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Jaime could do little else but freeze as he reached the top of the stairs.

“For goodness sakes….. Sssshhhh!”

A woman, taller than him by a couple of inches, was in the process of creeping up on two rough looking individuals, armed only with what looked like the seven inch heel of a black leather shoe.

Jaime was aware of standing, gawping, as he took in the scene before him. He’d stumbled onto what was clearly an incident, quite by chance, as he took the rubbish out.

The immensely tall, blonde creature was blocking the access walkway to the roof garden, looming over the two men who appeared to be in the process of jemmying open the door to Tyrion’s portion of their shared Fleabottom home. She was dressed from head to toe in black.

In a black latex catsuit, with ears and a mask.


Jaime’s notorious lack of interest in anyone other than his immediate family members, absented itself immediately even as he froze into place.

The woman looked somewhat ridiculous. Sweaty, panicked, like a huge wild creature that had wandered in from the street… and up his stairs into, what was strictly speaking, his backyard.

Not unlike a giant, greased auroch.

“Good evening,” Jaime slowly lowered his bag of rubbish to the floor as he watched her jump slightly at the sound of his voice.

“Um..G...Good evening,” the woman managed to nod abruptly in his general direction as her hand shot out of the way as one of the would be burglars swung his short crowbar viciously at her, clearly shocked at finding someone standing quite so close behind them.

"Fookin' hells!" It was then that they realised she had company.

“Ye bloody gods,” growled one of the men in a broad Fleabottom accent, “it’s only the fookin’ Kingslayer!”

Jaime could not help but wince as his unfortunate nickname came back to mock him yet again, but it was enough to make the two criminals cornered by the tall blonde woman, throw their crowbars to the floor with a clatter and a “Fook this!”

“Stop them!” Roared Catwoman, as the men rushed at her, catching her by surprise as they raced for the stairs, “they were forcing the door to Mr Lannister’s flat!” She ducked down, pulling her other shoe off and throwing it with some force at the running men, catching one of them squarely on the ear.

Jaime went to block the access to the stairs, swinging the rubbish bag at the first miscreant and knocking him flat on his back. Turning to deal with his accomplice, the first scrambled back, pursued by the barefoot virago clad in the rubber suit, her huge hands slapping his vicious kicks out of the way with a contemptuous swipe.

“The stairs!” Both men scrambled their way free and made for the roof even as the blonde woman thumped barefoot up the stairs after them.

The fire escape, was all Jaime could think as he bolted up the stairs as well, that and the fact he was going to have to have harsh words with Tyrion about posting his whereabouts on social media quite so publicly.

The two men raced across the roof garden, jumping down onto the metal fire escape to the rear of the property, pursued by Jaime and his recently acquired latex clad accomplice.

“Kingslayer!” came Catwoman’s voice as the two would be thieves barrelled down the stairs, one sliding down the metal walkway and knocking Jaime so hard to one side, that he overbalanced and lost his footing on the slippery surface.

By the warrior's teeth....

As he fell, Jaime managed to grab onto the railing, but his grip was not what it used to be and looking up, all he could see was Catwoman shouting after the two miscreants (whom he could only assume had planned to rob Tyrion’s apartment all along)as they raced off to jump into an awaiting car.

I can't hold on, Jaime realised suddenly, my right hand....

After swinging for a few moments, gravity got the better of him and he crashed down into a pile of refuse awaiting collection in the street below.

Ye gods! Staggering slightly, Jaime climbed to his feet and attempted to brush foul smelling Fleabottom detritus from his good coat, looking up at the roof for a glimpse of his rubber clad accomplice.

Where was she?

“You were lucky there, mate,” a nearby onlooker called out, “bin men ‘aint been yet. Guess that’s what broke yer fall.”

“Yes, thanks for that,” Jaime acknowledged tersely, searching his pockets for his door keys, all too aware of the malodorous whiff of rubbish coming from his clothes as he re-entered the building.

Who was she? Bloody stupid woman. And what was she thinking of, tackling two dangerous, armed, individuals on her own….

With each step back up to his front door, Jaime’s temper flared a little more until he climbed the final step to be confronted with - nothing.

Reluctant to believe it would be possible for a six foot three inch woman to disappear completely into thin air, Jaime ran up the steps to the roof to see if Catwoman was still up there.

