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The lounge is mostly empty except for the young man standing alone at the bar, dressed in a tailored black suit and sipping amber-colored liquid served neat, and Sansa is glad she wore her backless black dress with the plunging neckline when she slides up beside him.

“Never seen you here before,” she says to him.  His hair is like hers, auburn and wavy and a little wild, and he’s more handsome than any man has a right to be.

“Just moved to King’s Landing,” he confirms, and his gray eyes are wandering over her, definitely interested.  “You come here often?”

“Often enough.”

The man holds up a finger and moments later there is another drink in front of him.  

“Here you go, Rodd,” the bartender says.

“Rodd,” she purrs, leaning on the bar just enough to make her cleavage swell.  “I’m Sansa.”

His gaze drifts down to her bust and lingers a moment before making the climb back up to her face.

“You got someone waiting for you at home, Sansa?” he asks, his voice rich and warm, and she licks her lips before answering, a slow trace of tongue over skin that promises so much more.

“He’s out of town.”  

It’s a lie, and they both know it, both know exactly where this is going and exactly where it will end, no messy break-ups or awkward morning-afters.  It’s with that in mind that he steps closer, puts a hand on her hip to gently pull her into him, leaning down to...  

“And… CUT!”

“Have I mentioned how much I appreciate you casting my brother as my latest love interest?” Sansa demanded loudly.  “Really awesome, guys, doesn’t make my job harder at all.”

“It was your mom’s idea.”

“It was most certainly not,” Catelyn protested, remarkably lively for a woman dressed like death.  “I only asked you to give him a job.”

Arianne smiled.  “And I did.”

“Yes, and I’m grateful for the opportunity,” Robb called, though the way he was chugging liquor straight out of a bottle meant he was not quite as grateful as he pretended.  Not that Sansa blamed him; she wouldn’t mind a drink right now, either.  And maybe a full-body exfoliation to get the grossness off.  

“Ugh, I can’t even with this place…”

At least she was done for the day and could just change and go home, but when she entered her lush dressing room she was surprised to find her boyfriend already there, lounging on the chaise, legs spread wide and taking up way more space than necessary.

“Hey baby, I didn’t know you were here.  Did you watch the shoot?”

“I did.”  

“And?”

“You know I hate how they use you as a bicycle for every hot guy to ride.”

“Sandor!  That’s disgusting!” she exclaimed, not really as indignant as the words warranted, but they’d had this conversation so many times already she couldn’t quite muster the same rage.  Not to mention he was kinda right though she would never tell him that, just as she would never tell him she kinda liked it.  

“Besides... it's not every hot guy,” she said now, sliding onto his lap and pressing against him in the way she knew he liked.  “I can think of one hot guy they never let me ride no matter how much I beg.”

“I do like it when you beg,” he grumbled against her lips though his arms stayed at his sides.  That was odd.  Usually he couldn’t keep his hands to himself, usually she was constantly peeling him off of her, but now he seemed so distant.  Rigid.  And not in the good way.

“What’s wrong?”

He sighed.  “You’ve heard about this live finale thing?”

“Mmhmm, I told Arianne I should be pregnant but have no idea who the father is.”

“Yeah, well… Walda’s pushing for a threesome.”

“Huh,” she said, suddenly lost in thought.  As much as it seemed to bother Sandor, and as much as she wanted to comfort him, all she could think was that Walda was a lucky lucky girl though Sandor’s raised eyebrow brought her back to reality.  “I mean… that’s appalling.  I am shocked, and offended.  How could they plan such a thing?”

He nodded gravely, and Sansa nodded back in a show of solidarity though her mind was wandering again.  The thing was, Sandor was a big man.  And his brother was even bigger.  And Walda… well, she was just one woman, how could there possibly be enough of her to go around?  And the thought of four enormous masculine hands wandering over one soft feminine form… two massive bodies with corresponding needs… probably fighting over who got to hold her breasts...

“No really- how.  The logistics are escaping me.”

“Stop it, Sansa, it’s not funny.”

“Like, where would everyone’s legs go?”

“Oh, gross, stop.”

“And who would be on top?”

“Stop!”

“Someone is gonna get crushed…”

“Aaaaaaarrrrrrgghgghhhhh!!!”

Sansa was a good girlfriend- she really was- and thus took every effort to hide her laughter when Sandor stormed out of her dressing room.  

Oh man, a threesome was a way better idea than your regular run-of-the-mill baby-daddy-drama, and Sansa was kicking herself for not thinking of it first.  Not that it was her fault, really, since... well, since she'd never thought about that before at all.  Too bad Sandor was so skittish about the conversation because she had a lot of questions.  Oh well.  If he couldn’t answer them then there was only one other person she could think of to ask.  And why not?  Sansa was sleeping with him, and Walda was pretending to sleep with him, which by soap standards meant they were practically sisters.  

“One big happy family,” Sansa muttered to herself, and pulled out her phone to text Walda.