A/N: This takes place after Arya's little funtime before the battle. Because, we all know who I think Arya is best paired with... and it's not Gendry!

This involves sex, though not terribly explicit & raunchy. (I suppose I can go ahead and warn for age-mismatch in the pairing, but, they've made clear that Arya is over the Westerosi age of consent at this point, so at least we have that.).

He had only just gotten rid of Beric and settled in to brood alone, when he sensed another presence up on the wall.

Didn't hear anything, though. Which told him who it was. "You again. What do you want, girl?"

"It's freezing out here. Come inside, or you'll die even before the battle."

"It's fine," he said, but he was already getting up. He followed her into an empty tower, where she creaked the heavy door shut behind her so that he couldn't see. "Pitch fucking dark in here," he complained.

"So what. Nobody wants to see you anyway. Sit down."

"You sit down," he said. "I'm fine where I am. Was fine where I was, even. I don't mind the cold." He sensed her moving around in the darkness – almost silently – and tried to face where she might be. "What do you want?"

"I want you to take your pants off," she said. He froze. Before he could answer her she went on. "The last time I saw your leg there was a bone sticking out. Before I go relying on you to watch my back tonight, I want to see how you healed."

He relaxed. "You can't see anything. It's pitch fucking dark in here, like I said."

"So?" There were hands, sure and clever, at his buckles. "The Faceless Men fed me a potion that blinded me for months. I don't need my eyes to see."

"The Faceless Men?" he repeated. "Who the fuck wanted you dead badly enough to pay for that? Cersei didn't even-"

"No." The girl interrupted him quick and neat. Like her riposte. (Not that he had secretly been watching her practice). "Nobody paid them to kill me. I joined them." He could hear, in the dark, that she was smiling. "I told you I'd learn to be a real killer someday."

By now his pants were open. He slid his hands to his waist and loosened them a little, shimmying them down. He still wasn't fully decided on cooperating, but undressing in the dark didn't seem to matter much and anyway it was nothing the girl hadn't seen before. They'd never had much shyness for each other, back then.

Before he could finish deciding, a sharp yank and suddenly his legs were bare, pants pooling around his calves, tripping him up. He flailed for balance, found it. Barely.

"Here?" She found the spot unerringly. Did she remember it that well? Or could she actually see in the dark somehow? He decided it was probably the former, because she started going over his thigh with both hands, every inch, as if learning it all through touch. Then she shifted and did the same on the other side. "It's actually not bad," she said. "You've still got all your muscle."

Not bad? He didn't think about it, and just agreed: "It healed."

"Yes." Then he felt something else – not hands. "I thought she'd killed you." Her face? She was pressing her fucking face against him, fingers digging in, clinging to him. What the fuck was she doing?

"I thought so too," he said. Ignored whatever the fuck was going on down there, and just answered her words now that she was finally using some. "The leg was bad, but the ribs were worse. Couldn't breathe and they had to set them. It was bad." He laughed. "Bad enough that I'd pass out, bad enough to wake me back up again. Back and forth."

She laughed too – a low rumbling chuckle against him. "I know what you mean – I had that. When I got stabbed in the belly. It was like that for a couple of days."

He didn't know what to say, but she saved him the trouble of thinking something up by moving her face away and using her hands again, pressing here and there, talking. "I made it, though. Just like you."

"Mm. And now here we are."

Where, exactly. Here in the dark, him half naked getting examined like a horse for market.

"We might die tonight," she said.

"Mm. Hope not."

"So I went to see Gendry." Her hands moved from his wound, suddenly, slid down his leg to circle it just above the knee. "Told him that we might die tonight and that I wanted to fuck. Fucked him. It was all right."

It took him a moment to parse what she had just said. He played it back twice more in his head before he was sure he hadn't misheard. "Well-, well good for Gendry," he snapped at last. He wanted to pull away, because this had become too strange too fast, but to do that he'd have to shove at her and he didn't want to. "Get off."

"No." She was calm and untroubled. "Listen. It was all right, but it wasn't what I wanted. People say it makes you feel... close to someone. You know?"

"Take a look at me, girl." In the dark, all right, but his point was plain enough. "Do I look like I'd fucking know?"