Still nothing.

Jaime stood there for some moments, before becoming aware of the overwhelming smell of refuse coming from his clothes.

“Damn,” the smell was overpowering. He couldn’t go out now without changing his clothes.

And who was the glorious woman in the black latex catsuit?  Finally, Jaime found himself laughing softly to himself as he let himself back into his home.

He couldn’t wait to tell Tyrion about the thrilling start to his evening as a superhero’s sidekick.

And then find out from his brother exactly who it was that was prepared to take on two armed thugs whilst looking like a hot mess.

Jaime felt sweat prickle between his shoulder blades as the memory of the muscular woman in black, racing up the stairs to the roof, came back momentarily to haunt him.

Ye gods.




“What do you mean you have no idea?”

“Exactly what I said,” Tyrion frowned at his elder brother, eyes twinkling, “I have no idea who your catwoman might be, Jaime.”

“But she knew you lived there Tyrion,” Jaime insisted, “her exact words were that they were ‘ forcing the door to Mr Lannister’s flat’... she knows you!”

“She may well know me, dear brother, but I sadly do not know her.”

Frustrated, Jaime bit his lip, before looking back at his brother, eyes narrowed, “you know but you aren’t telling me!”

“Nonsense, if I knew who it was, I would tell you,” Tyrion grinned, “but I must confess, I find your sudden interest in my casual visitor fascinating.”

“Well, I thought that someone should at least make the effort to say thank you,” Jaime responded stiffly, finding Tyrion’s sudden interest in his motives somewhat unsettling.

“But I will ask around, of course I will.” Tyrion’s attempt to school his features into one of reassurance, failed miserably as he went on to ask, “But it would help if you could describe exactly what she looks like, and what she was wearing, just one more time…”

“Tall, very tall, taller than me.”

“That’s very tall Jaime... for a woman.”

“And blonde, short hair….”


“Er… well, not…. I didn’t really notice…”

“Didn’t notice! My dear brother….Jaime...”

“Blue eyes! There, see, I did notice that... I noticed that she had the most astonishing blue eyes.”

“I thought you said she was wearing a mask?”

“A mask Tyrion, not a bag over her head! And... cat ears.”

“Cat ears?” Tyrion was losing the battle to keep a straight face, “ on her head?”

“Of course they were on her bloody head!” Jaime regarded his younger brother with a look of utter disgust as Tyrion dissolved in the most undignified fit of laughter, “I don’t think you are taking me very seriously.”

Tyrion took a deep breath and sobered almost immediately, “Oh believe me, Jaime. I take anything that distracts you from our sweet sister for more than five minutes very seriously indeed. Leave it to me.”




It was the nights that were the worst, realised Jaime. In the darkest hours before dawn, his recollection of those illicit memories of Cersei that persisted, were rapidly usurped by fantasies involving the tall muscular body of the latex clad mystery woman. The muscles rippling in her back and flanks as she climbed the steps to the roof, over… and over, again.

“Seven bloody hells,” Jaime punched his pillow twice and buried his face deep within the folds, “I need to sleep,” he fumed into the feather padding.

But as soon as he managed to do so, the dreams were back with a vengeance. If he was lucky, he woke up almost immediately with a vague memory of her body moving sinuously up the stairs towards the night sky, unlucky, and he would eventually awaken late into the morning in a heavy sweat, sporting a vastly uncomfortable erection and a nasty case of frustration.

“I can’t seem to get the bloody woman out of my thoughts,” he finally admitted to Tyrion, after his brother had cheerfully observed that Jaime was starting to look like he was being dragged through a brothel backwards all night when he should maybe try sleeping.

“You need to get laid,” Tyrion told him cheerfully.

Jaime responded with a withering look that should have suggested that his advice was unwelcome.

“And I have good news,” Tyrion informed him cheerfully, “I think I have worked out who she is.”


“Why impossible?”

“Because I have already made several enquiries of my own based on the security camera footage from the roof and have drawn a blank.” Jaime gave a sigh of disgust, “I even had Varys make some enquiries, but with no luck.”

“Varys?” Tyrion’s face split into a wide smile, “I rather like that I have divined a piece of information that has escaped the incredibly well-informed Mr Varys.”

