[ there will always be that fear, she knows that. after the time she spent with istredd and what he did to her, she's not sure she'll ever be able to let herself feel like this without some of that shadow alongside. but she supposes that is what makes this real (wish or not, half-faded memories of a girl she isn't any longer still clinging to her, to this). yennefer wonders if there's something she should be more concerned about, if there is something she is missing.
perhaps those are worries for later. because for now, much like he had just a few moments before, she lets herself unspool. in his arms, on his lap, his lips pressed against his own. she feels herself relaxing, feels bits and pieces of the carefully constructed armor she's held so tightly too since arriving in that dungeon, falling away.
because geralt knows, doesn't he? the decisions she's been making, the steps she's taken, who she is in this space and in every other. she's not been anything but herself around him - all the ugly edges, the scarred wrists, the anger, the broken pieces healed back wrong - and he might be one of the only ones.
he tilts her up to him, and something warm and wanting curls at her gut. she's missed this, missed him, and when he breaks the kiss, she's not quite ready for it to end, her lips brushing across his cheek, pressing her nose to his temple. at the sound of his voice she pulls back enough to see him, enough for him to see her brighten, laugh once. ]
My bed? [ she portals them - quick, like a wink - and the laughter is still lingering as they come out on the bed, itself. she doesn't change much about their positions, instead bringing them so that he is now sitting at the edge of the bed (a mirror image, of that one on the mountain. the same wood. the same sheets. maybe they will still smell like them, still smell of the candles burning low in the room.) with her still in his lap, one of her arms around his shoulders.
as they fall the remaining inch or so, bouncing once on the feathered mattress, yennefer leans in low - her voice a brush of a whisper against the shell of his ear. ] Why don't you tell me?
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perhaps those are worries for later. because for now, much like he had just a few moments before, she lets herself unspool. in his arms, on his lap, his lips pressed against his own. she feels herself relaxing, feels bits and pieces of the carefully constructed armor she's held so tightly too since arriving in that dungeon, falling away.
because geralt knows, doesn't he? the decisions she's been making, the steps she's taken, who she is in this space and in every other. she's not been anything but herself around him - all the ugly edges, the scarred wrists, the anger, the broken pieces healed back wrong - and he might be one of the only ones.
he tilts her up to him, and something warm and wanting curls at her gut. she's missed this, missed him, and when he breaks the kiss, she's not quite ready for it to end, her lips brushing across his cheek, pressing her nose to his temple. at the sound of his voice she pulls back enough to see him, enough for him to see her brighten, laugh once. ]
My bed? [ she portals them - quick, like a wink - and the laughter is still lingering as they come out on the bed, itself. she doesn't change much about their positions, instead bringing them so that he is now sitting at the edge of the bed (a mirror image, of that one on the mountain. the same wood. the same sheets. maybe they will still smell like them, still smell of the candles burning low in the room.) with her still in his lap, one of her arms around his shoulders.
as they fall the remaining inch or so, bouncing once on the feathered mattress, yennefer leans in low - her voice a brush of a whisper against the shell of his ear. ] Why don't you tell me?