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someday you will name me

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Jaime bookmarked Brienne's—Blue's—website and then opened it every day for two weeks before he finally contacted her again.

They'd fucked one more time that first night before falling asleep, and when he'd woken in the morning she'd already been gone. She'd left a note behind, one he still had tucked in the drawer of his bedside table.

You did well, Jaime. Please don't hesitate to reach out again. —B

And then underneath it, in writing that looked far less neat and considered, she'd added, Maybe I'll see you at the zoo sometime.

He'd gone to the zoo that afternoon, but of course she hadn't been there. The grounds were huge and he didn't know what animals were her favorites, what her hours were like, whether she'd be alone or with friends. It hadn't stopped him from going back the following weekend, wandering around the big cats and the bears and catching his breath at every tall blonde that caught his eye.

Now, two weekends later, he knew that if he wanted to see her again, he'd have to ask for it. He'd have to think about what he actually wanted from Blue—and what he might get from Brienne. Jaime wasn't even sure how to hold her in his thoughts; he veered wildly between the two names, between the woman who had treated him with gentle firmness and the one that had been vulnerable for a fleeting moment in his arms.

He desired both, he realized, though only one had time available for sale.

With more confidence than the first time, Jaime filled out Blue's form again. His safe word was the same, but he was slightly more explicit about what he was looking for. There were three choices for every option in the kink list: No interest, Some interest, and Very Interested. The no's were still easy—he didn't want to be degraded, he'd had enough of that from his father and Cersei; he didn't think he'd like wax or electricity or clamps; his whole life was already a roleplay so he didn't need that in the bedroom, too. The Very Interesteds were a little more difficult, mostly because he was still slightly ashamed to acknowledge some of them, even to Blue. It felt embarrassing to admit how much he'd liked when she'd praised him, but he had and he was tired of hiding, so he selected that and a few others.

The rest took nearly an hour to get through. Last time he'd stuck to either No or Very Interested for all of his answers, but this time he intimately knew Blue's carefulness. Some options—like spanking and bondage—were not ones he'd trust with someone else, but they got him stirring thinking about her doing it. Would she have that same fond look if he bent over the bed and she applied her hand, just so, to his exposed ass? Would she tell him afterward that he'd been good and run that same hand soothingly down the backs of his thighs? He thought she would, and his blood rushed with dizzying anticipation.

But Jaime knew that the fantasy of an idea and the reality of it were often not in the same book, let alone the same page. If the experience wasn't like he hoped—if he wasn't like he hoped—it might mess this up already.

What this was, he couldn't say, because he didn't have any idea. Brienne had taken his money and told him her name, and he knew those two things weren't connected, but he didn't know how to pull them apart either.

It could have all been an act. At night, when the phantom pain had all the muscles of his arm clenching so relentlessly that he stared up at his dark ceiling with tears in his eyes that he refused to let fall, it was easier to believe that it had been for show. Enough days and painful nights passed from that unremarkable hotel room that he wondered if he'd dreamt the entire affair. But she was there on the website that he checked every morning before work—and often after—and he remembered what those legs had felt like, those hands, that cunt.

No, Brienne had been as real as the mouse he was awkwardly manipulating with his left hand as he clicked Some Interest for light bondage and discipline and spanking. He submitted the form before he could give any more of himself away, and waited anxiously for her call.


Jaime waited three days for her to call him back, his hope wilting in the silence.

On the third night, he was lounging on the couch after work watching TV when his phone started to vibrate and her name appeared. She was calling from the same number that she had before—he knew because he'd set it as Blue in his contacts. Jaime nearly fell off the couch scrambling for his phone, and caught it on the third ring.

“Hello?” he said, breathless with anxious excitement.

There was a long pause. “Hello, Jaime.”

“B—“ He stopped himself, hovering over each name in his mouth. “Blue,” he finally settled on. “Thanks for calling me back.”

“Of course.” Jaime imagined he heard her smile. “Do you have time to talk now?”

“Yes.” Too eager, he thought, wincing. “Yeah, I'm just watching last night's episode of The Bachelor.”

She snorted, loudly. “It was disappointing. Unless you're a Leona Lion.”

“A what?” he asked, laughing a little.

“That's what her fans call themselves. The Pride.” Her rich voice melted with disgust, unmodulated and real. “A bunch of men in their early twenties mostly, who make gross jokes online about pussies and send her endless dick pictures. I feel sorry for her.”

Jaime frowned at his TV, paused on the Leona in question. She was staring haughtily at one of the other women. “She chose to go on the show.”

“She didn't choose to be subjected to that kind of interest, though.”

“She's awful to those other women.”

“She is. But that doesn't mean she wants to be harassed by obnoxious fans.” Brienne made a little humming noise and then added, “That's not why I called, though,” and, just like that, she was Blue once more. He admired it, even if he was distantly disappointed at the abrupt switch. “You were interested in hiring my services again.”

“I am.”

“Then you were satisfied last time?” Her voice was a little higher, a little less in control.

“Extremely,” he said, rubbing his stump against the side of his leg. “I would have contacted you sooner, but I wasn't sure if that was appropriate.”

Blue chuckled, like warm rain spilling down the line. “Few people consider what's appropriate in my line of work.”

“This is my first time doing this. There might be chapters in the etiquette books I didn't read growing up that covered these things.” He was teasing, though the etiquette books were real enough.

“Ah yes, Appendix A of Miss Thorn's Guide To Polite Society: What to do when you hire a sex worker, part the first.”

