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Arya stormed through the trees, muttering insults and swearing to herself as she went. “Fucking stupid bull. Complete arse. Shit- Fucking- Stupid- Arse-” Her rants dissolved into nonsense as her rage thrummed through her, heating her blood and setting fire to her chest.
No one got under her skin like Gendry. Not Anguy and his teasing. Not Beric and his protectiveness. Not even Ned and his solicitous my lady’s . Only Gendry could raise her ire so. Made her so spitting mad she couldn’t see straight. Couldn’t think straight.
And damn him. She knew why. She knew exactly why. It was his eyes, his hair, his stupid muscles, and his even stupider face. The way his arm stretched when he raised his hammer. The way it rang through her when he slammed it down on the anvil. The way beads of sweat trickled down his skin as he worked. And the way his eyes flashed darkly at her when they argued.
It was the fluttery sensations that erupted when he flashed her a lopsided smile. The lightning that danced across her skin when his hand accidentally brushed hers. The red hot flare of possessiveness when Jeyne or Willow smiled at him. The near painful tightness in her chest when he sometimes smiled back.
She’d spent time enough around the women at the Peach to know what all these things meant, what it was she wanted from him, and it infuriated her like nothing ever had.
How dare he? How dare he fluster her so? What gave him the right?
They’d been at each other’s throats for moons now. Arguing over the smallest things. Insignificant things, but she couldn’t help it. She just couldn’t seem to stop herself.
She wasn’t even sure what had set them off. She’d been having a perfectly ordinary conversation with Ned over a bowl of stew, something about Starfall, when she’d glanced up to see Gendry watching them, eyes narrowed and scowling.
And then, they were in the yard, hissing barbs at one another before he stormed off in a rage to his forge, leaving her sputtering indignantly at his retreating back.
How dare he leave her like that? Practically shaking with fury. With annoyance. With a need so intense, she could scarcely bear it.
Every time they ended up screaming at each other, she could feel it pulsing through her veins. The want burning her from the inside out as she imagined him pushing her up against the wall, one large hand holding her in place while the other roamed over her skin. His lips moving down her throat and his body weighing her down. Vivid images that would not stop, would not let her be.
It was completely and utterly unfair.
Reaching the small clearing, she stopped abruptly and let out a howl of frustration. She needed a release. Scrabbling at the ties of her breeches, she shoved her hand between her legs in an attempt to relieve the pressure, the ache, but even as she slipped her fingers through the curls to the slick folds beneath, she knew it would not work. Not this time. She was too angry, too furious.
“Fuck!” she yelled, breathing heavily and trying to calm her mind, but it was for naught, and it was all his fault.
How fucking dare he?
She yelled, long and loud and with every ounce of anger poured into it, before turning and storming back to the inn. If she couldn’t find a moment’s peace, then neither would he, godsdamn him.
She could have knocked. She should have knocked. But she was already halfway through their argument when she reached the door to his forge and knocking would have just let him turn her away. Besides, her mind was already too full of retorts to his imagined insults to think of it.
Slamming the door open, she launched into her rant and then abruptly stopped.
“You don’t just get to-” She cut herself off with a gasp, stopping dead at the sight in front of her.
Gendry was standing before her, one hand bracing himself against the table in the center of the room, the other gripped tightly around his cock, stroking himself furiously, almost angrily in his movements.
It was as if time had stopped completely. Barely a second passed before his head snapped up at the sound of her entrance, but she registered everything. His closed eyes, the clench of his jaw, the ragged sound of his breathing. The leaking tip of his cock protruding from his fist, the nest of dark hair at the base, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he worked himself over. Instantly, her mind conjured countless possibilities. Her own hand in place of his. Kneeling in front of him, taking him in her mouth. Sat on the worktable before him, legs wide. On his cot in the back room. Against the door. The wall. The floor. The anvil. Anywhere and everywhere.
He stared at her, wide eyed, for what felt like forever and no time at all, then yanked his trousers up, his face flushing scarlet as he spun to turn his back to her. “Fucking hells, Arya!” he shouted over his shoulder as he adjusted his clothing. “You can’t just barge in like that!”
