The Silver Lioness

Chapter Three

Brothels Are the Finest Feast

Mature Warning

Tyrion Lannister downed a cup of weak northern ale, downing the swill faster than the whore could between his legs could suck his cock. He let out a pleasurable growl as her tongue wrapped his head then slithered down the shaft to his balls. His hand moved to clasp her hair and drag her up from his nether region to his mouth, kissing her brutally before letting her go, both of them falling back on the bed. The little dress cloth belt she wore exposed pale plump flesh and large breasts leaving nothing to the imagination. She was a well-fed whore, no doubt one of the best for the coin he had dangled before the Mistress of the brothel house.

"It is true what they say about the northern gals," Tyrion grinned cheekily, moving to reposition himself on the bed.

Ros giggled, a well-practiced response, her hands moving to pull of the dwarf's little boots and trousers. "Did you hear that the King has come to Winterfell?"

Tyrion inwardly sighed. The north was a cold bleak place, one Tyrion really had no love for nor want to be. His only solace was between the legs and in the wet mouths of northern whores. They kept him warm, filled his needs, and most of all kept him from that infuriating woman whom he called queen sister.

"I did hear something to that," he responded as his boots dropped to the hay covered cobblestone floor.

Ros continued, not noticing the tone in Tyrion's voice, his lack of interest on the subject she was bringing up. "And the Queen too, as well as her twin brother." She began to pull off the other shoe which landed with a thump that echoed the first. Her hands grasping Tyrion's trousers. "They say he is the most handsome man in all the seven kingdoms."

Well perhaps he was lying to himself, the whores weren't his only solace. This one was surely beginning to agitate him. Perhaps he should have stayed back. He did enjoy the company of his nieces and nephews – well save Joffrey the little prick.

But to be in their charming company he also had to endure the glower of his sweet sister. Right now he'd rather choke a whore with his cock than deal with her.

"And what about the other brother," Tyrion inquired, curious as to what the whore was getting at.

Ros made an innocent face and began to crawl slowly towards Tyrion. "The queen has another brother?"

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, adjusting himself on the bed comfortably. "There's the handsome one, and then there's the clever one."

Ros put a cheeky look on her face, lips slightly pouted, "I hear they call him the Imp."

Tyrion held back the urge to shove the woman away. "I hear he hates that name."

Ros, realizing she needed to tread carefully began to trace her fingers over Tyrion's chest, leaning in close so that when she spoke, her breath tickled Tyrion's neck seductively. Her voice took on a breathy silvery cheek. "I heard he's a drunken dirty little lecher prone to all manner of perversions." She smiled gently then, caressing Tyrion's face. "We've been awaiting your arrival, milord."

Tyrion smirked, "Clever little whore aren't you." Reaching he lifted his tunic, Ros' eyes taking in the hard cock ready again between his legs.

"Again already?" Ros was shocked. Her usual customers were little lords of Winterfell and they never rose so quickly after given her attentions.

"The gods gave me but two gifts, sweet Ros. A clever mind and a sharp prick to wield as often as I want."

Alas all good things came with a bit of bad. The door to his rented room burst open and there stood his dashing proud lion of a brother. The crème of the Lannister line, a true testament of their father's legacy. Surely everything Tyrion dare say he was not. A proud warrior, an honorable man, a sister fucker if Tyrion had ever saw one. That was saying something, he was born when Targaryens sat upon the throne after all.