She was alive.
It had been a couple weeks since Gendry and Arya had begun their journey back to Winterfell, and he still couldn't quite believe that she was somehow with him again. More than once, he'd found himself simply staring after her as she led the way over gnarled tree roots and through fast-flowing rivers.
It had taken some prodding, but eventually Arya had told him of what had happened to her; how she had abandoned the Hound and boarded a ship to Braavos. And then she told him that she had become no one. Her voice was dull and flat when she said the words, and he had no idea what to say. He couldn't believe the things she had been through, the things she had done. He felt useless as he tried to offer her some sort of comfort; the words stuck in his throat, and he was left simply walking alongside her in silence. He was relieved to see that she didn't seem to mind- perhaps she didn't even notice at all.
Gendry was ashamed to admit to himself that the main thing that seemed to occupy his mind lately, though, was the fact that he and Arya had not kissed since that first time- when she had materialized in front of him in the forge like a vision out of one of his dreams. He remembered how he'd thought he'd finally gone mad, because there was no way that she could have been there with him; she was dead . But then she'd spoken to him. He'd touched her, held her in his arms, pressed his mouth hard against hers, and her body had remained firm; her presence hadn't evaporated as soon as he got too close to her, the way it had done ever since she'd been taken from him so many years before.
No, Arya was alive, and altogether too real for him to know what to do with himself. His entire body seemed to ache with the desire to kiss her again, to press her body as close to his as he could, to bury himself inside her until their entire beings seemed to merge. Every second he was around her only increased the painful yearning inside of him, and it didn't help that she didn't appear to understand what she was doing to him.
She couldn't realize the power she held over him, otherwise she wouldn't undress in front of him, bathe in front of him. She wouldn't press against him in the night for warmth. The secrets that had separated them for so long were finally beginning to dissolve into nothingness, but Gendry didn't know what to make of it. He was reluctant to move forward for fear of only pushing her further away, but the pain it caused him to do nothing was costing him dearly. Not for the first time, he wished Arya wasn't so damned closed-off and mysterious; he had no idea how to read her.
The sun was nearing the horizon when his wolf-girl reluctantly stopped to make camp. The first night of their journey, she had tried to insist on walking through the night. Gendry admired her tenacity, and he understood her desire to finally be back at her home, but it had always been his job to keep her practical. Every night since then, however, she'd made a big show of huffing about as she gathered kindling or drew water; tonight was no different.
"Bet you're glad you thought to bring me along now, aren't you?" he said, a smirk on his face and sarcasm in his voice. He shrugged his shoulders out of the heavy pack of supplies he'd been carrying all day and rubbed vigorously at his sore muscles.
Arya looked over at him, and graced him with one of her small smiles. "I'm still trying to decide."
"Well, that much hasn't changed at least," he teased.
She rolled her eyes at him. "You're lucky I like you, stupid," she countered, her cheeks flushing prettily.
Gendry stood still for a moment, watching her as she moved silently through the trees, her feet barely rustling the fallen leaves beneath her. He noticed now that she always looked as if she were hunting after prey, her limbs moving in such a graceful manner that it was sometimes hard to believe the power and danger that coiled tense in those muscles.
"I'm honored by m'lady's affection," he told her, stooping to unload some food and blankets from the heavy pack he'd laid on the ground. She called him stupid, and he called her m'lady. Perhaps they weren't the most common endearments, but it was what they knew.
"If you don't stop calling me that, I'll show you a few of the things I learned while I was in Braavos," she warned, snapping a branch in her hands in her annoyance. "Seven hells, just call me Arya, for once."
Gendry watched as she dropped the wood she had gathered and stomped off into the trees. With a sigh, he gathered up the branches and started on the fire. He wasn't too worried about her; she always seemed just the slightest bit annoyed with him and would often wander off in a huff only to return an hour later as if nothing had happened. And true to form, tonight was no different.
The sun had set by the time Arya returned, and he sat close to the small, crackling flames, warming his hands. The nights were getting colder, and the two of them had no tent or other shelter to speak of, only the stars in the night sky above them. It would be another long night of torture for him, as she lay pressed against him, her arse fitting only too nicely against his too-stiff cock.
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he held his hand out to the girl, offering her some dried meat that they had stored up for their travels. There was bread and cheese as well, and he cut her off a couple of slices. Without a word, she came to sit next to him and tore off a piece of the stale bread in her mouth. The two of them ate in silence for several moments before she finally spoke.
