abraxaslogs | [ CLOSED ] here in this garden of bones

[ One thing Julie has never really dealt with before Abraxas is motion sickness. She'd never been on an airplane or open waters before, so it didn't ever come up. Now, she's traveling through portals, being forced onto cruise ships, and her body does not much appreciate it.

But she's willing to put up with momentary severe nausea if it means more time at the beach.

The breeze is an instant refresher, air that's actually cool and new as it brings in blessedly moist air. The wind in Cadens is like an assault, just more arid, dusty heat moving around. ]

What'd you do for him? [ She can't imagine what kind of monsters Aquila has, nor can she really imagine Geralt in open waters fighting them. Sea monsters strike her mostly as something that can be entirely avoided by just leaving them to their own devices (in the ocean, where they objectively have a right to exist), so she doesn't know why a Witcher would be needed. ] Fish him up a mermaid?

[ He laughs, quiet. He doesn't even think there are mermaids here, though perhaps they've learned to stay hidden beneath the depths.

But he doesn't much like being on the ocean, either. The Continent is a giant landmass where reaching the coast can take months of travel, depending on where you start your journey. He's only travelled by ship to the islands a handful of times and finds himself most at home on steady ground. ]

Unstuck his son's wagon. I came across the boy on the desert roads, on his way home. No monsters that day.

[ He'd given the boy no further thought until he stepped into the inn one day weeks later, and the innkeeper recognized him. So now he gets a decent fare or a drink on the house, here and there. He'll hardly complain, even if he travels to Aquila rarely. It's a quaint little place—sits atop a cliff with a golden stray that seems to have made its home there. The rooms are clean and free of skittering spiders. ]

[ Honestly, she thinks Geralt would have quite liked America, in terms of geography. An enormous country with every imaginable kind of terrain to conquer and plenty of large beasts to hunt for a living.

At least there's Aquila here, something different from the punishing red desert of Cadens. ]

Always a big damn hero. [ She says it with a tease in her voice, her fingers tightening a little around his for a second.

The walk to the inn is relaxing -- unlike Cadens, the streets are not as stuffed with people, and those that are out and about seem much less hurried. Seagulls squawk in the distance; music and windchimes ring out from the various homes and storefronts. ]

[ His lips tilt, and there's a soft huff. ] Don't announce it too loud.

[ Truthfully, he'd have probably enjoyed the Americas. He's even grown to like the desert in its own way, now that he's come to understand the land: its hidden aquifers, the critters that come to life when the sun sets, the dry thunderstorms that light up the sky. It's the city he finds overcrowded and unpleasant—and if not for the people, he would have settled much further away than the middle of Cadens.

But it isn't so bad, either. He can adapt, so long as he has a reason.

The closer they draw to the coast, the cooler the breeze. The innkeeper greets him from behind the bar, a curious knowing glance tossed at Julie that Geralt ignores. He slides over the coin, picks up the key, and goes upstairs with her. His swords rest against the corner wall. ]

Waters first?

[ Seems a good place to start. ]

[ The steady, low roar of the ocean fills the air as they reach the inn, and Julie smiles when she sees the place. Luckily, she's looking at a painting while Geralt pays. She follows him upstairs.

In the room, she immediately puts up the wards that she keeps on her own home and bedroom -- security, soundproofing. They're the only non-Abraxan magic she knows, runes that Wanda taught to her months and months ago. They probably aren't strong enough to hold against a particularly determined enemy, but they're decent basic safeguards anyway.

She turns when he speaks, and her head is slightly cocked as if he's said something silly. ]

No. [ In a few steps, she crosses the room and wraps her arms around his neck. She kisses him like she has been waiting to do it, clutching tightly at his hair. ]

[ They can certainly start with that here, too.

His hands land on her waist, kissing her back. He closes his eyes, reaching behind him to push open a window to let in the sea breeze. The linen curtains flutter. Her silencing spell is a useful trick. Geralt hasn't much of a concern over who hears in the first place, but in the past, they led to knocks on the door now and again. Interruptions are a pain in the arse no matter what.

