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janie_tangerineIt takes Jaime another couple of weeks after they start fucking to give her the frankly ridiculous amounts of ribbons he had bought in the last few months on the road, as in, each single one that he had seen her eyeing and not buying, which meant that at that point he had a small bag filled only with hair ribbons, and honestly, it had started feeling ridiculous, and considering that now not only they’re bedding each other, and regularly, but Brienne is also coming around to the fact that to him this is no passing-the-time fuck or scratching-an-itch fuck… well, it’s just stupid that he’d keep them, especially when he’s sure she wouldn’t take them as a joke.
Also, he’s pretty sure he convinced her that to him, this is no joke at all, and on top of that he’s been entirely delighted to find out that at least when it concerns her, the only rumor he heard before concerning witchers that has been proven true is that when they get going in bed they really do get going, and no one was more delighted than Jaime was to find out she could go on for fucking hours without getting tired. At least now she stopped apologizing for wearing him out, as if she could or as if he wouldn’t want her to. So… it really is ridiculous that he hasn’t just come clean about the damned ribbons yet.
Which is why he decides to do it one evening when they’re just passing through a village that had no contracts for her but a nicely sized inn for him - she’s not tired and he’s had a good set and for once they don’t have to deal with washing blood off her leather before moving on to more pleasurable activities.
“So,” he tells her, “what if I have… er, not something for you but a lot of somethings, rather?”
“... Somethings?” She asks. “You know you don’t need to buy me anything, right?”
“See, here I am trying to be proper and all and that’s what I get in return?”
“You don’t even know what proper means,” she snorts.
“I do,” he protests, “I just choose not to be. Anyway, to make things short and to save myself the most likely embarrassment -”
“Why would you be embarrassed?”
He shrugs, sitting on the bed next to her and dumping the bag in her lap. “Because I was buying these long before I thought there was a chance in the seven hells you might be interested in me,” he says, and then she opens it and her eyes go even wider than usual, her lips parted in a gasp - her hands tremble as she reaches down and grasps one of the ribbons on top - a pretty, silky azure thing with a bit of lace all along its sides.
“How did you know -” She starts, not even trying to deny that she did want them and never bought any.
“I don’t know,” he says, “maybe I did spend months staring at you because I was hopelessly pining and I noticed because you’re nowhere near as subtle as you think you are? And it’s not like there’s anything wrong with it.”
She scoffs. “If you didn’t notice -”
“Oh, let me guess, your chosen profession doesn’t let anyone in it have luxuries or nice things and you weren’t allowed to like feminine stuff even before you got recruited for it, says the woman who goes around with a cloak that has embroidered flowers on the hems. I also would like to state for the umpteenth time that I can’t care less if you don’t look like a stereotypical fair maiden from the songs and that if you wanted to slay monsters in pink silken dresses I wouldn’t judge you for it.”
She does laugh for real at that. “That would be the best way to get killed and ruin the pink silken dress,” she says, and then bites down on her lip and grabs the ribbon and -
Hands it to him, turning her back to him.
She doesn’t ask, but she doesn’t need to. He runs his fingers through that soft, shiny hair of hers that now looks like that all the time thanks to his ministrations, delighted to see that she hasn’t cut it in a while, which means that when he carefully braids the ribbon into a plait braid he actually has a lot of hair to do it with, and he kind of wishes they were outside for once because he could have braided a flower or two into it, and gods but this is the one thing he’s not regretting having had to learn because of his sister, but at the end of it he’s done a pretty good work, if he can say so himself, and he knows she does like it when she looks at herself in the mirror, the braid long enough to each her neck, with the lace curling around the end of it.
He absolutely forgets about all of the other ribbons when she suddenly turns, kisses him breathless and pushes him against the mattress, and patience if he doesn’t get to touch her hair this time - he likes it tied that way. He likes it a lot.
--
He also likes that she keeps her hair that way. Or at least, she asks him to braid it for her every other day, with the excuse that it’s comfortable and out of her way, but he does see her looking with satisfaction at her reflection when she has the chance, or at least with what resembles satisfaction for her.
The other ribbons were never used as Brienne says that she likes that one, but she does bring them with. He knows she keeps them in one of her bags, and he doesn’t ask about them - if she wants some more braiding, he supposes she knows she just has to ask.
