Chapter Text
Renly leads. She follows.
But something doesn’t fit.
It feels like a drill. It is an extra hour of practice after class and that’s what it feels like.
The Tango is seduction in the form of art. It is passion. It’s all about sensations. It’s about a woman and a man. It is the push and pull and what is and what will be. It is all about the dynamic and the togetherness. The slow passion. The chemistry. But with Renly, none of it is there. Something’s missing. They’re not right together. He’s not the one and this is not the moment.
The sound of the door opening brings them to a halt. Renly lets go to check who their visitor is.
The newcomer stops at the entrance, eyes on her partner first. Brienne can sense the vibes between them. Not that the men have liked each other before, but this - the way Jaime’s looking at him - it’s nothing she’s seen before.
“I should leave,” Renly mumbles, displeased with the interruption, and picks up his coat from a nearby chair.
On his way out, he slows down as he crosses paths with Jaime. The men exchange another look. It’s cold, but at the same time blazing. It’s loaded. It’s not something Brienne can entirely understand.
“I wanted to practice some moves after class,” Brienne tells Jaime, who’s still where he is. “Renly offered to—”
Her words are knocked away when he storms towards her, eyes blazing into hers. Her lips part slightly when he tears off his jacket and tosses it away. She can do nothing but stare when he rolls up one sleeve to his elbow, then the other. He’s sex on legs. He’s a lion approaching. She takes a step backwards. She feels cornered. But she wants to be. She can get away. But she wants to stay.
He stops a foot from her, eyes still on hers. The air is charged. It’s about to catch fire.
It does, when in one slick movement, his hand goes around her waist. Unprepared, she steps back. And he advances. Matching her step, he pulls her close. She can feel him in her skin. And deeper. She wants to breathe. She knows this must end. But her body disagrees. She tries to relax, but her body doesn’t want to.
She’s in his arms. Chest to chest, it’s as intimate as it can get. He smells like musk. His stubble tempts her to run a hand down his cheek. It draws her into thoughts she’d rather keep away from right now.
Jaime reaches for her hand. Their fingers kiss, then draw apart. Then come together again.
He leads. She follows. His touch is like a million sparks striking her body. And she combusts.
The Tango is seduction in the form of art. He seduces her with his moves, and she caves in. She can feel the passion when all she can feel in the air are their hot breaths, colliding, kissing, dancing this sensuous dance. His hand glides smoothly from her back to her thigh, and he pauses. She moves. Her knee first brushing his leg, then sliding up to match the descent of his hand. His fingertips, for a brief moment, breach the threshold of her dress. The touch is electric. She’s tingling all over.
She nearly stumbles. But he holds her, wrapping her in his embrace again. He turns her around, and they’re still for a moment. His hands come around her waist. The find hers as his breath caresses her neck.
They stay like that, wrapped in each other. Then they continue, at the mercy of the beat. Deeply involved in whatever this is.
She knows her face is red when she turns to face him again.
Yes, this is all about sensations. It’s about her and Jaime. It is the push he exudes, and the pull she counters it with.
It’s all about the dynamic and the togetherness. The chemistry she can feel when their eyes refuse to part company. The slow passion with which she melts in his arms. In the way she lets herself touch him, her fingers shy, then aching for contact when she lays them on his firm chest.
It’s his heart thrumming against her fingers. It is the fluttering in her stomach when he leans, their noses brushing, his lips within kissing distance of hers. Only after a moment does she realize they have stopped and so has the music. The song has ended but it has led to the beginning of… something.
“You can do better than him,” Jaime says, his voice hoarse, as if he’s not used it for a while, his fingers trembling against hers, chest heaving against hers. “Remember that the next time you feel like practising some moves.”
Panting, he releases her and walks away, leaving her dazed, eyes half-shut.
He lingers by the exit and turns. His eyes meet hers. There’s so much in them.
Then he’s gone, leaving her alone with her unresolved longing and unanswered questions. And an urge to go after him. And the need to demand an explanation for what had just happened.
Brienne follows her instinct. She follows him out of that door.