[ It's difficult to explain, what and why he does and does not carry with him into the Horizon. A combination of practicality, of not wanting to ignore his wounds, of simply suspecting that they will creep back as time goes on within this place no matter what he does—his focus is still not entirely here, too much of his subconscious leaking through.
He has not told Yen of the basement which formed underneath Kaer Morhen. (Should he?)
There's a blink as her fingers trail down his chest. He swallows as he watches her, waiting. His expression is guarded, but not wary. Just. Uncertain, perhaps, of what he's looking for, what he expects from her. Maybe nothing. Maybe he will know when he sees it—and then he does. The warmth of her magic, the murmur of familiar words in Elder as she heals him. He allows it. His hand curls around her wrist, following her hand where it will go.
It's not that he wants to forget or that he wants to ignore that the pain exists—and she will find that as she closes the open wounds on his back, they don't disappear but instead form the same thick scars that will occur when he finally heals out in the world. He allows it because she needs it. They both need it, this gesture of healing and comfort. Because that's all it is in the end. A gesture. But he knows better than anyone the power a gesture can have, how much it can mean. She's offering herself, reaching out, and he's letting her in that much more. It's all by inches, but for him, for them, those inches may as well be miles.
He tips his head for her, pushes her dress up so he can grip her thigh. He helps her wrap around him, pulls her close. His forehead brushes hers. Every part of her is intimately familiar to him. His lips find that spot on her body he knows will make her breath hitch and a quiet wanting noise of his own slips. ]
no subject
He has not told Yen of the basement which formed underneath Kaer Morhen. (Should he?)
There's a blink as her fingers trail down his chest. He swallows as he watches her, waiting. His expression is guarded, but not wary. Just. Uncertain, perhaps, of what he's looking for, what he expects from her. Maybe nothing. Maybe he will know when he sees it—and then he does. The warmth of her magic, the murmur of familiar words in Elder as she heals him. He allows it. His hand curls around her wrist, following her hand where it will go.
It's not that he wants to forget or that he wants to ignore that the pain exists—and she will find that as she closes the open wounds on his back, they don't disappear but instead form the same thick scars that will occur when he finally heals out in the world. He allows it because she needs it. They both need it, this gesture of healing and comfort. Because that's all it is in the end. A gesture. But he knows better than anyone the power a gesture can have, how much it can mean. She's offering herself, reaching out, and he's letting her in that much more. It's all by inches, but for him, for them, those inches may as well be miles.
He tips his head for her, pushes her dress up so he can grip her thigh. He helps her wrap around him, pulls her close. His forehead brushes hers. Every part of her is intimately familiar to him. His lips find that spot on her body he knows will make her breath hitch and a quiet wanting noise of his own slips. ]