A.N.: Okay, I lied: here is where the smut truly begins. No apologies: Let's not pretend we've not been waiting for it! And it must be about 12 chapters since the last smut, so we were due!
If you don't want to read the smut, there is some important dialogue about halfway through the chapter.
Valyrian Steel
38
Forging Anew
She shivered. Not from the cold; from the soft, almost tentative brush of Gendry's fingertips against her bare skin as the last of her clothing dropped heavily to the floor. Fingers tangled with the little buttons of his tunic, she tugged on it, pulling his undershirts free from his breeches and over his head, and he panted softly, tugging her into his body, stealing a slow, deep kiss that had her melting. His arms banded around her, holding her tightly to him, bare-chested for the first time, his heat searing her skin, the coarse dark hair on his chest tickling her nipples – the feel of her nipples hard against his chest making him groan in surprise – and her hands drifted to his waist, to the buttons of his soft leather breeches. Gently, he broke from their kiss, only to nod his head, and Larra smiled breathlessly as he dived in for another kiss.
Gendry's kisses deepened, consuming and fierce, his enormous hands tentatively caressing her back and hips, and they both groaned, Larra shivering with suppressed yearning, as she nimbly unfastened the flat metal buttons of his breeches, her palms itching to cup and caress the impossible hardness straining against the leather. He groaned loudly, dropping his lips to her neck as she slipped her hands down his breeches to shove the soft leather off his hips, gripping his backside and pressing her hips against his, panting as she felt his erection hot and unyielding between them. She felt…almost drunk just from the merest hint of him. And she ached to strip him of his smallclothes and explore, to learn and adore him…but she didn't. She shoved his breeches over his muscular thighs, her mouth watering at the muscles clenching and shifting under her gaze, his enormous chest and abdomen cut with muscle and softened with coarse black hair, his thighs…oh, his thighs… So thick she ached to give them a nip and see whether he shuddered. She shoved his breeches down and he kicked them off. Then she took his hand and guided them to the bed.
His expression was bashful – he had never seen a woman naked before, not like this, not his – and curious… His gaze was almost tentative, and Larra realised she was holding her breath, waiting for his reaction. Waiting for him to notice. She flushed hotly and wished…
She wished her body was beautiful.
And she forced herself to focus, not on the wicked burns, jagged scars, angry pink puckered skin and icy slashes of healed wounds that marred her body, but on Gendry. On the immense muscles of his shoulders and chest lovingly caressed by the firelight, the few, faded burns on his arms. On the dark hair dusting his upper-chest, his abdomen, his groin and thighs, always drawing her attention back to his smallclothes. She tried to focus on what lay waiting for her there, rather than the embarrassment she felt at not being…beautiful.
She knew her body was not beautiful; it was too battered.
But she didn't want him to think that.
It was the first time she had ever felt bashful about her scars.
Slowly, she raised her gaze to his face, to those deep sapphire-blue eyes, and studied his expression. There was no grimace, no wince of pity or disgusted curl of his lip. No: everything about Gendry's expression radiated pure awe.
Something caught in her throat, and she watched his eyes, his expression, as he learned her body, every soft curve and hollow, every angry pucker and jagged scar, the tempting frosted-plum colour of her nipples that drew his gaze more than the scars.
It was awe she saw in his eyes. Pure wonder.
And the tiniest flicker of horror, of realisation.
"There are so many," he murmured, his deep voice rumbling in the quiet of the darkened chamber. The only other sounds were the gentle pitter-patter of heavy snowflakes against the window and the joyous crackle of the fire in the hearth, sending waves of warmth drifting idly over them, the dark golden light caressing their bare skin.
There were so many scars. Far too many, and most of them far too ugly. The firelight and the shadows could only soften and blur them so much.
If he had imagined her, as she had found herself imagining what waited beneath his clothing for her to explore…this was not it.
"Not what you imagined?" she said softly, barely catching his eye, and she sighed softly to herself, gazing regretfully at her body. It wasn't ruined – but it wasn't beautiful either.
Gendry nuzzled her nose, stealing a deep kiss, and when he withdrew, his eyes were impossibly sad. He said, his voice deep and earnest, "I could never imagine you hurt."
Larra watched Gendry's eyes as he tenderly caressed his fingertips over her bare skin. It was an effort, when he traced the scar on her right forearm from elbow to wrist, shining, jagged and still angry, not to remember how she received it, to remain in the moment with him.
Then he kissed her. She sighed against his lips, pressing her body against his, relishing the feel of his heat and his strength, the faintest tickle of his chest-hair against her nipples, the delicious pressure of his calloused palms against her skin. She sighed, moaning, and writhed against him as those enormous hands drifted down from her back to her waist, to her hips. He squeezed gently and she moaned, wriggling against him, trying to get closer, but froze, breathless, when his fingertips trailed over the one sickening scar that trounced all the others: a wicked scar jagging from her hip all the way to her kneecap, a deep, curving slice that had almost claimed her life. It was the fiercest of her scars and the only one that had ever truly frightened her.
It was the closest she had ever come to failure. To abandoning Bran. To giving in. She was lucky not to have shattered bone. Lucky not to have succumbed to rot. Lucky not to have bled to death. She shuddered against Gendry, suddenly chilled to the bone, and he noticed. Eyes widening in sudden alarm, he froze and lifted his hand off her leg.
Panting, she shook her head, willing herself to explain, "They never bothered me before."
He frowned, bemused, gazing up and down her body with such intensity, she shivered, heat pooling between her thighs, her nipples aching. "They're beautiful."
She shook her head, giving him a rueful smile. "They're not."
"I think they are," Gendry said, his voice rich and earnest still. His eyes – oh, those eyes! Vivid, intense and honest – held her gaze and he seemed to be willing her to believe him. "They're powerful." His long, clever fingers trailed idly over her skin, the old callouses making her shiver, her toes curling. He trailed his fingertip from her knee back up her thigh, making her muscles quiver, and she panted, reaching out to clutch at his shoulder, to grip those muscles. "I had no idea you could be so strong. Larra…you survived. That strength is beautiful." His gaze swept up and down her body. Every time it did, he seemed more confident, emboldened. Passionate and full of desire. He leaned in and stole a fierce kiss full of tongue and teeth and wandering hands that squeezed and cupped and kneaded deliciously.
He kissed down her throat, delicately licking the slash beneath her collarbone, and her stomach dipped, muscles clenching, as he went lower, to the small pucker of skin from an arrow-wound, kissing it. He trailed his fingertips over that awful scar from thigh to knee, down and up again, his touch feather-light and wicked, until she started to shiver. Not from dread but from longing.