Then it happens that one evening not long later they’re stuck in an inn during a bad spring storm that hasn’t stopped for the last two days and apparently will go on for the next two or so the locals said, and he’s had a few drinks downstairs while she hasn’t and he’s trying to goad her into sharing what else she might have thought about doing when bedding each other, as he knows she does think about it but doesn’t tell unless he drags it out of her with great effort, and since she’s not saying shit, as usual, and he’s the right kind of buzzed when he confesses to her that he’d have loved if she could tie him to the bed once in a while -
Her pupils grow slightly wider when she hears it.
He also knows she can tie a knot or twenty. He’s seen enough.
“You’re serious,” she says. “And you’re also not that drunk, are -”
“I’m absolutely serious,” he says, “and I didn’t have that much.”
“Well,” she says, “I, uh, do have… those ribbons. If you don’t tug that much.”
He grins back immediately.
“I knew I bought that many for a reason.”
She rolls her eyes and glares at him a moment longer, but then she goes for the corner of the room where she placed her bags and opens the one where he knows she keeps the ribbons.
He stays very, very still, his throat becoming progressively more dry as she goes through the whole amount and then shows up with a few ones that look a bit sturdier than the one he used on her now unbraided hair - one is dark green velvet, the other is light brown hemp - he had thought it wasn’t very refined when he got it, but now he supposes it could be a good option.
She kicks off her shoes and slips off her breeches, remaining only in her shirt, hair falling over her shoulders, and then she straddles him - he had managed to kick off his boots before, but only left it at that.
“Are you sure?” She asks, tentatively taking his wrist in between her fingers.
“What do you think?” He asks, nodding towards his own crotch, and the moment she sees that there’s been a significant dent inside it since she left to look for the ribbons, she just nods and starts tying his wrist to the bed’s frame. It doesn’t take her long, and when she’s done, there’s velvet all around his left wrist and while he can open and close his fingers he can’t really… move it.
“Is that good?” She asks, sounding extremely tentative.
“Yes,” he says at once, holding out the right wrist. She nods, tying it back to the frame as well, and this one doesn’t feel soft at all, and the sensation is strange but he thinks he likes that.
He can’t really move that one, either.
“You could break out of them if you wanted to,” she asks, “right?”
“Maybe,” he agrees, “but I don’t think I do want to.”
She breathes in, nodding, her hands going to his shoulders, leaning down to kiss him as she opens up his shirt, and gods she could just keep him still with the barest pressure and he couldn’t move and fuck but it’s exactly as hot as he had imagined, and when she obviously feels him getting harder against her leg she bites down the question she was most likely about to ask and thankfully, thankfully slips off his breeches, throwing them on the ground along with his smallclothes - now he’s just in his opened shirt and she has her legs around his hips and her eyes look bluer and fuck he thinks he’s not going to last very long, at the first round.
“Why don’t you want to?” She whispers, her fingers touching his chest for a moment before her right hand grips the back of his neck and the left goes to his hip, keeping him still.
Of course she wants to talk about it.
Right when he’s right on the path towards extremely turned on.
He breathes in, figuring that there’s no point in circling around it.
“I - I used to do it. With… you know.” He can’t even say her name, distaste rising in his mouth.
Brienne nods.
“I hated it… when she did it. I mean, I thought I liked it because she did and - I thought I couldn’t dislike something that she liked. But that was because - it felt wrong. And she didn’t… care.”
“And what’s different about this?” She leans closer, her mouth hovering over his.
“I thought about doing it with you,” he whispers, his neck arching upwards, “and I liked the idea, because I know you - I know you care. And it’s - different.”
“In a good way, I hope.”
“Obviously,” he moans when her hand touches his stomach, right above his crotch. “Fuck, you’re - Brienne, shit, you know you have the nicest hands in the continent, don’t you?”
“I don’t,” she says, matter of fact.
“You do. Fuck, the way they feel, I - I like that you could do whatever you want with me and I know you won’t do anything I don’t want you to,” he blurts, hoping that it sounded coherent, that he hasn’t said too much, but then Brienne’s grasping the back of his head a bit tighter and she’s leaning down, her fingers tugging on his hair -
“Some people would say that you have no sense of self-preservation,” she says, but now she sounds almost excited, bless her.
“Never said I had much of it,” he agrees, “but all things considered, being with you shows that I do have some, somewhere.”
