Who: yennefer + others When: july Where: nott + nocwich What: after the events of the coup and yennefer's escape to nott, she is making due in what she suspects will be her new normal. Warnings: will update if needed.
[ The noise she makes can almost be called a giggle. It would not be the first time he's heard of it, but it's certainly been a long time. The world is falling apart and a dynasty has just collapsed a mere two weeks ago, and he has never felt lighter. Later, the weight of reality will return, but right now, he doesn't give a fuck. He doesn't care about anything except her body against his and her hands on his skin, soft, smooth, not a hint of roughness to her palms or fingers.
He kicks off his boots, his trousers. His head lowers. He kisses the curve of her breast, lets his thumb caress it. Her hair cascades over him, and he pushes it back over her shoulders.
Sometimes, there are a hundred memories in her touch; other times, his head goes blank and he can't remember a fucking thing at all. Isn't interested in trying. Right now, it's the latter that overtakes him. His fingers dip between her legs. For a brief moment, he considers picking her up, pinning her to the bed, but he likes where she is, actually. He likes the way she looks up at him beneath the curl of her dark lashes. The long stretch of her neck he can trace with his tongue.
He doesn't waste much more time before he guides himself inside her. He hitches her leg over his hip. If one of the inn's ugly paintings tumbles off the wall, well. Jaskier's gold can replace that later. ]
[ more often than not, their coming together - whether back on the continent or here in this sphere - was always so complicated. their choices, their decisions, their lives, a combative force that they found themselves drawn in spite of, rather than because of. but still, there were moments like this - where things could be simple, where this could almost be easy. yennefer has not slept well in weeks, has not truly been clean is just about as long, has lived each day with a tension in her chest and one eye to the castle and has wondered, waited, prepared for it all to come crumbling down. and yet?
and yet in this moment, she laughs, and it fills her ribs like a warm summer air. she is not thinking about the castle, or sidwell, because it feels like for once it won't matter because they are here, where geralt kicks off his boots and wraps his lips around her and yennefer's laugh turns breathy, her voice hitching with the heat of it. he knows her body, just as she knows his, and still this all feels somehow new, somehow exciting.
when his fingers dip into her, yennefer's head falls back against the wall - the thud of her skull hitting wood heard more than felt, but she doesn't care. she arches into it instead, rolls herself down on his hand impatiently, because she knows what he's thinking. knows the options he considers. knows that they have a chance of that now, or perhaps even later, and yennefer lets her hands - nails digging into skin ever so slightly - shift from around his back to his chest, up to his shoulders. it's a good thing he doesn't waste too much time in pressing his mouth to her throat, that he doesn't waste time in pushing himself up into her, because yennefer is just on the brink of doing it herself when she feels him.
her mouth opens in a gasp as he presses in, shifting her hips forward - closer - opening herself up to him. he might be the one who hitches her leg up over his hip, but she's the one who uses it to tug him closer- pressing him the rest of the way into her until their bodies are lined up. the angle has her on her toes, her grip on his shoulders and her leg around his waist holding up most of her weight, until he decides to pick her up the rest of the way. she doesn't even notice the painting, wouldn't even care if she did as it's hardly the last thing that will tumble to the ground tonight. ]
[ Her laugh drags one out of him in return, quieter, rumbling inside his breastbone. Unlike the hazy, faded visions of the future, this is crystal clear and real and (they are real) out here, it's been far too fucking long since he's felt the warmth of her skin on his.
A sharp gasp escapes him. He slides his hand over her other leg, then hoists her up. She's as light as a feather to him, and as soft as one, too. Her heart thunders between his ears. He thinks of the last time he had her like this. Against the creaky shelves of some ancient, dusty library, maybe, leather tomes tumbling around them. Him, grumbling about the inconvenience of it all afterwards, as he often does.
He is not grumbling about a damn thing now.
His hand braces against the dresser beside them. Sharpened nails extend, leaving deep gouges in the wood. Not a new development, but a new one for her. He's changed some since the last time they were together. Still no horns like she once asked, but...the fangs, yes.
She's changed, as well. In more ways than the physical. There was a time he wondered if he would ever speak to her again. And then—
Perhaps his heart has never been that steeled against her. Perhaps he never wanted it to, even when she'd hurt him the most. He can't say he regrets allowing her back in; a part of him firmly believes she won't ever make him regret it. Not now. Not anymore.
His breathing quickens. He doesn't flush easily, but he's certainly warm, heat rising to the surface. The thick scent of her arousal fills the air. It makes his head spin—equally forgetting and equally not giving a fuck that the walls are thin when he slams his palm against it. He drags his teeth lightly over her earlobe. ]
[ she feels his laugh rather than hearing it, a vibration through his chest, his ribs, up through her hands. the angle is better, when his hands get under her legs and he lifts her with no issue at all, the ease at which his strength comes something that - despite the brutish nature of it, does thrill her. it is less that geralt can do it that she can let herself go enough to be allowed, his weight and his movement and him keeping her up against this thin wall.
