Chapter Text
Outtake
~ a ~ r ~ y ~ a ~
1987
They woke up side by side to the first rays of the sun. No words were spoken. He reached out and cupped her cheek, let his fingers trail down her neck, between her breasts, and rested his hand on her belly. She watched him closely. And then rose up on her elbow, leaned over and kissed him.
She liked kissing Jaqen.
She had never particularly enjoyed kissing before, because the boys she had kissed were too sloppy or too dead and they never made her feel anything. But Jaqen...
Oh.
Jaqen had a way of kissing her that was both devastating and desperate.
Whenever he kissed her all else faded. Gods, whenever he kissed her she felt her nipples harden. She blushed at the thought but she couldn't help it.
Everything was so intense with him. He had turned her life upside down without even knowing it.
She was drawn to him even before she saw his face.
She loved his voice. His wild grace when he moved on stage, the mystery behind his mask.
All of him was incredible. The night they just spent together was incredible. All they did was kissing, holding each other and it was incredible.
She could kiss him and nothing else for hours and be perfectly happy. But–
Not today.
Today was all that they had left. Today she wanted more.
The luxury sheets of the Savoy were soft under her back, but from the moment he lost his T-shirt, sometime before they went to bed, she had learned that she craved the feel of him pressing against her.
As she kissed him, she moved until she was lying on top of him. Straddling him.
His hands were on her, stroking her, running up her thighs, her back, chastely, too chastely!, and– She couldn't believe she had said it out loud. But she didn't blush this time.
Staring into his eyes, she took one of his hands and slowly guided it between her legs. "Lovely girl–" Into her panties.
She wanted him, and she was not afraid to show him.
They both groaned when his fingers found her wetness.
"This is a man's fault, and a man must take care of it," she teased him.
He just gazed at her, and not for the first time she marvelled at how he could say so much without even uttering a word.
"I want you to take care of it," she added after a moment, the teasing gone.
As his mouth found hers again, heatedly, sensually, stealing her sanity because how could his kisses be so relentless and his touch so gentle!, he eased his fingers between her folds, rubbing back and forth, stopping to tease her opening, and when he finally set where she wanted him most–
"Ow!" She gasped in pain, reaching up and rubbing her eyes.
"A girl slept with her contact lenses?"
"Yes, a girl knows it should not happen, but it does."
He frowned.
"Oh, come on. It doesn't bother me." She blinked, twice, trying to moisten her eyes. "Well, not much."
Damn this man and his distracting lips. She had even left the contact lens case on the nightstand so that she could remember to take them out before sleeping, but of course he had made her completely forget about it.
As she reached for the nightstand and grabbed the case, his fingers brushed the side of her clit and she gasped again. "Oh Gods..." But not in pain this time. "What did you just do?"
He frowned, again, concern written all over his face.
And she pushed her hips down, hard, trapping his hand before he could slip it out of her panties. "Don't you fucking stop!"
He chuckled this time. "A man will obey," and left his hand right where it was as she quickly removed her contact lenses.
Soon he was kissing her again, swallowing her moans as he kept working on her clit, circling it and rolling it under his fingers as she grinded against his hand. Gods, she was so wet that she could hear all the sounds his touch was causing.
Until a sudden feeling hit her.
Damn self-consciousness, and damn her. What was she doing with this man? He would leave, soon, too soon, and then what?
She didn't know where to look so she just buried her face in his neck.
But this was Jaqen, and he had said he was hers, and she had wanted this, she wanted him, and she was about to– "Oh, Jaqen!"
She was burning, and she didn't want it to stop, she didn't want him to stop; she didn't want him to go.
She was burning against him, burning against the maddening touch of his fingers, and as if he could read her mind he began to move faster, harder, and she moved with him, her hips erratic, pressing down to meet his hand.
"Arya..." His voice...
She lifted her head for long enough to watch him, and when she saw his hooded eyes watching her too, speaking to her without making a sound, she gasped and pushed once more against his fingers.
She heard herself screaming his name as jolts of ecstasy blinded her to anything that wasn't him, until her shaking legs gave way and she collapsed against his chest, breathless, exhausted despite having just slept for hours.
Seven hells, she had come.
*
She couldn't tell how long she drifted in and out of consciousness, lulled by his warmth and his scent. It must have been at least the afternoon before when he took his last shower, because she had been with him since then, and he still smelled like heaven.
