"The eastern shore of Essos."
Gendry looks up from the sword he's hammering at the sound of the voice – of her voice. He feels a bit dumb, like his head is underwater, as his brain makes the connection. Holding the hammer loosely in his hand, he turns slowly, working hard to keep his face and feelings guarded.
"Sorry?" he cocks his head at her, refusing to react. But Seven Hells, she's gorgeous. Always has been, but her time away has only added to her beauty. Gendry tried hard not to stare. Her skin is tanner, freckles dotting her nose and cheeks. Her grey eyes are bright and less guarded than he's ever seen them.
A spark of hope flutters low in his belly.
He wishes it were as easy to put out as dipping a freshly heated sword into the water bucket.
"West of Westeros," she says, "It's the eastern shore of Essos."
She's hovering at the entrance to the forge, her muscles loose but tensed as if she's stopping herself from entering any further. Gendry wishes she would just fucking let go and — well, she'd done that once, hadn't she? Hadn't ended very well for him. Maybe it was better that she keeps her distance.
"Oh," Gendry replies, because what else can he say? Took her two fucking years to get to fucking Essos the long way. Two fucking years she was gone, and he was a fucking Lord and had Davos and the rest up his ass about a betrothal. Two fucking years that he held onto hope. Two fucking years for him to revisits every moment of their last few encounters, to revisit the stupidity of his drunken proposal, to think about what he'll say when - it's always when, he couldn't bear the thought of an if - he sees her again.
He's not mad at her, he's not.
He's not.
Oh, who the fuck's he kidding? He's furious at her.
Ours is the Fury, indeed.
"There's some small islands on the way," Arya continues blithely. "Uninhabited and nothing special."
She steps forward, just one step, and Gendry nods. The anger is coursing through his veins, though he's trying to keep his face as impassive as hers. A fool's errand, to be sure, but he refuses to give her the satisfaction. She bites down on her lower lip, Gendry's eyes following the motion. His breath hitches in his chest, just as Arya swallows thickly. The air in the forge is hot and thick and it has nothing to do with the roaring flames, but everything to do with the woman standing in front of him.
"Glad to hear it," he says stiffly, clenching his jaw. He feels a muscle ticking just below his ear and makes a concerted effort to unclench. The hammer is heavy in his hand and Gendry would like nothing more to return to his work, swinging and pounding away his rage and regret and grief until he's spent. Instead he drops the hammer to the floor, a practiced movement so that it misses his foot. Arya's gaze tracks the hammer's movement and then she drags her eyes up again, enjoy's Gendry's sweaty, soot-covered form.
"I dropped some maps off with Sam Tarly when I passed through King's Landing," she takes another step closer to him and Gendry feels his heart beat wildly in his chest. Damn her.
He gives her a grunt and a nod. What's she playing at?
"Didn't know Lords worked in the smithy," she comments casually, an interesting little spark of amusement in her tone. Amusement and something else.
Gendry frowns at her. He knows he's a terrible Lord, knows he's too used to his lowborn habits. Doesn't need her to remind him of that.
"I'm a Lord and I'm working in the smithy, so I suppose they do," he retorts bitterly. And then he's mad at himself for letting her get a rise out of him.
She gives him a smile, barely perceptible before it fades again. "Never said it was a bad thing," she replies, her tone still carefully controlled.
And suddenly, Gendry's fury is boiling over and he's unable to maintain even a facsimile of calm. His hands ball into fists and he erupts, "Enough, Arya! Fucking hell, enough! Why are you back? Do you want to break what's left of my heart?"
He's breathing heavily, ready to start shouting again - angry with himself for admitting that she broke his heart. This wasn't supposed to be how it went. He wasn't supposed to be fucking stupid enough to propose to her - not when he was barely more than a lowborn bastard, despite his shiny new title, and now when he was drunk enough to cock it all up, fumbling over words he knew she was going to hate. He knows her and she's all he wants, all he's wanted since he was six and ten and she was still a girl.
Arya hasn't flinched away from his anger, if anything, her eyes widen and her mouth drops open a bit. She's clearly working through something in her head, but before Gendry can figure out what it is, she's sprinting at him, jumping, locking her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, and kissing him with a fury that matches his own.
It takes him a second to catch up, but when he does, his arms wrap around her back, holding her close, and he kisses her back. Her hands are running through his hair, still short, but longer than it had been the last time they saw each other. Arya moans into his mouth when one of his hands grips and kneads her ass through her leathers. He stumbles back a step, hitting up against the wall of the smithy.
Arya's lips leave his and start a hot trail over his jaw and down his neck. She nips and sucks the sensitive skin at the join of his neck and shoulder and Gendry groans, "Fuck, Arya."