“So who is she?”

“I believe she may well be a long time friend of Margaery,” his brother informed him, “who just happened to be attending a party being held the weekend I was away in Essos.”

“Margaery did not have a party the weekend you were away,” Jaime informed him tartly, “I was home the entire time, and would have known if something was going on.

Margaery Tyrell occupied the final third of the Fleabottom Warehouse that Jaime had converted from old The East Essos Company property that he had bought on the death of Cersei’s husband Robert. It had been a very personal project for Jaime, the hope being that Cersei might be finally persuaded to share the same roof as him, even if nothing else was ever to be possible.

Cersei had refused to move in, as yet again, Jaime’s life goals failed to coincide with hers.

“How do you know Margaery didn’t have a party?” Tyrion quizzed him.

“Believe me, I’d know.”

Tyrion had quickly stepped in to ensure Jaime could finish the building work, arranging a rental for his lifelong friend Margaery after her grandmother had expressed an interest in investing in one of his edgier projects. Tyrion had told Jaime at the time he couldn’t think of anything edgier than Jaime’s Fleabottom development, and had told Olenna Tyrell so. The subsequent lease drawn up by Jaime’s legal team was enough to make even Olenna Tyrell remark that Margaery was not likely to get up to much whilst living next door to the Lannister brothers.

“I believe Margaery might have been having a special party,” Tyrion screwed his face up slightly as he went on to say, “for women.”

“What kind of women only party?” Jaime asked suspiciously.

“Oh my sweet summer child,” Tyrion patted Jaime gently on the hand with his much smaller one, “the kind where they get kitted out for a naughty night in. Margaery has been developing a little bit of a business on the side as a party plan ambassador.”

Jaime was aware that his mouth was working but no sound was coming out. 

“Apparently they ran a little short of bubbles halfway through and Marge dispatched one of her still sober friends up to my flat to raid the wine rack,” Tyrion gave his elder brother the brightest of smiles, “See, problem solved.”

“In what way?” 

“Well, the sober friend dispatched to get bubbles must have been…”


“Who what?”

“Who.Was.It?” Jaime’s voice cracked even as he took a step towards Tyrion, who promptly took a step back.

“Brienne… Brienne Tarth.”

“Brienne?” Jaime shook his head as his mind buzzed with possibilities, “Big Brienne? Impossible!”

“Well clearly not that impossible,” Tyrion replied, clearly nettled at Jaime’s not very enthusiastic response.

“But I know Brienne,” Jaime insisted, “I would recognise her.”

“Would you?”

Jaime thought back to what he knew about Brienne Tarth.

Margaery’s big friend, the shy girl, the girl who always seemed to be doing her best to blend in with the furniture or whatever background seemed to be to hand.

No, Catwoman was definitely not Brienne Tarth.

“Brienne Tarth is not her,” Jaime informed Tyrion bluntly.

“Well, at least investigate this a little further,” his younger brother advised him, “I certainly intend to.”

Jaime pursed his lips and allowed a thin stream of breath to escape as he thought on his brother’s words.

Investigate, of course. After all, what harm could asking Brienne out to dinner do?




Brienne heard her mobile buzzing even as she stood in the supermarket deliberating over a ready meal for one or a ready meal for two (which she could eat over two days).

Reluctantly she fished her phone from her pocket and put it her ear.


“You haven’t even heard me out yet!”

“Margaery Tyrell, I don’t need to. No.” Brienne snagged the meal for one and grabbed a bottle of wine as well. She suddenly felt the need to spoil herself a little. “No… no… no… no.”

“You are a real spoilsport Brienne Tarth.”

“That’s me, the Spoilsport of Tarth… You and my father agree on that much at least.”

“Oh dear, has Selwyn been giving you the heir talk again?” Margaery’s voice oozed sympathy but Brienne was wise to her Tyrell tricks.

“What can I do for you,Margaery?” she asked, her voice resigned, but to the point. 

“Me? Actually today’s call is all about what I can do for you.”


“Brienne,” her friends hurt response made Brienne immediately feel bad, but then she made herself feel better by remembering the last favour that Margaery Tyrell talked her into. The favour that involved sneaking up to Tyrion’s front door clad in a five hundred stag “classic” latex catsuit complete with a pair of sky high “killer” shoes , greased up like a shiny market-day pig in a whole bottle of “leave your skin smooth and silky but without the oily residue” latex skin serum.

