A/N: Just a quick smut one-shot done for day 10 of my 30 days of writing. It's not very good, but I'd rather post it here than my tumblr. Enjoy.
It was wrong, he knew. Half the bloody forge was open to the air, for R'hllor's sake. If she didn't stop with those lips, if either one of them made too loud a noise...She swirled her tongue and he lost all thought.
He must have made some sort of moan or gasp, because she tilted her chin up and smiled...or gave as best an approximation of a smile as one can give with a cock in their mouth. Gendry was certain that he moaned that time, his sweaty, dark head thrashing against the pillow beneath him.
The hot, pressured sensation that was building in his groin and tickling up his spine was manageable for now, but he knew it wouldn't be for long. Once the heat spread to his stomach, there would be no stopping it. Not that I'd ever want to.
Arya seemed to feel differently. She took as much of him into her mouth as would fit, then slowly pulled up and off of him, kneeling next to him on the straw mattress.
He looked up at her. "Yes, Princess?" he panted, still on fire from the feeling of her mouth around him.
"Having fun?"
Gendry managed a weak nod.
"I want to have fun," Arya suggested, crossing her arms in a mock-pout. "After all, it is my name day," she added, moving to pull off her thin linen shirt.
"Arya..." he lifted himself up onto his elbows to protest, slowly shaking his head, "We can't...the Queen...you're still..." Damning her and her wicked, exquisite tongue, he struggled to find words to express what a bad idea it was.
She was having none of his trouble. "I do what I like, Gendry. And who's to say I'm still anything?" she teased him, raising an eyebrow.
Before he could answer, her hair was falling all around his face and her lips were on his cheek and brow and throat and his thoughts abandoned him once more. His heart was thrumming in his chest pressed so tightly to hers, and his hands felt impossibly large passing over her sweaty, narrow back.
Her hips were moving urgently against his own, and her fingers left his tangled nest of coal-black hair for long enough to unlace the breeches she'd undoubtedly stolen from Jon.
Eyes wide with desperate urgency, Gendry searched her face for any hint of hesitation and found none. He sat up to help her wriggle out of those thrice-damned breeches so he could have her, but she pushed him down. "I'm in charge, smith," she murmured, her voice low and thick with lust.
Finally free of breeches and smallclothes, Arya positioned herself above him and slowly sank down onto his eager cock. Her eyes shut briefly, but then shot wide open with the thrill of the entirely new sensation. When they did, the light of the moon made them look like two pools of perfectly pure silver, and Gendry thought they might be infinitely more precious.