Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/409246.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin, Game_of_Thrones_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Arya_Stark/Gendry_Waters, Gendry/Arya_Stark
  Character:
      Arya_Stark, Gendry_Waters
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-05-21 Words: 1889
****** and who but you would take me in (a thousand kisses deep) ******
by hesperia
Summary
     written from the asoiafkinkmeme prompt: Arya/Gendry, Catelyn and Robb
     - obviously AU/no Red Wedding - Arya's wedding to the Frey boy is
     fast approaching, and Catelyn/Robb won't break the contract.
     Convinced that her husband won't want a wife who isn't a maid, Arya
     decides to enlist Gendry in losing her maidenhead.
"I need your help," Arya says, as she announces her arrival at Mikken's forge.
Gendry looks up at her, one eyebrow raised. She wears her hair simple, braided
and coiled, like her lady mother does, but it is her attire that raises
Gendry's interest, even though he knows it shouldn't. She does not wear the
bodiced dresses and full skirts like the other Northern women, opting instead
for fitted breeches and boots, loose linen shirts with a heavy jerkin over
them.
The clothing she wears might be masculine in nature, but the fitted breeches
leave nothing to Gendry's imagination, and he it is only recently that he
begins to notice the long, lean lines of her body, the curves of her hips, and
the shadow of her breasts in the neck of jerkin.
"Good day to you too, Princess," he says, dropping his gaze back down to the
piece of steel he's pounding with his hammer. He knows she hates that more than
when he calls her m'lady, and he can almost hear her teeth grind.
She stands with her hands on her hips, and her sword, the one he made her to
replace Needle, hangs at her side. "Gendry, please."
The tone in her voice is not one he has heard for years and he frowns at the
desperation he sees in her eyes, painted on her face. He puts the sword down,
wiping his hands on his breeches, though it does little good, they are as dirty
as his hands. "Arya, what is it?"
"I flowered."
Gendry's jaw tightens, he does not want to think of her like that, ready to
have a man in bed, a child in her belly. "Arya, Gods, I don't want to know
that..." he says, playing up the disgust in his voice. Tries to think how Hot
Pie might act if she'd said the same thing to him.
"Stupid," she says, punching him in the shoulder. "I've flowered, and now my
brother has to marry me to that halfwit Frey."
"And what do you want me to do? Tell the King not to make you?"
"I want you to take my maidenhead so he won't want to marry me."
The blood is rushing fast in Gendry's head, past his ears and he's certain he
hasn't heard her right, but when she begins to repeat herself, he holds up his
hand, stopping her.
"Arya, I can't. I won't.Your brother would kill me."
She growls, and looks at him with dark grey eyes. "My brother doesn't have to
know. No one has to know, but when they have me examined...please Gendry, it's
my choice. Please."
She had been 14 on her last name day, and while there would always be parts of
him that would remember the young, fiery girl he met in King's Landing, the
girl who has saved his life more than once, she is not that same little girl
anymore. It is something he has tried to deny to himself for years now.
"Tonight'?" he asks, hesitantly, "Can you sneak away?"
He expects her to roll her eyes at him, to call him stupid or useless, but she
doesn't, she just nods, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
I should kiss her, he thinks, and catches her chin in his thumb and forefinger,
holding her head to look up at him. He presses his mouth softly against hers,
and she jumps, surprised, but she does not pull her mouth away, instead she
opens it, allows his tongue to snake through her lips and into her mouth, his
hand still on her face.
"You need to go," Gendry whispers, against her mouth, not wanting to pull away.
"Tonight, I'll be here."
He watches her leave, and tries hard to ignore the raging bulge in his own
breeches. Gods, maybe I am more like him then I realize, he thinks to himself
bitterly. It had been a shock to him at first, when Catelyn Stark told him of
his parentage. He'd always wondered, even moreseo after the Queen had tried to
have him killed, but he'd never truly considered it, not until Robb Stark had
offered him an apprenticeship with Mikken instead of the Wall. "For the love
our fathers bore each other," Robb had said. "I won't send you to the Wall if
you don't want to go."
Evening comes quickly, though by the time it does Gendry's on edge because he
had ruined three swords that afternoon in his distraction. He is sitting in a
chair at the table when he hears the squeak of the hinge on the door, and Arya
is standing there, her back against the door.
Her hair is loose around her shoulders, dark brown curls that frame her face,
and she's still wearing her breeches and jerkin.
"Are you sure about this?" he asks, when he stands and walks over to her,
reaching behind to lock the door. She nods, and he lifts her up, her legs
wrapping around his waist as he carries her into the next room; he lowers her
on to his bed, barely wide enough for the two of them, and he kneels above her.
