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They had to cancel the wedding.
After months of planning, their Father had found a way to drive a wedge between them, and Jaime had left her by a mournful winter afternoon, in the house they were meant to build together with between her hands the pictures of her and Euron Greyjoy having dinner together.
It had been pure business, of course, a dinner made to convince the Greyjoys to invest in their Father’s company. She had endured the man’s japes with fake smiles and his wandering hands as if she had been an ingénue. All of this to please their Father, hoping he would finally consider her as a major advantage in the company, and give her the position she had been lusting after since she had been old enough to understand what the word legacy meant, but Jaime hadn't known that. He had seen red after one of their Father's traditional lectures, finding out about the secret meeting. A lecture she hadn't attended as she had stayed home that day.
Cersei had tried to sooth Jaime’s anger when he had come to find her, but he had been too blinded by jealousy to listen to her. The outburst of their voices had echoed through the walls of their little house in Soho before he had called off the wedding and stormed out of the room to not come back.
It hadn't been their first fight, and it probably wouldn't be the last, but it had been the first one where they didn't make peace with each other immediately afterward.
She had hoped he would have been back by now, it had been two days after all, enough time to unwind, but from what she had gathered, he was at Casterly Rock with Tyrion. Whining about her on his couch. At least, that’s what their younger brother had told her by messages. The urge to text him, to know if he was alright, was itching her, but she refused to beg for him to come back.
Cersei dried her tears with the back of her hand before pushing herself up to sit in the bed. Lost between the sheets, the bed seemed bigger for herself alone. She craned her neck around. The side where Jaime used to lay was perfectly tidied up.
An annoyed groan escaped her as she recalled all the blissful moments they had spent intertwined between those sheets. She pushed them away to swing her legs and sit over the edge.
Fine, if Jaime wanted to cancel the wedding, she wouldn't go against his decision, but she had so many phone calls to make, dear Lord. She needed to make a list first, she decided.
After brushing her hair and tying it into a high ponytail, she went to the kitchen and began to start cooking her breakfast. Bacon and fried eggs with french toasts and a cup of dark coffee. As she ate, she wrote down on a piece of paper the name of the vendors with their phone numbers. Then, she would have to do the same thing with the guests.
She was almost done when the backdoor swung open. Cersei looked up, deep down hoping it was her brother coming back, hoping that he had eventually come back to his senses, but she had to lower her eyes to watch Tyrion closing the door behind him. Wrong brother.
“No one has ever taught you how to knock at the door?” she sighed.
Tyrion stepped further into the room. “Good morning to you too, dear sister,” he said with a cheerful nonchalance that irritated her.
Cersei reclined in her seat, dropping her pen on the table. “What do you want?”
“Nothing.” She arched an eyebrow. “I just wanted to know how you were despite the… circumstances.”
“I’m fine, thank you,” she snarled, gazing back at the list.
“Jaime isn’t.”
“I don’t care.” It was a lie. She hoped he felt like shit as much as she did. “He is the one who said the wedding was canceled.”
“Well, about that, Father is pretty pleased.”
Cersei scoffed. She should have known better. When their Father had easily accepted Jaime and her would get married, she should have known he had a plan in mind to disrupt their engagement. He had just bid his time, and surprised her in the trickiest way. “Oh, I’m sure he is.”
A pause.
“Anyway, I have something to show you,” her little brother said.
Her brows furrowed together, staring at him. “What?”
“It’s back at Casterly Rock,” he replied. “Why don’t you come with me?”
Cersei tilted her head, suspicious of her brother’s new scheme. “Jaime is there,” she stated.
“And Casterly Rock is the largest castle in London,” Tyrion said as a matter of fact. “You won’t cross his path. Unless you want—”
“No!” Holding Tyrion’s gaze in defiance, she swallowed a sharp breath. “No, I don’t want to see him.”
“Okay, now it’s settled, you can come with me.”
“What makes you think I would follow you anywhere?”
“Because what I’m about to show you belonged to Mother? I’m sure she would have loved you to have it at the wedding.”
Now, she was intrigued, and maybe she would follow him. She folded her arms over her chest. “Why didn't you bring it with you?”
“If Father finds out I touched Mother’s stuff, he would kill me.”
