Work Text:
“One kiss, Brienne,” Sansa mischievously insists again, her eagerness to play wingman reaching a new high these days. “That’s all it takes to open your eyes to how you feel about someone. It can make you think differently of them. One move, and someone you thought was a friend will end up meaning so much more—”
Brienne hurriedly coughs to interrupt before Sansa can take it too far. It helps shut her up, but unbidden thoughts of her handsome friend enter Brienne’s head now, just like they often do at ill-timed moments. “Rubbish,” she dismisses, hoping it will expel those thoughts. “A kiss is just a kiss. And why would someone kiss a friend?”
Not that she doesn’t want to. Just that the thought of souring the beautiful connection she has with her friend has dissuaded her from reconciling with her feelings.
“Why wouldn’t you?” the friend in question intervenes, in his usual deep voice that does unspeakable things to her. Only now does Brienne realize that Jaime has been here the whole time, listening, but not participating until now. “A sudden moment when you realize—” He pauses, and looks away. “All it takes is for you to surrender to that moment. And then everything changes and the friend goes from that to something else.”
The way he said it spirals her into doubts, raising hope within her. But Brienne immediately shakes it off. It can’t be. It won’t be. Jaime has never looked at her as more than a friend. It’s Cersei he has always been interested in. “No,” she dismisses again, choosing to look at Sansa instead. “Even if he does kiss me, nothing’s going to change.”
“He?” Arms crossed, eyes narrowed down to slits, Sansa is examining her with a gleeful interest. “Who’s this he we’re talking about?”
“No one.” Brienne mentally kicks herself for acting like such an idiot. “Weren’t you leaving?” she attempts to chase her nosy friend away. “I thought you had to go somewhere.”
“Not before I find out who—”
“Don’t you have to meet Tyrion?” Jaime asks.
“But I—” Sansa starts to object, but on second thoughts, smiles, and turns to leave.
“Not a kiss from a friend,” Brienne tells herself once Sansa is gone. “One doesn’t simply kiss a friend, even in a loose moment of intoxication.
“What if that friend is now beyond that?” says the man who’s still here. “Would you still not kiss him?”
Brienne vehemently shakes her head. Jaime would never go past friendly fondness with her.
“Who is this he , by the way?” he inquires, sounding displeased. When Brienne musters the courage to look at him, there are questions she can see in his eyes. And… jealousy?“ Is it a friend who has become a lot more than—”
“It's no one,” Brienne immediately denies.
“No one?” As he approaches, she can suddenly feel his presence - handsome and magnetic and exuding a pull he’s surprisingly finding it difficult to resist. “How come this no one mysteriously came to your mind when someone mentioned a kiss?”
“Oh, stop it,” she snaps. “The only time I’ve kissed a friend was in high school,” she admits, agitated, the fortress she’s trying to confine herself in, crumbling. “It meant nothing because my crush wore off after that. He meant nothing so it doesn’t count. I’ve kissed other men, but I felt nothing after that, even with Renly, because none of them meant anything to me,” she rambles on. “So yes, I’ve never had a perfect kiss, and I probably won’t, because there’s no one I want to kiss—”
“There’s nothing wrong in saving your perfect kiss for someone special,” he murmurs, walking towards her, getting closer. Why is he doing that? Can’t he say whatever he has to tell her from where he is? Also, is it her imagination or his voice is getting a little deeper than usual, a little… overly seductive? “It’s romantic.”
“Says the man half the women around him can’t resist,” she blurts out with indignation, before she can stop herself. “You must have kissed a bunch of women. Now if you’ll move aside—”
But he stands his ground. Only now does she notice that the distance between them is less than a foot. Suddenly he feels taller than her, like a towering presence, almost as if he’s lingering around for good reason. Brienne’s knees are beginning to get wobbly. Why is she feeling like a smitten girl with an incurable crush? And why does she not want to get away from it before it’s too late?
