The last thing Gendry expected to see that night was that familiar untidy bundle of chestnut hair slipping through his doorway.

Rising halfway up on his bed, he wondered if he was dreaming.

"Arya?" he called hoarsely, blinking blearily at the shadowy figure moving closer to him.

"Shutup."

Definitely Arya.

She deftly climbed on his bed, her hot little mouth covering his hungrily. Gendry returned the kiss eagerly, instinctively, and his hands crept up the back of shirt, feeling the contours of her back. There was a wild tang hanging about her, muddling his senses, feeding his lust.

"Wait." He broke away awkwardly, eyeing her as though she were about to flee, but his arms were wrapped around her tiny waist—preventing any form of escape.

She bit down on her lips, furrowing her brow, but stayed silent. Gendry was nonplussed. Arya Stark at a loss for words?

"Arya…" he breathed, his brown eyes roaming her face, drinking it in. "We haven't seen each other in five years, and-"

"And this is how you want to spend it? By boring me to death?" she interrupted.

Gendry's face broke into a grin. This was the Arya he knew. He tentatively brought a calloused hand to her hair, feeling it between his fingers. Was it always this soft? he vaguely wondered.

She closed her eyes, her lashes kissing the tops of her cheeks. She had changed so much, and yet so little.

"Can we talk about it later?" she said unexpectedly softly, eyes still closed. They opened slowly. "Please."

Gendry continued playing with her hair. It had grown since he had last seen her, when it had only been a messy flop of a disguise. He was thinking. The smith had come to Winterfell not only to be of service to the Starks, but to see Arya again. On his journey north, his stomach had been in knots. What if Arya had become like one of those ladies she had despised? What if she did not recognize him? What if…

She kissed him, breaking him from his reverie. "Fuck me, Gendry Waters."

That settled things.

From his throat broke a low growl, and in a single motion he undid her linen shirt. Her breasts were small, but shapely. He put his mouth on her nipple, sucking and biting gently. How many nights had he pleasured himself dreaming of this exact moment?

She moaned, her hands twisting themselves into his hair. She was straddling him, feeling his hard cock against her cunt through his breeches. He flipped her onto her back. Arya's wild hair splayed against the white pillow made him catch his breath.

"You're beautiful."

The words tumbled out of his mouth, a half murmur, before he could think. Gendry inwardly grimaced. Arya would surely roll her eyes in disgust at his inappropriate sentiment.

Instead, her raspberry mouth parted slightly in surprise. She looked him in the eye before placing a hand on his stubbly cheek. "Thank you."

He smiled, leaning down to trail kisses down her pale neck. "How gracious. Who knew you could be such a lady." Before she could fire back a retort, he placed a thumb at her clit, rubbing in small circles.

"O-oh," she gasped, her back arching into his well-muscled torso.

He sucked at the skin of her breast, knowing full well there would be a mark in the morning. She thrust into his hand impatiently. Gendry could feel how wet she was through her small clothes.

"Easy now," he chuckled, removing his own shirt.

"Gendry Waters, I am not a horse, and if you don't fuck me soon I will make you."

"Oh?" he raised an eyebrow, smirking. Always so demanding. "How so?"

He was back on his back, and she was tearing at the laces on his breeches. His erection laid on his belly.

"By the gods," she muttered, staring at it, before leaning down and giving a tentative lick.

Gendry sucked in a breath, watching as Arya wrapped her mouth around his cock and made her way down his shaft. "Arya."

He closed his eyes, and stuffed his fist in his mouth to keep from crying out. She had her hand around his now-slick member, his balls in her mouth.

Arya removed her small clothes and straddled him. She dragged her cunt slowly, achingly across his cock, from base to tip and back again, making him groan in anticipation. The princess was a sight—her hair blown around her face, tits dangling near Gendry's own chest, mouth slightly ajar in arousal.

There was a moment where she paused, his tip at the entrance of her wet, inviting pussy, and Gendry thought he was going to die from anticipation.

"Darling," the endearment spilling from his mouth unprecedented, "If you don't want—"

She interrupted him by sliding down the entirety of his shaft, her buttocks grazing the tops of his thighs. Arya threw her head back in ecstasy, and Gendry placed his hands on either side of her waist, guiding her movements.

She made short work of him, and when he had finished, he turned her onto her back, wresting her slim legs apart. He kissed and sucked his way up her inner thigh to her clit, his mouth worshipping her wetness.

Arya gasped and moaned, a rising crescendo of unadulterated arousal. "Oh, Gendry," she whispered, eyes screwed shut, hands tugging almost painfully at his hair.

She came, thrusting her pussy into his mouth, and he couldn't help but smile at his achievement.

As Arya later slept, nestled peacefully in the crook of his arm, Gendry's last thoughts before joining her in slumber was not concerned with the guaranteed complications this tryst would bring, but with reliving the night. How she cried his name as she orgasmed, how she looked on top of him, how she could be so brusque and yet soft.

Arya Stark was an enigma which Gendry made a resolution to unravel during his stay at Winterfell.