"Good morning," she purred as soon as her brain was functioning again.
Gods, she loved his scent.
"You know, smelling this good at all times should be illegal," she added as she forced her limbs to function again too.
He just grinned, the way he did the night at St James's Park, when they kissed for the first time and he held her so close that all she could breathe was him. Him and his intoxicating scent.
What is it? She had asked him as she gazed at his lips after they broke apart. She couldn't sleep when she finally got home in the morning. All she could think about was that scent. It was magic.
Ginger and cloves, he had told her as he brushed a strand of unruly hair from her forehead. It was actually a spice-scented soap handmade in some DDR backwater town, one of those that stayed on your skin forever, he had explained with a grin after one more breathtaking kiss.
Nuh-uh, it's magic, she had insisted with a grin of her own. And she would never admit to him that one day after school she had gone searching for it in every perfume shop and cosmetics store of Covent Garden, but of course she couldn't find anything even remotely resembling that scent. It was magic indeed. It belonged only to him.
And tomorrow he would take it away.
He didn't give her a chance to get lost in unhappy thoughts because all of a sudden he stirred, and with a gasp she realised that his hand was still tucked into her panties. His fingers pulled away with a wet sound. Gods, she was still soaked. And, Gods!, his wrist must hurt like the seventh hell after being stuck for so long in such an uncomfortable position.
She placed an apologetic kiss right over his heart. And now that his hand was not between them anymore, she realised something else too.
"We don't have plans for today, do we?"
Jaqen smiled disarmingly. "Absolutely not."
"Good, because we're not done yet."
"But– A man thought a girl was–"
"A girl was not talking about herself."
She had felt something poking her since she woke up. And she could feel it now. He was hard against her as her thighs cradled his hips. And she blushed, ugh, again!, at the sudden recollection of those very hips desperately chasing some friction and thrusting up against his hand once or twice or maybe more while he was pleasuring her with his fingers.
Slowly she sat up and let her hands snake down his chest, down across the waistband of his boxers, down until–
"A man is perfectly happy–"
"You are not perfectly happy." She gently squeezed his erection to make her point, and he let out a deep moan that shot straight to her core.
She left her hand right where it was because she soon found out that she loved to feel the shape of his cock against her palm, she loved the sounds he made while she touched him; she was doing that to him. To this man, to this stranger that somehow she felt she knew better than she knew herself. When he moaned again, the only thing she wanted was to get rid of the fabric that separated her from him.
"Don't move," she ordered as she laid a finger on his lips.
Reluctantly, she stood from the bed and walked to the chair where she had dropped her bag the night before.
As she went, she adjusted her panties. Gods, she was really soaked. She was grateful that she remembered to carry an extra pair, because the one she was wearing was absolutely ruined now. She didn't even plan to spend the night, and now– A lie! She thought to herself. You would have brought a purse and not a tote if you weren't planning on it! A tote she had packed with three spare T-shirts, no less, because she was not Sansa but she liked to have choices anyway.
Her back to the bed, she unzipped the bag with haste and rummaged inside until she found what she had come looking for. This part... Well. This of course she had planned.
She was so embarrassed when she bought them. She knew they came in different types and sizes and even flavours, but she didn't know his needs, ...yet!, and she couldn't exactly go to him and ask, so she ended up buying three different boxes, hoping that at least one would fit.
She considered all three of them as they lay at the bottom of her bag, and finally she picked one.
Jaqen had propped himself up on his elbows and was watching her from the bed as she padded back to him, his hair all messed up and the skin of his neck sagged into a ridiculous double chin under the weight of his head.
Fuck. He was perfect.
Chewing her lip, she crawled back into bed and plopped down beside him.
"Oh, a girl thought this out." A strange smile touched his lips as he inspected the box of condoms after she deposited it between them; he even looked positively impressed by her choice. But there was something in his eyes... They were not speaking to her like they always did. They were keeping something from her, and she couldn't quite make out what it was.
"A girl... Ah, screw it," she muttered. "I. I miss you. I miss you already–"
"Arya–"
"No, let me finish." She straightened up and straddled him again. "I miss you. And I'm going to miss you until the day I'll see you again."
She leaned forward until she could reach his lips and kissed him softly.
"I miss what you are, what we have done, and I want to miss something else too." Please don't go– "Jaqen, I want to miss all of you."
His eyes wouldn't shut up now.
