A/N: Excuse me, you might ask—but from where did that blanket appear? Ah, I reply. Patience. All will be revealed in due time…

Chapter 7: Of Positions and Time

"Mmmmm…Jaime," Brienne murmured, stretching her limbs lazily, doing her best impression of a carefree Lannister cat. A few water droplets danced across her drying skin. "It's truly wonderful here."

The two lay on a soft blanket on the grass, air-drying themselves, under a spreading tree of piney branches, after departing their watery retreat. The Golden Knight responded to his lady-love by softly kissing her bare shoulder. He curled himself around her, ever the protective male lion.

"You make all of this wonderful."

"Flatterer."

"You love it."

"I hate to say that I certainly do not dislike it," Brienne smiled.

"You 'hate to say'? Hm. You hate. To say." Brienne could almost feel Jaime rolling the words around in his brain. "Now why would the Lady Brienne 'hate to say' that she 'certainly does not dislike' my compliments? Interesting—is the lady afraid to admit that the Kingslayer can turn her head? Is she afraid for the Kingslayer to have the upper hand? Ah! That must be it! Indeed... Though truly, it must be said—it's not quite sporting of the Lady of Tarth, is it, when considering that the poor Kingslayer only has the one hand left, and the non-dominant one at that—"

"Do you never tire of these word-games, ser?"

"Not really, no. Do they annoy you?"

"What happens if I say 'yes'?"

"I'd say, it's a good thing you haven't spent any real time around Tyrion."

Jaime took that opportunity to slide his knee between her thighs; his hardened cock slid over her buttocks and teased her woman's place.

"Jaime…"

"Or—" he purred low. "mayhap I am only partially correct in my assumptions. Mayhap my compliments to the Lady of Tarth have nothing whatsoever to do with the deliverer, but instead the problem lies with the receiver. Does my lady still not believe herself entirely worthy of pretty words? The best she can do is to say that she 'hates to say that she does not dislike' such niceties." He spoke his words directly into her ear; his lips grazed her lobe. "Brienne, has anyone ever told you that sometimes you think too much—even talk too much?" She stiffened in protest and opened her mouth to retort, but Jaime twisted her chin to silence her with a deep kiss.

Despite his efforts, Brienne's body did not relax.

"No one can see us, my lady," Jaime said, his lips traveling from her mouth back to her ear, her hairline, the back of her neck. "No one ever comes here but me." Brienne made a derisive noise and remained stiff, which Jaime found amusing, as they were both naked as their name-days in the out-of-doors. He would have thought she would have given up on propriety and shyness earlier, when they were inside of the cave.

"Even if someone could see us, then let them look! Let them watch how a man makes proper love to his lady—let's show them how it's done." Jaime curled his left arm around her body, covering and cradling her breasts at the same time. He pulled her very close and slid himself inside of her, his thighs firmly pressed to the backs of hers, and strangely enough, in spite of being naked, Brienne's intimate places were quite hidden, and she did relax a little. Jaime uttered a groan into her damp hair, lightly pinching one of her nipples.

Brienne sucked in her breath audibly at the feel of his long, thick length deeply caressing her aching insides, and the exquisite tight pleasure his fingers drew from her breasts. Jaime barely moved behind her; he just slowly rocked her, his cock gently circling inside of and pressing against her walls. For him, there was all the time in the world.

Jaime always refused to rush their passion. One morning, when Brienne had awakened first, she had nestled closely to him, reveling in the warmth and comfort of their sleepy bodies and goosedown bedding, relishing the dusky quiet before the entire castle arose. She remembered having pressed her bare breasts against his back and snaked her arms and legs around his torso, trying to awaken the lion. That morning she knew he had needed to be elsewhere shortly after dawn, so she was expecting a sweet little tumble—instead, Jaime had given her his complete, unhurried attention for nearly two hours before throwing on a tunic and breeches and striding off to meet someone about something, her scent and taste all over him. She had felt discomfited to cause his tardiness, but he had shown no regret. He had taken his time as usual and loved her well and long with plenty of sweet words and smiles. She remembered protesting the length of their activity at the beginning of their encounter, but honestly, she had ceased caring when Jaime had responded by flipping her over onto her hands and knees and deliciously impaling her on his fingers. There had been a time when Brienne would have sworn to all of the gods old and new that even a great passion could never make her lose focus on the important expectations of other people, but Jaime and his requited love had quickly rendered her previous viewpoints absurd and intangible.

