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you don't always get what you want (but sometimes you get what you need)

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The moment he’s asked to escort Lord Martell back to his rooms because he obviously had too much to drink, Jaime doesn’t say no even if he wishes he could laugh at the request. Lord Martell might have had a lot to drink, but Jaime can’t believe that he, out of everyone, would be drunk after one meager hour. The truth is that the atmosphere was tense when the feast started and it only got worse. When Jaime goes to fetch the prince, he’s staring at Rhaegar Targaryen as if he’d like to personally strangle him, but that hasn’t been any news. Not since he crowned Lyanna Stark, anyway. On top of that, Cersei had been glaring at princess Elia as well, and Jaime knows enough of his father’s plans about who should Cersei have been married to. It has done nothing not to turn his mood sour – considering the main reason he took the white for, he’d like… he doesn’t know what he’d like, but surely not for Cersei to stare jealously at Elia Martell.

The entire thing is a mummer’s farce, but then again escorting Oberyn Martell out of the room and into his quarters even if he out of everyone needs no escort is better than standing here and trying not to think about the fact that being in the Kingsguard is not what he expected.

After all, maybe it’s just better if he plays along, and he’s kind of grateful when the Red Viper doesn’t object and follows him out of the room. Maybe he was ready to be done with this entire farce, too. Both of them say nothing as they walk until they reach the prince’s room.

“My lord. If you don’t need anything else –”

“Why don’t you come inside for a cup of wine, ser? I haven’t seen you having any this evening – surely it’s highly unfair that being in the Kingsguard would prevent you from having a drink.”

“I shouldn’t –”

“I insist. The wine I brought for myself is better than the one served here. If I were you, I wouldn’t pass on it.”

Jaime thinks about it for a moment. In theory it’s a very bad idea. But in practice, a cup of fine red Dornish sounds quite damn good right now, and maybe with some alcohol in him he’ll manage to get through the rest of the godsforsaken feast. As long as he isn’t on duty to stand guard in front of the king’s room, because otherwise he might need ten flasks of wine. “When it’s put that way, refusing is too hard. I’ll have it.”

“Come in then. Make yourself comfortable, ser.”

Jaime gets inside the room, grabbing the first chair he finds. He isn’t surprised that Oberyn Martell has the best room in the entire wing, but then again the princess’s brother should have no less.

He nods in thanks when he’s handed a half-filled cup. He takes a sip – nothing to say, it’s good wine. It’s on the strong side, sure, but it tastes slightly sweet and it’s not the kind of bad brew that burns the back of your throat as if it were a cheap drink. It’s warm instead, and he licks his lips when finishing the cup.

When he raises his eyes, the Red Viper is staring at him from the other side of the small table they’re sitting at. Jaime swallows, not entirely sure if he’s at ease with those two dark eyes staring into his own.

He should probably go now. For good.

“My lord, thank you. I will –”

“Not so fast. Are you sure that you don’t want another cup?”

“I can’t impose.” He knows that he sounds merely dutiful – he doesn’t particularly want to go back down, but it’s not as if he can say otherwise.

“Nonsense. You’re my guest, and you seem to have good taste for this. I have enough to last me until I go back to Dorne.”

Gods, he really shouldn’t. He hasn’t even eaten anything, and it is on the strong side. But he can’t help thinking about how Cersei stared at Elia Martell, and he can’t remember if he’ll have to stand outside the king’s room tonight but there’s a good chance of it.

“Then – if you’ll be so kind, I would have a refill.”

The corner of Oberyn Martell’s mouth quirks up a second before he fills the cup for three quarters. Jaime nurses it slowly, tasting that wine and making it last. He also doesn’t want it to get to his head and that’s exactly what is going to happen if he drinks it all at once.

He doesn’t know if he likes the sudden silence falling between them. The Red Viper is drinking his wine as if it were water, which only confirms what Jaime had been thinking before – he wasn’t drunk at all when he left the feast. Sometimes he feels dark eyes staring at him with interest, and he tries not to fiddle or flush. It’d be ridiculous, he’s in the Kingsguard for the gods’s sake, but then again the man in front of him could probably make any given person feel embarrassed with merely half a glance.

When the cup is empty, he puts it back on the table and takes a breath. “My lord, thank you for the drink. I’ll go back to –”

“Not so fast, ser Jaime.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Let’s say I don’t believe that you’d be so eager to walk back into that farce of a feast. Or at least, you’re as eager as I am. Which is why I’ll gladly stay here.”

