Work Text:
Brienne :> Are you busy? I need you.
Jaime :> Of course you do.
:> Your chronic need for me is terminal…
:> But the acute form I can help you with.
Brienne :> Shut up.
:> I have a new bed problem.
Jaime :> New? Admit it, it’s been years.
Brienne :> ??
Jaime :> Never mind. You’re in luck. Beds are my area of expertise.
Brienne :> good.
:> My place, ASAP.
“Oh good, you’re here,” said Brienne.
“That’s what everyone says.” He entered her tiny flat and saw a trail of boxes and furniture parts on the floor, leading into the bedroom. “What’s happening?”
“I’m reading through the instructions before we start.”
“Ah . . . Cheap furniture, the kind poor people buy. It arrives broken.”
“Very funny, rich boy.”
He read the name marked in big black letters on each box. “Ikkia?”
“Cut-price Ikea. Cut-price customer service too. The delivery arrived four hours late and they took away my old bed, so now it’s eight o’clock and I have nothing to sleep on.”
“Well don’t panic, I brought wine. Red or white?” He went to the kitchen and rifled through a drawer for a corkscrew.
“I can’t have alcohol, I need a clear head.” She resumed reading. “Blah . . . blah . . . blah-blah-blah . . . Ok. Necessary tools . . . Two people.”
“I don’t think of myself as a necessary tool,” he said, pouring two glasses of red wine. “More an icing-on-the-cake sort of tool.”
“You’re distinctly unnecessary.” She glanced at him furtively as he joined her in the bedroom, with his superfluous dark blue t-shirt and indigo jeans, shaggy come-to-bed hair, and beard that was gratuitously scruffy and neat all at the same time. “You’re totally uncalled-for.”
Oblivious, the demi-god handed over her drink and clinked their glasses. “Cheers to that.”
She knelt down on the floor and took a much larger sip of wine than normal. “Ok, what’s next . . . Oh. We need a spirit level and eye protection.”
He smiled brightly. “What exactly did you have in mind this evening?”
“Stop that.” Another hearty sip and she continued reading. “Please check contents of package before beginning.”
“Knock yourself out.” He sat down next to her and made a show of stretching out his long legs. “I think you’ll find everything is in order.”
“If any parts are missing call Helpline.” Increasingly nervous, she found herself memorising the number.
“Brienne,” he said gently, “I know you’ve had a long dry spell, but you’re taking this a little too seriously.”
She could feel her cheeks warming up to a conspicuous blush, but continued resolutely, “Keep away from children. Package contains small items.”
“Whoa now. If this is your idea of talking dirty . . .”
“Take care when lifting package to avoid personal injury.”
“Oh, I like that. That’s much better.”
“It means when lifting the bed,” she glared at him. Idiot, she thought at once as he looked back at her. Ignore him. Don’t make eye contact.
“No problem with heavy lifting,” he grinned. “I’m strong enough.”
Too bloody late. Her heart was thumping against her ribs like a caged prisoner. She tried to drink but finding her glass empty, poured some more before continuing. “Two people should take approximately ninety minutes for completion.”
“But we’ve got all night, no need to hurry.”
He was enjoying himself far too much. She found a word on the page that she did not understand and frowned at it, as if it were terribly important. “What’s a Euroscrew?”
“Can’t say I’ve ever tried it.”
She leapt to her feet. “Enough reading. Let’s get started.” She began organising the parts on the floor. “Locate holes in top, bottom and mid sections, insert parts (C).”
“I love a woman who knows what she wants.” He held his hand out for her to pull him up. A little giddy, she did but—forgetting her own strength—the resulting momentum brought him much too close.
“Um . . .” she mumbled, “fix with parts (D) and . . . screw to attach.” She extricated her hand from his. “Jaime. Stop smirking and pay attention.”
“Oh, I’m paying attention.” But he was still smirking. “I have drilling and screwing to do.” He continued smirking for the next twenty minutes.
“Now for the mountings,” she said. Jaime made a sound. It might have been a snort. “Ensure correct positioning. Insert Fittings (D), working from the bottom up. Right side then left side.”
He was quiet now she noticed, seemingly motivated and working with impressive speed for a man with one hand. “Ensure parts (A) and (C) are aligned correctly with the holes of matching parts before joining.” As he bent down to his work his shoulders shook briefly, as if in silent mirth. “Secure by screwing clockwise and carefully rotate position until upright,” she concluded.
Finally they were finished, and Jaime was flushed and looking at her with a warmth that sent her diving for the Precautions page of her instructions.
“To prevent unwanted movement we recommend that this unit is secured to a suitable wall using a bracket. Why? Why would a bed move?”
He smiled at her, patiently.
“Oh,” she said. “I just thought . . . brackets were only for tall things, like bookcases.” She clutched at her instructions. “Um . . . If in doubt seek professional advice.”
“I think we’ll manage just fine on our own, don’t you?” He moved closer, and she stepped back until her leg bumped the bed frame.
“What . . . We?” She blushed, and then blushed more because she hated blushing. “Maintenance. With appropriate in-home care this bed will provide trouble free performances.”
“Really? They should patent that.”
“Periodically check all fixings and re-tighten when necessary.”
“Brienne . . .” His fingers appeared over the page as he took hold of it, pulled it slowly from her hands, and dropped it to the floor.
“It said assembly should be carried out by competent persons,” she finished faintly. “It really should have said that at the start.”
His arms slipped gently around her waist and pulled her close. “It also said to please take care when handling as carelessness may cause damage or injury.” He looked down at her mouth and then into her eyes and his expression softened. “I will take care,” he said.
“I forgot,” Brienne almost croaked, noting how his body was now pressing against hers. “There’s another page. Jaime . . . we have to fit the hanging rails.”
“Hanging rails? What were you planning to do in this bed?”
“It’s a canopy bed,” she murmured.
“Fancy.” His forehead rested against hers. “Not your kind of thing, I would’ve thought.”
“It was on sale.” She felt his lips brush her cheek as she added faintly, “And I can use it to . . . to air-dry . . . my running tights and . . .”
“And . . .?”
There’s something in his pocket, she thought. A hammer or a screwdriver. Or else he’s just really happy to see me.
“Oh just forget it!” she cried, suddenly exasperated beyond all bearing. She reached up and pulled him by his come-to-bed hair till his mouth was on hers and she was kissing him softly, and then not so softly, and then not softly at all. His tongue was in her mouth and it felt better than anything she had ever known, and she forgot she was afraid and grabbed his ass and tore at his stupid superfluous t-shirt until it was gone.
“About bloody time,” he growled in her ear when she pulled back for breath. His fingers moved deftly over her buttons and then to her shoulders, easing her shirt off, right side then left side, till she was free. He stared and smiled and drew her tightly against him, and she felt his heart pounding in his chest. When she met his eye she saw no mischief there, but something else, something rather like greed.
He wants me, she thought.
She pushed him till he was backed up hard against the wall, and saw a flicker of surprise on his face, and then a slow spreading look that almost made her tremble. A complacent smirk, or a lascivious smile, or maybe a delinquent grin, she would never know for sure, for he was out of sight and his mouth was falling hot on her jaw and her neck and her collarbone, and biting at the lacy straps of her bra.
“Oh gods . . . Jaime!” she gasped, as he tried to pull her bra off with his teeth.
He grunted.
“Wait. Jaime.”
He released her bra with a snap and looked at her.
“Jaime. There’s no . . .”
“No what?”
“There’s a problem.”
“I see that.”
“I can’t believe it. I’m such an idiot.”
“You’re trying to kill me.”
“I forgot Jaime.”
“Forgot what, woman?”
“I forgot to buy a mattress.”