The furious bluster that had been swept away by a flood of heat reignited with Gendry’s fury. The spark of anger flared back to life, mingling hot with the want in her veins. She glared at his back. “Well, if you’d bar your fucking door, I wouldn’t have been able to!”
“Oh, so this is my fault?” he scoffed, turning to face her again, hands on his hips. The movement pulled the fabric of his tunic taut, doing little to hide the bulge beneath. Her anger was immediately tempered by a burning sensation of shameful curiosity, the almost desperate need to see . “No,” he said, drawing her attention back to his beet-red face. “This is your fault.”
“My fault? My fault?” Her voice had gone high and a little screechy, and she cringed at the sound. She stomped forward to plant her hands on the table and scowled at him. “It’s my fault that you can’t keep your hand out of your pants?!”
“Yes!” he shouted, leaning forward and mirroring her pose. “Because if you didn’t get me so worked up, I wouldn’t have to!” He glared at her, exhaling noisily through his nostrils.
There was a split second of confusion, but then the implication of what he said hit her and she jerked upright. Gendry touched himself because of her? She mouthed wordlessly at him as she stared in shock.
“Thought that would shut you up,” he muttered darkly, his eyes darting to the side, no longer looking at her.
She could only gape at him, her mind too busy trying to make sense of it all. Every argument they’d had for the last two moons had sent her fleeing. Into the woods, to her room, anywhere for a bit of privacy to work out all that pent up emotion. All that frustration, all that anger, all that want that had nowhere to go.
Had he been doing the same?
Silence stretched, and after a moment he huffed angrily. “You should go,” he said from between gritted teeth.
She probably should. But she rarely did as she should.
“I do it too,” she whispered, flushing hotly at her admission.
Gendry froze, his eyes flicking back to her questioningly.
“After we fight,” she clarified. “I- I touch myself.”
The tension seemed to leave him instantly, his shoulders relaxing, and he blinked at her, his mouth dropping open.
She continued. “You just make me so...” She trailed off, unsure how to explain it.
“Hot,” he said, after a moment. “Like your blood is just burning, and you don’t know what to do with it.”
Arya’s heart was pounding in her throat. “Like there’s something trapped inside you, and you’d do anything to let it out.”
Gendry was nodding in agreement, his eyes roaming over her hungrily. “I know it’s wrong,” he said huskily, the tone in his voice rumbling through her, shooting jolts of desire to her core. “You’re not meant for me.”
“I’m meant for no one but you.”
Gendry stared, conflict clear in his eyes, but she met his gaze unwaveringly, and after a long moment, he gave a short sharp nod, and moved. He was slow, deliberate as he came around his work table to stand in front of her, giving her every chance in the world to leave. She turned, following his steps until he was nearly in front of her, her back against the table.
Her eyes drifted shut and she took in a long, deep breath before opening them to find him before her, eyes smoldering as he gazed down at her, his expression stealing her breath and setting her heart racing. Reaching out slowly, he grasped her fingers in his, and she could feel them trembling. Leaning down, he gently pressed his lips against hers, pulling back almost immediately. Arya lifted herself up on her toes to chase after him, fingers curling against his chest, trying to bring him closer. For a moment, she feared he might pull away, push her back, protest that they couldn’t, but then his mouth was on hers again and he was kissing her so fiercely she could hardly think.
She’d thought about it. Fantasized. What his lips would feel like. Brushing her fingers against her mouth and imagining it was him as she worked herself over.
It was nothing like her fingers. Nothing like her fantasies.
It was heat curling deep in her gut, erupting into something unrecognizable at the feel of his lips pressing insistently against hers. It was her skin burning, nearly engulfed in the feel of his touch, of his fingers.
And they were everywhere. One moment curling into her waist, pulling her closer. Next moment, cupping her cheek gently. Then tangled in her hair, running down her back, stroking her neck.
It was all too much. The ache between her legs was unbearable. Something had to be done. She wrenched her mouth from his, gasping for breath as her chest heaved.
“Please,” she breathed, pressing her groin into him, a wicked satisfaction roaring through her at the feel of his length, hard and hot against her. “Please touch me, Gendry.”
His eyes darkened, and again she could see the conflict warring within him.
