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-“My body is a cage that keeps me from dancing with the one I love, but mt mind holds the key.”
He felt it after the first crush, after the first fallen rock.
He felt the weight of his lie.
Nothing else matter, only us.
He had said it aloud, almost to believe in it a little more.
Look at me.
She was beautiful in her vulnerability and he had been struck by a wave of tenderness, he had never seen her like that, he had never seen her clinging on him like he was her only salvation. If he always recognized her in their everyday, he couldn’t recognize her now, at the end of the world. That was the reason why he had looked at her like she was something precious, someone to protect, trying to fight that stubborn thought in the back of his mind that still reminded him how she had never needed him any day in her life, she had never wanted him in her glory.
Only now, in her defeat.
That’s what I deserve.
It had been easier coming back, soiling himself in the same corruption again, leaving the decency behind because it couldn’t belong to him.
He was hateful.
He wanted to mirror himself in the same cruelty, he didn’t need a reminder of what he could have been, of what he wanted to be.
It’s too painful.
She was poison, she insinuated in his blood, the same as her, like the most intoxicating wine, mingling with it and convincing him he was made by that cruel nature, because every time she called him, he came back to her.
And what was more reassuring than that old familiarity?
He was a coward.
I love her.
But did he know the meaning of those words? Sometimes he wondered if his love had always been a semblance, like the shadow on a wall projected by the fire in a dark cave. It wasn’t reality, just a projection, an illusion.
He tightened his arms around her and then he felt it, clearly, like the most dazzling epiphany.
It was wrong.
She was small, fragile, almost insubstantial.
It was like his arms weren’t used to her lightness anymore.
I don’t want things growing on me. He had said to another woman, another consistence, another contradiction.
Brienne was heavy, all muscles and honor hiding that almost childish lightness that she kept inside.
But she had grown on him.
Every night spent in her arms had grown on him, their legs interlaced that ended perfectly at the same point, the way she surveyed him while he pretended to be asleep, like she was afraid that he could disappear.
And she had been right.
Brienne was dangerous with the same intensity Cersei was, but in a different way.
Brienne was like honey, dense and slow, sticking to his soul and trying to clean it with its complex sweetness, like a cure for a burning throat.
And now, at the end of the world, one minute closer to his death, he closed his eyes to remember that new heaviness, to smile about the sloppiness of her kisses, to live that first thrill when he had felt the dampness between her legs.
His last pray, be crushed under her body.
He remembered the rush that possessed him that first night, half drunk in her room. He remembered how the more he stayed in her presence, the more lucid he became, because she was too real, too unwieldy. He realized it the moment she slapped his fingers away, pulling his body toward her. That sureness that reminded him of her promptness in the battles, made him aware that he had never wanted any other woman more than her in his life. His fingers moved alone, not listening to his brain, just answering his heart, following his painful desire when they started removing her shirt.
From that moment she took the lead and he so wanted to be led by her, to be under her command forever.
He had looked at her, transfixed, he had looked at her like she was made of wonder.
And the more she touched him, the more he looked at her, the more he felt something he couldn’t name.
I should close my eyes.
But he couldn’t.
He kissed her instead, because she kept talking when he just wanted to lose himself in her silence.
It was frantic, it was absurd, it was addictive.
They were naked in front of each other in a bunch of seconds and she didn’t hide her body like he thought she would have, every time he had daydreamed about her in his sheets. She stayed perfectly calm, facing him, looking at him fiery and proud and he had never felt himself more excited before.
She took his golden hand with little delicacy and she removed it, still looking at him. His stump was in her hand, her fingers learning his shape and he sighed, closing his eyes.
Don’t.
His fear became more tangible when she raised it toward her face, caressing her cheek with it.
Don’t kiss it.
His eyes still closed, because he couldn’t bear the sweetness.
Contempt was easier to deal with, he wasn’t used to affection.
And the moment she kissed it, he groaned in a mix of pleasure and frustration, kneeling in front of her like it was the only thing to do, his only answer to her magnificence. He liked it more when he was the one kneeling in front of her.
He wanted to spend minutes to explore her skin slowly, but he felt the lure of the rush.
His mouth was on her sex almost immediately, to silence her kindness and to turn it into moans. He buried his tongue inside her, bending her leg, heavy, on his shoulder and he kept drinking in her, eyes closed, undisturbed until he felt her fingers pulling at his hair and he stopped for a moment, meeting her gaze.
Her breathing was accelerated, her cheeks pinks, lips swollen for their previous kisses.
He forgot that she was a virgin, he forgot that she deserved tenderness, slowness but he just wanted the rush, he wanted to consume her because she was real and he was scared and the more it lasted, the more he would have wanted it again.
Their eyes met and he understood her silent prayer.
Look at me.
I can’t. He wanted to tell her, but he couldn’t look away either.
His tongue returned inside her and she hissed at the intrusion but he went deeper, and she buried the other hand in his hair too. He groaned, surrounded by her warmth and he started thrusting inside her, losing his imposed delicacy, immediately. His eyes closed again, overwhelmed, and he brushed her skin with his eyelashes, feeling the softness of her hair down there.
He was dazed, lost in his desire, but she guided him and he felt driven by the soft insistent pressure of her fingers.
She guides me even in the darkness and I just want to be blind.
