Author’s Notes: I wrote this for a challenge over at gameofships. The prompt was ”disappointment.”
Word Count: 2152
Rating & Warnings: NC-17, no common trigger warnings apply
Summary: After being unhorsed by Loras Tyrell on Prince Joffrey’s name day, Jaime visits Cersei to soothe his wounded pride.
Prince Joffrey’s name day feast would go on long into the night, but Cersei knew no one would find it strange if the queen excused herself from the revels while the night was still young. She waited in her chambers now, a second glass of Arbor red in one hand.
She smiled into her wine when the knock came at the door. Two sharp taps, a pause, and then three more. This was Jaime’s signal to her that it was him, and he was alone. She made him repeat it once more, louder this time, before calling, “Enter!”
He had bathed and changed his clothes since the tourney. Gone was the dented breastplate, the red cloak stained with mud and grass where he’d fallen when the Tyrell boy had unseated him at the joust. Free for the night from his duties as one of the Kingsguard, he wore a doublet of deep, rich burgundy trimmed with white and gold.
Cersei had seen him walk from the tourney field unaided, and so she had not worried for him, but still, it was good to see that he seemed to move with his usual warrior’s grace as he came to stand beside her.
"Where are your servants?" he asked as she took one of his hands in hers, kissed his palm, and pressed it against her cheek. His fingers curved to match her shape and caught at loose strands of her hair.
"I’ve given them leave to join the celebration in the servant’s hall. They’ll not be back till morning."
"And what of the King?" Jaime honored their unspoken agreement never to speak Robert’s name in her chambers.
"He will not come to me tonight," Cersei assured him. "The last I saw him, he had two whores on his lap and a third pouring his wine." Jaime’s face darkened. He did not take kindly to her husband’s public disregard for her. Cersei simply laughed and raised an eyebrow at him. "If the King wishes to celebrate the name day of a son who is not his by making bastards that are not mine, who am I to stop him?" she asked.
That got a smile out of Jaime.
"When you put it that way, it almost seems fair," he said, and his smile widened into a grin as he leaned in to kiss her. "I had meant to crown you Queen of Love and beauty when I won," he murmured as he began to work his way down her neck to the hollow of her throat, "I’m almost glad I didn’t." He grazed his teeth lightly against her shoulder, and she shivered. "He might not have left you alone so easily if I had."
Almost glad? Cersei let out an exasperated sigh and pushed him away. Jaime, as usual, was a sore loser.
"Your mind is still on the tourney field," she said.
He shook his head and stretched his long legs out in front of him. “I should not have let him unseat me.”
"You can’t win every tourney, Jaime.”
Her reminder did nothing to placate him.
"I should have won this one,” he said hotly. “It was foolish of me to underestimate him.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “He was only a boy. Another man underestimated you, once.”
"And I took his head off for it," Jaime reminded her, slicing through the air with his sword hand.
"And if you had been trying to kill Loras Tyrell instead of merely knock him off his horse, he would be dead," Cersei said. Asking her brother to fight for show instead of blood was asking a lion to blunt its claws and play at stalking prey. Entertaining, perhaps, but not a true display of its power.
"True enough," Jaime said, "though it does little for my wounded pride, or my disappointed expectations."
Cersei reached over and poured wine into a clean glass.
"Wine dulls the edge of disappointment, I’ve found," she said, offering it to him.
He took it from her with a nod of thanks and asked, “And are you often disappointed?”
She thought of all the nights she ached for him and he could not come to her, of her girlhood dreams of being Rhaegar’s queen, of her empty hands when Jaime held his first sword. All she said was, “Yes.”
He took a long, deep drink from his glass, and when he looked at her again, his face was serious.
"But not tonight, I hope," he said.
She almost laughed, but he was so seldom serious that she did not. Does he think that I care if he wins or loses at the games he plays with other knights? He is whole and here, and the night is ours alone.
"No, Jaime," she said, resting her head on his shoulder. "Not tonight."
He put his arm around her shoulders and gathered her against him while he drank his wine, and when his glass was empty, he reached over and started pulling out the pins that held her hair one by one, kissing her temple or her neck each time he found one.
When he had found the last pin, he ran both hands through her loose hair and pressed his lips against hers. It was a hungry kiss, and she met him with equal desire. In the same moment that his hands went to the back of her dress, hers were on his belt, and they stood as one to make it easier to shed their clothes. She undid the golden clasps that ran down the front of his doublet, and he shrugged his shoulders and let it fall to the floor before going back to working at the complicated set of knots that kept her dress closed.
She laughed and untucked his shirt from his breeches and ran her hands over his bare skin before slipping his shirt over his head and tossing it onto the floor with the rest of his clothes.
"I’ll have you naked before you undo the first knot," she said smugly.
"You’d like that, wouldn’t you?" Jaime said, still fiddling with her laces.