"We'll be at Winterfell within two days time." Her voice was uncharacteristically soft, and he glanced over at her.
"Aye," he said encouragingly. "Two more days and you'll be with your family again."
The already sharp features of her face hardened. "What's left of them, you mean."
Gendry didn't know what to say to that. He, himself, had no family left of his own, and yet he felt that he could not even begin to understand what Arya felt. Unlike her, he could barely remember his mother. He'd never known his father, and as far as he knew, he had no siblings to speak of. He couldn't begin to imagine going through everything that she had, but as he examined her face now, he saw no hint of sadness- only rage.
"Arya..." He trailed off, not knowing what else to say.
"We should get some sleep," she said stiffly, scooting her body further away from the fire and moving to lay on her side. "I want to leave at first light."
He looked at her for a long moment, but her back was facing him, and he said nothing. Extinguishing the small fire, he moved and took his place behind her, circling an arm around her waist. She was the only source of warmth he had now, and he was relieved when she did not pull away.
Several minutes passed by in silence, and Gendry was once again having a hard time distracting himself from the way Arya's soft curves fit against him. He was struggling to fight the urge to rub himself against her when he felt her body start to tremble beneath him. At first, he thought she was laughing at him- there was no way she couldn't feel him poking against her bum. But then he realized: she's crying.
His heart plummeted in his chest, and all thoughts of laying her out beneath him suddenly dissipated. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her cry- had he ever? And yet here she was, lying against him, her body suddenly wracked with painfully silent sobs.
"Arya?" he whispered. He could hear the fear in his own voice. A choked sound escaped her throat, and suddenly she turned toward him and buried her face against his chest. Stunned, Gendry could think of nothing more to do than clutch his arms tightly around her in an attempt to soothe her shaking body as her small fists clenched the fabric of his tunic. He could feel the hot, wet tears on his chest as they streamed from her eyes.
"Shh," he murmured, "it's alright." He stroked a hand over her hair, once, twice, over and over again. He was at a loss. He had next to no experience comforting crying maidens, and the fact that it was Arya who was crying only threw him off even more.
She barely made any noise, and yet he thought he heard a muffled, "They're gone." His chest ached at the thought, and he enveloped her more fully in his arms, offering what little safety and protection he could.
It was a long time before he finally felt her settle against him, her breathing returning somewhat to normal. He continued to rub her hair, her arm, her waist- anything to let her know that he was there for her. Finally, she pulled her face away from his chest and looked up at him through the darkness.
"I... I'm sorry," she whispered, embarrassment clear in her voice.
"Don't be," he replied quickly, fervently pressing his lips to her forehead. "Don't be sorry."
"...Gendry?"
"Yes?"
There was a long pause before Arya continued. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she began. "You're one of the only friends I have left." Another pause. "And I just... You know I don't mean it when I call you stupid, right?"
He was so surprised by her words that he actually laughed out loud. "What? Yes, of course I know."
"Will you promise me something?"
"What is it?"
"I-I'm glad you're here, Gendry. I don't know how to explain it, but I'm different around you; I always have been. You remind me of things I forgot about a long time ago, and I need that. Promise me you won't leave me." As she finished, the old, familiar fierceness crept back into her voice.
Gendry's heart thudded in his chest at her words, and he could hardly believe that she had said them. He hadn't realized until that moment that she was actually afraid of losing him.
"I promise," he told her just as fiercely, trying his best to reassure her. "Arya, I... I couldn't leave you even if I wanted to. Not now, not after I just got you back. I left you once before for a stupid bloody knighthood, and I've never forgiven myself. I know what it means to leave you, and I just can't do it again." He knew he wasn't much with words, but he did his best to make her see what he was trying to say: he no longer had a choice in the matter- he was hers, always.
Arya stared at him in silence for a long moment, her grey eyes wide and wet from her tears. She said nothing, but suddenly, she was moving her face toward his and pressing her lips hard against his mouth. He gave an involuntary moan of surprise and pleasure at the contact, and he moved immediately to cradle her face in his hands.
Moving his lips over hers, his thoughts were quickly becoming just as muddled and cloudy as they had been before she had started crying. She opened her mouth to him, and he darted his tongue inside, relishing the sweet taste of her. He buried his hands in her thick hair, and she clutched at his back.