It would all have been fine, absolutely fine, if two flea bottom ne'er-do-wells hadn’t been trying to jemmy Tyrion Lannister’s door off of its hinges.

Or at least it would have been if she had immediately run, or rather wobbled, straight back to Margaery’s and phoned the KLPD. But, just as she was deciding how she should tackle this feat in a pair of monstrously high stiletto heels, He had appeared.

He. Him. Ser Jaime ‘Fookin’ Lannister.The man so quickly identified by Tyrion’s burglars had appeared by her side and rendered her both immobile and incapable of thought with one considering sweep of his luminescent green eyes. Brienne had seen the breathtakingly handsome eldest Lannister brother from afar on several occasions. Usually at some social gathering. She had even met him once, shaken his hand, and then retreated with her cheeks flushed and the palm of her hand burning from where his palm had made contact with hers.

Literally, the most breathtaking man she had ever met.

Jaime Lannister, The Kingslayer, the most beautiful man in...  

“Brienne… Brienne… are you still there?” Margaery’s voice fussed in her ear. 

“Of course I’m still here,” Brienne leant forward and snagged another two bottles of wine to add to the one already in her shopping basket. She was beginning to feel she was going to need them, “where else would I be?”

“So? Can I give him your number?” Margaery’s voice was shrill, pitched high with excitement.

“Who? Who are you giving my number to now and why?”

 Margaery and her constant attempts to fix dates for friends was the stuff of legend.

“Why Jaime Lannister of course, stupid. He wants to meet up with you.” 

It was at that point in the conversation that Brienne accidentally dropped her phone into the ready meal chilled goods cabinet.




Jaime Lannister was actually going to take her to dinner. 

When he had asked her, Brienne had thought it was a joke, particularly when he had suggested the venue for their informal get together should be one of the most expensive, and impossible to book, restaurants in the city.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Brienne had agreed through her phone whilst rolling her eyes at Margaery as she ignored her friend’s silent please to put the call on speakerphone, “whatever suits you. But really, there is no need for you to express your gratitude… really no, any public spirited person would have done exactly the same…” but Ser Jaime Lannister did not have such a ruthless reputation for nothing it would seem. As soon as she had even part way agreed; the place, the time and her method of delivery to the venue of his choice had all been set, and he had immediately texted her the agreed details effectively setting it in stone. 

“Well he’s very thorough,” Brienne read the text with some misgivings, already having doubts about what she had agreed to as she watched Margaery’s eyes widen as she read the text and the proposed location for dinner. 

“What are you going to wear?” 

“A shirt, trousers,” Brienne started thinking about the bottle of wine in her fridge at home.

 Stress did that.

“You can’t wear trousers there… the maitre'd will have a coronary.”

“Really? But I’ve only got my work clothes that are… It’s smart, isn’t it? How smart?” The mere thought of having to actually sit down and consume food across a table from any man, let alone Jaime Lannister, in an exclusive restaurant was starting to make her feel very nervous. She needed to go home and open that bottle of wine now.  Forget all about this stupid dining out nonsense. “I really should have just insisted he send me a bunch of flowers or something as a thank you. This is ridiculous.”

“But you hate flowers, particularly roses. Remember, you said that once...”

“Yes, yes, but then he would have not felt obliged to take me out to dinner and spend time with me, would he?” Brienne blurted out, the prickle of a cold sweat starting to break out on her upper lip. “It’s going to be awful, Marge.”

For a brief moment Margaery looked like she might agree, but instead she said, “You are not wearing work trousers and a shirt.”




As a result, when Brienne finally sat alongside Jaime she was wearing the compromise of a new shirt and a black skirt, teamed with a pair of sensible flats. It was a nice skirt, if a little short and it kept riding up a little because it had a very shiny lining, so she had to keep tugging it down.

Why is it that my clothes always seem to conspire against me? Brienne fumed to herself as she felt the skirt slide right back up again.