She watched, holding her breath, gripped with anticipation as she watched him trace her scar with his eyes, up, up…he raised his eyes to her face, and he gave her the wickedest smile she had ever seen on his face.
"Show me." He didn't ask. She bit her lip, what felt like starlight sparkling across her skin under the intensity of his gaze, those sapphires fierce and compelling. Panting softly, writhing back on the pillows, shivering with need just from the intensity of his eyes alone, she sighed and relaxed, bending her knees, and spread her thighs wide.
She shuddered at the pure, animalistic groan that rumbled from deep inside his chest. The deeply masculine sound that rubbed over her entire body, filling her with pride that she had brought forth that reaction from him. His vivid eyes were heavy-lidded, his body hulking, but as she preened and shivered with anticipation, she noticed his hands shaking as he reached to gently press them against the inside of her thighs, his thumbs gently stroking her skin. Shaking, but huge and hot, and she knew the talent of those fingers, knew the joy, the ecstasy he could coax from her.
With another soft growl, Gendry leaned in, kissing and licking his way up that vicious scar. The soft heat of his lips, their firmness, and the delicious tickle of his trimmed beard – she imagined how it would feel and quivered, moaning softly. She was panting, shivering, by the time he raised his head, a quiet confidence radiating from him as he said, "Tell me what you need."
"Come here," she breathed, curling a hand around the back of his neck, drawing him closer, and she groaned as he rose over her, settling his weight on her, pulling him in for a kiss. She nipped his lower lip, and he let out a soft growl before diving in to kiss her, taking control, dominating, and she took his hand, cupping it over her breast to gently massage and play with her nipples while he swirled his tongue with hers, fierce and dominating, and she writhed beneath him, toes starting to curl. He grunted, blinking dazedly, when she broke away, panting. "N-now do that…here…"
She rolled her hips against his, gasping – he hissed and his eyes widened – at his erection straining fiercely against her. He panted, staring at her, and searched her face. Then, he gave her a sweet, almost delicate kiss on the lips, before sliding down between her thighs. He glanced up at her through his lashes, and she nodded, giving him a tiny, coaxing smile. Still gazing at her, he turned his head and kissed her thighs, first. The wicked smile he gave her made her grin, and she moaned with shock and relief as he set in.
His first kiss was tentative. One taste of her heat and her softness and he shuddered. The feeling of her body relaxing under his tongue was powerful – she moaned, and he growled softly, wanting nothing more than to feast on the taste of her. He wanted to feast on the taste of her. He clamped an arm around her thigh, pinning her hips in place, as she wriggled and sighed and threaded her fingers through his hair. She bit down on a whimper, already writhing under the onslaught of sensation as he feasted. Any shyness was gone.
Guided by her, he massaged and squeezed one breast, squeezing and tweaking her nipple until it throbbed, and when he abandoned it for the other, and she let go of his hand and let out a cry as he pinned her hips to the mattress and feasted, and she was left with nothing but to accept the ecstasy starting to sparkle beneath her skin like liquid embers catching alight. Squirming under his steely grip, she whimpered and clutched at his free hand, the arm clamped over her hip, his long hot fingers splayed across her belly.
"I n-need you to t-touch me!" she shuddered, biting her lip, and trembled against the pillows, gripping his curls in her fingers and trying to thrust her hips to meet his tongue. He hummed softly and she cried out, loudly, at the sensation that fractured through her body like bolts of lightning. "And do that again!"
A soft laugh vibrated against her and her toes curled. He used his thumb, stroking her the way he knew she liked best and she groaned loudly, squeezing her fingers, her muscles clenching, her thighs quivering, and she lost herself to everything but his tongue and his hands – his scent, his heat, his fierce, insistent tongue and patient fingers, stoking the embers of a fire that slowly and surely swept through her body like waves of molten fire, searing and burning as they went. Relief, after, lingering joy as she was enveloped into a world of embers twinkling in endless soft shadows.
He panted and knelt between her spread thighs, chest heaving, and wiped his mouth as he gazed down at her, awed. Scarred and imperfect as she was, he thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. In the firelight, her pale skin seemed as radiant as snow in the moonlight, flushed delicately pink in a way he only ever saw her when they were intimate this way, when it was just the two of them and their bodies, their hands and lips and a deep, throbbing ache only they could soothe. His hands shook, his thighs clenched and his cock throbbed but he ignored it – he tried – and watched her. She was collapsed against the pillows, her cheeks flushed, her eyes closed, her lips plump from kissing him, her nipples hard, her slender thighs slick from the wet heat that had coated his tongue. The taste of her lingered on his tongue and did nothing to help the nearly painful ache in his smallclothes. His hand itched to soothe it but he didn't. He flushed at the thought, I want her to finish me.
Just the sight of her like this put him in danger of finishing in his smallclothes.
He smiled to himself. He had done this. She was sprawled out, flushed and utterly boneless from pleasure, and he had given it to her. His first time, his first taste, and this was her body's response. He reached out, smoothing his palms over the insides of her thighs – she shuddered, almost lazily, and her lips curled into a smile as she preened. He chuckled softly, awed, and leaned in, tenderly kissing her thighs, trailing up, to her belly, and sighed as he settled his weight between her thighs, hugging her waist, to rub his chin over her nipples, his beard making her shiver, before lavishing kisses on her breasts, worshipping them. He adored her high, full breasts and her dainty nipples the colour of frosted plums – but even now, as he laved kisses and sucked on her nipples, he wanted to dip back between her thighs, to kiss her there again, to hear her moans and whimpers and watch her body go boneless under his tongue.
He had intended to gentle her from her pleasure with his kiss, as he had many times before – his kisses seemed to gentle her as much as they inflamed her – but at the thought of kissing between her thighs again, he groaned, scowling at himself for thrusting his hips against the mattress, and reached a hand between them.
Pinpricks of light seemed to spark behind her eyelashes and Larra gazed at him, her cheeks flushed, and she moaned with abandon as he stroked her with his thumb, then thrust a finger deep inside her. He stroked and thrust and she writhed, her hips rocking to meet him, and she gripped his shoulders as he leaned up to snare a kiss. She cried out, her thighs quivering against his sides, as he stole another kiss and thrust a second finger deep inside her.