Cersei breathed a sigh. He had a point. She weighed her options for a second. “Alright, I’ll come with you.” A smile grew on her brother’s face. “But I swear to God, if it’s a trap—”
“It’s not, I promise.”
She wasn't sure she believed him or not, nonetheless curiosity was tickling her.
“Give me five minutes to get ready,” she said.
*
**
They were now pacing in the west wing of Casterly Rock. The extension had barely been touched in years, still haunted by the ghost of Joanna Lannister, and a shiver ran down Cersei’s spine. It felt as if they were flouting the law, entering in a cocoon frozen in time with its ancient tapestries hanging on the walls and the mahogany furniture. Only the servants had ever been allowed to come here and clean the different rooms where the Lannister’s treasures were hidden.
She could recall playing hide-and-seek for hours with Jaime and their Mother between those walls. Innocent laughters had filled that part of the castle before they had faded away into tears with the death of their Mother. For taking her away from her, she could never forgive Tyrion, but now the two siblings were on a quest, though she wasn't sure what the reward was.
“What did you say it was?” she asked once again. She had already asked in the car, but she was highly suspicious of Tyrion's intentions.
“A hair-comb.”
“Right.” So far, her brother had kept his story straight, so maybe he wasn't lying.
They took a few more steps before Tyrion declared, “Ah, it’s here,” pointing out the next door. They stopped their tracks in front of it. Then, her brother opened it. “Ladies first,” he said with a flick of his hand and an annoying grin on his face which caused Cersei to roll her eyes.
She stepped inside the room, eyes wandering around, until the sight of the broad silhouette she could recognize anywhere made her body freeze.
He had his back turned on her, slightly bending over the desk, reading some piece of paper.
“Jaime,” she found herself whispering.
At the sound of her voice, her brother spun on his heels, emeralds meeting emeralds, and it felt as if her world shattered underneath her, swallowing her whole.
“Cers,” he said, a slight smile splitting his face in two.
Trap. It had been a trap when Tyrion had promised it wasn’t, and a burning rage overwhelmed her. She turned around to leave the room, but it was too late. Tyrion had already slammed the door close, and she could hear her little brother turning the key in the lock.
“Tyrion!” she exclaimed, banging her hands against the door. “Open the door!”
“No,” he chuckled.
“You little imp, I’m gonna kill you!”
“I don’t care. Your revenge is gonna be sweeter than hearing Jaime whine about you,” Tyrion said. “You have two hours to sort it out. Tick tock.”
A groan dripped from her lips as she let her forehead fall against the door. Then, slowly, she turned around, catching Jaime’s intrigued look on her. “Did you know about this?” she asked.
“No, Tyrion sent me a text telling me to be here at 10, so…”
“And you trusted him?”
“Yes!”
Cersei closed her eyes, shaking her head. Of course, Jaime would trust Tyrion without a second thought.
She took a deep breath, trying to gather her own thoughts. When she eventually did, her eyes snapped wide open, and she moved past Jaime, toward the front of the desk. She opened the first drawer only to find a stack of papers. She closed it, and tried the second one. Same.
“What are you doing?” Jaime wondered.
“A key,” she said, looking up at him. “I’m trying to find a key, Jaime. To get us out of here.”
“Come on, you know Tyrion, he probably knew you would try to find one.”
“Worth trying,” she whispered. She spun on her heels, her eyes staring at the windows. “Or the windows. We could get out by the windows.”
“No, you’re gonna break something.”
She turned back to face him. “Oh, because you care now?”
“I do.”
Cersei sighed. “Whatever.”
*
**
She quickly dropped her idea to leave by the windows. Jaime was right, she could break something, and she didn’t want to deal with a broken leg for weeks, but she kept searching for a key. She looked everywhere; in the closet, in the bedside tables, under the bed… Nothing. Cersei came to the conclusion Tyrion had stolen all of them, as Jaime had told her. Discouraged, she sat on the bed, dropping her head into her hands, trying to avoid eye-contact with her brother.
“Is it so bad to stay two hours with me?” Jaime asked.
“Yes.”
The mattress shifted on her left with Jaime’s weight. “You know, you wouldn’t have been able to avoid me for the rest of your life.”
“I could have tried.”
He leaned closer, until his hot breath was tickling at her ear. “So stubborn,” he whispered, which caused a thrill to run down her spine. God, she hated how her body was easily betraying her.