yenenfer does not share geralt's inherent quiet, letting her voice rise and tilt, the gasp of breath ease into a moan of pleasure as he begins to move. this, like many other things, had been a strategy she had learned in her many years a sorceress. their body, their beauty, was a power to be used, to be manipulated. but that had never, truly, been the case with geralt. had never had to be. from that first time in the basement of that ruined building and every crossing of paths sense, yennefer feels and lets herself feel, chases, wants. it happens out of her periphery, the claws, the gauges - there's a flicker of surprise deep in her gut, that very quickly flashes hot, and yennefer surges forward to kiss him, feels the sharpness of his teeth, and she wants.
they are both different, though her changes - other than the slight point to her ears, a detail she's grown accustomed to, despite how she all but subconsciously still hides them under the curls of her hair when she's able - aren't as easy to notice. he might feel it, smell it even- the shift in the chaos in the air, the low vibration under her skin. there's no need for her features to be different. if anything, this is one of the few times that yennefer has looked fully, truly like herself since she escaped the castle. there is no slight change to her appearance, no minor alteration. scars and all, she is her, because she wants to give that to geralt, herself.
the kiss breaks, and yennefer lets out another noise - possibly a cry, possibly a moan, possibly a hissed yes, yes- and maybe even the sound of his name. the heat rises between them, the warmth of his skin adding to the searing heat of her own. geralt slams his hand against the wall and she feels the wall shake with it. it pulls another soft laugh from her, her breathing almost as quick as her heartbeat. ]
Geralt, Geralt- [ he doesn't need the warning, but she gives it to him anyway, the fact that she can feel it coming. that they're close, she's close, as her hands dig a little more into the muscle of his arms, his shoulders. she clings to him as much as she can, moving her body with the pace he sets. ]
[ It's good to sense her magic again, her Chaos humming between them. They've each spent too much time paying with the the few things the world has allowed them to keep, and hell—even at his angriest, he never wished to see her magic stripped from her. But he has not, in truth, been angry with her in a long while. Mostly, he's...missed her. In that pained, hollow way where he had told himself it was not possible to yet be with her.
It feels possible now.
He drinks in every hitch in her chest, every noise and moan she makes. His fingers squeeze her shoulder, her arm, tangling in her thick dark locks. Maybe he leaves behind a mark or two. He isn't paying attention, seldom feels the need to be overly gentle with Yen, and here, in particular, he's loose and unthinking in a way he almost never is. A breathy sound falls from his lips, her name tumbling in a low grown.
Then he's shuddering, ears ringing and eyes shut. He curses. His skin is slick against hers, and when he finally opens his eyes again, he can see the flush blooming across her chest, across her cheeks. A crooked smile lifts his lips.
This is, he thinks, a reunion well worth waiting for. Well worth a toppled kingdom for.
He cups her cheek, studies the way the moonlight turns her eyes a pale lavender. Her imperfections, inside and out—they're what makes her who she is. He would not ask her to be anything else. (All he'd wanted was that she not throw everything away to be something she didn't need to be.) ]
I missed you. [ Has he said that before? Well, no matter. He has no qualms repeating himself, this once. ]
[ it does feel a bit like a returning - with his hands, rough and strong and dependable and constant - and her magic, thick and heavy and humming. she feels like this is what it's supposed to be. how this is supposed to feel. it feels like ages, lifetimes in many ways, since it's felt this right - her, with her magic back, and him, with his hands on her.
she knows that a large part of the distance between them had been her own doing, her own choices. not wholly, not entirely, but enough. and that had led her to dark nights, lonely moments, thinking that maybe she would never find herself here again. would never find him here again, with her. it had been too much to imagine, to impossible a distant.
it does feel possible, now. they feel possible.
geralt squeezes at her shoulder, tangles in her hair, and yennefer feels her own layers slip away. she's always been a combination of them all, of who she is and who she presents, of who she lets others see and who she crafts on top of that. he bites, and as yennefer feels the mark begin to form, feels the pierce of fangs, and yennefer moans - uncaring of the sound of her own voice, of how loud it is and who hears. she digs her own nails into the muscle of geralt's back, his shoulders uncaring of if, or how far, it digs into his skin.
yennefer has never bothered to hide this, or any, side of herself from geralt. never thought it mattered, or was needed. and now, as she feels it build, feels this grow and expand and come to a climax, there isn't any need to pretend otherwise. and then as it's easing, as her chest rises and falls and she comes back to herself, he is there again.
there's a smile, his smile, a crooked tilt to his lips. she smiles back, leans into his hand and smiles back. her body feels loose, her legs holding around his waist and the knowledge that if he wasn't holding her where she was, she would slide straight down to the floor. instead, his voice is low, he says I missed you and yennefer's smile grows, her next breath feeling almost bubbly. ]
I missed you, too. [ her limbs are loose, barely connected, but with enough energy, with enough willpower, she lifts her hands to his face and cups both sides of his jaw. she leans her face forward - pressing her forehead to his.
she doesn't notice, if he has repeated himself. if anything, she repeats herself, too. ] I missed you.
[ They stay that way for a minute or so. Foreheads resting together, her breaths matching his. He watches her chest rise and fall as her heartbeat begins to steady.
Then he carries her to the bed, sprawling atop of it himself afterwards. He's bedded many, loved a handful here and back home—including those who, for reasons that are difficult to put in words, were not meant to be—but Yennefer has been the only one who's drawn him back into her circle time and again. Perhaps that's why he'd been so uncertain at the start, leaving each time the pull was too strong. A trepidation he seldom feels with anyone else. The realization that she is, maybe, the sole person he was afraid could break his heart.