Watching her fall boneless under his touch was one thing. But it was exciting to watch her whimper and try to fight it, to feel her shudder and know she was digging her heels into the mattress, her fingernails biting into his shoulders, her teeth tugging on his lower-lip in a way that threatened to have him spill in his smallclothes, but there it was – that shudder of ecstasy ripping through her body even as she fought to prolong it, startled and overwhelmed, her eyes widening as she gazed up at him, his fingers thrusting deep inside, and he nuzzled for a tender kiss, finishing her with a twist of his wrist that made her thighs shake as her muscles gripped him tight. He stroked her until she gentled, swallowing her whimper as he withdrew his fingers with a deep kiss, and groaned as he collapsed on his back beside her. In one movement, he flipped her body against his, draping her over him, stroking his fingers over her back, her arms, draping her thigh over his to tenderly trace the scar that had started it all. He sighed and kissed the top of her head as the aftershocks that made her tremble gentled.
He gazed down at her, and smiled softly at the hazy look of absolute rapture on her face. "You know, one taste of you will never be enough," he remarked softly, and she gave him a lazy smile. Her eyes flickered open and she preened against him, writhing; her smile widened, almost sweet.
"I'm looking forward to my turn," she said huskily, reaching up to gently stroke his jaw, tracing the dimple in his chin, his lips. Gendry gazed at her. Her smile was soft, and Gendry leaned in for a kiss that was soft, slow and savouring. He caressed her arm and reached for her hand, tangling their fingers together, and as the kiss deepened, he guided her hand lower. He inhaled sharply at the feel of her hand as he cupped it over his erection, and she gently broke away from the kiss, her eyes darkening with concern. He nudged her nose with his and pulled her closer to steal another kiss, a soft rumble growing from deep inside his chest as he shakily guided her hand inside his smallclothes.
Her gently calloused palms, her slender fingers radiating heat; he groaned and let his head fall back at the feel of her touching him for the first time. Larra was touching him. He raised his head and caught her eye; she remained still, watching him carefully. She didn't cup him but she didn't remove her hand either. Waiting cautiously for his reaction.
"I'm alright," he said, surprised by how gruff he sounded. Her eyes glittered, her entire face seeming to soften and warm, pleased or relieved that he wanted this. Gods, he wanted this. Though he knew she had more experience in the bedchamber, her touch was tentative – she had never touched him after that first time in the nursery, not even when he'd noticed her fingers twitching and her gaze dipping to his groin as she bit her lip. When she bit her lip… He shivered. She withdrew her hand, and he frowned, only to shiver as she went to her knees bedside him and slowly unbuttoned his smallclothes.
Larra bit her lip as she slowly peeled Gendry's smallclothes from him, as if unwrapping a precious gift. She had only once felt the barest impression of him, that night in the nursery, and since then only felt him press against her hip or thigh or belly as they learned each other – always in smallclothes, usually still with his breeches on. Always out of reach. Always intriguing. As the linen was peeled away, she couldn't help the moan that escaped her lips, or the way slick heat flooded between her thighs, making her squirm and rub her thighs together, aching again. She tugged his smallclothes down his legs and cast them aside, sitting back to gaze at him, stunned. If there was a god of virility, of true masculinity, they were made in Gendry's image. His enormous body, cut with rippling muscle, his immense shoulders, arms she loved to nip and cling to, those thick powerful thighs she ached to have between hers, all dusted with dark hair that seemed to trail to his groin.
They nicknamed him the Bull, she thought dazedly, licking her lips as she gazed at him. He was the biggest she had ever seen, ever imagined. Long and deliciously thick, jutting proudly from that dark patch of hair, impossibly hard. She ached at the sight of him, yearning…
Already panting, her heart thundering, Larra leaned in, murmuring in his ear, "You are magnificent." She gave him a tender kiss but did not touch him. Didn't dare. She didn't want to spook him. He cradled her face with one enormous hand and kissed her deeply. She stroked his shoulders and chest, his abdomen, feeling the muscles contract under her fingertips. She broke away and gasped softly, "What would you like me to do?"
He shook his head, giving a desperate sort of shrug as if he had no idea what he wanted – or rather there were too many things he wanted! He gazed at her lips, and Larra smiled softly. She leaned in, gently kissing him. She reached out, cupping his jaw as she kissed him, and when she broke away, she gave him a soft, earnest look. "Stay with me." She stroked his cheek with her thumb and he nodded, knowing what she meant.
Larra moved to kneel between his legs, gently shoving his thighs apart, drawing up a knee so she could get closer, and he watched her body move as she lowered herself to her belly between his legs. Her violet eyes were heavy-lidded, dark and glinting as she gazed at his cock as if she had never seen anything so magnificent in her life, had never been hungrier in her life. She looked as if she was starving.
And he groaned and shuddered as she started to feast.
She lovingly caressed him with her palm first, gently, then with more pressure, and he choked when she glanced up, giving him a wicked smile, before her tongue darted out and gave the tip of his cock a tiny lick. Then another, and another, tiny and teasing, until they weren't, until she was lavishing his entire length with her tongue. He watched, stunned, as she kissed him, and his thighs jerked when she gave him the gentlest of nips, easing the sting with a kiss and a savouring lick.
"Larra!" he grunted, and she glanced up at him, eyebrows raised almost tauntingly. The only way he could describe the look she gave him was wolfish as she curled one hand over him, her eyes snaring his, and took him into her mouth in one stroke. The heat of her mouth, her tongue on him, licking, her hand gently pumping him as she swirled her tongue around him. Then she moaned, her eyelashes fluttering closed, and she started to suck.
Gendry's head fell back, his eyes rolling, and he groaned from deep inside his chest.
He snatched her hand, gripping it tight, her only warning before he came violently, shuddering and panting, pleasure searing through his body. Her tender licks and kisses gentled him the same way he always gentled her; blearily, he watched her cleaning him with her tongue, as if she was savouring every lick.
"I'm sorry!" he grunted, flushing out of embarrassment as much as pleasure. He hadn't lasted. But then, he'd never experienced an onslaught such as that. She had a wicked, clever tongue.
"Why?" Larra purred, slowly climbing into his lap, straddling him. She looked…pleased. Could she have liked bringing him to pleasure as much as he adored watching her climax? She reached out, tenderly tracing his features with her fingertips. She leaned in and kissed his brow, his eyelashes, the tip of his nose, his chin, all the while rubbing her hands delicately over his shoulders, up and down his arms, across his back. Soothing him. This was a she-wolf praising her mate, he thought dazedly. She gazed into his eyes, watching his face, his reactions. When he had calmed, feeling utterly sated and relaxed, he gave her a soft smile, his hands gently rubbing her thighs.