“Just touch,” she whispered. “That’s all.” She closed her eyes and took a long slow breath before looking back up at him. “Just- Help me let it out.”
The hand around her waist tightened, and he inhaled sharply as his eyes darted quickly downward before nodding. His hand moved, then froze, and he paused, licking his lips nervously. “I don’t- The men talk,” he said slowly. “And I hear… things. About what to do. But-” He stopped and met her gaze. “Can you show me?” His face was so open, so earnest that she nearly laughed, but the hunger in his eyes stopped her, and she simply nodded.
“If you’ll show me.”
Gendry sucked in a breath, his cheeks tinged pink, and the corners of his lips curved up as he nodded in agreement.
Taking a deep breath, she leaned back slightly against the table before moving her hand down his arm and slowly bringing his fingers to the ties on her breeches, guiding him to the knot holding them in place. A moment later, his hand was sliding down her abdomen, fingers brushing through her curls and into her folds.
A moan fell from her lips, and her head dropped to his chest. “Fuck,” she whispered, letting the sensations of it all wash over. The rough pads of his fingers as they slid over her slick skin. The scent so uniquely him, smoke and flame mingled with sweat and hot iron. The heat of his breath against her neck. The sound of his ragged breathing in her ear.
“Gods, yes,” she whispered, shifting slightly to give him a better angle. His thumb caught against that one particular spot and she gasped. “There,” she said breathily, catching his wrist and holding his hand in place against her. “Right there.”
She looked up to see him watching her closely, his eyes dark and serious. “Here?” he asked, sliding his fingers up to brush against the little bud, and she let out an almost obscene moan. Gendry’s eyes brightened in delight, his mouth curving up in a wicked smile. “Right here?”
“Oh, fuck,” she breathed as his hand moved between her thighs. Her eyes closed, her head dropped back, and she felt his lips against her throat, hot and wet. Her hand flew up to his head, pulling him closer, and she heard him chuckle.
“Is this to m’lady’s liking?” he teased.
She would have smacked him, but the groan she let out as his fingers worked her over seemed answer enough for him. For someone who claimed not to know what to do, he was making a remarkable job of it. Almost too remarkable. At this rate, she’d finish in no time, and that just wouldn’t do. She wanted more.
“Can you-” She cut herself off, a bit embarrassed to voice her want.
Gendry’s hand stilled, and she wanted to kick herself. “Can I?”
“Can you- Inside me?”
He seemed to stop breathing momentarily, but then his hand slid down slowly, tentatively moving towards her entrance. His fingers were cautious, probing gently until one slipped inside her, and she gasped. “ Oh.” Her eyes fluttered shut. “That’s-” She gasped again as he pressed into her. “That’s- Bigger. Your fingers. They’re bigger than mine.”
Gendry groaned against her ear. “Fuck,” he breathed. “You did this to yourself?”
She nodded, and he groaned again.
“Like this?” he asked as he began to move his hand.
She nodded again. “Slower, though.” Reaching down, she gripped his wrist to show him, moaning at the feel of it, the burning heat it was spreading through her. “Like this,” she said, guiding his hand.
He was a quick study, moving at an absolutely delicious pace. The friction was nearly perfect, but still, she wanted more.
“You can- Another finger.”
He complied instantly, stretching her more than she’d ever imagined. A moan fell from her lips, and the hand that had been around his wrist drifted up slightly, her fingers working in tandem with his.
She looked up, meeting his heated gaze, and she could feel the edge of her release starting to crest. She wanted to kiss him again. She wanted him closer when she fell. She wanted. She wanted. She wanted.
Reaching up with her free hand, she pulled his head down, gasping into his mouth as her body tensed, clenching around his fingers and shuddering against him.
It was like nothing she’d ever felt before.
It was flying and falling all at once. It was an explosion of some indefinable sensation pulsing out from her core, consuming her from within. It was her entire being vibrating in his arms as her ability to do anything except feel completely abandoned her.
“Seven hells,” she whispered once she’d finally found her breath again. “You- That was-” She stopped, willing her heart to slow. “You are definitely doing that again,” she said, lifting herself up on her toes to kiss him again.
She felt his lips curve into a smile, and he chuckled, the sound of it washing over her. “Is that a command, Lady Stark?”