He brushes her hair from her face, from the slope of her neck, and presses his
mouth against her pulse. He sucks softly at her skin as he works his way up and
down her neck. When he finally settles his mouth on hers, she kisses him
hungrily; pushes her tongue into his mouth, and he sucks on it, bites at her
lips.
"Take off your shirt..." Arya whispers, her fingers pulling at the edges of it,
and Gendry sits back on his knees to pull the shirt from his body, dropping it
beside the bed. Her hands run over his chest and along his stomach, her nails
scratching pleasantly at his nipples.
"Your turn now," he teases, and he helps her out of her jerkin and the shirt
beneath. It surprises him to see the binding over her chest, and she flushes
but lifts her arms, lets him unwrap the material. Her teats are round and full,
with wide soft pink nipples that pebble easily under his thumbs. He squeezes
them with his large calloused hands, drops his face down to press between them
before taking one of her nipples in his mouth, alternating between the two.
For all her fire, Arya is oddly quiet, and Gendry wonders if perhaps it is too
much for her, too soon, but the look on her face is pure pleasure; her mouth,
as soft and as pink as her nipples, has fallen open slightly, her bottom lip
trembling and her hand reaches up to curl into the short hairs at the back of
his head, holding him to her teats.
"You like that, do you, Princess?" he asks her when he moves back up to capture
her mouth again.
"Are you always full of such stupid questions?" she asks, between their kisses,
and he laughs loudly, because that is the girl he knows, the girl he loves.
He pulls at the strings of her breeches and she stops laughing, and he feels
her tense below him. He looks at her with furrowed brow, but she nods, helps
him undo the laces and slip out of them, her smallclothes following.
He drops his face back down to her teats, kisses one and then the other, and
makes his way down to kiss along the plane of her stomach, dipping his tongue
into her naval, and then down further to the soft curls covering her cunt.
"Open your legs, m'lady," he whispers against her mound. Without pause Arya
spreads her legs over his bed, and the pink of her cunt is wet and glistening
before him. He licks along the length of her, and he can't help the groan that
escapes from him, she is so sweet and earthy to taste.
"Gendry..." His name is a moan on her lips, high, in the back of her throat,
and she pushes her hips up. He slides his arms under her legs, his hands
curling over her thighs to hold her to the bed as he plunges his tongue into
her, as far as he can go.
When he touches her nub with the tip of his tongue for the first time, she
cries out so loud that he has to reach up and cover her mouth, her teeth
digging into the fleshy part of his hand; he doesn't stop though, keeps
suckling on her nub, flicking it with his tongue, and she peaks under his
mouth, her hands gripping his hair tightly, her body arching up off the bed.
He leans back on his knees again, reaching down to grab his discarded shirt,
wiping her wet from his mouth and chin, as he watches her lie on the bed, her
arm thrown over her face. "You okay, Princess?" he asks, running his hand along
her calve.
"You know I hate when you call me that," she says, sitting up on her elbows.
The soft wisps of hair stick to the perspiration on her face, and her chest
flushes red from her release. Gendry laughs, and leans over to kiss her, but
she ducks out of his kiss, twisting her legs around his waist until he's flat
on his back and she's over him, pressing herself down against the bulge in
breeches.
Gendry groans, his hands on her hips as he rocks his own beneath her. He wants
her feel how hard he is for her, because of her. Her fingers worked at his
pants, and she raises herself up on her knees as he shimmied out of them, and
then it was just skin against skin, the still wet heat of her cunt sliding
along the length of his cock.
"What...what should I call you then?" he stutters, trying hard to not find his
release early.
"My name, stupid," she breathes, as she moves over him, back and forth. "Say
Arya."
He lifts her up off him easily, just enough to get the head of his cock against
her. "Arya," he says, his eyes meeting hers. "It's going to hurt."
"I know," she says, taking a deep breath as she begins to let herself slip down
on to him. He let's go of her hips and reaches of her hands, weaving his
fingers between hers. She's tight around him, impossibly tight, and he feels
her pause when they reach her barrier.
"We can stop," he says, though he doesn't want, doesn't know how he could now,
but he would if she asked him to.
"No," Arya says, and she puts his hands on her hips, her own hands resting on
his chest. "Please, just do it."
He thrusts up into her in one go, buries himself so deep inside her their
bodies are flush against one another. She doesn't cry or scream like other
girls might, but only breathes soft against his chest as she leans down over
him.
"Arya?" he asks softly, running his hand along her back, stroking over the
bumps of her spine.
She looks up at him and smiles, "Yes," she says, answering his unspoken
question as she sits back up and starts to roll her hips over him, around him.
"Thank you."
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