Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/747947.

Rating: Archive Warning: Category: Fandom: Relationship: Character: Additional Tags: Explicit No Archive Warnings Apply F/M A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister Ficlet, Future Fic, Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Loss of Virginity, Woman on Top, Enthusiastic Consent, Awkward Sexual Situations Published: 2013-04-04 Words: 1747

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(i'm in love with) the ugliest girl in the world

by fallingtowers Summary

When Jaime Lannister takes her maidenhead, its not what Brienne has expected. Septa Roelle would make it sound painful and unpleasant, an onerous duty. The songs praise two lovers lying together as joyful and lusty, much cause for ribaldry or romance. Of course, neither septas nor songs are particularly specific when it comes to details, let alone instructions.

Notes
See the end of the work for notes

When Jaime Lannister takes her maidenhead, its not what Brienne has expected. Septa Roelle would make it sound painful and unpleasant, an onerous duty, especially for the unfortunate ladies whose husband turned out to be unkind or uncaring. The songs praise two lovers lying together as joyful and lusty, much cause for ribaldry or romance. Of course, neither septas nor songs are particularly specific when it comes to details, let alone instructions Brienne has long had some ideas about whats involved for the man, but she is not sure about the womans part. It happens in a modest inn in Lord Horroways Town after they have fled Lady Stonehearts wrath and the pursuit of the Brotherhood downstream. If they hadnt each drunk more than a mug of hot rum to get rid of the cold in their bones, Brienne thinks, Jaime might not have kissed her or she would have rebuked him for it.

When they stumble back to their room, the only they could find in a town overcrowded with refugees, the liquor makes her both clear-sighted and maudlin. Duty, honour, oaths all this, she has thrown away for love, and she doesnt rue it, regretting her lack of shame, but not her actions. Its in this very moment that Jaime asks about her serious face and odd stares. An instant later, and the madness might have passed her by, but now the words tumble from her lips before she can bite her tongue. "I did it for you," she says. She neednt say more cannot say more because his mouth is on hers, hard and a little awkward. This is how it starts. The act is less painful than Brienne has feared; Jaime seems neither unkind nor uncaring. He kisses her often, then enters her slowly, asking thrice whether she is hurting, a concern that she finds faintly ridiculous, given that he once tried to kill her. Its over far too soon. Brienne does not mind that she never takes off any of her clothes. His hand is roaming under her shirt, and he pulls down her breeches, but she wouldnt want Jaime to see her naked before him, not then, lest he change his mind or, worse, laugh. She doesnt know, though, how to touch him back, how to hold on to him, how to bend her legs and pull up her knees while he is lying atop her. There doesnt appear to be more to it than the dull ache between her thighs and the fleeting beginning of heat and friction and pleasure that leaves her wanting. And yet, Brienne smiles afterwards, holding his hand while they fall asleep. In the grey light of dawn, Jaime sees her blood on his cock, his seed smeared over the dirty linen, and he stutters a halting apology about her maidens honour. "Dont," Brienne says truthfully. "Surely, thats not where my dishonour lies. Its what I wanted. I just thought it would be different." "Oh." He grins, sheepishly at first, then triumphantly as he strokes her carefully to a climax. Save for the loudness of her breathing, she does not dare tell him that she enjoys his touch, craves it again before his fingers have left her body. Brienne finds other ways of telling him when he seeks her bed again and again. After the second time, when he reaches for her on the river barge to Saltpans, and the third time and the fourth in the harbour tavern, and the fifth in a cramped bunk on the way to Pentos, it becomes a matter of course in her life unaccustomed, but undeniable that Jaime hasnt tired of her yet. He waits for a smile or a nod or a deep sigh to find out what she likes, to see whether she prefers him to palm her breasts or to gently pinch a nipple; sometimes, hell clench her fist around his prick, moving his own hand above it to teach her. Once, after they have crossed the Narrow Sea and find no trace of the other Stark girl in the brick alleys, she cannot abide his embraces and tells him no. He wraps himself around her, lightly stroking her hip, until dreamless exhaustion claims her. Even after that even though Jaime kisses the welts of her scarred cheek and the bridge of her broken nose as he moves over her Brienne cannot bring herself to ask him for anything. She should be thankful for whatever she is given; that he is considerate enough, insisting on her pleasure, well, thats more than a woman like her might hope for. At times, she lies about how well he pleases her, smiles, and kisses his laughing mouth. Therell be other times, she thinks, when he licks her cunt, and she wont have to lie, although she always bites her lip bloody and never makes a sound. From the red towers of Pentos, their search for Arya takes them to the bustling canals and crooked lanes of Braavos, full of brawling sailors and pugnacious swordsmen. One night, an encounter with three drunken duelists leaves them badly shaken. Brienne is bleeding from a shallow cut on her shoulder, but the only thing she can think of is Jaimes blade clattering onto the cobblestones how close she might have come to losing him if the soberest bravo hadnt dragged his companions away from a senseless fight with two weary travellers. When they return to their lodgings, she is shivering,