“What about the one I can’t resist?” he says, in that same husky tone. “And for the record, it wasn’t a bunch of women, but just Cersei and a couple of others. But none of them meant anything.” There’s a naked sincerity to his voice when he adds, “Not even Cersei.”
He draws her so hard, so deep into his gaze, that it takes a few seconds for Brienne to find her voice. “What are you trying to say?”
He stretches one arm over her shoulder to lean against the wall. “Can you not tell?” Yes, he’s leaning against the wall, not against her. And his breath’s not bothering her. Nor is the heady scent of cologne and man that wafts up her nostrils. “Brienne—”
“I don’t want to talk about this.” She needs to get out of here, but doesn’t want to.
“Won’t it be the most romantic thing to kiss someone you share everything with?” he whispers, his eyes on fire. “Someone you wish would look at you as more than a friend.” He stops. His eyes drop, resting on her lips.
“Jaime—”
When he does kiss her, Brienne completely loses it. Both, the voice of sanity, and the thin strand of restraint that has been holding her in place, are smashed to bits, as a dormant need inside her wakes up.
He starts, at first, with just a tender touch, like a raindrop on a bed of earth. Despite his cocky confidence, he seems doubtful, as if having second thoughts if this is right. He holds on to this feathery touch, giving her a chance to push him away if this is all a huge misunderstanding.
But it isn’t. It definitely isn’t.
And of course, she doesn’t want to back out. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she goes for it, hungrily pushing back, her mouth crushing his, her tongue determined to torment him. All these years they’ve been with each other - and off late, every time she sees him, it’s like there’s a line she wants to cross, but the disappointment of rejection and the fear of losing a friend has held her back, pushing her to dive deeper into her work to divert her mind from him.
But now is the time to make up for what they’ve lost. Now is the time for her to be what she wants to be, to be with the one she wants to be with.
When he withdraws, and the rush of passion has calmed down a bit, they stand there, panting, cheeks flushed from what just happened, eyes latched on to each others’. She wants to pull him back again, to quench her thirst, to devour him until they’re both spent, yet aching for more.
“So?” says Jaime, still breathless, as he lowers his arm and steps backwards.
“What?” she asks, her body and her mind, busy, processing what just happened.
“Say something.”
What is she to say? That she wants those lips on hers again?
“Please—” Her handsome companion looks deep into her eyes. “Just... anything.”
Brienne doesn’t respond. She’s still weak-kneed. Her well-kissed lips beg for more. There’s so much she wants him to do to her, but she’s not sure she can put her longing to words.
He stands there for a while, and when she says nothing, he looks disappointed. “I thought, you too—” He looks away, shaking his head. “Maybe I shouldn’t have assumed things and gone this far, but I kept going because you kissed me back—” He backs off to leave. “I’ll see you later.”
But when he’s a few feet away, Brienne calls out, “A kiss from a friend.”
He halts, and turns to her. “Huh?”
“It’s the sweetest thing that’s happened to me—” She walks towards him, looking at his chest instead of meeting his eyes. She can feel her chin wobbling. She knows she’s blushing hard and it’s not just because she’s flushed from the kiss. “But you're not just that, you know. I—” Her confession comes to a grinding halt before she can say it out aloud.
“Brienne—”
“And you were right,” she hurriedly goes on. “To kiss someone you’ve shared so much with is the most romantic thing you can do and—” She blinks rapidly and drops her gaze, too flustered to go on.
“I might have kissed others before you, but you’re the first to—” He comes closer, and when he takes her hand, she looks up, into those affectionate eyes. “You make me feel things whenever I’m near you - no - whenever I even think of you.”
Brienne’s heart melts at his charming smile. “Where does this leave us then?”
He touches her cheek. “Come over to my place later tonight.” His eyes are deep oceans of longing and affection and desire. “We need to talk.”
Brienne nods. Her heart beating hard, she turns to leave, but he grabs her arm.
“Before you go—” he pants.
“What—”
He kisses her again.