He feels her little smirk against his skin and pinches her ass harder in retaliation. She yelps and digs her nails into his skin. The biting pain only serves to arouse Gendry more and he feels his cock growing harder, straining against the leather of his breeches. He grunts and looks over Arya's shoulder, trying to figure out where he can properly fuck her. He spots the bare mattress that he'd thrown in the corner for nights when he didn't feel like pretending he was a Lord and grins. It's not comfortable, but it's a hell of a lot better than the sacks of grain in Winterfell's keep. He shuffles over, Arya still pressing hot, biting kisses to his neck.
Gendry loosens his grip on Arya's ass and drops her to the mattress, a little roughly, but he's still mad at her, no matter how much he loves her. She rolls her eyes up at him, but her lips are parted in anticipation and she reaches her hands for the ties on his breeches.
"No," he swats her hand away. "I undressed for you once, now it's your turn."
Arya's pupils are blown wide and she smirks. "Yes, milord."
Seven help him, her words and tone send a spike of arousal straight to his cock.
He reaches around his back and unties his leather apron with shaking hands. Arya slowly undoes the ties on her boots and kicks them off. Gendry follows suit with his own boots. Arya untucks her tunic from her breeches and swiftly pulls the fabric over her head, exposing her breasts. Gendry grins down at her and kneels just on the edge of the mattress so he can cup them, calloused fingers causing her nipples to pucker She hisses at the contact, arching into his touch. He rolls his thumb over her right nipple, bringing it to a stiff little peak. Arya murmurs his name under her breath and he gives her left nipple an experimental pinch.
She growls at him, low in her throat, and Gendry laughs.
"My she-wolf," he whispers reverently, bending to kiss the tops of her breasts. She cards her fingers through his hair, holding his face to her chest. He lavishes her with attention, licking and sucking the sensitive skin. He can see that the faint red marks are already starting to purple into bruises. She's his - she bears his marks.
His hands slide down her sides, fingertips dipping under the waist of her breeches. He uses one hand to loosen the ties and then shoves the leathers down, leaving her bare and wanting in front of him. She shimmies a little, kicking the breeches down to the floor and gives him a heady look, eyes hooded. "Not fair that you're still dressed," she says, a pout entering her voice.
"Not fair that you left me," he responds, trailing hot kisses down her stomach. He bites at her hipbone. She leans into his touch, her hands guiding his head further south. Her fingers pull a little at his hair, making his cock throb painfully. He's rubbing against his own breeches, straining against the unyielding fabric. It's all he can do not to grind into the mattress. But he wants to feel her around him again and grins against her skin. She's soaked for him and it only makes it that much harder to resist.
"Gendry," she practically whines when his hands and mouth move away from her skin and head leans back on his knees.
"Only giving you what you want, milady," he smirks, reaching down and pulling his thin tunic over head head. Arya licks her lips at the sight of his broad, well-muscled chest. She reaches out a foot and drags a toe over the pronounced strain in the front of his pants. Gendry shudders at the contact, hips jerking forward of their own accord.
"I want you," she says firmly, clearly, needy.
Her eyes shine brightly and Gendry doesn't want to wait any more. He's tired of teasing her, of torturing himself. The fury at her departure and sudden reappearance has transformed into a desperate need to hold her close and make her understand that it was never about her being a lady and it was always about her being Arya. He makes quick work of his breeches, kicking them off and away. His cock is mercifully free and Arya leans forward to grasp him, stroking nimble fingers over his length. He hisses and jerks in her hand and suddenly, she's got all the power again.
One hand continues to stroke him, while the other grips at the outside of his thigh - she tugs gently so he kneels down again, bringing them closer to eye level. Her grey eyes are stormy, but there's no danger ahead, as far as he can tell - only those unfathomable depths that Arya picks and chooses to share. He lunges forward to kiss her. His hands grasp the side of her face and she responds to the kiss in kind, letting him push forward so she's on her back.
Arya's legs loop up around his waist and her heels dig into the firm flesh of his ass. She digs in as if he's a horse she can spur to a gallop. He grunts into her mouth and pushes his hips forward. The head of his cock presses against her and she gasps, her legs tightening around him.
"Good?" he mumbles, breaking the kiss. She nods and holding his weight on one hand, Gendry uses the other to guide his cock to her opening. He thrusts into her and they both still for a moment, getting used to the sensation of being one.
Tears gather in the corners of Arya's eyes and Gendry peers down at her, concern etched into his brow. She cradles his face in her hands and kisses him.