“Where I want to be is no matter. I have a duty.”

“And how well would you carry it, if you’re busy staring at your sister?”

Jaime finds himself wordless at that – he had thought no one would notice. He feels a certain dread take hold of him – oh gods, what does he do now?

“I don’t –”

“Don’t bother denying it. I won’t be the one telling. Still, I can’t help thinking that she has very poor taste.”

Jaime doesn’t dare moving when the Red Viper moves his chair closer. He should run, he shouldn’t be here, this isn’t – he doesn’t understand what is the deal here, even if he doesn’t think that the other was lying when he said he won’t tell anything.

“Poor taste, my lord?”

“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean.”

“I’m afraid – I’m afraid I don’t.”

He almost flinches when a hand comes down on his thigh. It isn’t invasive or unpleasant, but still – it’s not what he had expected.

“Everyone knows what I think of that tasteless dragon.” Jaime doesn’t need him to spell out that he’s talking about Rhaegar Targaryen, but yes – even children probably do know that the Red Viper has no love lost for his sister’s husband. “And if I were your sister, I’d rather look at you.”

“At me?” Jaime almost shouts. Oh gods. This can’t be happening. But there are dark eyes staring into his and gods, he’s not japing. Not at all.

“You’re a much more pleasant sight.” The hand on his thigh is not moving, and Jaime’s head is starting to spin – this can’t be happening. But apparently it is – Jaime figures that all the talking about the Red Viper equally preferring both sexes isn’t just talking.

“Ser, I shouldn’t even be here,” he protests faintly.

“I don’t see why not. You’re sworn to protect the king and his family, and the future queen of the Seven Kingdoms is still my sister. If I say that I required your service, who’s to say anything against it?”

“But – why?”

The other shrugs, looks back up at him, his lips still curled in a small, wicked smile. “I happen to think that I would like to see you in my bed. I’m also not in the habit of forcing people into it. If you wish to leave, the door is right behind you. I will also inform you that no one who was in my bed ever regretted it.”

Jaime feels his blood boil at that tone, so low you could barely hear it, and he can believe that most people wouldn’t resist the man in front of him. He should refuse instead, but –

Why? He hadn’t been planning on keeping that vow concerning chastity anyway, and if he said yes, well, no one is ever going to find out. If his sister can still regret that she hadn’t been the one marrying Rhaegar Targaryen, then why shouldn’t he look at someone that isn’t her? He has no idea of the reasoning behind this, but from what it seems, the only point is that the Red Viper apparently wants someone in his bed for the night. And Jaime will have to admit it, hearing that he was a nicer sight than Rhaegar Targaryen might have made him feel at least a bit pleased.

“What if I didn’t wish to leave?” he asks, trying to keep his voice calm.

The grin on the other’s face becomes even wider. “Then I assure you that I would make it worthwhile.”

“Well then, my lord. I’m not walking out.”

He tries not to let it show that he had no idea whatsoever of what he’s supposed to do – or well, it’s not that he doesn’t know in theory how it works between two men, but it’s not as if he ever even thought about it.

“It seems like my evening isn’t as wasted as I had thought.”

The hand on his thigh moves to his cloak, and he drags Jaime forward, and lips are on his. Not exactly forceful, but not gentle either. For a second he freezes but then he parts his own lips, and then – then…

Gods, the moment Oberyn’s tongue touches his, Jaime can’t help gasping into the other’s mouth. It trails over his lips after, and then searches his own again, swirling slowly against it. It traces his teeth before plunging inside his mouth again, and if he hadn’t been sitting his knees would be weak. It’s not just the kiss; it’s Oberyn’s other hand reaching up and tangling in his hair, tugging on it without pushing too hard, it’s that he can taste that sweet, strong wine again, it’s that this is the kind of kiss that makes you shiver.

He knows that he’s flushing when it’s over, but all his blood has rushed to his cheeks, and he gasps when Oberyn moves the hand he had on his cloak to his cheek. He runs a fingernail over Jaime’s cheekbone, and he almost shudders at that.

“You still can walk out.” Oberyn’s tone is almost smug, though – as if anyone could walk out after being kissed like that.

“Have you taken me for a blushing maid?” Jaime almost snaps back. He decided he’s doing this, he’s not backing out.

“My apologies.” And then the Red Viper’s hand goes to the clasp of Jaime’s cloak and it falls down behind the chair. “I think you should lose that armor. Allow me?”