And then she runs her fingers through his hair once, twice, gently, before she leans down to kiss him and he moans shamelessly into her mouth at once, and then her mouth is all over him - cheeks, temples, chin, neck, shoulders, taking her damned sweet time, and by the time she’s mapped his entire chest and ran her tongue over all of the scars he got while in King’s Landing (not as many as hers, never as many as hers) he’s about shivering all over in the good way, blood boiling underneath his skin, and when she takes him in her mouth (and goes, she doesn’t need to breathe as much as a regular human which means she can deep-throat him and take her own sweet time with it) it takes him an embarrassingly short amount of time before he spills inside her mouth and gods she swallows without even moving, and looks maybe a bit smug when she finally lets his cock slide from her lips, her hands grasping his thighs, her teeth lightly, lightly scraping a piece of skin before she kisses her way back up to his mouth.
“I see,” she says, “I should maybe take it slower.”
“Do whatever you want,” he breathes against her lips, “gods please just do it, I’ll stop it if I don’t like it, but -”
“Oh, whatever I want?” She says, and then reaches for one of the camomile oil bottles on the nightstand. Then she coats her fingers in it, rubbing thumb and index together, and then he about screams when she puts them on the crack of his ass.
“Spread your legs,” she asks, sounding suddenly a bit surer of it, and he does at once and fuck, the way she’s opening him up, first teasing and then slowly, slowly, pushes her fingertips inside him is driving him completely mad in all the good ways - she keeps on pouring oil over them every time she pulls them out and they’ll have to restock but fuck he doesn’t care, not when it feels good, and he spreads his legs a bit wider as she pushes in deeper -
And then he about screams as he arches upwards the moment they’re inside him proper, buried inside his ass, and shit that felt better that good, that felt -
Brienne’s fingers slide back and then forward and they hit the right spot again and fuck he’s hard all over again, took less than he had imagined, and when he looks back up into her eyes she seems to be extremely interested in how much he’s about writhing on her fingers, her cheeks slightly red, her mouth slightly parted.
“I see,” she says, “that you do like if -”
“Please keep on doing it,” he blurts, moans again when she goes it again and again -
“Could you -” She sounds hoarse now, blushing harder, and she’s a sight and he thinks he never wants to stop looking at her, “- come just from… this?”
“If you go on like this? Fuck, yes, yes please keep on doing it -”
“No need to beg,” she says, sweetly, “but maybe I should decide when that happens?”
Just hearing say that almost makes him go over the edge.
“Gods, yes,” he moans, “just go on -”
“All right,” she nods, and then starts going faster and faster, her free hand going to his face, holding it still, and gods he’s about to die here, but that’s fine, that’s fine because it’s going to be an extremely good death and the way she’s just not doing it tentatively anymore but surely is going to drive him crazy sooner rather than later, and then Brienne is looking down at him like she really likes what she’s seeing, and she’s leaning down and breathed against the shell of his ear that she wants him to come now and he’s off a moment later, his entire chest spasming in pleasure, and he knows he’s coming all over her stomach and shirt and screaming her name all over but he doesn’t even care if they hear him - she keeps on fucking him with her fingers while he keeps on spilling until he’s spent and he’s breathing in hard and everything around him feels floaty in the best way, and when she kisses him again he about melts into it, and then she’s said something about not being able to hold on anymore and she’s gone on her knees and about shoved her cunt in his face -
And at that he doesn’t even think before he buries his longue inside it, and he works her open and sucks at her cunt until she’s dripping all over his mouth and comes as hard as he had, and so maybe while he licked her clean he had gotten aroused all over again - it’s not as much as before, but it’s enough for Brienne to ride him slowly and for a long, long time, and by the third time he comes he’s about dizzy with it, and when she decides that it’s been enough and undoes the restraints and pulls him into her arms, he doesn’t protest and curls against her the moment he can, his hands grasping at her back, and he’s just hoping that they do it again very, very soon.
--
Brienne spends a couple of days looking pensive.
Then she says they should visit a city, next.
Jaime, who knows there’s a lot to be gained in cities, more than their usual inns, immediately agrees to the advice and doesn’t suspect that she had wanted it because she had planned to gather supplies in the type of shop that you cannot find in backwater towns.
That evening, after his set, she clears her throat.
“Uh,” she says, sounding half-unsure, “from last time, I, uh, gathered that you… do like it, if - if I use my fingers.”