She had covertly tugged at the hem twice already, as they met for drinks, waiting for their table, Brienne could not help but notice the intrigued glances of fellow diners. Jaime Lannister was as stunning close up as he had ever been across a room, and if possible, even slightly more intimidating. The air around him seem to vibrate with a golden restless energy, and gods forbid that he should swing round and fix you with those verdant eyes. Brienne ran her tongue over her two chipped teeth and let her straw like hair flop over her face as she studied her ‘date’, currently talking to an associate who had spotted Jaime as he arrived and was urging him to join another party for dinner.

Jaime was having to refuse, shaking his head and nodding towards Brienne, clearly explaining how he couldn’t join them even if he wanted to as he had a prior commitment.

The glance she was cast by the associate was pitying.

“Bit out of your league isn’t he?” the look seemed to ask.

 Brienne stared right back, but could feel the hot scald of a tell tale blush starting to creep across her cheeks.

Ye gods, it was beyond mortifying,

 She was the first one to look away.

How long is long enough to stay? Brienne wondered desperately to herself as she looked down at her non-alcoholic cocktail and then furtively at her watch. Her father’s old watch, given to her on her twenty first birthday and one of the few items of value she ever wore. How long do I have to stay before I can politely make my excuses and leave? Because even as their fellow diners studied the handsome magnificence that was Ser Jaime Lannister, cut-throat businessman and notorious media presence, as soon as their eyes reached her, they slid away, embarrassed, confused, startled.

Yes, I’m with him. Ludicrous isn’t it? Brienne sighed, and left her skirt to ride up a few inches. After all, maybe these people deserved to be bothered by a bit of extra meaty thigh being shown by a big ugly wench.

She didn't bother with the skirt this time.

“Sorry about that,” Jaime turned back to her, all charm, glancing down at her legs as she crossed them in an effort to get comfortable on the bar stool she had pulled up earlier.

And then froze as if transfixed.

“I -er,” He suddenly looked up at her, pupils dilated, eyes wildfire green. “Sorry… it’s, er.”

Brienne suddenly felt awful. The poor man’s eyes had almost bugged out when he had looked at her workmanlike sturdy legs emerging from her annoying skirt. Almost certainly from embarrassment at having to be seen with her. 

Seven hells!

“No, I’m the one that is sorry. I’m an idiot.” Brienne slid off the stool and stood up straight whilst pulling the skirt down with a forceful tug, “I should never have agreed to this. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble. Anyone would have done what I did, chasing after those two thieves… and you did far more than I did. You almost caught them. I only managed to hit one when I threw my shoe.” She went to smile, and then remembered her chipped tooth at the front and shut her mouth quickly. “It’s all fine. It really is….consider the debt paid, and you’d better make that clear to Tyrion. He’s the only person I know who can make Margaery jump through so many hoops with so few questions.”

Ye gods, the relief. Now the decision was made, Brienne quickly pulled on her work jacket, thankful she had not surrendered it to the very superior cloakroom assistant on entering the restaurant. “

“But…but I thought,” Jaime’s brow furrowed as he started to object, his expression startled, "we've yet to..."

“No really it’s fine. It really is. See, your friend is waving at you,” Brienne pointed out, and as Jaime turned to look, she moved swiftly behind him and out of the door.




Margaery poured Brienne another glass of Dornish Red before throwing herself down on the sofa next to her friend, a huge grin on her face.

“You dumped him!” 

“I did not dump him,” Brienne replied, mumbling into her wine, “he didn’t want to stay with me… not really. You should have seen his face Marge. He took one look at my legs… he looked like he was about to pass out with embarrassment.”

Margaery shot Brienne a straight look from beneath a finely arched brow.

It clearly said, I really don't think that is the case.

Then her friend burst into a spontaneous peal of laughter.

“You left Ser Jaime Lannister, one of the hottest, most eligible men in King’s Landing standing at a bar young lady,” Margaery’s eyes sparkled with a devilish glee, “just wait until I tell Loras. He will simply not believe it!”

“Please don’t tell your brother,” Brienne grimaced slightly at the mention of Loras Tyrell, “he still hasn’t forgiven me over the business with Renly.”

“Oh, pooh!” Margaery waved her hand airily, a gesture that almost resulted in her getting a lapful of red wine, “Loras knows it was just a silly crush. Perfectly reasonable, after all… I mean, Renly is absolutely gorgeous!”