Jaime swallows and stands up on shaky legs – he’ll blame that on the wine. He stands still as the pieces of his armor go, and he breathes a lot easier when it’s removed. He’s left in his shirt and breeches, his back to the large bed. He breathes in sharply when fingers that look so very dark in comparison to the white of his shirt trail down over it until they reach his laces. Oberyn pulls on them, but he doesn’t attempt to take them off him. Instead he puts his hands on Jaime’s shoulders, pushing him down on the bed and working on unlacing his shirt. He takes it slow, his fingernails scraping over Jaime’s frame; by the time he’s done, Jaime’s breeches are starting to feel constraining, unlaced or not.

“As delicious as I thought.”

Jaime has no idea what to answer to that, and he keeps his mouth shut while Oberyn gets off the bed and pulls his boots off before staring down at his groin again.

When Oberyn puts his palm over it Jaime can’t help it – his hips jerk upwards, desperate for friction, but he’s deluded on that front. A moment later, Oberyn takes his hand away; his knees go around Jaime’s hips, almost locking him in that position. He takes off his shirt then, revealing a toned, muscular frame. There’s more than one scar and Jaime is tempted to reach up and trace a couple of them, but he doesn’t do it – he has no idea of what in the seven hells he’s expected to do here. Except that his staring must be pretty obvious.

“By all means, ser, don’t keep your hands to yourself.”

Which is all good, except that Jaime knows how to touch a woman in the right places. Not a man. Then again, he’ll never find out if he doesn’t try. He does reach up, one of his thumbs running over what seems like an old, almost faded bruise, and then he has to stop when finally, finally Oberyn starts pushing his breeches downwards, along with his smallclothes. He glances down at himself – he’s more than half-hard by now. He groans when Oberyn’s hand closes around his erection again, thumb over the head, rubbing slowly. It’s enough to make his cock swell – he groans again, trying to push his hips upwards, needing more of it, but the way he’s being held down, he can’t really do that.

Oberyn laughs at that, a small, amused sound that should make Jaime flush in shame. It does make him flush, but for other reasons. “Patience. I said you wouldn’t regret it.”

“Who said I was regretting it?”

He doesn’t let Jaime answer and gives his cock another long squeeze that makes Jaime moan out loud. He moves back then, his knees not touching Jaime’s hips anymore, and Jaime isn’t surprised when he stands up from the bed and takes something from a table in the center of the room. When Oberyn gets back to the bed, he’s holding a small vial in his hand.

Jaime might not know the fine details of how this is supposed to go but he’s not an idiot – he doesn’t wait for a question before he spreads his legs.

He isn’t expecting the Red Viper to whistle appreciatively before kneeling in between his legs.

“That’s what I call quick learner,” he says as he opens the vial and pours whatever’s inside it on his index finger.

Jaime had been about to tell him something very rude, but he doesn’t because there’s a slick, oil-coated finger trailing over his inner thigh until he pushes just the tip inside him. Jaime almost jumps from the bed at that – he hadn’t been expecting that – but then Oberyn’s other hand moves on his stomach, keeping him down.

“Fair. I should have warned you,” he mutters. And then he pushes in that finger again, slower, after pouring some more oil on it. Inch by inch, it does slide in easily enough, even if at first it’s mostly a discomfort. But the second time, it actually doesn’t feel too bad. There’s a slow burn that he doesn’t dislike, and then there are rough lips covering his again and a second, slick finger joining the first. He moans into Oberyn’s mouth at that; and then both fingers are pressed in deeper and he almost arches off the bed. He can feel the Red Viper grinning as he bends them just slightly, hitting that spot again before withdrawing them, and when they part he’s breathless.

He doesn’t get much respite – the moment both fingers slip in again he moans almost shamelessly, and when a third is added not much later he has to turn his head and bite into the pillow.

And then fingers slip out. He turns his head back up, and he had in his mind to protest, but that’s when he sees Oberyn unlace his own breeches and Jaime’s lips go dry at once. Oberyn empties the vial in his palm, coating his cock with it, and he’s as hard as Jaime himself – and regarding that, he’d really, really need some attention there. He’s so hard it hurts by now, and he tries to move his hand towards his crotch, but it ends up pinned behind him.

“Not yet. Learn some patience.”

