[ his hand curls around her wrist, and yennefer does not tense under the feeling of his fingers along her scars. she knows he has seen them, knows - in some way - he must understand. whether it was the girl he met in his room or any of the times before that, when it had been real and it had been them and it had ended too early, too abrupt. he knows these scars of hers, but has not pressed beyond that, and yennefer doesn’t quite have the words for how important that is.
he lets her hand wander, lets her relearn the feel of him under her touch, while his lips travel down the length of her neck. she wants to melt under the feeling of him, wants to meld into the shape he wants to find, adjusting to help as he goes about undoing the laces of the back of her dress. yennefer knows she could simply wish the dress away, knows that in the horizon these things are possible, but something about how easy it is for him to work at the laces of her, how quickly he goes about unraveling, undressing, bearing down.
( it too terrifying a thought - how safe she feels with him. safe both in the outside intrusion sort of way, but also safe to be her. without pretense, without walls. safe, to simply be with him, even as they lay thousands of miles apart. )
geralt lifts her, at some point. encourages her to lay back, so that he might lean over her, and yennefer goes. finds that tonight she would do just about anything, if he asked it if her. for him, for this, for this feeling of warmth seeping through her to last just a bit longer. he lays her back and she goes, he leans over her and draws a calloused thumb across her lip, and she parts her lips for him. he leans down and presses his forehead to her own, and yennefer stares up at him, taking the chance to see him. to watch him drink her in, watch him breathe.
yennefer let’s that be enough, for a few silent moments. let’s them be enough, until she feels the sudden urge to speak. her hand lifts to cup his cheek, her thumb rubbing across the like of his cheek bone, her eyes - for these next few moments - suddenly very intent. ]
I missed you. [ she says at first - because it is the truth, because until this moment it has remained so. but she also realizes that without context, it could fall flat, and with a sort of soft desperation she keeps speaking. ] That last night in Sodden, before the Nilgaardian army attacked; I thought of you. Missed you. I… [ i thought i’d never see you again. but she can’t bring voice to the words, somehow. doesn’t know if that’s actually the point she’s trying to get him to understand. whether he looks back to her or not, yennefer’s eyes search his face - for some answer, for some goal she’s been after for so long. if he’s watching, he’ll see the flicker of fear in her eyes - the barest flash of something, a hint, a brush. she swallows, her thumb idly running back and forth across his cheek - needing the touch, needing him to ground her.
finally, yennefer closes her eyes, her voice soft. quiet. like she’s not quite sure she wants it verbalized at all. ] I thought I was going to die, that day. I was prepared for it. [ she swallows, glad for the press of his forehead against her own. glad for that one place of grounding. ] And I- I honestly thought I did, when I first arrived here. That Sodden had been my end. That the last time I saw you had been the mountainside…
no subject
he lets her hand wander, lets her relearn the feel of him under her touch, while his lips travel down the length of her neck. she wants to melt under the feeling of him, wants to meld into the shape he wants to find, adjusting to help as he goes about undoing the laces of the back of her dress. yennefer knows she could simply wish the dress away, knows that in the horizon these things are possible, but something about how easy it is for him to work at the laces of her, how quickly he goes about unraveling, undressing, bearing down.
( it too terrifying a thought - how safe she feels with him. safe both in the outside intrusion sort of way, but also safe to be her. without pretense, without walls. safe, to simply be with him, even as they lay thousands of miles apart. )
geralt lifts her, at some point. encourages her to lay back, so that he might lean over her, and yennefer goes. finds that tonight she would do just about anything, if he asked it if her. for him, for this, for this feeling of warmth seeping through her to last just a bit longer. he lays her back and she goes, he leans over her and draws a calloused thumb across her lip, and she parts her lips for him. he leans down and presses his forehead to her own, and yennefer stares up at him, taking the chance to see him. to watch him drink her in, watch him breathe.
yennefer let’s that be enough, for a few silent moments. let’s them be enough, until she feels the sudden urge to speak. her hand lifts to cup his cheek, her thumb rubbing across the like of his cheek bone, her eyes - for these next few moments - suddenly very intent. ]
I missed you. [ she says at first - because it is the truth, because until this moment it has remained so. but she also realizes that without context, it could fall flat, and with a sort of soft desperation she keeps speaking. ] That last night in Sodden, before the Nilgaardian army attacked; I thought of you. Missed you. I… [ i thought i’d never see you again. but she can’t bring voice to the words, somehow. doesn’t know if that’s actually the point she’s trying to get him to understand. whether he looks back to her or not, yennefer’s eyes search his face - for some answer, for some goal she’s been after for so long. if he’s watching, he’ll see the flicker of fear in her eyes - the barest flash of something, a hint, a brush. she swallows, her thumb idly running back and forth across his cheek - needing the touch, needing him to ground her.
finally, yennefer closes her eyes, her voice soft. quiet. like she’s not quite sure she wants it verbalized at all. ] I thought I was going to die, that day. I was prepared for it. [ she swallows, glad for the press of his forehead against her own. glad for that one place of grounding. ] And I- I honestly thought I did, when I first arrived here. That Sodden had been my end. That the last time I saw you had been the mountainside…
[ that it was over. ]