She kissed him again, roughly this time, "I want you in me," as she rubbed herself against him just as roughly.
"A man will not last long if a girl–"
"I don't care," she panted incoherently, never wanting to let go of his mouth. Never wanting to let go of him. "I want to– I want–"
Fucking hells, she wanted to feel him explode inside her.
She should have listened to Sansa. She had asked Arya to go with her the last time she visited the doctor so they could both have a chat on the best birth control method for them and get a prescription, because you never know, but Arya just brushed her off at the time. And now she would have to make do with feeling him explode through a latex barrier.
Whatever. Barrier or not, the thought alone of having him inside her while he experienced what she had just experienced made her internal muscles clench and unclench in agony. And his touch was inflaming her even more. As she devoured his mouth, she could feel his hands running up her hips, up, up to her shoulders, caressing her, "Arya..." gripping her, "Arya," ...pushing her? "Arya, stop."
Why was he pushing her away? "But– I want to."
He reached up and traced her lower lip with his thumb. "A girl is adorable when she pouts."
But a girl wasn't listening. "Don't you want– Don't you want me?"
His eyes were suddenly serious. "How can a girl ask a man this?"
And was it hurt what she saw in them?
"Lovely girl, a man wants you, always." He pulled her closer again and sighed. "A man did not know how to ask. A girl is so young, and he thought– Perhaps–"
"Oh, silly man, I get it now," she grumbled as she let her head drop against his chest. They talked about so many things in their few days together, but not about her sexual experiences. Of course he couldn't know. Of course he would wonder. And of course he wouldn't ask. Silly, silly man. "I, uh... did it... already... before," she told him awkwardly a moment later.
"A girl did?"
"Y– Yes, with a... Are you disappointed?"
"No! No, a man has said, it was a difficult question." He threaded his fingers through her hair and kissed her forehead. "A man is not disappointed. He does not want to be a disappointment for a girl. And a girl knows how first times might be a disappointment." Her nose. "A man wants a girl to remember fondly the things she... makes with this man." Her lips. "Besides. Who does end up with their first?"
His words emboldened her. "Jaqen H'ghar. Are you saying you want to end up with me?"
"Arya," he growled before literally wiping the grin off her face with a scorching kiss.
And literally making her feel like she was on fire.
He broke the kiss as suddenly as he had started it. "And who might this first be?"
"Oh, he's such a lovely boy," she cooed mischievously.
Her face was still so close to his that it wasn't hard for him to reach up and nip at her lips. "Should a man be jealous?"
"A man is really silly," she deadpanned.
It was his turn to push out his lower lip in a pout. "Sweet girl, kind and gentle. Tell this silly man a boy's name and cast this mad enigma aside."
She snorted. And as she pondered how long she should leave him hanging, she felt his hands on her once again. "No, no, stop!" Just not the way she expected.
She was not very ticklish, but he just seemed to know which spots made her giggle the most. "Why should a man stop when a minute ago a girl refused to do the very same thing she is demanding now?"
She laughed uncontrollably as they wrestled around, until she found herself out of breath and with Jaqen lying on top of her. "Podrick! His name is Podrick!"
His hands magically stopped.
And gasping for air she could finally recover from the excruciating discomfort caused by his tickling.
"Podrick," he repeated, "how sweet," as if to decide whether he liked it or not.
"Indeed. Sweet as a cinnamon bun."
Jaqen smirked.
"It is true! He was sweet, and he was– is a friend. We are still friends. And that's the problem. I think we have always been just that – friends. And that day, ugh, I guess we didn't even know what we were doing."
A disappointment, Jaqen said it best. That day, she and Pod experimented, but what they did was nothing compared to the sort of experiments she tried later on, in her room, on her own. Which in turn was nothing compared to what Jaqen had just made her feel – and to what apparently he was intent on making her feel again, because all his attention was currently devoted to kissing the spot at the base of her neck that made her melt. And he knew damn well what he was doing.
But first...
First she wanted to know.
"Tell me about a man. Who was your first?"
Her neck felt cold when he pulled back and propped his head on an elbow so he could look her in the eyes. "A man... A man's first was a girl named Missandei. And unlike a lovely girl and her cinnamon bun, the act did not lead to a lasting friendship. A man has not seen Missandei ever since."
"Oh. That's sad." But obviously she didn't mean it. "Was it so bad?" She added, trying to suppress a laugh.
