew she lived in The North, knew that she was a journalist by trade, knew that she wasn't from here, but from somewhere in the South. But he didn't know her age or what she looked like, didn't know if she worked for a newspaper or a magazine or a news channel, didn't know who her family was. In a lot of ways, in all the ways he had been raised to think mattered, they were strangers.

But he knew she was passionate about her work, knew that her favorite color was green, knew that she had cried the first time she stood in the ruins of Winterfell where humanity had taken its last stand. He knew that she was a devout fan of the Tarth Stormchasers, and that she had played soccer and baseball in college, knew that she was thoughtful and kind and quietly funny. 

When he had first asked her what had led her to JerkStream, she had told him it had started as research for a series of stories she was working on, so he knew she was honest. When he had asked her why she had joined his channel that last night of The Seven she had remained silent for a long time before telling him that she had been lonely so he knew she had a tender heart. When he asked her why she'd kept coming back, her silence had lasted even longer before she told him that she'd felt a sense of understanding when he spoke about connections, and that's how he'd learned that she was brave. 

Jaime might not have known her if he saw her picture in the paper, but he was convinced he'd recognize her if they ever passed each other on the street. His heart would recognize hers, he knew it.

Which was exactly the sort of thing he couldn't say to her, at least not without sounding desperate or creepy or both.

I like fruit tarts a lot. I had a lemon tart at a banquet one time that I've never been able to find. It's probably my deathbed dessert.

He smiled at such a simple answer. Why that? Do you just like lemons a lot?

She wrote and deleted, wrote and deleted, and Jaime furrowed his brows as he watched her progress. It didn't seem like a particularly difficult question, really.

I do like lemons, and all fruit really, but I think maybe it's more the association of it? It was the first time I had ever won an award for my writing, and I was eating it when my name was called. When I think about it, I remember that thrill of victory, and that rush of recognition. Most people didn't think I could succeed at journalism and in that moment, I knew I would. 

Gods, she was adorable. Even knowing that she was an inch taller than him and possibly stronger (though he'd told her repeatedly he refused to accept that until they met at a gym and settled it), there was something so gentle about her. It made him want to wrap his arms around her and cuddle her, to protect her from the assholes she'd encountered and the doubts that still seemed to poke at her on occasion. 

Like a tart with lemon slices on top or a tart with lemon flavoring? he asked. I like the idea of a triumphant dessert. I know what it's like to have people always count you out, or try and kick you down.

He had told Ser B a little bit about his situation when she had asked him how he ended up being a cammer. Jaime was fairly certain she'd asked with professional curiosity, but he'd answered anyway, opening up about his background and his family, and his mindless escape towards freedom. It had sounded even more dramatic in the re-telling, but despite the distance, he hadn't yet learned how to make the story humorous. Probably because he still didn't see anything funny about it.

Ser B hadn't laughed either. She hadn't made jokes or let on that she found it pathetic that a man his age had essentially run away from home like a small child. She hadn't asked him why he had let his father control every aspect of his life, hadn't asked him why he thought it made more sense to jack off for strangers than to get a second job. Instead she had told him his family sounded like monsters, and that she was glad he'd cut ties with them, and then in the next breath asked him about the baking angle he'd taken.

The Jaime that had lived in King's Landing would have laughed at the idea of having feelings for someone he'd never met. He'd believed that to really know someone you had to see their face, to hear their voice, to spend time building that bond. Even before Ser B, he'd learned how wrong he was. He felt a familiarity with his regular viewers, a sense of camaraderie that he'd grown to treasure. But that was nothing compared to the spark of recognition and rightness he felt when he talked to his Ser B.

I had it in Oldtown so I guess it's from The Reach in origin? I'm not positive about that, but the Tyrells were in charge of the banquet so I think so. Does the Reach have a distinctive style? Anyway it had a really light crust and the filling was like a lemon curd, and was sprinkled with powdered sugar. I've tried a lot of lemon tarts since then, but nothing has been quite the same. I've never even had a different fruit tart in that same style.

Jaime smiled at the information. He may have cut off all ties with his family, but he still had contacts around Westeros. Finding a recipe couldn't be that difficult in the scheme of things. What are you going to do if I manage to make something similar? I'll be onscreen, eating your victory dessert, naked of course, and you won't be able to...take a bite.

God he wanted to talk to her. He wanted to lower his voice and say those words in a way that scraped down her spine and settled in the flare of her hips. He wanted to see if she gasped when she heard them, wanted to know if her own voice became ragged and hungry. Even better, he wanted to see her, wanted to watch her eyes darken, wanted to see if her skin became as red as she said, wanted to feel the burn of her face against his palms. 

He had no idea what she looked like, and he'd never wanted anyone more.

Well maybe you'll redeem yourself as a teacher and I'll actually be able to pull this one off by myself. Maybe. 

I'm an excellent teacher, Ser B. Maybe you just need a hands-on lesson.

That might have been a bit too far, but as much as he tried to not make everything an innuendo, he didn't ever really succeed. 

Maybe one day I'll get one.

Jaime nearly dropped his phone in shock. Ser B didn't flirt quite as much as he did, though every now and then something suggestive would creep into her tone. This, though--this was way more direct than he was used to. 

You just let me know when the day arrives, Ser B. You can be my sous chef.

She wrote back quickly this time. So I'm gonna be a knight AND a squire in your kitchen? 

Only in the kitchen , he responded just as quickly. I'd offer to be your squire outside of it, but from what I remember one of their main jobs was polishing their knight's sword and as far as I know you don't have one of those. Literal or metaphorical.

You already have so much experience in sword polishing that you wouldn't need my guidance there anyway.  

Gods, he could see it so clearly, even though he had no idea what she looked like. But even with just a blurry, feature-less outline of a woman, Jaime could imagine watching her as he slowly, so slowly, stroked his cock. Her eyes would be on his hand, but his would be on her face, watching her bite her lip, watching her breathing come quicker. And then she would reach out with one big hand, and wrap her fingers around his own. "Like this," she would say, adjusting the angle of his wrist and the speed of his movements. "Touch yourself like this."

"Fuck," he breathed, shifting a little as his cock stirred in his shorts. This was not part of their friendship usually, but he wished it were. He enjoyed his shows more now, knowing she was watching, but the idea of having it be just the two of them, of having her all to himself, of her having him all to herself --it was a dangerous path of thought, and one he knew he'd wander down again and again.

I might not need it, but I'd welcome it , he typed. He started to type more, started to tell her that he'd welcome anything from her, anything at all that she wanted to give, but it somehow felt like too much. At least for now. 

You should get to bed , she said after a moment. You have to be exhausted, and if you're gonna dazzle me with a bastardized fruit tart tomorrow, you've got your work cut out for you.

He smiled a little, recognizing her retreat for what it was. I think I'm up to the challenge, but you're right. It was a pleasure to talk to you, Ser B. I look forward to impressing you tomorrow night.

He watched the dots appear then erase, appear then erase for several long moments. You always do. Night Jaime.

Good night, Ser B.

Jaime tossed his phone onto the couch with a groan, pressing his hands into his face. A simple conversation, no matter how flirty, shouldn't have his heart tripping in his chest. He shouldn't want to pick his phone back up and ask her for her name, or her number. He definitely shouldn't ask Margaery Tyrell for the name of a chef and risk his location getting leaked to his family just to possibly get a pie recipe for a stranger. He shouldn't be feeling or doing any of this, but when he thought of the joy Ser B would feel if he pulled it off--well. He already knew he wouldn't change course at all. 

He was so, so fucked.

Jaime ran his eyes over his counter, making sure he had everything he'd need for tonight's show, smiling when his eyes landed on the mound of lemons. It hadn't been easy getting a list of pastry chefs that had made desserts for journalism banquets in Oldtown in the last ten years, especially not with Margaery being far more interested in getting information out of him than providing any. It had taken over an hour before she had rattled off their names; an excruciatingly long hour in which he'd told her he was working in a restaurant and taking some time to find himself away from his family. 

She hadn't believed him, of course, at least not about the last part. Jaime had no doubt that news of his escape had spread like wildfire amongst the rich and powerful, or that Margaery knew very well that nobody from their crowd had heard from him for months. By the time they'd hung up, Jaime was exhausted from the mental aerobics he'd had to endure. It wasn't like he'd ever excelled at the type of loaded conversations his family and their ilk did so well, but the months away had lessened his tolerance for them. He had spent too much time with people who spoke plainly and without motive to have the energy to participate in that old, familiar dance.

It had taken another two hours before he'd made his way through the list of chefs, trying to find one that had once made a lemon tart with powdered sugar for a banquet, and then spinning a story about wanting to propose to his girlfriend by making it. It helped that he didn't want the exact recipe (after all, he knew how chefs could be), but just a general idea so that it'd be similar to the one Ser B had liked so much. He wanted to give her this, to give her something more than just an entertaining show and an orgasm. 

Though he definitely still wanted to give her an orgasm.

Jaime opened up his channel and watched as viewers began to appear in the waiting room. Mostly regulars whose names and personalities he'd grown familiar with, but a handful of new names as well. While he waited for the start time, he picked up his phone and opened his JerkStream app.

Running late, Ser B? I hope you're coming soon. 

Her icon glowed immediately as she logged on, and he smiled in satisfaction when her username popped up in his waiting room.

You should focus on not coming too soon instead of thinking about me.

Jaime laughed, belatedly remembering to peel off his undershirt so that he stood bare chested in nothing but a pair of soft gray joggers. Oh but I like thinking about you, Ser. Why don't you think about that?

He muted his phone and moved it to the side so that it wouldn't show on camera, before leaning over to press the button to go live. "Evening, everyone," he drawled, fixing a knowing smile on his face. "I'm glad all of you could join me on this rainy night. At least it's rainy where I'm at. It's been a dismal few days over here, and for some reason it always makes my apartment feel so much colder. Do you ever feel like that? When the storms roll in, it's so easy to feel cut off from the rest of the world. I've been looking forward to this all day, though, to having you here in my kitchen with me."

He watched the token and comment boxes light up, bracing his palms on the counter to read. "DornishDuo, we've talked about this. It isn't polite to brag about your perfect weather while I feel like I can go months without ever seeing the sun."

You're welcome to visit us in Dorne, JaimeX. We can't promise we'd let you out to see the sun very often, but we could help you see stars.

Jaime laughed, shaking his head a little. He'd grown rather fond of the Dornish couple in the months they'd been subscribed to him, and not just because of how well they tipped. They were always quick with a proposition, always complimentary of his food and his body, and the love and passion between them was so obvious, even after thirteen years together, that Jaime couldn't help but admire them.

"My work makes it difficult for me to travel anywhere," Jaime said now. "Though if the right opportunity presented itself, I'd be out my door in a heartbeat." He glanced down, hoping SerB knew he was speaking of her, but she remained quiet. "Sometimes there are people you want to see so badly that things like distance and convenience mean nothing, not if it means you'll finally be able to reach out and touch them." He trailed one finger across his wrist, slowly easing upward to the bend of his elbow. "Not if it means you can hear their voice, or breathe them in." He inhaled slowly and deeply, letting his eyes fall shut as he imagined skimming his nose across the line of Ser B's neck while his hand moved to rest against his chest, his index finger pressing lightly into the base of his throat.

"It doesn't matter if you've known them for years or for hours." Jaime opened his eyes again, staring into the camera as he spoke to her. "It doesn't matter if you've never met. All that matters is waiting for that chance to arrive, and then taking it."

The tokens and comments section lit up again, but Jaime forced himself to take a moment. He was getting too caught up already, too focused on what it would be like to have her, and that wouldn't do at all. 

He still had a tart to bake, after all.

"But before those opportunities arrive, we're here in this period of waiting and doubt. Sometimes we need a sign of hope, a boost of confidence, a taste of spring. That's what this dessert we're making tonight is--a little bright spot in an otherwise long night. I hope it gives you a bright spot of your own." His smile was confident and dirty now, a promise of pleasure in the curve of his lips.

"When I think of spring, I think of sunshine and flowers and sundresses. I think of stretching out on the grass, a pitcher of lemonade, and the taste of a woman on my tongue." He slid his tongue out to wet his bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth slowly so that his teeth dragged across his skin. "But there's only one way you could taste a woman on my tongue, and you're not here to do that." Jaime didn't know if Ser B would let him kiss her while her thighs were still trembling, and his beard was still sticky with the flavor of her, but he could hope. "Until that can happen, tonight I'm going to show you how to bake a lemon tart."

Jaime chuckled a little at some of the comments that were pouring in, everything from invitations to blatant propositions. It seemed as though many of them were willing to taste themselves on his mouth, though Ser B remained stubbornly silent. That was okay, at least for now. He had more to offer her tonight so his smile was genuine as he gestured to his counter where his ingredients and tools waited. 

"Now I have the oven preheated to 400, and I've already sifted my flour and prepared my pan. The next step is to cut half a cup of butter into the flour, and for this part, I'm gonna show you a trick or two." He angled his head to the side, lifting a hand to stroke his fingers across his jaw as he smirked at the camera, imagining Ser B watching him, wanting him. 

It was enough to make his cock stir, which--while not a problem--was a bit ahead of schedule. "The first secret is the temperature of the butter. I always keep at least four sticks in my freezer--the colder the butter, the fluffier the pastry." He turned to the freezer, the cold blast of air welcome against his already heated skin. "I suppose I should've kept a shirt on for this," he continued as he turned back. "I don't know how it is for you, but my nipples are very sensitive." He brushed the pad of his finger across one, giving it a slight tweak so that a shiver of pleasure worked through him. "Especially to temperature and air."

As he unwrapped the butter, he leaned in to read what Ollie had said. So if i were to hold a piece of ice in my mouth and then suck on your nipple, the reaction would be? Jaime smiled, making it as suggestive as possible. "What do you think, Ollie? It'd be intense, wouldn't it? Especially with a little scrape of teeth?" He let out a long hum of satisfaction, the sensation coming to mind clearly. "I don't know if I could control myself."

I doubt anyone would want you to .

He fought to keep the delight off his face, trying to school it into a more considered expression. There she is . "Is that what you'd want, KnightWriter? For me to lose control?"

Sometimes. Sometimes I'd want to be the one to lose control.

Fuck. His free hand clamped down on the counter as he tried to remember that they weren't alone. He wanted that, though, wanted to be driven to the point of madness by her hands and mouth, wanted to use his own to shake her steady control loose until she used that long, muscled body to hold him down. He wanted to look into her eyes and fuck her, wanted to pull her hair back and set his teeth against her shoulder, wanted to see if their connection was as real with their bodies as it was with their words.

"An equal opportunity type, hmmm?" Jaime murmured, stepping back slightly so the hard line of his forming erection was fully visible. "I'd expect nothing less from a knight." He let his thumb brush alongside the curve of his cock, his eyes dark and heavy and locked on the screen. "Ser."

