Die Young
“I was gonna die young, now I gotta wait for you hon” Sylvan Esso
Now
They had been in Jackson, Wyoming six months before Jaime cracked.
At first, he hadn't thought much of events as they were transpiring. What did it matter if the boys in the not-so-abandoned power plant made eyes at Sansa? They would have been blind not to stare. The girl was beautiful, with her porcelain skin and bright, copper hair.
None of their lascivious stares or pathetic drooling mattered however, because as far as he was concerned, the girl was his.
He'd paid the price for her in blood. Giving her up was not an option.
Just because he hadn't done a thing about it yet, because he still had a shred of decency enough that he didn't want to take a girl almost young enough to be his daughter, didn't change certain facets of their relationship. Was it so bad he was waiting on the right moment?
Trouble was, maybe she wasn't aware of his opinion on the matter, because maybe he never did let her in on his thoughts.
The man began to reconsider his entire strategy as he took in the sight of Sansa and Harry sitting close together under the Birch tree by the dam.
The boy was whispering something in her right ear, and had his fingers brushing lightly against the freckled skin of her forearm.
Jaime frowned. He’d never been big on sharing.
Then
Pulling himself out of a feverish delirium was like dragging his body through a thick layer of tar and wax, like trying to run through silt and quicksand. When at last, his heavy eyelids fluttered open, he found himself alone in the cold.
"Sansa?" He croaked as his dark eyes sought for that familiar gleam of of red in the shadows that surrounded him. Slowly, his eyes became accustomed to the dim light.
Sight however, did not bring him any relief. Clutching at his healing wound, the man felt for the pistol he usually kept tucked at his hip.
For ten years, since losing Cersei and the kids to the Cordycep Outbreak, he had spent his days existing in a cold shell where he allowed nothing and no one to mean a thing to him. It was far too risky, the thought of growing attached to another person, only to watch them die either at the jaws of the undead, or at the hands of other, desperate living beings.
As Jaime surveyed the space that was completely devoid of one very specific redhead, he understood with a certain amount of dismay, that a certain phase of his life was officially over.
"Fuck." He swore aloud.
The stakes had gotten real. If he didn't move fast enough, the one person in this cruel and senseless world that made him feel as if he were actually alive, might be lost forever.
Now
"Brother, maybe you ought to calm down." Ty said at his elbow, peering upwards at Jaime. "I get that you want to protect her, but maybe it's a good thing she’s hanging around with boys her own age."
"Boys her age want one thing." He retorted, not missing the troubled look on the younger man's scarred face. "I'm afraid it's not on offer."
"Shouldn't she get to decide for herself?" Ty asked mildly.
"That was the whole idea." He grunted in response. It was halfway true; he wanted her to decide, but in his mind, there had only ever been one acceptable outcome.
Turning away, he missed the sideway’s glance Sansa cast in his direction. The girl wore a sharp smile as she pushed Harry aside.
Then
Though Jaime was keenly aware that the dark and twisted depths every last living person possessed had become well plumbed in the years since the Outbreak, he had never been the type who indulged in torturing those he considered his enemies.
Killing however - that came to him with more ease than he anticipated, Smashing a man's head in, ending a life with a bullet or a blade or even his bare hands…none of that fazed the man in the end.
At first, the lack of guilt, rather than guilt itself, kept him awake at night, but even that period hadn’t lasted. Jaime was built to be a killer, he found out.
As his search for Sansa stretched on into hours however, and as he started to understand that the girl hadn't just got up and disappeared on her own accord, a bloodlust he had never known began to rise in him that was quite different from what he was used to.
Stumbling on a group of Hunters, the final piece of the puzzle clicked in place as he listened to them speaking of the 'tasty piece' they'd nabbed. Suddenly, twisting a nail into the living flesh of her abductors seemed like a horribly satisfying idea.
So he did exactly that. Over the course of the next few hours, the blood he shed, the cries he drew, the lives he'd ended as he carved a bloody path towards her...none of it felt wrong.
Every scream felt like justice.
When he found her covered in her would-be rapist's blood, alive and well, but sobbing in shock and fear, the relief had damned near brought him to his knees.
Holding on to her soft, shaking body as she wept into his blood soaked clothing, Jaime wondered just what kind of monster he had become for her sake.
And why he didn't care as much as he probably should have.
Now
He sat alone in the living room, watching the front door intently. Their house was one of the many abandoned homesteads in the vicinity of the power plant, which Tyrion had so cleverly fenced in to keep out Hunters and Clickers alike.
At last the door creaked open, and Sansa stepped through in that filmy dress she'd taken to wearing everywhere as of late.
"Where have you been?" He asked as if he didn't know.
"Out." She tilted her chin.