unable to look at him without remembering the blow that pushed him to the ground. "Brienne," he says urgently, tilting up her chin as she needs to sit down on the rickety bed for a little while. "Brienne, look at me." In his dark and desperate eyes, so unlike the brilliant green ones she is used to, she sees the reflection of her own fears. All of a sudden, it strikes her that she may not be the only one who has devoted her life to loyalty and servitude. Hungrily, she kisses him, far more fiercely than she normally would. It leaves them both breathless. Exhilaration makes her bold, her girlish apprehensions paling in contrast to her giddy relief: she runs her hand down to the front of his breeches, squeezes, and finds his cock already half-hard. Jaime gives her a gentle shove, back onto the bed, but she pushes him away. "No," she says. "Not yet." He stands and watches her, impatiently shuffling his feet. Its no longer that absurd to believe that he desires her. Brienne wants wants him wants to look and touch and feel. "Brienne?" he says again, "Brienne, please." She likes hearing him beg, an intensity in this voice that she hasnt noticed before. "Let me see you," she whispers. Jaime stands and stares, then grins. Its just insolent enough to make her glare and let him wait a moment longer. He is indeed waiting for her, ready to do whatever might please her. The unfamiliar thrill of power alone makes her dizzy. As he runs out of patience hes always been a rash man and reaches for her shoulder, she slaps his hand, bringing it to her lips for a kiss after, to take the sting out of it. After that, Jaime obeys her. He still pleads with her to unlace her shirt and bare her breasts, as mouthy and cocksure as ever, but she doesnt fulfil any of his wishes until he has done the same for her. She studies him in the firelight: the hollow of his collarbone, which she likes to trace with her tongue; the hair on his chest, where she can find single strands of silver, too; a faded white scar across his stomach, from a training injury as a squire; his jutting hip-bones that she felt flush against her, as he took her in haste, up against a brick-wall in Pentos. He groans when she touches him at last, running her calloused hands up his sinewy arms and down the planes of his back, to his arse. "Now you," he says, and she shakes her head. "The breeches first," she orders. Brienne itches to help him undo the lacings because his fingers are trembling and it takes him far too long, but she knows better than that. Eventually, he stands naked before her, his prick stark red against his pale stomach. "Your shirt," he demands. They are both aware its actually a plea. "Let me touch you, Brienne. Just let me." She squeezes her eyes shut to muster that courage too: the courage to tell him, loudly and clearly, where to move his hand and where to put his lips, and she chooses some words which she thought shed never use. When Jaime finally strips off her smallclothes, she is sopping wet and squirming. Kneeling upon the rough-hewn wooden floor, it takes him but a few touches with the tip of his tongue to the swollen flesh of her cunt before the first, gentle waves of pleasure ripple through her. Then, he only has to beg once until she allows him to fuck her. He presses her into the bed, and she lets him get in the first deep thrusts before she uses her strength and rolls them over. Jaime smiles up at her, his hips jerking upwards as well, as though he had never seen anything he wanted more as though

she wasnt the same wench with blotchy freckles and brawny arms, a flat chest and a marred face. But she is. It doesnt appear to bother him, and his left hand digging into her hip urges her to move. Brienne teases him with a slow slide, but his hand brushes up her side and over her breasts and throat, ever so lightly, to cup her chin. He drags her down to him and kisses her with abandon, calling her sweetling and mine, mine, mine as soon as they stop for breath. So she gives in: she rides him, hard and fast, until she no longer cares she is supposed to stay silent, loudly moaning his name. Afterwards, he doesnt pull out, just holds her tightly against him, nuzzling her injured shoulder. She cant distinguish whose heart is racing faster. "I love you, you know," Jaime says, with a studied calm belied by the loud hammering of his heart that echoes within her own chest. Brienne waits for a beat, then two, before she replies. "Yes," she simply says, "yes."

End Notes

Originally written for one of the earlier comment memes in the GoT_exchange community, back in November 2011. Has been posted here before. My sincere apologies to Bob Dylan for nicking the title.

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