Work Text:
She's cooking his dinner, or what has surely turned into their dinner, and she doesn't even realize what she's doing until it's time to turn the chicken in the skillet and add the capers.
This is ridiculously domestic, and she is far more pleased with the notion than anyone whose knuckles are as bruised as hers has any business being, but she is. She loves helping, being useful, and maybe most of all she just likes being needed, as desperately corny as that sounds. It's a new experience, being needed by a man (who isn't her father) who she needs back, but it's one she finds she likes more than is probably good for her. Of course, she'd never tell him as much, lest the happy families act dissolve around her in a puff of smoke, and she can only hope and pray he doesn't notice.
Not that there is much threat of that. This model of a man who is sitting on the counter a few feet from her poring over the paperwork she brought by as she makes herself at home can be persistently observant when he wants to be, but when it comes to matters concerning her, she'd rather blend in the background. If he did catch on, he would most likely laugh and stand in the doorway of the meager kitchen his apartment affords booming out an 'I Love Lucy' reference like it's the funniest thing in the world for her to fit into his life like this...instead of the most natural.
It feels natural for her, now at least, but it hasn't been this way for long. She had hated him at first, sometimes still does, but then he laughs at her in that way no one has before, a laugh that makes her smile back instead of burst into tears (although he's made her do that too) and she feels something inside of her lift a little. When it isn't just the two of them alone and in private together she still has moments where she feels like the ugliest girl in school stuck on the sideline of the gym at prom, and not a grown woman with a successful career and a ridiculously complicated relation-err, friendship with Jaime Lannister. Thankfully, those moments are becoming much fewer and further between, replaced by ones where she can forget who she is is and who he was and just be...them.
Like tonight, when she had been working late (as usual), and had come across a report buried in her case load that she thought he might want to have a look at. Six months ago, she wouldn't have dreamed as to be so bold, but now, she's at his street before she even has time to realize that she is about to waltz straight into the bachelor pad of none other than Jaime Lannister like it was no big deal. When she thought about it like that, she could scarcely believe it herself, but it was for work, after all, and he had been interested in what she'd uncovered, as evidenced by his pleasant, yet uncharacteristic pleasant silence while he thumbed through the document and she cooked.
When she first met Jaime he had been leaving a courtroom, triumphantly exonerated from charges everyone knew he was guilty of, and looking more gorgeous than someone who had spent the past three months in prison had any right to be. The only thing which threw off the ensemble was the sling wound over his chest, a sign that his fellow inmates hasn't taken too kindly to a man accused of attempted murder of a child thrown into their midst. She had been on her way to another jury, and if he remembered her as the woman who had worked for his accuser he didn't seem to remember as their paths crossed without much fanfare. Later that day, though, when he was talking to the reporters outside the courthouse steps as she exited he bade them part for her to pass with a wink that didn't quite sit well with her, and she wondered if he might know her better than he let on. She watched the press coverage later once she was home, in sweats with a bowl of ramen in her lap like the college kid she just barely wasn't any longer, and listened to his talk of returning to work now that the 'nonsense' of his trial had been cleared up. She had flicked the channel over, eager to wipe him from her memory faster than the tabloids could smack his face on a cover, sure he was just another snot-nosed lawyer who didn't give a damn about real justice, or social workers like her who were up to their eyeballs in cases that would make even his perfect golden hair curl.
And she had been right.
Then the Stark case she had been working on had exploded, and if herself and the rest of the world had thought the Lannisters corrupt before, they had only just nicked the tip of the iceberg when Sansa Stark decided to come out of hiding. Suddenly people who had brushed her off a hundred times before desperately needed to talk to her, and it was only a matter of time before the cops were waiting for her outside her office and Lannister minions doing the same by her front door. Each and every one of them wanted information from her, whether to expose it or keep it hidden, but she guessed that much was to be expected...what had caught her off guard was when one of those minions turned out to be none other than the mogul's son himself. Especially when he pulled himself up from slouching against her doorframe like some kind of majestic African cat, and asked if she had anything to drink that wasn't a Shirley Temple like they didn't barely know each other. She isn't quite sure what she was thinking when she invited him up, only that her hands were shaking for some inexplicable reason as she poured them both a few fingers of scotch. She needed it after another day of disheartening work at a job she was finding was not at all like what she had thought she was getting herself into after college, and she tried to tell herself that it was merely exhausted that had her nerves so jangled. But them a jolt rushed through her when his knuckles brushed her own in cheers, and she couldn't have been any more shocked at the turns of events the evening held as when he told her he had stepped down from his fathers firm. He said it conversationally, without any further explanation, and then had to go and follow it up by asking if she happened to know anyone in need of some pro bono work as casually as if he was inquiring as to the weather. She drained her glass, and knew her life was never going to be the same after that night.
