When Jaime was little, after the first time he and Cersei had kissed (the first time he had felt that spark of what it was to be whole), Joanna had him sent to the sept for a lesson on decorum. The solemn septon took him from altar to altar, explaining the purity of each symbol, the sanctity. It had been all he could do to keep from rolling his eyes. Only two symbols had meant anything, the maiden that his fair sister would become, and the warrior he already was, sword in miniature strapped to his belt. (Lions, Tywin had explained, did not bite with wooden teeth, and Lannisters would not fight with wooden blades.)
Joanna had sent him there to make him see that there was something wrong about him and Cersei, he knew that, but how could there be, when they were all part of a greater whole? Was he meant to think the warrior could stand to be without his maiden? The gods had fashioned Cersei to be his double, his equal, his missing half. When he was inside of her, there was nothing else in the universe but her, surrounding him, completing him, filling in his empty space.
"Cersei," he moaned, as he entered her, and then could say no more. She swallowed him, engulfed him, took him in, inch by inch, until there was nothing between them, not even air.
This was how it was, how it was meant to be.They fit together like a sword in a sheath, more perfectly than should be possible. The hurried thrusts of their sweat-streaked bodies were obscenely loud, nearly drowning out the snores of their new king, but Jaime didn’t care. If Robert dared wake, Jaime would kill him as he did, with a single thrust of his still-sheathed sword lying only a few paces away.
Jaime pressed close to Cersei as he could, his bare chest hugging the prick of her nipples, his eyes wide open so he could drink in the glory of her face as he thrust into her again and again. She was close now, she must be, he could feel her tightening around him, her lips perched in a lion’s smile, ready to let loose with a roar.
Briefly Cersei prayed to the Gods that Robert Baratheon would wake. Jaime’s sword was at hand, and she figured it would be rather easy for her brother to reach for it and shove it through the king’s belly. It would be rather easy even for her, were the sword less heavy, and her body stronger. With the wine still in him she knew her new husband was naught but a shadow of the fury that had murdered Rhaegar Targaryen on the trident: even a woman, such as her, could have the better on him.
What would Robert’s death gain her, however? Without an heir, Cersei was as good as nothing. Her crown and her title depended entirely on the man she had wed, and without him the throne would most certainly not be hers. She would lose all chances of wearing the golden ringlet, and she would not be queen much longer. The old maester had taught her of succession, and just thinking of Stannis Baratheon holding the power which should be hers made her stomach turn.
Worry washed over her, and she pulled Jaime’s head into the crook of her neck; she watched Robert, studied as his chest rose and fell, with an almost surreal amusement. Jaime latched onto the skin of her neck, biting and soothing with his tongue, sending shivers up her arms and jolts all the way down to her navel. Cersei could feel herself unraveling in his hands with every thrust.
"Is this what our lives will be like from now on?" she whispered, panting heavily, barely managing the words. "You coming into my bed to—" a gasp, when he drove into her faster and harder, "—to fulfill my husband’s duty?" A familiar warmth rose to her cheeks, a numbness that enveloped her head like a cushion pressed against her ears; the muscles in her legs tensed and her abdomen quivered under Jaime’s unrelenting eagerness.
"Stay inside me," she whispered, pressing quick kisses against the shell of his ear, sucking the earlobe between her teeth. They had been forced to be careful during the years, to avoid Cersei growing with child. But that time was gone now: Cersei was a woman wed and bedded, and should the Gods bless her with a child no one would blink. "Stay inside me," she repeated, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing her breasts into his chest. Her climax almost made her call out his name, as loud as her lungs would have permitted her. Instead she bit down on his shoulder, tasting the salty of his sweaty skin on her tongue.