[ she does remember to the day - whether it be some part of her that clings to that sentimentality, or she, herself, can't quite forget it. they were good days, days that despite the years that would pile over, never really faded. geralt is one of the few people who would ever recognize this piece of her, who knows that these are memories, facts, pieces of her life she wants to cling to. yennefer, herself, does deny them - even when they both know the truth.
geralt laughs, and it's quiet, a low rumble in his chest that she feels more than hears, and yennefer's smile grows. the dress comes off her shoulders, some sturdy, cheap thing she'd found as soon as they made it to nott. even her traveling clothes would draw too much attention, the cloak she'd taken with her tucked away with the alchemy equipment she'd taken with her.
truthfully, yennefer couldn't give less of a fuck about the inn - it's a bed, instead of a cot among the fish barrels. it's a private room, candles lit in the corner, and she feels like she can breathe. her fingers tangle with geralt's as they work at the buttons of his trousers, as they pull free his shirt, and now it's yennefer's turn to laugh, soft and...not nervous, exactly, but entertained. she feels a little like she's fumbling, like it's been so long since this has been them that she's relearning how it feels. the fabric of his trousers slouches, and yennefer's hands wrap around the exposed skin of his hips, around to his back. there's this need in her to feel him - not through the horizon, not through the illusions of the singularity, but now.
the fabric of her dress falls, bunches at her feet, leaving her bare to him, too. she lets her head tilt, her breath coming a bit faster as her hands find purchase at his backside, pulling him closer as they spin, her back pressing up against the wood walls. she feels him pressed against her hip, and it is a very directed movement that has her rolling her hips against him. ]
Geralt- [ she breathes, a heat growing in her gut. ]
nsfw ↓
geralt laughs, and it's quiet, a low rumble in his chest that she feels more than hears, and yennefer's smile grows. the dress comes off her shoulders, some sturdy, cheap thing she'd found as soon as they made it to nott. even her traveling clothes would draw too much attention, the cloak she'd taken with her tucked away with the alchemy equipment she'd taken with her.
truthfully, yennefer couldn't give less of a fuck about the inn - it's a bed, instead of a cot among the fish barrels. it's a private room, candles lit in the corner, and she feels like she can breathe. her fingers tangle with geralt's as they work at the buttons of his trousers, as they pull free his shirt, and now it's yennefer's turn to laugh, soft and...not nervous, exactly, but entertained. she feels a little like she's fumbling, like it's been so long since this has been them that she's relearning how it feels. the fabric of his trousers slouches, and yennefer's hands wrap around the exposed skin of his hips, around to his back. there's this need in her to feel him - not through the horizon, not through the illusions of the singularity, but now.
the fabric of her dress falls, bunches at her feet, leaving her bare to him, too. she lets her head tilt, her breath coming a bit faster as her hands find purchase at his backside, pulling him closer as they spin, her back pressing up against the wood walls. she feels him pressed against her hip, and it is a very directed movement that has her rolling her hips against him. ]
Geralt- [ she breathes, a heat growing in her gut. ]