He stood for a moment, allowing himself a brief pause to hold that connection with her, and then forced out a breath. "You distracted me," he said with a chuckle. "If you aren't careful, I'll forget about baking and show you an entirely new sort of trick." He pressed his palm against his cock briefly, reminding himself he'd just begun, and willed himself to focus. "We were talking about baking," he chuckled, and then picked up a cheese grater. "Some people use a pastry cutter for this part, or forks and knives, or a pastry blender. There are plenty of options. But my favorite is just grating it like you would a block of cheese. With the butter frozen, it grates perfectly and it's much faster."

Jaime gave them a genuine smile, ridiculously pleased that there were as many comments about his baking technique as there were his body. He kept a tight leash on himself as he walked them through the recipe, using the rolling of the dough to highlight his arms, to instruct them to apply a firm pressure with a gentle touch. It never failed to amuse him at how quickly his followers could go from asking about how to tell if a dough was ready to telling him that his muscles flexed exactly the same when he handled a rolling pin as they did when he handled his cock.

He moved to preparing the filling while his crust baked, bringing his computer closer to the oven so they could watch him as he stirred it over a low heat, and see how it thickened into a bright yellow curd. "Always remember one of the most important steps in any cooking or baking project," he told them, lifting the whisk from the pan. "Which is that you have to taste what you're making. You can prepare something exactly as instructed, and the end result still might not be right for you and your palate. It's important to check that it's ready before you move onto the final step."

Jaime leaned over the stove, lifting the whisk to his lips, and slowly sliding his tongue alongside the curved metal, collecting the filling as he went. He hummed in pleasure, flicking his eyes up to the screen as he slowly worked his tongue in and out and around the loops. "It isn't the best thing I've ever put in my mouth, but it's still pretty damn good." Satisfied, he set the whisk aside and began to pour the filling into the crust, and then slid the pie into the oven. "Now we bake it for twenty minutes." He set the timer and then turned back to his computer, stretching a little as he read the comments that had popped up. 

Is this dessert sweeter or more tart?

What IS the best thing you've ever put in your mouth, jaime?

Lick the whisk again. Let me see that tongue.

You look like you're very good with your tongue, JaimeX. I'd like you to feel mine.

"I'd say it's perfectly balanced between the two, PinkyTickler--each bite is like eating a sugared lemon." He leaned down on his elbows,  crowding the counter so that his face and shoulders took up the majority of the computer screen. "The best thing I've ever put in my mouth? That's not an easy one to answer, Vixen. I've tasted so many good things in my life whether food or whiskey or women. I don't think I have a favorite, at least not yet."

Jaime smiled, slow and dirty, as he reached out to run two fingers around the saucepan, gathering cooled filling as he went. "I am rather good with my tongue, though." He kept his eyes locked onto the camera as he lifted his hand to his mouth. "You know what the secret to that is?" He pressed his lips to the base of his fingers, slowly sliding his tongue along the seam, using the tip to spread them apart so he could taste the lemon-tinged skin in between. "Attention to detail." He ran his tongue across the pad of his finger, his teeth scraping against the curve of his nail. "Patience." He slowed the speed of his lips down, letting them meander across his knuckle before pulling them away with a slight smacking sound. "And most importantly--genuine enthusiasm." He let his tongue dance across his lips, shivering a little at the way it felt brushing across the sensitive flesh.

His comment box was exploding as he stepped back from the laptop, and dropped his hand down to stroke himself through his sweatpants, squeezing and releasing in a slow rhythm that had his breath coming quicker and his cock hardening rapidly. It never failed to excite him, knowing that these men and women were watching him, were being turned on by him, but knowing that she was watching was what had him hooking his thumbs into the sides of his pants so he could slowly ease the material down until it puddled on the floor and he stood naked and erect for them to see.

He dragged a bar stool over to the center of the kitchen floor, and perched on it, one foot on the floor and the other resting on the rung so that his legs were flexed and spread. "That's one of my favorite parts of sex," he confided, licking his fingers again so that his hand was warm and wet when he curled it around his cock. "The soft skin of the inner thigh, the smell of a woman who wants you, who's ready to be fucked." He groaned a little, his eyes falling shut for a moment as he steadily worked his hand over himself. 

"Finding what works for her, whether she likes it fast and firm, or gentle and teasing; whether she’ll grab the sheet underneath her and try to restrain herself or if she'll grab my hair and hold my face still as she fucks my mouth. Fuck ." He wondered what Ser B would prefer, how she would react. He wanted to learn the spots on her body that made her scream, the spots that would make her come.

"Is she quiet, is she loud? Will she bite down into her hand, leave teeth marks against her wrist? That's what makes going down on a woman so good, you know." His hand was moving faster now, his hips lifting every third stroke, curving into the air and meeting the downstroke of his grip. "Learning her body, learning how to please her, learning what makes her break apart and moan your name. Who wouldn't like that?"

Jaime glanced at the timer, cursing when he realized how close it was to going off. Closer than he was, but not by much. "Fuck, I need a moment." He let his hand drop to his trembling thigh, breathing deeply while his cock pulsed and leaked, quivering with the need to finish. "Another couple of strokes, and I'd be there, and then what would we do?"

He forced himself out of the chair, detouring to the sink to wash his hands before standing in front of the oven. He studied himself on the screen, chest still heaving and coated with a fine layer of sweat, his eyes dark and hungry. His token box and comment box were both overflowing, and he searched for anything from Ser B, any hint that she was just as on edge and needy as he was, but found nothing.

When the timer beeped, Jaime slid on his oven mitts and bent to take the tart out, breathing in the pleasing scent of pastry and citrus and sugar. He wondered what she thought of it, if it looked similar to the one she had eaten at her banquet so many years ago. He hoped so, hoped he had found a way to please her, even if it wasn't the only way he wanted to.

"It's important to let it cool," he told his viewers as he slid the dish onto a wire rack, switching the oven off absent-mindededly. "But see how the crust is more buttery than brown, and how the curd has just started to set? That's what you want. Once it's finished cooling, you'll sprinkle it with powdered sugar and enjoy it, but I can't wait that long for what I want."

Jaime moved back to the stool, tossing his oven mitts aside as he went, one hand immediately wrapping around the shaft of his cock while his other slid down to roll across the soft skin of his sac. "Now where were we?" he asked, looking at the camera as he began to stroke himself again, his grip firm, his pace slow but deep. "I think I was telling you why I like eating a woman out, wasn't I?" 

He could see his screen lighting up as people responded, but was too far away to make out the words, so let his head fall forward as he began to move faster. "I like the way her skin quivers against my mouth, the way I can feel her clit start to swell and throb on my tongue. I like smelling her cunt on my face, the slickness of her on my chin and nose. You know I haven't tasted a woman in nearly a year? Not since I moved here--well, before that, really. The last time I had my face between a woman's legs, I was clean shaven. I've never fucked a woman since I've grown my beard. I wonder how different it is, if it would feel good scraping across her skin, if her smell would stay longer. I want to find out." He lifted his chin again, his eyes boring into the screen as if he could see Ser B looking back at him. "I want to find out with you."

His hand was flying over his cock now, his hips rocking into his palm, one hand tugging at his balls where they were drawing tight to his body. "You wanna know what the best thing I'll ever put in my mouth is? Fuck so do I." He could see her in his mind, the bits and pieces of herself she had let him have, the long body and the smooth, pale skin stretched over the broad muscles, could imagine how her thighs would look, scraped red by his face. "You have to know I want you. Don't you? I haven't hidden it." His orgasm was barreling down on him now, a flash of lightning along his nerves, an ache in his gut. "And if I get to have you, when I get to have you, your cunt is going to be the best thing I've ever put in my mouth." Jaime's breathing was stuttered now, his words guttural and choked in his desperation. "And when I make you come on my tongue? It's going to taste like victory."

His climax hit him then, rushing over him in a wave of pleasure that was nearly obscene in its power. Jaime's head fell back with a moan, his hips thrusting into air as he spilled on his belly and thighs, a muffled "Ser" breaking past his lips. 

It took him a long moment to be able to open his eyes and look at the camera in front of him. His muscles were lax, his skin sweaty and sticky. "I should probably clean up," he told his viewers. "One moment."

His shaky legs carried him to the sink so he could wash his hands again and wipe down his thighs and belly. He needed a shower, needed to wash away the smell of sex and sweat and sugar, but first he had to wrap up his show.

He hoped Ser B had commented.

She hadn't, though, he saw a moment later as he pulled on his sweatpants and studied the screen. Jaime made himself keep a smile on his face, relying on his old Lannister habits to bullshit his way through the wrap-up, laughing with his regulars, flirting and allowing them to flirt back. He broke off a small piece of the lemon tart, answered a question about which variety of fruit worked best, and then signed off with his usual wink and smile, and the promise of next time.

When he'd ended the livestream and transferred his tokens to his user account, Jaime sat back down, placing his head in his hands. He knew he had pushed too far, had made it too personal. Everyone watching may have been pretending that he was talking to them, but only one of them knew that he was . He'd hoped for some sign, some small gesture of reciprocation, but her silence had said more than a comment box ever could. He wondered if she would ever speak to him again, let him explain that he'd gotten carried away by his stupid heart and his unreasonable cock, and that he'd rather be friends with her than nothing at all.

He hoped so. He'd run away from so many people in his life, but the idea of her running away was nearly unbearable.

Jaime sighed again as he stood up, resigned to cleaning up the kitchen and then spending a sleepless night in bed, hating himself for wanting more than he was supposed to have.

He'd just begun to wipe his counters down when his phone lit up, the familiar red icon flashing on his screen. Jaime dropped the sponge, banging his elbow onto the counter in his haste to get to it and open his JerkStream app.


He watched the bubbles appear and stop, once, twice, three times, and tried to will her to just say whatever it was that she needed to say. If she was going to call him a sick bastard or reject him with kindness and an appeal to friendship, he'd rather her just do it and put him out of his misery. He held still as he waited, his body frozen and then thawed in a sudden rush of heat and hunger as her words finally appeared.

I think you'd taste like victory too.

Chapter Text

Brienne wasn't drunk, but she was fairly sure she wasn't sober.

She'd suspected as much when she'd sloshed whiskey all over her hand, and had licked it off rather than picking up a towel, but she'd gotten confirmation when she realized how close she was to propositioning Jaime.

In the weeks that had passed since he'd made her a lemon tart and then basically told her that he wanted to go down on her, their communication had only grown more intimate and more heated. One minute they'd be discussing their families or their childhoods or their bucket lists, and the next Jaime would be asking her what she wanted to see him do the next time, or what her favorite form of foreplay was. It was a weird combination made weirder by the fact that he still didn't know her name or what she looked like or even which city she lived in. 

He didn't know her face, but he knew she liked her hair being pulled while she was being fucked. He didn't know where she'd gone to university, but knew that she'd buried her godmother when she was eleven. She'd never felt so known before, so comfortably seen while also feeling like she was hiding the majority of herself from him.

Despite the lingering feeling of strangeness, Brienne couldn't shake how right it felt. It felt right to listen to him tell her funny stories about his work, and it felt right to spend Tuesday afternoons watching Survivor: Iron Islands , and arguing about who had the best strategy. 

If your best friend could be someone you'd never met, or talked to on the phone, but was someone you watched masturbate a couple of times a week, then Jaime was quickly becoming her best friend. Her funny, earnest, quick-witted friend that she chatted with daily, and who was also the reason she'd had to break down and buy a vibrator with a charging cord lest she go broke on batteries. 

That vibrator laid beside her on her bed now where she sat completely nude, her body lightly coated in a sheen of sweat, and her phone in her hands. She'd tried getting herself off tonight, with both the vibrator and her fingers, her mind running a playback of Jaime's greatest hits. It usually worked for her, the flexing of his arm as he stroked himself, how intense his eyes would stay on the screen until they shut while he came with a broken groan. But she couldn't seem to push herself over the edge tonight, and she was pretty sure it was because of the picture Jaime had sent that afternoon.

It had seemed innocent on the surface, just a picture of a small and curved black object lying on blue sheets. She'd studied it for a moment, trying to decipher what it was, but hadn't been able to place it. It reminded her of a short, rigid, thick necktie with its rounded opening that turned into a small, wide panel with the slightest curve on the end. Brienne had angled her phone, trying to puzzle it out, and finally settled on a bottle opener.

Why did you send me a picture of a bottle opener? Have you finally turned to drinking?

His reply had been swift, and she could practically feel the amusement in his tone. Ser B, what am I going to do with you? That's not a bottle opener--it's a cock ring.

Brienne's skin had felt scorched immediately, a wave of heat blanketing her body even as she scrolled back up to study the picture.  At least the open circle made sense now, although nothing else did. That looks nothing like the cock rings I've seen , she'd typed back. It isn't even ring shaped!

Seen a lot of cock rings, have you Ser? While she spluttered over that, he continued writing. It's a vibrating one, controlled by an app. So it's perfect for long distance. He'd sent her a picture of the box -- to prove it, she supposed.

Brienne hadn't known what to say to that, mostly because she had felt twin surges of wanting to watch him shake apart at her hands and also a flare of possessiveness at the idea of him using it with some of the other viewers. Planning a new routine?

The silence had stretched between them while Jaime had mulled over his response. Finally her phone buzzed, and she saw he'd written, Just something for down the road, maybe.

She'd changed the subject, but hadn't been able to stop thinking of it, of Jaime wearing a cock ring that would vibrate at her command, of the way he would look with his back arched and his muscles tight, moaning as she increased the intensity. It had been at the back of her mind during her name day dinner and drinks with Dacey and Robb, lurking there just under the surface, waiting until she was home and frustrated and horny before it fully burst free for her to explore.

Brienne tossed her phone to the side and let out an irritable groan. She never should've downloaded the app for the cock ring, that's where she'd really fucked up. If anything, she would've thought the idea of him wearing the cock ring just for her would've been extra motivation for her orgasm, but instead it had been nothing but frustration. Knowing that him using the ring with her was even possible was like being waterboarded by lust.

As quickly as she'd tossed it aside, Brienne scooped her phone back up and quickly pulled up the messages in her JerkStream app, typing before good sense could win. What are you doing?  

She wanted to pull the message back as soon as she sent it. It'd been awhile since she had a regular arrangement (other than watching Jaime's channel), but even she knew texts this late at night usually equaled a booty call. And she knew he had plans tonight; everyone did after he'd rescheduled his usual Thursday night show. Brienne had hidden her disappointment, not wanting to admit that she'd been looking forward to watching him on her name day. 

Well good evening, Ser B, her phone flashed a moment later. I was wondering if I'd hear from you tonight. 

Brienne smiled, scooting up in bed a little. I thought you'd be busy tonight since you canceled the show.

His response was swift and certain. I'm never too busy for you, Ser. 

She wasn't sure how she could blush after everything she'd seen him do much less while she was stretched out in bed, naked, but her cheeks flared just the same. I thought you had plans tonight. 

Brienne let her hand sweep over her belly as she waited, her nail scratching at the skin below her navel. Actually what I said was that I wouldn't be able to do my usual livestream , Jaime wrote back. Not that I had plans.

Then why weren't you able to do it?

There was a long pause before the screen showed that he was responding. I was making a name day cake for a very special viewer in case she decided she wanted her own private show. 

