When her brother left for Crakehall, when she pulled him into the stables to bid him a proper farewell before their father came down to see him off, they’d been of a height, both with long curls and soft cheeks and bodies made up of straight lines and flat planes.
But now he stands a hand-span taller than she, all long legs and broadening shoulders and wiry muscles. After they steal away into the quiet room in the rear tower and bolt the door, he grips her tight- his hands are big, big and rough- and all but pushes her onto the bed.
And then it’s a mad scramble, just like always- buttons and laces and hooks, fabric flying and falling, and then skin on skin, her sweet Jaime, his hands and mouth everywhere.
He seems such a man that she worries that she’ll find hair on his chest, but she is relieved to discover it as smooth as ever. There is a very slight prickling on his cheeks, but she doesn’t let it trouble her- their lips fit together, perfect, perfect always, and when he urges her mouth open with his tongue, she breathes his name.
She finds that she can’t stop saying it- he kisses his way up and down her body, over her little buds of breasts, down her stomach, between her legs- she squeals then; “Oh Gods, Jaime”- and then back up to her lips- he laughs at her insistent echoes: “Jaime, Jaime, Jaime...”
He’s strong enough to cage her in completely, and it thrills rather than alarms her. She reaches down to stroke him- he’s grown larger there, too. He bucks into her hand as he sucks on the white skin of her neck, then pushes forward, enough that the head of him teases against her most sensitive spot.
She sighs and squirms, delighting in the soft pressure- and then he shifts lower, until he’s positioned just above her opening.
Cersei clenches her hands on her brother’s shoulders and lifts him up enough to look him in the eye. Jaime just smiles, that crooked, wicked smile that makes her heart pound, and he lifts one hand to stroke her hair while using the other to stroke somewhere else.
“There’s nothing to fear,” he whispers. “You’ve no maidenhead to speak of anyway- I was there, don’t you remember? When you broke it riding Uncle Gerion’s stallion?”
She nods, but she bites her lip all the same. For she realizes what this will mean, even if her brother can’t see it. If Jaime enters her, truly claims her, they will never be able to make themselves forget. Before this, there was always the possibility, the idea in the crevices of Cersei’s mind that she might move on from this, that she might marry a man she loves and give herself to him willingly, that she might remember these secret trysts with her twin as nothing but childish games, something to recall with a wistful fondness and a hint of embarrassment.
But as she looks into those mirrors of her own eyes, as she feels the warmth of his body against her and tastes the sweat of his skin- her silver prince is gone, wedded to another, and how could some vague, phantom idea of “husband” compare to the reality of her beautiful golden brother here between her legs?
Her mind wanders absurdly to an afternoon years past, when she watched in horror as Jaime leaped from the cliffs of Casterly Rock into the brackish water below. After he re-emerged, wet and glistening and glorious, he shouted at her to join- Cersei stood at the edge, her heel firmly planted while her toes hovered- “Don’t think, just jump!” She’d closed her eyes tight, bent her knees, knowing that a split second was all that stood between her and the downward fall- “Don’t think, just jump!”
Jaime leans in to kiss her again, his forehead against hers, his eyelashes swiping against her own with every blink. “Please, Cersei,” he breathes.
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timeasmymeasure
FILL: Jaime/Cersei; "The Precipice"; R
Date: 2012-03-05 07:25 pm (UTC)When her brother left for Crakehall, when she pulled him into the stables to bid him a proper farewell before their father came down to see him off, they’d been of a height, both with long curls and soft cheeks and bodies made up of straight lines and flat planes.
But now he stands a hand-span taller than she, all long legs and broadening shoulders and wiry muscles. After they steal away into the quiet room in the rear tower and bolt the door, he grips her tight- his hands are big, big and rough- and all but pushes her onto the bed.
And then it’s a mad scramble, just like always- buttons and laces and hooks, fabric flying and falling, and then skin on skin, her sweet Jaime, his hands and mouth everywhere.
He seems such a man that she worries that she’ll find hair on his chest, but she is relieved to discover it as smooth as ever. There is a very slight prickling on his cheeks, but she doesn’t let it trouble her- their lips fit together, perfect, perfect always, and when he urges her mouth open with his tongue, she breathes his name.
She finds that she can’t stop saying it- he kisses his way up and down her body, over her little buds of breasts, down her stomach, between her legs- she squeals then; “Oh Gods, Jaime”- and then back up to her lips- he laughs at her insistent echoes: “Jaime, Jaime, Jaime...”
He’s strong enough to cage her in completely, and it thrills rather than alarms her. She reaches down to stroke him- he’s grown larger there, too. He bucks into her hand as he sucks on the white skin of her neck, then pushes forward, enough that the head of him teases against her most sensitive spot.
She sighs and squirms, delighting in the soft pressure- and then he shifts lower, until he’s positioned just above her opening.
Cersei clenches her hands on her brother’s shoulders and lifts him up enough to look him in the eye. Jaime just smiles, that crooked, wicked smile that makes her heart pound, and he lifts one hand to stroke her hair while using the other to stroke somewhere else.
“There’s nothing to fear,” he whispers. “You’ve no maidenhead to speak of anyway- I was there, don’t you remember? When you broke it riding Uncle Gerion’s stallion?”
She nods, but she bites her lip all the same. For she realizes what this will mean, even if her brother can’t see it. If Jaime enters her, truly claims her, they will never be able to make themselves forget. Before this, there was always the possibility, the idea in the crevices of Cersei’s mind that she might move on from this, that she might marry a man she loves and give herself to him willingly, that she might remember these secret trysts with her twin as nothing but childish games, something to recall with a wistful fondness and a hint of embarrassment.
But as she looks into those mirrors of her own eyes, as she feels the warmth of his body against her and tastes the sweat of his skin- her silver prince is gone, wedded to another, and how could some vague, phantom idea of “husband” compare to the reality of her beautiful golden brother here between her legs?
Her mind wanders absurdly to an afternoon years past, when she watched in horror as Jaime leaped from the cliffs of Casterly Rock into the brackish water below. After he re-emerged, wet and glistening and glorious, he shouted at her to join- Cersei stood at the edge, her heel firmly planted while her toes hovered- “Don’t think, just jump!” She’d closed her eyes tight, bent her knees, knowing that a split second was all that stood between her and the downward fall- “Don’t think, just jump!”
Jaime leans in to kiss her again, his forehead against hers, his eyelashes swiping against her own with every blink. “Please, Cersei,” he breathes.
Cersei wraps her legs around him, and she jumps.