And then she had.
He supposes they both did it to each other.
His hand rests on the flat of her stomach. She's warm beneath the roughness of his palm. The last true memory he has of them together is Thanedd. Before it all went to shit—that'd been...good. And for a moment, he worries how quickly things will go to shit now. It seems to be a pattern with them (with him, really, more than anything). There's more he should be doing than fucking waiting.
A problem for tomorrow. ]
I have something for you. [ He curls a finger over the pendant she wears. ] Remind me afterwards.
[ It isn't especially sentimental. It is useful. ]
[ it is certain a main reason she would pull away - any time the pull felt too heavily, any time the feeling of this reached her chest, her neck, threatening to pull her under - she take to the road, the next town, anywhere else. she would often claim it was because he left first (which he did, in a way- that very first day) but they both knew the truth. both knew why those good, easy days they did share came to an end.
but they always came back together, in the end. no matter how far he traveled, so matter the decisions she would make, no matter how much pain they had the ability to inflict on each other, she chooses this.
as does he, apparently.
he carries her to the bed and when he sets her upon it, she stretches - feeling the ease and warmth of a good fuck settling in her muscles. he sprawls next to her, his hand on her stomach, and she lifts one of her own hands - trailing her fingertips along the back of his hand, over his knuckles, the knicks and bumps of scars. there's no real purpose in the movement of her fingertips over his skin, yennefer instead choosing to simply enjoy the quiet, the still. she is thinking of thanedd too - of the time they'd had to simply be, the anxious energy of a plan executed to the best of their ability, despite what would soon follow.
when geralt speaks, it is low, a tone she hasn't heard in some time. she looks down to her pendant, where his finger curls around it, and she feels her brow lift. ]
A gift? [ geralt is very rarely sentimental, so the idea of something else catches her interest. she shifts, arching her back a bit to more easily turn onto her side to face him. memories flash through her mind at the sight, seeing him settled in bed, relaxed - if only for a few moments. ] I'm starting to feel under-prepared.
[ His skin tingles where her fingers glide over him. He's relaxed in a way he seldom is. ]
If you want to call it that. [ His answer is unhurried. He makes no move to retrieve it with any haste. Only when the position of his leg forces him to shift his weight regardless does he finally roll onto his other side and reach beneath the bed for a small leather pouch.
He lays back on the bed and places it between them. Ingredients, as she requested. They are portioned into small jars, vials, and tins—a collection of herbs and monster bits he's gathered throughout the month. There is, equally, a few jars not obtained by his hand but rather a friend. The handwriting labelling those are distinctly more feminine than the rest.
As she surmised: not the most sentimental of gifts. He might occasionally have his whimsy—little carvings here or there—but they never end up in Yennefer's hands as they did his other lovers, not even in their long dreamlike decades together. Perhaps it simply feels as though the depth between them goes beyond such gestures.
There were many letters, however. ]
Nadine Cross passed a few items along. [ Up until a few weeks ago, neither he nor Nadine realized the connection between them. He supposes that's no surprise when it comes to they three, private as they are. ]
Said she owed you one. [ His lips curl into a tease. ] I didn't know the great sorceress of Thorne herself was making friends.
[ neither of them are in any rush, and yennefer sees no reason to be. yennefer could be okay with spending the entire weekend in this room, if they choose to, even though she knows there are others she needs to see. people she needs to connect with. but she also...
she's on no real timeline. she is here for this, for this easy, calm, relaxed, time with geralt. so she doesn't push, doesn't ask again, just watches him with a small smile curling at her mouth.
but in time he does decide to move, and she sits up just a bit to watch as he reaches over to retrieve something from under the bed. it is only when the bag is set between them that yennefer sits up even further, pulling the bag into her lap as she gives geralt a curious look. it's only when she pulls it open and sees the jars does she let out a laugh - partially surprised, also partially not at all.
she pulls out a couple of the jars, looking through them with a sort of young, bubbly excitement. ingredients she hasn't seen in weeks, and some she hasn't seen at all. she pauses when she pulls out a jar with a label and clean, curled handwriting, and she turns to geralt with a questioning look just as he answers her. nadine cross. ]
I came across her in the Horizon, first. She was sitting in the midst of a garden, surrounded by flowers. [ yennefer continues looking through the bag, that lightness, that young excitement still somewhere on the surface.
part of her wonders if she needs to say it, or if the words are obvious without the air to guide them. she reminded me of triss. yennefer is quiet for a moment, thinking about that day, how she'd felt stepping into that overgrown place, and then she moves on. ]
She made some comment that no one in that barbaric desert of yours could teach her alchemy. [ it is a joke, a teasing curl to her own mouth, even if there is more than just a little truth to it. ] I've been giving her some lessons, a little more guidance than what she can find there.
[ she finishes searching through the bottles, closes the bag and sets it aside. she smiles at geralt again before leaning over and kissing him, gently, softly. it says something that he may not have given her anything overtly sentimental, and yet she is perhaps more pleased with what she did receive. ]
I should be impressed that you're making friends. [ a beat, and then a kind of softening. ] Though I'm not. Or rather- not surprised.
