Warm
Taking place directly after 8.2
Although a fire crackled softly in its hearth mere feet away, Arya felt no warmth. She was lying on a makeshift bed of grain sacks within the armory with Gendry deeply sleeping to her left.
None of this felt real. Arya couldn't breathe deeply, she couldn't even blink. For the first time in years she felt truly afraid. When was the last time she had experienced fear like this? The Waif's pursuit, perhaps, when she ran through the streets of Braavos for her life, her hands desperately trying to keep her blood within her body? No, that had been pure survival. This was different. This was something worse - a deep fear lingering in her gut, bubbling up into her lungs and eyes until she could think of nothing but Winterfell overrun by the dead. She tried to rest, but her lids closed to reveal images of corpses attacking Bran, ripping apart her sister, and gutting Gendry. It would be mere hours now until her fears became reality and deep inside some part of her knew she wasn't ready.
Warriors need sleep too, she tried to tell herself. It was hopeless.
Arya turned her head to her left and studied the man asleep beside her. Only a man would be stupid enough to be able to sleep now, she thought enviously as she watched his chest move rhythmically in deep breaths. She hated his hair like this. It had looked so much better when they were on the Kingsroad and he needed to constantly brush it out of his eyes. His facial hair had been more to her liking back then, too. He looked like a man now, a grown man. That's what we are, she supposed, grown adults ready for the end. She knew she had changed too - though he likely hadn't noticed until she was naked in front of him. Arya's steel eyes continued following his body down his muscular chest to where it was covered by the cloak he had configured into a blanket. She knew what was below it - his well-built arms and calloused hands, one of which was still embracing her own. Arya had always liked those parts, even when the person they were connected to was mocking her all those years ago; she thought back to how she had watched his chest and forearms back in Harenhall. She had memorized the rest of him now as well. Impressive abs, strong legs, and a new part of him she hadn't seen until tonight…
It hadn't been the way she expected, though she supposed she hadn't truly known what to expect at all. The first time was a blur - she couldn't determine when the kissing had turned into sex, of what moment she should qualify as her official transformation into womanhood. The notion of virginity was foolish to her anyhow. A lifetime of riding horses and fighting meant there had been no blood and hardly any pain beyond the accommodation of his size within her. From there it had been a rush of hands and kisses, of moans and breaths and unexpected shocks of pleasure. She didn't care that she hadn't climaxed the first time. It was just all so satisfying.
Gendry had collapsed beside her when he finished, chuckling in a way even her training with the faceless men hadn't prepared her for. She thought now of that moment: he smiled as he slowly came back to life and touched her face with such a tenderness she almost felt as if she were a maiden in one of Sansa's stupid songs. Gendry rearranged the sacks they were lying on to be flatter, wiped his face with a cloth from his cloak, and returned to her. His eyes studied her like she was a new weapon he had never seen before; she didn't like the discomfort she felt then as he stared. Could he see the lives she had taken - the Freys, the Waif, Littlefinger, Polliver? If he could, he gave no indication as he sat down beside her.
His fingers had slowly traced over her scars on her side, the same places he had stopped to stare at as she undressed. Arya felt that knot in her stomach again then. She went to move his touch away and he turned his palm upwards to grab her hand, weaving his fingers between hers. He laid back for a moment before finally speaking.
"Are you going to tell me about them?"
Arya didn't need to ask what he meant. She knew she wouldn't answer. Perhaps one day, if they did this again, if they made it out of this battle and explored one another for a second time, she might be able to explain. She turned towards him but didn't meet his gaze, instead staring at a random spot on the stone wall until he sighed and touched her hair for a moment.
As it happened, she didn't need to wait until after the battle to experience sex again. It seemed like only minutes had passed before Gendry pulled her back down to him and kissed her. Their first kisses had been awkward at first, but these were different. Sex is like fighting, Arya found herself thinking as she noticed the natural adjustments she made to meet his pace and mood. The first time had been aggressive and passionate, like the jabs and swings of Westerosi fighting. If their first round was a knight's awkward combat, the second was a water dance. His kisses were deeper and more passionate, slower and open mouthed so their tongues could exchange steps. His hands and mouth found parts of her he hadn't before, delightful parts that made her understand why people gave up so much for this. There was no laughter the second time, only raw need and something else that she couldn't explain. This time she finished before him, fascinated and undone by the way the pleasure had built up before spreading out to the most wonderful feeling she had ever known. He seemed driven then, and repeated the exact same angles and strokes until they were both collapsing into each other at once. A mess of kisses, sweat, teeth, and mumbled words, they laid together as one until Gendry finally rolled to the side without a word. His hand found hers as sleep quickly took him.
...
Arya woke with a start. She must have drifted to sleep at some point, but Gendry's sudden touch had startled her. She nearly elbowed him and leapt from the bed, but something about his scent and the way it felt to be held calmed her. It was still late at night and she guessed they had a few hours until dawn. Gendry seemed to still be asleep as he pulled her closer to him. For a horrible second, she wondered if he knew it was her. Was he imagining one of those three women from King's Landing? She pushed the thought from her mind and tried to replay their sex over again. His breathing changed slightly and she briefly thought he was waking up, but he soon let out a shaky breath and went back to his normal respiration. Arya closed her eyes and tried to embrace the moment. The dead will be here soon enough, she reasoned.
Gendry felt warm against her back; his embrace felt comforting beyond the temperature, it conjured something else she wasn't ready to feel yet. Arya wrapped her hand around his arm and pushed back against him. She needed to be closer. Eyes still shut, she breathed as deeply as she could and tried to ignore the fear reappearing in her gut. Gendry was truly waking up now. He moaned softly as he pulled her against his torso and lightly kissed her shoulder. Arya wasn't sure how to face him - she had acted so brashly last night, would he feel differently about it now? She chose to lie still instead as she submerged herself into the strange, dull bliss that radiated from their bodies touching. Some cowardly part of her hoped the dead never came, that she could stay like this with Gendry forever. She could imagine them finding happiness right there in that armory for the rest of their days; Jon's dragon queen could have the Iron Throne, Sansa could rule the North or the Vale or whatever she wanted, Bran could have his visions out by the Weirwood tree, all Arya needed was these wheat sacks and Gendry. She sighed and pressed herself closer to him again as she reveled in sex-drunk warmth until three horn blasts woke them from their paradise.