"No, they say even if you pay for it," she argued. "Or rape someone. It's still supposed to be like... you're together."

He nudged her hard, knee to the jaw. "I've never paid for it," he said tightly, "Or raped someone. So, I still wouldn't know. Now let go of me."

She went still – but didn't take her hands away. "You've never paid for it or raped someone?" she said, heavy with doubt. "You mean you've never fucked anyone at all?"

"Never." He hadn't told that to a living soul, but, come tomorrow she probably wouldn't be a living soul, so.

"Why?" Plain wonder. When he didn't answer she tried again, softer. "I mean it: why?"

"Because-..." He sighed. "Because I heard the same fucking fairy tales you did, probably," he snapped. "About being together." Which I don't want with anybody, nor they with me, and I don't blame them.

She was silent a moment. Then: "Do you want to get together now?"

That, finally, was enough to make him reach down and shove her back. He tried to step away from her, except he'd forgotten that his pants were all tangled up around his ankles, and he tripped. Couldn't catch himself in the darkness, and landed on his hands and knees. He scrambled around to face her. "I've had a lot of patience for you, girl," he growled at last, "But if you don't shut your fucking mouth-"

"No." She interrupted him again. Stopped his attempts to dress, by grasping his wrist. (How had she found it, first try, in the dark?). "I'm not teasing. I mean it."

Her other hand landed on his thigh – high on his thigh, high enough to make him catch his breath. Then she let go and, no further warning, curled both hands around his cock all at once. He bit back noise and arched and tried to collect himself.

She started moving on him, stroking and tugging gently... and laughed. "You sounded just like that when I left you on the hill," she said. "Squirmed like that, too. Am I really that bad at it?"

The thought of dying on that hillside was enough to get his head together. He was half hard already but he could still half think. "You don't want this, girl," he said. "Go back to your little smith boy, that's who you want."

"I told you, I tried him already. It was fine. He's a nice boy with a nice cock." While pleasuring him. "But it wasn't what I wanted. With Gendry I still had to pretend a little. With you I don't."

Now he could hear it: his grit-teeth gasps and groans did sound like suffering, and it was no wonder. Mind off it. The way he always did when suffering came his way. "Pretend what?" he gasped. Focused on the words. "What the fuck did you pretend, we're all going to die anyway."

"I pretended at being a normal person," she admitted freely. "With normal feelings. But you know I'm not normal." Her voice was completely cool and steady. "Does this feel good?"

"Of course it does, but-"

"Good." He felt her shift. "How about this?"

Then something wet was around him, wet and warm compared to the tower's air. Mouth. Girls had tried to entice him by mouth a few times, when he had coin, but he'd always pushed them away because he couldn't like the idea of a sullen stranger's teeth near his cock.

This time there was no question but that the owner of the teeth wanted to be here. And it was a little silly to worry about danger anyway, now of all nights.

After only a few wonderful moments though, she stopped. He jerked and whimpered at the sudden feel of the cold air.

"You're really hard now," she said. "Can we fuck?"

Her hands were tickling up and down his thighs. He made himself think. "You don't want to fuck me, girl."

"Yes, I do." He felt her shifting in the dark, moving away from him. What was she doing? "You and me, together. Really together. I want to."

He wanted to think up something cruel and cutting, to make her go away, but the sucking had made him stupid.

"Come on," she said, "I'm naked now and it's fucking cold in here. Come get on top of me."

He fumbled to his hands and knees, and reached out. Was she really...?

Aye, that was a naked girl's belly. She tensed and hissed – surprise though, not disgust. He'd seen enough of disgust to know it even in the dark.

His hand swept up over her ribs, caught on the little nub of nipple, not a lot of tits on her, hardly more now than when she was a girl. The hair was new though; she was pushing his hand down into a mess of it, pressing her pelvis up.

She was hot and damp down there; he preferred to pretend it was arousal and not-

"I washed," she said, "Don't worry." As if reading his fucking mind. She wriggled herself underneath him, hooked one leg up over his hip and ground her cunt against him.

Was he really about to...? He fumbled for time. "No point asking if you're sure?"

"None." She laughed. "Am I really going to be your first?"