Brienne's breath caught as she scrambled to a sitting position. Had she ever mentioned her name day? Maybe he wasn't talking about her. I didn't realize you did private shows.  

His response wasn't quite as quick this time, but when it came it still brought a sharp intake of breath to her chest. I would for you, if you wanted. Do you want a private show, Ser B? A little one-on-one name day celebration?

Gods, she did, she thought, a tremor working through her body. She wanted to see Jaime touch himself, to say those filthy words to her while he touched himself, to know that every bit of him was just for her eyes and her pleasure.

I recorded the baking part for you , Jaime added now. In case you'd rather just have that. Or we can just text like we've been doing. Whatever you want, B.

It wasn't a question of what she wanted, Brienne thought, but more what she was reckless enough to accept. This was a line they hadn't crossed yet, one there would be no coming back from. How does a private show work? I mean, would it still be in the streaming room? Does it take tokens, or is there a way for direct pay?

She could practically feel his relief in his rapid response. I don’t want your money, B. Not now, not ever again really, but especially not for this. This isn’t work, not for me. This isn’t XXXJaimeXXX and KnightWriter. This is just you and me, Jaime and Ser B.

Brienne swallowed, her belly a tangle of nerves, and tenderness, and a dark twist of excitement to know that this wasn’t just him moonlighting on her name day, not just him trying to make extra money while making her happy. So the main room? Do you have private rooms or something?

I was thinking we could just use the app, and video chat.

No, no, she wasn't ready for that yet. I don't want you to see me. Not yet. Jaime had already seen so many pieces of her that she'd kept tucked away, but the idea of him watching her as she masturbated was too much right now, no matter how often the idea had had her growing slick between her thighs. She didn't know what he expected her to look like, but the fear of seeing disappointment on his face was enough to have her putting it off.

I want to see you , Jaime replied. I think about you all the time, B. But I can wait if you're not ready. We can use the apps and you can keep your screen off if you want. Would you leave your mic on though? Will you let me hear you?

Brienne sucked in a breath, her nipples hardening against the soft slide of her sheets. She could do that, she thought. She could let Jaime hear her voice, let him hear what she sounded like as she fucked herself to thoughts of him. Yes, I'll do that.

Fuck yes. I can't wait to hear what you sound like, B. Don't hold it against me if I come faster than usual. 

She didn't know if she'd ever get used to Jaime's casual references to pleasure, or the way each one made her cunt clench in anticipation. I downloaded the app. For the ring. 

To her surprise, her phone began to chime in her hand, and she saw that XXXJAIMEXXX was requesting a video chat with her. Letting out a deep breath, and making sure that her video was turned off, she clicked accept. Jaime appeared, sitting at his kitchen table in nothing but a pair of blue boxer briefs. He had his phone angled so that she could see all of him, from the tousled curls on his head down past his cock which was firming against his thigh and down to his beautiful golden calves. "Hi," she said nervously.

"It's good to hear your voice, Ser B," Jaime drawled, his eyes intense on hers. "Happy Name Day. You're twenty-nine today, correct?"

"How in the world do you know that?"

His grin flashed out at her, with a playful edge to it that had her skin prickling in awareness. "You mentioned it once, months ago. That you were born on Warrior's Day and used to think that meant you were supposed to be a soldier. As for your age, you said not long ago that it had been eighteen years since your godmother passed. I may just look like a pretty face, Ser B, but I can do basic math."

Her heart lurched a little at the idea that he'd paid that much attention to things she'd said over the course of their association. It made her feel cared for, which in turn made her feel weepy, and that wasn't the side of alcohol she wanted to explore that night. "I wouldn't just say a pretty face," she teased back, her naturally deep voice turning huskier. "There's a lot about you that's pretty, Jaime."

Jaime stretched on screen, his muscles lengthening and flexing in a way that made her want to bite him. "I'm very glad you think so. Do you want to see your cake before we get started? I could probably even be convinced to sing to you."

"As much as I usually enjoy hearing what comes out of your mouth, there's no need for the singing," she laughed. "I'd like to see the cake, though, and I wouldn't say no to the video of you making it."

"Are you saying that because you assume I used my usual baking methods?" Jaime asked with a grin, getting to his feet to move towards the counter. "You'd be right, if so. And I'd be happy to send that video to you for you to peruse in private later." His face filled the screen, golden eyebrows wiggling as he added suggestively, "Though I'd be happy to talk you through it as you watched."

Brienne was grateful that her screen was off because she had no doubt her face was scarlet now. "I'll keep that in mind," she managed to say as he flipped the screen towards the counter. 

Any discomfort she felt was washed away by awe as she looked at the small cake on his countertop. It was a one-layer cake, frosted gray and shaped to look like the top of a castle tower. A dragon was curled protectively around one side, his black and red scales catching the light, his head lifted and his mouth starting to open. It was facing down a carefully-fashioned knight, a helmet at her feet so long blonde hair flowed loose, caught in an invisible wind, a battered sword held aloft as she charged.

"Oh, Jaime," she breathed, leaning closer to the phone so she could take in all the subtleties. She'd had no idea that he was capable of this sort of work. He'd always impressed her with his baking skills, with his delicate touch and attention to detail, but she didn't know he could make something come to life like this. The dragon's body was sinuous, elegant; the knight's armor dented and tinted blue. Across the cake round on the bottom, in a surprisingly fine hand, he had piped "Happy Name Day Ser B" in thin red icing.

"I can't believe you made this for me," Brienne said softly, swallowing the surge of emotion she felt. She'd never, not even as a child, had a cake like this, something so intimately and specifically her . To know that Jaime had taken the time, and gods it must've taken hours, to create something so personal for her--it had something inside her chest trying desperately to shift, wanting to start a messy slide to an emotion she couldn't deal with. "Jaime. It's absolutely perfect. Thank you."

His cheeks were slightly pink when the camera switched back to his face, his eyes alight with a soft sort of pleasure. "You're welcome," he told her. "It's a lemon blueberry basil cake, but I made the knight and dragon out of fondant. The gray is just tinted glaze, though. I remember you saying you didn't like really sweet desserts so at first I thought maybe a spice cake, but I don't know." Brienne watched as he scrubbed his hand over his hair, mussing it even more. "Basil and berry seemed more unique, and I wanted to give you something nobody ever had."

Gods, who was this man? What in the fuck had she'd gotten herself into? "Nobody's ever given me anything like this, Jaime. It's the most wonderful cake I've ever had." She hesitated, watching as pleasure lit and spread across his face, making every plane of it even more unbearably handsome. "It means a lot to me that you'd do this--more than I can say. You went to so much work even though I won't be able to eat it."

Brienne watched as Jaime's eyes flickered over the screen, so intense that for a moment she wondered if she'd accidently turned her camera on. "You will," he said decisively. "I was going to cut it, eat a small piece so you could see me enjoy it, but that's not what I want. I want to see you enjoy it. So I'm not going to cut it. I'm going to freeze it, Ser B, and eventually, when we meet, I'm going to share it with you."

She sucked in a breath, taken aback by the conviction in his voice, the certainty in his eyes. "I want you to be able to enjoy it, though. You've worked so hard on it."

"I'll enjoy it a lot more when I taste it on your tongue, Ser B." His eyes were heated now, hungry in a way she hadn't known was possible for someone he'd never even seen. "That's how I want to try it for the first time, by tasting it on your lips and on your tongue and against your skin."

"Jaime," she breathed, pressing her thighs together as a wave of want rolled through her.

"I'm going to go to my bedroom now, Ser B," Jaime told her, carrying his phone out in front of him as he walked out of the kitchen. "And I'm going to strip naked for you, and try to put that cock ring on before I get any harder. And then I'm going to stretch out on my bed."

"And then what?" Brienne breathed.

"And then we're going to switch to our laptops so that you can use your phone to work that app you downloaded. And you're gonna tease me and torture me while you watch, while you touch yourself, while you slide those long, capable fingers through the wet heat of your cunt. And I'm going to imagine fucking you while you're imagining fucking me, and when I come you'll know it's just for you. And I'll know that yours is all for me."

"Fuck," Brienne bit out, feeling a pulse of heat in her cunt, and a surge of recklessness that was powered by a hazy blend of alcohol and lust. "Gods, Jaime, your mouth ."

"I can't wait to get my mouth on you, Ser B." Jaime's voice was low and hungry as he made it to his bedroom. "I think about it all the time, wondering what you taste like. I want to rub my beard against your thighs, want to feel all that muscle pressing against my ears. I want you on top of me, riding my face, rocking your clit against my nose while I fuck you with my tongue."

"Jaime, I'd crush you," Brienne groaned, pressing her thighs together to apply some pressure to where she throbbed. "I've told you before, I'm not a small woman."

"I'm not a small man," he said with no trace of smugness. "You think I can't handle you, B? You think I can't handle you sitting on my face or pinning me down? You think I can't lift you up against the wall and fuck you, or hold you up when I make you come so hard that your knees give out?" His eyes flashed at her, his breathing coming more rapidly than before. "Give me a chance and I'll show you what I can handle. I'm strong enough for you."

"Most men aren't. Most men don't want to be."

"I'm not most men." His voice softened a little, still certain but with a splash of gentleness. "Those men in your past? It wasn't a lack in you that made them not stick around. They were too weak for you, B. You're like no other woman in the world. You're brave and you're stubborn and you're funny. You work hard and you make a difference and you're so fucking understanding with other people's shortcomings. Fuck every single one of them if they couldn't handle standing beside you, blinded by your light. Fuck everyone who wanted to change you. You're not too much for me. I'm strong enough."

Brienne shivered in her bed, torn between wanting to slide her vibrator deep inside her and swallowing back tears at his impassioned sincerity. A man she'd never met somehow saw her more clearly than nearly everyone she'd known for years, and she didn't know what to do with him. "You're not too much for me either, Jaime," she said quietly, even though, gods, he was. Not him, not his personality and his earnestness and his dirty mouth and kind heart; that wasn't too much. But the feelings he inspired in her, the things he made her believe were possible--that was too much. 

"I'm going to log in on my computer now," Jaime said. "And message you the registration code for this toy. Register your app and then get on your computer, B. I want you to wreck me tonight. Just you."

"Just me," she whispered. "Okay, Jaime. See you soon."

She was trembling when she got out of bed, moving across her room to grab her laptop on legs that were already shaky. Her thighs were damp, her cunt slick, her belly tangled in knots. "There's no coming back from this, Brienne," she murmured as she climbed back on her bed, arranging herself on top of her comforter. She felt a zip of fear at the idea, a little tingle of uncertainty, but she couldn't stop herself from setting up her laptop on a pillow so she could see him better.

She didn't want to stop herself. 

Brienne logged onto the website, registering her app while she waited for Jaime to join her. She had read the instructions on it several times, imagining using it on him, and the reality of it had her body tensing in anticipation. Watching Jaime, listening to Jaime, always managed to shove her over the edge. How much better would it be to know that he was coming because of her hand? To know that even through the miles, they were connected?

Her computer sang with his video request, and she hesitated for a moment, her finger hovering over the option to turn her camera on, wondering if he was too caught up in their game to care that she wasn't as pretty as him. For a long moment, she considered it, considered letting desire win over fear, but if he was going to find her not attractive enough, she didn't want it to be tonight. Not on her Name Day, not when she was already naked and slick from his words. She took a breath and moved her mouse, settling for just her microphone again. "Oh fuck," she choked out as Jaime appeared on screen.

He was reclining on his bed, completely naked save for the black toy that wrapped around his already-hard cock, the toy turned inward so that the arm of it rested snugly underneath his balls. His skin was gleaming against his navy sheets, each dip and curve of muscle perfectly highlighted by his bedside lamp. He had one arm stretched behind his head, and Brienne let her eyes trace the line of his bicep and the branch of veins down to where his other hand rested lightly on his belly. As she watched, he drew one leg up, bending his knee and spreading his thighs so that all of her attention was once again drawn to where his cock lay against his stomach, wrapped up like a gift she couldn't wait to open.

"Happy Name Day, Ser B," Jaime drawled, running his tongue over his bottom lip. "I would've been on sooner, but you're supposed to put cock rings on while you're still mostly soft, and as you can see, that was a problem for me." As he spoke, the hand on his stomach dropped down to brush across his cock. "I've been hard since the moment I heard your voice, and knowing that you want me all to yourself just exacerbated the problem."

Brienne was fairly sure the noise she made was best classified as a whimper, but she couldn't bite it back if she tried. "I do," she managed to say finally. "I always like looking at you, Jaime. I always like watching you. But knowing that this is all for me? I like it so much more."

"It's always all for you," he told her, his voice husky in her ears. "Didn't you know that? For weeks now, every time I touch myself, whether it's on camera with everyone watching, or lying in my bed all by myself. It's always for you, Ser B."

"Jaime," she managed to get out of her suddenly dry throat. "How am I supposed to respond to that?"

"Tell me it's the same for you," he demanded, though there was too much need in his voice for it to be a true order. "Tell me that every time you touch yourself, every time you dip your hand between your legs, it's my name in your mouth. Tell me."

"It's yours," she admitted, her voice shaking as she felt her vulnerability struggle against her pride. "It's been yours since the first time."

Jaime's eyes bored into the screen, and even with the shield of darkness she knew he saw, she felt gloriously, horribly exposed for a moment. Her emotions hovered between terrified and thrilled, her heavy breathing mingling with his in the quiet of their rooms. "Fuck me, Ser," he rasped out, his muscles quivering beneath his skin, as if he were barely leashing back something wild and hungry. "Tell me what you want."

Brienne kept her eyes on him, not wanting to miss a single second of the man in front of her as she pressed the button on her phone. Jaime's body tensed immediately, the hand on his belly sliding over to dig into his upraised thigh as he let out a low, dirty groan. "How does that feel, Jaime?" she asked quietly, lifting her free hand to circle one finger around the pebbled bump of her nipple.

"It feels good," he said. "Light and easy. Like you're dancing your fingers across my cock and below my balls, like you're just trying to get my attention."

"It seems to have worked," she mused, flicking her nail now, letting out a breath at the slight scrape across her breasts. "I'm pretty sure I have your attention."

"You always have my attention," Jaime told her. "Even when you're not around."

Brienne let out a broken breath, walking her fingers down the valley between her breasts. "What do you think about when you think of me and I'm not around?" She pressed the button again, increasing the intensity of the vibrations as the pads of her fingers met the soft brush of hair between her thighs, gasping a little as Jaime's back arched and his hips bore down, circling a little as he moaned.

"I think about spreading you across my counter and licking every single inch of you," he said roughly, pressing his own finger into the glistening head of his cock. "I think about how you'd feel wrapped around me, your legs squeezing my hips, that tight cunt strangling my cock." Brienne bit back a moan, nudging his vibrator a little bit faster so that he cried out, a hand shoving down to wrap around the band of plastic that hugged his sac. "I want your nails digging into my back, my ass. Your teeth on my shoulder. Have you ever been fucked so well that you lose all sense, Ser B? Where you can't think of anything but biting and pushing and taking ? Because that's how I'm going to fuck you. I'm going to make you lose every bit of that control you're so proud of until you're screaming my name and begging me to just fuck you."

