Soon Enough We'll Die


Contains spoilers from Season 8, Episode 2. Just a more fleshed out version of THAT scene between Arya and Gendry.

Romance / Erotica
Chelsea Tayla
Age Rating:

Soon Enough We'll Die

She watched his muscles flex with every pummel of hammer to steel. His face was taunt with concentration as sparks flew on impact, the subtle glow they produced highlighted the gloss of sweat against his chest. Though she'd always imagined tugging on the dark strands of his hair in many a private moment or two, his shaven head made the sharp angles of his face more pronounced. She could imagine running her tongue along his strong angular jaw.

"Don't you have something more important to be doing?"

She shook her herself from her daze, clearing her throat.

"Just checking the progress of my weapon."

Gendry smirked, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his haggard tunic that didn't fit him properly. The wide neck hole fell to his forearms, revealing the column of his throat and his rigid pectorals. She wasn't complaining.

"Forgive me m'Lady, but I only have another thousand dragon glass swords to whip up."

She felt the corners of her mouth pull up. That damned title he loved to throw at her as children. He knew she loathed it. She threw it back.

She slowly strode over to his workbench, feeling the heat of his tools spread across her skin with each step.

"Shouldn't m'Lady be your first priority then?"

He met her eyes as her tooth snagged her bottom lip. His eyes widened before quickly returning his sight to his tools.

"At any other time, of course. Our impending doom however, puts you down the list I'm afraid."

She snorted. "Doom? Perhaps for some."

He paused his hammering, soot stained face growing serious.

"I've seen these things Arya. Fought them. They're nothing like you've ever encountered before."

She leaned over the bench, her face inches from his.

"And how do you know what I've encountered since we last saw each other?", she drawled.

His brown orbs flicked to her lips before quickly darting back to her eyes. He managed to keep his no-nonsense expression in place.

"I'm serious. Don't underestimate what comes before the dawn."

She straightened, a little annoyed her attempt at seduction was failing. She knew she wasn't beautiful. Hell, not even in the realms of pretty. But she was a woman, and among her travels she'd seen many a woman of all shapes and sizes have men fall at their feet with just a look. She'd even become them on more than one occasion when performing a task for the faceless man.

She crossed her arms over her chest, her face now serious.

"I won't, but don't underestimate me."

"I wouldn't dream of it." He shook his head with a wide grin revealing square teeth.

She rose an eyebrow before grabbing three finished daggers off to the side of the bench. She turned to face a wooden beam before pelting each knife into its' surface one by one. They all stuck directly in the middle.

"Seven hells."

She turned to face his shocked eyes that darted between her and the beam.

He swallowed. "You'll have your weapon."


She turned and strode away with purpose. She may not be confident in the art of seduction, but she knew her way around a fight like nobody's business.

He watched her retreating figure with awe.


The cold night air of the North made her feel alive as her arrows struck the center of the target. The constant motion of the bow constricting and releasing distracted her from the coming of dawn. She knew she was as ready as she was ever going to be. She'd witnessed so much death in her short lifetime. Seen it, smelt it, tasted it, inflicted it. She'd watched the life fade from the eyes of men and women by her own hand. She didn't fear it. Death comes to us all. If it were to claim her whilst fighting for the ones she loved, then so be it.

She knew he'd been watching her. His quiet footsteps were no match for her highly trained senses. She let her final arrow go, plunking directly in the target's center along with the others. She lowered her bow as she turned to him.

A fur cloak shrouded his hulking figure, his eyes observed her intently. From beneath the cloak he produced a dual pointed staff.

"That for me?"

He gave a curt nod, stretching his arm out towards her.

Bow forgotten, she clasped the thick metal in his outstretched hand. She tested its' weight, balancing his magnificent creation in the palms of her hands'. The dragon glass points glinted against the dimly lit torches. She absentmindedly began to circle around him as she twirled the staff.

"This will do."

It would more than do. She knew his handy work was pure craftsmanship.

She continued to stroke the refined weapon like a delicate feline. Caressing the fine details embedded within the valerian steel shaft.

He continued to watch her. Watch her appreciate his work. He felt his chest grow warm. He realised he'd been staring for quite some time. He cleared his throat.

