janie_tangerine | cowt 10 S6 M5: ille mi par esse deo videtur, ille, si fas est, superare divos (asoiaf, jaimebrienne)

asoiaf, jaime/brienne, r-ish

She had thought Jaime half a corpse and half a god once.

As in, in the tub in Harrenhal.

Then again, maybe she had thought him such also in the filth of that cell in Riverrun, and even if he had shorn his golden hair during their journey to King’s Landing he always had looked like one, and she hadn’t even managed to be angry at him for that — the issue with men with good looks isn’t that she feels jealous of them or that she wishes she had some of the looks in question, the issue is that she usually falls head over heels for them and it’s usually not a good thing, not when it comes to her.

And then —

Then she had seen him in the Lord Commander’s tower, cleaned up and wearing that pristine white cloak that really did become him, golden hair growing out, green emerald eyes staring at her, less gaunt than he was on the road, and he certainly didn’t look like half a corpse then.

Oh, he did not.

But now —

Now.

Tarth has agreed with him — she knew it would, deep in her bones, but she hadn’t imagined it would this much. He’s back in optimal shape now, but who wouldn’t be after they fought an army of dead people and fought bandits all the way back to her island, both of them are, and now that winter is giving way to spring and they have good food and they can indulge in it, both of them don’t look gaunt at all. Not that it changes much for her.

But for him —

She can’t help staring at him as he walks up to her on the beach — he went for a swim before, and now he’s wearing nothing and his skin is all tanned and almost golden, though not as much as the hair he has grown out, that reaches his shoulders now, and under the sun’s rays it almost shines so bright she thinks she’ll be blinded for a moment. His eyes are glinting with mirth when they meet hers, and when he crouches down on a blanket where he had left his clothing she gets an exceedingly good view of his arse, and she doesn’t think she has terms to describe it that aren’t utterly vulgar, and when he turns towards her after laying down she can see that he’s half hard already and then he winks at her and —

Gods.

No, he’s not half a god.

She’s sure that if the Warrior suddenly showed up next to him, he wouldn’t be half as beautiful as Jaime is, and she considers not telling him, because he does tend to preen whenever any such thing slips from her lips, but —

But as she slips off her shoes and joins him on the blanket, not bothering to take off the light tunic she was wearing — she has taken to wearing dresses with the warm weather if only because she likes it and who can tell her otherwise, he kisses her with such gentleness that she can’t help telling him as she reaches up and runs her fingers through his hair, and she had expected some kind of jape but for a moment he stares at her like he hadn’t expected it at all, eyes going wider and lips parting, and then he grins, showing teeth, moving closer —

“Well,” he says, “last I checked, gods require worship. Or are you going to not be a pious noble lady now?”

“Oh,” she smiles back, pushing him back on the blanket, “I cannot wait to show exactly how devoted I am,” and when she leans down and kisses him he moans into her mouth and she wastes no time kissing him harder.

She will absolutely show him that.

For a very long time.