It had been questionable, given his track record, as to whether or not he knew the actual definition of the word 'work,' but judging from the cases he's been going over with her, he might have actually learned a thing or two in that pompous law school his daddy funded.
It wasn't really fair when people were talented and good-looking.
So here she is, out way too late on a work night, bringing over a report on a girl who had become a missing person years ago named Jeyne Poole to see if he happened to remember anything about her case from when his time at Lannister & Lannister. It seemed that the girl had done an internship in King's Landing before she disappeared, a situation eerie in its similarity to the Sansa Stark case, only this time there was no remaining family alive to fuel the investigation and the search had been over before it had even begun. The whole thing had an air of corruption about it, and she wanted to get input from someone who was well-versed in the subject. That had been her only intention when she rung his doorbell, swear, but then he had answered with a plate of raw chicken breast he was going to put in the microwave, for heaven's sake, and she had taken it from his hand before she even fully knew what she was doing. The plate was melamine, anyway. He must have left all his fancy stuff when he ditched the loft daddy paid for in favor of this dingy little thing way to close to her own complex for comfort (she tried not to think about whether or not that was a coincidence).
He's humming under his breath, murmuring certain words out loud to himself as he reads in a habit she doesn't even think he is aware of but she has become far too familiar with, when his phone rings. She can't help but to start at the sound, feeling less than domestic and more like a mistress to be intruding at this time of night, when such a call is hardly going to be of a professional nature.
Unless, of course, it had come from her. Which it hasn't...this time.
She almost burns her hand on the pan as she freezes like a deer in the headlights, but there is something in the easy way that he groans while sliding off the countertop and brushes against her while reaching for his phone that takes the edge off. And even more so when he half-heartlessly snarls a few less than choice words into the receiver with a mischievous smirk on his face.
Ahh, Tyrion then. She should have known.
Turning her attention back to the stovetop in case she sears a finger on the hot pan again, she turns down the heat and covers the skillet to let the dish simmer. Opening cabinets, she begins to set the table, pushing down the surge of contentment which threatens to push a smile on her face at just how familiar the place has come to be. Jaime walks into the adjoining living room to take the call, flopping down on the couch more gracefully than she thought the word 'flop' could ever allow, and bits and pieces of his conversation drift back to her as she pulls silverware from a drawer.
She hears her name, followed by an almost coy kind of laugh, and the words, 'oh did she' chased with more laughter. His voice drops lower and she is unable to pick up the rest of the conversation, which she chides herself for eavesdropping in on in the first place. Jaime chats up his brother for a few more minutes, and by the time the call has ended she is dishing out the Picatta on matching plates.
He doesn't move to help her, but remains in the doorway watching her with a curious look on his face. It makes the skin on the back of her neck prickle in what isn't an entirely unpleasant way, and she hopes the blush creeping up her cheeks can be attributed to the heat coming off the stove.
"That was Tyrion, as I'm sure you surmised." He tells her, cocking his head to stare at her as if something might have changed about her in the moments he spent away speaking to his brother.
"I had hoped you hadn't taken up speaking as...eloquently to anyone else, yes." She leans over the table to put the plates down, deliberately letting her hair cover her pink cheeks. "Is he coming over? I can cook another chicken breast if he is?"
"Nah, he's drinking his dinner, as usual. There was a family thing earlier today he is trying to recover from."
"You didn't go?"
"Wasn't quite invited. Abandoning the family business isn't looked upon too kindly with us Lannisters. Anyway, not all my family has written me off as entirely as my father has, evidently though. Tyrion said our Aunt Genna was trying to set me up with someone."
"Really?" She said as neutrally as possible, wiping her suddenly sweaty palms against her pants leg before giving up rearranging the silverware for the umpteenth time and retreating to the fridge for the pitcher of iced tea she hoped would be inside.
"My brother told her he'd ask, but he doubted I would be interested."
"Oh?"
"He was right."
"Oh?"
"You've said that already."
His voice was way too close, issued from somewhere not far behind her left shoulder as she leaned her flushed forehead against the chilled pitcher. Jerking away, she had wrapped a large hand around the glass handle when his own came around to cover hers.
"I'm not thirsty right now, Brienne."
She bit her lip and forced herself not to answer him in the same manner yet again. Deftly maneuvering from under his hold, she slipped away from the refrigerator to stand before the wine rack adjacent to it.