She lifted her head. “Don’t,” she warned, and Jaime slightly recoiled.
“You can’t still be mad at me!” he exclaimed as she got up on her feet.
“You thought I was fucking Euron Greyjoy behind your back and called off the wedding!” Cersei said, twirling around to face him, hands on her hips. “I have every right to still be mad at you.”
“Well, you didn't tell me about that dinner with Euron Greyjoy. What was I supposed to think?”
“Dear Lord, Jaime, don’t you see it was Father’s doing?” she asked. “The dinner, the photos…”
“You didn't seem bothered by his advances,” he replied, arching an eyebrow.
“I was faking the whole time!”
“What else did you fake with him?”
“Oh, come on!” She raised a hand, scratching a patch of skin on her forehead. The conversation was starting to give her a headache.
Jaime stood up, and strode toward her to close the distance between them. His fingers lingered in the air for a second, obliviously unsure how she would react to his touch, but when she didn't protest, his hands grasped her waist, his fingers splayed across the small of her back, tugging her closer. His burning touch and his familiar scent were intoxicating, lowering down her defenses, and she willingly let him hold her. He blew one kiss on the crown of her head, then another one lower, on her forehead.
“Do you know what would be the best revenge against Father?” he asked.
She lifted her chin and met his gaze, his emeralds gleaming with utter mischief. Oh, she knew that look. “No,” she answered, a bit drier than intended.
“Us getting married.”
“But you said—”
“Forget about what I said. I was hurt because you didn't tell me about that dinner, but if there’s one thing I know more than anything else is that I want you to be my wife. Let’s elope. Call Cat, and I’ll take care of Tyrion so they’ll be our witnesses.”
“Jaime, it’s… We have everything planned.”
“I don’t care,” he said before capturing her lips in a kiss that melted the last of her resolve away. Her mouth opened to him, and she tasted the coffee he had earlier this morning on his tongue while her hands reached for his jaw, holding his head, fingers tangling in his golden hair.
“Yes,” Cersei whispered against his lips. She felt his smile forming brighter than the sun on his face. “Yes!” And Jaime spun their bodies around, pushing their two halves on the bed, which creaked under their weights.
Atop of her, his knee parting her legs, her brother claimed her lips once again with a kiss that slowly turned into a silent promise that he would never leave her again, a silent promise of wedding bells chiming this afternoon.
Cersei anchored against him, while his hand roamed down her body, trying to lift up the white mini-dress she was wearing. A curl of desire twisted inside of her when his fingers reached between her thighs. Greedily, they made their way upward, finding the hem of her tights.
“Fucking tights,” he groaned as his attempt to touch her was disrupted by the layer of clothes.
A laugh slipped from her throat at his reaction. “Take them off,” she said. It was more a challenge than an order.
Another groan, and soon he was crawling between her legs, kneeling on the floor as she braced herself up on her elbows to watch him crack a smile. With a reverent thoroughness, Jaime slipped off her ballet flats, and then, his hands moved to each side of her waist to fists her tights in between his fingers. Cersei upped her hips to help him to peel them off her legs. The thick, black fabric slid over her skin, pooling around her ankles. She lifted her legs, one by one, to free herself.
“Better,” he affirmed when her legs were finally released from the obstacle.
He tossed the cloth aside and pressed a kiss on her knee, before echoing that pattern with her underwear, leaving her half naked in the middle of the bed.
Jaime’s grin widened into a wicked smile. He hooked her legs around his neck, and worked his mouth upward on her velvet skin, from the back of her knee to the inner of her thigh. Her heart began to pound in her chest, its beat growing wilder and wilder with each new kiss, and when his lips eventually reached the patch of golden curls between her legs, a rush of anticipation ran through her. Her hips bucked, and Jaime sprawled an arm over her waist to keep her steady.
“So stubborn and impatient,” he whispered. His warm breath against her core sent little shivers down her spine, and a frustrated grunt escaped her. She wouldn't beg, but oh Lord, it was getting harder to resist. “I love you this way,” Jaime said, and before she could even know it, his beard was tickling at her skin and his tongue swirled across her clit. A moan emerged from her lips. “Fierce and eager.”