This is better.

He hitches her skirt up, fingers sliding along bare skin. A new scar traces along his forearm arm, over the back of his hand, visible where his sleeves are rolled up. The only remnant of what happened a few weeks ago. The rest has faded or healed fully. ]

[ She is always less worried about people overhearing sex than she is about overhearing conversations through thin walls. Being Summoned makes people interested in them on its own, let alone that both of them stick so sorely out of any crowd. And not that she intends to have any deep, secret conversations, but it's always a possibility that these things might come up.

Anyway, Julie likes to know other people's business. She doesn't want anyone knowing her (and by extension, his) business.

Her dress is nothing more than a short shift, and she has so little underneath that it's probably a good thing she hasn't needed to bend more than slightly since she left the house. Her fingers tangle in his hair as his run up her thighs, leaving bumps in their wake; she presses close to him with a soft noise. Her hand dips under the collar of his shirt, nails digging into his back. ]

[ They kiss, and she grips him close. His eyes fall shut. Somewhere along the way, they move from window to bed; he lands on his back with her on top. The mattress sinks beneath him.

Her dress so light he doesn't even bother taking it off, just pushes the skirt to the side and slips his finger into the barely-there fabric beneath. He tugs it off, down past her thighs—letting his nails drag lightly as he does.

They've been together plenty since he returned, but he finally feels a little lighter than he has in weeks. As much as he doesn't mind the company he's found, solitude remains an old comfort. Time away from Cadens—and the people there—with just her is what he needs. ]

[ She perches over him on her knees, back arched as she peels her dress over her head and drops it on the floor. Her hips roll languidly; a flush is already creeping up her sternum and over her cheeks. With her invisible hand, she tugs at the fabric of his shirt, yanking at the front of it until he shifts enough to remove it. ]

You know, you're the first man ever took me somewhere nice. Or at all. [ Her hands (the flesh ones) slide up his stomach, nails pressed in. Her eyes are dark and low, looking down at him. ] Too bad I may never let you up outta this bed to enjoy it.

[ She's teasing, her voice soft and silky, but there's a hint of sincerity in there too. Never in her life has she been so constantly hungry for someone like she is for him. ]

[ Is he? He supposes that must be so; he remembers the pictures Julie told him about, the places and things she's never seen until this world. Geralt surrounds himself with wanderers, but he knows that isn't how it is for most—in any sphere, his or hers or this one. People grow up in villages they never leave. Escape is a distant dream.

And before he was left to the Witchers, he'd craved the same. Adventure, leaving the confines of his childhood home. Maybe they both found it through paths they never expected to take.

He helps tug the buttons on his trousers loose, popping them one by one. Her hand is warm against his stomach and the heat grows into a heavy pressure. ]

My view is plenty nice from here.

[ Before she walked a thousand miles, Julie had never been further than a few hours' drive from her hometown. In many ways, the world was not so different than it had always been; people trapped by life and poverty in small, dead-end towns. She just had the unfortunate luck of being alive at a time where it was repeatedly hounded into her just how much she was missing out on by being one of them.

She can't say that anymore. In less than two years spent in Abraxas, she's experienced more than she ever thought she would. Seen things she didn't believe possible. There's nothing she lost that she would give this world up to have back. ]

Mm. [ It's half hum, half chuckle, accompanied by a satisfied smirk. She rises on her knees so he can move enough to tug his trousers down. Raising her arms, she lifts her hair and lets it fall back down over her shoulders. ] Better really take it all in, then.

[ She sinks back down, trapping his cock between them. Taking his hands and lacing her fingers with his, she grinds against him smoothly, deliberately. And slow. ]

[ And tug them down he does, an act he's grown practiced at over the century but which still takes. A bit of effort to yank them off. He kicks his boots to the side, buckles haphazardly loosened and the dagger tucked in the right pair slipping out a touch.

Then his hands are gliding up her bare arms—palm rough, her hair soft where they cascade over his fingers.

He smiles back. ] I'm convinced.

