Chapter Text
Tyrion
“A deflowering video?” Tyrion asked and stared at the girl across the desk. She smiled, all bright eyes and beaming light; her cheeks were apple red with embarrassment, and her pink gloss lipstick gave her a sweet, youthful appearance. Her red tresses fell down her back in soft curls, and her little tits barely filled out her sweater. She didn’t look like any of the desperate trailer trash girls that came to him with the one expensive thing they had left.
It made him feel shitty for bringing out the big desk, but he didn’t know what Baelish was trying to sell him before the little girl sat in the casting chair.
Baelish stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders, pushing the collar of her sweater down enough to show off her sharp collarbones and the slight swell of her breasts. “We thought of your studio first. It’s not every day that a talent such as this becomes available.”
Tyrion cleared his throat, pulling his eyes up from her small breasts. Good god, was she even legal? “Forgive me if I’m a little dubious as to the truth of the matter. You’re asking for a lot of money here.”
“She’s willing to be examined,” Baelish said, his expression darkening. “I knew my Sansa was going to be a prize when I took her in. I wasn’t going let just any brute ruin her.”
The girl looked up at Baelish and smiled, adoration gleaming in her eyes. It made Tyrion sick. Who knew how he’d trained her to be such a servile creature? There was much that could be done to her without taking her maidenhead.
Tyrion closed his date book with a snap. “I need to talk to her alone.”
Baelish twitched. “I assure you anything you need to say to her can be said in front of me. To make sure she understands.”
He glared across the table levelly. “If she’s that stupid, she doesn’t need to be in my office.”
Sansa hiccuped, smothering a laugh. Baelish’s eyes snapped to her, and she put her hand over his. “I’ll be fine, uncle. He’s not so scary,” she chirped for the first time since the meeting started, wet, doe-eyes on her manager.
His lips quirked up, soothed. “Alright. Don’t agree to anything. And don’t sign anything without my input.”
“Of course.”
Baelish scowled at him again before straightening his suit and leaving the room.
“Lovely man,” Tyrion said, and Sansa cocked her head with another sweet, dumb smile. “Do you want a coffee, tea? I’ll get you a tea. I have rooibos, mint, this fruit something…”
“Yes, thank you. Mint, please,” she cheeped.
Tyrion pressed a pod through the machine and watched it drip. Bronn had the contraption weeks ago. He hated it. It was no substitute for real brewed tea, but his clients weren’t the type to notice or complain. He glanced at the girl. “You realize what you’re… uncle is asking here? What he wants you to do?”
She nodded. “Oh yes. He wants to pluck my flower.”
He stared at her as the machine gurgled to a stop. “Uh… right.” He passed the tea over with the sugar bowl. “You want to give away your virginity to some man on camera to be watched by thousands of people?”
She stirred the sugar into the tea and took a delicate sip. She made a face at the taste but smoothed it over expertly. “Yes, but I have one condition.”
He smiled. Sweet girls like her rarely got what they wanted, especially with a man like Baelish at her side. He’d do his best to get it for her. “And what is that?”
“I want the Hound,” she said cheerily.
Tyrion choked. She couldn’t be serious. She was stupid. Holy shit, she really was stupid. The Hound didn’t play nice. He didn’t play easy. Tyrion had directed at least a dozen movies with Sandor “The Hound” Clegane, and not a one of them gave him any confidence that the Hound could handle a delicate, fresh girl. “Sandor Clegane doesn’t do deflowering videos. He’s… have you seen his work?”
She bounced in her seat and nodded exuberantly. “Of course, I have. I’ve seen it all. The Kingsguard Takes the Queen. Anal Gaping Whores 3 and 4. The Hound Does Dorne. A Lady’s Dog. Did you know that was the only time he played as a sub? Winner’s Circle with the military thing. That avante guarde one with the bells. Mounting the Dragon. Piss Play: Parts 5 and 6. Do you know how hard Part 6 was to find?”
He stared at the girl, brain on reboot. What the fuck? Sweet, subservient little Sansa was a horn dog. “Yes, Part 6 shouldn’t be available at all. It got mired in the Baratheon/Lannister divorce. Copyright issues.”
Her eyes glittered. “It was his best work.”
Tyrion grimaced. The shoot had been something, but he wasn’t sure he’d call it anyone’s best work. “Miss Sansa, if you’ve seen all those things, then you know he’s not a suitable partner for a new talent. He doesn’t have a tender bone in his body, especially nothing tender for your little flower.”
She pouted petulantly. “I want him.”
He shook his head. The Hound would brutalize her. Even if they strapped the dog down and let her ride any way she wanted, his size would fucking kill her. Size kinks were good for business, but Big Dick Clegane wasn’t a joke. “I can’t, in good conscience, suggest Clegane for this. He coddles no one. He will hurt you.”
Her expression darkened; gone was the sweet high school persona for something distinctly predatory. “You need me more than I need you. Your studio isn’t solvent. You’re not bringing in the cash that you used to since everything went digital. I can give this fresh, pristine pussy to anyone off the street right now, but I thought we both could make a little money. No acting, no faking. Real virgin tears. And all it takes is the right partner. I want Sandor Clegane.”
Tyrion stared at her in awe and a little bit of fear. “You’re insane.”
“My therapist says I shouldn’t let people call me that,” she snapped.
He raised his hands. “Alright, I’m sorry. I can get you a meeting with him, but that’s all I can promise. He has to agree, too.”
She brightened again and leaned back in her chair, clutching her minty tea close. “I’ll make sure he does.”