Her hands found his hair, tangling in the golden locks to tug him closer. Another flick of his tongue, and she writhed underneath him, blood rushing to her cheeks. As he licked and kissed her, Jaime’s hold on her tightened, his fingers digging deeper into her flesh to leave bruises later.
Cersei’s legs began to tremble, narrowing around his head. “Yes, my love,” she felt herself whispering. “You’re so good.” Her brother grunted, and she could feel his smile growing against her, too ecstatic of the encouragement she was giving him. “So good.”
The tip of his tongue rolled over her little bundle of nerves. He sucked harder as his pace became more frantic, and Cersei’s eyes rolled in the back of her head, wave after wave of pleasure building within her, coiling tighter and tighter in her belly, her muscles tense. She was close, so close, and she urged him on with her fingers threading through his hair. He took the hint, and applied just the right amount of pressure over her core to allow her to find new heights. With a cry, she came on his lips.
Eyes tightly shut, her body shivered on the mattress, her lungs gasping for air and her heart ready to jump out of her chest. She released her grip on her brother, and soon, she felt Jaime’s body crawling back on the top of her, their two halves, a tangled mess of limbs and desire.
When she slowly came down from her high, Cersei’s eyes fluttered open to find two pleased emeralds staring at her. They stared at each other for a minute, maybe two, too lost in the dazzling bubble of their own making, until she couldn't wait anymore, and her lips crashed against his. Cersei tasted her own saltiness on his tongue, delicate and sweet, while her hands fumbled between their bodies to unbuckle his belt. Once done, her fingers worked to unfasten the zipper of his trousers. With impatience, she pushed them down around his hips, freeing his erection from its constricts. He was already hot and hard in her hand, and eager as her.
Powerful. That was how she felt as she stroked him up and down, feeling his muscles tense with every touch. She was the only one who could make him feel this way, the only one who could be his undoing, and she loved every bit of it.
Jaime moaned into her mouth, his hand tangling in her hair, and he slightly pulled her golden mane. “Cers,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. She knew what he meant, and she guided him inside of her.
The blunt tip of his cock pushed inside of her, and with one movement forcing a moan out of her, he slid completely, filling her with every inch of him. He stilled for a moment, giving her time to adjust and stretch to him as their eyes locked together.
Her hand came up to touch his face, the angle of his jaw where his beard was scratching her fingertips. “I didn't fuck Euron Greyjoy,” she gasped. “He tried to…”
A groan. “I’m gonna kill him.”
“Shut up, and fuck me,” she ordered, and their lips crashed together. He didn't need further encouragement. He began to move inside of her, his hips rocking into hers with a rhythm that was both familiar and new, and Cersei wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and welcoming him deeper.
Their breathing grew harsh, labored, in the quiet room that had once belonged to their Mother. She would probably kill them if she knew what they were doing, but Cersei couldn't care less. She focused on the feeling of being whole again with her twin instead, on the delicious feeling of him inside of her, stretching and filling her with all his might.
It was as if all the anger, all the jealousy and pain were fading away with their lovemaking, unsaid words whispered with the frantic moves of their two halves. All that mattered was the two of them, the friction of their bodies becoming one and the sound of their smothered moans. They both knew each step of that dance they had danced hundred, thousand times before yet, it felt anew, as if they were discovering each other all over again for the first time.
Jaime’s fist tightened in her hair. The sudden pressure on her scalp forced a faint whimper of pleasure out of her. She loved him this way. Wild, and impetuous. Possessive. Pulling her hair, and fucking her raw. Claiming her in the most delightful way.
Her nails dug into the nape of his neck in answer, leaving crescent moons in its wake, claiming him in her own way, and his pace increased, his movements growing more urgent and desperate as if the ache only served to heighten the pleasure they were both feeling.
Her hips replied to each thrust with the same amount of hunger and passion, and her trembling legs tightened around her brother, fiercely clinging to him as if her life depended on it. Cersei could feel her orgasm building within her, the tension coiling tight in her belly like a storm threatening to break.
Jaime’s lips drifted from hers to trail kisses down her face, along the line of her jaw, until his face was buried in the crook of her neck, his teeth grazing against her pulse. He sucked the sensitive skin there, a bruising pressure, and Cersei tilted her head to give him better access. “Mine,” he whispered with his warm breath tickling at her ear. “You’re mine.” Cersei’s body quivered underneath him at the possessive tone in his voice. It was an affirmation she hadn't heard from him in so long, and it sent a buzz of excitement coursing through her veins.