"I'm here," he murmured, reassuring her, leaning in to give her a tender kiss. "I'm here with you."
The sombre, almost cautious look on her face softened completely when she gave him a tender smile. She reached out and brushed his tangled curls out of his face. He gathered her up, and they kissed lazily, until Larra was draped over him and he had an arm clamped heavily over her waist, keeping her there, the feel of her tiny kisses on his chest making him smile sleepily even as his eyes grew so heavy he couldn't keep them open. He was only vaguely aware of Larra tugging up the linens and quilts to drape them heavily over them and the tickle of furs against his bare arms. He only cared to have her weight on top of him, her scent all around him. She tucked her head into the crook of his neck and he felt her soft sigh against his skin as he nuzzled her hair, cuddling close, exhausted but elated.
Sleep drifted from him slowly, a delicate nip of chill teasing his cheek. Someone murmured softly to themselves, and he squirmed and stretched under the heavy quilts, sated and content, drifting peacefully in that place between sleep and awake, where dreams were tangible and the real world was softer and more hopeful. He frowned as sparse silver light played with the shadows cast by a small fire crackling merrily in the hearth. A soft sigh close by and he peeked through his eyelashes, gazing blearily past linens, embroidered patchwork quilts, silver furs and a tangle of yarn to the tail of a long, thick braid, curling riotously below the neat suede cord binding it.
He reached out, touching the springy corkscrew curls, and closed his fist around the end of the thick braid, following it with his eyes. The sight of Larra with her hair unpinned was special; he sighed and rolled over, watching her. Her hair was still drawn away from her face by two thick, raised braids, meeting at the nape where they became one thick, multi-stranded braid plaited and twisted together, and it fell heavily over one shoulder, coiling by her hip. He had never seen her with her hair unbound; it was always neatly braided away from her face. He adored her face but yearned to see her with her hair free and curling.
Gendry smiled softly to himself, rubbing his thumb over the coils of her braid, and hummed contentedly. "I half-expected you'd be gone. It's not like you to laze about in bed 'til the late hours."
Larra glanced down at him, her hands busy. She smiled softly and leaned down to give him a tender kiss. "I've only just woken."
"You're lying," he accused knowingly.
"I didn't wish to wake you," Larra murmured. No, that wasn't it. She could slip out of this chamber without waking him.
"You never have," he said softly. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd woken to an empty bed. Larra was incapable of sitting still. He wondered for the hundredth time whether Larra actually required sleep. He admired how hard she worked but it had made for an uncomfortable morning, finding himself alone in her chamber, in her bed.
"I didn't wish to leave you," Larra admitted, blushing delicately, and Gendry smiled up at her. He reached up and caressed her cheek.
"M'lady, I think you've taken a fancy to me," he said softly, and Larra gave him a sidelong look. He chuckled richly, grinning, and sat up, tugging the blankets up and resting against the pillows, leaning closer to her.
"I don't know what gave it away," she said, leaning down to give him a kiss, and he caressed her face, deepening the kiss lazily, savouring the taste of her. He stroked his thumb against her cheek when they parted. She gave him a soft look and he sighed, gazing into her eyes. He had taken a fancy to her, too.
She had left the bed without him noticing, he realised. Firstly, she was dressed in one of her thick woollen dresses – this one dark charcoal grey and embroidered at her wrists and shoulders with shimmering black winter roses, some of them intricately outlined, some of them cut from black velvet stitched onto the wool – and he was oddly charmed to see her stocking-clad toes wriggling under the furs. Fully dressed, but no boots. This was Larra at her most relaxed. And even then, her sword lay within arm's reach, leaning against the bedside cabinet. And he watched her fingers working; yarn tucked around her finger, a carved wooden hook looping in and out without her even watching. All about her feet, he saw strips of vibrant fabric – silk, he thought, the colour of precious gemstones – and knitting. Not knitting – crochet: Neva adored learning from Larra.
"What are you making?" he asked quietly, leaning his cheek against her arm.
"Ear-warmers," she replied. She picked up one of the lengths of silk fabric and draped it over her head so that it covered her ears. Then she lowered it and showed him the other side: the richly-embroidered silk gave way to crocheted yarn that looked dreamily soft. "Muskox wool for warmth and silk for beauty."
He peered closer, always appreciative of exquisite craftsmanship, whether it was tailoring, painting, armoury or embroidery. The embroidery on the strips of silk was staggeringly beautiful, intricate and lifelike, shimmering with tiny beads and metallic threads.
"You never wear such things," he noted. She wore her furs the same way the Free Folk did – with the fur turned in for warmth. She braided her hair and pinned it over her ears if she needed to – she hadn't had access, he realised, to muskox wool and silk.
"They're for the girls," she said softly, and lifted each embroidered headband in turn as she said, "Peacock feathers and clematis for Narcisa; chrysanthemums and hummingbirds for Crisantha; for Delphine, luna moths and ferns."
"The lioness for Calanthe," he murmured thoughtfully, picking up a strip of glowing silk as red as rubies richly embroidered with golden lionesses.
"What else?" Larra smiled fondly. "Altheda gets the swan; violets for Rosamund; and sweet-as-honey Leona gets honeysuckle and honeybees. This one is for Neva."
A strip of midnight blue silk delicately embroidered with shimmering silver starbursts. "Stars. Where's the moon?"
"No moon; she's too changeable. Neva is constant," Larra said warmly. "She is as gentle and as radiant as starlight." Gendry gazed at Larra. He knew she was a talented woman. He was always filled with pleasure and pride to know she saw him but that she understood Neva… She paid the girl just as much attention as she did the other, high-born girls.
"Did you sew all these?" he asked, marvelling at the beauty of the embroidery. Lifelike, minuscule hummingbirds, delicate violets that could have been plucked from the Riverlands, proud lionesses, honeybees he could practically hear humming as they drifted past him, twinkling stars in a midnight sky.
"No; Sansa helped, and some of the ladies," Larra said, with a slightly rueful smile. He supposed she hadn't had much time to perfect her stitches. "We're still working on collars. They take ever so much time."
"Collars?" he frowned. She raised her chin slightly, showing off the double standing collar she herself wore, the lower band of sleek black fur and the upper one of dark wool richly embroidered with grey direwolves, twisting silver roots, tiny snowflakes among shimmering winter-roses, heavy buds of silk dangling in places, twinkling with tiny beads and silvered thread. The long, embroidered cords were neatly pinned with a silver direwolf brooch set with obsidian eyes. He had only ever seen Larra and Lady Sansa wearing the collars.
