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The freckled giant of a wench was also in his flight from Volantis bound to King’s Landing, he realized as she took the seat beside him, oblivious to him as she pushed her baggage in the overhead bin. He wanted an aisle seat but there was none available, and though he quite surmised he was getting unlucky with the unavailability of a direct flight to King’s Landing from Asshai on that day (the only available flight had been with a transit to Volantis), things seemed to be taking a turn for the better. It was not everyday that he get to meet someone who could elicit so much from him. “Hello wench.”
Her blue eyes were wide as she turned to face him, recognition, surprise and a slight annoyance marring her features as she nodded at him. She settled on her seat, securely fastening her seatbelt (which had him wrinkling his nose at the prim, proper, girl that she was) and began flipping through the in-flight magazine.
“We’re in the same flight. Again.”
“Apparently. And it’s Brienne.” At least she acknowledged him, he grinned to himself as he watched her purse her lips and brush a stray bang away from her face. She had made the same gesture earlier, in the transit flight from Asshai to Volantis and it had intrigued him, the way everything, every reaction had been shown on her face. They had been sat in the same way, in that eight-hour transit flight and it had been nice to get her riled up though he had considered the possible danger to his physical safety when she threatened to follow him to the lavatory to castrate him and end his petty life. She hadn’t followed through with her threats however, though he had kind of regretted that she hadn’t followed him to the lavatory—he had been thinking of a way to get her more riled up, pleasurable ways in truth.
To say that he developed a liking for her would be an understatement. He was never really fond of many people, investing emotions had always had a backlash on him, he was not for anything serious, though when the wench had suddenly laughed at one of the stupid jokes he had said, he hadn’t really expected the way his body had reacted. He could not believe that in the span of eight hours he would feel something stupid for someone he had just met, though his brother did tell him once he has a penchant for seeing things in people that were not easily noticeable, nonetheless the beautiful beautiful blue blue eyes the wench has were among the most easily distinguishable parts of her (and her plump mouth and her freckles that seemed to promise things he could not imagine). He had actually felt happy, for lack of a better word to describe that immense feeling of satisfaction and desire and giddiness as if he was seeing the world through rose-tinted glasses and the rightness, the rightness of how it had felt and—you get the picture. So he had felt happy, and there he had been initially thinking he would sleep the stupid flight off (if there had been an available direct flight from Asshai to King’s Landing he wouldn’t be wasting hours). But the wench had rolled her eyes at him, had let him eat the peas off her in-flight meal and had accepted the dessert he had offered, and he had known it was a lost cause.
So it had been with a slight irritation that he had raised a brow at her when she had not responded when he had asked her for her phone number, her e-mail address, and her home address, among other things such as whether when he could meet her parents, her siblings, her aunts and uncles (which probably had scared her a bit since he had acted a bit like a stalker there). She had retrieved her baggage from the bin, helped the old woman in the row before them retrieve her bags and had stomped off the plane like they had not spoken with each other in a span of eight hours, as if she had not recognized him as Jaime Lannister (which was, mind you, a very prolific name even in the East), as if she had not judged him when she had known who he was, as if he had not felt the need to explain to her the rumors about him, as if he had not cared that her eyes seemed to have softened afterwards, as if she had not patted his hand, that almost-broken hand, when she had learned of his accident, as if she had not touched the scars on his wrist. As if she was not the only one who had done so, even among the members of his family.
But she was there now and if he had more confidence in himself (which he has a lot of, though his recent encounter with the wench had made him slightly doubtful of his abilities) he would voice out the queer little blush on her cheeks and the dilation in her pupils. “You were following me wench.”
“Don’t be so full of yourself Lannister.”
He smiled and continued watching her as she replaced the magazine back in the seat pocket and pulled it out again. “You’ve read that.”
“Can’t I read it again?”
He laughed as the plane took off, the Rhoyne getting smaller and smaller like a black snake traversing against the greens. He returned to watching the wench, brows furrowed at the magazine. “So you’re really reading it?”
She didn’t respond, hands fisted in the pages.
“I thought people just flick to see the photos.”
“Not all people are as dumb as you are.”
“Or maybe they’re as boring as you.”
She closed the magazine with a flurry of movements, stuck it back in the seat pocket and stared at him. “If you find me boring don’t talk to me.”
“I like you.”