[ Propped on one elbow, Geralt watches her go through the pouch, the lilac of her eyes lit up bright. He can't help the genuine smile that takes over his face.
Yes. That does indeed sound like Nadine. He found her quite differently, haunted by the absence of her memories and the lost children she could not recall but felt were there. It was an unusual place for both of them to be. It's good, he thinks. To know that Nadine and Yennefer have become friends, of sorts.
Yen need not say it. He sees it, too. Her affinity for healing and teaching. It reminds him of Triss. He supposes that's why, ever since, he's felt something quietly protective over Nadine. ]
Here and there. [ Acquaintances, allies, connections. There are not many he would call friends out loud, but he can admit that his attachments have grown throughout his time here. It is the nature, maybe, of being in one place, with the same people, day in and out. He has not ever had that experience until this place. Until this foreign world that's steadily become more home than the Continent was.
A few quiet moments pass. His hand rests on hers, their fingers curling together. He glances at the window, weighing when he should tell Yennefer that he has another he needs to see to. He's reluctant to leave her, but...John is important, as well. He's made his promises. ]
[ it would make sense- for them both to draw their own, but similar, conclusions. would make sense that they see the similarities in her.
they’ve each settled into something they could almost call a life, something they might almost consider theirs, were it not their understanding of how quickly these things could be taken from them. yennefer, in just the last week or so, has had much of what she would have considered her life striped from under her very feet, if not for the people. if not for her people.
(she chooses not to think of those she’s lost- of how even triss had once been here, nevermind the countless others they’ve watched disappear. it doesn’t help her, in this moment, to acknowledge the things they’ve lost, whether shared or separate. )
but yennefer does snort, at his words. here and there. she knows the truth, the things he doesn’t say. the breadth of what she assumes is his family, his group, his people. she watches him grow quiet even now, studies the likes of his jaw, his neck. their hands are intertwined, but she decides that isn’t quite close enough, shifting so that her head is set against his shoulder, her body pressed to his side. she feels, slow and low and deep beneath the surface, the casual beat of his heart. ]
You’re thinking of them, now. [ her voice is just as casual, just as lulled into their easy companionship. her eyes remain on their hands, and she sounds… relaxed.
it feels like this might be a first for them - talking about this, even when they’ve known otherwise for years. the other people in their circles, those they’ve let in. perhaps it isn’t fair, that she’s making the reach, the magic and presence of her in his thoughts something he must be used to even after their time apart. ] Him.
[ Hm. There she goes, prodding away. He isn't bothered, and it saves him the effort of having to explain precisely who and what is on his mind. Or why. Him indeed. Now that Yen's magic has returned, now that they are no longer so distant, he's sure she has felt the many people that circle his thoughts despite his claims otherwise.
Lately, however, he's found fewer reasons to pretend.
He studies the curve of her lips. ] He was injured in the attack.
[ John is all right, from what Geralt gathers, so he isn't especially worried about that. It is, he thinks, a much simpler desire than worry or fear or anything so terrible: he just wants to see the man. Perhaps he's drawn to the way John bares his heart so unlike anyone else Geralt has been with. It tugs on something within him he had not known could exist with...well, anybody, beyond maybe Ciri. He's grown accustomed to a certain distance, playful or otherwise, that permeates most of his relationships, no matter how close he grows to someone.
And because he cannot read her thoughts in return: ] Have you met?
[ she has. geralt has always been someone with lists of attachments, most kept beyond an arms reach, but many making their way under his skin. she had known of some of them, when they were all in thorne, those years ago, and could assume based on their distanced interactions over time. geralt had many people that circle his thoughts, some yennefer knew and many she did not. still, she does not go searching like she could. only really goes for the one that takes up geralt's thoughts now.
he was injured in the attack and a few more details fall into place. a city guard, a quiet man, a kind of softness she can just barely make out. yennefer is certain she'd seen him around the castle, but to geralt's question, she shakes her head. ]
I did not see much of the city guards. I was more acquainted with the royal ones- particularly Ellya's dedicated ones. [ she shrugs - when she thinks back on her time in the castle, how fully integrated into it she had been and how far distanced she feels to it now, it's difficult to really think about who she had or hadn't known. she went into the city itself from time to time, but not nearly as often as she probably should have. or could have. and now, never will again.
but that's not what they're talking about, so she turns back to the conversation. ]
[ Mm. That would be consistent with how the kingdom operates, he supposes. As far as he knows, John has little to do with the royals and that appears to be how he preferred it. Patrolling the streets and being with his men. Geralt would not deny he'd feel better with John elsewhere, but he understands the need for the familiarity. And Thorne would be far more familiar to John than the Free Cities.
Still. He intends to speak to John about it. So that John can at least have a choice. ]
At the Masquerade. Amongst the Fey. I saw his true face a few weeks later. [ He curls a lock of dark hair around his finger. ] I think I made him nervous.
[ Not because he was a Witcher but because of something far more mundane.
His lips quirk. He gives her hair a gentle tug. ] Have I made you curious?
[ yennefer hums, remembering the masquerade. remember the freedom the masks had given them all, but particularly how much she'd felt it. it had been a good night, all things considered, though the memory of others who she'd attended the event with is suddenly heavier in her chest than it was a moment ago.