“I’m yours,” she breathed, and she turned her head around to connect her lips with his once again. His tongue delved into her mouth, twining with hers. “And you’re mine.”
“Yes,” he growled as he slid deeper, harder, inside of her, exhorting a loud moan from her throat.
The sound of their two halves becoming one and the rustle of their clothes filled the winter air. Wild and unbridled, she could feel Jaime’s love pouring into her with every beat of his heart. Her muscles clenched around him. Her back arched to meet his next thrust, and finally, the storm broke free, crashing over her in a violent breeze of bliss.
Jaime released his grip in her hair and let his hand roam down, tracing the curves and valleys of her body, until he reached for her thigh and pulled her leg higher against his ribs. A moan came out of her. That angle was exquisite. Her hips bucked, begging for another round. He gave her a few strokes, not enough for another orgasm, but enough to let the pleasure linger, and his muscles tensed, his half tightening as he reached his peak. He groaned her name, eyes squeezed shut, and Cersei watched the ecstasy play out on his features, a sense of triumph and joy overwhelming her as he came inside of her.
Spent in the afterglow of their love, they remained locked together for a moment, neither of them daring to move, too afraid to break the fragile spell they were under. Eventually, when their breaths had returned to normal, Jaime was the first one to move. He gently pulled out of her, which caused a faint whine to slip between her lips at the loss of contact, but soon, Jaime rolled on his back, taking her with him. He cradled her small frame, and began to pepper kisses on the crown of her head.
Sticky with sweat from the aftermath of their passion, her body relaxed against his. She laid her hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under her fingertips.
“We should do this more often,” her brother affirmed.
Cersei chuckled. “What? Fighting?”
“Yeah, the sex is always the best.”
“You forget the two days were we were miserable,” she said, lifting her head to look at him.
“Hmm. Were you?”
“I was,” Cersei confirmed.
His hold on her tightened. “It’s over now.” A pause, and then, a smile bloomed on Jaime’s face. “We are getting married.”
“We are, but I have to call Cat. And find a dress. I don’t have a dress. And oh my God, what are we gonna say to Father?” The words came out so fast, she barely had time to exhale a breath.
“Hey, hey, slow down,” he said. “We have the whole day. Besides, you’re already wearing white.”
“I smell like sex,” Cersei replied as a matter of fact.
“I think you smell wonderful.”
She rolled her eyes. “We need a shower.”
“Fine, we’ll take a shower. And then, you can call Cat and go shopping for a dress.”
“Alright. What about Father?” she wondered.
“We’ll tell him after. Tonight at dinner.”
“What if he doesn't approve?”
“Don't think about it. He already agreed about us getting married, he’ll just have to deal with the fact we did it without him.”
She took a deep breath. She could already picture their Father’s anger when they would announce their marriage yet, none of this mattered when she was about to become Jaime's wife. The excitement was almost too much to bear. She pressed her lips together and nodded. “Okay.”
She planted a kiss on his shoulder before staring at him. Her brother. Her future husband. He was handsome, and he was about to become hers for the whole world to know.
“We owe Tyrion a gift,” Jaime eventually said.
“For what? Locking us?”
“If he hadn't done what he did, we would still be sulking in our corners.” His hand wandered down her body, finding the sweet spot between her legs that made her gasp. “Come on, be nice,” he said softly.
Her hips replied to his touch. “A bottle of red wine will do the trick,” she breathed out.
Jaime chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’re such a brat.”
“I’m the brat you’re going to marry,” she reminded him with a smile.
He leaned his face closer. “And I wouldn't have you any other way,” he murmured before erasing the smile she had on her lips with his mouth. Her lips parted, and she sighed, her fingers moving to cradle his jaw. The kiss grew urgent, and more desperate, while Jaime’s hand reached her waist, pulling her closer. “We still have time before Tyrion releases us.”
“We do.” Her voice came out as a gasp.
The next thing she knew was Jaime’s trailing soft kisses down her body, her hands tangling in his hair. He kneeled back between her legs, his lips warm and gentle on her, promising another moment of delicious pleasure.