"Not even for a Malbec? I know white is supposed to go with chicken, but I could really-"
"Damn it Brienne, would you just look at me for a second?"
It was painful to face him, not knowing what his perfectly-chiseled expression might hold. She thought she knew him, could read his emotions well enough over the past few months they had spent together in order to anticipate what was to come, but the tone in his voice now sounded as perplexed as she felt and she was scared to know where that feeling might lead them.
"Why did my brother know I wouldn't be interested in meeting the girl my aunt picked out for me?"
"Well you...you don't date much." She almost whispered, avoiding his eyes as they peered at her with far more intensity than she felt comfortable with. "Everyone knows that."
He laughed, and took a surreptitious step closer to her. "I don't date at all, Brienne."
"Yeah...that too."
"The thing is, I've never been one for dating, and yet lately I seem to be spending an extraordinary amount of time with one woman in particular. So much time, in fact, that Tyrion told Aunt Genna that I might already be involved with her."
"But who..." She chanced looking up at him then, confused as she was by his statement. The only person Jaime spent time with outside of his brother was herself, at least to her knowledge, and if he was seeing a woman she didn't know when he would have the opportunity to...
Oh.
"Come now, I'm supposed to be the dumb guy here Brienne, I'm allowed a pass where feelings are concerned, right? I know you're thick, but you can't honestly tell me you didn't pick up on what was going on between us before my brother enlightened me, did you?"
"But, we aren't...I mean...we're friends? Friends spend time together don't they?"
Truth was, she honestly didn't know. She had never had a friendship that went deeper than finding someone to sit beside in lecture, let alone a boyfriend to...well, cook dinner for, amongst other things.
And she didn't think he had either. At least, not in the most traditional sense.
"Yeah, friends do. But friends don't generally kiss one another."
Her breathing literally stopped for a heartbeat or two, and seriously, when had he gotten so close to her? She struggled for words, "We've never...kissed?"
"No." He licked his lips unconsciously, and something clenched dangerously in her stomach. "Not yet, at least. I think that might be the defining standard which separates a friendship from a relationship though."
"I haven't...I don't know how to..."
His eyes are closed and he's resting the tip of his nose against her own. "Which one, kiss or have a relationship? Because honestly, I don't know much more about the latter than you do, but I'd be more than willing to teach you about the former."
"What if...what if I said either? What if I'm bad at both?"
"If you really think so, if you don't want to take that chance...I guess we could go back and eat that dinner you so painstakingly-and platonically-cooked for me..." His lashes flutter open and he moves back and away from her to give her space she so desperately wanted about five seconds ago, but now her hands are reaching for him before he can take another step.
"No."
"Thank the gods."
Brienne had been kissed before, once, in college, but it had been a sham of a thing, all beer-breath and cruel intentions thinly veiled beneath a courtship she should have known better than to let herself be sucked in by. But when Jaime surged forward to capture her lips with his own in a kiss that was gentle only for a moment until she responded as fervently as her inexperienced mouth knew how, she was glad she had not wasted any of her kisses on men who were not the one currently coaxing her swollen lips open with his tongue. This was worlds different, better by any stretch of the imagination that she might have been able to concoct from dreams she tried to convince herself she hasn't had. This was real.
Jaime was warm pressed against her own body and solid, and when she she placed her trembling hands over his broad shoulders she could almost feel the intensity thrumming through his frame absorbing into her fingertips. He was real, and he wanted her, and as his mouth patiently moved against her own in a disjointed yet deliriously intoxicating rhythm, she pushed aside any doubts as to whether or not he could possibly be sincere in his motivations. The ledge of the counter dug into her back, but she scarcely felt it as Jaime's good hand slipped under her blouse to rub tantalizing circles against the sensitive skin at her hip.Though his fingers had certainly set her flesh to tingling, she soon felt as insistent buzz below his hand in her pants pocket that she could not attribute to her desire for Jaime alone.
She reached for her phone only to silence the thing, but the name on her screen caught her eye as she pulled away from him. Jaime buried his head at her shoulder and began sucking hot, open-mouthed kisses against her collarbone while mumbling that he didn't like to share against her skin. She shivered, but answered all the same.
"Tyrion?" She tried to control her breathing but failed miserably as she gasped into the phone.
"Just checking." He said in a voice that didn't even try to hide how proud he was of himself. She could all but hear the smirk in his tone. "I'll let you get back to it then."
"Oh! But I'm not...umm, I mean..."
"Goodnight Brienne. And tell my brother it's about damn time."