I think I made him nervous geralt says, and yennefer's lips turn up, thinking she perhaps knows what it is geralt is referring to. at the tug, yennefer looks up at him, sees the quirk of his own mouth. it is warm, in this room. warm curled up against his side on this threadbare bed.
she sets a hand on his chest, taps with one finger over his heart. ]
I'm always curious as to who makes it in here. [ she is teasing, though only partially. ] And we don't generally have many opportunities to talk about them.
[ It had been a good night. One that fell apart not long after in the hunting woods but perhaps that was only to be expected. They've never been spectacular at keeping things good. This time, it may be different. Geralt should like to think so. It feels different, and it is in part the conversation they are having.
He has seldom spoken to Yennefer about the other parts of his life. She hasn't, either. They've stayed so separate from one another.
He smiles. He wants to wave away her implication, but he doesn't. Instead, he says: ] Then shall I talk about you next?
[ He doesn't wait for her to answer. ]
He's a good man. [ His lips twist wryly. ] A little too good.
[ He does not mean for him; those are not the types of thoughts that Geralt has. He means too good for the world they live in. For the circumstances they find themselves in. ]
[ most of their good nights did no last, just as most of their safe days ended. yennefer had gotten used to those changes, those shifts in their tides. something about this feels different, but she also isn't quite sure yet if it is something she can depend on.
for now - she knows that they have this night. that she has him, in this night. for however long it will last.
he smiles, and she does in turn, the feeling warm and full in her chest. ] You can, if you'd like. I won't stop you.
[ a good man. yennefer...doesn't snort, exactly, but there is something knowing in the sound she makes. a little too good. the two of them have lived too much life and swam through too much shit to forget where too good of people generally end up.
still, there is a kind of pause in him when he says that, and yennefer knows what he doesn't say. ]
[ Frankly, he had not asked nor wondered, which is perhaps a fact Yennefer will not find unusual for Geralt. He seldom wastes his time digging for what he deems frivolous information and for him, it had never made any difference whether John was in Thorne for a month or a year when they met.
Though he does know John was not there for the abductions. (For which he is thankful.) He also knows he first saw John in the Feywilds. That places his arrival somewhere mid-spring of the year before. ]
I'm not sure you'd like him, [ he muses, a playful edge to his tone. ] He might be too courteous for your tastes. Not nearly coarse enough.
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im so sorry for the wait ;;
He kicks off his boots, his trousers. His head lowers. He kisses the curve of her breast, lets his thumb caress it. Her hair cascades over him, and he pushes it back over her shoulders.
Sometimes, there are a hundred memories in her touch; other times, his head goes blank and he can't remember a fucking thing at all. Isn't interested in trying. Right now, it's the latter that overtakes him. His fingers dip between her legs. For a brief moment, he considers picking her up, pinning her to the bed, but he likes where she is, actually. He likes the way she looks up at him beneath the curl of her dark lashes. The long stretch of her neck he can trace with his tongue.
He doesn't waste much more time before he guides himself inside her. He hitches her leg over his hip. If one of the inn's ugly paintings tumbles off the wall, well. Jaskier's gold can replace that later. ]
i will wait forever and more for you c;
and yet in this moment, she laughs, and it fills her ribs like a warm summer air. she is not thinking about the castle, or sidwell, because it feels like for once it won't matter because they are here, where geralt kicks off his boots and wraps his lips around her and yennefer's laugh turns breathy, her voice hitching with the heat of it. he knows her body, just as she knows his, and still this all feels somehow new, somehow exciting.
when his fingers dip into her, yennefer's head falls back against the wall - the thud of her skull hitting wood heard more than felt, but she doesn't care. she arches into it instead, rolls herself down on his hand impatiently, because she knows what he's thinking. knows the options he considers. knows that they have a chance of that now, or perhaps even later, and yennefer lets her hands - nails digging into skin ever so slightly - shift from around his back to his chest, up to his shoulders. it's a good thing he doesn't waste too much time in pressing his mouth to her throat, that he doesn't waste time in pushing himself up into her, because yennefer is just on the brink of doing it herself when she feels him.
her mouth opens in a gasp as he presses in, shifting her hips forward - closer - opening herself up to him. he might be the one who hitches her leg up over his hip, but she's the one who uses it to tug him closer- pressing him the rest of the way into her until their bodies are lined up. the angle has her on her toes, her grip on his shoulders and her leg around his waist holding up most of her weight, until he decides to pick her up the rest of the way. she doesn't even notice the painting, wouldn't even care if she did as it's hardly the last thing that will tumble to the ground tonight. ]
❤️
A sharp gasp escapes him. He slides his hand over her other leg, then hoists her up. She's as light as a feather to him, and as soft as one, too. Her heart thunders between his ears. He thinks of the last time he had her like this. Against the creaky shelves of some ancient, dusty library, maybe, leather tomes tumbling around them. Him, grumbling about the inconvenience of it all afterwards, as he often does.
He is not grumbling about a damn thing now.
His hand braces against the dresser beside them. Sharpened nails extend, leaving deep gouges in the wood. Not a new development, but a new one for her. He's changed some since the last time they were together. Still no horns like she once asked, but...the fangs, yes.
