Chapter 9: Feel This
Arya Stark shoved futilely against the chest of the bull-headed idiot currently trying to choke her with his tongue. She couldn't believe his audacity. It was one thing, after all, for him to have stated that he rather liked her and he'd certainly suggested that he'd like to fuck her, but this was another thing entirely.
She was furious with him, damn it! That did not call for kissing. Had he lost his mind?
The shoving seemed to be a waste of effort to Arya and she suspected that no matter what she might try he was going to continue kissing her until he decided he was done. He was so big that there wasn't all that much she could do to physically make him stop, though she did try biting his tongue. She regretted it immensely when he used his grip on her hair to hit her head none too gently on the wall he was pinning her to with his big body in punishment for the bite and probably for the scratches she was leaving all over his bare chest and shoulders.
Arya didn't quite know what to do, if she was being completely honest. For all that she disdained the idea very much of being a lady, she'd never kissed a boy in her youth the way Sansa and the other girls at Winterfell had. None of the boys had thought her attractive enough to risk trying it. To be given such an infuriating introduction into the world of physical intimacy by being soundly snogged in a corridor in Storm's End by Gendry Baratheon was a surprise and though she would never admit it, also rather nice.
She had no experience with kissing to compare the sensations to, but the feel of one of his thighs pressed insistently between both of her own drew her attention to the way her body was reacting to being touched by the handsome lord. His lips on hers were hard and passionate, his tongue massaging hers with sure strokes that told her all about his experience in the area. The feel of his muscled body beneath her hands was nice, though again, she would never admit such nonsense out loud. She also kind of liked the way his hands were tangled in her messy, curling brown hair, tugging on the strands just enough to annoy her without hurting her. It added to the overall sensation of being completely claimed by him.
It was an odd thought for Arya, the idea of any man laying claim to her, especially this way. She'd never expected it to feel like this. All the stories she'd ever heard had told terrible tales of wedding nights with rough bedding ceremonies and pierced maidenheads and drunken lords. Her sister has always sneered that no man would ever want to bed her. Would never willingly fuck her, except to see her wedded and bedded and then perhaps in an attempt to tame her wild spirit by tying her down with babes to tend. Not that the notion would be successful.
The idea that this Lord Baratheon had so willingly pinned her to the wall to kiss her this way made her head spin. Especially when she'd been gnashing her teeth and snapping at him in her fury. No one ever got close to her when she was furious unless they wanted to be introduced to her weapons. And yet, pinned there against the cold stone wall by Gendry Baratheon, Arya felt no need to draw either dagger from where they were belted to her waist. And for all that she was clawing him and fighting against him, she didn't really want him to stop.
Which seemed wise since he didn't seem to want to either. When they broke apart she wasn't the only one breathing hard and she bit her lip at the little sound that escaped her when he buried his lips against her throat, searing a line of hot kisses down the side of her neck, nipping at the skin and making her head spin faster. Arya knew her heart was pounding inside her chest and wondered if he could hear the way it raced.
She could feel the smile on his mouth as he continued to torment her flesh and she realised with a start that the nails she'd been dragging against his skin in an attempt to get him off her were now digging into him as she tried to pull him even closer. She realised she had arched into his touch and that he was eliciting little whimpering mewls from her with his ministrations.
And she hated him for it.
No one had ever done anything like this to her in her life and Arya felt her cheeks darken to scarlet in the dimly lit passage to know that with one kiss Gendry had managed to so effectively rattle her cage.
"Get off me," she demanded breathlessly, pushing both palms flat against his chest and pressing until he leaned back far enough to stare down at her. His blue eyes were wild with desire, dancing with how badly he wanted to have his way with her and Arya couldn't allow it. She might not be much of a lady, but she wouldn't disgrace herself or her family by surrendering her maidenhead anywhere but her marriage bed.
"Let go of me, Gendry," she said sternly, pushing him further away until his thigh slid free of hers and he was standing before her, no long touching her. Arya looked away from those blue eyes, biting her lip and tucking a stray curl behind her ear. She could tell he was waiting either for her to explode at him for what he'd done, or to beg him to continue - no doubt having experienced both with any of the many other young women he'd courted before her, but Arya did neither.
"Don't do that again," she said quietly, all too aware of the huskiness of her voice even as she slipped from his hold and away to the door of her chambers.
"You're just going to leave me out here after that?" he asked when she slipped into the room, holding the door long enough for Nymeria to join her.
"You started it, Baratheon," Arya began coldly, her cheeks still crimson with embarrassment over the sounds he'd drawn from her lips, the taste of him still on her tongue, "I'm sure you know how to finish it on your own."
