Joffrey made his way through the winding halls of Winterfell, the stone walls still unfamiliar despite the time he had spent there. After the successful hunt, he was riding high on his accomplishments and wanted to keep that momentum going. He had plans—small schemes and moves that required subtlety and influence. And to pull them off, he needed someone who understood the art of manipulation just as well as he did: his uncle, Tyrion Lannister.
It didn't take long for Joffrey to find Tyrion's usual haunt. He approached the matron of the brothel nestled within the castle's guest wing, a place where the whispers of nobility mingled with the softer, secretive undertones of hired pleasure. Joffrey's reputation preceded him; the matron gave a quick bowa, her eyes wary but obedient.
"I need Ros," Joffrey demanded, his tone casual but with the unmistakable authority of royalty.
The matron nodded without question, summoning the red-haired girl with a quick wave. Ros appeared moments later, her dress slightly askew, lips painted with a mischievous smile. She glanced at Joffrey with a knowing look—she had seen the games of nobles before and knew her part in them.
Joffrey led Ros down the dimly lit corridor, her heels clicking softly against the cold stone floor. He pushed open the door to Tyrion's room without knocking, finding his uncle exactly where he expected—lounging on a plush chair with a cup of wine in hand, another woman already keeping him entertained.
"Uncle," Joffrey greeted, his voice cutting through the room. "Busy as ever, I see."
Tyrion looked up, half-smiling, half-surprised at the sudden intrusion. He raised his goblet in a mock toast. "Ah, my dear nephew. To what do I owe this pleasure? You've interrupted quite the intimate discussion."
Joffrey smirked, settling into a chair across from Tyrion and snapping his fingers. Ros moved obediently, draping herself across Joffrey's lap, her presence both a statement and an accessory. His hands moved to her waist, and he pulled her closer, his fingers playing casually with the fabric of her dress.
"I was just checking up on family," Joffrey said, feigning nonchalance. "Wanted to see if you were doing anything other than keeping company with paid women."
Tyrion's eyes flicked from Joffrey to Ros and back, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. "I find it refreshing to be surrounded by honest professionals, unlike certain nobles I could name." He paused, raising an eyebrow. "But I doubt you came here just for a chat. What do you need, Joffrey?"
Joffrey leaned back, enjoying the weight of Ros against him as he squeezed her close, his fingers playing at the lace of her bodice. "I need an alibi," he said simply. "Can't have it look like I came here just for a woman's company. I came to see you, Uncle, and Ros just happened to follow."
Tyrion chuckled, leaning back in his chair, his own companion's head still resting against his thigh. "Alibis? Nephew, I think you're taking lessons from the wrong people if you think I'm any good for that." He took another sip of wine, savoring the taste. "But tell me, how's your lovely betrothed, Sansa? Not enough for you?"
Joffrey's grip tightened around Ros's waist, his expression darkening for a brief moment before his smile returned. "Oh, I like her well enough," he said, his tone dripping with a twisted fondness. "But sometimes a man craves... variety." His hands moved up, tracing the curve of Ros's chest, squeezing with a casual possessiveness.
Ros glanced at Joffrey, her breath hitching slightly at his touch. "Your Grace," she murmured, a sly smile curling her lips, "I do hope I'm providing that variety."
"You are," Joffrey said, his eyes still on Tyrion. "And more. But I wouldn't want this visit to seem like anything less than a family affair."
Tyrion laughed, pushing his own companion's head down with a gentle but insistent hand. "Indulge all you like, Joffrey. As long as you don't forget who pays the bills around here." His eyes glinted with mischief. "You cover my expenses, and I'll cover for you."
Joffrey nodded, his attention shifting back to Ros as he guided her off his lap and toward the bed. She moved willingly, her body responding to his silent commands, knowing well the dance expected of her. Tyrion watched, amused, as Joffrey pulled Ros close, positioning her in a way that suited him, asserting his control over the situation.
Ros's breath was warm against Joffrey's ear as she leaned in, whispering with a playful edge, "I've heard you're quite the prince, Your Grace. I hope you're as good as they say."
Joffrey smirked, his fingers threading through her hair as he pulled her closer. "Better," he said simply, the confidence in his voice absolute.
Jeoffrey takes ros to he next room and puts her on the bed before taking off her clothes.
Joffrey's smirk grew darker as he guided Ros to the bed, each step deliberate, savoring the control he held over the situation. She lay back, her body stretching languidly across the sheets, her eyes gleaming with a mix of challenge and anticipation. Joffrey's gaze lingered on her, drinking in every curve, every small, teasing movement of her hips as she settled into a position that invited him closer.
He stripped off his clothes slowly, each piece of fabric falling to the floor as he revealed the honed body he'd been working on in secret. His muscles, lean and defined, rippled under the dim light, a stark contrast to the soft warmth of Ros sprawled before him. Her breath hitched as he crawled onto the bed, positioning himself above her, their eyes locked in a silent battle of dominance and submission.
Joffrey's fingers trailed down Ros's sides, tracing the lace of her dress before pulling it down to expose her breasts, nipples hardening in the cool air. He bent down, his lips brushing against her neck, teasing her skin with soft bites and flicks of his tongue. Ros moaned, arching her back, her hands instinctively reaching up to grasp at his shoulders, pulling him closer.
"You think you can handle this, Ros?" Joffrey whispered against her ear, his voice low and filled with a dangerous promise. His hand moved lower, sliding between her thighs, feeling the heat and wetness already pooling there. She gasped, her body responding immediately to his touch, her legs spreading wider, inviting him deeper.
"More than you know, Your Grace," Ros purred, her voice thick with need. She rocked her hips against his hand, desperate for more than just teasing touches. Joffrey grinned, pushing two fingers inside her, curling them just right, making her moan loudly. Her body writhed beneath him, slick and eager, every gasp and whimper feeding his growing hunger.
Joffrey pulled back, gripping Ros by the hips and flipping her over, pressing her face into the mattress, her ass high in the air. He spread her cheeks, admiring the view, his cock throbbing with anticipation. "Beg for it, Ros," he demanded, his tone commanding, leaving no room for defiance.
Ros glanced back, biting her lip as she pushed her hips back toward him, her eyes blazing with lust. "Please, Your Grace," she pleaded breathlessly, her voice a delicious mix of submission and challenge. "Fuck me. Use me."
Joffrey's restraint snapped. He positioned himself, the head of his cock pressing against her slick entrance, teasing her for just a moment longer before thrusting in, filling her completely. Ros cried out, her nails digging into the sheets as he started to move, each thrust hard and unrelenting. The bed creaked under their combined rhythm, every thrust deep and punishing, driving moans and gasps from Ros's lips.
He grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling her head back as he pounded into her, each movement sending jolts of pleasure through them both. "You're mine, Ros," Joffrey growled, his pace quickening, the intensity of his thrusts leaving her breathless. She could only nod, lost in the overwhelming sensations, her cries echoing off the stone walls.
Joffrey's grip tightened as he continued to take her, the sounds of their bodies colliding filling the room—a symphony of raw, unfiltered lust. Ros's moans grew louder, desperate, her body clenching around him, driving him closer to the edge. With a final, deep thrust, Joffrey groaned, burying himself inside her as he reached his peak, his release hitting hard, hot, and unrestrained.
Ros collapsed beneath him, panting, her body still trembling from the intensity. Joffrey pulled out slowly, admiring the way she lay spent and sated on the bed, his own breathing heavy. He watched her for a moment, satisfied with his conquest, before leaning in close, his voice a dark whisper against her ear.
"Remember this, Ros," Joffrey said softly, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "I always get what I want."
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