He felt as though he'd been waiting for this his entire life; waiting for Arya, waiting to be close to her. And now she was finally here, and it was better than he had ever imagined. She moved to straddle him, and he suppressed a groan at the feel of her weight settling on his groin. She gave him one of her small smiles before leaning forward to press her lips back to his.
Gendry clutched her hips in his rough hands as she swiveled them against him, rubbing and teasing until he couldn't take any more. With a growl, he flipped her over until she lay beneath him, her warm body open and inviting. Pinning her wrists above her head, he kissed her hungrily and thrust his hips against hers. She broke away from his mouth and gasped as their bodies wholly connected. He could feel her warmth through her trousers as he moved into her again, and it only served to make him even hotter and harder. Breathing roughly, he trailed his lips along her jaw and neck, relishing the sound of her soft whimpers beneath him.
He didn't know how he was going to be able to handle much more of this. He knew he should stop, and soon. But then she rolled her hips against him, and he shuddered at the sensation. He would come undone soon if he wasn't careful.
Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, Arya managed to wriggle one of her hands free of his grasp, and she reached between their bodies to grasp him through his trousers. He jerked and moaned as her fingers squeezed around him, and he saw her looking up at him with a somewhat smug expression on her face. He tried to come up with something clever to say, but his mind was blank of all thought except for how incredible it felt when she began stroking his length with her deft fingers.
"Arya..." he growled, almost wishing she would pull away from him, do the smart thing. Because he was lost, and there was no way he could stop now unless she told him to.
"I want you, Gendry," she replied without hesitation. There was no uncertainty in her voice.
His heart pounded harder in his chest, and he pressed his forehead to hers. "I want you, too," he told her roughly. "You have no idea how much."
She smiled up at him, and squeezed her fingers around him yet again, eliciting a low moan from his throat. "I think maybe I do, actually."
Gendry couldn't help but give a surprised chuckle at her playfulness. He had imagined this moment countless times over the years, but he had never thought it would include jokes and laughter. He wasn't in the least disappointed. He leaned down and kissed her eagerly again, and they began to work on removing each others' clothing.
Her skin was soft and smooth as he ran his fingers along the curve of her breast and down her waist. The smoothness was interrupted by the occasional scar, and Gendry pressed his lips tenderly to each new one he discovered, earning a small sigh from the girl beneath him. Likewise, she ran her nails down his bare chest and around to his back, and he reveled in the the slightly painful pleasure.
When she wrapped her bare legs around his waist and he was poised to take her, he finally paused. "I'll go slow," he told her softly. Nodding her head, she reached up and placed her lips gently to his. It was the extra reassurance he needed to continue.
Slowly, as gently as he could- for he knew it would most likely hurt her- he pushed inside of Arya until he could go no further. She did not cry out in pain, but he could see the discomfort on her face. He kissed her passionately, and wished she could feel what he was feeling instead. Her walls closed impossibly tight around his length, smothering him in heat, and it was all he could do not to climax right then. He pulled out slightly just to push back in, and he groaned. He'd known other women before, but somehow this was different- this was Arya .
He began to move a bit faster, and she whimpered slightly beneath him. He couldn't tell if it was from pain or pleasure, but suddenly she clutched him tighter to her, so he hoped it was the latter. His breath came rough and ragged, and he went harder, losing himself inside her warmth. She shuddered and moaned, raking her nails down his back, and he pressed his mouth to hers frantically. She welcomed him, biting and sucking at his tongue as she rocked her hips up to meet his whenever he thrust into her anew.
The rhythm between them came naturally, and their bodies moved effortlessly in sync with one another. Gendry could feel the pressure begin to mount through his entire body, propelling him to move even faster. Moaning loudly from his impending climax, he plunged into her with abandon, and he heard her breath quicken.
When he finally came, it was sudden and intense. He buried his face into Arya's neck and squeezed his eyes shut as his entire body spasmed with pleasure. She cried out beneath him and clutched his shoulders as she rolled her hips in time with his continued thrusts.
Slowly, he began to come down, and he managed to roll his weight off of her body, not wishing to crush her. She moved to lay against his chest, and he held her close as the two of them tried to catch their breath.
It was several more minutes before either of them spoke.
"Don't think this means I'm going to let you sleep in," she told him sternly.
Gendry couldn't help but laugh at that. "Yeah, yeah, we leave at first light. I know."
Arya chuckled and pinched his side in reproach, but he merely pulled her closer to him, a broad grin on his face. "Goodnight, m'lady."
"Goodnight, stupid."