She couldn't hold back the moan if she tried, a long, strangled cry that filled the room as her fingers finally slid across the hard pulse of her clit, hooking into her body briefly before sliding back over it. "Jaime," she choked out, dropping her phone as her fingers dug into her sheets. "Fuck."

"Oh gods," he growled, his hips snapping up into the empty air, looking for friction that he couldn't find. "B, your voice, fuck . Do you know how many times I've wanted to hear you say my name? How many times I've imagined it as I've come? You sound so good. Say it again, please, gods."

Brienne slid one long, thick finger inside the slick heat of her cunt, curling a finger to press just where she liked it, moaning as she slid back out and added another finger. She was fucking herself now in quick, firm strokes, suddenly grateful for the breadth of her hands and the roughness of her fingertips, rocking her clit against her thumb on every downthrust. "Jaime," she moaned. "Yes, fuck me, please. Jaime." 

She could feel her orgasm building inside her, the anticipation of it tightening her belly and flooding her hand. "Give me more," Jaime demanded, and she forced her eyes open to watch his hand wrap around his cock, manipulating it around the protrusion of the steadily vibrating toy. "More, B. I know you're close. Let me have it. Let me come with you."

Brienne fumbled for her phone, whimpering at the hunger in his voice, at the way it seemed to growl in her ear and clamp its teeth against the back of her neck. She could increase the speed, could give him the release he so desperately wanted. Or…

"No, fuck," Jaime cried in frustration as she decreased the vibration curling around his cock until it was barely a whisper. "I want more, B. Let me come. Let me come with you."

"I wanna see you," she moaned, dropping the remote again so she could roll her hips against the fingers clenched deep inside her cunt, and use the other hand to fumble for her swollen clit. "I want to see you come, Jaime, but I'm too fucking close, and I don't want to miss it. Talk to me. Let me have this, and I promise I won't leave you waiting."

Jaime whimpered a little now, slowly releasing his cock with a desperate expression. "Are you touching yourself, Ser B?" Brienne made a choking noise, her hips lifting higher off the bed. "Yeah, you are. How many fingers are you taking right now? Tell me."

"Two," she moaned.

"Add another," Jaime ordered, and his voice was dark and commanding, pressing against the flesh of her clit as surely as his tongue would. "I'd be fucking you with three."

Brienne rubbed her ring finger through the wetness dripping from her, and then slowly pressed it inside her cunt, a long, low cry ripping out of her mouth as her body pulled it in eagerly. "Jaime. Jaime, please ."

"I like the way you say my name, Ser B," he told her, leaning forward to stare at the camera as if he could make her appear out of sheer force of will. "I like the way you beg . What should I do, hmmm?" She watched him out of blurry eyes, her hips grinding into her hand. "I could make you wait, like you're making me wait." Brienne bit back a sobbing sound, shaking her head though he couldn't see her. "But fuck,you're so close, aren't you, Ser? I can hear how wet you are. Do you know what that does to me? To know how fucking soaked you'd be around my cock right now?" Brienne fingered herself faster, her orgasm so close it was nearly painful. "And it is your name day, isn't it? I suppose that means I should tell you what I'd do to make you come, hmmm?"

"Gods, Jaime," Brienne cried out, frustrated and hungry and wanting to come more than she wanted to breathe. "Just fucking tell me."

"Look at me," he demanded, and Brienne's head snapped up, certain that her eyes were as wild as his own. "If you were here with me, I'd be fucking you against my desk right now. I'd have your thighs on my shoulders and one hand on your hip, my fingers digging into the skin so you'd still feel me tomorrow. My other hand would be cupping your neck, and I'd slide it up to your hair so I could yank it back as I fucked you, so I could press my mouth to your neck and scrape my teeth against your ear."

"Jaime, please," Brienne sobbed, slowing the speed of her hips so that each thrust was firm and direct and pointed. Her climax was teasing her now, tickling along the edges of her spine as lightly as the vibrations of the ring had tickled against Jaime's cock.

"And then when you were almost there, almost about to come apart around me, I'd slip both my hands under your ass--gods I bet you have a phenomenal ass, B." Jaime was breathing quickly too, and Brienne gave herself a moment to admire the sheen of sweat on his body as he wrapped one hand around the base of his cock and squeezed firmly. "I'd slide both hands across your ass and grab the tops of those thick, thick thighs, and I'd pick you up and carry you to my bed."


"I told you I'm strong enough," he said firmly. "I can handle you, Ser. I can take you. I can carry you into my bed and press you into my sheets, and fuck you into this mattress. Imagine it, B. Imagine me holding you up and bringing you here. I bet you'd look amazing, stretched out across my bed. And I'd fuck you as hard as you wanted, fuck you until you stained my sheets and wrecked my world, ruined me for any other woman." He let out a heavy breath, and he stroked his cock once, twice in a desperate sort of fury.  “Let me fuck you, gods let me see you, please. Let me hear you, B. I want you to come for me, come for me and scream my name."

Brienne couldn't stop herself from screaming if she tried, so she didn't. She let her head fall back and her back arch up, crying out his name as her orgasm broke over her, her hips rolling up in a desperate grind as her cunt clamped down on her fingers and pleasure spiked through her, nearly painful in its intensity. It bracketed over her in waves, subsiding and then rising and swamping her all over again.

She couldn't have said how long she slumped there, her fingers cool and sticky on her thigh, her body trembling with the force of her orgasm. Her throat felt raw, her muscles lax, her skin tender. She wanted to slide onto the bed and sleep, wanted to roll onto her side and press her face to Jaime's throat to breathe him in, lulled to sleep by the sound of his breathing. 

"Fuck, Ser," Jaime growled now, giving Brienne the motivation to open her eyes so she could see him. His entire body was one long, tense line of muscle, his muscles twitching, the tendons in his neck pulled tight. "Do you know how you sound when you come? Gods, I'm never gonna be able to not hear that. I don't want to not hear it. I want to hear it again and again. If you were here you'd be lucky to get any sleep. I want to taste you, B. I want your scent on my sheets and my pillow and my cock and my face. Fuck. Please gods, turn it back up. I need it. I need to come."

"Hold on," Brienne rasped. "Can you do something for me?"

"Anything," Jaime said desperately. "Name it."

Brienne could feel her skin heat a little at the idea of giving him such a specific request, but she wanted it too much to stay silent. "I want you to roll over, Jaime. I want to see how you'd fuck me into your mattress, how you'd make me stain your sheets. Show me."

Jaime's eyes slid across the screen, so intense and heated that she could feel the drag of the burn across her skin. "Gladly," he told her, shifting up to his knees so that he knelt on the bed, his body gleaming with sweat, his cock right there for her to admire. She wished she could lean forward and wrap her mouth around it, could dance her tongue around the lines of the toy, could taste the mingled flavor of silicone and man and musk. "Do you want to see my ass or my face, Ser B?"

"Both," she answered immediately. "Ass first, but when you come I want to see your face."

He held her gaze for a moment, despite the fact that he couldn't see her, and then made a show of turning around slowly, the muscles in his back and thighs firming as he pivoted on the mattress. "You want to know how I'd fuck you, Ser B? How I'd fuck you if you were here?" 

Brienne let out a hungry hum, her eyes tracing his body as he dropped to his elbows, spreading his knees slightly so that he was hovering just above the bed. She'd never looked at a man from this angle before, had never been able to look her fill at the soft curve of ass tapering into the firmness of thighs; had never been able to see how the muscles of a man's back and ass could bunch in unison, a ripple of strength and focus that had her pressing her thighs together again. She'd never been able to see the shadowed softness of his testicles as he began to roll his hips downward.

"I'd like to put my mouth there," Brienne told him before she knew what she was doing, too fascinated by the slow grind of his body and the clench of his ass to stay silent. She bumped the speed of the vibrator up, smirking as his back bowed and a long groan sounded through her room. "I'd like to lay on your bed with your mouth on me, on my--"

"Your cunt," Jaime groaned. "Gods, say it, you'd like my mouth on your cunt." He dropped his head lower on another moan as she tapped the speed up once more. "Fuck, B."

"I do. I want your mouth on my cunt, with you on top just like that. And I want you to fuck my mouth just like you're doing right now. Gods, Jaime, you should see yourself. You'd make so many tips doing this on one of your shows, but I don't want you to. I want this to be only mine. I don’t want anyone else to see you like this."

"Nobody will," he bit out, his hips rocking a little bit faster. "Just you, only you. I want your mouth, your hands, your cunt. Let me have you, B. Please gods, let me."

"You want more, Jaime?"

"Yes, gods, give me more, please," Jaime moaned, undulating his body in a deep grind. "I need you."

Brienne bumped up the speed ruthlessly, her cunt clenching as Jaime let out a guttural moan, his body losing the steady rhythm it had started as he began to thrust his hips erratically, urgency driving him now. "I want to see your face, Jaime," she told him, slipping her fingers between her legs once more, pressing against her clit in the same rhythm of his hips pressing into his bed. "Let me see you."

Jaime's hips stuttered once, twice, and then he was turning to face her, rising up on his knees again only to drop back down, his elbows braced, his eyes boring into hers. "More," he demanded, a shudder wracking through his body as the vibrations skimmed along his nerves. "Give me everything. Now."

Brienne hit the app quickly, maxing out the speed and biting her lip as Jaime growled and cursed and shook apart, his ass and hips flexing, his face contorted into the same nearly painful pleasure she'd felt. "Oh fuck, Ser," he cried out, muffling his voice against the bed as his hips ground down. "B."

Brienne managed to turn the app off even as she swiped her fingers across her clit, her eyes drinking in the dazed pleasure on his face, her ears the broken plea of her name, and then she was coming again, a tight flash of heat and pressure erupting as she gasped his name.

They lay in silence for several long moments, nothing but the sound of their ragged breathing filling their empty rooms. When Brienne finally mustered the energy to open her eyes, her screen was filled by Jaime's face. His eyes were sated and sleepy, a glow of contentment warming his skin and his smile. "Well," she managed, laughing a little.

"That was amazing," Jaime agreed, and fuck if the lazy satisfaction in his voice didn't have a tremble rippling across her belly again. She wished that she could feel him, the warm slide of skin against skin, the slow puffs of air on her neck. " You're amazing."

Brienne was grateful that he couldn't see her blush, certain he'd laugh at the idea of her blushing after what they'd just shared. "So are you," she said softly, allowing herself a moment of acceptance. "You really are, Jaime."

"I wish you were here," he murmured, his eyes roaming over the screen as if he could trace her features. "I'd like to hold you right now."

"I'd like that too."

"You know, if you think about it, you're the first woman I've ever had in here," he continued. "I may not be able to smell you on my sheets or feel you against my skin, but you've left your mark here, Ser B. On my room, and on me."

Brienne swallowed, shutting her eyes against the surge of tenderness she felt, so strong that it threatened to choke out every bit of fear she normally carried. "I'm honored to be the first woman in your new room, Jaime."

"I wouldn’t want anyone else to be first," Jaime said, his voice stronger now. "You have to know that I'm crazy about you, B. I haven't been subtle. I know we met under weird circumstances, but I hope you know that my show is just that. It's a job."

"It's more than that," Brienne told him. "You've bonded with your audience, Jaime. You care about them, and they care about you. It makes your show better. It makes it feel real."

"Maybe parts of it are," he said after a moment. "Maybe so. But the most real thing I've found doing this is you. Even on the days when everything still seems surreal to me, you feel steady. Talking to you, whether it's sly comments during my show or us messaging all day, that's the best part of my new life." He smiled then, a sweet, boyish smile that was somehow more devastating than any he'd shown her. "Thank you for spending your name day with me, Ser B."

"It was the best name day I've ever had," Brienne replied immediately, steadfastly ignoring the stinging in her eyes. "Thank you, Jaime, for everything. You made it incredibly special for me." She sighed, watching as his eyes fluttered shut in happiness. "I wish there was something I could give you."

"You've given me plenty," Jaime disagreed.

"You know what I mean."

Jaime fell silent for a moment, his eyes opening to search the blank screen before him again. "I know something you can give me," he said softly. "But only if you want to."

Brienne's heart picked up speed and she had to swallow before she could answer. "What's that?"

"Your name." 

His request was delivered in a near whisper, his eyes hopeful but worried, his teeth pressing into his lip. Sharing her name with the man she’d met online had always felt like such a big expression of trust, but what was a name compared to what they'd already shared? What was it compared to these feelings that were getting harder and harder to press down?

"Brienne," she said finally, just as his eyes had started to fall shut in disappointment. "My name is Brienne."

Chapter Text

The best part about Thursdays for Jaime was leaving work after the lunch rotation and spending his evenings with Brienne. It was still hard to believe that this was his life now. The bubble of happiness that he'd so shakily crafted those first few months in Winterfell was beginning to take shape, his bright spots helping to shore up the dark.

At the moment, he was stretched out on his bed, a romantic comedy on TV rolling its end credits to a generically upbeat song, and Brienne's voice was in his ear.

"That's not true!" she was insisting, her voice pitching higher in the way it did when she was aggravated. "I love romantic comedies! I just think you always pick bad ones when it's your turn!"

"What was bad about it?" Jaime shot back, turning to face his laptop to make sure he was fully visible to her, the silly smile that stretched across it not matching his exasperated tone at all. "It had a fun plot and the acting was decent, and it had pretty good music."

"They were both lying to each other the entire time!" she practically yelled at him. "Literally the entire movie. They lied and then lied some more, and then had a hugely embarrassing fight at a pretty big event for his career, and then they just magically got back together. There's nothing healthy about that at all!"

"It's romantic ," he argued. "I mean, yeah, they both started dating under false pretenses, but then it became real. They couldn't pretend otherwise even when their jobs demanded it of them. That's healthy!"

"It's unhealthy and unrealistic, Jaime. He chased her down through city traffic on a motorcycle with a dying houseplant. That's ridiculous--things like that don't happen in real life."

"That's the point, Brienne," he laughed. "We can watch a documentary if you want realistic, but these movies are supposed to be about making you feel good, and making you believe something good is out there for everyone."

"I believe something good is out there for most people," she said stubbornly. "I just don't believe that it's going to come with a pack of lies, career suicide, and a pot of wilted greenery."

Jaime couldn't help the laugh that rolled out of him at the irritation in her voice. Brienne was such a tangle of contradictions, he was finding, and he was crazy about every single one. She was direct and opinionated, and had a very defined sense of right and wrong, but she was one of the least judgmental people he'd ever met. She held herself to a high standard, but never seemed to hold it against people if they couldn't quite meet the same one. He liked how passionate she was about her work, how despite offers from bigger outlets, she preferred to continue working on the blog she and her friend had started in college. He also liked that while she acknowledged she was partly responsible for its growth and success, she was more eager to discuss how her friends had contributed. 

And yet despite all of those little contradictions, there were parts of her that were unfailingly consistent. She was humble, preferring to let her work speak for itself. She was a romantic, someone who loved the older films and stories about love that withstood the test of time. She was someone who said what she meant, but more importantly meant what she said.