Jaime leaned back on the couch, grinning. It felt unfamiliar on his face, a memory from long ago. “How many parts are there?”

“Four at least.” He heard some sort of shuffling noise and then a door closing and he wondered where she was, where she had come from, if she was working tonight. “You've got a lot of catching up to do, Jaime.”

“When can I have my next lesson, then? I am but an eager student.”

“One second.” He heard the clicking of a keyboard. It was a decent speed, lots of fingers—she must have the phone cradled against her ear as she typed. “You said last time you prefer weekends.”

“I'll take anything. I've got vacation time saved up, I can take a recovery day.”

“Mm.” More clicking. “You did have some intriguing new items marked on your interest list.”

He felt his face heat, and his cock twitch. “Is that— Do you do those things?”

“I do,” she said, pronouncing each word slowly. “But every person is different in how they approach it, and it takes negotiation and discussion to determine what works. My job is to keep everyone safe, and that means not letting a form determine what our activities are. We can certainly talk about them, though. How about Thursday? I had a cancellation. Otherwise my next available night isn't for a couple of weeks.”

“You're busy,” he said, surprised. He shouldn't be—Blue was ultra-capable, and Jaime wasn't the only man, or woman, who would want that, no matter how alone he felt.

“Does Thursday work for you?” That tone was familiar; the same clipped professionalism that she'd used on him the very first time they talked.

“It's perfect,” he assured her. “I'll take it.” Thursday was only two days away. Something small and nervous fluttered to life in his stomach, a seed planted two weeks ago starting to grow.

“The same rules apply as last time, of course. You remember them?”

“Condoms and lube are required, either of us can back out at any time, no kissing on the mouth.”

“Yes.” They made plans for Jaime to rent a room at the same hotel and text her the info, they set the time and reconfirmed the date, she reviewed her prices. And then like any business transaction, it was over.

“Do you have any other questions?” she asked him, and he searched for anything at all to keep her another minute longer on the phone. It was the least alone he'd felt since... well, two weeks ago.

“Who goes home?” he asked suddenly. “On the show.”

Brienne huffed, but she sounded amused. “Don't you want to find out for yourself?”

“If it's someone I like, then you can save me from wasting my night.”

“Mara.”

“What? But she was great!” He clicked off the TV, annoyed.

“She was, but they weren't good together. He wants someone to party with and she wants a family. It never would have worked.” Brienne sighed. “I hope she finds some nice young man after this.”

“You sound like a romantic,” he noted.

She was defensive, immediately, in her reply. “What if I am?”

“It's not an accusation, just an observation.”

“Are you surprised?” He swallowed his immediate yes, but he took long enough to reply that she grunted, annoyed, into the phone. “Because of my job or how I look?”

Jaime furrowed his brow. “Your job, obviously.”

“It's not as obvious as you'd think,” she said, softer now, hackles lowered. “I should go. I'll see you Thursday, Jaime.”

“I'm looking forward to it.”

“I wasn't sure; you never did leave that Yelp review.”

He laughed, so loudly that he startled himself. “I'll rectify that mistake as soon as we hang up.”

“See that you do,” she said and, oh. There was that voice from two weeks ago, the one she'd used to direct him without laying a hand on his body. He straightened, eager to do as she said. “Goodbye, Jaime.”

“Goodbye, Blue,” he said just before she hung up.

He found her sex worker collective online and skimmed the reviews curiously. Lots of praise for a Mistress A, a scattering for all of the others. Perfect Domina. Exactly what I wanted, someone called The Hound had said about Blue. I cried for an hour afterward and she held me the whole time; I've never felt so safe, another person, Red, had left.

Jaime had not cried since he'd left the hospital, and never in front of someone else. Work would have eaten him alive if he had, his brother would have teased him mercilessly, his friends would have awkwardly shuffled away. He'd lost Cersei and then his hand, so she'd never even made an appearance. He was relieved that she hadn't; she was the one person he might have cried for.

He'd nearly cried that first time with Blue. Jaime wondered now if he should have, instead of fighting it off just as he always did. Would she have held him, too? An ache started deep in his chest, the low resonance of a large bell struck far away, vibration more than sound rattling around in his ribcage; all the tears he refused to shed collecting behind the wall he could not let down. He didn't dare start crying in front of Brienne—he might never stop.

He inhaled unsteadily through his nose and read a few more of the comments, including a one-star for Blue that said Ugly as fuck; I didn't pay for an actual beast, that had Jaime ready to type a furious rebuttal until he saw the first reply from Mistress A.

I'd call you a cunt except I love cunts. You're just a smelly piece of shit that even flies wouldn't touch. You're not welcome back to any of our providers, and word gets around fast in the community, you flea-bitten ball sac. Good luck getting your rocks off with anyone within a hundred miles of here. No one would fuck you unless you paid them and your money is worthless here now. I hope you lose both your hands so you can't jerk off and you're just hard and unfulfilled the rest of your miserable existence.

Oh, Jaime liked her. He was grateful that Brienne had someone so violently in her corner.

The second reply to the bad review was from Blue and simply said, Good luck finding someone else, and it was so brutally calm after Mistress A's scathing reply that it felt like a body-blow. Jaime left a glowing review for Blue, signed it as Fuck The Leona Lions and went to bed smiling.


Thursday night, there was a knock on Jaime's hotel room door at one minute to eight. He was just as nervous as the first night—maybe more—but for entirely different reasons.

He wiped his sweaty palm on his pants and opened the door to find Blue there, dressed the same as she'd been before: leather jacket, dark jeans, gray duffel bag. Same beat-up sneakers.