"That's not an answer." He said calmly, though inside, he seethed at the thought that she had worn that dress in the presence that idiot boy. The light fabric hugged at her curves in tantalizing detail.
"I told you before. You're not my father." she murmured softly. The way she looked at him - there was a shadow in her gaze that made his blood pound in his ears. “My father’s dead.”
"I'm glad we've established that." He leaned back. “Close the door and come over here.”
Then
“Her life for the life of millions.” Melisandre begged. They were in the lobby of the decrepit hospital where he had himself delivered Sansa, not realizing the true intentions of these guerrilla warriors. The woman had a gun pointed right at his head. “See some sense. Her body might hold the cure for all of the infected, a vaccine for all the living. Isn’t that worth everything?”
Long before he had ever met her, everyone had taken to calling the leader of the Fireflies the Red Woman. She was thusly named for the trail of blood and brutality she left in her wake wherever she went, all done in the name of the greater good.
With her weapon aimed squarely at him, Melisandre stood, arguing fervently in the name of hope for a better world, a dream of a better future.
“I am not sacrificing Sansa’s life for a ‘might’ or a ‘maybe’ Mel.” Jaime gritted out, refusing to release his hold on Sansa’s body as he fell to his knees in exhaustion. “The infected are literally the walking dead, and this world’s already ruined. I won’t let you kill her for some hopeless cause.”
“You’re a good man for trying Jaime Lannister. For that, I’ll let you live.” The woman lifted her hands in a sign of supplication, though it was clear she thought she had already won. Somewhere close by, Jaime could hear the sound of heavy boots pounding against the concrete floor, heading in their direction. Thinking fast, he dropped Sansa’s legs and drew his own revolver. Without any hesitation, he fired.
Now
Closing the door behind her, Sansa slowly and wordlessly approached him. The moment she was within arm’s reach, Jaime reached out and yanked her down so that she landed firmly in his lap with her back against his chest.
There was no gentle brush of hands, no tentative stroking of her cheek as he curled the fingers of his right hand around her jaw and pressed his lips against her mouth. One arm curled around her waist, holding her firmly in place. To his surprise, she opened her mouth against his almost immediately, meeting his urgency in kind.
“You’re not my father,” she murmured. “But sometimes I think you would like to play that game.”
“What?” he asked in a low voice. His right thumb pressed against her swollen lip possessively even as his other hand rucked her skirt up, revealing an expanse of creamy skin underneath.
Her answering smile was far too knowing. “We can play that game if you want.”
“Have you played this game then?” he asked, a gravelly scrape in his voice betraying the undercurrent of his anger. With one hand gripping her thigh, he knew he would leave bruises upon her fair skin if he didn’t let go soon.
“What would you like me to tell you?” her lashes were cast low now.
His green eyes regarded her blue ones. In his fevered imagination, he saw her bent over another man’s body, saw her lifting her little ass in the air.
“By the end of this night, you will be my good girl.” he growled, dropping his hands to her hips and flipping her so she lay face down across his lap; her hands reached out before her, trying to find balance against the soft cushions of the tattered couch.
There was no doubt in his mind, she could feel his cock pressing into her belly from that angle.
Pushing the hem of her dress upwards, Jaime ripped at the thin cotton which obscured the smooth of her bottom from him. Sansa emitted a small squeak of surprise that brought a grim smile to his lips - perhaps she had no idea what she had been asking for after all.
Still. It was time she learned her place and where she belonged.
“You will count this out. Every time you miss, I will give you two more. Do you understand?” he asked, winding a thick lock of her red hair in his left hand.
“Yes…Daddy.” she gasped, sending another rush of blood straight south in his body.
The first slap landed on her ass, eliciting a small yelp.
“One,” she counted in a tremulous whisper.
Jaime forced himself to focus, tried not to imagine shoving her off his lap and climbing atop her. Bringing his hand down again and again, he could feel her arousal seeping into the fabric of his clothing. Pausing after the tenth slap, both of them breathing hard, he dipped his fingers between her thighs and found her soaking wet.
As he rubbed roughly against her slick folds, Sansa let out a low moan. Dragging her head up by her hair, Jaime pressed damp the fingertips of his right hand against her soft lips.
“You’re enjoying this far too much,” he murmured, watching as her tongue darted out to taste herself. “Good girls shouldn’t like being treated this.”
“I’m sorry Daddy, teach me to be your good girl,” she answered breathlessly.
Shifting, her allowed Sansa to settle on her knees between his legs, and unzipped himself from his jeans.
“Have you ever done this?” he asked, reaching again to wind her hair into his hand and puling her so her smooth cheek brushed against his hard length. It took every ounce of effort he had not to groan and shove himself into her mouth.
