[ Here was once the only place they could have each other. Now that they're no longer separate in the physical realm, he enjoys indulging in the Horizon on occasion. Some things are not the same—for Geralt, it's impossible to forget everything in this place is a creation of the mind—but there's a certain freedom to be had, too.
Like how he doesn't really give a shit about the gouges in her wall, left behind from his claws. Or the potted fern that tumbles off the shelf and shatters, scattering dirt and broken pieces clay on her floors. It'll all be put right when she next returns.
Nails dig into his thigh. His breaths come heavier, sharper. Her scent grows thicker, and he lets his hand trail across her stomach before gliding up towards her breast. ]
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Like how he doesn't really give a shit about the gouges in her wall, left behind from his claws. Or the potted fern that tumbles off the shelf and shatters, scattering dirt and broken pieces clay on her floors. It'll all be put right when she next returns.
Nails dig into his thigh. His breaths come heavier, sharper. Her scent grows thicker, and he lets his hand trail across her stomach before gliding up towards her breast. ]