Tails

You call tails.

Tyrion flips the copper penny onto the table, where it lands with a loud clunk. You peer over to see what it landed on.

“Heads.” Tyrion announces happily, lifting another goblet of wine. “Sit, my friend, and we will drink into the night together.”

Tyrion makes good on his promise and the pair of you spend many hours drinking and cavorting. Playing games, gambling, swapping illicit sex stories. The dwarf is not as shocked as you expected by your stories of male sexual exploits, although you have heard these things are some sort of taboo in westerosi society.

Boldly, you ask Tyrion if he has ever experienced the pleasure of another man. The dwarf laughs and insists that he has not, nor does he have any intention to do so. “Between you and me though,” he confides. “There are a few whores at Petyr’s brother who will stick a finger in your ass for an extra silver.”

You ask if he has ever tried a tongue instead. Luckily in his drunkenness he fails to realise your sexual advances, or perhaps is pretending not to realise. He answers that he has never had the courage to ask a woman for such a thing.

You sympathise openly that women can be such prudes about these things. Tyrion raises a goblet to that, although he spills the contents quickly on the floor.

“I am well and truly pissed, aren’t I?” He remarks, looking at the new carpet stain. “Walk me to my rooms, friend. I fear I may not survive the steps on my own two feet.”

You are not exactly sober, but you have been drinking far less than Tyrion, and making sure to have water. As a result you escort the dwarf back to his chambers.

Tyrion collapses on the bed with no hesitation. Having seen him safely to his room, you slowly back out the door and head back to your apartment.

Two halls down a terrified looking servant approaches you holding a small bag. “Your Grace,” she bows, pushing the bag into your hands. “I found this on the floor. I believe Lord Tyrion may have dropped it on the way to his bedroom. It has not been touched except to be handed to you, Your Grace.”

It is a rather heavy bag of gold and silver coins. You can’t help but wonder why this servant didn’t just take the money for themselves.

“My cousin stole a necklace from Cersei Lannister once,” the servant says as if she can tell what you’re thinking. “She was beaten by one of her guards. Now she only has one eye.”

With an awkward bow, the servant scurries away.

You head back to Tyrion’s room. As you approach the door, you begin to hear a strange sound, almost like a groan of some sort. Thinking that Tyrion may need help, you quickly rush through the door.

In his drunkenness, Tyrion does not flinch at your sudden entrance. It takes him a few seconds to even notice you have returned.

“Your Grace,” he says, right hand around his cock, left index finger stroking it’s way down his taint. He lies naked on his back with his feet in the air. “Pray excuse… I did not expect the pleasure… the pleasure of your company again so soon…”

His drunk words slur into each other, a glazed expression on his face. His finger rubs around his hole, mouth drooling, eyes staring into yours.