“No Daddy.” she said with wide eyes. There was a tremor in her voice that made him wonder if she was lying.
“Open.” he instructed, and pushed himself past her willing lips. Pumping slowly, he watched as she tried to gain a sense of equilibrium, tried to accustom herself to his rhythm. Even with the scrape of her teeth, even with a seriously fucked up fear that she might have done this with somebody else, the way her mouth and her tongue felt against him made him want to thrust as fast as he could.
“That’s a good girl…” he whispered, mesmerized as her blue eyes flicked up at him. As the minutes wore on, Jaime realized that he didn’t want their first time to end like this. Pulling away, he released his grip on her silky hair and shifted backwards.
“Take off your dress.”
Without hesitation, Sansa stood up and yanked the clingy material off her form as he took himself in hand for the moment. In a few seconds, the young woman stood before him, bare as the day she was born.
Reaching for her, he tugged her close and moved her body so that she straddled his hips. Without waiting for him, Sansa held on to Jaime’s shoulders and sank downwards, throwing her head back with abandon as she took him utterly into her warmth. The ease with which she did this confirmed his worst suspicions, though the fact was, with every passing second, it mattered less and less what she did, with whom and when.
All that mattered was that she was here, now, with him.
“Look at me,” his whispered as he held her slender hips and thrust himself deep inside her eager cunt. She didn’t seem to hear him, lost in the pleasure of the moment. Reaching up, he cupped the base of her neck and nudged her gaze towards him. In a husky timbre, he repeated himself. “Look at me.”
Sansa looked him in the eye as she moved against him.
“That’s my good girl…” he murmured.
“Yes Daddy.” she whined, riding hard. “Your good girl. Always.”
“I mean it. Mine.” he growled. “No more playing games with anyone else. Mine. Promise me.”
“I promise, I promise…” she wailed as his fingers slid downwards and pinched a stiff nipple. “Please, I need to cum.”
“Make yourself cum,” he ordered, and slammed into her with increasing urgency. “Do it.”
Snaking a slender hand between them, Sansa began to stroke at her clit as she met his desperate pounding. With a howl, she arched against him. In answer, Jaime roared his own completion.
Then
“I don’t understand.” Sansa said woodenly as she stared at the road ahead of them.
“They did a CAT scan and found that the immunity you have…they’ve already seen its type before. It wasn’t something they could use.” the lie came easily to him.
“So it was all for nothing, this journey. Brienne died for nothing trying to protect me.” she stated.
He winced at the mention of their long-dead travel companion - his best friend and occasional bed mate - who had so bravely sacrificed herself to ensure the two of them would live. Silently, Jaime wished there was a way he could have told Sansa the truth of the matter, and why he did what he did.
For close to two years, Sansa had lived with the hope that she held the cure for humanity somewhere inside of her. It wasn’t something she had wanted out of naive vanity. Instead, her hope came from a desperate and misguided place where she had desired, badly, to atone for the fact that she still lived, though her entire family had succumbed to the infection.
In too many ways, Jaime could relate. Why should he get to live when his lover and his three children were all dead?
“We did what we could. No more, no less.” he said at last.
“Promise me that’s true.” she said, looking at him intently.
“I promise.” he said firmly.
Now
Cradling her smaller body in his arms, he said, very softly, “I love you. I’ve loved you a long time now. I was only waiting for you to grow up a little.”
“Everyone I love is dead. Ned, Catelyn, Robb, Jon, Arya, Bran, Rickon…” she listed the names of her family members in a tone that caused the hair on his neck to stand on end. “You’re all I have left Jaime. Do you understand what that means?”
“Sansa…” he looked down at her, pushing away at a sharp stab of pain in his chest.
She met his gaze steadily; it pained him to note that there was nothing innocent left in her blue depths. There was no sign that the young girl he had met what felt like a lifetime ago, was still in there somewhere. “The only thing I know now, is that you are all I have. I can’t lose you.”
“You won’t. Not for as long as I live,” Jaime said fiercely.
With a small smirk, she added, “I’ve been waiting for you to make a move old man. It figures, I had to be the one to launch an offensive.”
He thought back to the way she had settled herself beside Harry, the quick darting of her eyes every time he was close by. Jaime could be a real idiot.
“Did you and…” he found himself asking against his better judgement.
“Please.” she reached upwards and kissed his stubbled chin. “Like I would tell you. It doesn’t matter anymore though does it?”
Sitting in the darkness and breathing her in, Jaime could almost believe that she might yet love him back. Judging from the way she snuggled into his chest, he felt a burgeoning pinch of hope.
It was enough for now, he thought as he drifted off into a semi-contented slumber.
It had to be. Because what else was there?