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It’s well known that the Olympic Athletes Village is a total fuckfest, but the Olympics have nothing on the National Aerobic Championship in this regard. Traditionally aerobic athletes wait until after the teams competition is over before sportfucking as many willing athletic bodies as they can before the weekend is through. Brienne doesn’t even make it that far. Not even close.
She turns away from her partner in this National Aerobics Championship crime, trying to figure out where her spandex wound up when he peeled her leotard and leggings from her body, her mind on the larger clock that looms by the door in the small dance studio-esque room she warms up in. She was supposed to meet with her teammates backstage five minutes ago.
“Relax,” he tells her when he too glances at the clock. “You have plenty of time.”
Brienne wastes valuable seconds to stare at him in complete disbelief.
Some athletes swear it’s bad luck to fuck before the competition is complete. Others just think it’s bad form. Brienne doesn’t want to know what any of her teammates would say about her fucking Jaime Lannister, the captain of Stark Raving Rad’s biggest rivals Hear Us Roar right before the National Championship. This is what they’ve all been training for. What she has been training for. And somehow she allowed herself to be distracted by his sparkling green eyes and his glistening golden skin and god-like body when she should have been warming up.
She had been warming up, she thinks bitterly as she strides naked across the room and scoops up her metallic silver leggings where they landed against the far wall.
*
Brienne hasn’t been competing that long, but she has a routine. Her pre-competition routine is almost as tightly choreographed as the one she will be performing on national television just as soon as she can get herself back into her clothes. She curses herself for her poor choices, refuses to glance in the mirrored wall that would allow her to get a look of Jaime as he too begins to gather his own clothes, as she struggles to get her leggings back on. Pulling on skin tight spandex is time-consuming under the best circumstances, and trying to do it in a rush while slightly sweaty from previous ill-advised activities is proving to be a challenge even greater than the Spring Bounce for a Cause Aerobics Marathon.
At least she has plenty of time to consider every bad choice that led her to this moment as she yanks her leggings towards her waist with increasing desperation and wonders if her thighs have impossibly gotten longer since she last was dressed.
*
Brienne had been warming up alone. She usually warms up alone. It lets her fully focus, disappearing into the stretches and movements with every molecule of her being. It’s the best way to get her in the zone so she can bring her A-game to the aerobics floor. Even before basic classes and rehearsals Brienne takes time away from the rest of her team and aerobic enthusiasts to warm up by herself. Just her and her walkman and her thoughts until she’s so absorbed by the rhythmic movements she’s not aware of herself at all.
Her coach encourages Brienne to stick with this routine, even if it sets her apart from her teammates, as it obviously works for her. Brienne wasn’t named one of this year's aerobic breakout stars to watch for nothing.
Her two teammates have been competing together for a lot longer than Brienne has been with them, and they are rarely seen out of each other’s sight before competitions. Brienne knows she will find them in one of the larger warm-up rooms. She should have already gone and found them in the larger warm-up rooms. That’s the next step of her pre-competition routine: emerging from her solitary warm-up to meet up with her teammates 15 minutes before they are set to compete.
Instead Brienne is still fighting her way back into her leggings, praying that once she gets her tights and leotard back on there won’t be a notable wet spot between her thighs, when she should be discussing any last minute details and getting pumped with her team.
As if reading her rattled mind, Jaime walks over and offers his workout towel to her. He’s wearing nothing but his red terry cloth headband.
“It’s clean,” he says.
She takes the towel.
*
She tries to ignore him while she wipes herself off, but it’s not a big room and it has a mirrored wall and all of this is his fault. If he hadn’t come to see her when she was warming up this would never have happened. It shouldn’t have happened. She never should have let it happen with anyone. Not before a competition. But fucking Jaime before a competition is so much worse. Jaime, who has a history of sabotaging Stark Raving Rad before events… If Coach ever finds out, Brienne is as good as cut from the team.
How could Brienne be so stupid? She doesn’t even like Jaime.
But then she unwillingly catches a glimpse of him as she resumes shimmying into her leggings and feels her body flush with heat.
He’d come into the small warm up studio and closed the door behind him like they’d planned this and she’d hating him for coming to her and she’d hated him for being so handsome and she hated him for what he’d done to Robb Stark and she’d hated how much she loved to fuck him.
Brienne has to pull her mind away from some particularly vivid memories of her and Jaime disregarding every unwritten rule of the Nation Aerobics Championship to spot her bright blue leotard on the other side of the room from where she found her leggings.
*
“Get dressed,” she tells him as he watches her step into her leotard. “I’m leaving as soon as I’m decent.”