Nothing about his life in King's Landing had prepared him for someone like her. 

His world had been built by the hands of greedy and callous men, and cruel and manipulative women. Every word, every action was weighted with some ulterior motive. Jaime had been forced to play the game, but it hadn't come naturally. He'd had to lock away every bit of genuine emotion just to survive those shark-infested waters. He'd learned to swim, but they had taken little bites of him during each foray until he was forced to let those wounds scar over so they couldn't smell the way his blood spilled out. He hadn't even known people like Brienne had existed in the world, people who were solid and steady and good .

"I didn't think that was the most unrealistic part of the movie," he said now, rolling over and letting his eyes drift across the black space that was Brienne. She'd still never turned her camera on, even though they spoke daily. He tried not to let it bother him, and focused instead on the fact that even if he couldn't see her, she was there, her voice and his twining together in his room.

"No, that would probably be the part where she made an album of their future kids--both of whom looked like their genetics had really embraced the Targaryen incest tradition--on day four of their dating, and he didn't immediately run screaming into the night."

Jaime laughed again, more at her dry tone than her words. "I mean that too," he agreed. "But that entire weekend at his family home? That was definitely made for the movies."

"What? That was the only realistic part, Jaime! That's when the story made a little bit of sense."

"Brienne, come on," Jaime said with an incredulous chuckle. "This guy is dating a girl for a few days, and brings her home to his family, and they just welcome her to the table for a card game and some laughs? Not a chance in any of the hells of that ever happening."

"That's what families do, Jaime," Brienne said, her voice soft now. "When Gal brought Moriah home, we didn't play cards, but we did take her out on the boat and teach her how to drag for shrimp. We played soccer on the beach and had a seafood boil, and embarrassed Gal with baby pictures and childhood horror stories."

Jaime's brows furrowed as he listened, trying to imagine any of that happening in the imposing halls of Casterly Rock. The image of his father playing soccer or telling Cersei's husband about the time she had thrown twenty-seven blue dresses off the cliffs near their home was laughable.

"That's not what my family does," he said, striving for indifference and landing somewhere around bitter. "Even if our father hadn't hand-picked our spouses, even if any of us had been allowed to just meet someone and fall in love, he would've run background checks, credit checks--hells, probably would have even bribed or threatened doctors for medical records. And even then, if they weren't going to add more money, or more business, or more connections, he'd end it."

He could hear Brienne's breathing, slow and steady, the sound soothing against the anger he could feel trying to take root in him. "So you've never dated anyone he didn't pick out?" she asked finally. "Is there some sort of heiress catalog I don't know about?"

Jaime laughed, the tension that had been starting to knot in his shoulders disappearing as quickly as it had arrived. "It wouldn't surprise me," he told her. "I never really dated , not in a way that counted. There were women I went out with, to all the bullshit functions I had to go to, and there were a few that I'd go out with for a few months at time, but never in a way that mattered. They were all the same."

"Rich and beautiful?" Brienne asked, and he could hear her own splash of bitterness creeping in.

"Sure," Jaime agreed. "They were rich and beautiful, no argument." He fixed his eyes on the screen, hoping that she was watching him, that she was seeing the sincerity in his eyes even if she wouldn't allow him to see hers. "And they were manipulative, greedy, and cruel. None of them had a single thought except who they could fuck over to get even further along the ladder, or who they could fuck and lock down into some loveless, bloodless marriage where everything was about appearances without any substance."

"Surely they weren't all like that," Brienne countered. "I've met several rich people, and some of them are absolutely lovely."

"Not the ones that ran in my family's circle," he said firmly. "I watched my brother and my sister marry exactly who our father told them to, saw them just break pieces of themselves off so they could fit in that neat little box he provided, and I just couldn't do it, Brienne. They're both absolutely miserable, and I wanted more than that--more than a marriage with affairs and lying and two perfect children who'd grow up the same way I did. That's why I left. Not just that, but it was the final push." 

"Poor Ermesande," Brienne said, but her voice was sympathetic rather than mocking. 

"I'm sure she wasn't the worst bride Father could've brought home, but gods. He was so mad that night, as if he expected me to be happy about him inviting someone to dinner and telling me when we were to announce our engagement. Which he probably was, to be fair. After all, I'd done everything he ever told me to up until then. My school, my job, my house. Why wouldn't he expect me to fall in line?"

"He may have directed a lot of your life, Jaime, but not all of it," Brienne said firmly. "You said he hated you taking that internship after college, and he hated your baking, but you never stopped. You didn't follow his orders on everything."

Jaime smiled softly as he looked at his computer, wishing he could make her appear. "I appreciate that, Brienne, but I should've done more. Over half my life was spent doing whatever he said, and an internship and a hobby are the only times I made my own choices. It's a little demoralizing, that's all."

"It shouldn't be," she said matter-of-factly. "You got out when it counted most, and you're making your own choices now. Instead of focusing on all the things you can't change, try and celebrate what you did."

He didn't understand how she could be so aware of all the ways he'd failed in his life, all the times he'd remained passive instead of taking a stand, and actually still believe he was a good man. She was so quick to forgive him for his failures and shortcomings while thinking hers were insurmountable for him. He thought about it sometimes when he was struggling to find enough peace to sleep, trying to make sense of how she could be so accepting of him and yet still reject his pleas to let him see her every time.

"I bet you had a great childhood, huh?" he asked, his eyes fluttering closed.

Brienne hummed as she gathered her thoughts, and Jaime smiled at the sound he'd grown so used to. That was another thing he liked about her. She was usually so measured and thoughtful when she spoke, though the times when she'd relaxed enough to speak without hesitation were equally and delightfully charming. He liked all the sides of her that she'd chosen to show him, and he knew that he would like the rest of her if she would just show him that too. There were so many things he'd wanted in his life, things he'd been told he couldn't have, but nothing had filled him with this desperate sort of longing, not like wanting to know Brienne did. 

He tried not to focus on the very real possibility that she didn't want to know him just as badly. 

"I did and I didn't," she told him. "My family was really wonderful, and all of us were really close. We still are, even though we've scattered a bit, but we always got along well. We spent a lot of time together, down on the beach, or out on the water, or week-long camping trips in the summer. They've always been supportive of me, even when they didn't like my decisions. Aly didn't speak to me for a week when I decided to go to university in The North, but she still helped me pack my room and made me a bracelet of flowers for good luck."

"So far, I'm not hearing anything bad, Brienne." Idyllic would be the better word, Jaime thought, and completely inconceivable to him.

"School was tough for a while," she said simply. "By the time I was twelve, I was taller than every kid in my class, and half the teachers, too. I was good at sports, which helped, but it also led to me gaining muscles to go with the weird height, and a nose that got broken not once, not twice, but three times. I wasn't pretty to start with, but none of that helped, and kids can be cruel."

He knew that was true, but it still bothered him to hear her speak so dismissively of herself. "I wish you wouldn't talk like that," he told her. 

"Jaime," she said with a sort of fond exasperation that did funny things to his heart. "I'm not speaking badly about myself, I'm just being honest. There's a lot of things I like about myself, and quite a few that I love, and me saying that I'm unattractive doesn't negate those."

"Is that why you won't let me see you?" he asked quietly.

Silence greeted him, and he held his breath as he waited. They'd been in communication for four months now. They had added a movie watch to go with their weekly TV show, shared pictures of their meals, talked about work and families and current events, even indulged in a couple more rounds of phone sex when they weren't able to resist the want anymore. And though he was happy to have those moments, happy to have her voice in his ears when she laughed or when she moaned, he wanted more. 

It was getting harder and harder to constantly be told no or not yet or eventually. He knew it wasn't fair to her, but part of him felt like he'd spent his entire life waiting for it to be his turn to have what he wanted, what he needed. He knew in his head that Brienne's rejections weren't the same as his father's, but it still felt the same inside his battered heart. 

There had been a few times, usually on nights when the need and the hunger had been a little stronger, when the loneliness pressed a little firmer against him in his empty bed, that he'd thought about looking her up. He knew enough information about her to put together a reasonable Greensight search, and find her--where she lived, what she looked like. Not because he wanted to prepare himself, though he was sure that's what Brienne would think, but just to see her, to put a face to the woman who filled so many of his days and nights. Anytime he'd found himself getting ready to take that step, he'd remembered how her voice had sounded when she'd told him her name, that tremulous sort of bravery that had colored her words as if it had slid past a quivering lip. Trust was everything to her, and he knew that he couldn't break it and have a chance of keeping her in his life.

"I don't know what you're expecting me to look like," she said finally. "I know I've told you, but sometimes you sound like you think I'm exaggerating, or just being insecure, and I'm not." She took a deep breath, then exhaled so slowly he could almost feel her breath against his skin, even miles away. "And part of me thinks it won't matter, that you know me enough that you won't care. But there's this other part that thinks you will , and I don't think I could take seeing your face when you do."

Jaime swallowed back his immediate protest, as well as a frustrated tangle of hurt and anger. It wasn't that he didn't believe Brienne when she said she wasn't pretty, but he would argue vehemently against her being unattractive. He had tried to tell her that he knew what kind of poison could lurk underneath the skin of beautiful people, how their words and actions and thoughts could make them uglier than someone as wonderful as her could ever be. 

Other times he wanted to ask her why she thought he was so shallow, what had he done to make her think that he'd be the type to reject her because of a crooked nose or a muscled back? He bounced from angry to hurt to insulted to determined any time he tried to puzzle it out, and tonight was no different. Brienne was the most beautiful person he'd ever met, even without knowing the shape of her face.

She didn't want to hear that, though. It was another reason to resist the temptation of a quick search. She deserved to see his face when his eyes met hers for the first time, to know exactly what he saw when he saw her.

In his darker moments, the ones where he replayed his life and noted his failures, he wondered if she was being honest about how she saw him. Could she believe that he was a good man and yet still believe that he'd be repelled by finally seeing her face? For whatever reason, something about him still had her on guard, made her leery to take that final step. The thought of that was even more painful than thinking of all the ways that he wasn't worth her taking a chance on.

But if he could be patient, he could prove that she could trust him. He'd make her see that she would be safe with him. It didn't matter how much it hurt him each time he looked at the screen and didn't see her, or how often he wondered what it was about him that he needed to fix so that she would. Even if it took months, or even a full year for her to feel like he'd earned that, he could do it.

And until then he'd bite his tongue and give her what she wanted, until she was ready to let him have what he needed. If there was anything he excelled at, it was that.

"Tell me more about your family," he said instead of all the words that gathered in his throat. "I've only been camping once with the Boy Rangers, but my father hired someone to go with me as my chaperone."

Brienne made a shocked sound, and immediately launched into a tale about the time her brother had carried her two miles after he'd strung a wire across a trail and goaded her into a race, which had ended when she'd hit the cord and went flying into a cluster of rocks.

Jaime forced his body to relax, smiling at the camera and laughing when it was appropriate, trying to force down the longing for the family he'd never had, and the woman it was starting to seem he never would.

The next day, Jaime found himself wondering if their conversations about families had somehow summoned the specter of his father, as if daring to talk about Tywin Lannister had summoned him like children tried to summon Bloody Dany in the bathroom mirror. Or perhaps he was asleep, because there was no way Tywin Lannister could be standing in the kitchen of The Godswood unless it was in some sort of nightmare. 

There were several reasons for this. For one, Tywin Lannister absolutely hated the North in general, and Winterfell in particular. For another, he had one restaurant in each region that he chose to patronize, and The Godswood was not his choice in the North. Maege Mormont was one of the few business owners who had zero ties to Lannister Holdings, and had not a single purse string held by Tywin or his cronies. When Tywin had shown up not long after her grand opening, expecting the usual groveling and accommodating that he received everywhere else, Maege had apparently been delighted to prove him wrong.

But the main reason Tywin couldn't be standing there was that the kitchen was Jaime's happy place, and his father had no place there.

He pressed his back against the side of the oversized cooler, sucking in a deep breath as he fought the wave of nausea that rolled through him.

"I'm sorry, sir," Hildy's cheerful voice broke through Jaime's shock. "Only authorized personnel are allowed in the kitchen."

"Do you know who I am?" Tywin's voice was as cold and commanding as it'd always been, the voice of a man who expected compliance rather than cooperation. For Jaime, hearing it in his space, after so long without it in his ears, had his hands trembling as he pressed them into his shaky legs.

"I don't," Bronn cut in, and Jaime didn't have to be looking at him to know his sneer was firmly in place. "Which means you don't fucking work here, which means you ain't authorized personnel. And that means you can't be in our fucking kitchen."

"I'm looking for someone," Tywin said, unbothered. "And based on the caliber of characters I've found here, I have no doubt I'm in the right place."

"Who you looking for, sir?" Sam interrupted whatever Bronn was about to say. Jaime tapped his clenched fists on his thighs, trying to bolster himself with the strength he'd only recently started to find. "Are you looking for Maege?"

"No, he's looking for me," Jaime said as he stepped out from behind the cooler, hoping he didn't look as pale and shaky as he felt. "Father."

Tywin shifted his pale green gaze to Jaime, his eyes flicking over him. Jaime knew what he saw, could see the way his lips thinned in disapproval at Jaime's slightly shaggy hair and tidy beard, at his plain jeans and faded blue tee shirt, dusted with flour. "Jaime," was all he said.

They stood there for several long moments, sizing each other up, wondering who would make the first move. Jaime wasn't surprised that it was him--he'd never been as good at waiting out an adversary when he could try and draw first blood. 

"Welcome to The Godswood," Jaime said with a tight grin. "You're a bit early for dinner, though. We don't open till seven."

"I'm not interested in whatever slop passes for fine dining here in the North," Tywin's voice was as sharp as his eyes. "Everybody get out. Give us the kitchen."

Jaime felt the long-familiar tremor of his belly before he was bolstered by Bronn's derisive snort. "This isn't King's Landing, and we don't work for you, Tywin. If your son wants to talk to you, and gotta say I can't think why the fuck he would, he can either do it in here with an audience or you can fuck off to the back. We have a service to prep."

Tywin's eyes flashed dangerously and Jaime found himself smiling faintly despite the tension that he could feel coiled inside the room. Gods, Bronn, I could've used you twenty years ago. "I'm going to head back to the office for a few minutes," he told Bronn with a friendly clap on the shoulder. "It won't take long."

"Best not, you've got to finish getting those baked apples ready to go."

"Baked apples with rhubarb crumble," Jaime corrected with a wink, not wanting the other man to see his turmoil. "Five minutes." He glanced over at his father again, his eyes tracing the familiar warning signs he saw in his father's clenched jaw and fingers. With a jerk of his head, Jaime turned his back on him and walked out of the kitchen.

Each step down the short hallway to the break room seemed to echo quietly in his head and heavily in his heart until he felt nothing but the same trepidation he had felt as a child being marched to his father's office. It felt like the walls were being pressed in on him, caving under the weight of his father's presence just like Jaime had always done. 

Just like he could feel himself doing the closer they got.

Tywin closed the door to the break room with a quiet click, the subtle sound somehow more ominous than a slam would've been. Jaime forced himself to turn around and meet his father's stare, trying to resist the instinctive urge to drop his eyes again immediately. "What do you want, Father?"

