Chapter Text
Beyond the Wall the air is so frigid, so bitingly cold, that no one blinks an eye when Brienne starts sharing Jaime and Addam's tent. There are no other women fighters for her to bed down with, and no one begrudges her the warmth of other bodies. Likely, they assume that it's too cold for anyone to expose enough of their bodies to compromise her virtue, for what it's worth now.
If she's known as the Kingslayer's Whore still, there are larger concerns for the whole of Westeros. With the war for the Iron Throne over, the attention of everyone has shifted to the mysterious threat pushing South. Jaime insists she share their tent, of course he does. They are both shorter than she is, and less bulky besides, but the promise of any amount of shared heat is enough for Brienne to disregard any lingering concerns of propriety, few though they were.
Brienne's been in war camps for years now, so when she awakens to a hard object pressing into her arse, she doesn't question for a moment what it is. Addam is spooned around her back, his face tucked close to her neck, breath damp and warm against her skin. Just knowing what it is doesn't stop a queer feeling settling low in her stomach, nor the desire to squirm against it.
She holds herself as still as possible for what feels like hours, trying to control her breathing and the urge to rock against Addam or pull Jaime in closer where he's curled with his back against her front. Finally, Addam stirs, his arm around her waist yanking her back as he rocks the rigid line of his cock against her. Brienne can't prevent the gasp, stiffening in his arms.
Jaime squirms in her arms, snuggling back into her embrace, sighing as if he's pulled heavy furs over his chilled body.
Brienne can tell the moment Addam is truly aware of his surroundings. He tenses before he relaxes his hold on her. He shifts his hips away and mumbles, "Sorry," into her shoulder.
She sets her hand over his arm when he starts to pull away, letting cold air seep between their sleep-warm bodies. "It's okay," she says quietly, trying not to wake Jaime. They all need as much rest as they can get. "I know it's not about me."
Addam goes still behind her as if frozen in place. His hand shifts until he's gripping her hip. "I don't think you do know," he says finally, fingertips pressing harder into the thick muscle. He molds himself to her once more, his cock still hard against her. His whiskers scrape her when he leans in to murmur against her ear, "Why would you think it's not about you?"
"It's--it's natural," Brienne stammers. "All men--"
"Oh, you've bedded down with many men?" Addam asks. She can hear the smile in his tone. "It's true, men frequently awaken hard. But how can you be so sure it has nothing to do with you?"
"We're comrades, Ser Addam--"
Addam emits a sharp laugh. "Ser again, is it?"
Brienne flushes hotly. "I simply know--I know that--I'm aware of how I am, Addam."
"And how are you?" It's miserable, humiliating. It's bad enough being Brienne, but having to detail out her many faults to someone she respects--someone she admires--it's nearly unbearable. "How are you, Brienne?"
Maybe it's the soothing massage of his grip, or perhaps it's like lancing an infection. It's a blinding hurt at first, but it's followed by something that merely aches.
"I am homely," she begins quietly. "I have not a woman's figure. I am taller than either you or Jaime. I'm broader across the shoulders than Jaime. I am scarred and awkward, ugly even for a man with my ruined cheek."
"Mmm." Addam loosens his tight hold on her to slide his hand further up, cupping the taut skin of her abdomen. "Shall I tell you how I see you?"
Brienne flinches. Surely, she didn't miss anything. Perhaps he means to point out her callused, large hands, or her feet that would look comical if forced into delicate slippers. Maybe her flat chest and thick waist in particular, instead of allowing her the vagueness of simply unfeminine. To catalogue all of her faults would take hours.
"I'll take your silence as permission," Addam says. "I think you're magnificently strong, a better fighter than nearly every man I've sparred with or fought against on a battlefield. You bear the scars of a knight with the compassion of a maiden. You're courageous, fearless in the face of any enemy." As he continues to speak, his hand moves over the expanse of her large body, palming her sides and arms, her thighs and the slight indent of her thick waist. "I won't tell you you're pretty, or beautiful. I'll not lie to you. You're glorious, spectacular, and if given leave, I would gladly show you how soft and sweet you are where it counts." As he finishes talking, his fingertips play at the waist of her soft wool trousers.
