.

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Strategy. Diligence. Patience.

(Ilyn Payne — his cousin, the King's Justice — lacked every bit of their House's words, just as much as Podrick tried to internalise it.)

"Why the gold coins?" Gendry asks, examining the banner-sigil to House Payne. Podrick arranges it neatly in his lap, smiling thinly. There's a history behind the purple and white field and the checks and the bloody-damn gold coins, but no-one ever cares to listen.

"I heard you are courting Arya Stark." Podrick secretly enjoys the reddening on Gendry. "She killed the Night King."

He grunts.

"That she did."

"What's it like?" Podrick questions, keeping his tone from revealing anything. He'll be damned if Gendry has a chance to figure him out right in the barracks, surrounded by the other men dozing off or talking softly from too much wine amongst themselves.

"Killing the Night King?"

Gendry's honest and somewhat terse remark tilts Podrick's mouth up. "No," he says, amused.

There's more of that reddening colour beneath the streaks of dark, sticky cinders on Gendry's face. Such a proper handsome one. All of Gendry is. He's hardly known him for more than a fortnight and Podrick is certain of several observations, but most of all: Gendry hasn't a notion of malice or disloyal stringing him together. He would die for his friends without a moment's hesitation.

"Right," Gendry clears his throat loudly, gazing down at his feet and steeling himself. "You mean being with Arya…"

Podrick's expression softens. He never wanted this.

(He never wanted to fall in love with a man already with his heart ensnared.)

"Being with… I dunno. It's not close to fucking anyone you want, any whore, any tavern wench, and then leaving a copper as soon as it's over." Gendry sounds so pleasantly light in this moment, like he could blow away with a single puff of air. Dissolving into remnants of smoke and vanish into the closing darkness of the ether. "It's never over, and you don't want to leave them."

Podrick remembers the strongwine, and Gendry's fingers covered in the boiled leather of his riding gloves, touching over the expansion of Podrick's hairy, broad chest and his abdomen, succumbing to this reverence and curiosity. His lips scattering wet, open-mouthed kisses against Podrick's hairline. The unlit, emptied stable. A rumbling of Gendry's chest, when he peaked, impaling himself rougher and further into the other man, Podrick's large, muscular thighs slick with their fluids.

The inside of Gendry's mouth tasted like a mixture of heat and the bitter wine and cock, and it's nothing like Podrick has ever known. Not by woman or man. Swearing off whores and whorehouses — Podrick is convinced he could do that.

"It can't happen again." Gendry's dry lips separate. Maybe, just maybe, he feels sorry for it. "So… I need to make it right, Pod."

Podrick stares back down at his bright, bold banner, fisting it.

"I understand," he whispers.

(No-one ever cares to listen, and Podrick abandons his broken heart for duty and wine-bitter acceptance.)

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GoT isn't mine. Requested by Paradigm of Writing: "PodrickGendry, NSFW, Podrick's perspective." I tried to fit in everything you were talking about in the full prompt and I am crossing my fingers that it's well-received! Thanks for checking this out and please yes any comments are very welcomed!

((Want a request for GoT? I'm doing 100-500 word drabbles of any ship + any prompt until S8 ends. Rules: you need to comment here and provide a ship and prompt, as well if you want NSFW or SFW. The only requests I'll be looking at is if you ALSO commented about the fic you just read as well. It's only fair. You came to this fic to read it and me doing something for you later on is a sweet bonus!))