She's changed, as well. In more ways than the physical. There was a time he wondered if he would ever speak to her again. And then—
Perhaps his heart has never been that steeled against her. Perhaps he never wanted it to, even when she'd hurt him the most. He can't say he regrets allowing her back in; a part of him firmly believes she won't ever make him regret it. Not now. Not anymore.
His breathing quickens. He doesn't flush easily, but he's certainly warm, heat rising to the surface. The thick scent of her arousal fills the air. It makes his head spin—equally forgetting and equally not giving a fuck that the walls are thin when he slams his palm against it. He drags his teeth lightly over her earlobe. ]
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yenenfer does not share geralt's inherent quiet, letting her voice rise and tilt, the gasp of breath ease into a moan of pleasure as he begins to move. this, like many other things, had been a strategy she had learned in her many years a sorceress. their body, their beauty, was a power to be used, to be manipulated. but that had never, truly, been the case with geralt. had never had to be. from that first time in the basement of that ruined building and every crossing of paths sense, yennefer feels and lets herself feel, chases, wants. it happens out of her periphery, the claws, the gauges - there's a flicker of surprise deep in her gut, that very quickly flashes hot, and yennefer surges forward to kiss him, feels the sharpness of his teeth, and she wants.
they are both different, though her changes - other than the slight point to her ears, a detail she's grown accustomed to, despite how she all but subconsciously still hides them under the curls of her hair when she's able - aren't as easy to notice. he might feel it, smell it even- the shift in the chaos in the air, the low vibration under her skin. there's no need for her features to be different. if anything, this is one of the few times that yennefer has looked fully, truly like herself since she escaped the castle. there is no slight change to her appearance, no minor alteration. scars and all, she is her, because she wants to give that to geralt, herself.
the kiss breaks, and yennefer lets out another noise - possibly a cry, possibly a moan, possibly a hissed yes, yes- and maybe even the sound of his name. the heat rises between them, the warmth of his skin adding to the searing heat of her own. geralt slams his hand against the wall and she feels the wall shake with it. it pulls another soft laugh from her, her breathing almost as quick as her heartbeat. ]
Geralt, Geralt- [ he doesn't need the warning, but she gives it to him anyway, the fact that she can feel it coming. that they're close, she's close, as her hands dig a little more into the muscle of his arms, his shoulders. she clings to him as much as she can, moving her body with the pace he sets. ]
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It feels possible now.
He drinks in every hitch in her chest, every noise and moan she makes. His fingers squeeze her shoulder, her arm, tangling in her thick dark locks. Maybe he leaves behind a mark or two. He isn't paying attention, seldom feels the need to be overly gentle with Yen, and here, in particular, he's loose and unthinking in a way he almost never is. A breathy sound falls from his lips, her name tumbling in a low grown.
Then he's shuddering, ears ringing and eyes shut. He curses. His skin is slick against hers, and when he finally opens his eyes again, he can see the flush blooming across her chest, across her cheeks. A crooked smile lifts his lips.
This is, he thinks, a reunion well worth waiting for. Well worth a toppled kingdom for.
He cups her cheek, studies the way the moonlight turns her eyes a pale lavender. Her imperfections, inside and out—they're what makes her who she is. He would not ask her to be anything else. (All he'd wanted was that she not throw everything away to be something she didn't need to be.) ]
I missed you. [ Has he said that before? Well, no matter. He has no qualms repeating himself, this once. ]
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she knows that a large part of the distance between them had been her own doing, her own choices. not wholly, not entirely, but enough. and that had led her to dark nights, lonely moments, thinking that maybe she would never find herself here again. would never find him here again, with her. it had been too much to imagine, to impossible a distant.
it does feel possible, now. they feel possible.
geralt squeezes at her shoulder, tangles in her hair, and yennefer feels her own layers slip away. she's always been a combination of them all, of who she is and who she presents, of who she lets others see and who she crafts on top of that. he bites, and as yennefer feels the mark begin to form, feels the pierce of fangs, and yennefer moans - uncaring of the sound of her own voice, of how loud it is and who hears. she digs her own nails into the muscle of geralt's back, his shoulders uncaring of if, or how far, it digs into his skin.
yennefer has never bothered to hide this, or any, side of herself from geralt. never thought it mattered, or was needed. and now, as she feels it build, feels this grow and expand and come to a climax, there isn't any need to pretend otherwise. and then as it's easing, as her chest rises and falls and she comes back to herself, he is there again.
there's a smile, his smile, a crooked tilt to his lips. she smiles back, leans into his hand and smiles back. her body feels loose, her legs holding around his waist and the knowledge that if he wasn't holding her where she was, she would slide straight down to the floor. instead, his voice is low, he says I missed you and yennefer's smile grows, her next breath feeling almost bubbly. ]
I missed you, too. [ her limbs are loose, barely connected, but with enough energy, with enough willpower, she lifts her hands to his face and cups both sides of his jaw. she leans her face forward - pressing her forehead to his.
she doesn't notice, if he has repeated himself. if anything, she repeats herself, too. ] I missed you.
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Then he carries her to the bed, sprawling atop of it himself afterwards. He's bedded many, loved a handful here and back home—including those who, for reasons that are difficult to put in words, were not meant to be—but Yennefer has been the only one who's drawn him back into her circle time and again. Perhaps that's why he'd been so uncertain at the start, leaving each time the pull was too strong. A trepidation he seldom feels with anyone else. The realization that she is, maybe, the sole person he was afraid could break his heart.