[ As if he needed to be. Her weight and warmth sends a breath escaping. His hips rise to meet her—and he grips her fingers tighter. ]

[ She leans her weight into his hands, her lips parted as her breath hitches. Everything is pleasantly fuzzy and warm, like static ghosting over her skin, and even the simmering yearning for more is more of a sweet ache than a sharp one.

When she can't stop herself from finally picking up some speed, her heart already pounding, she bends down to kiss him for a long moment, deeply. Then her mouth trails over his cheek, along his jaw; her teeth graze over his stubble. Her voice is a low, thick murmur, wrapped around her panting breath. ]

You put it it in. Want you. [ There's a sharp inhale, then her voice wobbles a little. ] Please?

[ Though he isn't quite aware, this is probably the first and closest he's ever come to having a holiday. Even travelling with Jaskier had come with a job, one he took for an offhand reason to make the journey. He's never simply left for no reason other than because he wanted to.

And because he had someone he wanted to go with.

She's draped on top of him, heartbeat picking up steadily as they move together. His beats in between hers, and he tilts up to meet her lips. She smells sweet, and of something heavier, darker, a light sheen already clinging to her skin.

He hums, decides not to keep her waiting—he isn't feeling patient, either. His fingers tighten around her and he eases inside. He breathes out against her ear—soft, wanting, sinking deep into her warmth. ]

[ It's nice, to find a new thing for both of them. He is so much older than she is, spent so much more of his life exploring and doing things normal people can't even imagine. Sometimes, she worries that she will one day bore him and decide he doesn't want her anymore.

Her eyes fall closed and she clutches his upper arm to ground herself. The noise she makes is too low to be a whine, but it's somewhere in the territory. For a moment, her head swoons, then she sighs out heavily and gently bites his shoulder.

A thick sense of fullness settles as she lowers herself and holds there. His skin tastes like salt. Pushing herself up on her hands against his chest, she sits up sinuously, her hair mussed around her face where it's come loose from her bun. Her eyelids barely crack open to look down at him. ]

[ He coaxes her to ride him harder, though perhaps he doesn't much need to. She's wrapped around him, and he settles into the driving rhythm. His fingers tangle in her hair. He pulls it loose from her bun, letting the pink curtain tumble around him.

When her teeth sink into his shoulder, he grips her tight. A spark dances down his spine. For a moment, he can only hear her panting heavy in his ear. The sound pulses through his veins, and his skin grows heated beneath her hands.

Soon he's pulling her down for another kiss. He cups her jawline, thumb lingering just under her cheekbone. ]

[ He doesn't need to coax very much; her hips launch into a serpentine roll with little urging. It's still a measured pace, as if to insist that she is not in a rush. Something about the idea of vacation sex, to her, seems like it is meant to be indulgent and savored.

With the sound of ocean waves and the distant calls of seagulls carried in on the breeze, she really does feel further away from everyday life than she ever has before. Like nothing matters except the sea and the two of them.

She moans against his mouth, one of her hands slipping behind his neck. Her breath comes in sharp gasps, and when she has to stop kissing him to better get air, her forehead presses to his, lips still so close that they brush. ]

[ He lets his grip fall from her hair, traces an unsteady path over her spine to rest at the small of her back. When she shivers, he can feel it echo through him.

Her legs press around him; her skin sticks to his. Really, everything is beginning to fucking stick—the linens, his hair, the silver chain around his neck—but he can't much care. He opens his eyes to watch her. His teeth catch her lip, a gentle nip. There's a moment where his pupils expand until a thin gold ring remains, shadowed by his lashes.

He slides his hand downwards, slipping between where their bodies are intertwined. His fingers tease against the swell he finds, the barest pressure. ]

[ One of the few things that doesn't stick to anything is her necklace, the tooth hanging down and swaying, bouncing repeatedly off her sternum. Like its Horizon counterpart, she almost never takes it off; the last time was in February, when she used it as something to keep her mind ground while Wanda tried to fix her. Something she had to make it back to herself for.