He stared at her frustratedly until Arya closed the door to her chambers and locked it against him, making sure he wouldn't try to finish it with her. She leant against the door after that, trying to catch her breath and trying to push away the sensations he'd brought to life inside her. Arya didn't know how long she laid awake that night thinking about the feel of his lips and hands on her body.
~O~
When she woke the following morning it was to a crack of thunder outside her window and the pitter-patter of rain against stone. Arya opened her eyes slowly, unaccustomed to waking to the sound of rain. She was far more used to the soft silence of a summer snow and the oppressive heat that had crept inside her chamber made the oversized shirt of Gendry's she still wore, stick to her body in an uncomfortable way.
Nymeria barked at her from by the door when Arya groaned and rolled over and Arya realised the wolf needed to be let out to go about her business. Dragging herself from the bed, Arya stripped Gendry's shirt off her body and dug out a clean tunic and pair of riding tights. She chose a pretty one in a dark violet shade that Sansa had made for her. She really did need to write to her sister and request the newly wedded woman make her some more. They were simply too comfortable to wear anything else. Though she might need to ask Sansa to use a lighter fabric.
"Come on then. You overgrown cub," Arya rough-housed with Nymeria when the wolf began bounding between her mistress and the door, clearly intent on being let out. Arya opened the door to her chambers and followed the wolf out of the castle, laughing when Nymeria dashed past several merchants and traders in the main courtyard going about their day. She'd been taught at Winterfell to do her business outside the castle walls and despite the fact that many people stopped to watch her, Arya followed her dire wolf beyond the castle walls and out towards the bay.
The rain pattered down relentlessly, soaking her clothing despite the protective cloak she'd donned and Arya sighed over the idea of being always damp in this Gods forsaken kingdom. She already longed for the cold dryness of the North. In spite of the raging storm, Arya made her way out towards the cliffs plunging into Shipbreaker Bay. The thunderheads were heavy and dark, the lightning crackled wildly, making her jump occasionally. Nymeria seemed to be enjoying the rain much more than Arya was herself, romping over the rolling hills and barking at Arya.
"Are you done yet?" Arya asked the wolf, her mood rapidly deteriorating amid the downpour.
Nymeria gave no indication that she cared about Arya's bad mood. Arya found herself gravitating towards the edge of the cliff, watching the way the wild waves crashed against the unrelenting stone below. They sprayed and rolled in a turbulent maelstrom of wind and water. The sight awed Arya. Having spent all her life amid the rolling hills and icy rivers of the North she was unaccustomed to the sight of a stormy sea. As she looked down upon the crashing waves she gained a new understanding for why it was called Shipbreaker Bay. She could only imagine the damage that could be done by the pounding waves driving against the jagged rocks.
"Not thinking of pitching yourself over, are you?" a voice said from behind her, startling Arya and almost making her lose her balance on the edge of the cliff. When an overly large hand clasped her forearm tightly to steady her, Arya found herself grateful.
"Not today, Baratheon," Arya replied, not needing to look to know it was Gendry. She was already in tune with the sound of his voice.
"What are you doing out here then?" he asked, seeming like he didn't believe her and like he didn't at all want to let go of her, lest she do just that and plunge over the edge into the raging sea below.
"Waiting for Nymeria to go about her business and contemplating the fate of the many ships and sailors caught in a storm like this," Arya answered honestly.
"You realise it's the middle of a storm and that you're soaked, don't you?" he asked and Arya glanced at him for his tone, noting that he clearly hadn't been expecting that answer.
"You realise I'm not some simpering lass who cares over much about getting a bit wet in a storm, don't you?" she countered.
The sight of him almost had her blushing when she recalled the way he'd kissed her the night before. He looked impressive, cut against the dark of the storm with lighting flashing overhead. His dark hair was plastered to his skin and the weight of the rain had pulled his shirt taut against his muscular form. If she were prone to such things Arya imagined the sight might make her swoon. It didn't, of course, she wasn't some simpering fool, but she wouldn't deny that she greatly appreciated the view.
"I realise that," Gendry nodded, a small smile quirking one side of his mouth up crookedly, "You should come inside out of the storm though. You're like to get struck by lightning if you stay here, and your Father is looking for you."
To scold her for her behaviour last night, no doubt, Arya thought, recalling her displeasure of the previous evening when she had so rudely spouted venom about being forced into any kind of marriage arrangement. She didn't at all fancy the idea of going to speak with him. He would undoubtedly lecture her on the need for her to make a good match and on the fact that Gendry Baratheon was perhaps her ideal match.
"Mayhaps I should pitch myself over then," Arya said, glancing towards the turbulent waters below, "Elseways I'll be stuck here in this sticky, oppressive heat with the likes of you forever."