He really was about to. He reached down, not as adept in the dark as she was maybe, but every man since the first had managed and damned if he wouldn't too. "I'll still be better than your damned blacksmith boy."

One of her hands slipped in to help, small fingers tugging and guiding. But once they were aligned he didn't need help – he shoved in to the hilt with one good strong thrust.

"Fucking shit take it easy!" She gasped into his ear. Arched up tight against him, clinging with all her limbs. "That hurts!"

Her voice was raw and aggrieved, which he liked better than her emotionless drone of before. He snorted. "Didn't think one of the dreaded Faceless Men would have to beg mercy over a couple inches of dick."

"I'm not begging mercy," she shot back, waspish, "Just asking you to make some tiny little bit of effort to-"

"All right, all right. For fuck's sake. I heard you." He eased her back down to the floor, nuzzling into her neck.

Apparently that was too much effort. "Well?" she said. "Go on. Are you going to fuck me, or not?" She still sounded aggrieved – and impatient. And her hands were around his hips, tugging at him.

There was no two ways to interpret that, and he pressed the advantage. "You want me to?"

She hissed. "Really? We have to play stupid pride games? You can't just-"

He sawed once with his hips, out and in, to shut her up. "I begged you, girl, with everything I had," he growled. "I think you can spare a little something for my pride now." He waited.

She heaved a sigh. "Fine. Yes, all right?" Just like the sulky little brat he remembered. "Yes, I want you to fuck me. You, and not somebody else. Now go on."

He started to move – gentler now, as gentle as he thought people who liked each other were supposed to fuck. She moved with him.

Then she found one of his arms, braced against the floor, and stroked it. "Move this," she ordered. "Put it around me."

"What?"

"You know... like we're normal people. Hold me."

He frowned at her – not that it would help, in the dark. "I'll crush you."

"No you won't. Nobody gets crushed fucking. Come on."

He put his elbow down instead of his hand – that let him slide an arm under her and clasp her to him. It felt much... closer. More together.

It also gave him more leverage to drive into her, which she encouraged by grabbing and pulling at him, and nodding yes into his shoulder.

"You like it?" he asked at last.

He'd hoped she would just say yes, but instead she took the opportunity to give him more orders. "Mm-hm. Keep going. Fuck me and hold me – hard. Both hands."

He had the hang of it enough now to understand what she meant; he wrapped his arms around her and dragged her to him to meet each thrust.

"Ow – ah. Yes. Yes. Like that." That was good, but before long she was back to telling him what to do. "Say my name," she gasped.

"Arya," he said into her ear. "Arya fucking Stark, last I heard. Unless those Braavosi cunts made you take a new one." She pulled at him and he said it again, just the name: Arya. It was strange - he never called her by it.

For a second he thought of telling her to say his name in turn, but, she never called him anything either and there was no point making her start now. She was holding him tight, so tight he had to fight her to keep moving. Luckily he was the stronger by far, even after all her training, and he plowed through the impediment easily. Fucked her so hard she had to stop giving orders, so hard she started to let out sharp wordless yelps instead. Sobbing, he would have thought, if this was a girl who cried.

He came all at once, no warning to her and almost none to himself. Now his turn to groan loud and desperate, and she squeezed with her legs harder than ever.

When he was done he collapsed on her without even pulling his cock out. As worn out as if he'd just fought for his life.

"That is what I wanted," she said. All breathless satisfaction – no monotone now. "You being you and me being... whatever I am. I wanted to be with you. Thank you for that."

His head was spinning. "Safe to say it was my fucking pleasure, I think."

She snorted underneath him. (Directly against his sweaty chest – did she not care? Did he really not disgust her?). "Listen," she said, "Try not to die tonight. If you live I'd definitely fuck you again."

He shifted to lie on his side so that he could touch her. "If you live, then fine. If not, all bets are off. I'm not desperate enough to fuck corpses."

Suddenly she sat up – away from him. "I'm going to live," she said. "If I have anything to say about it, I'm going to live."

You'll live if I have anything to say about it either, he almost said, but caught himself in time. Instead he said just: "Good."

The End.

Different than my usual Arya/Hound, but: even in her badass assassin state I think there is no better match on the show for her than him.

Let me know what you think!