There’s that smile that makes him look like he’s got something clever to say but she huffs in a way that she hopes emphasizes that she’s not messing around and he shrugs.
His flashy red leotard is dangling haphazardly from the barre affixed to the mirrored wall. The same barre she was using to stretch out her leg when he came in. She has vague memories of him throwing his unitard aside when they finally managed to free him from it but she had not paid attention to where it landed at the time.
She sees him smirk in the mirror before he goes to retrieve it.
*
She watches him flip his unitard the right way out before he steps into it.
When she realizes she’s been watching his toned buns on their journey from bare to covered by that thin layer of spandex that does not hinder their perfection in the slightest with singular focus, she frowns. “Don’t let anyone see you when you leave.”
He flashes a grin at her in the mirror as he adjusts how his junk sits. “Why not?”
“You know why not.” Brienne resists the urge to cartwheel across the room and ‘accidentally’ kick him in the face. He’s just as infuriating as always, and unfortunately, he’s just as good a fuck. Brienne had wondered if the other time was just a fluke.
It wasn’t.
If anything, the lack of bed available to them this time just made it better. Before Jaime, she’d never fucked someone even remotely on her level in terms of athleticism, and the two of them being forced to improvise in this small studio space had led to positions and pleasure Brienne is already working hard to not dwell on. At one point she had been standing with one her her legs over his shoulder while he—
When she realizes how tightly her jaw is clenched she forces herself to relax. She can’t bring that tension into the competition. If she does she won’t stand a chance. She bounces on the spot and shakes out her limbs to loosen up.
No-one can find out that Brienne Tarth of Stark Raving Rad and Jaime Lannister of Hear Us Roar were in any sort of contact right before the team championships. It would be even worse if Jaime wandered out of the room Brienne had been using for her private warm-up looking as pleased with himself as he currently does. Brienne hates herself for being in this situation as she stalks off towards the discarded socks she hopes are hers.
*
He probably fucked her to fuck with her. And it’s working. Brienne refuses to let it work. She isn’t Robb Stark. She isn’t going to let anything Jaime Lannister says or does before the competition get in her head the way Robb did. She glances at the clock on the wall as she yanks her white athletic socks on. She’s late to meet her team, but she has enough time to get there before the competition begins, especially now that she is almost fully dressed and Jaime’s dick is no longer hanging out.
Fucking Jaime, she silently grumbles as she stretches to her left to retrieve a leg warmer.
She really enjoys fucking Jaime. She hates that she does. But she does.
She wishes she could swear on her favourite workout mixtape that she will never, ever, sink so low as to fuck him again, but looking at the way his stage-ready body glitter shimmers on his skin and still feeling the pleasant aftereffects of experiencing his signature aerobic move that earned him the name Goldenman the Thurst in a far less TV-friendly format, Brienne knows that isn’t the case.
*
Brienne had mocked him for that ridiculous nickname at an earlier competition. (She hadn’t mocked him for the body glitter. She liked the body glitter. And she liked that he kept wearing it even when everyone else made fun of him for it. She still hated him though. She just respected his commitment to literally shimmering on stage, that’s all.) Anyway. Her mocking his stupid nickname and his stupid signature move that isn’t even hard was the conversation that had somehow led to her alternating between bouncing on his cock more vigorously than when she was testing out the new exercise balls Coach had bought for the gym and learning the ins and outs of Goldenman the Thrust’s extraordinary skillset first-hand.
And while Brienne might argue that in competition his signature move isn’t difficult, when experiencing it first hand he is certainly hard.
*
“I think this is yours,” Jaime says. He’s already got his own leg warmers back on and he’s holding a spare.
“Unless you’ve got three legs,” Brienne replies and immediately regrets it when a devilish smirk spreads across his face.
He tosses her the spare leg warmer and she snatches it out of the air. “You said it, not me.”
She doesn’t dignify that with a response.
*
Brienne has both of her leg warmers on as well as her socks and she’s working her white Reebok high-tops back on and then she’s out of here. She is relieved to see that Jaime is also almost done redressing. He’s pulling on his socks with a level of precision that she’s not certain is necessary, but whatever.
When both of her shoe laces are tied she stands and bounces on the balls of her feet, testing the tightness. There’s nothing worse than getting out there and being unable to think of anything but how her left shoe is looser than her right.
And today, of all days, she needs to be in the zone without any distractions.
She checks the clock. She still has a tiny bit of time before she absolutely has to be with her teammates, so she closes her eyes and takes a moment. As soon as she steps out of this room she will be with her team and her coach, then being announced and then stepping out onto the stage to compete. She has to be ready so she walks through it in her mind one last time.