“I thought it was rather obvious,” he says. “And I did have a few rounds with men, back - back in King’s Landing. Which probably helped showing me that I had… well. Different tastes than I thought I had. Yes, I like that. Why?”
“Once I might have gotten paid in books. There were a few… raunchy ones, let’s say.”
“Of course you accepted books as payment. And?”
“And, in one of them - oh, fuck it, I might as well just show you,” she says, reaching for something wrapped in soft deer cloth in her bag, and then she throws it his way.
He pulls away the cloth and about fucking faints.
He supposes that in those so-called raunchy books, women actually did fuck their partners… with maybe tools such as the exquisitely carved fake cock in his hands - he thinks it’s polished bone, or so it feels, and it comes with what looks like a thin leather harness, and of course she needed to be in a town to buy it, and -
He pictures Brienne tying him to the bed and fucking him properly with that and he thinks that a rush of blood goes to his face because Brienne is smiling at him a moment later.
“I guess that was a yes?” She asks, tentatively.
“Oh, it really, really fucking was,” he agrees, giving it back to her. “And please tie me up again before you use it.
“If you ask so nicely.” Now she doesn’t sound hesitant at all and her mouth doesn’t either when it touches his lips, her tongue running over his teeth for a moment before she bites down on his lower lip and pushes him back on the bed.
“Now,” she says, “how about you stay there and I go get the ties and you let me handle everything?”
“Yes,” he breathes, “please, I -”
“Patience,” she says, and then she stands up to find the ribbons. He doesn’t move at all and she tuts in approval when she sees he hasn’t, and he lets her take his shoes off before she ties him to the bed again, and then she gets rid of his breeches and underwear once again - for a moment he thinks she’ll just go for it, but she doesn’t - instead, first she kisses him savagely and jerks him off, her palm wrapped around the head of his cock that had been already smeared with precome, and he comes embarrassingly fast again, but then she smiles and says that it was to get the edge off, and then she grins in a way that really, really suits her before she kisses his wrists and all through his arm, and then all over his chest as she had the first time, and at that point he’s already feeling hazy in the good way -
That is, until she slowly sits on his face again, and fuck she’s wet, he realizes, except that she hasn’t taken her smallclothes off and maybe it should be so damned hot to try and use his tongue on her throuhg the soaked cotton, but he does until she obviously can’t take it anymore and shoves it down her legs and then is back on him again - he makes her come taking his time, since it seems like she’s not in a hurry, and when her sweet, sweet release hits his face he expects her to linger -
But she doesn’t, leaving him to lick at his lips as she leans back and takes the harness in hand.
The fact that the pale white of that bone looks almost the same shade as her hair is most likely contributing to how he feels like he’ll come the moment she touches his cock, and so he takes deep breaths as she reaches for more oil.
“Now,” she says, “that’s for you. But I thought,” she goes on as he spreads his legs, raising them a bit, enough that she has good access, “you could make sure this is also wet while I get you ready?”
He doesn’t say a word before opening his mouth and taking the fake cock in his mouth, dutifully wetting it with his tongue as she hums approvingly, which only makes him want to do it harder, and he does, trying to concentrate on it even if her fingers opening him up still so very slowly and carefully will be his goddamned death, and then her fingers are gone and she’s pulled it back from his lips.
“Good,” she says approvingly, and he about whines at that, way beyond giving a fuck about how embarrassing it might be.
Then she slips it on, locking the harness at the sides and making sure it won’t slip, and shit she’s a sinful sight and he hopes she wants to use it as often as possible as she coats the fake cock in some more oil and then grabs the back of his thighs and lifts them up so effortlessly he could fucking come just from that, too -
When she starts sliding inside him very slowly, he moans again.
And again.
“I was wondering, that next time I could use my tongue other than my fingers?”
The way she asks it - he didn’t know he had it in her to sound coy, but she can and he’s honestly delighted.
“I wouldn’t - say no,” he manages to blurt as she fucks into him slower, and slower, until she’s buried inside him and she’s this close to find the spot she had found with her fingers, but she stays still for a moment instead. “Gods, it feels good,” he says.
“Does it?” She asks, moving back, and then experimentally fucking into him, and he groans in pleasure when she finally hits the right place.
“Yeah,” he nods, “gods, please, more -”
“Of course,” she says, picking up a pace, extremely slow, “and you won’t come until I say, will you?”
He shakes his head, then confirms it with words, even if he feels like they’re starting to slip from him.