"We don't wear jewels in the North. Instead, we wear raised collars to show off our embroidery. They're a symbol of status, but also provide warmth. Here in the North, we bind up our hair in braids and crowns to keep our heads warm but it doesn't always work, so we must find other means to keep our ears and necks warm. We took something necessary and made it beautiful."
"The details make them beautiful," Gendry said softly, examining the beautiful thing Larra had made for Neva. "Time and care goes into them, and you can see it."
"Just as with everything you make in the forge…" Larra kept working, frowning slightly, and he glanced up at her.
"What's wrong?" he asked, as she sighed and untangled something.
"My – my fingers work too quickly. There's too much friction between the hook and the yarn and it snags," she grumbled. He watched her work, and when she grumbled a second time he took her crochet hook from her, examining it closely – not daring to drop the loop from it lest her work unravel. It was a simple tool but he knew how much Larra was capable of creating from it: he was buried beneath the hours of her labour, the beautifully stitched panels of a heavy muskox blanket, every one of them a unique pattern inspired by a Northern wildflower. After a little while watching him examine the crochet hook, thoughtful and inspired, Larra said, "Gendry…how ambitious are you?"
"Fairly, I suppose," Gendry said, glancing up at her. "In the armoury, at least. I want to create the best." He itched to create armour, all his time now devoted to simple obsidian weapons. Necessary, but not challenging. And he enjoyed the challenge.
"I…had a thought," she said cautiously, and Gendry gazed at her patiently. "I don't even know if it's feasible. But if it's even only remotely possible, it would be worth it to try."
"What?" he asked, curious.
"Your, um…your blood. You are ashamed that it may have been used to murder, to destroy," she said, and Gendry remembered their conversations, his years of shame. He knew she didn't believe it; he was working on convincing himself. It helped to hear her remind him that it was not his fault that Robb Stark's family had been butchered. "But what if it has the power to create something?"
He sat up a little straighter, frowning. "What do you mean?"
"What do you know about Robert Baratheon?" Larra asked, and Gendry blinked, startled by the mention of the man. "His family, I mean – the Baratheons of Storms End?"
"Not much," Gendry shrugged nonchalantly. He knew Robert's brother Stannis would willingly have murdered him. "Orys Baratheon was the Conqueror's half-brother, some say. He married the last Storm King's daughter. I know that Robert was good at killing. He was a decent king – we had peace, at least. Though that was probably because his Hand worked himself to death ruling for Robert."
"Robert's grandmother was Princess Rhaelle – the daughter of Aegon the Unlikely," Larra said, and Gendry's eyebrows rose, staring at her.
Gendry blinked, then frowned. "Robert was a Targaryen?"
"Through his grandmother, yes," Larra nodded. "Through her, you have the blood of Valyria flowing through your veins."
Gendry was silent for a while. Larra could always see him thinking. He had a clever and cunning mind, and she always knew he was deep in thought when he frowned."He and Prince Rhaegar were related?"
"Second-cousins, I believe. Robert's grandmother and Rhaegar's grandfather were siblings," Larra sighed. She shook her head delicately. The tiny rosebuds on her raised collar swayed and glinted in the firelight. "It's why they gave Robert the crown; he had claim to the Iron Throne through Rhaelle."
"Robert killed his own cousin," Gendry realised, appalled. He had never known that before. "He was a kinslayer. For what?"
"Because Rhaegar was the better man, and Lyanna Stark knew it. She chose the better man – and Robert could never forgive them for the wound to his pride," Larra murmured miserably.
"I thought Rhaegar kidnapped Lyanna Stark?"
For a long moment, Larra did not reply. Then she sighed heavily, and her gaze was strangely grief-stricken as she winced, "Until the direwolf learns to write, history will favour the hunter. Robert won the war; no-one was going to praise the Last Dragon within earshot of him, or claim the wrong man lost his life at the Trident… It doesn't matter. They're both gone now. And if Rhaegar had lived, you would not have been born." She gave him a smile then that made him feel as if all that bloodshed had been worth it, that he was a worthy trade for the Last Dragon's life.
"The gods struck a poor bargain at the Trident when they gave Robert the strength to deal Rhaegar that death-blow," he said, because that same feeling did not linger long.
"I don't think so. Look where we are. If things had gone differently, none of us would be here," Larra said, her tone light, fair, thoughtful. "The Night King would be marching to war and we would be utterly ignorant of it. Things are as they were always meant to be. That is comforting." She gave him a gentle, coaxing smile.
"What were you going to ask me?" he prompted. "You asked how ambitious I am… What do you think my blood has the power to do?"
"You have the blood of Old Valyria. The blood of dragonlords – magic," Larra said thoughtfully, glancing at the headbands she was stitching. She raised her eyes to his, vivid violet and intense in the firelight, intense with her enthusiasm and passion. "With your blood and your skill, I wonder whether you could possibly forge Valyrian steel."
Gendry watched her for a long moment, frowning and thinking it over. "Tobho Mott taught me the theory of reforging old Valyrian steel into something new…but the method to create Valyrian steel was lost in the Doom."
"Not lost – forgotten," Larra said, her tone bright, almost breathless, her eyes sparkling with delight. "But there is one who could remember. And if we could learn the method…isn't it worth it, to try and forge fresh Valyrian steel?"
"To wield against White Walkers?"
"To be the first to create Valyrian steel since the Doom," Larra said breathlessly. "Valyria burned to ash but from the ashes a fire can be woken…"
Gendry gazed at her. To forge fresh Valyrian steel? To be the only person in the world to have attempted it – or mastered the lost art? His eyes slid past Larra, to the sword resting beside the bed. "Pass me your sword."
Larra smiled and handed him Dark Sister. As she did a loose running-stitch to pin the embroidered silk to strips of thick wool as a lining, in preparation for stitching the crochet to the other side, she watched Gendry out of the corner of her eye. He examined the elegant sword for a long time, watching how the blade seemed to drink in the firelight, making it dance and writhe like liquid shadows. It was enthralling to watch him think, assessing the sword, turning it over in his mind. His size and his birth would always make people underestimate him, his shrewdness and cunning, his focus and skill. But Larra saw it and respected it – admired him for it. She adored how clever he was. This was Gendry the armourer, a master despite his youth – because of his passion.
That passion would be what determined their success, Larra knew instinctively.