Tywin continued to watch him for a moment, then tightly clasped his hands behind his back. "I came to ask you if you were done, Jaime. Have you finished?"

"Finished what?"

"This juvenile expression of disobedience, that urge you have to constantly fight what's best for you." Tywin's lips were pulled tight after each sentence, as if he were holding back his own urges to fight. "You've always been my most difficult child, always wanting to ignore my guidance, to push back against my advice."

Jaime was rarely shocked by his father anymore, but he definitely was this time. " How ? How can you possibly stand there with a straight face and say that to me? I did everything you ever asked, I gave up everything to try and be what you wanted me to be."

"If that were true, we wouldn't be standing in this dump of a restaurant outside Winterfell," Tywin said coolly. "You'd be in King's Landing with Ermesande, most likely announcing her first pregnancy, and you'd be getting ready to step in as President of Marketing as planned. Instead, you tried to ruin everything with this little stunt, running off like a child throwing a tantrum. So I ask again, have you finished?"

Jaime simply stared at him, and wondered how he could feel so baffled after so many years of disappointments, after all the times his father just hadn't seen him. "You think that's what I've done? You think this is just some sort of rebellion to... what? Make you angry? Get your attention like I'm twelve years old again? I've been gone for almost ten months , Father. This isn't a whim, or some sort of overblown sowing of wild oats before settling down. I have a life here, one I've chosen and built. This isn't about you."

"Of course it's about me," Tywin said dismissively, almost with a touch of amusement. "Just like it was about me when you took that internship with Brynden Tully, spending all summer in a kitchen, sulking after I suggested you go to Ashford for school. I could afford to have some patience with your selfishness and short-sightedness then, especially when you did the right thing eventually, but I have none now. You will stop this foolishness and come home."

"It isn't foolishness," Jaime argued. "I was foolish when I left Riverrun for Ashford, but this isn't like that. I've learned a lot here, Father, and I'm learning what I'm capable of. I'm making something of myself here."

"Yes, you are," Tywin agreed, his voice suddenly as furious as his eyes. "You're making a godsdamned fool of yourself, and of me too. You think I don't know what you're doing? You're not making a name for yourself in the kitchen, or at least not this one. You're little more than a prostitute, whoring yourself out for pocket change. I'm trying to fix this mess you've created before all of Westeros knows you ran away from your responsibilities, your legacy , all to have people pay you for any number of depravities." Tywin stepped closer, crowding into Jaime's space until he could nearly feel his father's breath on his face. "You think you're making something of yourself here? The only thing you'll ever make of yourself is what I've already made you--a Lannister. You should be on your knees thanking me for my willingness to look past this." Tywin's eyes, the same color as his son's, traced over Jaime's face. "Though I suppose I should be thankful that sort of thing isn't what you're doing. Yet."

Jaime felt his stomach lurch at the look on his father's face, at the barely restrained anger and disgust that seemed to sharpen each line. "You don't get to cheapen my success here that way. You don't."

"Cheapen you?" Tywin scoffed softly, tilting his head as he continued to appraise Jaime, filing away every flinch of hurt. "I don't think it's possible to cheapen you, son. I've seen your rates."

Jaime recoiled slightly, dropping his eyes to the ground as a sense of shame worked its way through him that he knew all too well. His eyes found the scuff marks on his shoe, the hardened patch of caramelized sugar on the toe, each scar a story he'd earned in the kitchen. "I think you should go, Father. I need to get back to work."

Tywin made a considering sound, loudly enough that Jaime forced his eyes up to see his father's lips pulled downward. "I'll go," he said finally. "I have some business to wrap up by lunch, but I will be back, Jaime. And when I do, you'll be leaving with me. Is that understood?"

Jaime clenched his jaw, angry at himself for that instinctive urge to choke back his words. Tywin smirked as he walked to the door which finally prompted Jaime to loosen his mouth and say, "I won't be going."

Tywin turned, his body half out the door already. "You will," he said decisively, and Jaime could tell he was shifting tactics in his head. He wondered which one he'd take this time, which weapon he'd wield to try and bend Jaime to his will. "Thank gods your mother isn't here," Tywin told him. "She'd be ashamed of the man you've ended up being."

Even knowing his father had aimed that particular knife with purpose, it didn't stop Jaime from bleeding. He inhaled sharply, feeling the words lodge in his chest and take root. He couldn't speak, couldn't do anything but feel as he stared at his father's triumphant smile.

"You have today to put your affairs in order. Tomorrow." 

He left without another word, not even bothering to glance back to where his son stood in silent shame.


That night, Jaime stood with his palms braced on his kitchen counter, trying to shake off the mood that had taken root in him ever since his father's parting shots. 

He'd made it through work, plowing through dessert prep with a single-minded focus as he made the rhubarb crumble and cored the apples, wishing he could block out the gnawing ache in his heart. He wondered if Tywin knew that this was one of the last recipes Joanna Lannister had taught him to make, wondered if he'd aimed that particular blow knowing that Jaime would be forced to picture his mother as he worked. He could see her so clearly, pressing one hand to her swollen belly as she smiled down at him and popped a piece of the crumble into his mouth.

He wondered if she'd smile today, knowing what he had allowed himself to become. Not even at her son, the camboy, but her son, the man who had fled his home after years of letting his father dictate his every move. The man who hadn't had the courage to even take a stand all those months ago, any more than he had tonight. 

Jaime could feel his coworkers watching him, and the concern and pity in their eyes had tension knotting along his spine until his head was throbbing, and he felt something wanting to break inside him. He was grateful that they left him alone, letting him work in silence even if their eyes said enough.

He'd left work as soon as his portion of the food was prepped, hours earlier than usual, but nobody seemed to mind. He'd messaged Brienne to let her know that he'd gotten tied up with a situation at work, and then gone for a long run, trying to outstrip his father's voice. He'd taken deep breaths in the shower, hoping the hot spray would loosen his muscles and ease his mind, and then ended up at the market, examining pears and tasting samples of goat cheese. He had felt better as he walked home with his purchases, planning out his show for the night, enjoying the quiet bustle of his street as day had started to edge into dusk. He was starting to feel like himself again as he began to make a light dinner, only to ruin it and scorch his favorite skillet which had been all he needed to feel every bit of the failure his father had accused him of being. It had been enough to make him want to go climb into bed and pretend this day had never happened.

But his screen showed he had a room full of people waiting, including Brienne, and he couldn't handle the idea of disappointing everyone in one night. So he took a deep breath, and then another.

"Okay, here we go." He reached up to press the stream button. "Hey everyone, it's good to see you all again tonight. I appreciate you taking time out of your busy lives to come and spend an hour with me." He wasn't sure if he was imagining the tightness of his jaw, the self-mocking note in his voice, but he didn't think so. 

He forced himself to smile, feeling the muscles of his cheeks stretch in a way that felt pained. The comment box was lighting up, but he couldn't bring himself to look at it yet. "I thought we'd try something a little different tonight. So far, most of our baking tutorials have focused on sweets, but it seems like a good idea to branch out to the more savory side of things. Tonight, I'm going to be making a pear and leek galette with goat cheese and almonds." He gestured to the items on the counter before him, lined up as neatly as ever. "It's important to diversify in the kitchen, to let your palate develop new tastes."

Though he'd tried to ignore the comment box, his gaze caught it anyway, the aching in his chest growing more pronounced as he read the comments from viewers.

What's wrong, Jaime?

Jaime, are you sick? You don't look good. You should sit down and have some water.

He doesn't even sound like himself.

Omg what happened? Did someone die?

Jaime, I think you should maybe sit tonight out and get some rest. You don't look normal at all. 

Jaime, while we don't know what has happened to bring this look to your face, I hope these tokens help in case the problem can be cured with money, though we know that so many can't. 

And there was a DM from Brienne, glowing in the corner, that made his heart hurt even worse. Jaime. I don't know if you're just stressed, but please turn the stream off and give me a call if you need to talk. Or you can not if you don't want to. But either way, turn the stream off. 

"Fuck," he said, scrubbing his hands over his face. "I'm sorry, guys. It's been a really rough day, and I thought I could do this, but I can tell from your comments that I can't. I could keep trying, of course, but it's obvious my head isn't in it, and you deserve better than that." 

His father would've probably agreed that they deserved better than him . Jaime couldn't disagree at the moment. 

"So I'm really sorry for wasting your time, but I think I'm gonna end this while I'm somewhat ahead. I hope you'll all forgive me."

There's nothing to forgive, Jaime. Get some rest. 

You're only human, Jaime. See you next time!

Tomorrow will surely be a better day, Jaime. And if you decide you need a vacation, our door and beds are always open, even if you wish the bed to remain empty. Rest.

Jaime swallowed, both moved and suddenly angry that this group of near-strangers showed him more concern than anyone in his family ever had. "Thank you everyone. I'll see you in a few days."

He managed to hold his smile for another moment as he disconnected from the stream, then cursed. "Can't even walk them through a galette and jerk off, Jaime, good job," he berated himself. He hated knowing his father had gotten to him, hated that his inability to focus tonight only seemed to confirm that he was the disappointment his father saw him as.

Jaime tidied up his kitchen and then retreated to his bedroom with a beer and his laptop. He debated calling Brienne as he stripped down to the skin and climbed underneath the sheets, his need warring with the dark stains his father's words had left on his skin. He wanted to talk to her, to hear her deep, melodic voice fill his empty room and the fissures inside his chest. He wanted to turn off his brain and lose himself in her for just a little while, just until he felt like himself again, until he could stand being inside his own skin again.

It felt selfish to reach out to her, though, to ask her to help him carry the weight of his cowardice and his shame. She deserved more than that from him. 

He'd nearly decided to reach for his computer, to power it down, when it began its singing notification to let him know that someone was calling. The moment he saw her name glowing on the screen, he knew he wouldn't be able to resist. 

When had he ever, when it came to her?

Jaime rolled over to his side, propping his head up on his hand as their call connected, his heart lifting for a moment in a foolish sort of hope before it crashed back down upon seeing the black screen where her face could've been.

"Hey," he said, looking away from the screen so that she wouldn't see the emotions on his face.

"Hey, Jaime," Brienne answered softly, her husky voice sliding through the silence of his room. "I just wanted to check on you, and make sure you're okay."

Jaime couldn't help but chuckle, though there was no humor to be found. "I really don't think I am, Brienne." He absently reached for his beer, his hands needing something to do. 

She hesitated, and he could practically feel her trying to gauge his mood. He didn't know how the consideration she'd always given him suddenly felt hollow to him, though it was probably just the gaping pain in his heart. 

"If you want to talk about it, I hope you know you can talk to me."

"I know," he told her, keeping his eyes on the bottle in his hand as he scratched his thumbnail along the label, weighing his options before finally speaking. "My father showed up at my work."

"What?" Brienne exclaimed. "Why? How? You said you haven't seen him in nearly a year!"

"Ten months," Jaime confirmed. "The how is simple, really. I reached out to someone to get some information from them." He wouldn't tell her that the information had been so he could make her a lemon tart.  He wouldn't put his father's visit on her, especially not when he'd known very well the risk he was taking and deemed it worthwhile. He still thought it was. "I'm assuming she, or more likely her grandmother, called to gloat about knowing where I was when he didn't."

"That's horrible," she said disapprovingly. "Surely they knew what would happen."

"Small price to pay for his discomfort and anger," Jaime told her with a rueful laugh. "I told you--the people in my world aren't like the people in yours."

"He was angry, I'm assuming?"

"Oh yeah, that's definitely a word for it," Jaime agreed. "Angry, disappointed, revolted, take your pick." He laughed, the sound as bitter as the garlic he'd burned earlier in the evening. "He knows where I am, knows about my cam shows--apparently he knows everything. Probably hired an investigator."

"It isn't any of his business what you do," she said. "You're an adult."

"Nearly forty and whoring myself out for pocket change. That's what he said."

"Well, fuck him," Brienne said heatedly. "He doesn't know anything about you."

"He knows I'm a disappointment," he said, his lingering anger giving way to hurt in such a seamless shift that he was forced to admit it was probably his predominant emotion. He swallowed heavily, turning his head further away from the camera. "He told me if she were alive, my mom would be ashamed of me, and the worst part is that he's probably right. Because I am a coward, and my mom probably would be ashamed of me. He didn't say anything that wasn't true."

"What?" Her voice sounded angry now, her words vibrating from his computer. "Jaime, everything he said was untrue, especially the part about your mom. That's not how humans work. You have to look at the reasons behind the actions, always. So your mom probably wouldn't be happy to know you make extra money running a cam show--that may be true at face value. But I know she'd be proud of you for taking a stand, of stepping away from your family, of trying to find a new way to be. She'd have to be."

"You didn't know her."

"I don't have to," Brienne said stubbornly. "I can hear it every time you've talked about her. She loved you. Not as a possession or a legacy, but as her son, just as you were. The woman you've described to me wouldn't be ashamed that you found a way to get away from him and the life he was forcing on you."

"But that's the problem," he said, swallowing heavily. "He didn't really force me, did he? I wasn't trapped. I was just scared, and too worried about making sure he was proud of me. And it was for nothing. I have absolutely nothing to show for the last thirty years, Brienne, at least not till now. It took me this long just to stop doing everything he told me to do."

"And some people never get there," Brienne argued. "Some people never have the courage to step away from that kind of toxic environment. You should start giving yourself more credit," she added, her voice trembling a bit. "And stop letting him make you feel cheap. That's not what your show is, and that's not what you are. People from all over the country tune in to watch you bake, Jaime. That's because of you ."

"They tune in to watch me touch myself, Brienne."

"I'm not saying that doesn't help," she agreed, surprising a snort out of him. "But everyone on that website touches themselves, and nobody has cultivated the type of following you have in the amount of time you have. That's not just because of the way you look, or what you do. It's because of who you are ." She sighed when he shook his head, his shoulders rounding in. 

"Do you know how many men and women and couples I watched touch themselves on that website when I first started researching it?" she continued. Jaime shook his head again, not sure what that had to do with anything. "Dozens. Do you know how many had me becoming a return viewer? Do you know how many of them I messaged in the group chat? Or how many of them had me responding so strongly until I couldn't help but touch myself too? Not a single one of them. Just you, Jaime."

"You were lonely," he said quietly. At the time it had moved him, had felt like her loneliness had matched his own, but now it felt more like she had settled for him. He knew the way loneliness could drive someone into a foolish choice, and he hoped he wasn't one of hers. 

"I was," Brienne said just as quietly. "Some part of me has always been lonely, I think. At least until I met you."

Jaime set his beer on the end table, then dropped his head into his hands. "Brienne."

"It's true," she said, her voice stronger now. "I just thought that's how I was built maybe, or at least what I was destined for. But then I met you, and even when I'm not talking to you, I don't feel lonely because I know you're there."

He glanced up at the screen, then looked away when he found it was still stubbornly blank, his throat working furiously as he tried to contain his emotions. "It won't last, Brienne," he said gently. "Once you really get to know me, once you see how little I have going for me, how much time and potential I've wasted, you'll get sick of me. Everyone does."

