Tormund x Brienne

A/N – Hello Throners! After watching Episode 4 of this season, and watching Tormund Giantsbane eye Brienne with very obvious interest in his eyes, this idea came to me. This is my very first GoT fic, albeit a oneshot. This fic contains LEMON, LOTS of it. If that's not your thing, please DO NOT READ. For those who do, I hope you enjoy it. Let me know what you think!

EDIT: Brienne is a virgin both on the show and in the books. I changed a couple sentences to reflect this. Tormund will be her first. Yay!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to Game of Thrones, nor do I receive compensation for this work.

Castle Black, Brienne's chambers

Brienne lay on her back, eyes closed, biting her lip through gasps and hitched breathes and stifled moans. She would not cry out, no matter the difficulty. She had resolved not to, even as her body jerked and trembled.

Further down, comfortable against the furs of her bed was a great bear of a man. His red hair glinted in the hearth's fire, his face hidden as his head moved against her. Wet, sloppy, sinful noises from his mouth could be heard, but Brienne could not focus enough to be repulsed or embarrassed.

He had told her he would be good, that she'd feel pleasure the likes of which she'd never felt before. She hadn't believed him. But as she writhed under a swirling tongue, large, restraining hands, and masterful, suckling lips, Brienne regretted her cynicism.

3 days ago...

He'd been staring since their brunch that day, when she'd been in the company of her charge, Sansa Stark, Pod, and Sansa's brother, Jon. The big, red Wildling man had hardly looked anywhere else, his eyes devouring her even as his mouth devoured the chicken leg in his hand.

And still he watched, his clear, green eyes following her as she moved about the castle grounds.

It seemed that any time she was near, she was under his scrutiny, his eyes boring into her.

It should have been unsettling for Brienne. But it took a lot more than that to unnerve the heir of Evenfall, and she'd taken it all in stride. He'd been easy for her to ignore, what with plans to reclaim Winterfell beginning to take shape.

But then he'd caught her doing training exercises in the courtyard. He'd approached her from behind, coming to stand much closer than was decent between strangers as she finished a few swings at a practice dummy.

"Need a sparring partner?" his deep voice had rumbled, a grin visible through the thick, red beard he sported.

Brienne had regarded him with cold eyes. "No, I do not. I am fine on my own. Thank you." She had turned away then, a dismissal that should have been obvious, but the large man had kept his place, making it impossible for her to resume.

"Was there something else?" she'd asked, annoyance clear in her tone.

The Wildling had kept the same suggestive expression. "Maybe I should rephrase my question." Then he'd stepped even closer, if that were possible, his eyes fixing on her legs and moving to her incredulous gaze. "Need a fuck partner?"

Brienne had balked, honestly taken aback by his bold statement. She had started to speak, a refusal on the tip of her tongue, but the words just wouldn't come. Her mouth opened several times as if to speak, but had closed again each time.

The man smirked down at her, and she noted how rare it was to encounter someone taller than she. "You look like you could use a ride. I know I could, and I think we'd suit each other very well." He'd leaned in. "I promise you'll like it. I'm very good," he'd whispered with certainty, and Brienne had felt her face burn, his words setting her cheeks ablaze.

She'd jerked back, pinning him with narrowed eyes. "I highly doubt that, sir," she had managed, finally finding her voice just before sidestepping him and beating a hasty retreat. She had avoided him after that, her face heating every time the large man invaded her tortuous thoughts.

For it wasn't discomfort she'd felt.

It was shame, shame for being tempted to take the Wildling up on his offer. She had felt the pull of him the moment she'd ridden through the gates of Castle Black with her lady Sansa and met his appraising eyes. Even then, he'd seen through her.

Brienne didn't get offers from men often, if at all, not for sex and certainly never for marriage. She was no fool. She knew how men felt when they looked at her. She knew she was not like her lady, lovely, fair, and fine of bone, a prize for any man.

She was Brienne of Tarth, or Brienne the Beauty as men sarcastically called her. Only she was no beauty. She was large of body, strong and willful. She'd killed men both large and small, and that was intimidating.

And what men were intimidated by they tried to shame and mock to preserve their meager manhood.

There was the one time when a man had approached her, one of her fellow knights. Brienne had known it wasn't due to mutual interest. He'd only seen her as a challenge, as a beast to tame, something to tell his fellows over drink and debauchery.

As he'd fondled her in the darkness of a smelly old barn, clumsily fitting his fingers in unready places, she'd felt disgusted, both by his touch and her allowance of it. Eventually, she'd stopped him and left. She deserved better.

She'd gotten no pleasure from anything they'd done, had certainly not attained release. The whole affair had been a waste of time, and neither participant had sought each other again.

But this man, someone whose name she could not recall even hearing…in his eyes she'd seen a desire for her she'd never seen from any other. Sure, it was most likely only lust, but it had been there all the same.

And she could not deny that his words had haunted her mind, and stirred a desire of her own.

Brienne had agonized over the few days since, struggling between staying focused on the very dangerous situation developing in the North and tamping down her growing craving for indecent activities with an unknown man.