Arya pulled back slightly and fixed him with a stern look. “Absolutely,” she said firmly.
Gendry’s lips parted, and he sucked in a breath before leaning in and placing his hands on either side of her on the table, caging her in. “As you wish, m’lady.”
She should have felt trapped, caught as she was between him and the table behind her, but she didn’t. On the contrary, she felt as if he wasn’t close enough. She surged closer, pressing her body against his, gasping at the feel of him against her belly.
Pulling back slightly, she looked down, His trousers were tented rather dramatically, and her earlier need to see seemed to twist inside her, shifting into something much more tangible. Her fingers twitched.
“May I?” Her hand was at his waist, hovering over the laces.
Gendry nodded fervently, and she tugged at the knot, loosening his waist band before plunging her hand inside.
“Oh,” she breathed, as her fingers found him. He was thick and long in her palm. Hot and almost twitching under her touch, he was a contrast in sensation. Silken skin over iron. Tentatively, she wrapped her fingers around him, and he groaned. Tightening her grip, she slid her hand experimentally down his shaft, and he groaned again.
“ Arya.” His voice was almost a growl, deep and rough and so, so appealing. She felt a fresh surge of arousal wash over her. “Gods, your hand,” he bit out. “It’s-”
She stroked him again, and he shuddered slightly, filling her again with that wicked satisfaction.
“Show me?” She asked, and Gendry immediately moved to close his hand over hers.
“Little tighter,” he breathed, leaning back slightly to give her more room. “Like this.”
Guiding her hand, he set a rhythm that she easily fell into, his own hand dropping to his side. Sliding her grip up and down his length, she reveled in the sounds he was making, the hitch in his breath, the arch of his neck as his head tilted back. In the power she suddenly seemed to have over him.
She couldn’t keep her eyes off of him. Off his face. He was beautiful like this. His expression somewhere between ecstasy and agony. He seemed to feel the weight of her stare, because his eyes fluttered open and met hers. There was an almost desperate, apologetic look in them.
“I’m not-” He gasped again, and she felt him twitch in her grasp. “I’m not going to last.”
Reaching up with her free hand, she pulled his head down, pressing her forehead against his, so that she was looking straight into his eyes. “Then don’t,” she whispered.
His eyes closed, and he stiffened against her. Half a second later, a warmth dripped down her hand as he pulsed in her grip. That earlier curiosity pulled at her again, urging her to cast her eyes downward, to see , but she could not pull them away from his face. A look of blissful relief seemed to settle onto his features, and it was so peaceful, so… content that an irrational twinge of longing shot through her. Mixed with it, there was an almost giddy sense of achievement. A feeling of pride that she was the cause of it.
His body relaxed, and he sagged forward, his arms caging her in again, his head dropping down to rest upon her shoulder.
“Sorry,” he murmured after a moment.
“What for?”
Lifting his head, he met her gaze, a red tinge across his cheeks as he took the edge of his tunic and wiped his release from her hand. “For- Making a mess.”
She felt her own face heat up, but she smiled shyly at him. “It’s all right,” she said quietly. “We’ll be better prepared next time.”
Gendry’s lips curved up. “Next time?”
She nodded, and he leaned down to kiss her again, slow and soft and almost achingly gentle, his hands cupping her face, one thumb moving across her skin. She melted against him, losing herself in the feel of his touch.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly when they finally pulled apart.
“For what?”
“For all that fuss. All that arguing. I just-” He stopped and frowned. “I wanted this- wanted you so badly, and I didn’t think you’d ever-”
She cut him off with a furious kiss, determined to show him that she would ever.
It was another long moment before they pulled apart again, gasping for breath. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers, his hand wrapped gently around the back of her neck.
“No more fighting?” he asked quietly, and she nodded, then stopped, pulling back to frown up at him.
“They’ll know,” she said. “If we stop. They’ll know something’s changed.”
Gendry blinked at her, then grinned slowly. “Well,” he said, “as long as we make up after, I don’t mind arguing with you.”
Arya felt her mouth curve up in a wicked smile. “Every day?”
Gendry’s arms snaked around her waist, tugging her close as he bent his head to whisper in her ear. “Sometimes twice.”