He narrowed his eyes. "Missandei's parents had to travel a lot for work. Visited many countries, spoke many languages. And Missandei had to go along. So, no," he stressed his words by smirking that infuriating smirk of his, "the reason is not that it was so bad. A man's first time was sweet as well. Very quick, but very, very sweet. Caramel skin, chocolate eyes–"
"Oh, as yummy as my cinnamon bun, I see."
"But a man has a thirst only for berries now."
She was about to correct his English because you have a thirst for fluids but a hunger for food, but the dead serious and hungry look he flashed at her lips shut her up.
"In the future, a man would like to travel as well. And not because he has to sing on a stage, no. He wants to travel and learn about cultures, history, languages..." As he spoke, he lightly stroked all her skin that he could reach while his gaze followed his hand. "A man is used to living out of a suitcase, he has never owned much and he does not even know what he would do with it if he had more. He... He does not even know if he deserves a place of his own. A place to call home."
"But we all need a home."
"What about a girl?" He asked her, as if it pained him to speak more. "What does she want for her future? Where does she want to live?"
"I don't care about where I live, but I'd like to live with someone I care about."
He stroked her hair softly and she leaned into his touch and for a moment it didn't matter that he would be gone tomorrow. All that mattered now was in that hotel room. With her.
"Make love to me, Jaqen."
And slowly, tenderly, wordlessly, he did.
*
He was a keeper.
She knew it the moment he offered to peel and cut an apple for her.
She was sitting cross-legged on the bed in her one-size fluffy white hotel robe that obviously looked enormous on her. And everything was perfect.
When they woke up from a well-deserved nap, he reached for the nightstand and fished a menu out of the drawer because they were starving, and together they ordered breakfast. Well, if it's well past noon and you're having your first meal of the day, it's still considered breakfast, right?
Everything tasted so good. And she was delighted to discover that he was not dependent on caffeine like the majority of the world's population. He was a tea lover. Like her. Because opposites attract and all, but sometimes it's good to have something in common.
The sun was high, and with the bedroom curtains open everything was so bright. The sheets, the robes. They were both wearing robes and nothing else because it was the easiest thing to put on when their order arrived. And the cotton felt so warm against her skin.
Jaqen. Jaqen felt so warm. Every time he sank into her he lingered inside as though he didn't want her to let him go.
Everything smelled like him. Everything smelled like sex. When he went to open the door to room service in his own fluffy white hotel robe that obviously looked perfect on him, she wondered if the waiter could smell it too. And she found out that she didn't give a fuck.
Because everything was perfect.
But everything would end.
As they ate like wolves, he watched her drowning in her robe and smiled warmly from his side of the bed where he was sitting facing her. And as they ate like wolves, it suddenly occurred to her that they had never talked about– "What does Die Schattenwölfe mean?"
She didn't speak a word of German, but she could tell it must be something related to wolves because the words sounded somewhat similar.
Jaqen swallowed the last bit of his cinnamon bun – which he ordered because he would never stop teasing her about it now – and replied.
"It means The Shadow Wolves. Because a man and his friends are like a pack. A pack that comes from nothing. From the shadows. And it is important to always remember where one comes from." He took a sip of his tea. "In the shadows, a man and his friends had no names."
But then they found each other. Jaqen explained how his good friend Bronn brought along his own good friend Jaime, how they found Edd through an ad on a music newspaper, how they all bonded together despite Aegon's initial doubts, by acknowledging both their differences and uniqueness.
"And then, one day, Davos–"
"Dadvos," she grinned.
"–Dadvos came along and tried to make something decent out of all that."
And he definitely succeeded. Because he loved his kids. He spoiled them, even. The grand piano that stood in front of the bed was proof of that.
As she finished her apple, she mulled over Jaqen's words.
A pack. Strength in unity. She liked that. She liked wolves. Gods, she liked Jaqen. His weight on her, his eyes as he struggled to keep them open, his breathing ragged as he stiffened and– She needed something else to focus on or she'd go crazy.
She put her breakfast tray aside and scooted over so that she could lean her back against the headboard.
"Play me a song," she heard herself say.
Amusement flickered in his eyes as he put his own tray aside and bent forward to lay a kiss on her leg. "Does a girl have a valid ticket to attend the performance?" But he was already standing from the bed.
