Lord Gendry Baratheon strode into his chambers in the highest tower of Storm's End after a long and trying day of wrangling the small folk and handling the many issues that came with running a kingdom. He was tired, and cranky, and had half a mind to drink himself into a stupor. Nights like tonight, he rather wished he wasn't such a stubborn fool and that he'd taken a wife by now, rather than waiting endlessly for a girl who'd turned him down and long forgotten him or perished at sea. He could do with a good, hard fuck to relieve the knots of tension in his shoulders and the foul mood he'd thought himself into.

Gendry ripped off his cloak, followed by his shirt, pacing toward the fireplace, and stoking it up quickly. When he rose once more, he turned toward the large featherbed and froze immediately.

There, lying in the middle of it, stark naked and looking rather amused by his shocked cry was none other than the self-same bitch who'd turned him down the first time he'd asked her to marry him.

"Arya?" he asked, frowning in confusion at the small, dark-haired woman on the bed.

"Hello, Gendry," Arya replied evenly, making no move to cover her nudity from his hungry gaze as his eyes strayed from her face to drink in the changes wrought by almost a decade since their last encounter.

Gendry's frown deepened at her mild tone, and he forced his eyes from her round breasts and back to her tanned face.

"Is there a reason you're naked in my bed?" he asked, trying for the same evenness of tone she'd offered him.

Arya Stark raised one eyebrow at him, and her mouth twitched like she might smile that smile of hers that suggested she thought him ten types of stupid.

"If you don't know, perhaps I ought to leave," she said, making like she might get up and leave, sitting up and shuffling toward the edge of the bed.

Gendry thought about arguing with her, about having a go at her for turning him down when'd he'd asked her to marry him ten years ago before running away. He thought about suggesting they should talk about this. But she'd obviously anticipated those moves and wasn't interested in them. She was a smart one, his Arya. She didn't want the awkward fight they needed to have to be their reunion. And so, rather than suggesting any of those things, Gendry waited. When she rose to her feet, he rounded the bed in long strides, reaching for her hungrily and curling his arms around her waist, lifting her as he stooped to capture her lips for a searing kiss.

She smiled into his kiss, her arms going around his neck and hooking at the elbows so she could pull herself up against his front until she got her legs around him, too. Gendry kissed her hard, holding her to him with one arm, and fumbling under her for the laces of his britches with the other. When he lowered her to the bed, he broke their kiss, trailing his lips down her neck and across her body while his hand made its way between her creamy thighs. Gods, she smelled like the sea, salty and sandy, nothing like the last time he'd had her when she'd smelled of fear and snow and fur.

Arya moaned under his attentions, her hands wandering through his black hair and over his massive shoulders, her head tossing from side to side as she grew wetter with each pass of his thumb over the bud of pleasure at her apex. She was breathing hard beneath him by the time Gendry got his pants open and shucked off, stretched on the bed, wanton and watching him, a dare in those grey eyes.

"By the Seven, you're a shit," he told her huskily, shaking his head before aligning himself at her center and thrusting home. And fuck, she felt like home.

Arya cried out under him, moaning softly, her legs curling around him and her hands reaching for him. He kissed her again, withdrawing to thrust, and repeating the motion until he was dizzy.

"I missed you too," Arya answered his accusation when she broke their kiss to nip at his shoulder as he quickened his pace.

"Fuck," Gendry cursed, forgetting the lordly manners that'd been drummed into him since he'd been crowned Lord of Storm's End.

Arya laughed breathlessly, each of them scaling the peak of pleasure until they crested it, her accompanying the release with another sharp bite to his shoulder and a rake of her nails across his back as she clung to him, whimpering softly.

When it was over, Gendry collapsed on top of her, knowing he'd likely be crushing her, but knowing that if he didn't pin her down, she'd be up and gone from the room before he could stop her again. The last time he'd bedded her, he'd awoken alone, and he wasn't about to let her get away when she'd only just arrived.

"You're squashing me," she complained against his shoulder, though her arms remained around him, rather than trying to push him off her.

"Good," he said. "Means you can't run off."

She huffed a breathless laugh.

"Who says I'd run?" she asked.

"You always run," he told her. "Ran from the Brotherhood and left me behind. Ran from my bed at Winterfell before the fight. Ran from my proposal, ditching the bloody castle before we could bloody well discuss it. If there's anything I know about you, Stark, it's that if I don't pin you down until you're half dead, you'll run again, like you always do."