"You always wanted me to come to Winterfell. I took the long road but-"

"What did the red woman want with you?" She asked abruptly, eyes never leaving the spear.

He paused, mentally reliving the torturous encounter.

"She wanted my blood. For some kind of spell."

"Your blood?"

He sighed. Might as well let the cat out of the bag. No sense in keeping secrets the night before your death.

"I am the bastard son of Robert Baratheon. One of many I suppose. I didn't know until she told me."

She paused her ministrations with the weapon, actually surprised. And nothing shocked her anymore.

"Then she tied me up, stripped me down and put leeches all over me", he quickly spat. The embarrassment of that night still haunted him.

She carefully went to place the spear on a bench in the corner.

"Was that your first time?"

"Well I'd never had leeches poured all over me so yes-"

"I mean your first time with a woman."

He sputtered, beside himself. He strided over to her as she languidly peeled her black leather gloves off her hands.

"What?! No. We didn' wasn't like that."

"Were you with women before in King's Landing? Or after?"

He let out an exasperated breath. He couldn't fathom he was having this conversation with Arya Stark. "Yes."

She drew closer to him, hands crossed behind her. "How many? One? Two? Twenty?"

His cheeks grew flushed, and he couldn't blame the minimal heat the flamed torch was giving off. "I didn't keep count."

Her mouth twitched into a smirk, sinister deeds lurking behind her eyes."Yes you did", she stated matter-of-factly.

He rolled his eyes before giving in. "Three."

She bit her lip as she let her gaze wash over his muscular form unashamedly.

"I want to know what it's like", she whispered, a flush now creeping up her neck.

His eyes nearly popped out their sockets.


She lunged for him, not unlike the assassin she was. Her hands gripped the fur pelt at his shoulders as she pulled herself up to his mouth. Her lips collided with his, the contact searing. His lips were surprisingly soft against her own. His only remained idle for a moment before moving against hers, his pressure soft while her's was frenzied. Needy, she let her teeth scrape against his bottom lip while she raised her hand to the nape of his neck, forcing more contact.

He quickly separated their mouths before things could go any further. He put a strong palm against her shoulder, gently pushing her form away from his. Their breaths were raggard as they stared into each others eyes. Her hands still gripped his upper arms, though their torsos were apart.

"Arya..", Gendry panted, his voice hoarse.


She managed to slither closer, bringing her arms back up to this shoulders.

"Please Gendry...", she whispered, desperation clinging to her now. She managed to scoop her hand behind his neck, pulling his face down to her level, there foreheads nearly touching.

"I need it. I need you. This could be our last night alive. Please", she pined. She never begged, but in this moment she never wanted anything more. His touch was what she craved. What she needed to get through this long night.

He pressed his forehead against hers, breath still hot against her cheek. He squeezed his eyes shut, waging a war within himself.

He opened them suddenly, bringing his overworked hands to either side of her jaw.

"Seven hells", he panted.

He pressed his lips to hers, a fever now coiling within his veins. She returned the kiss with vigor as she now held tightly to his shoulders and neck. They parted lips at the same time, teeth clanging together violently. The laughed against each other's mouths, both desperate for one another's taste. Their lips collided again, her tongue exploring his mouth. He tasted of warmth and mead, the hearty bitterness encouraging her onslaught. She slid a hand to his throat, firmly squeezing the broad column. Thick veins pulsated underneath her fingertips, sending a thrill throughout her abdomen.

He grunted as he backed her up against a wall, before roughly pulling up her chin with his fingers. He prevented her assault on his mouth by thrusting his tongue within her own. She tasted of wine and fire, the concoction creating an exhilarating blend.

He kept her in place with a leg either side of her small form, his nails lightly digging into her neck.

A combination of a moan and whine stirred at the back of her throat. She couldn't take it. She could barely breathe. She was breathing in him and only him. Their lips barely separated for a second before he was on her again, rougher and more demanding.

It was all too much. Too much and not enough. They wouldn't be close enough if their limbs were threaded together. She wanted him badly. So badly it was painful.