Brienne recalled that the intimate attention from Jaime's hand had made her very incapable of rational speech at that moment. Once he had grown ready again, he had replaced his fingers with something more satisfying, and he had slowly thrust into her, gripping her hips as best he could, holding her in place and both of them in check with his slow rhythm. There were times that Brienne would have been inclined to a quick little shag, or a faster, harder pace, but Jaime was stubborn and persistent and would have none of it. (She smiled to herself at her present situation—could she ever have imagined being so besotted that she could replay a

past intimate moment in her mind at the same time that she was enjoying a current one?! How her septa would have in turn scoffed at, scolded, and whipped her for such thoughts! She laughed ruefully though inwardly at herself). And here she was, months later, still mentally blushing beet-red at her wanton actions and thoughts (though with the passage of time, admittedly less-so every day)—but also simultaneously, silently confessing that being on all fours with Jaime behind her—tall, strong, rakishly handsome, and in control—was one of her favorite lovemaking positions—not that she had ever (or would ever) tell him that.

As their experiences together multiplied, Brienne had been surprised to discover that she was secretly pleased to behave now and then in ways that stirred within her a submissive femininity. It was refreshingly pleasant to play the quintessential female, a creature of quieter wiles and gentler ways of being in the world. She often wondered if young, highborn women such as Margaery Tyrell and Sansa Stark liked being 'proper ladies', praised and desired for their beauty, position, and female accomplishments, yet also requiring the protection of men. She wondered if they enjoyed making love, or even if they referred to it as such, and in which position. (Brienne had colored as she realized that both Sansa and Margaery would make love as married women, with the hopes of strengthening their houses with offspring, regardless of their feelings about the act or how it was performed. She, Brienne, was not married and was not actively trying to bring forth Lannister cubs). She had chosen to hurry past this confusing thought then as well as now, as it surfaced again in her mind.

Jaime had broken her reverie at that earlier time when he had curled himself over her, releasing her hips to clasp her around her torso, the bare heat of his chest flush against her back. His lips had grazed the nape of her neck, and then he had sighed loudly and mournfully into the soft yellow waves of her hair. "The sun is rising, my love," he had said. She had acknowledged him by pressing back against his body, exhaling slowly, and opening her eyes to view dim rays of light peeking around the edges of the window curtains, the encroaching sun and the warmth of her lover dispelling her analytical thoughts.

Now she turned her mind to other women to distract herself—less proper women—the Mormont women. They were likely the only women with whom she could truly commiserate, but she had never met the she-bears; she had only heard rumor of their masculine, northern ways. She envied them: they did not seem to draw ridicule in the same way that she always had. What would it have been like to have had a mother and a sister who were more like me? And then Brienne was ashamed of herself—how could she so disrespect the memories of her mother and sister?—and she physically shook off that thought, causing Jaime in the present to clutch at her harder, and push himself deeper, mistaking her tremor as one made out of ecstasy and not personal disgust. Brienne gasped at the new twinge of pleasure and closed her eyes. Jaime softly bit at the junction of her shoulder and neck, his breath hot and soothing on her skin. Brienne shivered for good reasons this time; her top hand reached behind to find purchase on his top leg. She gripped his thigh tightly, her fingers pressing into the toned flesh, gluing his lower body to hers. They could not be closer. She cast backward in her mind again, to anchor herself to her original pleasurable thoughts, and thus float back completely within the present sensations.

Brienne could almost swear that Jaime exulted a bit louder and longer when he took her from behind. He reveled in the masculine domination only infinitesimally more than the gorgeous feel and sight of his wench when she proudly rode his cock. Mmmm…Jaime's cock….

Brienne hadn't brought up the subject of the duration of their lovemaking again, for several reasons. Jaime might think her wanton, and yes, she still worried about that. Years of lectures from her septa died hard. She still reddened at the idea of a man and a woman discussing anything to do with lovemaking—even though she and Jaime were by now quite educated in each other's physical topographies, even as his cock was currently buried deep within her. She was glad Jaime couldn't see her flustered face.