“Good,” she says, “oh, you’re taking it so well -”
He should probably think about why he feels like he’ll die in all the best ways whenever she says something like that.
Maybe he will after they’re done. For now, he just whines, trying to urge her on, and she does, keeping his hips still as she kisses him again and keeps on fucking into him, picking up the pace, and then faster, and then she’s going steady and keeping it fast enough that he barely has time to breathe but not enough to hurt, and he can’t move and she about has him completely and he doesn’t think sex has gotten any better than this, and at this point he’s entirely beyond words that aren’t her name or yes and please, and then her hands are in his hair and she’s kissing him softly even if she keeps on fucking him ruthlessly and she’s telling him to come when he wants to and he holds on for a bit more but then he feels like his entire body is so coiled he has to unfold, and he comes so hard he’s sure he’ll black out for how fucking good it is, but it doesn’t matter because Brienne’s hands are on his face and he has his legs around her frame and she’s so warm she might burn in the good way, and she’s telling him something that he can’t distinguish but he likes how it sounds, and at that point he just lets himself go -
- and then he opens his eyes and she has untied his hands and they’re lying on the bed with his back against her chest.
She’s massaging his wrists, his ass feels sore in all the best ways, their sheets are wrecked and he still feels somewhat sluggish and like he can’t fucking stop smiling, and she also looks delighted, and then she’s kissing him once, twice, and gods but this is the best afterglow of his entire existence and he thinks he’ll let himself enjoy the shit out of it.
“Here you are,” she says, and her voice is low but warm and he’s halfway sure that his cock comes back to life just for that.
“What can I say,” he slurs, “when it comes to you, I can match your appetite, apparently.”
“That means you might not… be done?” She asks, sounding… excited at the prospect.
“I’m done when you are,” he says, “or… well, or when I’m too exhausted to, I guess. Which I’m not, now.”
“So,” she smiles, slowly, “if I used my tongue on you now -” Her hand has slipped to the crack of his ass, where he’s still halfway sore and slippery with oil and oh fuck yes.
“You are absolutely welcome to,” he says, kissing her rough palm, and he can hear her moan at that.
“You are - I don’t even know anymore,” she says, but she sounds fond, and he has to try and rise up to the challenge.
“What, I’m that good?”
“Of course you’re that good,” she says, “not counting that before you showed up I don’t think a single man on this earth would have wanted me to touch their arm through their clothing, never mind -”
“Told you once, there are no men like me, and too bad for the others because someone who would pass having your tongue anywhere on them is a right idiot. Now, will you fuck me again, my lady, or do I have to threaten you to put this in a song?”
“.. You wouldn’t,” she says as he turns on his stomach and spreads her legs.
“And why not? A song about how the honorable blue knight of Tarth is also extremely proficient in bed and could drive a man insane with just a mere touch of her fingers would absolutely be a hit in certain establishments, and if you want me to write an ode about how sweet your cunt tastes please be sure I would in a heartbeat -”
“I think,” she says, “that you’re the only man I want to appreciate the taste of my cunt, and if you ever write those songs I’m not using that - that on you anymore.”
“You wouldn’t,” he exclaims, faking outrage.
“Well, just keep your opinion about how good a fuck I am to yourself, how about that?” She says, and then she leans down and uses her tongue on him and he about screams louder the moment she licks around the rim of his entrance, and when she plunges it inside a while later he’s so beside himself that he comes again - not as much, not as fast, but he still does - against the already wrecked sheets, and when she moves back and holds him again she looks extremely pleased with herself.
He’s also completely beside himself with how good he feels, and he feels like he’s floating on clouds as he looks up at her, reaches up with the hand that doesn’t have hemp red signs around the wrist -
“Hey,” he says, “you know - you know I wouldn’t really do that if you hated it. It’s just, sometimes it’s the only way I know to - convey how much exactly I -”
“You…?” She prompts.
“Brienne, the entire damned continent knows I love you by now, the other songs aren’t exactly skirting around it.”
She stares down at him, and then her forehead falls against his and she looks like she might cry.
“You idiot, I think I’ve been in love with you since you punched that asshole six days after we met,” she admits, quietly, softly, and -
He has to kiss her again at that point, and again as she takes control of it, and gods he hadn’t thought she’d say it back, and the next song he writes will be definitely about how saying witchers have no feelings is just horseshit for sure -
But for now he thinks he’ll just let her kiss him some more.
