Chapter Text
“Are you gay?”
The question startles Gendry out of his reverie, a stubborn, self-induced stupor he had imposed on himself to try to ignore the tiny person currently sharing the deck on which he had chosen to sit.
He came out in an attempt to forget that she was there. Only her, none of her siblings or their friends or parents. They had all gone down to the lake for a swim.
Gendry had woken that morning with a migraine and said he was going to stay back and wait it out.
It’s much better now, but when he decided to remain there instead of joining them, he hadn’t realized she also decided to stay at the cottage.
Arya Stark. Demon and goddess in one compact package.
“No,” he answers, not looking at her.
“Asexual?”
Now he looks at her. “No. Why do you care?”
Her eyebrows rise. “It’s no big deal if you are, you know. It’s the 21st century. As long as everyone consents—”
“I am a cisgendered, heteroromantic heterosexual who identifies as male,” he says, cutting her off. “I like women. Am attracted to women. Okay?”
“Okay,” she says, holding up her hands in surrender. “Jeez, I didn’t expect you to be so sensitive about it.”
“I didn’t expect to be interrogated while I was relaxing on the deck,” he grumbles, turning to face straight ahead again.
“Pssh,” she blows. “You’re so grumpy all the time. Maybe that’s why you’re single.”
He looks at her. “Maybe. You’re single too, you know.”
“But it’s not because I’m grumpy.”
“No, it’s because you’re a giant pain in the arse disguised as a very small person.”
She smiles like she’s a little proud of that fact. “At least I can admit it,” she says.
“I know I’m grumpy. Some girls like a brooding man,” he says.
“Margaery certainly seems to,” she comments after a minute. Margaery came as Sansa’s guest. Gendry was Jon’s. Arya chose not to bring anyone. Her family alone is enough of a crowd for her.
He’s not sure about what he hears in her tone, but warning bells start quietly chiming in his head. Be careful, Gendry. “Does she? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Then you’re as stupid as you are grumpy. Or blind,” Arya replies, frowning as she remembers Margaery flouncing past in a very revealing bikini this morning.
“Is there anything else you want to insult me about?” he asks, his tone annoyed.
“She’s practically been throwing herself at you,” she says, ignoring his question and his demeanor. “Jeyne Poole would give you a tumble too,” she adds, and now it is Arya’s turn to sound grumpy.
“Not my type,” he quietly replies, knowing he is treading dangerous ground.
“Really? How is Margaery Tyrell not your type? She’s everyone’s type. I’d even consider it, and I’m not gay either,” she says.
“Yeah, she’s very pretty, but… eh,” he shrugs. “And Jeyne is cute, I guess, but it’s hard to think of her as attractive once you get to know her as a person and find out that she’s a cunt,” he replies.
Arya snorts a very unladylike laugh at that. “So not Margaery or Jeyne,” she says. “Sansa?”
“She’s dating that huge Clegane guy, which you know because she’s your sister,” he replies.
“But if she wasn’t?”
“No. She’s too high maintenance for me. Why are you—”
“Meera?”
“She likes Bran.”
“Osha?”
“Too crazy.”
“True. Myrcella?”
“Um, have you met Cersei and Joffrey? No thanks.”
“Fair point. Yara?”
“She is gay.”
“Really? Wow, how did you know that but I didn’t?”
“Good question. Look, is there a point to this or what?”
“Just trying to unlock the puzzle that is Gendry Waters, confirmed bachelor,” she pronounces. “I mean, why are you single, really? You’re not an awful person by any stretch. I mean, come on, Theon gets girls, and he’s fucking Theon. Even my broody-ass half-brother has Ygritte, which I’ll never figure out, because she is like literal sunshine and I love him, but he was emo before emo was a thing. Like, what is your type actually? Do you even have a type? What kind of girl would make you sit up and take no—”
“You, all right?” he yells, sitting up straight and turning towards her. “You are my fucking type! I’m not interested in Margaery or any of those other girls because I can’t get your annoying arse out of my head!”
She stares at him, wide-eyed, for about five seconds before one eyebrow rises and her lips curl into the barest of smiles. When she stands and begins walks towards him, it is his turn to stare with wide eyes.
Arya stands in front of him, and Gendry has to look up at her for a change. He does so readily, because the alternative would mean staring straight at her tits, which he definitely cannot handle right now.
“And you haven’t done anything about this why?” she asks, thoroughly enjoying watching his brain short-circuit right in front of her.
“Your brothers would kill me,” he manages, his voice low and raspy.
She leans down and kisses him, her hand on his neck holding his head in place in case he tries to escape.
Escape is the furthest thing from his mind as his hands wrap around her back, fingers bunching the material of her tank top as he surrenders to her kiss.
When she thrusts her tongue into his mouth, he eagerly meets it with his own. He groans and pulls her down onto the chair with him, but then she pulls away for just long enough to say, “Let me worry about my brothers.”