She gave him an incredulous look, turning in her seat as the seatbelt sign was switched off, unclasped it and headed for the lavatory. He made a move to get up but her hands almost caught him in the chin. “Don’t you dare follow me.”
He only grinned.
When the meals were being served he instructed the flight attendant that the wench would prefer fish and that she would have some apple juice and water instead of the signature alcohol. The wench stared at him as he made other meticulous instructions to the flight attendant who seemed to be having some trouble with her eye what with the continuous batting of her eyelashes.
“How did you know?”
“The food?” he asked as he took a bite of his chicken. “You looked for a fish meal in the earlier flight, but they only had chicken and beef.”
“I think she likes you.” She chewed as he stole peas from her food.
“Who?”
“Pia. That FA. It says Pia on her nametag.”
Ah, he almost laughed aloud if not for the food in his mouth. He sliced a piece of his chicken and offered it to the wench. She beckoned to her plate and he put it there, though he would have liked it better had she took it in her mouth. “I’m thinking of only one woman.”
She shrugged and continued eating, offering him her fish which he did not refuse.
Brienne told him she wanted to sleep but he refused to let her as he commanded her to play some games with him in the console. She nonetheless agreed after numerous threats which she followed through by soundly beating him in every game. He suggested they watch a movie instead, something he chose which turned out to be surprisingly adult and he spun to watch her cheeks turned pink. He pulled at her headset and leaned forward, whispering, “It’s much better in real life,” just as she pulled a punch at his jaw which had him cringing at the pain and laughing at her red face.
“Shut up or I’ll hit you again.”
“You would want to know how it is to feel like a woman.” His eyes glinted and he was not jesting, it was an unspoken offer, an offer that he could make her feel like a woman, an offer that he would want to make her feel like a woman.
She removed the headset, switched off the monitor out of spite and left for the lavatory then but did not threaten him when he feigned to follow.
“Let me know how to contact you.” He wouldn’t want to sound as if he was pleading but he knew he sounded just like that in that instant.
“No need. We wouldn’t be seeing each other anyway.”
He raised a brow. “I want to see you again, that is why I’m asking.”
“Don’t mock me Lannister.”
“Jaime. And I’m not mocking you Brienne.”
She swallowed hard, the movement in her throat almost too sharp as he reached a hand to brush against her fingers, as a sign of friendship (heck he doesn’t want just friendship!), or as a sign that it was all true he doesn’t know. “I work for Catelyn Stark.”
The movement of his brows were involuntary as the name registered, as the connections registered, as the surety of meeting again all registered in his mind, even as he slowly caught her chin in his hands and pressed a quick kiss, a kiss that had her eyes widening, the blue threatening to spill, the surprise rendering her paralyzed as he bent down to kiss again, to run his tongue along her lower lip, to introduce it into her mouth as she let out a sudden gasp. His left hand caught her attempt at a jab and ran his right along her thigh as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing hers as she slowly melted against him, her tongue finally meeting his in the faintest of touches as he pulled away, light headed and licking his lips.
“I’m offering more than a kiss.”
She blushed and pressed the assist button. She asked for water.
When the pilot announced they would be landing at the King’s Airport in thirty minutes, Jaime felt a little rush of panic. Sure he knew Brienne was working for Catelyn Stark, though that did not assure anything, if anything else, it offered the certainty that though he knew where he would probably find her, it would be close to impossible to see her again. The Starks and the Lannisters were not really, say, on comfortable terms, and he wondered whether knowing where the wench would be found had only outlined and reinforced the impossibility of putting into actions and reality what he was planning for the two of them.
She stood up and he watched as she went to the toilet. He pondered, he needed to know where she lived and how to contact her but the wench was stubborn as a mule and though he had kissed her earlier in which she had blushed magnificently she still had refused to give in to him. And to make matters worse, she had not said anything to him after that kiss, nothing (even as he complained about the pain in his jaw caused by the punch she had pulled much earlier).
He stood up, trained his eyes on the flight attendants milling about and casually made a beeline for the toilet. He turned his head every which way, making sure he was unseen as he slowly rapped on the door. “Brienne.”
“Jaime?” She turned the faucet off.
“Wench.”
“Can’t you wait? Or check the others.”
He rapped on the door again. “Brienne.”
“What?” Her voice sounded annoyed.
He took in a deep breath, flattening himself against the wall as a flight attendant passed by. “Open the fucking door.”
“What?”
“Just open the door.”