She doesn’t do the actions in full, she just shifts her weight just the smallest bit as she feels her way through it. The left-right-left and then the split kick that looks like the climactic element of her solo section of the routine but isn’t. Everyone thinks it is, including her teammates and her coach, but Brienne has something else planned for those final crucial beats.
She inhales and visualizes it as she has a million times leading up to the National Aerobic Championship. She knows she can do it, this nearly impossible move she has perfected in secret that no one, not her coach or her teammates or her own family, knows she can do.
She exhales.
She is ready.
*
When she opens her eyes Jaime is watching her. “I didn’t know you could Oathkick.”
“Who says I can?” Brienne replies too quickly, but otherwise successfully hiding how off balance the question has put her.
“That sequence was the lead up for the Oathkick.”
There’s no way for him to know that. She’d barely been moving. Slight shifts of her weight. Maybe a little bend of her knees. There had been no kicks, Oath or otherwise. Jaime is just trying to get into her head.
Jaime doesn’t seem to register that she hasn’t replied. “No wonder you warm up alone.”
Brienne has always preferred to warm-up alone, but the work she’s secretly been putting to the Oathkick is a huge part of why. Not that she’s going to tell Jaime that. He’s not going to catch her admitting that she can Oathkick on a technicality.
“I need to go,” she says.
“I’m not going to tell Stoneheart.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
The slight smile on Jaime’s face makes her certain he knows that isn’t true.
“I need to go,” Brienne repeats. She takes a few steps towards the door. But then Jaime says the worst thing he could possibly say:
“You can do it.”
Brienne stops. The final piece of the ‘why did Jaime show up in her warm-up room in the first place’ question has slotted into place. She turns back to face him.
“That’s what you told Robb Stark.” She says it like the accusation it is. That’s exactly what Jaime had told Robb Stark two years ago, right before Robb went out and attempted to land the Oathkick in competition and broke both of his ankles instead. Robb would never be able to do aerobics at a competitive level again.
“I was lying to him,” Jaime says easily, as if the image of Robb’s agonized face as his ankles snapped beneath him does not haunt him in the slightest. “I’m not lying to you.”
Brienne doesn’t trust Jaime any further than she can throw him and Jaime seems to be only just now realizing that. His smile falters. Good. Maybe he’s finally realized that she knows exactly who he is. Him being a good fuck doesn’t make him a good person and she’s known that from the start.
She turns to leave but he takes a step to follow her and touches her arm. She turns back around.
They are standing much closer than they were.
*
“Brienne, it doesn’t matter what I say to you. You already know you can land the Oathkick. That’s why you’re going to be the first person to land it in the National Championship,” Jaime says. “And besides, you’re so stubborn, if I told you that you couldn’t you’d go out there and land two.”
There’s truth in that. Brienne catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror and regrets that she’s never been any good at hiding her feelings. The look on her face is as good as confirmation and Jaime knows it as well as she does.
*
There’s an undeniable spark of energy humming between them. The same energy that had them peeling each other out of their leotards not long before. She wishes she didn’t like it so much.
“Where’d you even learn it?” he asks her. “Stoneheart ruled it was too dangerous to teach after Robb.”
She weighs the risks and answers anyway.
“I taught myself.” She’d studied the move frame-by-frame using a bootleg copy of the North-East Regionals. Stoneheart would have kicked her off the team if she knew Brienne had a copy of that tape. Stoneheart wanted to forget that she’d been the one to introduce the Oathkick to the aerobics world.
“Rad,” he says approvingly.“That’s how I learned it too.”
“You can Oathkick?” Brienne asks, genuinely surprised. He’s never done it in competition. If he could Oathkick he’d cement his place as the greatest aerobics athlete of all time. Why was he keeping it a secret?
“Not consistently,” Jaime admits. “I still under-rotate on the landing.”
She nods, knowing exactly what he’s talking about. It had taken her ages to figure it out. “The trick is you have to—”
“Oh?” he asks.
Brienne grins at him instead of finishing her sentence. “You’ll see.”
The clock on the wall ticks away several long seconds that she shouldn’t be using to stand here looking at Jaime Lannister golden and glimmering under the fluorescent lights before she turns and heads towards the door and her teammates and the National Aerobic Championship.
When Brienne grasps the door handle she looks back at him to tell him to hide, but he’s already moved to where he won’t be seen when she opens the door. Her gratitude at this gesture is enough to leave her unable to find anything to say to him.
Jaime gives her a little nod when their eyes meet and says only, “Knock ‘em dead.”