Jaime's taller, but he has the presence of mind through the haze of ill-timed arousal to hunch forward as to not completely obstruct the view of the rider who the dragon that's shifting beneath him like unstable sands about to go cascading down a hill is loyal to. It has the unintended reward consequence of pushing his rump against the other man's hips, the winged cross-guard of a blade he knows to be the famed Dark Sister grazing his hip.

How he wishes he didn't find it so thrilling that such a legendary bladed rested directly behind him.

"Yell or kick," Jaime grumbles sourly in (poor) attempt to mask everything else. "What do you take me for, some sort of petulant child?"