To create Valyrian steel, to be the only one able to do so? What master armourer hadn't wished to be that man? But did she mean…she had mentioned her brother Bran and his visions, his dreams. Did she mean he was the one who could remember? Could he help them learn the secrets to creating Valyrian steel?
When he finally passed Dark Sister back, Larra glanced at him and said, "It's high time you trained with the weapons you've made."
"I prefer my hammer," he shrugged. Truth be told, he wondered whether he could learn – whether he wasn't too old to start to learn.
"Take it from someone who knows; you need to know how to use whichever weapon you can lay your hands on," Larra said grimly. "Even if it's a meat-hook. Come…enough lazing about in my bed."
"We could laze together," Gendry suggested, the cunning in his eyes taking on a different feel, playful and suggestive.
"Come on," Larra coaxed, grinning. "Off to the forge with you."
"Will you walk with me?" he asked quietly.
"I can't," Larra groaned, her shoulders slumping. "I'm due with the maesters; Maester Atten wishes to discuss Narcisa. Then Sansa insists I show my face in the hall with the ladies."
"Hence your finery," Gendry noted, watching her as she unfolded from the bed, smoothing her skirts and tucking her heavy braid over her shoulder. It fell down her back, swaying heavily to her bottom, and for a moment Gendry thought it looked like a wolf's tail. He glanced at the diamond-paned window, where relentless silver light speared through the iced glass. "It looks like a fine day."
"I know," Larra said gloomily. Her eyes sparkled, however, when he shoved back the blankets and climbed out of bed, naked and unabashed before her. She had already enjoyed every inch of him; there was no use for false modesty now. And he got a thrill when she bit her lip longingly as her gaze swept over him; he could practically feel her gaze caressing his skin, and shuddered, reaching for his smallclothes – all his clothing had been neatly folded on the trunk at the foot of the bed.
"Make sure you get outside," he said, and smiled softly as Larra wandered over to do up the little buttons on his tunic. It was such a simple thing, but it felt intimate, the way she helped him dress for the day. "You're impossible when you've been penned in too long."
"Impossible, am I?" Larra repeated, raising her eyebrows.
"Less so, now that I know how to manage you," he rumbled softly in her ear, leaning in to give her a sweet kiss, and Larra was smiling when he leaned away.
"Well, I may need managing later…" She gazed up at him and said earnestly, "Think about what I said. There's no point attempting it if your heart's not in it; I want you to think about it."
"I won't be able to think of anything else," he admitted. She had filled his head with possibility.
With a sly look, she rose to his tiptoes to kiss his cheek and suck on his earlobe, making him groan, a shudder rippling through him. "Are you sure?"
"Now that was mean," he growled softly, and Larra's eyes glinted wickedly as she paused at the door, her long thick braid swaying heavily as she glanced over her shoulder.
"Just wait."
He growled and darted after her – Larra laughed and dashed off. He chased her into the corridor and caught her, gathering her up into his arms, and stole several deep kisses before she leaned away, breathless and bright-eyed, a promise in her smile as she strode away, her long braid swaying behind her.
Soft purring greeted her and she smiled softly, pushing the door gently shut behind her. The firelight crackled softly and shed golden light over the bed, where Gendry lay, his chin touching his chest, his dark curls tumbling into his eyes, and her painted cards tumbled in his lap. He looked relaxed but faint lines of exhaustion radiated from his eyes. She felt how tired he was just by looking at him yet felt no guilt at keeping him awake in the hour of the wolf. Not when her body was still sensitive with the feel of his fingers and his tongue adoring her.
She crept through the chamber, tidying the cards away, pulling off her boots and dress, and climbed into bed beside him, tenderly tucking the quilts and blankets over him. Seeing him so relaxed, she settled in beside him, tucked against him and dozed, rich sleep coaxing at her, lulling and heavy and decadent.
A gentle kiss tickling her lips woke her, and her eyelashes fluttered as she stirred. She gave Gendry a lazy smile, stretching luxuriously against him, and sighed contentedly.
"I kept you waiting," she murmured, and he leaned in to kiss her. He caressed her face and gazed down at her, then leaned in to kiss her brow, her eyelashes, the tip of her nose and finally her lips, his hands smoothing over her body, stroking and cupping gently. She nuzzled her nose against his and sighed into a kiss that was slow and deep and built into something fierce and necessary, and they moaned and grunted softly as they unknotted laces and twisted buttons free, gasping as they parted ever so briefly to pull her chemises over her head, tugging at his tunics and shoving his breeches over his thighs so she could wrap her hand lovingly around his cock, stroking and gently tugging until he grunted, scowling, and tugged her hand away for fear he'd spend on her belly. He grinned wickedly, clasping her wrists together with one hand, bending his head to kiss and suckle her breasts, teasing her nipples with his teeth, flicking with his tongue, sucking voraciously, and his free hand went between them as she writhed.
His breath gusted out as he found her wet, and she whimpered softly as he stroked her, delicately at first, then gave her nipple one last, lingering suck and a nip that made her shudder and writhe, kissing his way down her navel, licking and kissing her thighs before he set in ravenously. All he had thought about all day was the taste of her, her heat and the silky softness of her, how responsive her body was to his touch, how he ached to explore and adore her again. He took her with his mouth, his kiss relentless, until her thighs shook and she moaned and writhed and tugged on his wrist, and he smiled wickedly up at her, delicately teasing her with his fingertips before rising up over her, wiping his mouth on his shoulder before leaning over her to catch her in a kiss as he thrust his fingers inside her. Her hips rolled sensuously to meet his hand, her heels digging into the mattress, and he groaned as he watched her move beneath him. Propped over her on one taut arm, he growled softly and gave her a deep, possessive kiss, working his wrist to meet her, his thumb delicately caressing her where she needed him, and marvelled at the way she moved beneath him, her hips rolling sensuously and powerfully to meet him, her hand clamped like a steel band around his wrist as he thrust inside her slick heat, and she mewled softly, offering her breast to him with her free hand, her fingers shaking. He growled softly and dipped his head, feeling the pulsing rush of need as he wrapped his lips around her nipple, sucking and nipping and licking until she was shuddering and mewling with abandon. He worshiped that sound, his body shuddering, his cock throbbing with the need to spill his seed – he raised his head, withdrew his hand, and Larra cried out, her entire body shuddering, on the edge, her eyes wide as she gazed up at him, bewildered.