“Hello, Jaime,” she said, lips already curled in a smile.

“Hello,” he breathed out, then breathed her in, the same comforting smell. “Come in.”

She did, dropping her duffel bag on the dresser and looking around again, watchful but not wary this time. A habit, he supposed, and one he was glad she had. He'd already opened two water bottles, and he saw the corner of her mouth lift when her gaze skimmed over them. The bedsheets were turned down, the bedside table empty and waiting.

Brienne turned to face him, her head tilted as that considering stare traveled over him, too. “Still handsome,” she said, and he gave a lopsided shrug.

“I'm afraid so.”

She began to undo her jacket and his fingers curled at his side. With one hand it would take him twice as long to get her out of it, but he wanted to try nonetheless. “Have a seat,” she said, nodding at the chair. He did, watching her remove her jacket and toss it on the table in a heap.

“You need a valet,” he told her and she laughed, low and smoky.

“A third person? I thought exhibition was on your Not Interested list.”

“They wouldn't have to stay. They could simply tidy your clothes and leave.” Jaime was ramrod straight in the chair, his hand and stump tucked neatly together on his lap as he waited for whatever she had planned. She was wearing a plain black t-shirt tonight instead of the white tank-top, and Jaime missed the view of her shoulders, but the way the fabric clung to her torso, rippling with every twist of her body, more than made up for it.

“I'll keep that in mind,” she said with that same easy, close-lipped smile. Blue took a drink of water and then sat on the bed, reversing the positions of how they'd been the first time. She was no less in control of the situation, though, and Jaime relaxed into it. He trusted she'd see them through no matter where she sat. “So. How are things in the insurance business?”

“Miserable and money-grubbing as always. Had any good runs lately?”

Blue blinked, clearly not expecting that question, and there was a shift in her posture, something so subtle he couldn't tell what was different, except he suddenly understood that she was Brienne now. “They closed off one of my favorite long-distance runs for construction, so I found a new one, near Aegon's Hill. The view is a lot better; my old one went mostly through Flea Bottom.”

“Brave of you to run through Flea Bottom alone.”

“I can take care of myself. Besides, I lived in Flea Bottom long enough that I know the best routes, and it's closer to my place.”

Jaime's mind raced, trying to piece together a map of the city, of which areas were near Flea Bottom that a sex worker might live in. Her prices were decently high; she could potentially live in one of several neighborhoods. He wondered if it was money that had gotten her into this job, but it felt too invasive to ask.

“When do we get started?” he asked instead, and she raised her brows, eyes twinkling. She was not any prettier than she'd been that first night, but there was something magnificent to her anyway.

“We need to discuss your list first, and I need to see the money.”

He pointed to the dresser. “You set your bag on it.”

Blue looked at the bag and then back at Jaime and nodded. “All right,” she said, accepting it as truth so simply that he struggled to breathe under the weight of her trust. Every person Jaime had ever known would have checked, certain he was trying to cheat them because he was a Lannister, though he'd never been that type of Lannister. He wondered if she knew what his name meant at all.

She pulled out her phone and brought up a form on the screen. “Then let's talk about what you want tonight.”

He took a long drink of water, his stump tapping idly against his knee. “Okay,” he agreed. “Where do we begin?”

They briefly reviewed what hadn't changed, including his safe word, his no's and his Very Interesteds, before turning to the newly-added items on the list.

Blue scanned them and then met his stare, and he felt pinned by it. He was ready to vibrate out of his skin, but she was calm as she asked, “Have you ever been spanked before?”

“I, um.” His father had believed in corporal punishment, but Jaime was fairly sure that wasn't what she meant. “No. Not during sex, at least.”

She nodded, encouraging. “If you were spanked as a child, there is a chance that might come up for you even in this situation. It doesn't mean you were sexually aroused by whoever did that to you, but it's important that you know that occasionally it happens. Sometimes it results in the revisiting of unexpected trauma and tears, which is why your safe word is so important.”

“Oh.” Jaime dug his stump into his palm, grounding himself. He was still so unused to how professionally she approached such potentially lurid subjects. “All right. That's good to know.”

“And are you all right with bruises being left?”

The mere thought of her leaving her mark on him had him salivating. “I'm fine with it.”

“Were you thinking I'd use an item or my hand?”

“Your hand,” he said, eyes drawn to the one cupping the phone in her wide palm. How much of him could she reach with that span?

Blue made a note on her phone. “You also marked light bondage for yourself. You're interested in being tied up?”

Gods, it was even worse admitting these desires out loud than it had been clicking a button, and that had been nearly impossible. “Yes,” he managed.

“Have you been tied up before?”

He and Cersei had tried bondage a few times, but even when he'd been in love with her, he hadn't trusted her enough to let her tie him up; she had always been the one bound. “I haven't, myself, no.”

“But you've tied up someone else?”

“Hands and feet, yes.”

“Was that a positive experience?”

Blue's face was so steady, those ocean eyes and that straight horizon of a mouth, the freckles all over that reminded Jaime of the unceasing stars. Cersei had always reminded Jaime of wildfire: wickedly hot and writhing as a flame, ever-changing and impossible to hold in his arms for too long without getting burned. He'd tied her up and done as she'd asked, fucking her as she'd yelled his name and fought the restraints. Each time he'd paused to check in that she was okay had only seemed to make her angrier, until by the end she'd been cursing him for ruining the illusion even as she came hard around him.

“It could have been better,” he finally said and Blue nodded again, her lips curving briefly in a sympathetic smile.