"Mayhaps you should," Gendry agreed, clearly choosing not to take offence to her snottiness, "But you won't."
"What makes you think so?" Arya asked, noting that there wasn't even a hint of a doubt in his voice. He truly believed she wouldn't do it. She wouldn't, of course. At least not on a day like today. And certainly not with the intent of meeting the Stranger. But she wondered what made him so sure of that fact.
"You're not the type. You'll run me through before you try to do yourself in," Gendry answered honestly.
"And yet you still think it wise that we marry?" Arya asked him, trying to hide her smirk.
"What's life without a little excitement?" he asked, shrugging and returning the smirk.
If it weren't for the fact that she wasn't supposed to want anything to do with him and that she didn't want to give off the impression that she in any way condoned the idea of her family arranging her marriage with him, Arya found herself thinking she wouldn't mind Gendry Baratheon.
"I wouldn't know," Arya admitted honestly. She was always on the lookout for something new and exciting to try, "Are you going to let go of me?"
"Not while you're so close to the edge of the cliff. One strong gust will pitch a little thing like you over into the swirling death below," he informed her, using his grip on her to steer her away from the edge.
"Aw, I didn't know you cared" Arya sneered at him, unable to resist the chance to torment him.
"I suspect there's lots of things you don't know when it comes to me, Stark," he replied drily and Arya couldn't help it when a laugh escaped her at his expression.
"I suppose that's true. I thought you lot were all going on a raid in search of those bandits today?" she asked him, choosing not to comment of the fact that he linked his arm through hers and led her away from the cliffs, back towards the castle.
"Not in the middle of a storm. They'll be holed up somewhere. The weather will clear a bit later today. We'll ride out then in search of them," Gendry told her seriously.
"It storms like this every morning and afternoon, doesn't it?" Arya asked with a sigh.
"Most days," Gendry nodded, "But only so oppressively in the heat of the summer. Things should calm down in a few moons. Then we'll only have the afternoon storms."
"That means it's going to be disgustingly hot later, doesn't it?" Arya groaned, not at all liking the sound of the predicted weather.
"Most likely," Gendry said, and Arya caught the sympathetic look her gave her, "You wouldn't be used to it after the chills of the North."
"The idea of spending more than a week without snowfall is unnerving," Arya admitted, choosing for the time being to be civil. It wouldn't do, after all, for her to go about pushing his buttons and testing his limits with the intent of finding out if he could handle marrying her if they couldn't even get along.
He didn't say anything to that, clearly realising she would prefer the dry cold of the North to the oppressive heat this far South. There was little he could say to offer her comfort on the matter anyway.
"Will you be riding out with us then?" he asked as they made their way back inside the outer wall of Storm's End. Arya noted the way many of the smallfolk eyed them both in surprise to see them arm in arm and Arya subtly tried to pull her arm free of his. Gendry wasn't having any of it, choosing to take hold of her hand when she started to make a scene tugging her arm free. Arya scowled at him.
"I haven't decided if I can tolerate you for that long," she asked waspishly.
"You mean you haven't decided if you want to risk irking your mother any further after that outburst last night and don't know if you'll be in the mood for riding with us after your father lectures you on not being so obnoxious," Gendry corrected her, clearly seeing through her annoyance. He had the audacity to interlock their fingers too rather than simply hold her hand or releasing her. He squeezed hard enough that her hand was beginning to ache as she tried to wiggle it free of him, all to no avail.
"By this afternoon I might've made a break for Winterfell, for all I know," Arya informed him snidely.
"Be sure to warn me so I can hunt you down, alright?" he asked nonchalantly, and Arya found herself growing increasing frustrated with his ability to keep his head while she needled him with things.
"Not a chance. The point would be to avoid putting up with you any longer, not having you hunt me."
"Maybe, but I'd hunt you just the same," he told her.
"Why do I get nervous when you say that?" Arya asked him, mildly unnerved by the serious glance he gave her as he said it. He made it seem like no matter what she tried to do he was going to keep her here as his wife and there wasn't any place in all the Kingdoms where she would elude him.
"You're not used to the idea of anyone wanting you around with such certainty that they'd hunt you and find you every time you try to flee," Gendry told her, "I'm sure it will grow on you eventually. No matter where you run, I will find you Arya."
With that said he released her hand so he could wring out his cloak before relieving her of hers and wringing it out too. Arya stared at him, thunderstruck. How dare he tell her she wouldn't escape him? She might just have to prove him wrong.