As he walked towards the piano, he looked down at himself and stopped in his tracks. He grumbled something unintelligible, perhaps some curse in German?, and his gaze wandered around the room until he located what he was looking for – his black leather boots. He grabbed them and sat back down on the bed to put them on.
"The pedals," he said by way of explanation when he noticed her puzzled expression. "It is not clever to play the piano barefoot."
He was a sight to behold when he was ready. And not only for the weird combination of the black and the white that he was now wearing. After sitting and standing repeatedly, the belt of his robe had come untied. And he did not bother to tie it back.
He finally sat at the piano and– "Hmm." They both chuckled after he mumbled his next words. "A man has never played in a robe before."
From the moment he dropped his fingers onto the keys, all she could think about was his hands.
It was not just a song. It was a sonata by Scriabin, he told her. Because he loved Russian composers. Aegon's fault.
Oh Gods, and she loved his hands.
She watched in silence and fascination as he moved up and down the keyboard with his fingers, rounded and firm, quickly and smoothly, between soft and aggressive notes that filled the room with passion and melancholy.
It was too much and not enough at the same time.
How could she do without him tomorrow?
She needed a smoke.
Quietly she slid down from the bed and sneaked out onto the balcony. She walked to the railing, rested her elbows on it and lit a cigarette as the music went on behind her. Jaqen was deeply concentrated on playing so he probably hadn't seen her leaving the room.
His scent was magic... His music was magic. Both things that would dissolve, she realised. Like the smoke that she was puffing out of her mouth. Like the light breeze that blew from the southwest and tickled her skin. How could she keep that magic? For good?
She thought back to what she had once read in a novel. That all magic required a sacrifice. What if being separated was their sacrifice, so that they could have their magic someday?
But sacrifices were painful. Sacrifices hurt.
But Arya Stark was unafraid.
She could wait. She could.
She would, she decided, as the Thames ran murky and unusually calm below her. It could almost be a view that he could grow to like, if only–
If only he could stay.
A deafening silence startled her out of her thoughts. The music had stopped.
She felt his presence behind her and smiled. Despite everything. She took a deep drag on her cigarette and waited until she saw his hands settle on the railing on either side of her. A moment later his body was pressed against her.
He leaned in and nuzzled her neck. "The performance was so bad that a girl left before it ended?"
She sighed, and when she made to look back over her shoulder–
"Arya," his playful tone was gone. "Why those lonely eyes again? A man is here with a girl."
"But tomorrow–"
"Tomorrow. A girl is right."
She swallowed. "Tomorrow." She wouldn't get emotional in front of him. "Tomorrow. Right. Not today."
"Not today," he echoed, solemnly, as he slid his arms around her waist.
She relaxed against him then, and for a while they just stood there, in silence, watching the barges floating on the river.
As if they had all the time in the world.
"I like it when you hold me like this," she said eventually. "I feel like... You have my back."
"No, a man does not." He sounded almost offended. Almost. "He swears a girl's back was very much attached to her lovely body when he saw her without her robe."
"Oh, shut up," she pinched his arm, "it's just a saying!"
He chuckled. "A man knows," and planted a soft kiss on her cheek. "And he likes it as well."
He pulled her tighter against him, and the next time she blinked she was trembling all over in bliss and his voice and his scent and his hands and oh Gods the moment he slid inside her and– Stop it, Arya, stop! But she could not. What they had done kept flashing before her eyes like a daydream.
A dream...
But this was not a dream.
She would have months (years?) to let memories and dreams of him consume her mind, but now Jaqen was here, he was not a dream, he was real, and those were his arms surrounding her, holding her to him because he wanted her close, he wanted her, hells, he wanted exactly what she wanted, and as all this dawned on her, finally, finally!, she let herself break into a maniacal laugh.
She couldn't see his face but she was sure he must believe she was a maniac for real at this point.
"What? What is it?" He asked hesitantly.
She turned in his arms, and still laughing she reached up on her tiptoes and kissed him. "I'm happy. Jaqen, I'm so happy." Yes, despite everything. Despite the death she felt screaming inside her. "I want... I want us to make the best of what is left of today."
Before she could crush out the cigarette she still held in her hand, he gently grabbed her wrist and leaned in to take one last drag. "It is time to try out that tub, then," he declared with a damned smirk on those damned lips before he puffed out a cloud of smoke in her face.
Only then did she realise that his robe was still untied.
*
She had spotted it – and fallen in love with it – as soon as Jaqen gave her the grand tour of the suite.