And gay, Brienne stared glumly at the depths of rich reds and the slight pink streak that appeared as she swirled the liquid around in the large wine glass that had been bestowed upon her. She hadn’t known about Renly Baratheons preferences when Renly had been visiting her father on some business or other, and clearly her father hadn’t either. Her father had spent a lot of time winking in an all too obvious fashion that reduced Brienne to a red gibbering wreck of humiliation. Renly had laughed it off with a great deal of humour, and had asked her to make sure to look him up for a job if she ever made it over to the mainland from Tarth.

She had and she did, not six months later. But the move had not been everything Brienne had expected it to be. Life in the capital was much faster and more sophisticated than she had been used to on the sleepy isle of Tarth.

“To gorgeous men,” Margaery raised her glass high in a toast.

“Mmmmm,” was all Brienne mumbled by way of reply, waving her glass weakly in response. 


Margaery looked at Brienne, Brienne looked back at Margaery.

“Are you expecting someone Margaery?” Brienne asked her friend softly.

Margaery silently shook her head and put her glass carefully on the side table. 


“It has to be Tyrion or…,” Margaery ducked her head down as she climbed to her feet to go and answer the door.

Or Jaime. Whoever was knocking had not used the sophisticated entry system to gain access to Margaery’s front door.

“Brienne,” Margaery’s smile was a little too bright as she came back into the room followed by Jaime Lannister, “Jaime wondered if you had dropped by. He wondered if he could have a word.”

Jaime wandered in after her, hands in his pockets, looking beautiful ruffled, as if he had jogged all the way back from the restaurant.

“Oh, um… fine.” Brienne found herself about to smile back until her tongue touched her chipped teeth and she ducked her head down instead, her voice a little breathless as she said, “Hi Jaime.” 

“Brienne,” Jaime’s voice dipped low as he sat down beside her on the couch, bouncing slightly on the cushions. A delicious waft of expensive cologne followed in his wake as he turned towards her, loosening his tie and running a hand through his hair, “I have a question for you.”

Too close, too close, Brienne's senses were suddenly full of him.

“Um... You do?” 

“Why do you think I asked you to dinner?”

Brienne felt a fierce flush work its way up her broad neck and encroach across her cheeks, the heat of it beneath her skin making sweat prickle across her brow.

“Because…,” she shrugged slightly, “I helped you?”

“No,” Jaime replied.

“Because Tyrion said you should?” Brienne pulled a slight face as Jaime gave a surprised huff of laughter.

“No, well he might have said something along those lines,” Jaime grinned and caught one of her hands in his. “But I was rescued that evening by a hero in a black catsuit.”

“I didn’t rescue you, you rescued me,” she protested, “I was only there to get more wine for Margaery.”

“In a black latex suit and heels?”

“A gentleman would not remind me of that,” Brienne responded primly, glancing up at Jaime’s face through a stringy lock of hair to see an ever widening grin and a twinkle in his emerald green gaze.

“I’m no gentleman, Brienne.”

“Then why did you ask me to dinner,” Brienne asked him, “If you are no gentleman and Tyrion didn’t ask you to?” 


Brienne nodded briefly, ready for a short speech from this handsome god of a man about how obliged he was to her stepping in.

“Honestly,” Jaime took a deep breath, “I want you.”


Brienne looked up at that, straight into his bewitching green eyes, “me?”

“You, Brienne. I’ve not not been able to sleep because I keep thinking of you. Dreaming of you.”


“Me? I really don't think...” It came out as a spluttered protest that raised a wry grin from the man before her.

“I dream of you,” Jaime told her firmly, briefly engrossed in studying her large hands, her short businesslike nails a sad indication of her all too practical nature. “I’ve started dreaming of you all the damn time, woman. I wasn’t even really convinced it was you, really you, until I met you face to face. You have very distinctive eyes… then you flashed me a glorious length of leg in that damn restaurant. Your legs are even more distinctive,” he passed a hand over his own eyes as he went on to say, “and then you ran away.”

“People were staring at me,” Brienne protested weakly, “I didn’t want you embarrassed… just for being kind enough to take me out to dinner as a thank you.”