"I think I would," she said. "But… here…" she turned in his arms so that her back was to him. "It’s easier this way."
He made quicker work of her dress, then, and when it slipped from her shoulders to hang at her hips, he covered one of her breasts with one hand. He played with her nipple, pinching it erect while pulling at the loose end of the sash around her waist. The skin of his chest was warm against her back, and when her dress fell to the floor completely, she leaned into him. He folded both arms around her waist and rocked his hips into hers so that she could feel his cock hard against her. The pleasant warmth that had been unfurling in her belly flared up and coursed through her body.
Jaime must have felt her stiffen in his arms because he laughed into her hair, picked her up, and carried her to her bed. She knew it pleased him to show her how strong he was, how easily he could lift her, and so she did not hate him for reminding her of her own weakness.
He set her down against pillows covered in silk of Lannister red, and he kicked off his boots and unlaced his trousers before coming to lie next to her.
For the first time, she noticed the angry purple bruise on his right side. It was nearly the size of her hand, and the center was so dark it was nearly black.
"You didn’t tell me you were hurt," she said.
"I’ve taken worse," Jaime said flippantly. "My pride took the worse wound, I think."
"Does it hurt?" Cersei asked. She pressed gently against the edge of the bruise, and Jaime winced.
"It does when you do that,” he said, catching her hand in his and moving it away from his bruise. “The maesters thought I might have cracked a rib, but they decided I had not, and I was glad of it. They would have fussed over me more than they did if I had.”
Cersei almost felt sorry for the maesters. Jaime had never been an easy patient.
"It will fade in time," Jaime said. Then, he rolled her from her back onto her side so that she faced him. "And it will not keep me from your bed."
She was glad to hear it, and she showed him by slipping her hand between his legs and closing her fingers gently around his cock. Jaime groaned softly, and she kissed him to keep him from doing it more loudly, but still he moaned against her lips as she started to stroke him.
"No louder, my love," she whispered. As always, she was the one who had to remember such things. But as always, he listened to her, and he busied his mouth with kissing and sucking at her neck, her ears, her throat.
She began to stroke him more quickly, and he bit down hard at the place where her shoulder met her neck. Cersei bit her lip to keep from crying out and took her hand away from him.
"Be careful, Jaime. You must not mark me."
His voice was sharp and angry in her ear. “He does.”
She dug her nails into his arm, half in anger, half in fear. Anger at Jaime for reminding her that another man left marks on her, and in fear of the day when Jaime could no longer contain his rage at seeing her hurt. She tried not to let him see, but her brother was no fool.
"There are other ways to make me yours," Cersei said at last.
Jaime had her on her back before she took her next breath, and then he was in her. She had been ready for him, but still she thrilled at the shock of being so suddenly, perfectly whole. He began to move in her, and she hooked one leg around his waist to guide him deeper. He moaned into the pillow by her ear, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him as he fucked her.
Their bodies were soon slick with sweat, they were moving faster now, in perfect rhythm with each other. He thrust into her as if striving for something he had lost, and she arched into him as if grasping at something she knew might be taken from her. Her skin was alive with the heat of him, the rush of his breath on her face, the strength of his back under her hands, the fullness of his cock between her legs.
They came together, and she held his face against her shoulder to keep him from crying out as the climax of their pleasure coursed through them.
Afterwards, when he was still breathing hard, he said, “I’ll never know how you keep silent so easily.” He kissed her forehead. “I try, but I cannot.”
"It’s a skill I practice every day that you have never learned, for once,” Cersei said, laughing. “You say what you think, when you think it, and men find you to be bold and witty. Why should you have learned to keep quiet?”
Jaime laughed with her, but he shook his head. “You are wrong. I think a great many things I don’t say. I don’t tell anyone but you how perfect I think your breasts are, or how sweet your cunt is,” he trailed his fingers over it to emphasize his point, “or how much I would dearly love to take you wearing nothing but your hair. And so, you see… I too, can keep silent.”
Cersei rolled her eyes, but she had to smile. “I suppose I should be content knowing that you are not that much of a fool,” she said. Jaime grinned at her in that utterly confident, blithely arrogant way of his, and her smile softened. The hard, angry edge was gone from his voice.
"You seem more yourself now," she said.
"As it should be… I am always most myself when I’m with you."
He rolled out of bed and poured both of them more wine from the pitcher. It was getting warm, but it was still drinkable, and neither of them would let it go to waste.
"You said before that wine was the best cure for disappointment," he said as he crawled back into bed with her. "But I think I must disagree." He pulled her close to him and kissed her soundly. "This is.”
"An interesting theory, brother," she said coolly, between kisses. She could feel the heat of desire rising in them both again. "One I think we should put to the test."
Jaime laughed until Cersei grabbed two fistfuls of his hair and crushed her mouth to his.