“That's good to know. Thank you for your honesty, Jaime.”

Those simple words should not have filled him with such liquid pleasure, but he could feel them sink into his muscles and soothe away the worst of the tension. “You're welcome,” he said, his voice more hoarse than he would've liked.

“The other new item you've listed is discipline.” She set her phone down and leaned towards him, elbows resting on her knees. “What did you imagine when you selected that?”

His gaze slid away from hers as the fantasy came back to him: Blue telling him to get on his knees, him ignoring her until she'd shoved him down, hissing in his ear that she could make him do what she wanted. Jaime wanting her to, with every last shaking muscle. The painful grip of her hand in his hair as she brought his mouth to her cunt and held him there as she rode his face. But not cruelly, not with the same intent for revenge that seemed to accompany Cersei's every action. He'd never been sure if Cersei had been mad at him or the world, but either way it had always been Jaime who'd paid the price of her unquenchable fury.

For far too long, he'd been glad to.

“Jaime?” Blue asked, gently. “You're not stuck with any of these, we can mark it as Not Interested.”

“No,” he hurriedly said. “I'm not sure, exactly. I thought maybe...” He shook his head, frowning. He didn't know how to tell her what he wanted, but maybe it would help to explain why. “A week ago, an employee of mine reported on a customer who couldn't afford insurance anymore because her husband had died, but her child had a terrible disease that needed lots of medical support. The employee wanted to know if there was some sort of discount we could provide, or a grace period until the woman could find her feet again.”

“I imagine there wasn't.”

“Of course not. Insurers don't care about the people they insure.”

“You want me to punish you for doing your job.” Her voice was so quiet it was monotone, and he didn't dare look to see the censure he was sure was in those big eyes. It would surely be the same look Jaime had given himself in the mirror when he'd gone home that night.

It had only gone away the next day when he'd found the woman's address and sent her an anonymous sum of money to cover the costs of the premiums.

“I deserve it,” he told Blue.

“I'm not here to absolve you of your perceived sins, Jaime. I often perform discipline with submissives who purposefully break my rules because they enjoy the consequences.” There was no hint of judgment as she added, “I thought that sounded like what you'd want.”

He was taken back to his initial fantasy. It was exactly what he'd wanted. He'd been with her one night and she already saw him. Jaime swallowed down his false protestations and nodded. “Yes. I'd—I'd like that.”

“That I can do. Do you want to have sex tonight?”

His cock surged and he laughed a little, unprepared for that question. “Yes? Is that not expected?”

Blue smiled. “Not everyone does when they hire me, especially when they're trying some of these new items. It's sometimes not about the sex at all.” She shut off her phone and set it on the table. “Do you want to plan ahead of time what we'll be doing, or do you want me to read the scene and decide as we go, keeping your list in mind, knowing that you can stop me at any time?”

Jaime was not a fan of surprises in general, but then the surprises in his life had always been poisoned apples. Brienne wouldn't do that to him, though, he was certain of it. And he was so tired of being in control. “I want you to dictate it. As long as I can say no.”

“Any 'no,' or 'stop,' or use of your safe word will halt everything. You can also ask me to slow down, to go easier, to pause and let you breathe. You are ultimately in charge here, Jaime. My only goal is to give you the freedom to be fully yourself as long as we're in this room together, to accept the gift of your submission and handle it—and you—with care.” Brienne reached between them to squeeze his arm just above his stump and he shivered at the touch. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes.” The word escaped on a needy whine and Blue rubbed her hand up his arm and then back down again to his stump.

“How is this feeling?”

“The same.” Her fingers brushed along the ridges of his scars, sending sparks shooting up the nerves of his arm. “Promise me you won't treat me as breakable. I just want to be me.”

“You are you. Here,” she stroked his stump, “and here,” her hand pressed against his chest, over his heart, “and here.” Her palm brushed briefly over his hardening cock and he gasped, his legs falling open to her, but she removed her hand instead of accepting his silent invitation. “Are you ready to begin?”

“That's not obvious?” he said on a wry chuckle. She laughed a little, too, that same gentle shower of light that he was growing addicted to.

“I'm just making sure. I'll get ready first.”

She stood, towering over him as he leaned back in the chair to look up at her. He reached out and tugged her shirt between his fingers, and she paused.

“Will you let me undress you?” he asked.

Blue searched his face, her lips pursed. “If you're good.”

With that, he knew their night had begun.


Once they'd both gone to the bathroom—once Jaime had splashed his face with water and tried to get his pounding heart to calm down with mostly-useless breathing—he emerged to find Blue standing next to the bed, waiting for him. The condoms and lube were laid out on the end table, and a vibrator, too, which he eyed curiously.

“That's for me,” she informed him. “You didn't indicate interest in toys being used on yourself.”

He hadn't, but now he was regretting it, picturing her long fingers wrapped around the vibrator, pressing it on him, or in him. His jeans were uncomfortably tight against his already-aching cock.

“Can I change my mind?” he asked and her mouth quirked up in a swift, pleased grin.

“Next time. We've got enough for tonight.” She settled her hands on her hips and lifted her chin, elongating the lines of her neck, making herself seem a foot taller. “Take off all of your clothes.”

“Even my socks?” he said, pulling his t-shirt off as he asked. He was admittedly proud of the way her lips parted when she took in his bare chest. He'd been doing extra reps for the last two weeks.

“Do you have cold feet?”

He eyed her as he unsnapped the top button of his jeans one-handed. “Is that a play on words?”