It was a heated sunken bathtub, lowered into the floor with its mosaic tiles of black and white, so large and so deep and so unreal that she could happily soak in it every day and never get tired of it.
The hot water was a blessing now because they ended up taking their time on the balcony after her robe had accidentally come untied too, and – despite it being late June – the light breeze had turned into a chilly wind.
Jaqen did an excellent job of keeping her front warm and distracting her from the cold, but when she felt him growing hard and insistent against her belly she decided it was really time to take things inside. They stumbled into the bedroom all over each other, and by the time they got to the bathroom they had shed both their robes and had half a mind to head back to the bed. Only the sight of the tub, so cosy and inviting, reminded them of their original plan.
Now... The hot water was a blessing indeed. If only Jaqen would let her sit in it.
When she stepped into the tub to join him, his hands went to her hips, blocking her from sinking down into the water where he had already submerged himself up to his neck.
"No, let a– Let me."
Seven hells.
She shivered when he spoke, and not from the cold. He had referred to himself in the first person, and the only other time she had heard him do so was when he invited her to spend the weekend with him.
He took the disposable but fancy sea sponge courtesy of the Savoy and began to wash her as she stood there in front of him, but soon he dropped it in the water and rose to his knees, trailing kisses up her thighs, his hands running up her backside, grasping her and drawing her against his mouth. She didn't realise he was pushing her backwards until the back of her legs hit the edge of the tub.
"Sit," he breathed, stealing a glance at her from under his eyelashes.
As she did what he asked, he pushed himself as close to her as he could and her legs parted of their own accord. She knew what he wanted. And she wouldn't stop him this time.
"Let a man worship his girl." His girl. He had said he was hers, yes, but... Did she truly want to be his?
Gods yes. Until the end of her days.
When he touched her with his tongue she shuddered in exhilaration.
He had tried to do this, earlier, but she was so impatient to have him inside her that she didn't let him.
She closed her eyes as his mouth closed around her clit.
For fuck's sake, why on earth did she stop him? She could still feel his hands sliding down her legs, pulling her panties down and off, sliding back up, his mouth following their path...
She should have let him. He should have done it anyway. Hells, Pod should have done it! But no, no one had done this before, and now–
"Jaqen!" When his tongue pushed roughly into her, she knew that now he had made her addicted to it.
His fingers dug into her hips, pulling her against him, and she felt so full. A different kind of full than when he filled her with his cock. Wetter. Hotter. And so much more intimate somehow. He could reach spots inside her that–
"Oh Gods," what in the Stranger's name did he just hit? She gasped loudly and his fingers moved to her clit. Tapping. Pressing. Just so.
Her vision blurred and she got lost in his streaks of strawberry and silver floating on the water surface between her legs. Hypnotised, she was hypnotised, she couldn't tear her gaze away, and she watched him, steam rising around them as he massaged her with his tongue and rubbed her with his fingers.
"Why," she panted, "why did I stop you?!" He chuckled against her folds and she laughed with him, fighting for breath because his tongue and fingers never stopped, he never stopped, not even when she fisted her hands in his hair, pulling him close, so close, please don't go, shamelessly, painfully, impossibly close, Gods, Jaqen!, too much, not enough, she wanted him– Oh Gods, she wanted him inside her.
All of him.
He moaned with her as she let her climax take her, a crashing climax that left her gasping his name and panting with release.
His lips were still pressed to her skin when she came to. He was kissing her belly, open-mouthed kisses to cover every inch of it, his arms splayed across her back, holding her up. And her hands were still fisted in his hair.
When finally she let go of her death grip, he lifted his gaze and their eyes met. Gods, those hooded eyes again. She smiled into them and felt herself go limp. But Jaqen was there.
"Come," he whispered as he dragged her into the tub with him.
His kiss tasted like ginger and cloves and her.
It was not just devastating and desperate. It was more. It was a drugging kiss, slow and wet, and he didn't let go until she couldn't breathe.
He guided her to sit between his legs, her back to his chest, and the world was so fuzzy and everything was so soft.
The hot water, soothing her, warming her, finally... It was a blessing. Jaqen, in the water with her, holding her, loving her... He was a gift.
He grabbed the sea sponge that was still drifting in the tub and from out of nowhere he produced a bar of his magical soap. His hands disappeared underwater and he resumed washing her from where he had left off, lazily scrubbing her skin as she closed her eyes again, floating languid, half-asleep. Was this how babies felt in the womb? No, this was just how Jaqen made her feel.