She snaked her free hands underneath his fur cloak, ripping the fabric of his tunic from the waistband of his breeches. That got his attention.

He detached his swollen mouth from hers to glance down at her slightly fumbling fingers. He shook off his furs before pulling the tunic over his head, giving Arya a second to breathe.

Except she couldn't. Because now his chest was bare. Bare and golden underneath the dull glow of flames. A light dusting of dark hair ran between his pecks and abs before descending below his belly button and disappearing under his breeches. Small faded scars and scratches marred his perfect skin.

He let her stare for a moment before reaching for her again. Before he could however, she gave him a hard shove. He fell backwards, landing on a soft stack of grain. Concern and confusion briefly circled his eyes before she gave him a reassuring smirk.

She stripped herself of her leather armour, letting them fall to the floor. She untucked her tunic and quickly pulled it over her head before she could chicken out. Her nipples immediately hardened against the cold night air, but that wasn't what he was staring at.

Long healed scars slithered around her torso and ribs like a serpent. Some the colour of wine, others raised and pale. His brows threaded together, as a twinge of sadness clouded his face. She felt her heart begin to crack. This was the last thing she wanted to discuss now. Before he could voice his concerns, she threw out the first thought that came to her.

"I am not the red woman. Take your own bloody pants off."

His eyes briefly met hers before shuffling out of his trousers. She rushed to do the same, stepping out of them before striding towards his naked form. She loomed over him, eyes running laps over every cord of muscle and inch of skin.


She quickly leaned down to straddle his hips, placing a leg either side of his thighs. She let her fingers trace the corded muscles of stomach before making her way down to his length. She went to line herself up with him.

"Arya wait."

He sat up, gently curling his arms around her hips.


He brought a hand to her cheek, gently tracing the skin underneath her eye. The gesture was too soft, too tender. It couldn't be like this.

"Let's just have this moment okay?"

Tears began to well in her eyes before she quickly shoved her face into his neck.

"There's no time", she whispered.

He stroked her hair with one hand while softly tracing her back with the other.

"We have all the time in the world."

She scoffed but let him take his time, trying to immerse herself in his touch.

After a moment he flipped them over. She laid back against the grain, looking up at him. She watched his eyes travel over the scars on her skin.

"Hey, come back to me."

His eyes met hers before gently covering her body with his. He kissed her softly and slowly, as if she were a doll.

She tried to intensify the kiss, forcing his head down hard with her hand. He persisted with the tenderness.

This isn't what she wanted. Needed. She needed his body against hers. Rough and unrelenting. Sweat and pleasure staining their skin. A bittersweet distraction. Not a reminder of the love she could lose.

She wished he had hair. Instead, she raked her nails down his scalp hard, forcing his head back slightly.

He hissed. "Ah.."

She nibbled lightly on his chin, before forcing his head to the side so she could do what she so desperately craved. She dragged her tongue along his jaw bone, leaving a trail of spit behind.


She cut him off with a kiss, before biting his bottom lip hard, drawing blood.

He pulled away.

"Ah! What the hell Arya?"

She raised herself up on her elbows so she was closer to him. She stared him straight in the eye, making sure every word was clear.

"I don't want comfort. I. Want. Fucking."

His brows threaded together as blood dripped from his chin. Hurt sliced its' way through his chest, before anger replaced it.

"You want fucking?", he spat.

He slid a hand to the back of her neck and through her short hair. He roughly tugged on a handful of strands, forcing her head back and spine to arch. With the column of her throat exposed, he pressed his body against her curved silhouette and brought his mouth to her neck.

"Fine", he whispered menacingly before roughly biting her. Skin broke and a small gash of blood rose to the surface.

She cried out, pain and pleasure bursting through her.

He loosened the grip on her hair slightly but still kept her in place. He slithered up her body, a smear of his and her blood on his mouth and chin, and brought his lips to the shell of her ear. Her eyes were squeezed shut, purely taking in the sensations of her body.

"Is this what you wanted?", he whispered. His hot breath on her skin caused a shot of pleasure to run through her.

"Yes...ah.. yes. Please, I need it.", she whined.