“I didn’t realise you were being made to feel uncomfortable,” Jaime squeezed her hand and then gentled his grip, “I was trying to ensure we weren’t going to be disturbed.”

“Pfff,” Brienne responded, “I think you are merely obsessed with a five hundred stag latex catsuit and some action man shenanigans.”

“Mmmm, maybe,” Jaime put his hand to her chin and then to her cheek, “but I do have a serious question for you, Brienne?”

“If it involves that five hundred stag “classic” latex catsuit, you might be disappointed with my answer,” she replied.

“Will you come to dinner with me?” Jaime asked her, suddenly very serious.

As Brienne started to break into a wide generous smile, this time she didn’t hide her teeth. Jaime grinned back and raised his brows, “Well then?”

“Okay, if you insist.”

Chapter Text

The Winterfest lights hanging from the front fascia of the brickwork swayed merrily in the breeze sweeping off Blackwater Bay, and Jaime could just about make out the distinctive form of Brienne hunched over her rucksack clearly rooting around in its depths for what Jaime could only assume was the key.

He could feel the smile already forming on his lips as he crept up behind her and slid his hands over her eyes.

“Guess - oooofff!”

Brienne had swung him round and slammed him into the brickwork of the doorway with such speed that his head was still spinning as he finally opened his eyes to stare deep into the shocked sapphire blue depths of her own.

“Ye gods! Jaime!” Brienne stared at him for a full moment before her bottom lip started to quiver slightly and Jaime could make out the glimmer of tears starting to fill her eyes, “I didn’t realise… I didn’t… Are you okay? I’m so sorry! Let me check...”


“I… What?” She licked her lips, still visibly upset.

“Have you any idea just how hot that is?” Jaime nuzzled the side of her face, the tear that had just escaped her eyelash to dribble down her cheek, caught by the side of his nose.

“Jaime,” Brienne sighed, clearly exasperated, “crying does not make anyone look attractive.”

Jaime swung her round and pushed her back against the wall just as she had just trapped him, tight against the brickwork.

“Crying? No, Brienne… not the tears. Is it so wrong that I find it hot that you can pick me up and crush me against a wall?” Jaime grinned against her lips, “Because I do, Brienne. I do find it really, really hot.” He twisted round and plunged one hand deep into his back pocket in order to produce his door key. “Open the door and make it quick.”

Brienne took the key with a snort, plunging it into the lock and turning it. “You find everything hot Jaime Lannister!”

"Where you are concerned wench, absolutely I do."

Jaime kicked the door open and grabbed her hand to pull her inside.




Brienne still felt awful about man-handling Jaime, even as he dragged her inside the building. Hardly the most feminine of ways to greet your, well, so-called boyfriend. How would she ever live that down on top of everything else he had had to put up with. How could she possibly begin to apologise for such a lapse of judgement.

I should have known it was Jaime. I should have been able to tell! Brienne berated herself.

Brienne tensed, ready to push herself away from him and, if the gods had any mercy in them at all, disappear through the floor and die on the spot - 

But Jaime made a low growling noise, the like of which Brienne had never heard before. It made her heart kick hard against her, it made the centre of her kick even harder than that.

All this just as Jaime angled his head, hauled her close, and took complete control. 

The world seemed to implode on itself in a searing flash; wild, hot, insane. He feasted on her lips like a fury, hard, hot and constantly on the verge of inhaling her. Hauling her ever closer until she was draped over him, her breasts flattened against the hard wall of his chest. He manhandled her up the stairs, treating the weight and the size of her with a nonchalance that made a mockery of her insecurities.

“In,” was all he said as they both fell through his front door and slammed against the door to his bedroom. 

Brienne scrambled onto the bed, his relentless pursuit of her awe-inspiring. He spread her out on the covers and then crawled over her, Brienne convinced that that act alone might just be enough to kill her. Jaime braced himself over her, gazed down at her and then began to kiss her once more. He took her mouth again with his characteristic laziness, yet so intimate that it left her boneless beneath him.


Jaime moved down to focus on one breast, brushing the fabric of her shirt to one side as he used his teeth and tongue to make her writhe and whimper  beneath him. She couldn’t breathe, she was dying as he paid her gasps and wriggling no heed as he moved between her legs.

“Jaime,” she whispered, “I… I haven’t…”

 He stopped still and stared down at her, one eyebrow raised.

