[It isn't his ego that agrees with her so readily. He has had a marvelous life. It... strangely, it continues to be marvelous, if only because it's so fucking strange, and yet they have all found their footing in this new world despite it. He has so many stories to tell. It's funny she should mention them now, when she has never once cared about them. Not his stories, nor his songs. And she would have many of her own, with her life as long as it must be.
All that is gone for now. For this day, or the handful of hours it'll be. She may not even return to this plane after this experience; he knows exactly how strange it is, recognizing what he'd done without memories. Realizing that the Singularity could steal them away so easily.
It's why he steals this. The kiss, the memory of this woman that no longer exists. (He feels it's only fair someone else remember her.) Though, once she presses back, it's far less of a theft. So he keeps his hand where it is, taking in the soft skin. The jaw she hid somehow. (Magic, perhaps? If he touched her face now, would he still feel the shape?)
Yennefer kisses already like one well-versed in it. And in his chest his heart pitter-patters, skipping in its rhythm. Not only at the idea of kissing Yennefer, but the fact she... she'll remember this. Won't she? He could recall everything he did.
Yes, well. That sort of thing has never stopped him before.
He pulls back for breath and a smile of his own. (Is this what Geralt feels? No, he thinks. Certainly the Witcher feels otherwise, for they are so different.) His thumb carefully follows her cheek, appreciating that shade of pink.]
Good. I was being very sincere. [It was the truth. His heart always manages to dig a little nest for itself in moments that stick out in his mind -- where he can find specific senses of comfort, or appreciation, or beauty. It's why he's loved so many. Why he continues to love.] But the story is this...
[The words come out in a soft song. Ah. Fucl. It was far more accurate than he'd ever imagined, wasn't it?] Your kiss is far sweeter than I was prepared for.
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All that is gone for now. For this day, or the handful of hours it'll be. She may not even return to this plane after this experience; he knows exactly how strange it is, recognizing what he'd done without memories. Realizing that the Singularity could steal them away so easily.
It's why he steals this. The kiss, the memory of this woman that no longer exists. (He feels it's only fair someone else remember her.) Though, once she presses back, it's far less of a theft. So he keeps his hand where it is, taking in the soft skin. The jaw she hid somehow. (Magic, perhaps? If he touched her face now, would he still feel the shape?)
Yennefer kisses already like one well-versed in it. And in his chest his heart pitter-patters, skipping in its rhythm. Not only at the idea of kissing Yennefer, but the fact she... she'll remember this. Won't she? He could recall everything he did.
Yes, well. That sort of thing has never stopped him before.
He pulls back for breath and a smile of his own. (Is this what Geralt feels? No, he thinks. Certainly the Witcher feels otherwise, for they are so different.) His thumb carefully follows her cheek, appreciating that shade of pink.]
Good. I was being very sincere. [It was the truth. His heart always manages to dig a little nest for itself in moments that stick out in his mind -- where he can find specific senses of comfort, or appreciation, or beauty. It's why he's loved so many. Why he continues to love.] But the story is this...
[The words come out in a soft song. Ah. Fucl. It was far more accurate than he'd ever imagined, wasn't it?] Your kiss is far sweeter than I was prepared for.