Seven hells, she was so sleepy. But she couldn't– She wouldn't. There was no time.
So little time...
Fighting her drowsiness, she recalled all the things she had seen in the little time that they had spent together. Him singing and playing and now this and–
"A man has many talents," she murmured amusedly, because it was true.
"Oh, lovely girl, a man was scared to death!"
Stammering adorably, he confessed how playing the piano in a robe was not the only thing he had never done before.
"This... In a bathtub... A man had never done this either," and he was afraid he could hurt her by making some clumsy movement.
His movements now though... not clumsy at all. So soothing... His hands, the water, so warm... So sleepy... She should–
No, she could drown!
She gripped his arms that she found wrapped around her and sighed. Relief.
No. She would not. Because Jaqen was there, she thought as she drifted away. He was always there.
Jaqen had her back.
*
Eating in bed with Jaqen was her new favourite thing.
Well, besides making love with him.
The night had long since come, but apparently they had no intention of sleeping.
She was brushing her teeth, leaning against her half of the lavish double-sink bathroom vanity. Jaqen had been quicker and was already back to bed.
Poor thing, he was exhausted.
Ugh, in truth she was exhausted too.
After their bath, she learned how much she loved to watch him lose control while she held him in her mouth. Unlike Pod, Jaqen was uncut, and she was amazed to find out how immensely she enjoyed playing with his foreskin. And judging from the way he writhed and groaned, he enjoyed it immensely too.
She also learned how gladly he would use his hands and mouth on her until he was ready again. Gladly and ruthlessly. And how impatient he could be too, Gods, tearing at the foil with his teeth, rolling the condom into place, hastily, sinking into her as if his life depended on it.
They pleasured each other until they couldn't think straight anymore.
And then they called room service, again, because they were starving. Again.
She put the toothbrush back in its holder and smiled at her reflection remembering the weird asymmetry of his face that she had noted when they were standing side by side in front of the mirror just a while before, brushing their teeth together. She couldn't keep his scent or his music – for now. But she would keep that moment with her, so domestic and insignificant and sweet all the same. Nothing could take it away from her.
She switched off the bathroom light and went to him.
The bedroom was dark but outside the windows the black of the night was giving way to the violet of the dawn and she could make out his form on the bed.
He was lying on his side, hugging a pillow to his naked body, her pillow, sleeping peacefully. His silver streak of hair was shining despite the dim light.
Fuck, he was perfect indeed. Perfect and irresistible and hers. In her dreams he would never leave her.
No, not again! She bit back the tears that were rushing uninvited to her eyes, and shedding her robe she climbed back into bed with him.
She snuggled close behind him, spooning her body to his, and pulled the sheets up over them. As she let her arm snake around his waist, getting even closer, she pressed loving, lingering kisses between his shoulder blades. Gods, she wanted to steal him and never let him leave.
It was warm and peaceful there, Jaqen lying in her arms, skin to skin, and she felt bad for wanting to wake him up, but as childish as it sounded she wanted her pillow back, and most of all she wanted to hear his voice once more. She was exhausted, yes, but she felt she couldn't sleep without. And most of all she didn't want their weekend to end.
But no, they needed to sleep, they had to. He had to. At least for a while. He had a gig tomorrow (hells, today!) and he couldn't be knackered when he walked on stage and she didn't want him to give a shitty performance because of her. Because of their magical weekend.
When finally she felt him stir against her and instinctively perhaps he reached behind him and rubbed her thigh, her pillow and everything else didn't matter anymore.
"Arya..." His hand searched blindly for hers, and when he found it he brought it to his cheek and then his lips for a slumberous, reverent kiss that lasted until he lowered her hand and clutched it to his chest, his thumb stroking her palm in time with his breathing.
One more sweet memory that was hers to keep.
Her eyelids felt so heavy. But she couldn't help giggling when she heard his quiet snores after his thumb stopped.
She pushed her leg between his. "Jaqen." All of a sudden there were so many things that she wanted to tell him. But she needed him awake. "Jaqen, hey, come back to me."
Startled, he tightened his grip on her hand for the briefest of seconds, and before sleep took him for good he spoke again. "Ich werde immer zu dir zurückkommen."
She wanted to ask him what that meant but sleep took her too.