With her encouragement, Gendry starts moving. He finds a rhythm quickly enough, gliding in and out of her with ease. It stuns him - how easy, how right it is to be with her, even after all that time spent apart. At the same token, he's terrified she'll leave him again. He can't think on that now, not when she's grinning up at him, chanting his name.
Their first time, she had been on top and he had let her. But this time, she's happy to be underneath him. She likes looking at him, seeing his bulk and feeling his warmth over her. It's new and entirely welcome.
He slips one hand between them, working at her to make sure she finishes. Her walls tighten around him and there's a pulling low in his belly. As much as he hates to do it, Gendry pulls out of her and gives his cock a hard, quick stroke with his hand so he spills his seed on the floor next to the mattress. Before she can say anything, Gendry's hand returns to her and he replaces his cock with three fingers, twisting them inside her until she tightens around his fingers and shouts his name, her entire body releasing coiled tension.
They both drop limblessly to the mattress, half of Gendry's body covering Arya's. She keeps one arm looped around his neck and the other rests on his bicep. With his face buried in her neck, Gendry nuzzles his nose against the soft, sweaty skin.
"What was that for?" she asks lazily. One foot roams a mindless trail up the back and side of his calf.
"'M not putting a bastard in you," he replies tiredly.
"Oh," her response is a little puff of air against his overheated skin.
They're quiet again.
"'M still mad at you," he mumbles, pressing tiny kisses to her shoulder. And he is, but it's a tired anger, sad and almost defeated.
"I know," she replies softly. "I'm not sorry I left."
"I know," he mimics her response.
Arya's fingers draw circles and lines against his skin and a shiver runs through his body. He feels his cock twitch to life, and if Arya's low chuckle is any indication, she feels it as well.
"I am sorry I didn't say good-bye," she admits.
"You're back now," he says and he hopes she can't hear that it's a question, hopeful and wanting.
She angles her head, cheek resting against his dark hair. "I am," she agrees.
He has a million things he wants to say, but keeps quiet. Words, when he's overly emotional, don't seem to be his strong suit. So, he stays quiet, enjoying the feel of her wrapped around him.
"I wonder," she says after a moment, something teasing in her voice, "if we could put a feather mattress down here?"
His heart beats quicker.
He tries for an easy tone, commanding, befitting of his title. "I am the lord, if I asked, they'd do it."
"Good," Arya comments decisively, "I don't think either of our backs would be able to deal with this bed of rocks, consistently."
Her hand slips down his side and grips him, stroking lazily.
"By R'hllor, woman," he grunts. The fresh arousal awakens his anger, though. He frowns against her shoulder. "I won't just fuck you on a mattress in the forge, Arya. That's not me."
He throws her words back at her, as if to say, "see? I'm just as stubborn as you are."
He feels her tense slightly and she sighs. "I know. I know, Gendry," she says quietly. She pauses and he gives her the space to think. It's easy to believe that she'll stay, he thinks, when they're intertwined like this, their heartbeats matching. It's also easy to believe that she'll run again. He's not sure which impulse will win out.
"I didn't mean to hurt you," she says in a small voice. He's never heard her sound small, not even when they were children. "I don't know how...how to be me. I don't know who I am."
Her voice is plaintive, and Gendry's heart clenches. This is it - she's leaving again.
"I thought that leaving would help," she says. It's easier to talk when she doesn't have to look at his eyes, to see his emotions play out on his face. "It was exciting, being on the sea, finding islands. But," she pauses, the words sticking a little in her throat, "I was lonely. I missed my siblings. I missed you. All the adventure wasn't worth anything because you weren't there."
His words out of her mouth. Seems he's not the only one who can use words to hurt.
"I want adventure," she says. "But I think, maybe, being here, with you, could be it's own adventure."
Her voice is still quiet, but more confident. Gendry believes her.
"I think," he replies, equally as quiet, "life with you is the only adventure I want."
He hears his words and stiffens, horrified at how they sound. He splutters, "That's not a proposal. It's not. I swear. I'm not doing that again. I know it's not what you want."
Arya laughs, loud and musical. She kisses his temple. "I know that, stupid. It's not what I wanted then. And it's not what I want in this moment. But it could be something I want, someday."
"I like the sound of someday," Gendry grins.
Arya pulls his face to hers and kisses him again - he tastes like sweat and soot and home.
A/N: so bar prep started today - i'm posting this during my afternoon break! i'll still be writing in my down time, but it'll probably take longer to finish a fic. i've been having so much fun with these two and with the fandom, so i'm definitely not leaving, just going dark for a bit lol.
please feel free to leave me reviews and prompts, both here and on my tumblr (thewintersoldierdisaster)
can't wait to get working on some of the amazing prompts you guys have left me :)