There was a long silence and he felt his newfound confidence (and anxiety at not meeting her again) draining and weakening as he heard the click of the door. She pulled the door back slowly. “What?”
He focused on one attendant and as soon as the coast was clear he quickly ducked inside, much to the surprise of the freckled girl. The door closed with a resounding click that seemed to shut off the sounds coming from outside. He watched her eyes widen in surprise, trying to comprehend why he was there inside the cramped toilet with her, her eyes blue and her freckles pink. He grinned.
“What are you doing here Jaime?”
“Jaime. Sounds so much better, easier to say isn’t it?” He trailed both hands along her hip, pressing her against the lavatory, the space too cramped but enough to let him curl his hand around the small of her back, the curve of her arse and hook his fingers under her thigh. He stood between her and the toilet and he guided her leg up to rest against the cover of the lidded bowl.
“What are you doing? Someone might see us—”
“No one will. Keep your voice low.” Jaime caught her mouth in his, a rush of heady excitement coursing through him as he fumbled with the buttons of her shirt. She caught his hands, wrenching her mouth from his, him running after, a low hiss escaping her as he quickly snaked a hand to hold her nape and her head in place, his mouth catching her lower lip briefly as she squirmed and inched her hands to put in between them in mockery of a wall.
She was heaving. “What are you doing?”
“What do you think?”
“Stop playing with me.”
He almost rolled his eyes. “I don’t play games.”
Brienne almost punched him but the force of her swipe weakened in mid-punch, her hand trailing ghost touches along his chest as she curled into herself and away from him. He seized the moment, hands cupping her arse to hoist her up, more securely around his hips as she made a little noise of surprise and protest, her fingers immediately curling around his shoulders to support herself, the sudden rocking of the temporary ground making her pull herself closer, her entire length pressed tightly against his.
“Not with you.” He whispered, flicking the buttons of her shirt, his mouth descending to taste every freckled patch of her pale skin, the movement tearing a little gasp from her lips. His fingers descended on her jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping, his index finger circling her belly, her navel, trailing along the garters of her underwear. “I’d take you home as soon as we hit the ground.”
She looked at him, eyes molten and blazing as she seemed to run over every word in her head, the turning of the wheels in her head reflected in her clear blue eyes as he waited, met her gaze for gaze, even as his hands caressed her skin and made promises that words couldn’t contain. She swallowed hard, straightening her back, finally averting her eyes. Her voice quivered as she spoke. “I know what this is. You just want to fuck.”
He raised a brow.
“You were intrigued, by me, by my size, my face.” She grimaced. “You just want to be that man. That man who could boast to have overpowered me and fucked me.” Her voice broke, a glare in her eyes as she looked at him again. “I know men like you. All of you are the same.”
Anger bubbled in his chest, at her, for thinking of him like that, and at those stupid men who had made her think like that. He resolved to know the story behind her anger, her lack of trust, and he promised to deliver justice, though he doubted if she would want that kind of justice he has in mind (which would include broken noses and teeth and bones and trips to the hospital), she was so good besides (though again, he wondered if she had delivered justice already, surely, she would have.)
“So please…stop, stop this, whatever this is.”
“I want to fuck you.” He pressed his mouth against her slightly parted ones, her breath hot against his lips, the stirrings in his groin growing wilder and harder to contain. “Everyday.” He kissed her again soundly. “Not just once. No, never once, not twice, nor thrice.” He kissed her again. “Do you understand? I’m talking about a longer period of time. Something like everyday.” And everyday doesn’t end.
She didn’t try to move again, her palms warm and clammy against his chest. Her eyes fluttered close when he kissed her soundly again, head tilting in anticipation of his mouth. She took in a deep breath as he pulled away once again, words lost on her mouth as the blue receded and was replaced by desire. He caressed her moist center through the fabric of her underwear. She sharply inhaled.
“So what do you think? Would you like to fuck me too?” He pressed more insistently, the sudden movement causing her to raise her arse up to push herself more tightly against him. “Though I won’t settle for anything less than everyday. I’m not like most men besides.” She heaved, breasts pushing hard against him as he insistently rubbed, brushing his arousal slightly against her inner thigh, drawing a surprised breath from her. He nodded at her as she tilted her head to meet his green gaze, urging her to believe, to not doubt, to accept him, to let herself fall in the same way that he seemed to be falling. And then they would rise. Together.
Her gaze was steel even as she whispered: “Yes. Everyday.”