“I think I’ve been patient long fucking –”

He never finished that sentence because in that moment the tip of Oberyn’s cock touches his stretched entrance, sliding in oh-so-slowly. It’s – he can’t even speak. It’s somewhat painful, but not the bad kind. It burns a bit, sure, but since the vial has been emptied, it’s mostly a question of being adjusted to it. And for everything that’s said about the Red Viper’s appetites, he hasn’t lied once about this – he’s pushing inside slow enough that Jaime has time to adjust, and he can appreciate that. He really can – he doesn’t dislike the sensation at all, but he isn’t sure it would have felt as good if Oberyn hadn’t taken it slowly.

And then Oberyn gives a last push and his cock hits the spot that his fingers had mercilessly hit first. Jaime has to bite his tongue not to moan like a cheap whore, but it feels so good, even with the lingering burn, he isn’t sure if he can avoid it much longer.

“You don’t look as if you’re regretting this.” Oberyn’s hand goes around Jaime’s cock as he says it, and Jaime doesn’t think he has the presence of mind to answer coherently.

“I will if you don’t move,” Jaime blurts, figuring that his current bed partner will only be too happy to hear it.

“Oh, so this is what you’d like?” Oberyn asks before pulling back and then pushing his cock inside Jaime again at once, slamming exactly where Jaime wants it to, and that’s it – a whore would have moaned less shamelessly than he is. “So deliciously tight,” he says, almost in approval, before moving out and starting all over.

“Yes, yes,” he manages before Oberyn does it again, and again, and then his hand starts stroking Jaime’s cock again, slow, completely in contrast with the merciless way he’s fucking into him, and Jaime can completely believe that all of the Viper’s bed partners had left that bed satisfied. His blood runs hot when Oberyn kisses him again, that hot tongue running against Jaime’s lips and plunging inside his mouth again. His hands go to Oberyn’s shoulders, tangling into long, dark hair, pulling on it as he keeps on saying yes and harder and more. He doesn’t even blink when Oberyn’s free hand moves to his lips after the kiss is over, and he doesn’t even ask himself why should he take a couple of fingers in his mouth, but it distracts him from the shudders running through his body and it gives him something to focus on. He runs his tongue over index and middle, the calloused tips rough but so very warm at the same time, and he does it once or twice before Oberyn moves his hand away. Jaime sees a knowing, wicked smile in the corner of his eye before Oberyn pushes the finger inside him, next to his cock, and Jaime can’t hold himself together anymore. He arches up, coming against Oberyn’s hand, his oversensitive cock spurting against those skilled fingers stroking him through it, and then the stroking becomes less sure and Oberyn pushes inside him with one last, deep thrust. Jaime barely feels him coming inside him at that point – his own body is shivering all over, pleasure shooting through all of him. He feels himself going lax while warm, rough hands still run over his chest and hips and face, and his last coherent thought is that he won’t be the first person to ever regret having shared the Viper’s bed.

When he comes to, not much later considering that there isn’t a part of him hurting or feeling anything other than satisfied, the sheets he’s lying on are wet, his thighs are sticky and Oberyn Martell is propped on one elbow, staring down at him. He’s cleaning his hand on the sheets and oh gods – he looks like satisfaction embodied.

“I told you,” he says then. “I never leave anyone wanting.”

“That you don’t,” Jaime agrees, and when he realizes that he hadn’t added the obligatorymy lord at the end of the sentence, he figures no one will be offended. “I won’t be the one stain on your reputation, that’s for sure.” He sighs then, attempting to sit up. There’s no excuse for him to stay here anymore, as much as he’d rather avoid going back downstairs.

Then a hand is on his shoulder and he’s brought down again. “Who said that you could go? I might still require your service.”

“Everyone knows that you don’t need it,” Jaime replies.

“Might be,” Oberyn agrees. “But who’s going to argue with it? There’s also one thing I neglected to tell you before.” He moves his hand towards Jaime’s groin again, and – well. Neither of them is surprised when Jaime’s spent cock twitches the moment it’s touched.

“And what would that be?”

“No person who ever shared my bed has ever been content with sharing it just once. The night is long, after all, and I don’t think I’m nearly done with you.”

A small part of Jaime tells him that he should go. He swore a vow. He should be downstairs. He should be guarding the king.

But a bigger part of him tells him that refusing that offer when everything that waits for him downstairs would only ruin his night would really make him a fool.

“Well then, my lord, I suppose that if you require my service, refusing you would hardly be proper.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear.”

The moment Oberyn’s hand gives Jaime’s cock another long, slow stroke, Jaime decides that the Others can take the feast downstairs and everyone attending it.

He’s definitely not regretting this, and if it means that he won’t be the first person to leave the Red Viper’s bed after just one fuck, he couldn’t care less.

End.