He gave her a soft, tender kiss and she cradled his face in her shaking hands, letting out a delicate gasp as he lowered himself between her thighs. His weight settled deliciously between her thighs and she gasped and moaned, rolling her hips gently, as he propped himself over her on arms rippling with muscles turned to bronze by the firelight, sheened with sweat and flickering with strain. She leaned up, licking a droplet of sweat from his chest, turning her face to nip his bicep and she cried out, seizing his face to pull him in for a frantic kiss as he rocked his hips between her thighs, the tip of his cock – mouth-wateringly thick, blistering hot and relentless – sliding deliciously against the tender bud between her legs. Again and again, he rocked his hips, slowly and relentlessly, the tip of his cock sliding against her slick heat, against her bud, stroking, until she was shaking with need, her trembling thighs wet from him – for him – and she stroked her hands up and down his chest, gasping softly as he lowered himself over her, kissing her fiercely, sucking on her neck where she liked it best, burying his head in her neck as he moved his hips with agonising purpose, and she whimpered, digging in her heels, then lifting her knees to coax him closer, lightly scratching her fingernails against his waist as he shuddered and nipped at her collarbone, tenderly licking her scar there. He rocked over her, his cock stroking her, his chest-hair tickling her throbbing nipples, until her entire body shuddered, a flush spreading from her cheeks to her chest as she panted, her eyelashes fluttering, her thighs falling limp, still trembling as aftershocks rippled through her. She whimpered softly, hips writhing, her lip trembling as she panted and gasped and moaned at the ache throbbing with painful emptiness between her thighs.
Breathless, Gendry panted, "Larra." He caressed her face and kissed her fiercely, and her breath caught at the gleam in those sapphire eyes as he gazed down at her. He rocked his hips and they both moaned loudly, his eyes widening as hers fluttered shut, writhing beneath him, desperate for that fierce, relentless heat prodding her belly.
"Gendry…?" she whispered, and he gazed back at her, his expression intense, almost as desperate as she felt. He nodded and she smiled, giving him an open-mouthed kiss as she reached between them. He moaned and she gasped as she caressed his length, and she kissed the side of his face, his jaw and his neck, his shoulder, as he adjusted his weight over her. She guided him with her hand on his hip, gently stroking him with the other, and manoeuvred him between her thighs, and they both cried out, Gendry dropping his head to her neck as her eyes widened, at the feel of the tip of his cock nudging insistently against her slick heat. Her entire body shuddering with need, aching with emptiness, she panted at the delicious pressure of his cock pressing teasingly against her. Gendry raised his head, his entire body shuddering, and gazed at her. He looked stunned; she gave him a breathless grin and cried out, "Now."
She felt his muscles flexing, her hands clasped over his backside, and cried out as he entered her in one fierce, relentless thrust. Burning pain seared through her, an exquisite pain of absolute fullness – he was so large, so thick, her thighs quivered and she gasped at the fullness of his heat and relentless strength deep inside her. It had been so long, and he was so thick and stretched her deliciously, pleasure bordering on pain, she could feel everything, aware of her own body in a way she never had been before, how he was able to glide over a secret part of her only she knew about, thought only she could find.
Larra felt his body, thrumming with tension, and cracked her eyes open to find his body hulking around hers, his eyes on her face, looking…almost frightened. She panted, her face splitting into a smile, and reached up to grip his cheeks and pull him in for a kiss.
"You're not hurt?" he whispered shakily, still looking alarmed. She shook her head wildly.
"In the most delicious way," she whispered in his ear, and he gave a shocked grunt, his eyes wide. She nuzzled his nose and stole a kiss. Shivering, her voice shook as she said, "Roll your hips, as you did before, and I shall meet you…"
She moaned loudly, throwing her head back, whimpering as he withdrew slowly, her emptiness agonising after knowing the fullness of him inside her; she drew up her thighs and dropped her knees to the mattress to give him more access, crying out in exquisite anguish as he thrust inside her, slow and deep. Her fingernails bit into his hips as she guided him, her hips rolling to meet his, and he swallowed his soft, stunned grunts and gasps with tiny, delicate kisses. Her toes curled as he thrust inside her, and she panted, writhing, needing more of him.
"I n-need more," she whimpered, and he nodded, his expression fierce, focused, as he propped himself up over her on taut arms, biting his lip as he rolled his hips, slowly withdrawing, and she cried out, startled and delighted, when he slammed his hips, entering her in a powerful, unforgiving thrust, burying himself deep inside her. A slow rock of his hips as he pulled out, and she whimpered, leaning up to lick and bite his chest, his nipples, and he grunted, thrusting deeper, harder, and she clutched at his chest, his waist, her fingernails digging in as she shook, his cock filling her, stroking and relentless, teasing that secret spot deep inside her, until molten flames replaced the blood rushing through her body and stars burst under her skin. Rapture replaced everything that she was.
He watched her climax, awed, and gentled his thrusts as she smiled and writhed beneath him, her body responding so sweetly, yielding and coaxing. Her face flushed, her eyes glittered when her lashes finally parted, and she panted breathlessly, her face radiating pure joy. His body responded; he gasped as pleasure ripped through him, sparkling behind his eyes and skittering across his skin, making his thighs shake. He couldn't stop thrusting, didn't want to, knew he would spend his entire life aching to fill and enflame her the way he had just now. He would spend his life aching to bring her to such joy again and again.
She sighed and lazily wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him closer, and he thrust deep inside her, making her chuckle almost drunkenly, licking her lips as if savouring the feel of him so deep inside her. He never knew it could be like this. He hissed as his balls ached, tightening, and she drew him in for a deep kiss, her hand caressing down his back as he thrust, his spine starting to tingle as it did when he was close, and he gasped, giving one last powerful thrust, grunting in anguish as he came deep inside her. She sighed, the sound almost content, and he shuddered as her muscles clamped around him, seeming to milk him of every drop he had to give her.
He didn't mean to; he collapsed on top of her, dazed. Dimly, he became aware that she was kissing him. His neck, his shoulder; she stroked his hair and her clever fingers trailed delicately across his shoulders, his back, stroking his arms and his waist, even his backside. Her touch soothed him, the same way his kisses always gentled her after fuelling the fire that made her burn. Slowly, gently, she brought him back, with her gentle touches and her sweet kisses. When he raised his head and stared down at her in awe, she gazed back at him, her smile rich and warmer than he had ever seen. She leaned up to kiss the dimple in his chin, the tip of his nose, then his lips, and she caressed her fingertips over his chest, tangled in his chest-hair, her thumb tenderly circling a nipple as she gave him tiny kisses along his jaw and neck, then nuzzled his nose and drew him in for a deep, tender kiss.