~O~
When she entered the Great Hall alongside Gendry, Arya felt the way everyone turned to look at the pair of them. She was still annoyed with him for his comments and had been dreading running into her mother and father, not feeling like enduring a lecture. She and Gendry were both still soaked and dripping puddles but Arya pretended not to notice. Instead she held her head high, ignoring the way Gendry's mother and sisters all glared at her.
All except Mya, who seemed to be summing up the situation with a shrewd stare.
"Good morning, Lady Arya," Mya greeted her and Arya thought about correcting her for using her title but chose not to bother.
"Good morning Mya," Arya replied, smiling at her warmly and ignoring the way Gendry shook his hair like a wolf, splashing her with the droplets that flew free, "You slept well, I trust?"
"I did," Mya answered, "And you?"
"Just fine, despite the storms," Arya answered, throwing a bread roll at one of her father's bannermen when he snickered. It hit him square in the face with a soft thwack and he began to laugh at her behaviour. Taking a hearty bite out of the roll rather than returning fire the way he might've were they still on the road. His name was Mycah and he'd come along for the ride at her insistence. He was a butcher by trade in Winterfell, just like his father, but they'd been friends for many years and she'd refused to travel so far without him.
Had they been at Winterfell he'd have thrown the roll back at her and challenged her to a sparring match.
"Oh, did they keep you awake?" Mya asked curiously, clearly choosing to continue the conversation despite the way Gendry's other sisters all looked appalled by Arya's behaviour.
"I'm used to the silence of snow," Arya admitted, "Good morning Father."
Ned Stark was watching her with a guarded expression and Arya could tell she was going to be lectured later.
"Arya," he nodded in greeting, "Is there a reason you've been out in the rain and are still dripping wet?"
"Nymeria needed to go out," Arya shrugged, "And it's storming out there."
"You didn't think to let her out on her own?"
"And risk having her steal food from some unknowing vendor or being shot at by some flighty fool?" Arya asked, appalled by the idea of allowing her beloved pet to roam free without her. Eventually she would of course, the way she did at Winterfell. But not when they were so new to Storm's End.
"You told me you'd trained her not to take food without your permission unless she hunted it down on her own in the woods,' Ned reminded her.
"She doesn't usually, but I can't speak to the idiocy of others in this place. Had they threatened her away from their wares she'd have taken something for spite."
"Just like her mistress then?" Mycah taunted and Arya was reaching for another bread roll to lob at him before her mother stopped her. Lady Catelyn came into the room looking perfectly poised the way a Lady ought and Arya wanted to roll her eyes.
"Arya Stark why is it that you are always, wet, muddy or improperly garbed?" Lady Catelyn demanded by way of greeting.
"Blame Robb," Arya replied easily, "He's the one who taught me to sneak out of my sewing classes to play with him, Jon and Theon. It was them who taught me to play in the mud."
Catelyn looked like she wanted to scold her further but she chose to bite her tongue.
"You're blaming your brothers for this?" Ned asked, mildly amused now despite his annoyance with her over last night.
"Who else's fault could it be? I don't suppose it was originally my own idea to sneak away from Septa Mordane's boring lesson to have real fun," Arya said.
"How could it be Robb's fault that you're currently dripping wet?"
"If you give me long enough I'm sure I'll think of the answer," Arya assured her father, who by now looked entirely amused.
"You should both find some dry clothes before you catch your death," Lady Baratheon injected into the conversation looking disapproving. Arya glanced towards Gendry who also happened to be dripping wet though no one had mentioned it before his mother, and Arya wanted to snarl over the fact that being female meant she should be scolded for her appearance when he wasn't.
Gendry met her gaze steadily before jerking his head indicatively in the direction of the chambers, climbing to his feet and clearly intending to do as his mother had suggested. Arya bit her lip on her protest, figuring it wouldn't do to sass Lady Baratheon. Gendry's comments had indicated he very much intended to marry her, no matter the tantrums she threw and Arya didn't fancy the idea of being stuck in Storm's End with Lady Baratheon disliking and disdaining her. So instead of protesting, she got to her feet and followed her intended husband out of the hall and up towards her chambers.
When she reached her chamber Arya realised she'd run into a dilemma. After so long travelling and having been out in the rain last night and against that morning, Arya was fresh out of tunics to wear. And since she'd cleverly given all of her dresses away that left her only with britches, shirts she snagged from her brothers and the leather breastplate she liked to wear. Arya found herself smiling as so donned them before hanging her tunics in front of the fireplace in the hopes of getting them all dry.
She didn't much fancy the idea of returning downstairs to continue with breakfast and making pleasantries but Arya knew she had little choice. Especially after she had behaved the previous night. She would simply have to grin and bear it until she could get away with pushing her luck again without having her mother murder her.