Chapter Text
It all started for Jaime three weeks ago. He and Brienne had been the last two at the gym, working out as they usually did, planning to grab some dinner before heading home. She’d left her towel and phone on the weight bench and he’d gone into the ladies’ changing room to return them.
And there she was, in the shower, soap bubbles sliding off her skin, those acres of bare, pale, freckled flesh. She was washing her stomach and her breasts, so small and pert. Her hand had just moved further down when he made some noise that got her attention. She’d shouted at him to get out, covering herself with her hands before grabbing a towel. He should have waited outside. He should have left the moment he’d heard the shower running. He should never have looked. He should never have stood there watching. He should have gone when she’d asked him. He hadn’t. And now he couldn’t get the image of his best friend naked out of his mind.
At first, he’d tried to pretend it hadn’t happened. Brienne had blushed when she’d finally met him at the door of the gym, choosing to skip their post workout meal. She’d blushed again when they’d met again for their usual Tuesday lunch. Pretending he hadn’t seen her didn’t work for either of them. He’d finally resorted to jokes about her breasts, and that at least seemed to make her more comfortable, if the constant memory caused a certain tightness in his trousers.
It had gotten easier for her. She’d fallen back into the same routine they’d had since college: lunches, dinners, workouts, complaining about work and family and friends, seeing the latest movies at midnight when they came out. For him, it had all changed. He found himself compelled to pull out her chair, take her to dinner at nice restaurants instead of their usual sandwich shops; he couldn’t stop staring at her mouth when she talked, and he spent more time cataloging her reactions than watching the films.
Tyrion had laughed at him for being obsessed with his own best friend. But still, there it was every time he closed his eyes, the sight of Brienne naked. She’d gotten into his blood, and he knew of only one way to get her out.
Last week, he’d just come out with it and suggested they have sex. Both of them had needs, he told her, why not take care of them together? It was all right between friends, wasn’t it? He'd tried a half dozen arguments. She’d scoffed and hadn’t taken him seriously, at least not at first. She’d thought he was joking, then mocking, then she’d accused him of being drunk. Eventually, she’d just shaken her head at him and left.
That was two days ago and he hadn’t heard from her since. He was desperate. Desperate for her. Sneaking into her house at midnight probably wasn’t the best idea, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d crawled into her bed in the middle of the night. It would just be the first time he’d crawled into her bed with an intention other than sleep.
His hand trembled as he reached to open her bedroom door. He’d done this hundreds of times, since they’d first bonded when he’d broken all the bones in his hand and she’d helped him with his physical therapy. She knew his secrets, all of them, even the worst ones, and still she cared for him. She was Brienne. And he couldn’t stop thinking about her naked.
Inside her room, he could see her facing away from him, the moonlight spilling from the window to dance over her bare shoulder. She always wore a thin, tight, sleeveless shirt, like the type she wore to workout and men’s boxers to bed. He pulled off his shirt and shimmied out of his pants, lifting the blankets and sliding in beside her. She didn’t stir, but let out a small snore. He smiled to himself as he curved his body around hers, placing his palm flat on her stomach, and kissed the side of her neck.
For a moment, she relaxed back against him and he could have sworn she whispered his name. Then she was stiff and pulling away from him as she woke up.
“Jaime,” she whispered, “what are you doing?”
He pulled her back towards him, pressing his hardness into her backside. “What does it feel like I’m doing?” he whispered back. He rubbed her stomach softly.
She sucked in a ragged breath. His instinct was to kiss her neck, turn her so she was on her back and he could finally claim her mouth, her pouty, too full, too red, often scowling mouth. He wanted her to want this as well, wanted her to want him. So he waited.
“This is a terrible idea,” she whispered.
“No it’s not,” he argued in a normal tone, “and we are the only ones in your apartment, there is no need to whisper.”
“Yes, it is,” she insisted, much louder now.
“Come on, Brienne, we’ve known each other for years. We know everything about each other except this.” He tried to insinuate one of his legs between hers but she wouldn’t have it.
He kissed her neck again and heard her inhale sharply. There it was, that sound, her desire for him in that quick intake of breath. Something inside him eased. He wasn’t alone in wanting this.
She pulled away. “No, Jaime.” She was practically on the edge of the bed now.
He rolled over on his back, releasing his hold on her. “Why not?”
She was silent for a moment before turning over to face him.
He looked at her again, her eyes shining in the dim light of the room.
“If we do this, what happens tomorrow?” she whispered so softly he barely heard her.
He laughed. “Well, tomorrow is Saturday, so we usually workout and then go to the Lyseni buffet and stuff ourselves, then we pick a movie and hang out here.”
She shook her head. “No.”
He rolled on his side to face her. “No?”
“If we do this, how can we go back to that?”
“What do you mean?”
She closed her eyes and when she opened them, she had a look of resolve. He watched the muscles tensing in her throat as she swallowed thickly. His palms itched to touch her.
“I mean, if we do this, how do I tell you about my date with Hyle?”
He stiffened, “You are not getting back together with that asshole.” Brienne’s ex-boyfriend had hurt her terribly and had almost driven a wedge in their friendship. Almost.
She shook her head, “No, I’m not. But I mean how do I tell you about my dates or the guys I sleep with?”
He chuckled, “Come on, wench, I know you don’t do one night stands.” It was killing him not to reach for her, kiss her, feel her squirm underneath him.
She bit her lip. “I’m not sure what’s gotten into you, thinking you want me. And no, I don’t do one night stands, and you don’t either. But that’s what this,” she motioned back and forth between them, “would be.”
She was blinking now, and her eyes were glassy.
“Brienne, it wouldn’t be like that…” he began.
She shook her head again. “Yes, it would Jaime. It would be awful and we wouldn’t be able to talk or look at each other again without it all feeling wrong.” She reached out and placed her hand on his arm, “You’re my best friend, and if we did this, we wouldn’t be friends anymore.” She hiccupped slightly, “I can’t lose my best friend.”
He reached out to her face, letting his thumb trace underneath her eye, feeling the slight dampness there. “You wouldn’t lose me. I promise.”
“Think about it, Jaime. Think about tomorrow."
Her gaze was unbearable. He closed his eyes. He hadn’t thought about tomorrow, or the next day. He’d just been consumed with a need to touch her, feel her, take her and hadn’t even considered the after, that everything would be different, that they would be different. He could hear her labored breathing beside him.
He exhaled. “I’m sorry, Brienne. I wasn’t thinking.”
He felt her tense beside him before she relaxed. She forced out a chuckle, “Well, is thinking really your strong point?”
His hand sought out hers. “I’m a good thinker. I’m just better on impulse.” He ran his knuckles across her palm. “Can I stay?” he whispered.
It seemed an age before she answered.
“Yes.”