Her moans made him go faster, made him reach every secret in her folds, her juices wetting his mouth, his beard, marking him with her essence and when he felt she was close, he stopped abruptly, replacing his tongue with his fingers, his lips closing around her clitoris instead, sucking it thoroughly, trying to ignore how addictive her taste was.
Is this hope or just the beginning of an illusion?
When she came against his lips, he felt like he had never done anything more worthy in his life, except saving her. He wanted to convert every past rescue in an orgasm, turning every excruciating fear in blind pleasure. He raised, finding her eyes again and when he was in front of her, she took his body in her arms, like she was trying to thank him for something, he still didn’t know what.
You deserve so much more.
He felt her arms tightening around him and he held his breath for a moment, overwhelmed by the contact.
Too much.
Every inch of skin kissed each other and for a moment he wanted to indulge in that intimacy, forgetting his fear, forgetting his demons that looked always like him.
And he searched for the rush again, because it was easier.
He tossed her on the bed, pinning her arms above her head. She kept trying to meet his gaze but he couldn’t fall in her lure, not immediately at least, he needed to resist. He assaulted her breasts like he was starving, like he couldn’t get enough of their smallness. He took one nipple in his mouth, biting it and she arched, her legs opening to give him more space. He pressed himself against her, feeling the dampness between her legs against his stomach and he couldn’t help but rubbing it against her sex, his tongue licking her other nipple to give her more pleasure. She raised her hips to follow his movements and he never thought she could possess that maddening sensuality. He sucked her nipple a last time and then he aligned his body with hers, her sex rubbing against his in a frustrating dance, their foreheads touching.
“Do you want me or not?” He whispered, exhausted.
He felt her hand around him then, caressing his hard member, contradicting his ferocity with trembling fingers.
“Now, please.”
And he didn’t like to hear her begging him, it made him feel like he wasn’t able to give her everything.
It was just another reminder of his impossibility.
This is all I can give you.
When he entered inside her the first time, he kept his eyes closed and they stayed like that for a lot of time, escaping her power, sheltering in his cowardice. His forehead buried in her neck, until he felt her fingers in his hair, almost a familiar call, so strong and yet delicate, raising his head toward her.
“Open your eyes.”
And he did.
Her command was sweet, yet too firm to be ignored.
And he couldn’t look away, and the more he looked at her, the more he wanted to keep thrusting inside her for the rest of his life, never leaving that shelter. It was like a battle, with every thrust she accepted, she gained a little more of him, like the real conqueror she was, like an enthusiast young knight in her first mission that couldn’t fail and he felt like yielding to her, he felt like drowning.
And when he was breathless, her lips fell on his, giving him oxygen again, without him needing to ask for it, and he drunk in them, his eyes still open because he couldn’t close them anymore.
I’ll let you win.
He thought for a moment and he was the sweetest thought, until he sensed a change, a twist of her lips, a lucid veil in her eyes. “Jaime..” She moaned and it came tender from her mouth for once. “Jaime.. I lo-”
“Don’t.” He said, covering immediately her lips with his own.
“Don’t say it.” He whispered against her lips.
I don’t want to hear it. If you say it, I won’t be able to leave you.
And for once, he was grateful for her obedience, even if the small tear that fell from her eye was painful to bear.
She has already understood.
He followed her tear, the tip of his tongue tracing its contour along her cheek until he reached the corner of her eyes and he kissed her eyelash instead.
Her tear was salty and she was so real.
There’s a part of my soul carved just for loving you and another that can’t let her go.
He wanted to tell her.
His thrusts became erratic then, almost angry, never with her, angry with his impossibility, while her eyes darkened, luring him a little more.
And she was stubborn, Gods, how much she was and how much he craved her stubbornness, because he could discern the exact moment in which she tried again, a breath away from her climax.
“Jaime, I lo-”
So he kissed her love away.
She didn’t try anymore after that first night and he was grateful.
But every time they made love again, it was slower than the previous one, more painful and yet sweet, it was like meeting her for the first time.
The more he worshiped her body and he let her make him come with her touch in turn, the more it became dangerous, light, colored with smiles, until that night in which she was the one taking him, her thighs strong trapping his hips, like a riding Amazon, his palm against her heart and for a moment there was no one more beautiful than her, for a moment those three words, stuck on his throat, almost escaped from his lips on their own accord and he knew that was the moment in which he needed to leave.
And then that name, the one she had been able to make him forget, returned again, reminding him how he had always been damned, unable to escape his condemnation. She had been able to tame his self-hatred, but it was always there, creeping in that new unsteady happiness with its silent yet cumbersome presence, and ready to return with a blink.
Her hands, her fingers gripping his face had been the last thing to keep him in that illusion, like she was trying to guide him one last time.
Stay with me.
His fingers caressed her, it’s not your fault, he wanted to tell her, you didn’t fail, you never do. You already saved me the first time you sat there in silence, listening to me, taking me from my bubble.
How many words hidden in those fingers that were gripping her hands.
You saved me but I couldn’t save myself.
His body was a cage that kept him from loving her.
I can’t.
The moment he left her, he knew then, he was ready to die.
And now, with the dust falling from the ceiling, the rocks ready to bury him, he started feeling another kind of blindness, but this time there was no one guiding him, in his arms only a lie, a beautiful spectrum.
He closed his eyes and he saw her oceans.
And in that moment he knew, he wanted to live.