[ it's always been a fragile thing - this time they have together, the things that are said between them. yennefer, who had grown thorns and barbs and mountains between her and anyone who could hurt her, who finds herself slipping back. geralt, who she knows prefers the quiet, unspoken silences of him and roach, who she has seen come unraveled, who talks and talks and talks, just for her to listen. they are parts of him she holds close, and parts of her she only shows to him, and that - that realization - is as terrifying as it is small.
a flicker of something that could be more. a suggestion, of something they could have, if they took it. if the rest of their lives didn't get in the way. ( a dream she barely even lets herself conceptualize, even in the darkest of nights. )
he hums, an acceptance, and she can feel it reverberate off of him. can feel it vibrating through her by their proximity alone. when he speaks, his voice is the same low gravel tones she's come to hear in her own head, a cadence she knows well, almost in spite of their crossing in and out of each other's lives. a part of her still lingers on the darker parts - the wish, the lies, the way he'd left, the way she'd acted in return - but this tent, his body, the realization of how much it is not just her who yearns for that thin, unlikely promise of their paths crossing, once more - she doesn't want to linger on those darker times. doesn't want to pull away from him. doesn't want this, whatever this is going to end up being, to end.
his truth flashes a bigger smile from her, something she can feel even in her cheeks. ] That almost sounds like a compliment, Geralt. I just nearly felt myself blush. [ it's a joke, light and playful as she shifts closer to him. as her hands start to travel, as her mind wanders too. to him, to them, to what he means when he says the only mage. it all gets derailed when she finds the token, when her fingers brush over imagined metal, stones, words.
her eyes are still on it, when his question is asked, and she can hear the honesty in his words. can feel it, as he watches her. ] I- [ did she? had she been hoping he found it, after that night? after the things she'd said? the person she'd been around him? the person he'd seen? her fingers run over the carvings, feel the distant warmth of him from where it sat between his chest and the wolf medallion. what she feels, now, isn't as simple as that, though. what she feels is the knowledge that he had either been wearing it when this meeting had first begun, unaware of where they would be by the end of it, or he'd produced it after the fact. had thought about it, had created it, had known the details well enough to have it hidden, but with him. it's not as simple as if she'd hoped, but rather something deeper, something a bit more all-consuming. something strong enough to take her off her feet, even as she lays on her side.
her eyes lift to his, trying to find the words. because it would be easy to say you must have, since you received my note, easy to push it off to pretend like she knew he would, like she knew him well enough even when she hadn't remembered him at all. but it wouldn't have been the whole truth, and something about not sharing the whole truth in this moment feels wrong. ]
Yes. [ she says, finally, setting the two medallions back down to where they hang from his neck. yes, she says, as she shifts to move a bit further up, to be eye to eye with him, to press closer to him as her hands moved to each side of his face, cupping his jaw, setting her forehead against his own so that he is looking at her - and her him - when she smiles. when she speaks up again. ] I'm glad you did. [ the words threaten to overtake her, the need for him to know. and you are important to me. how, in spite of all that they have said, all that they have done, in direct opposition to her callous, even words in that throne room or the anger he's seen in her too, directed back.
what's reflected in her eyes now is different - something warmer, yes, but also just. something else. ]
It's yours, after all.
[ and then she kisses him. again. as if the words both said, and unsaid, could be better communicated by lips alone. ]
no subject
a flicker of something that could be more. a suggestion, of something they could have, if they took it. if the rest of their lives didn't get in the way. ( a dream she barely even lets herself conceptualize, even in the darkest of nights. )
he hums, an acceptance, and she can feel it reverberate off of him. can feel it vibrating through her by their proximity alone. when he speaks, his voice is the same low gravel tones she's come to hear in her own head, a cadence she knows well, almost in spite of their crossing in and out of each other's lives. a part of her still lingers on the darker parts - the wish, the lies, the way he'd left, the way she'd acted in return - but this tent, his body, the realization of how much it is not just her who yearns for that thin, unlikely promise of their paths crossing, once more - she doesn't want to linger on those darker times. doesn't want to pull away from him. doesn't want this, whatever this is going to end up being, to end.
his truth flashes a bigger smile from her, something she can feel even in her cheeks. ] That almost sounds like a compliment, Geralt. I just nearly felt myself blush. [ it's a joke, light and playful as she shifts closer to him. as her hands start to travel, as her mind wanders too. to him, to them, to what he means when he says the only mage. it all gets derailed when she finds the token, when her fingers brush over imagined metal, stones, words.
her eyes are still on it, when his question is asked, and she can hear the honesty in his words. can feel it, as he watches her. ] I- [ did she? had she been hoping he found it, after that night? after the things she'd said? the person she'd been around him? the person he'd seen? her fingers run over the carvings, feel the distant warmth of him from where it sat between his chest and the wolf medallion. what she feels, now, isn't as simple as that, though. what she feels is the knowledge that he had either been wearing it when this meeting had first begun, unaware of where they would be by the end of it, or he'd produced it after the fact. had thought about it, had created it, had known the details well enough to have it hidden, but with him. it's not as simple as if she'd hoped, but rather something deeper, something a bit more all-consuming. something strong enough to take her off her feet, even as she lays on her side.
her eyes lift to his, trying to find the words. because it would be easy to say you must have, since you received my note, easy to push it off to pretend like she knew he would, like she knew him well enough even when she hadn't remembered him at all. but it wouldn't have been the whole truth, and something about not sharing the whole truth in this moment feels wrong. ]
Yes. [ she says, finally, setting the two medallions back down to where they hang from his neck. yes, she says, as she shifts to move a bit further up, to be eye to eye with him, to press closer to him as her hands moved to each side of his face, cupping his jaw, setting her forehead against his own so that he is looking at her - and her him - when she smiles. when she speaks up again. ] I'm glad you did. [ the words threaten to overtake her, the need for him to know. and you are important to me. how, in spite of all that they have said, all that they have done, in direct opposition to her callous, even words in that throne room or the anger he's seen in her too, directed back.
what's reflected in her eyes now is different - something warmer, yes, but also just. something else. ]
It's yours, after all.
[ and then she kisses him. again. as if the words both said, and unsaid, could be better communicated by lips alone. ]