He let go of her hair and languidly returned to his perch at her neck. He lightly pressed his teeth to the column at her throat. Her breath came out in pants, anticipating the pain to follow.

Instead, he kept his pressure light as he dragged his teeth down her throat, pass the dip between her collar bone, and over her sternum. The trail of saliva and blood left a cooling effect on her hot skin against the cold air, teasing her further.

He paused between her breasts, dragging his tongue over her puckered nipple forcefully.

Another hoarse cry left her throat as her body bowed off the grain. Her core began to throb with a vengeance.

"We like that do we?", he sighed against her skin, his voice muffled with venom.


"But I thought we wanted this?"

He moved to the other, and snagged the bud with his teeth, pressing down.

She forced her fist into her mouth as she screamed and bit down into her skin, a metallic tang eroding her tongue.

A sheen of sweat broke out on her heated skin, the cold biting back against the moisture. She was overwhelmed and over stimulated, her senses on overdrive.

"I'm getting some mixed signals here Arya...", he trailed off as he made his way past her navel, scraping his nails down her outer thighs. He nestled himself between her thighs, hiking a leg up on each of his shoulders.

"Look at me."

She forced her eyes open and peered down. His eyes were cold, as the love and tenderness had vanished.

He kept eye contact with her as he licked a strip up her center, causing her to throw her head back.

Emotion bubbled up inside her, unsure of what she wanted.

His mouth never left her core as he licked and sucked at her like a peach. Her hips bucked up of their own accord before he forced them down with the palm of his hand, keeping her flat and at his mercy.

All the sensations grew at once. Pleasure and pain coiled below her navel as she couldn't stop the cries from escaping her lips.


He intensified his ministrations, keeping her locked between his mouth.

Her eyes squeezed shut as she crumpled over the edge. Stars exploded across her vision as a burst of intense pleasure swirled from her core to every part of her body. Her poor fist got the brunt of her screams, bloody tooth marks marring her knuckles. He brought her down slowly before climbing up her body.

She panted, her limbs spent. He glowered down at her before the old Gendry popped back in place, the concerned friend revealing himself again.

"Did I hurt you?"

"In the way I wanted you to.'

"You're crying."

She brought her hand to her face. Fresh tears had spilled down her cheeks without her noticing. She shook it off.

"It's nothing."

Before he could question her further, she'd flipped them back so she was straddling him again.

His impressive length stood proud as she aligned herself with him. He felt like steel encased in silk. She slowly sunk down, taking him inch by inch. About halfway she reached a barrier. She bit her lip before slamming all the way down, taking her maidenhood with her.

Gendry cried out, head pressed into the grain. Arya hissed, her head to the roof as she breathed through it. It stung, bad. Nothing she hadn't felt before. A trickle of blood ran down from where they were joined.

After a moment, when the pain subsided, she gathered her bearings. She placed her hands flat on his stomach before rising up slowly. Again, it stung, but less so then before.

With each small movement, the pain subsided. Now only fullness. She began to rock with a steadier rhythm, increasing her pace when she hit a spot that caused a spark of pleasure like before.

Gendry suddenly sat up so they were at eye level. He brought her mouth to his, giving a chaste kiss before moving his hands to her hips, guiding her up and down. Their mouths stay connected, panting each others' name.

After a moment, the abrupt burst of pleasure exploded from within her. She cried out his name over and over again as she arched her spine back. The tightening of her muscles triggered his release, as a hoarse cry erupted from his throat.

They both fell in a heap on the pile of grain sacks. Panting, their breaths caused little clouds above their mouths. They stared above, limbs still tangled together. The euphoria drowned out everything else.

"The thought of you dying terrifies me", she whispered, still staring above.

He turned to her, eyes wide. "Is that why-"

"I couldn't have you reminding me that I love you. I needed to be detached."

He raised himself up on his elbow, gently stroking her shoulder. "You could love me and we could die tomorrow. You could love me and we could live tomorrow. The outcome will remain the same regardless."


"So let me love you. And let yourself love me."

Tears ran down her cheeks silently as she met his gaze.

"I'm afraid."

He pulled her into his arms, embracing her tightly.

"So am I."
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