Blue shrugged one broad shoulder. “It might be.” Her gaze tracked to his pants and he unzipped slowly, tugging them down over his hips and erection. Blue's cheeks pinked.

“I don't have cold feet,” he murmured, letting his pants drop to the floor and stepping out of them. He sat down on the bed and pulled off his socks next, leaving them in the pile of clothing. Then, with a deliberation his fluttering stomach didn't feel, he left his boxers on and stopped moving.

“Underwear, too,” she reminded him.

“I want you to take them off.”

Folding her arms over her chest, Blue narrowed her eyes. “I told you to do it.”

Jaime's heart was running a marathon in his ribcage. He had to wet his lips twice before he could speak. “I don't want to.”

Blue took a step nearer, filling the entire plane of his vision. All he could see was her, the bulging muscles of her biceps straining against her shirtsleeves, her set jaw, her eyes bright and interested.

It was that that gave him courage to add, “You could make me.”

She inhaled sharply and when her arms fell to her sides, Jaime felt desire spear through him like a lightning bolt, down his spine, straight to his engorged cock. Fuck, he was already starting to leak, a small damp spot forming on his underwear.

“I could,” she said, voice a soft promise. “But I think you should learn your lesson in other ways.”

Blue pulled her shirt off to expose her peaked, pink nipples, and Jaime whimpered. She was already barefoot, so her hands moved to her jeans next, undoing them, and he quickly stood and shucked off his underwear before she could pull her pants off, too, and deny him the pleasure. She paused, the opening of her jeans showing she wasn't wearing any underwear again, and nodded.

“Good,” she said. “You're a quick learner, Jaime.”

“With the right incentive.” He shuffled closer, hand rising towards her. “Please, can I—?”

“Yes, but not with your hand.” Her eyes flickered down to his stump.

Jaime lifted it. It was so much lighter than his other side, a dull hammer of a tool as compared to his more capable fingers. “I can't.”

“I did the hard part already.”

“It's not that easy, I'd have to maul you with it.” He tried to keep the disgust from his tone, but he knew he'd failed when she cupped his cheek.

“I want you to touch me, Jaime. With all of you, including your stump. Do you want to use your safe word?”

He thought about it. Blue wouldn't judge him for saying it, would probably let him just use his hand and move on, but he couldn't fail her so soon. Not if he wanted more, and gods he wanted more. The last two nights of sleep had been crowded with intense dreams of this night, dreams he woke from shaken with lust and a hole in his heart. He shook his head and moved nearer, tucking his stump under the band of her jeans, and waited for her to flinch at his touch.

She trembled instead.

With slow, awkward movements, he pushed her jeans down one inch at a time, all around her waist, moving to each side for better access. It was frustrating work, especially when he'd get one side down and the other crept back up over her hip, but she stood there patiently, breathing in and out in easy rhythm, seemingly ready to wait all night for him to do this one, simple task. He wanted to curse—he wanted to cry—and then, suddenly, they were off, sliding down the length of her endless legs to the beige carpet at their feet.

Jaime whooped in excitement and Blue beamed at him, grabbing his stump and giving it a smacking kiss. “Good work,” she told him, and he could have ridden the adrenaline rush of just her praise all night, but then she was stepping into him, kissing his shoulder, his chest, and his breath came whooshing out of him in a stuttering sigh.

“I believe in reward as well as punishment,” she said, nudging him down to the bed and then kneeling at his feet, between his open legs. “Get a condom for me.”

He didn't fall over himself to do it, but only because he was near enough to the bedside table that the reach didn't over-balance him.

Once she'd slid the condom down his cock, her mouth followed immediately after. Jaime groaned loudly as her wet heat enveloped him in a single motion, at the way she looked up at him, still proud even from this angle. Her tongue twirled around his shaft, the sinuous muscle of it as long and skilled as every other part of her, and she sucked and licked her way up and then back down again until he had the sheets twisted in his one good hand, his stump pressing hard into the mattress. She cupped his balls, massaging them, and he made a high-pitched, keening noise that had her easing off.

“Not yet,” she said against the thin, slick latex. She kissed the head of his cock before standing. “First you have to get me off.”

“Yes, whatever you want.”

Blue grinned. “So eager to please. That's a good quality.”

He grinned back. “It's the only one I have.”

“I don't believe that.” She ran one hand through his hair and he leaned into it, eager as a purring cat. “I bet you have at least three.”

“My looks don't count.” He'd meant it as a joke, but her hand stilled and she tugged his head up until he was looking at her.

Her broad face was serious, fine lines at the edges of her eyes. “You're more than your looks.”

“You're right: I have money, too,” he said, the words falling lightly as iron bubbles.

“Jaime.” Her fingers combed gently through his hair and she leaned down and kissed his forehead and he shut his eyes to absorb every second of it, to center himself against the riptide he was always one step from being drowned by.

“You've got good taste in sex workers, too,” Blue said and he huffed, half-laugh, half-snort, the noise dispelling the creeping unhappiness. It had been exactly the anchor he'd needed.

He pulled back to look at her beautiful ugly face. “See? There's three.”

“I was right, then.” She stood and he ran his hand down the back of her thigh, the skin smooth against his fingertips, the muscle underneath promising untold strength. “Get the vibrator. You'll use that on me tonight.”

Jaime picked it up while Blue walked around and settled herself behind him on the bed, feet reaching to the end of the mattress, torso taking up so much of the middle. There was a continent's worth of her body to explore, and he hefted the slightly curved length of the vibrator as he considered it from above her, mapping out the endless paths. Even in this position, Blue was calm and confident as she spread her legs.

