One Would Have Been Enough
Who :Tyrion Lannister, Cersei Lannister
Fandom : A Song of Ice and Fire
Word Count : 512
Rating : PG-16 for language.
Dedicated to sakru909 , with love.
“You don't know how hard it is to be me,” Cersei complained to a little (much too little, he thought wryly to himself) brother. He was staring up at her, now, and he noticed with dark amusement that his eyes were just at the level of her cunt. Not that he'd ever get any closer to it, but the thought was full of a deep-set irony that he couldn't ignore. He certainly was in a better position than Jaime for some things, at least.
“I'm sure you can enlighten me, sweet sister,” he replied nonchalantly. “You always shed on me the most precious insights.” And the most inane insults.
She scowled at him, eyes full of contempt. “What do you want, Tyrion?”
“But only to please you,” he replied as he looked at her, turning with a snort to swirl in her room, looking for something to wear in one of her many coffers. One more, he mused, and the door would barely open a crack. Jaime would probably be inconvenienced. Poor him.
“Perish the thought,” she ordered him moodily. Perish the thought indeed, he thought to himself. I'd rather lose my cock to a rattling snake than bed you, sister. I'm not my brother.
She was laying out dresses, one green, one blue and one purple, and ignoring the Imp completely, she started to consider which one she would wear. Jaime liked the green, but it was the King she was trying to ensnare, tonight. Maybe she aught to wear green, after all. It would be fitting as her sigil. If she had her own, it had to be a praying mantis. Except for how Cersei never prayed.
“Which one, which one,” Tyrion mused, lazily. “I say they all compliment you the same,” he told her, though she didn't ask for his advice. No matter what she wore, Robert Baratheon would find the same thing underneath. Tyrion found himself wondering if the boisterous king would even have a chance. Probably not. Too bad - that would have freed a couple of pleasing whores that Tyrion certainly would have enjoyed all the more.
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Tyrion,” she replied shortly. “Get out of my room.”
He clambered out of his seat and gave her a bow.
“No order was ever sweeter, Cersei. Make sure to be on time, at least.”
He left the letter he'd come to carry her on the nightstand, and wondered to himself if Robert knew that he was trading a whore for another. Poor fat man had probably no idea that he would never get the prize, he mused as he walked down the steps, painstakingly.
Then again, Cersei wasn't a prize Tyrion wished on anyone. Not even all the gold Littlefinger could muster could make such a prize worth the trouble.
You don't know how hard it is to be me. Clearly, Cersei put her own price well above half a dozen dragon eggs.
As far he was concerned, one would have been enough.
Fandom : A Song of Ice and Fire
Word Count : 512
Rating : PG-16 for language.
Dedicated to sakru909 , with love.
“You don't know how hard it is to be me,” Cersei complained to a little (much too little, he thought wryly to himself) brother. He was staring up at her, now, and he noticed with dark amusement that his eyes were just at the level of her cunt. Not that he'd ever get any closer to it, but the thought was full of a deep-set irony that he couldn't ignore. He certainly was in a better position than Jaime for some things, at least.
“I'm sure you can enlighten me, sweet sister,” he replied nonchalantly. “You always shed on me the most precious insights.” And the most inane insults.
She scowled at him, eyes full of contempt. “What do you want, Tyrion?”
“But only to please you,” he replied as he looked at her, turning with a snort to swirl in her room, looking for something to wear in one of her many coffers. One more, he mused, and the door would barely open a crack. Jaime would probably be inconvenienced. Poor him.
“Perish the thought,” she ordered him moodily. Perish the thought indeed, he thought to himself. I'd rather lose my cock to a rattling snake than bed you, sister. I'm not my brother.
She was laying out dresses, one green, one blue and one purple, and ignoring the Imp completely, she started to consider which one she would wear. Jaime liked the green, but it was the King she was trying to ensnare, tonight. Maybe she aught to wear green, after all. It would be fitting as her sigil. If she had her own, it had to be a praying mantis. Except for how Cersei never prayed.
“Which one, which one,” Tyrion mused, lazily. “I say they all compliment you the same,” he told her, though she didn't ask for his advice. No matter what she wore, Robert Baratheon would find the same thing underneath. Tyrion found himself wondering if the boisterous king would even have a chance. Probably not. Too bad - that would have freed a couple of pleasing whores that Tyrion certainly would have enjoyed all the more.
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Tyrion,” she replied shortly. “Get out of my room.”
He clambered out of his seat and gave her a bow.
“No order was ever sweeter, Cersei. Make sure to be on time, at least.”
He left the letter he'd come to carry her on the nightstand, and wondered to himself if Robert knew that he was trading a whore for another. Poor fat man had probably no idea that he would never get the prize, he mused as he walked down the steps, painstakingly.
Then again, Cersei wasn't a prize Tyrion wished on anyone. Not even all the gold Littlefinger could muster could make such a prize worth the trouble.
You don't know how hard it is to be me. Clearly, Cersei put her own price well above half a dozen dragon eggs.
As far he was concerned, one would have been enough.