"I'm not going to get sick of you, Jaime," Brienne insisted. "None of us are. It isn't because of your body or your face. You could change platforms and just run a paid baking show--a clothed one--and I guarantee 90% of your viewers would go with you. We're there for you . I'm there for you, no matter what form that takes." 

That's not true , he wanted to tell her. Her voice was here with him, but that's all he was allowed to have. She had no problem calling him, no problem developing a bond with him, but when it came down to it, she didn't let him have access to all of her, no matter how often he'd cautiously asked. There was a carefully maintained distance that she'd put in place and he'd no choice but to follow along with. 

It hurt to see it now, the way she had let him in but only so much. He wanted to ask her how she could say these things and yet show him, over and over, that she didn't trust him enough to look at her. He wanted to demand the truth from her, to make her admit that she didn't want to be any more entangled with someone like him than she already was, that she didn't want to let him know her as desperately as he wanted her to know him.

He was just so tired of being shown he wasn't enough. Not for his father, not for her. Tired of being told what was best, what he should do, how he should act. It was exhausting to try so hard and never succeed. 

"Maybe," he said impassively even though nothing about him felt impassive.

"It is . Don't let your father blind you to what you are."

"He didn't blind me, he made me see," Jaime said, and gods his voice sounded tired. He was just so fucking tired . "People are there now, but it won't last. It can't. The first time anyone from my old life comes looking for me in nearly a year , and it was just to tell me what a fuck-up I am. And I stood there and I took it because not only am I a fuck-up, I'm a coward. I'm not a good man, I'm not a strong man. I've never once stood up for myself with any of them, I've just let them manipulate me into where they wanted me to be. I thought this past year had taught me how to fight back, how to go after what I want, but it hasn't." He thought of the way his father had smirked at him, thought of the way he always swallowed down his smothering need with her, the way he'd fallen silent as his Tywin left. "I'm still the same man I was. And that's not a man someone like you should want." 

Which apparently she didn't. Not enough anyway.

"You don't get to decide who or what I want," she told him fiercely. "No more than your father gets to decide for you. I can see you, Jaime, I know you. I think you're the bravest man I've ever met, and undoubtedly the kindest. I've seen it since the beginning, everyone can."

"I can't."

"Then it's lucky for you I'm a Knight then, remember?" she asked, her voice firm but with an undercurrent of emotion he couldn't name. "You said it that first night, that you liked knowing I'd be there to swoop in and save you. I can't save you from your father, Jaime, but I can stand beside you and help you see what he's too hateful and blind to see." She paused and Jaime looked down, shaking his head a little. "Do you hear me? If your father is your dragon, and you wanted me to fight beside you, I would. Jaime, look at me." 

Jaime shook his head again, unable to hear her say the words that some part of him had been needing to hear since he was a child, and then look up to see that black screen staring back at him. He couldn't. 

"Jaime," Brienne said again, and this time her voice was pleading, insistent. "Please look at me."

He swallowed heavily, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a deep breath through his nose. Even knowing how badly this would hurt him, he couldn't deny her when she so clearly needed to see his face, not when he knew how much it hurt to be the one told no. Slowly he lifted his head to the screen, and then gasped, his mouth falling open in awe as for the first time, his green eyes met her stunningly blue.

" Brienne ," he whispered, transfixed. He leaned forward, his eyes greedily running across the screen, trying to take in every individual pixel of her face and body.

Her hair was short and thin, a pale blonde that was swept back from her face as if she had been shoving it back in frustration or nerves, straight as a pin save for the tiny bit of curl he could see at the ends. Her face was broad, her skin probably pale when she wasn't slowly turning scarlet, and he could see she'd been telling the truth about her broken nose by the way it bumped and curved on her face. She had a long, thin scar across her cheekbone, a strong jaw and chin--the latter of which was trembling slightly--and the fullest lips he'd ever seen, even if they were chapped and bitten. He wanted to slide his mouth across them, to sooth the chafed skin with his tongue, to let it catch on the rough patches before cruising across the soft.

Her eyes were big and impossibly blue, so blue that he wondered if she was descended from the fabled Night King. He'd never seen eyes like hers before, and he thought it fitting that a woman who society would consider unappealing had the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen. They were as clear and guileless as he'd imagined, even when they were alight with nerves and fear and a fierce sort of defiance.

She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. 

Jaime could feel his face growing slack as his lips parted, his tongue slipping out to dampen his lips. Her neck, even as long and thick as it was, was oddly graceful, and sloped down to the best pair of shoulders he'd ever seen. He wanted to sink his teeth into the rounded cap of muscle, wanted to scrape his beard across the strong yet delicate line of her clavicle. Her breasts were small and firm underneath the cotton of her tank top, and he could just make out the shadow of her nipples underneath the fabric. They hardened under his gaze, her chest rising more rapidly with each breath, and he heard himself hum, wondering what she would do if he were able to lean forward and wrap one in his mouth through the thin material.

"Brienne. You're absolutely glorious ," he managed, still tracing his eyes along the muscled line of her arms, craning his neck as if he could see below the screen to where he knew her long legs must be curled up. He wanted to see every wonderfully long inch of her, to have his screen and his eyes and his heart full of her. 

Slowly, he lifted his eyes back to hers, hoping she could see the gratitude and awe and desire that were racing through his body. "Thank you, Ser Brienne. For your words, and for being here. And for this, for the trust you're showing me by letting me see you. I don't take that lightly. I hope you know that."

Brienne smiled a little, her eyes roaming his face. He wondered if she always smiled like that when they talked, if she always let her gaze dance around the screen so she could see every part of him. "I do. I know you probably think it's just because I realized how much you needed to see me, Jaime. But it's also because I needed you to know that I saw you , and to see that I trust you." She laughed a little and despite how happy the sound made him, at the way it flooded his previously chilled body with warmth, he couldn't help but track the way her throat moved, couldn't help but want to press his mouth there and drink that laughter in. "Besides, I can't be your Knight if I'm afraid, right? I can be brave for you, you're worth that. I should've let you see me weeks ago."

"Tonight was the perfect time," he disagreed, and then smiled slyly, feeling more like himself with each second he sat in her gaze. "Besides, I don't know that I could've handled seeing you sooner. Your name day may have killed me."

"Jaime," she said, lifting her hands to cover her face. The redness that had started to fade bloomed again, peeking out from between her fingers, and crawling down her neck. He watched it in fascination before becoming mesmerized by the sight of those long, thick fingers hiding her expression from him. He imagined her sliding them down her body, the way they would curve inside her cunt, and felt his cock throb.

He'd thought he knew what it was to want her, but it was nothing compared to the desire that was coursing through him now, sharp and heated, sliding along his veins. Seeing a piece of her only sharpened the need to see all of her, to know every inch of her body as well as he'd come to know her voice, or her laugh. He wanted to count the freckles he could see dotting the bend of her elbow, wanted to see if her eyes shifted color when she laughed or when she moaned, wanted to watch her hands clench on her sheets as her head fell back. He wanted all of her, every piece of her that had been hidden from him these last few months.

"You really do turn red, don't you?" he asked, his voice dropping to a growl. "Does it go all the way down your body? How far down does it spread, Brienne? Are your breasts red, your belly?" He watched as her hands slid from her face, letting him see her eyes that had gone suddenly dark. "If I were to press my mouth to the inside of your thigh, would I be able to feel the burn?"

She watched him, her head tilting a little as her lips parted on a shaky breath, weighing his words. "Would you like to see?" she asked finally, her chin lifting slightly in a gesture that struck him as both brave and challenging.

"I want to see everything . I want to see all of you, every bit of you. I've been imagining it for months. Fuck yes, I want to see," Jaime groaned. "Let me see you, Brienne. I want to see your breasts and those pretty little nipples that are teasing me through your shirt. I want to see your legs, your thighs, your cunt. I want anything you'll give me."

She kept her eyes on him for a moment, and then nodded. "Give me a second to adjust my computer," she told him. "And adjust yours too, Jaime. I want to see all of you too."

"You've seen all of me," he pointed out, even as he scrambled to arrange his pillows and computer in the way he'd learned worked best.

"Not like I'm about to."

Jaime settled back on his bed, the sheets shoved down to the end, leaving his body completely open to her eyes. "I hate to argue with you, but you've seen all of me in several different ways."

He watched her as she settled back down, though she was still dressed, his eyes tracking the shift of her hips as she squirmed into a comfortable position. "Not like I'm about to," she repeated softly. "I've never watched you touch yourself while you're watching me touch myself."

" Fuck ." Jaime lifted one hand from the bed, letting it brush lightly against his cock, resisting the urge to wrap his hand around the base. "You're wearing too many clothes, Brienne."

"Well, I can fix that," she said after a moment, and he found himself watching her face, taking in the blend of challenge and nerves that burned there even as her fingers curled around the hem of her shirt. He wanted to watch her strip it off, wanted to watch her belly and then her breasts become visible for his eyes, but he couldn't look away from her face yet, not when he had spent so much time hoping to see it. "Are you ready?" she asked.

Jaime swept his gaze along the soft rise of her cheekbone, the swell of lip she had clamped between her teeth, before locking his eyes on her own. He couldn't believe that this was really happening after so many hours wishing away the black box on his screen. He'd been ready since the day they first talked, ready for all of her. 

He wondered if she could see how ready he was on his face, not just for this, but for everything that would come later. He wanted to watch her sleep on his couch, her laptop on the table beside her. He wanted to hold her hand at the movies and kiss the loud, ridiculous laugh from her mouth during the funny parts. He wanted to massage her hands when they were sore, and try recipes on her, and pick silly fights with her just so that he could make her laugh again.

"I'm ready for you, Brienne," he said softly. She had no idea how ready. 

The shy pleasure of her smile welcomed him even as her fingers gripped the bottom of her shirt and began to slowly ease it up. 

Jaime leaned forward a little, greedy for more, his eyes devouring every bare inch of skin she exposed. Her belly was pale and flat, a trio of freckles nestled beside her navel. Her waist dipped only slightly, nearly the same width as her hips, and he imagined what his hands would look like, gripping her there as she rocked onto him slowly.

Her hands hesitated a little, pausing for just a moment with the fabric bunched under the curve of her breasts before she was lifting her shirt up and over her head, and tossing it to the side. Jaime was vaguely aware of the embarrassing sound he made as air pushed out of his lungs, but he couldn't find it in him to care, not when Brienne was bare from the hips up, her eyes big and blue and on his.

She had once told him that she was flat-chested, and he had the urge to scold her and defend the honor of her breasts now that he finally got to see her. He wanted to feel them against his chest, to curve his hands around them and use his thumb and finger to frame her nipple for his mouth, to run his nose along the slight shadow of her cleavage. "You're perfect," he told her, his voice raspy in its sincerity. "Are you going to show me how you like to be touched, Brienne? Are your nipples as sensitive as they look?" By the way they tightened further at his words, he was pretty sure the answer was yes. "Let me see how you touch yourself when you watch me. How you want me to touch you when I finally get the chance." He wanted to touch her, to learn her body and her mind and heart, to become a master at reading each shifting expression. 

"Okay," she whispered, and just as he'd hoped, he got to watch the spill of red move across the strong plane of her chest, trickling down her body, as she lifted her hands to cup her breasts. Her broad palms pressed and lifted, massaging herself firmly, and Jaime watched intently as she skated long fingers around her nipples, circling closer and closer until she could grasp each one between her forefinger and thumb. She tugged lightly, gasping a little, and then pinched and twisted just a bit, a choked grunt of pleasure escaping her mouth as her back curved, arcing her body towards him. 

"That's it," he murmured, lifting his hand to drag a rough finger across his own nipple. "You like a firm grip, Brienne. And a little bit of teasing followed by a little bit of force. Is that right?" He could give her both, he thought, he could tease her and take her and embrace every piece of her until she trusted what she saw in his face, heard in his voice.

"Yes," she stuttered, her fingers steadily circling and pinching and twisting. "I like the build up, I like the tease, and then I want to feel it."

"What if it were my mouth instead?" Jaime asked, easing his palm down to glide along his torso. "Tell me what you'd want me to do if it were my mouth on you right now."

"Jaime, I don't know if I can."

"Then how about if I tell you what I want to do to you?" She nodded a little, shifting on the bed, and he had to fight the urge to smile. He knew how dirty and inventive Brienne could be when she was turned on, knew that she had no problem telling him what she wanted from him when she was wet and aching. Her eyes were already full of that same wanting and he knew it was just a matter of time before she forgot how new this was for them, and let herself go. 

He didn't know how desperately he wanted that, not until now. He wanted her to feel completely free and open with him, to bare her body and soul without a single reservation, to know that she felt safe enough with him to be nothing but herself.

"If you were here," Jaime said, "I'd pull you onto my lap so that your knees were pressing into my hips, and I'd wrap one arm around your waist to hold you steady while you squirmed and rocked on top of me, and I kissed you. Gods, Brienne, I want to kiss you. I want your tongue in my mouth, want those hands in my hair. I'd kiss across your jaw and then over to your ear, then bite down your neck until you're moaning and groaning, pressing your hips harder and harder against mine."

"And then?" she asked unsteady, her breathing coming a little quicker.

"Then I'd drag my tongue across the hollow of your neck and follow your blush down until I could scrape my beard across your breasts. Would you like that, you think? For my beard to leave marks all over that pretty skin you've been hiding from me?" He wanted to mark her, to leave his claim as soundly over her body as she'd done for all of him.

"So I could feel you the next day," Brienne agreed, her voice a little thicker than before.

"Oh you're going to feel me," Jaime assured her, and he couldn't resist wrapping his hand around the base of his cock to give it one firm squeeze. "You're gonna feel me on your breasts and your thighs and your neck and your cunt. I want to be all you feel--that well-worn exhaustion when your body is loose and limber and good . I want to know what your breasts feel like in my hands, what they taste like. I want to taste them first thing in the morning when you're warm from sleep, and I want to taste them at night when you're trembling and satisfied and sweaty. Do you like teeth, Brienne?"

"On my nipples?" she asked breathlessly, her hands still sliding over her body, one dancing between nipples and the other stroking along her ribcage. "I do. Not too hard, not hard enough to hurt, but that little bite of pain that makes you feel alive."

"The same way you like your hair pulled."

"Yes," she told him, and Jaime inhaled deeply as she began to shift her hips more. "Just enough to get my attention."

"Do I have your attention?" Jaime asked leaning back a little so that she could see his hand curled around his cock. Watching her, he rocked his hips to match her movements, rolling them into the circle of his hand. 

"Gods, Jaime, yes. Yes, you have my attention."

"Good," he said roughly. "Let me see what else you're wearing, Brienne. Scoot up some."

She grunted a little as she removed her hands from her body, swiftly shifting to her knees so that she was kneeling on the mattress, his screen momentarily filled by the hint of the curve of her breast, the stretch of her belly, and the men's boxer briefs that clung to the muscles of her thighs. "I want to press my face there," he told her conversationally. "I want to breathe you in, to let you feel my breath on your skin, on your cunt. Could I taste you, Brienne? Would you let me press my mouth against that little pocket of fabric and nose around until I found your clit?  Do you think I could make you come by sucking on it through the boxers, without our skin even touching?"