She finally couldn't take it anymore. She'd risen from her hiding place in her chambers and gone to find him, her feet carrying her to his location as if by instinct. He had been in a conversation with Jon Snow, the two speaking in hushed tones, presumably about their plan for the storming of Winterfell.

The moment she had stepped into the doorway, green orbs had risen to find hers. She hadn't tarried, just stayed long enough to meet his eyes, hold them, and leave.

She'd retraced her steps back to her quarters, leaving her door ajar as she'd taken a seat on her bed to wait. He'd seemed the clever type. Surely he would take the invitation for what it was.

It wasn't a long wait.

He tapped tentatively on her door before peaking in. When he'd seen her, sitting on the bed, he'd dipped his large frame under the lintel of the door, stepping in and filling the space with his presence.

She heard him bar the door and her anticipation rose quickly. He said nothing, just speared her with his eyes as he approached, hands coming to the fastenings of his fur garment. Clothing dropped, marking his path to Brienne, who sat frozen on the bed, watching his advance.

By the time he towered over her, his chest was revealed, wiry red hairs beaconing her hands. Brienne was unsure how to begin, though her desire was written on her face. The Wildling could see it, because he drew her hands into his own, and placed them on his chest.

She watched in wonder, as if she were a child touching a stallion or shadow cat for the first time. His chest was hard, chiseled from years of combat, and hot to the touch. It was hard to imagine such heat on a person in a cold place as this.

He let her feel to her hearts content, watching her face with hooded eyes as her hands ran across his chest and down to the firmness of his stomach. When her fingers brushed him below, his jaw clenched, and he stopped her.

He came to sit next to her, and he began to remove her clothes then, slowly. It was almost more than Brienne could take, and she finally stirred her frozen fingers to life, helping him. Soon, she was naked, and he coaxed her to lie back against the down pillows.

She was unsure what he was going to do at first, since he still wore his fur britches. But then he maneuvered her legs over his large shoulders.

"I can't wait to hear you moan for me," he'd said, his voice raspy.

His arrogance had annoyed her, and she had frowned. "I do not moan," she had responded. She hadn't before.

He'd then laughed huskily as she'd felt the first touch of his mouth. "We will see, my lady."

And this is where Brienne found herself, her hips moving unconsciously with the rhythm and motion of that mouth, his scratchy beard tickling and warming her quivering thighs. Her hands clutched the covering of the bed, nails digging.

She was sure she's worn a trench in her lip, biting as she was. It was getting harder and harder not to utter a sound. The sensations were like none she'd ever felt. She hadn't known such pleasure existed. The man hadn't lied.

He was good. He was very good.

Strong hands atop encircling arms held her hips fast, limiting her movements so she was left with no other recourse but to submit. When Brienne looked down, she saw his eyes were closed, peaceful, in ecstasy. She heard him grunt and purr against her flesh, almost as if he were on the receiving end of the act.

It dawned on Brienne that he liked doing what he was doing.

Soon she felt the tightening start in her belly, at the crown of her sex where his mouth worked most ardently. The pleasure was mounting, and a small squeak left her mouth unbidden. She couldn't help it, and soon she couldn't summon enough to care about it.

As if sensing her imminent orgasm, he increased the pressure of his mouth, his hands clamping harder, enough that she would probably have bruises. Neither cared, least of all Brienne.

She was spinning. Her mind was rolling as if she'd tasted the most potent of wines. With each brutal stroke of his tongue, each powerful pull of his lips, she was teetering on the edge of oblivion. She couldn't think, could not comprehend anything but that act, that moment. And soon she was adrift.

She fell. Her release slammed into her hard, and Brienne climaxed with an arched back and a long, wanton moan low in her throat. He held her fast, his mouth working her through violent spasms until she was still, save for minor aftershocks that sent slight tremors through her thick thighs and body.

Brienne was breathless, replete, body fluid and formless. She barely registered him shifting, the slide of clothing from his lower half onto the floor. Then he climbed slowly up her body, stopping to caress and suckle her breasts to the tune of her labored breathing. When he was face to face with her, his grin showed even in the low light of the room.

"Looks like I win, my lady."

She could hardly move, let alone make words. Brienne made no move to deny his claim. She did moan after all.

The big man laid a wet kiss on her neck, raising his mouth up to her ear. "By the way, my name is Tormund." She felt his tongue stroke behind her lobe, his teeth grazing the shell.

She closed her eyes as she felt his erection against her, the blunt head of his length beginning to breach. She knew even without seeing that he was large there as well.

"Br-Brienne," she managed to breathe.

He moved back to look at her face, smiling just before he took her mouth.

Then he was inside her, and Brienne was lost to deepest pleasure.

-I hope I depicted their personalities correctly. I imagine Tormund to be fairly confident about his prowess, given his stories he tells without shame. I would also imagine Brienne being either struck speechless by the audacity of the man, or not being phased at all. I chose a combination of both. I ship these two so hard, although I sort of wanted her with Sandor Clegane after that epic fight. We all know how that ended though. Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!