Brienne pauses and then, in an act of bravery that makes her feel shaken to her already trembling core, she tilts her hips in invitation. Addam slowly pushes her tunic up until he can slowly slip his hand into her smallclothes. The half-gasp, half-whimper that leaves her mouth must awaken Jaime. He turns in her arms until he's facing her. She stares into his sleepy green eyes as Addam's fingers brush through the thatch of curls between her legs.
Jaime looks confused for only a moment before his eyes sharpen with awareness.
"I thought we agreed, Addam," he rumbles, voice husky with sleep.
"Wha-" but Brienne's question is cut off when Addam's fingertips slide through the wet heat of her cunt, his fingers finding a spot that makes her whole body tense. Jaime's hand strokes her arm as if soothing a scared animal, gentling her with his touch.
"I know I should be sorry," Addam says, clearly to Jaime. "But you'll excuse me that I'm not. If we all want--"
"All?" Brienne manages to ask breathlessly.
Jaime's hand is at her face now, his knuckles stroking along her scarred, twisted cheek. "Do you want us, Brienne?" His thumb pulls at her chapped lower lip. "It's your decision. We will all forget this morning if you say the words."
"I-I-" Brienne can't even think, let alone make sense of the vagaries of Jaime's behavior.
The hand between her thighs halts its movements. She whimpers in protest, writhing against it.
"Brienne," Jaime's voice calls to her, waiting until she opens her eyes. His face is tense, his mouth a hard line, eyes glinting. "You must say what it is you want. Addam or myself, both of us or neither of us. If you stop, we stop. Denial isn't a new experience for either of us."
Brienne takes a moment, heart thundering in her ears, eyes trained on the face of a man she holds so dear sometimes it feels like it fills her up to a breaking point, and between her thighs, the callused hand of a man she has grown to respect as much as any and--and desire. Yes, desire.
"I want you both," she manages to whispers.
The answering, rumbling groans from both men set her nerve-endings alight. She has barely a moment to savor it before Jaime's hand cups around the back of her neck to pull her into a brutal kiss. His mouth takes her, tongue sliding along hers, tasting before he draws her lip between his teeth, nipping it. At the same moment, Addam's fingers begin moving between her legs again, stroking the heated flesh until he finds the wet, quivering entrance of her body.
She can't help but tense at the pressure of his fingers, the first tentative suggestion of what's to come, the hint of penetration. He doesn't breach her yet, dragging the wetness to that place at the very top of her cunt that makes her whole being squirm as if her skin is too small to contain the pleasure. She bucks against his circling touch, no longer caring what she sounds or looks like, her panting cries of pleasure swallowed by Jaime's mouth as he continues to kiss her deeply.
Jaime takes her hand and places it on his straining cock. His hand doesn't leave hers as he ends the kiss to ask, "Can I show you how to touch me?"
She nods vigorously, panting out a yes.
He lets go of her and moves away far enough to shove his breeches and smallclothes past his cock. Then his hand is pulling hers to him and wrapping it around his hard, hot flesh.
It all seems to meld together after that point. Addam's hand rubbing circles against her wet, tingling flesh; Jaime guiding her hand up and down his rigid cock as he kisses her firmly, desperately; she rolls her hips with Addam's sharp thrusts of his cock against her arse.
When she comes, it's like a shock of lightning. She's come at her own fingers before, of course, but it's nothing to the sensation that courses through her as she is sandwiched between two men who grunt and groan along with her. Jaime thrusts frantically into her grip until he groans like a man dying, and she feels his come smearing the front of his breeches and over her fingers.
It startles her when Jaime reaches around her hip, slipping his hand between her arse and Addam's cock, fumbling with Addam's breeches until he can get his hand inside and stroke Addam to his own climax.
Their heavy breathing calms in fits and starts together, their bodies a tangle of sweaty, slack limbs. The smell of sex permeates their small tent, smothering them in a warm humidity at odds with the reality outside of the tent. They tangle themselves further, ignoring for a moment longer the need to clean, the tacky fluids and messy smallclothes. Jaime's head is tucked under her chin, his leg sandwiched between hers. Addam's forehead is pressed against the nape of her neck, breathing hard, his leg flung over hers.
She feels almost small for the first time in her life, protected in a way she never allows herself to crave.
It's the safest Brienne's ever felt.