And then she had.
He supposes they both did it to each other.
His hand rests on the flat of her stomach. She's warm beneath the roughness of his palm. The last true memory he has of them together is Thanedd. Before it all went to shit—that'd been...good. And for a moment, he worries how quickly things will go to shit now. It seems to be a pattern with them (with him, really, more than anything). There's more he should be doing than fucking waiting.
A problem for tomorrow. ]
I have something for you. [ He curls a finger over the pendant she wears. ] Remind me afterwards.
[ It isn't especially sentimental. It is useful. ]
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but they always came back together, in the end. no matter how far he traveled, so matter the decisions she would make, no matter how much pain they had the ability to inflict on each other, she chooses this.
as does he, apparently.
he carries her to the bed and when he sets her upon it, she stretches - feeling the ease and warmth of a good fuck settling in her muscles. he sprawls next to her, his hand on her stomach, and she lifts one of her own hands - trailing her fingertips along the back of his hand, over his knuckles, the knicks and bumps of scars. there's no real purpose in the movement of her fingertips over his skin, yennefer instead choosing to simply enjoy the quiet, the still. she is thinking of thanedd too - of the time they'd had to simply be, the anxious energy of a plan executed to the best of their ability, despite what would soon follow.
when geralt speaks, it is low, a tone she hasn't heard in some time. she looks down to her pendant, where his finger curls around it, and she feels her brow lift. ]
A gift? [ geralt is very rarely sentimental, so the idea of something else catches her interest. she shifts, arching her back a bit to more easily turn onto her side to face him. memories flash through her mind at the sight, seeing him settled in bed, relaxed - if only for a few moments. ] I'm starting to feel under-prepared.
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If you want to call it that. [ His answer is unhurried. He makes no move to retrieve it with any haste. Only when the position of his leg forces him to shift his weight regardless does he finally roll onto his other side and reach beneath the bed for a small leather pouch.
He lays back on the bed and places it between them. Ingredients, as she requested. They are portioned into small jars, vials, and tins—a collection of herbs and monster bits he's gathered throughout the month. There is, equally, a few jars not obtained by his hand but rather a friend. The handwriting labelling those are distinctly more feminine than the rest.
As she surmised: not the most sentimental of gifts. He might occasionally have his whimsy—little carvings here or there—but they never end up in Yennefer's hands as they did his other lovers, not even in their long dreamlike decades together. Perhaps it simply feels as though the depth between them goes beyond such gestures.
There were many letters, however. ]
Nadine Cross passed a few items along. [ Up until a few weeks ago, neither he nor Nadine realized the connection between them. He supposes that's no surprise when it comes to they three, private as they are. ]
Said she owed you one. [ His lips curl into a tease. ] I didn't know the great sorceress of Thorne herself was making friends.
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she's on no real timeline. she is here for this, for this easy, calm, relaxed, time with geralt. so she doesn't push, doesn't ask again, just watches him with a small smile curling at her mouth.
but in time he does decide to move, and she sits up just a bit to watch as he reaches over to retrieve something from under the bed. it is only when the bag is set between them that yennefer sits up even further, pulling the bag into her lap as she gives geralt a curious look. it's only when she pulls it open and sees the jars does she let out a laugh - partially surprised, also partially not at all.
she pulls out a couple of the jars, looking through them with a sort of young, bubbly excitement. ingredients she hasn't seen in weeks, and some she hasn't seen at all. she pauses when she pulls out a jar with a label and clean, curled handwriting, and she turns to geralt with a questioning look just as he answers her. nadine cross. ]
I came across her in the Horizon, first. She was sitting in the midst of a garden, surrounded by flowers. [ yennefer continues looking through the bag, that lightness, that young excitement still somewhere on the surface.
part of her wonders if she needs to say it, or if the words are obvious without the air to guide them. she reminded me of triss. yennefer is quiet for a moment, thinking about that day, how she'd felt stepping into that overgrown place, and then she moves on. ]
She made some comment that no one in that barbaric desert of yours could teach her alchemy. [ it is a joke, a teasing curl to her own mouth, even if there is more than just a little truth to it. ] I've been giving her some lessons, a little more guidance than what she can find there.
[ she finishes searching through the bottles, closes the bag and sets it aside. she smiles at geralt again before leaning over and kissing him, gently, softly. it says something that he may not have given her anything overtly sentimental, and yet she is perhaps more pleased with what she did receive. ]
I should be impressed that you're making friends. [ a beat, and then a kind of softening. ] Though I'm not. Or rather- not surprised.
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Yes. That does indeed sound like Nadine. He found her quite differently, haunted by the absence of her memories and the lost children she could not recall but felt were there. It was an unusual place for both of them to be. It's good, he thinks. To know that Nadine and Yennefer have become friends, of sorts.
Yen need not say it. He sees it, too. Her affinity for healing and teaching. It reminds him of Triss. He supposes that's why, ever since, he's felt something quietly protective over Nadine. ]
Here and there. [ Acquaintances, allies, connections. There are not many he would call friends out loud, but he can admit that his attachments have grown throughout his time here. It is the nature, maybe, of being in one place, with the same people, day in and out. He has not ever had that experience until this place. Until this foreign world that's steadily become more home than the Continent was.