The delicate whimper of her disappointment as he withdrew from her made him smile against her lips. As he rolled to his back, he gathered her up in his arms, wrapping her around him. As she had for him, he stroked his fingers down her back, over her arms, her hips and thighs, her backside, gentling her. She sighed softly, resting her head against his shoulder, her fingertips sifting through his chest-hair, and tenderly kissed his shoulder and chest.
He had seen the playful, mischievous wolf, and the fierce warrioress. He adored the tender she-wolf. He had thought so before, but now he knew he was witnessing a she-wolf praising her mate for worshipping her as thoroughly as she deserved.
Larra shivered, missing the heat of him above her as his weight settled over her – she loved the weight of him pressing against her, had never felt…never felt safer than when he dominated her utterly with his enormous, gentle body. She reached for the furs, draping them over their legs, and sighed as she curled against him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, hugging her close, and she bit down a moan as he splayed his other hand on her thigh draped over him, his thumb tenderly stroking her hip. She felt raw, aching deliciously, throbbing with the burn of his lovemaking, and had never been worshipped so fiercely before in her life.
Utterly boneless, she found herself falling into a doze, curled against his enormous chest, his chest hair tickling her skin, his hands spreading warmth as he stroked her skin, and she was vaguely aware that he was playing absently with the curling end of her braid. His heartbeat thundered against her ear, fierce and strong, and she writhed against him, sated, content and safe. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt this way, this safe, felt treasured and loved and protected.
She felt his delicate kisses against her hair and sighed, propping her chin on his chest and gazing up at him through her lashes.
"I feel absolutely wonderful," she murmured sleepily, and felt the soft chuckle reverberate through his enormous chest. She also felt something else, and sleep was suddenly chased away, excitement sparkling through her body, her breath catching in her throat, grinning as Gendry blushed at her, his new erection straining impressively against her thigh. She laughed delightedly, aware that her voice was slightly hoarse. She cooed, "A bull indeed."
He chuffed out a breath and groaned, wincing as she glanced down, reaching for his cock, jutting fiercely toward her. She caught his eye and his cheeks flushed, but he reached out and cradled her face, giving her the tiniest, most tender kisses, shuddering as her breasts – nipples hardening at just the sight of him ready for her – brushed against his chest, heavy and aching for his touch. It was no effort at all to shift her hips and straddle his lap, and she felt his deep pants teasing against her bare skin as she straightened up. He growled softly, splaying his hands wide on her thighs, and she sighed, smiling adoringly, as his thumb went first to stroke her between her thighs. She mewled delicately as he stroked and rocked her hips subtly, then tangled her fingers in his curling hair, cupping his head to give him slow, deep kisses. She untangled one hand, to cup her breast, and offered it to him; he groaned and set in, kissing and suckling, tugging and teasing her nipple, flicking it with his tongue, nipping with his teeth, sucking until she throbbed between her thighs, and she reached between them, cupping and massaging his balls.
"Larra!" he gritted out.
"Yes, dear?" she panted, and, bracing her arms around his shoulders, she positioned herself over him. He laughed breathlessly, his hands tight on her thighs, and she nodded, giving him an open-mouthed kiss. She rolled her hips downwards and cried out as he thrust his hips up to meet her, his hands shoving her thighs down at the same moment, filling her with one brutal thrust. She gasped and shivered with delight at the fullness throbbing deep inside her again, teasing at the rawness from their first time. He drew her in for a deep kiss, groaning and settling back into the pillows, his fingers trembling on her hips as she whipped her hips back and forth, slowly at first, groaning and aching as she savoured the exquisite pain of being filled and stretched by him, then faster. Her face turned fierce, a red blushing flushing her body as she whipped her hips back and forth, moaning sharply each time she took him deeper, the thrusts of her hips fierce, whimpering as she tried to spread her thighs wider, needing more of him, head thrown back and shuddering with pleasure as he suckled and nipped her breasts.
As he raised his face to kiss her neck, and that tender spot where her shoulder joined her throat, the spot that made her shiver, he saw the tension in her face, the quiver of her lip, heard the whimper of need – and in one swift movement, had her on her back. Her eyes burst open, and she whimpered, "Yes," frantically kissing his chest and throat as he shoved her thighs wider, propping himself above her on taut arms, and gave her what she needed – fierce, unforgiving thrusts. She wrapped her hands over his muscles, panting as she met every thrust of his hips, her fingernails digging into his skin, and her hands travelled down, over his arms, his chest, digging her fingernails down his back as he sucked and nipped her neck, her breasts, and grabbed his backside, laughing breathlessly at the feel of his muscles flexing beneath her palms, the sweet sting of his teeth as he worshipped her breasts, kissing and sucking them until they throbbed, the power of his thrusts, his fierce fullness inside her bordering on pain, pushing her towards the greatest ecstasy she had ever known.
It threatened to consume her, and as his blue eyes glowed fiercely above her, she let it. He kept thrusting inside her, even as she panted and writhed with pleasure, her entire body tensing. He felt her tighten around him, fierce and demanding, and he cried out, shocked by the ferocity of her orgasm as she writhed and her muscles clamped down on him, and he was powerless to yield everything to her. A noise halfway between a groan of ecstasy and a gasp of shock escaped him as he finished inside her, relief and pleasure sparking embers all over his body, and he shuddered, blinking dazedly. Larra's eyelashes flickered, guarding the amethyst embers glowing like molten obsidian, glittering in the firelight. She raised a shaking hand, drawing him to her for a tender, savouring kiss.
He pulled out of her gently and was surprised by the shiver of pride that swept over him as she made a tiny whimper as if of loss. He kissed her neck tenderly.
"You're pouting," he panted, glancing at her swollen lips, and she gave him a look from under her eyelashes. Indeed, it was a pout. He grinned, confidence filling his veins with fire. He nuzzled her nose playfully and grinned, sucking on her lower-lip. He promised her, "You shall have it back soon enough."
"Well, then…" Larra purred, and stretched luxuriously against him, the movement utterly sensuous and suggestive. Her cheeks were flushed pink, her eyes were brighter than he had ever seen them and her lips were plump from kisses. "I feel absolutely delicious."
He shivered, and she noticed, her laugh soft and sultry, and he nuzzled her neck, tucking her close, drifting off to sleep surrounded by the feel and warmth and scent of her.
A.N.: Title references Gendry and Larra forging their relationship, which will become incredibly important (otherwise I wouldn't be writing it!)