"Ever consider that it's you?" she asked.

"Yeah," he grumbled. "For the past ten years, in fact. Reckon you wouldn't have said no if it wasn't me you took issue with. Dunno why you fucked me in the first place, though, if I'm the problem."

Arya snorted.

"Ever consider that I wanted to be your family, not your lady?" she wanted to know, and Gendry sighed heavily.

"Yeah," he said again, propping himself up far enough that he could meet her gaze. "Every day since I told you I planned to stay on with the Brotherhood. You wanted to run off to your family, so I thought you wanted to return to your riches and your title."

"Never had much use for either," she said.

"So I learned," he said. "What are you doing here, Arya? Come to find out if I'd taken another to be Lady of Storm's End since you don't want the title?"

"Have you?" she asked.

"You think I'd have bedded you if I had?" he frowned at her.

Arya shrugged her shoulders. "Probably."

"I have a bit more honor than that," he scowled at her.

"Mmm," she hummed, though she didn't look wholly convinced.

"And now that you know I haven't taken a wife since you spurned me?" he raised his eyebrows, refusing to move off her or let her wriggle away from the discussion they needed to have. "If I let you up, are you going to run for the door and disappear into the night again?"

"What if I do?" she asked.

"Then I won't bloody well let you up," Gendry admitted, narrowing his eyes on her.

"I could kill you right here," she reminded him.

"Aye, but you won't," he said.

"Sure of that, are you?"

Gendry stared into her face seriously.

"Positive," he answered.

She stared back at him with that defiant look she'd worn since they'd been dumb kids on the road out of King's Landing and Gendry stared back stoically, unmoved by her annoyance or her scorn.

"Stubborn, stupid shit," she accused, muttering viciously and looking away.

"Cold-hearted, defiant bitch," he retorted. "I'm a lot more stubborn than you are cold-hearted, Stark. Might be I won't let you out of this bed until you agree to be my wife."

"Might be I'll gut you the next time you fall asleep," she argued.

"You won't," he repeated, assured of that fact. "You didn't come back a decade on, just to cut my throat, m'lady."

"Don't call me that," she said automatically.

"You'll have to get used to hearing it," he argued, digging his arms under her slender frame and rolling the two of them until she was sprawled over him like a rather wriggly blanket. "You're not leaving this bed until you agree to carry the title for the rest of your wretched life, you little shit."

"Gendry," she huffed, writhing on top of him until she managed to straddle him. He sat up along with her, refusing to release her from his arms, holding her captive, still buried within her.

"Arya," he huffed in the same tone, trying to keep his foul temper under wraps that she had to be so fucking stubborn all the seven-cursed time.

"I don't want to be a lady," she complained like she was still a disagreeable, spoiled child.

"Yes, you do," he said knowingly. "You wouldn't have come back here and invited yourself into my bed if you weren't ready for what it'll mean."

"It means nothing," she told him.

"Fuck that," Gendry said. "It'll mean something when I get you pregnant. I'll hold you captive here until I do if you're going to be a shit about it."

"You think you could?"

"Impregnate you?" Gendry smirked. "I'm a Baratheon, remember? The seed is strong."

"Got a lot of little bastards running around to prove that, do you?" she scowled at him, still wriggling.

"Not unless you left Winterfell with my bastard in your belly a decade ago," he shook his head.

"What if I did?" Arya asked, raising her eyebrows at him in challenge.

Gendry froze, his arms tightening around her until she made a pained sound.

"You better hope you fucking didn't," he said, his voice low and angry at the very idea. "If you turned down my proposal and slunk away with my son in your belly, and stayed gone for a fucking decade... it might be me who'll gut you, m'lady"

Arya rolled her eyes.

"Even if I had, after being trampled in King's Landing, I'd have lost it," she sighed, some of the fight leaving her. "Stop crushing me, please. It hurts."

"You don't have a kid you're going to surprise me with?" he confirmed.

"I don't," she shook her head.

Gendry sighed out a relieved breath, too, loosening his hold on her enough not to hurt her, but not about to let his guard down or let her go. "Might put one in you before I let you up," he said, rocking his hips under her, rolling up into her, hardening inside her all over again.

"I'm not marrying you," Arya argued, though she rolled her hips in a circle to meet him.

Gendry smirked as he stretched up to capture her lips in another searing kiss, only breaking it when he managed to wring a low moan from her.

"Like hell you're not," he said, ravishing her all over again.