abraxaslogs | [ CLOSED ] here in this garden of bones

[ 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.

[ He's content to take their time; he strokes her hair as she curves over him. Her lips leave behind a warm tingle. Not until she gets up does he do the same—throwing on the trousers discarded on the ground. He has, however, got the white linen shirt she gifted him some time ago. As close to a summer outfit as he'll ever get.

Though most of it will come off as soon as they near the water.

He watches her slip into her swimwear, then reaches for his boots.

Oh. Hm. ] All right.

[ He finishes tugging on his boots before settling at the edge of the bed. Other than with rope, braiding is beyond him. He hasn't a clue how to do shit with his hair except tie it back. Any time it's in more than a loose ponytail, someone else has done it for him. ]

[ She reaches back into her bag and pulls out her hairbrush before she perches on the bed behind him. With her legs bracketing him, she unties the cord from his hair and begins brushing, her hand following behind each drag of the bristles. Her reflection in the bureau mirror shows a concentrated gaze as she gently pulls back the wisps and strands from the sides of his face and starts braiding them back along his scalp.

There's a quiet sort of efficiency as she goes, an exacting amount of pressure that's neither too much nor too little. She spent many nights as a girl doing the same for cousins and friends, or sitting on the floor in his position, having her own hair braided.

For a few moments, she's quiet as she works, braiding two rows backward from his temple, holding them in place with her third hand as she meticulously parts his hair for a thicker plait down the center. ]

Maybe this is what we should do next time some fucked up shit happens to us. [ It's light, more of a joke than anything. Abraxas is constantly on the brink of war -- there's no doubt that the Summoned will soon enough be pushed into some new political quagmire they didn't volunteer for. Having a nice vacation spot is at least a very minor comfort for them, and now they have constant access. ] Just come get drunk on fruity cocktails and splash around in the ocean for a while. Maybe that's the next thing the conclave can push for. Paid retreats in exchange for the bullshit.

[ His hair's a little smoother, a bit easier to brush through, than it usually is; nights spent at home instead of roaming the desert means he's had more chances to wash it properly and, seeing as he doesn't purchase any bathing products of his own, nearly everything he uses comes from Jaskier. Who has exacting standards.

He laughs, quiet. ] We'll corner Sam about it.

[ Julie may have glimpsed him during that meeting for all of the thirty seconds it took to cast his vote for Sam. (He did not listen to Sam's speech. He's already heard many of them, and the only reason he might stop to hear yet another is to give Sam shit for it.) He'd left immediately afterwards and frankly hadn't had a fucking clue they'd requested a portal to Aquila until it was erected.

This will continue to be a theme. ]

Perhaps they'll grant us another voucher for a single gold. [ To compensate for all the trouble and torment, naturally. ]

[ She repeats the two smaller braids on the other side and then ties the remainder of his hair back in a low ponytail. When she's done, she wraps her arms around his shoulders from behind and kisses his temple. ]

Are you kiddin'? I bet Sam can sweet talk 'em up to two gold. And a free trip through the portal. [ Similarly, Julie had really only sat through the votes until they got to Sam, who she voted for and then left to get a drink. She was aware that there was some kind of proposal thing happening, but she hadn't cared enough to sit through it, and she's always antsy to get the hell out of Portam Hall ASAP whenever she's forced to go there.

With another kiss, intentionally a bit loud, she scoots off the bed and grabs the small purse she carries on her wrist. She takes out a pair of sunglasses and places them on the top of her head before she slips her sandals back on. ] C'mon baby, let's go find some lunch.

Oh, two. That'll be generous.

[ He only moves when she's finished; unlike others who've had their hair tended to, Geralt neither touches it nor examines himself in the mirror to see how it looks. Julie is satisfied with it, and that's good enough for him.

His fingers trail over her wrist as she kisses him. A lifetime of caution has him securing the window before he follows her out the door, down the stairs. The ocean breeze is refreshing to walk through. The golden sand is soft rather than dry and dusty. Small holes dot the surface at intervals where clams burrow beneath.

Wherever she wants to dine or visit, that's where he'll go. Despite a seemingly inflexible disposition, Geralt's always been easy to drag about to places once someone's grown on him. ]

Edited 2023-06-26 23:31 (UTC)

They don't want us to get spoiled.

[ She takes his hand as they walk down the stairs, doesn't let go until they find somewhere to eat. There is shrimp.

Later that night, on the beach with gentle waves of bioluminescent algae washing over her feet and her head on his shoulder, she will look up at the black sky, at the tiny pinpricks of the stars. Imagine that one of them is the world she came from, rotting and dead in all but name.

And she will be happy. ]

[ CLOSED ] here in this garden of bones

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