A few quiet moments pass. His hand rests on hers, their fingers curling together. He glances at the window, weighing when he should tell Yennefer that he has another he needs to see to. He's reluctant to leave her, but...John is important, as well. He's made his promises. ]
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they’ve each settled into something they could almost call a life, something they might almost consider theirs, were it not their understanding of how quickly these things could be taken from them. yennefer, in just the last week or so, has had much of what she would have considered her life striped from under her very feet, if not for the people. if not for her people.
(she chooses not to think of those she’s lost- of how even triss had once been here, nevermind the countless others they’ve watched disappear. it doesn’t help her, in this moment, to acknowledge the things they’ve lost, whether shared or separate. )
but yennefer does snort, at his words. here and there. she knows the truth, the things he doesn’t say. the breadth of what she assumes is his family, his group, his people. she watches him grow quiet even now, studies the likes of his jaw, his neck. their hands are intertwined, but she decides that isn’t quite close enough, shifting so that her head is set against his shoulder, her body pressed to his side. she feels, slow and low and deep beneath the surface, the casual beat of his heart. ]
You’re thinking of them, now. [ her voice is just as casual, just as lulled into their easy companionship. her eyes remain on their hands, and she sounds… relaxed.
it feels like this might be a first for them - talking about this, even when they’ve known otherwise for years. the other people in their circles, those they’ve let in. perhaps it isn’t fair, that she’s making the reach, the magic and presence of her in his thoughts something he must be used to even after their time apart. ] Him.
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Lately, however, he's found fewer reasons to pretend.
He studies the curve of her lips. ] He was injured in the attack.
[ John is all right, from what Geralt gathers, so he isn't especially worried about that. It is, he thinks, a much simpler desire than worry or fear or anything so terrible: he just wants to see the man. Perhaps he's drawn to the way John bares his heart so unlike anyone else Geralt has been with. It tugs on something within him he had not known could exist with...well, anybody, beyond maybe Ciri. He's grown accustomed to a certain distance, playful or otherwise, that permeates most of his relationships, no matter how close he grows to someone.
And because he cannot read her thoughts in return: ] Have you met?
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he was injured in the attack and a few more details fall into place. a city guard, a quiet man, a kind of softness she can just barely make out. yennefer is certain she'd seen him around the castle, but to geralt's question, she shakes her head. ]
I did not see much of the city guards. I was more acquainted with the royal ones- particularly Ellya's dedicated ones. [ she shrugs - when she thinks back on her time in the castle, how fully integrated into it she had been and how far distanced she feels to it now, it's difficult to really think about who she had or hadn't known. she went into the city itself from time to time, but not nearly as often as she probably should have. or could have. and now, never will again.
but that's not what they're talking about, so she turns back to the conversation. ]
Where did you meet him?
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Still. He intends to speak to John about it. So that John can at least have a choice. ]
At the Masquerade. Amongst the Fey. I saw his true face a few weeks later. [ He curls a lock of dark hair around his finger. ] I think I made him nervous.
[ Not because he was a Witcher but because of something far more mundane.
His lips quirk. He gives her hair a gentle tug. ] Have I made you curious?
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I think I made him nervous geralt says, and yennefer's lips turn up, thinking she perhaps knows what it is geralt is referring to. at the tug, yennefer looks up at him, sees the quirk of his own mouth. it is warm, in this room. warm curled up against his side on this threadbare bed.
she sets a hand on his chest, taps with one finger over his heart. ]
I'm always curious as to who makes it in here. [ she is teasing, though only partially. ] And we don't generally have many opportunities to talk about them.
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He has seldom spoken to Yennefer about the other parts of his life. She hasn't, either. They've stayed so separate from one another.
He smiles. He wants to wave away her implication, but he doesn't. Instead, he says: ] Then shall I talk about you next?
[ He doesn't wait for her to answer. ]
He's a good man. [ His lips twist wryly. ] A little too good.
[ He does not mean for him; those are not the types of thoughts that Geralt has. He means too good for the world they live in. For the circumstances they find themselves in. ]
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for now - she knows that they have this night. that she has him, in this night. for however long it will last.
he smiles, and she does in turn, the feeling warm and full in her chest. ] You can, if you'd like. I won't stop you.
[ a good man. yennefer...doesn't snort, exactly, but there is something knowing in the sound she makes. a little too good. the two of them have lived too much life and swam through too much shit to forget where too good of people generally end up.
still, there is a kind of pause in him when he says that, and yennefer knows what he doesn't say. ]
How long has he been in the castle?
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[ Frankly, he had not asked nor wondered, which is perhaps a fact Yennefer will not find unusual for Geralt. He seldom wastes his time digging for what he deems frivolous information and for him, it had never made any difference whether John was in Thorne for a month or a year when they met.
Though he does know John was not there for the abductions. (For which he is thankful.) He also knows he first saw John in the Feywilds. That places his arrival somewhere mid-spring of the year before. ]
I'm not sure you'd like him, [ he muses, a playful edge to his tone. ] He might be too courteous for your tastes. Not nearly coarse enough.