“What are you waiting for?”

“You,” he rasped, and her pupils widened, black soaking up the blue like night spilling across the sky.

“You can begin.”

Jaime moved to the foot of the bed and let himself just look for a minute. The flushed pink of her cunt was gleaming in the lamplight, a vivid temptation between her flexing pale thighs. She was wet already, for him, and he licked his lips in hungry anticipation. Last time, Blue had lavished all the attention on him, but tonight he wanted to serve her in every way she would let him.

Kneeling between her legs, he turned on the vibrator and it buzzed in his hand. “Can I touch you?” he asked, holding up his stump. “With this?”

“You never have to ask me that,” she assured him. “As long as I say you can touch me, what you use is up to you.” He glanced down at his cock and when he looked back up, he saw amusement at the corners of her mouth. “That, too,” she acknowledged.

“You're very good to me.”

“It's my job.” She was smiling as she said it, but it pricked his elation nonetheless. He'd forgotten that there was money between them. He knew her name, how she sounded when she came, that she'd once lived in Flea Bottom—and so little else. He felt like he knew her, regardless, but that was paid for, too.

“Are you all right?” She sat up on her elbows, concern creasing her brow, and Jaime shook himself. He'd known what he was getting into; it wasn't Blue's fault that he couldn't keep his damned heart where it belonged.

“Simply considering my options.” He'd had years of practice smiling without meaning it, and it served him well enough here, smoothing out the lines on her face as she slowly laid back onto the bed. “Where should I start?”

She tucked her hands behind her head, pulling the skin of her ribs tight enough that he could have played them with tickling fingers. “I like the vibrator on my nipples to begin with, and then around the lips of my vulva. I don't want you to penetrate me with it until I'm nearly there. If I come before that, I'll have to discipline you.”

They locked gazes for a second that stretched out and around the promise of that, and Jaime lowered the vibrator to her left nipple, teasing it gently across the pebbled surface. Blue hummed, a tune of quiet pleasure as he drew the vibrator across one and then the other of her breasts, over the small, sloping hills of them, the jumping plain of her stomach as he dragged it down to her cunt.

“Good,” she murmured as he rolled it along the inside of each thigh, near to the trimmed bush of hair, and away again. He dropped his legs off of the back of the bed and leaned his face near as he slid the vibrator between the lips of her cunt without penetrating her, kissing the trail he'd just made with the toy, earning a reckless moan from Blue. “Very good,” she praised him.

“Can I eat you out, Blue?” he breathed into the few scattered freckles of her inner thigh. Her voice trembled with her agreement.

He wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked while he kept the vibrator hovering at her entrance, teasing, tempting, but letting his tongue and teeth take the lead. Her thighs tensed against his ears.

“Jaime,” she gasped in a broken voice. “I'm close.”

“I know.” He mouthed her cunt more fully, shutting the vibrator off as she shook around him, rocketing towards the orgasm he was relentlessly pulling out of her with just his mouth.

“What are you—” Her words cut off with a cry, her hands blindly reaching for his head, for the vibrator, her hips canting upward until his nose was buried in her folds and his tongue was plunged inside of her, lapping up the cresting wave of her pleasure as it broke salty in his mouth. She tasted like his dreams.

“Fuck, fuck,” she panted, her ass collapsing back to the bed with the rest of her bowed body. Jaime swiped his tongue between her hairy folds once more and then looked up at her, resting his chin on her pubic bone as his cock throbbed urgently in time with the pulse he felt where his hand gripped her leg. If he touched himself now, he'd come after a few simple strokes.

Blue was blinking up at the ceiling, chest heaving. “You didn't do as I told you.”

“No.”

She caught her breath and he noticed the hairs along her arms were standing up. “Get on your hand and knees on the floor.”

There was no room for disobeying that tone. He did as commanded without question, his legs spread enough to ease the pressure on his groin. Gods, if she touched him, he'd come immediately.

Blue stayed on the bed for an excruciatingly long minute while his cock ached for release, and he worried that he'd pushed too hard the wrong way and her departure would be his punishment. When her feet touched the floor at the edge of his vision, he held his breath. She padded around and stopped behind him, and relief shuddered through his body. He was intensely aware of how vulnerable he was like this, naked at her feet, ass presented for her use. There was no fear, though, just the plucked strings of his excitement and arousal, buzzing into the waiting silence.

She ran her toes along the bump of his ankle. “You know what you've done.” She wasn't asking, but he nodded anyway. “And what I'm going to do.”

He nodded again, goosebumps rising across his shoulders.

“This isn't punishment, Jaime. This is discipline.” Her palm was lightly callused where she rubbed it over his hip. “Do you still want this?”

“I need it,” he begged, his voice cracking.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” she said, and then she smacked him, hard, across the ass and he jerked forward, his stump sliding out from under him until he caught himself on his elbows, forehead pressed nearly to the floor. His skin stung, and he swore he could feel the shadow of each individual finger from her open-handed approach. “Is that all right?”

“Yes.” He didn't quite shout it, but it was close.

Then she spanked him again, in exactly the same spot, and he cried out. It hurt, but the pain was sweet, a biting hook that focused all of his attention on his body and hers where it touched him—her toes still pressed against his foot as a sort of grounding rod while she spanked him a third, fourth, and fifth time with unerring precision. He was fully angled now, his chest and head down, too heavy to lift, his mind floating away, too light to care about anything except the release he felt with every crack of skin on skin, like she was chipping away the pain and worry and trauma, letting it fall to pieces around him, leaving him lighter, setting him free.