“Do you think I haven’t had several highly embarrassing information dumps from both Tyrion and Margaery?” he asked her, but there was a curve to his beautiful mouth that made her think he meant to be funny, and kind. Yet the look in his wildfire blown eyes was intent. It was like he had already made his decision. “I find I like the idea that I’m the first to do this.”He shrugged, "but if you are not ready, that's fine too. I can wait."

 "I don't want to wait," Brienne rushed to assure him, folding one long leg across the back of his calves to make any retreat well nigh impossible, "I've waited long enough."

The look he gave her seemed far from convinced.

“Jaime…” she whispered, “Please… I want…”

“A condom,” he grinned.

 Idiot, Brienne watched him slide from the bed, "you are an idiot." she called after him.

"But I'm your idiot," he grinned as he returned.

A moment, several more intoxicating kisses later, and he slid inside her.

Brienne expected it to hurt, mainly because it was what any number of Septa had told her. That was always the story she has been told. It was supposed to be traumatic. Agonizing, life-changing…

“Are you scowling at me because you’re in pain?” he asked mildly, as if he wasn’t lodged inside her. Deep, naked and inside her.

That made her frown deepen. “No,” she said. “Because I’m not... in pain that is.”

“In that case, sweetling, perhaps you might consider not scowling at all.”

“It’s supposed to hurt. It’s supposed to be terrible.” Brienne puffed out a frustrated breath, wriggled slightly and tested the odd sensation of having that part of his body so deep inside her, Jaime so impossibly close . “It’s how you know you are a woman.”

Jaime’s snort of amusement, and the accompanying shimmy of his hips, made a whisper of heat bloom between her hips.

“That is not how you know you are a woman, Brienne.” 

“It seems so strange that this is actually happening, and it isn’t at all the way I imagined it would be.” she told him, “maybe it has more to do with a man’s um… sword than I thought.”

Then Jaime moved. It was a lazy slide out, then in. Hardly more than a shift of his lean hips and a change to his body angle. The whisper of heat from before suddenly bloomed everywhere, sensation she didn’t even know existed burst into life making her rock against him, hungry for more. “Jaime,” she gasped.

Jaime pressed his lips to the scowl sitting on her brow,

“Stop frowning,” he insisted, but his voice was softer, sweeter than she had ever heard even Jaime speak, “What is the harm in letting yourself enjoy the things for which I do, in fact, have perfectly adequate equipment.” 

“I just didn’t want to fail at being womanly… even in this.”

A strange expression crossed his face, as if angered at something, before it was gone. Banished by his smile. 

“I won’t let you fail Brienne,” he said solemnly, but the curve to his mouth was back and the gleam in his green eyes was a wicked one, “particularly in this.”

He rocked into her, setting an easy pace and watching her as she struggled to meet him. To move against him, and then occasionally with him to make the sensations better, more intense. Clearly adjusting his own movements with the sole purpose of undoing her, completely.

Ye gods, it was so hot Brienne was starting to think that she wouldn’t survive this. That neither Jaime or herself would survive this.

He started to move faster, then slower, then faster again, dropping his head to take her mouth with his and when his next thrust came, he swallowed her scream as she shattered into a thousand pieces, her face so hot it must have been bright red, so flushed, it felt as if it was on fire.

 Ye gods, ye gods, ye gods.

And the last thing she remembered before she lost herself in all that sensation was the way Jaime called out her name as he also tumbled over the edge into oblivion with her.

Ye gods and all the devils in the seven hells.


Brienne opened her eyes to focus on Jaime’s face grinning above her, eyes twinkling, as he whispered softly, “I’m here to officially state that you, Brienne Tarth, have successfully passed the sexy shenanigans test.”

She shut her eyes and let her suddenly weary head flop back onto the sadly mangled pillow behind her and found herself starting to laugh. “Thank you Ser Jaime. I would also like to assure you that your… um... sword technique, is excellent.”

There was the smallest of pauses before Brienne became aware of the softest curl of breath next to her ear.

“Of course the sexy shenanigans test does have several levels,” Jaime whispered, “do let me know when you are ready to advance to the next one.”


“I will,” Brienne assured him as he folded his arms around her. “I will.”