He touches her and she cries out, immediately grinding into his hand. Sweat slides along the curves of her hips, down into the creases of her thighs meeting her body. Her head begins to fill with static, fuzzy and soft, visible in the black of her eyelids snapping shut. Everything sounds distant as her blood rushes in her ears.

Her hand curls against his chest, nails digging in. The leaden heat in the pit of her stomach coils. ]

[ Her spine arches under his other hand. He moves with her, feels the way every inch of her body clenches around him. The scent of her clouds his senses, fills them completely.

His fingers are slick when he grasps her. He rolls against her, not ready for her to stop just yet. Not until the swell of pleasure consumes his thoughts, flooding through him.

The outside world returns in a hazy rush; birds that twitter in the distance, lapping waves as the tide draws out. His toes tingle, and there's a satisfied exhale as he lays back. ]

[ The sound that comes from deep in her chest is almost strangled, and even though they're closed, her eyes roll back. Her breath is caught in her throat, making her head feel light, dizzy. There's a long moment where she's lost in her own bliss and just along with him for the ride; she clutches his wrist without thinking about it.

He relaxes and she more or less collapses to his chest, still shuddering. Her breathing is still hitched, her heart still pounding. She pushes hair out of her face with numb fingers. Shakily, she wraps her arms around his neck and presses her forehead to his temple.

Her hips begin to ache. She doesn't move. ]

[ For a good while, Geralt lays sprawled on the tangled sheets (the tidily made bed lasted not two heartbeats), Julie draped on top. His chest rises and falls along with hers, though his pulse steadies quickly as it often does—soon slowing to its usual unnatural pace.

He tucks back a lock of pink hair, then kisses her. There's a lazy air surrounding them, and he lets himself indulge in it. The worries, the unwanted thoughts, they slip away without effort.

When he eventually slides out of her, he stays close—propping a pillow behind them. He draws one leg up, and leans back. ]

You make it hard to want to leave the room.

[ The silence is easy and comfortable. Calm. She doesn't let anything enter her head except the sound of his heartbeat, his breath, the waves and gulls. Any tension that's left in her body seems to leech out; it's not until her shoulders relax that she realizes she'd been carrying so much stress in them.

He kisses her and she hums softly, running her thumb along the back of his neck. When he sits up, she shifts into the space next to him, half on her side with her legs curled as she grins at him. ]

You think I won't do that outside? I just didn't want to rush. [ It's a vacation, and she wanted to relax first and foremost. ] We can get lunch and then go to the beach. Maybe dinner? Then come back here.

[ And, of course, as an oversexed tart, she is not saying no to finding somewhere private between the meals. ]

[ He tucks one arm behind his head, a casual smile curling his lips. There is, he thinks, very little that he won't believe she'll do outside. But the same applies to him, as Jaskier can attest. Besides, she made an entire tent in the desert once some months ago. He imagines she can make a more intricate one now.

His eyes close for a second, relaxed. ]

Plenty to eat out there. [ Never a selective eater, Geralt tends to let her choose. There's more variety in the Free Cities—fruits and vegetables he hasn't encountered on the Continent. He likes it. To have a coastal town that's equally a desert is a novelty. The Korath desert is inland, past a treacherous stretch of mountains few bother to traverse. ] Bathhouses here are nice, as well.

[ Something he also discovered with Jaskier. ]

We'll pay a visit, then.

[ She watches him, his eyes closed; she is so attracted to him that her entire body aches a little bit. Her chest feels tight and her head like it's floating, and she feels as happily stupid as she always does with him. Leaning over him, she presses her lips to his chest, then kisses a path up toward his cheek. ]

I'll get dressed. [ It's murmured into his ear, and she nips at his earlobe before she bounces up from the bed and fetches the bag she dropped on the way in. She only pulls out two things -- pieces of a swimsuit -- and quickly puts them on. With her phantom hand, she picks her dress up from the floor next to the bed, and she slips it back on before she turns back to him, reaching up to retie her hair.

For a moment, she stops, still barefoot, looking at him. ] Let me braid your hair back. You get saltwater in it, it's just gonna get tangled up.

[ CLOSED ] here in this garden of bones

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nsfw.

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