Blue paused and kneaded the untouched muscles of his ass with a demanding pull. “Can you take more?”

Jaime wasn't sure where his breath came from, but he managed an enthusiastic, “Yes. Please.”

She shifted to his other asscheek, and repeated the discipline with careful competence until Jaime wasn't sure he'd ever be able to sit again without the memory of Blue's hands on him, the way he arched back towards her, desperate for more when she wasn't touching him. All he needed in his life was her applying her talents to his body, so there was no space for anything but this fizzy joy made brighter with pain. After spanking him ten times, she rubbed gentle fingertips over his burning flesh, slipped them down the line of his ass and brushed them against the base of his cock. He came so hard his throat hurt from the sounds he made.

He let his legs collapse to join the rest of him, his belly laying in his own mess on the floor, but he didn't care. He would've laid there all night with Blue kneeling at his side, running her hands calmly over his skin and murmuring in a soft voice as he returned in pieces that morphed and bled into the whole of him. As he became aware of his body, he felt more himself than he had since the accident, and even before. It felt like rediscovering a home he'd forgotten, and he realized after a moment that the reason his face was hot was from the tears pouring down his cheeks in a cleansing storm.

The shape of Blue's words filtered in slowly, a soothing balm. “You did so well, Jaime. I'm so proud of you. I'm here, don't worry.” Over and over, unhurried and nonjudgmental, her hand stroking his hair, down his spine, the other one following so she never left him untouched as he laid on the floor and cried. Every tear carried away a tiny piece of his pain and his fear and his self-loathing, a flood built from a lifetime of failed attempts at being who he wasn't, until his eyes burned as much as where she'd spanked him, until his insides felt languid and drowsy and a hundred pounds lighter.

Blue's fingers strayed off path, brushing the hair from his temple, one thumb wiping at his wet cheek. I should be ashamed he thought, though he didn't feel it. He felt relieved. He felt safe. Red was right. He smiled a little to himself.

“Do you want me to help you move to the bed?”

“That'd be good,” he mumbled. His limbs were weak, but she lifted him up anyway, grunting a bit under his mostly deadweight, maneuvering him until he was lying on his side on the bed, his face itchy, his stomach sticky, his ass tender.

“I have some arnica gel for you, and I'll get you a warm washcloth. I'll just be in the bathroom for a minute. If you need me, call out.”

Jaime thought he made some sort of noise of assent because she ran her hand down his arm and then disappeared. The void her absence left behind was vast and cold and he nearly did call for her, but she was back before he could get his mouth to work. She cleaned him up with firm strokes, cheeks first and then stomach; caring, but not treating him like he was fragile, and it was that that had him pressing his face into the pillow to bite back the welling emotions he couldn't afford to feel. He was paying for all of this—her concern and her competence, her skills and her smiles. And he might have been able to ignore the loud cry of his heart in other circumstances, but she had given him her name for free and it knocked down every wall he tried to build to muffle the sound of more.

Once she'd slathered cool gel on his buttocks, she crawled into bed behind him, wrapping her arms around his chest to hold him close.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“All right.” She ran her fingers over his chest in a steady, calming motion.

“You're a full-service domme,” he said, trying desperately not to let anything seep out around the edges of his words that he didn't intend.

“I take my duties seriously. I know what trust you're putting in my hands.”

“How do you know?” It wasn't any of his business, but his mouth so rarely listened to his head.

Blue's hand stilled, her arms tensing around his body. Just as he'd cobbled together a useless apology, she spoke.

“When I was first learning how to do this, I let someone else dominate me, so I could understand what it was like.” Jaime felt her nose brush through his hair, the heat of her slow exhale against his neck. “He didn't mistreat me, but he was never as good at this part as I wanted.”

He wondered if she had been spanked; if she had cried. If her dom had held her after. His heart ached to think of her being left alone to her tears. She might be big and in control, but there was a sweetness to her that Jaime couldn't bear thinking someone had soured. “Did you like it? The rest of it?”

He felt her chest shake with her soft chuckle. “It was fine. I think I'm not made for being submissive. I admire you, you know.”

Me?” Jaime twisted a little to try to catch sight of her face, to try to read what she could possibly mean, but when his ass pressed against the scratch of the sheets he winced and turned back. The hotel was clean, but not high-quality enough for more than basic cotton.

“You give yourself over so easily,” she murmured. “The trust you've shown me is humbling.”

He pressed his hand against hers, holding it tightly to his chest, wondering if she could feel the way it beat harder. “You're easy to trust, Blue.”

“So are you.” It was barely above a whisper, but he felt it like a choir singing straight into his heart.

“I don't see how you could possibly know that.”

“You still call me Blue.” It came out all in a rush, the words tumbling over themselves like they'd been waiting for release as much as he'd been.

Jaime blinked, frowning at the lamp on the table. The strip of condoms and the bottle of lube were there too; he wasn't sure where the vibrator had ended up. “You asked me to, the first night.”

“I told you my name.”

“You did. You also told me you didn't know why, and I thought...” Jaime shrugged as best he could ensconced in her embrace. “I thought you wouldn't like it if I did without you telling me to.”

Blue—Brienne—pressed her lips to the back of his neck. “That's why I trust you, Jaime.”

His blood turned to warm honey inside him, filling him with a deep, languorous pleasure—and a burning pride that he didn't try to douse. Making her happy felt better than any success he'd ever had at work.

He rode it to bravery. “So you don't regret telling me?”