Am I really complaining that he wants to love me long each time? No, I'm not complaining. Gods, I am not complaining! …I'm just…curious. Brienne couldn't count the number of times she had been within earshot of men's bawdy conversations, and of course, there had been jokes about how long each man could perform, but she had inferred that length of performance for some reason was further proof of a man's, well, perceived manliness among other men—and nothing whatsoever to do with the pleasure or affection between the two lovers. Come to think of it, it was more than a bit strange that men talked to each other about how long they lasted in the act…

I wonder if Jamie's trying to prove something to me with these marathon lovemaking sessions. Could it be because of the loss of his hand? Does he feel like he needs to show me that he is still a champion in all matters physical? Does he need to prove that he is stronger than me? Oh gods…that must be it. This is largely a physical contest. He thinks that I'm already too masculine, too strong, so he must assert his manhood with me every time—

Her musings were interrupted when Jaime suddenly pulled out and rolled to his back. Brienne turned in surprise.

"It's all right, love. I just want to look at your face, that's all. Mayhap my lady would like to take a ride?" Jaime gestured to his cock, standing proud and ready.

Brienne smiled softly and swung a leg over his thighs, easily sliding onto him. Jaime pulled his knees up and bent them, allowing Brienne to lean back slightly against them. Jaime groaned at her lovely, toned body on full display, her legs spread wide, her knees framing his torso. Brienne closed her eyes, leaned her head back, and grasped her ankles to steady herself.

I'll bet women like Cersei never have upsetting thoughts during lovemaking…

And suddenly the connection and the details of that thought horrified her—it was ghastly—so much worse than thinking of Sansa and Margaery in such an intimate way, for so many reasons! By the gods, what is wrong with me?!

"That's a sweet sight, to be sure, my lady, but I want to see those gorgeous eyes of yours."

Brienne snapped opened her eyes, picked up her head, and transferred her hands to rest flat on his chest. Jaime grunted with satisfaction and held her hips in a vice-like grip, beginning to plunge slowly and steadily upward into her. His green eyes sparked and locked onto her blue ones, issuing a silent challenge.

Brienne found herself still distracted by her previous thoughts and repulsed by a whole new set. She tried to break eye contact with Jaime, but he would have none of it—he only thrust up harder when her gaze began to slide away from his—but soon he realized that something was amiss, and so his left arm grabbed around her waist and flipped her body so she lay underneath him. He brought his arms up to frame her face; his body solidly between her legs and pressed to her torso; his lips and nose skimming hers. "I love you, Brienne." She felt the words as much as heard them and knew them to be true. She opened her eyes wide in response and met his gaze.

"And I, you, my Jaime." Though it was uttered softly and without hesitation, it was said without a smile, and her eyes blurred.

"Yet something distracts you."

"Oh, no, I—"

"You are a very bad liar." Jaime smirked, lifted himself off of her, and kissed his way down her lithe body. Upon reaching the apex of her thighs, he murmured, "I think I must teach you some focus, my love. All good knights must excel at being able to focus on the task at hand." His forearms held open her legs, his fingertips parted her sweet folds, and his mouth descended on the plump flesh within, gently sucking, nipping, and circling the delicious center, making her swell and twitch into his greedy mouth.

Brienne took a deep breath and finally let go of all but the glorious feel of Jaime's mouth. She arched her back and cupped her own breasts, her nipples sensitive and surprisingly cool to her touch. She could feel Jaime smile against her flesh, and when he slid his thumb from her folds over her woman's place and between her buttocks and back again, teasing tiny circles over her wet entrance and her most private place, her climax surged and broke and rolled over her in waves. She cried out, heat shooting throughout her body, and Jaime hooked his right arm over her thigh, sucked hard at her flesh, and plunged two fingers deep inside of her, curling them upwards, gloating inwardly at the tight and strong contractions that squeezed him.

Brienne felt like she was falling and dying and being renewed all at once. She cast out for the proper emotion, but failed, and tears pricked at her eyes, and Jaime's touch overwhelmed her.

After a time, her hand skittered over his head, and Jaime circled her flesh with his tongue once more, slowly, slipped his fingers out of her, and kissed the inside of her thigh, pillowing his head on her leg, breathing hard. He took her hand from his hair, kissed the palm, and started to relax, but Brienne suddenly rolled to her side, almost decapitating Jaime.

He extricated himself, confused, and bent over her. She was shaking slightly. He grinned, thinking himself a very good lover indeed, and opened his mouth to tease her and congratulate himself, but then stopped as if cold water had been splashed over his head—because it was then that he realized Brienne was silently crying.

A/N: P.S. I can't believe I haven't updated this story in so long! Oh gods! If anyone is still reading this, and you liked it, please let me know. Kind words are so inspirational, after all…