"Oh fuck," she cursed, her head falling a little bit as her fingers scrambled for the band of the underwear. "I've got to take these off, Jaime. I can't wait much longer."

"Yes, take them off," he agreed hoarsely. "Let me see all of you, Brienne, let me see everything I've been wanting for months. Do you know how many times I almost asked you what your cunt looked like? If you shaved or waxed or trimmed; what color hair you have, if it matches the blonde of your head. Please, gods, let me see. Let me see all of you."

Jaime's hand squeezed his cock again, watching as without any teasing preamble, Brienne began to yank the boxers down, kicking her legs as she fell back on her bed, her knees up and her thighs falling open.

"Oh fuck," Jaime bit out, moving his hand a little faster now. He almost didn't know where to look, not when so many wonderful things were happening at once. Her legs really were endless, long and thick and undoubtedly strong enough to squeeze the life from him if he ever got to press his face in between them, her long body a series of hills and dips that he was eager to explore. Her thighs opened a little more, revealing the dark blonde covering the blush of her vulva and the deeper pink of her slick inner lips, and Jaime couldn't help the moan that left him. She was perfect, everything he'd been hoping for and still so much more. 

"Touch yourself," he begged, beginning to stroke his cock roughly, his arm moving in quick, stuttered pulls. "Please, Brienne, show me what you like, please. Show me what you've been doing to yourself for the past few months, tell me what I can do when I get to see you. I want everything." 

"I want you to have everything," Brienne said rapidly, and Jaime felt his brain short circuit as she sucked her thick fingers into her mouth before sliding low to comb through her pubic hair on their quest to find pleasure. Her other hand lifted, two fingers spreading and holding her lips apart so he could watch as she began to circle and tap against her clit, her hips rolling up to meet her touch. 

"Yes, just like that," Jaime said, firming his grip as his other hand reached down to cup his sac, massaging them gently as he rolled his hips into his palm. "Fuck, Brienne. Look at you, you're fucking perfect. Let me see you fuck yourself with your fingers, please. You're wet enough to take them, I can practically see you dripping on your sheets. I want you on mine, I want my fingers inside you, my mouth on your breasts, your hands in my hair. More. Give me more."

"Jaime, please," Brienne moaned, sliding another finger inside her body, curling her hand around her mound as she rocked her hips quickly, using her thumb to tease her clit. "It always feels good when I can see you, when I can hear you." Her voice was hungry now, her inhibitions washed away in her lust. "Do you know how beautiful you are? What it does to me to watch the way you fuck your hand? To wonder if you'd fuck me the same way?" She choked back a moan, her head thrashing against the green of her pillowcase as her body began to tense, her feet pressing into her sheets as she rode her hand.

"I will," Jaime growled. "I'll fuck you any way you want, hard, soft, fast, slow. Anything, everything. Just let me have you, let me have all of you."

"Gods, you already do," she whispered, her hips pistoning now. "You have. For months now."

Jaime's belly tightened painfully as his hands began to move quicker, trying to match the rhythm that was working for her. How could she ever think she was anything but a fucking force of nature? She was everything, everything . Her muscles were long and taut, coated in a sheen of sweat, her hair mussed and curling slightly, her face flushed and her lips parted as she moaned and whimpered and cursed.

"Look at me, Brienne," he said desperately, feeling his body beginning to strain towards climax, wanting to be swept up by the pleasure and wanting to hold it off at the same time. He needed her eyes on his, needed to know that this wasn't just a dream that would leave him cold and lonely. "Please look at me, please."

Her eyes opened on the screen, that baffling blue blurred and dazed with pleasure as her body began to shake. "Jaime," she cried out, her voice breaking as she broke too, arching towards him on a long whimper that sizzled right across his spine and out of his body until he was moaning and coming and nearly laughing from the sheer joy and pleasure that pulsed through him.

He had no idea how long he laid there, his body trembling and little chuckles breaking through the rapid puffs of his breathing. He felt so good , like he could lift a truck, or slay a monster. It was hard to believe that only an hour ago he'd felt like his new life was crumbling around him, weaker than the caramelized sugar garnishes he made so often. In one conversation, and one brave gesture, Brienne had centered him all over again. 

She really was his knight.

Jaime took a moment to clean up his hands and belly and thighs, blushing a little when he felt Brienne's eyes on him. It was silly since she'd seen him come multiple times, but actually feeling her eyes on him while he tidied up afterwards made him feel strangely vulnerable. 

Finally he finished and lifted his eyes to the screen. The relief he felt at seeing her still there made him realize how afraid he was that she wouldn't be, that she would've disconnected her camera now that their moment of intimacy was finished. 

But she was there, sprawled on her belly with her head resting on her hands, her hair a mess and her eyes and face glowing. "Hi," he said, wiggling around until he could mirror her position. 

"Hi," she said back and then giggled, a giddy bubble of joy that he felt in his chest too. "Why does this feel so different?"

"Because it is," he told her. "It's always been something , even on that first day, but not like this."

"No, not like this," she agreed. They laid in silence for a long moment, just watching each other, and Jaime committed the sight of her face, sleepy and sated, to his memory. He knew he would see it again, but he never wanted to forget this first time, not after spending so long thinking he wouldn't ever get to have it. 

"So what happens next?" Brienne asked, her voice soft in the silence. 

Jaime thought of his father, of his life, of his mother, and the woman before him. "Tomorrow, I have to slay a dragon," he said finally. "Lucky for me, I had a knight to show me how to be brave."

Her smile was as open and light as his heart, spearing right through him until he felt like he could barely breathe. 

"No, she just reminded you that you already were."


When Tywin stepped into the kitchen shortly before the restaurant opened for dinner, Jaime was prepared. He wouldn't hide behind the cooler, wouldn't stand there and tremble while his dad dictated the conversation, and definitely wouldn't allow himself to begin to transform into the child his father had harassed for years upon years. He'd done his breathing exercises before coming in, and he took another moment now, wanting to center himself. 

"Lannister, your cunt of a father is back again for some reason," Bronn said, standing near the hot appetizer station with Ygritte. "Do you need a minute with him or can I tell him to get fucked?"

Jaime's lips twitched a little at the irritation on his father's face. Tywin was so used to being deferred to that it always seemed to surprise him when someone treated him like he deserved. "I only need a minute," Jaime confirmed. "Hildy, can you keep filling these pastry horns for me? I promise I won't take long."

"Of course," Hildy nodded, smiling at Jaime and then shifting to glare at Tywin. It was a minor thing, all things considered, but Jaime took heart in it. As he led the way out the kitchen and into the hallway, he held onto that glare just as he held onto the sneer on Bronn's mouth, Sam's hand wrapped around the handle of his meat mallet, Ygritte's fingers tapping around the cooking torch. They all added a warmth to the steady glow he'd felt ever since Brienne's eyes had met his the night before.

He could feel his father's eyes boring into his back as he walked, could feel himself being assessed for the weak spots that Tywin knew so well. Jaime came to a stop in the hallway, refusing to let Tywin box him in again. He'd have enough of that, enough of being shamed and threatened and ridiculed in whichever office his father dragged him into. It seemed sometimes like his life was just a series of rooms where he stood and had shame dumped upon him. 

"Where are your things?" Tywin asked briskly once Jaime had turned to face him. "I hope you planned ahead for once in your life, and have them here instead of whatever slum you've been living in. I hope you appreciate the inconvenience this is causing, Jaime. If you'd have just come with me yesterday we would've been able to leave straight from my meeting."

"I'm not leaving," Jaime said firmly, refusing to look away even when his father's eyes narrowed and he felt that first stir of ingrained panic. "I should've been more clear yesterday. I should've been more clear ten months ago, twenty years ago. I'm not going back to King's Landing or to the business."

"Of course you are," Tywin scoffed. "It's already been arranged. Word has been put out that you were traveling through the Free Cities, exploring the feasibility of expansion. Your return is scheduled to be in tomorrow's paper, and you'll be married in three weeks. Everything has been decided."

"You're right, it has been decided," Jaime told him. "Just like you've always decided everything. But the difference is this time it hasn't been agreed to, or accepted. I'm not returning to King's Landing, or Ermesande, or your company. I'm done with all of that."

"Oh are you?" Tywin asked quietly, his sneer firmly in place as he stepped closer. Jaime held his ground, fighting the instinctive urge to step back. "I'm not asking you, Jaime, that's where you seem to be mistaken. I won't allow you to throw away everything I've worked for, all the time and effort and money I've spent on you, just to hide up here in this backwoods tundra, playing the whore for people. Do you hear me? I won't allow it."

Jaime swallowed, thirty years of blind obedience battling against the shaky walls of his hard-won confidence. "I'm not asking your permission," he told Tywin. "I'm not whoring myself out, Father, not anymore. That's what I'd be doing if I went home with you, if I married some woman that'll just make your company bigger, if I continued to do whatever you wanted in exchange for every luxury I was given. I'm done with that life. I'd rather live off of sandwiches in my shitty apartment than go back to the life you told me to live. I won't do it."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not going, Father. I've learned more and become more in my year away from you than I did my entire life with you."

"If you wanted to learn how to sell your body, Jaime, I'm sure I could've found a use for that. That's all you've accomplished here."

"You're wrong," Jaime said stubbornly. "I've also held a job for nearly a year now, a job I got, not one you handed to me. I've learned how to be a part of a real team, how to work in a kitchen, how to handle the pressure that comes with it. My desserts are talked about all over Winterfell, and even in a few regional critics' reviews. Since I've spearheaded our new marketing campaign, business has gone up nearly ten percent. I nearly have enough saved to pay for the culinary program on Bear's Island, to finish what I tried to start years ago. You're not going to stand there and tell me what I've done, and what I've learned this past year, not when you don't know a single thing about it. Or me."

"Oh, I know you," Tywin said, and his smile was as cruel and twisted as his heart. "I always have, though I hoped I was wrong. You've been nothing but a disappointment to me since you were a child," he told him, and Jaime could hear the truth ringing in his voice. "You could barely read, and always wanted to be in the kitchen with your mother, or playing some childish game. You whined when you had school, cried when you found a dead bird, always had an excuse for everything. I told your mother, not long before Tyrion was born, that I didn't know if you'd ever be strong enough to be the man you were born to be. And I was right, wasn't I? She told me you'd be fine, and I'm thankful she didn't live to know how wrong she was."

It still hurt, even knowing it was a deliberate swipe. He thought of his mother again, how she'd laughed in delight and how she'd danced him around the kitchen while their cookies cooled. How she'd let him curl up beside her while she was pregnant, the swell of his brother a pillow for his head. She probably wouldn't be thrilled that her son was a popular cam boy, he knew, but there were a lot of things about her family that wouldn't thrill her. Joanna Lannister had been kind and compassionate and affectionate, and those attributes simply hadn't existed in her family once she was gone. What they'd become would've broken her heart.

"If she were alive, she'd hate you, Father."

Even though he was braced for it, the quick shove sent Jaime stumbling back slightly, but he planted his feet and lifted his chin, determined to say what he needed to. "You think she'd be happy with how you ended up? How you raised us? If she were still alive, she'd hate you for what you did to me, for what you did to all of us. If she were here, none of this would've happened because she would've never let you ruin us."

"You don't speak of her," Tywin's voice was shaking in its fury, his eyes wild as he stared at his son.

"I won't if you don't," Jaime snapped. "If you hate who I am, that's the best compliment I can imagine ever getting from you, Father. Everything I am is in spite of what you tried so hard to make me."

"You're nothing without me, Jaime," Tywin told him, calmer now. "Just a middle-aged man, working for a pittance to make desserts for people who are important, and preying on people just as pathetic and lonely to make a quick buck. That's what you want to be? That's the legacy you want to leave behind?"

"You want to know what your legacy is, Father?" Jaime was growing louder now, all the years of hurt and disappointment spilling out. "Misery. That's it. You have two children who you've pushed and prodded and broken until they're nothing but replicas of you. Ruthless, greedy, selfish monsters who aren't even capable of experiencing an emotion without wondering what the cost of it is. You should be so proud, Father. Two of your kids would do anything you wanted as long as you patted them on the head afterwards, and one of them would rather prostitute himself for pocket change than live near you." 

"You could've had everything you ever wanted, and instead look at what you are. Nearly forty years old, working for someone else, and making your disgusting little videos for the masses. You're a waste of potential, Jaime, and no son of mine if you don't come with me and get on that plane right now."

Jaime felt numb, and had to fight the urge to not look away. He'd known, had always known, that his father wasn't like most dads, had even assumed that he didn't really love him, but he was still unprepared for the way the loathing in his father's voice hit him. "No son of yours, huh?" he asked in a voice that was too hoarse and too trembling to hide that he was hurting. "Gods, if I could've only been so lucky."

They stood there for a moment, eyes locked, Tywin waiting for Jaime to bend, and Jaime knowing for once that he wouldn't. "I won't ask you again," Tywin said finally, and his tone made it very clear how much he meant it. "If I walk out that door without you, you're dead to me."

Jaime nodded, rocking back on his heels a little and letting his bitterness and exhaustion shape his smile. "My father died when my mom did," he said with a shrug. "At least now I can stop hoping for you. I can just be done." He moved slowly past his father, trying to bottle down the emotions storming inside of him. "Show yourself out, Tywin. I have work to do."

When he walked through the door, he could feel his father's eyes boring into him, but Jaime refused to look back. 

"I just need a second," he told Bronn, who'd been waiting by the door with his arms crossed across his chest, watching for Jaime. The older man nodded and Jaime stepped quickly into the pantry, pressing his forehead against the wall as he sucked in slow, deep breaths. He couldn't believe that had really happened, couldn't believe he'd stood face to face with Tywin and for once, didn't crumble. He couldn't describe how terrifying and liberating it was all at once, his new life feeling suddenly real for the first time.

"Get it together, Jaime," he whispered, scrubbing his hands over his face. He really did have a service to get ready, after all. And God knew he'd wasted too much time on his father already--he didn't want to spend any more on him.

But busy or not, he could spare a few moments for this though. For her. 

Digging out his phone, he quickly navigated to his messages with Brienne. Dragon has been slain, Ser Brienne, once and for all. 

She wrote back immediately as if she'd been waiting for him. Even if she had, he knew it wasn't nearly as long as he'd been waiting for her. Congratulations, Jaime. Or is it Ser Jaime now? 

He felt a hot shiver of anticipation, imagining her calling him that. I'm ready to claim my reward.

You can't claim what's already yours.

He grinned, his joy and triumph pushing him forward. I want one more thing , he typed quickly. 

Name it.

Jaime blew out a breath as he read her response. This was it. I have tomorrow night off, and a cake with your name on it. Let me make you dinner, Brienne. I've wasted so much time. I don't want to waste another day not being yours.

The wait for her response was short, but felt endless, his stomach knotting as he watched her type. 

You already are , he read. But dinner sounds nice too.

Chapter Text

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.