“No.” Her mouth curved against his skin. “I still don't know why I did it, but you've proven me right.” She inhaled deeply, her chest pressing into his back. “When we're not in a scene, you can call me either name, if you want. If that's something—“

“I'd love to,” he interrupted. “As long as you're okay with it. Brienne.”

She gave a breathy little exhale that was half-disbelief, half-delight. “I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't. I won't ever let you do anything to me that I don't want.”

Jaime nodded, relaxing completely into her steadying embrace. With Brienne, he was safe not just from her bad choices, but his own. People didn't say no to the Lannisters, and the responsibility of that haunted him every day of his life.

The sweet relief settled him down into sleep, and when he woke, Brienne was sitting in the chair, still naked, looking at her phone. She'd turned the lights off at some point, and the screen washed her pale skin to white, her eyes dipped in shadow.

When Jaime shifted in bed, she looked over and then smiled. “You're awake.”

“What time is it?”

“Not too late. How do you feel?”

He reached back and gingerly touched where she'd spanked him; a push of his fingers into the muscle and he hissed a little. There would be bruises there in the morning, if they hadn't formed already. He hoped so.

“A little like tenderized meat,” he admitted, and she laughed, a throaty, joyful noise that did no harm, instead pulling him up with it so that he was laughing, too.

“That will pass,” she told him. “I can put more arnica on you before I go.”

“Are you leaving now?” he asked, too quickly.

Brienne shut off her phone, plunging them briefly into darkness before the faint light from the street outside the window seeped in. There wasn't much, but enough that he saw her shadowed form grow tall and then approach the bed.

“No.” She sat down and ran her fingers down his side. “We have until morning. What do you want to do, Jaime?”

Stop time, he thought.

“Lie down with me and tell me your thoughts about The Bachelor,” he said, inspired.

Brienne snorted, but she lay down, and this time he wrapped his arms around her. Her skin was cool, though it was hot where he tucked his thigh between hers. “You don't want anything else tonight?” she asked.

“No.” She must have taken a shower, because her hair was wet where it curled at the nape of her neck. “But I don't want you to go,” he said, the admission easier in the darkness, with her clean scent tickling his nose.

“You can go back to sleep. I'll stay until you wake.”

“I did pay for the whole night,” he said, but she didn't laugh and he wondered if he was even joking.

“You did.” Brienne entwined the fingers of one hand with his, and cupped his stump in her other hand, more protectively than the bandages that had swathed his injury for so many weeks. She could charge him ten times as much and it would still be a bargain for this.

He fell asleep with her touch and her smell and the sound of her breathing like a lullaby.


In the morning, Brienne was up before him again, dressed and packed this time, all evidence of their time stowed away except for a tube of arnica gel.

“You can have that,” she said, nodding at it, her fingers twisting around the straps of her duffel bag. The envelope of money that it had covered on the dresser all night was gone, too. “But I took a look and it worked well overnight; you shouldn't need any more today.”

“Ogling my ass while I slept, I see,” he teased, was charmed by the way her face washed red and then pink.

“I was not!” she protested, and the indignation made him smile so widely that she rolled her eyes, but the nervous tightness around her mouth was gone when she shook her head and smiled back. “Goodbye, Jaime.”

“Goodbye, Brienne.”

Her lips parted, but whatever she was going to say, she seemed to think better of it, and her mouth closed into another, softer smile. “You can call again sooner next time, if you want.”

“I will,” he promised.

She nodded and headed for the door.

“Brienne,” he called out, and she turned back. He wanted to tell her he'd pay for her entire day if she'd just stay with him, but he couldn't put her on the spot like that, not after she'd done so much for him already. Besides, he didn't want to see her face if she told him no. “I hope you have a good day.”

She blinked and then grinned uncertainly. “You too.” And then, like before—like all of his life until the last two weeks—she was gone.

Jaime laid in bed for another few minutes, feeling the memory of last night as a gratifying hum in his body. Even his crying felt like a balm this morning; he felt like his soul had had the world's best massage. He lifted up his stump and looked at it in the sunlight, the way the scars neatly crisscrossed the end, the size and shape of it, and realized that for the first time he wasn't immediately imagining the hand that had been there before.

With a slow exhale, Jaime rolled out of bed, padded to the bathroom to look at his ass himself. It was faintly bruised, the ghost of a deep purple that made it look like faded ink. When he pressed on it, there was a dull, almost pleasant ache.

“Huh. Guess it did work,” he told his reflection. He was a little disappointed; he'd been interested in seeing if the outline of her hand would linger. Maybe next time he'd ask her not to use the gel.

Next time. His lungs filled with the desire for it; his fingers itched for his phone to schedule it now. He took a shower instead, and let the cold water sting him back into reality. The tension returned, settling familiar around his shoulders, but less than it had been, not as dug in to his very nerves. He used his stump to help rub the shampoo into his hair. It rolled across his scalp in circles and he didn't flinch away.

He discovered that Brienne had folded his clothes, and he was smiling when he lifted his shirt up and caught a flash of white underneath on his jeans—a folded piece of paper. Frowning, Jaime picked it up and opened it.

I googled you, he read in Brienne's blocky handwriting. It's only fair you be able to google me, too: Brienne Tarth.

Jaime sat down with the paper held tightly between his fingers and ran his stump over her name. It didn't matter why she'd given him this, just that she had. It was proof—that she was real, that she trusted him, that he'd see her again. Hope that he could hold. Quietly he re-folded the note, tucked it into his mostly-empty wallet, and finished getting ready.

When he walked out into the sunlight, he was still smiling.