[ He isn't hurried, either. He's still lingering on the kiss when Yen settles into his lap. His arm curls around her, under her, automatically—and her wince only draws a slight furrow between his brows. He wants her close, too. He leans back on the bed: at ease, not seeking anything in particular beyond her touch.
(He has not missed the way she never fails to search for her pendant on his chain. As though she fears one day, she will not find it. Geralt does not reassure her he's no plans of ever removing it—he simply lets her look, lets her find it and feel that reassurance on her own each time. Perhaps some part of him needs the reassurance of her looking, too. That gesture which tells him it remains important to her that he hasn't taken it off. That she wants to know he still has it.
It's good, he thinks, to feel that trust grow between them again.) ]
Mm. Information. Are we conspiring across borders now? [ He's teasing, but there's a novelty to how he says it, too. Neither of them have had borders. Him even less so than her; a Witcher's only border is what town that night will or will not allow him in. Until this place. This world that's forced them behind gates and invisible walls.
But that's a thought for later. For now, he focuses on what's more pressing: the silk that drapes over her body. Geralt reaches behind her and tugs on one of the laces, pulling loose a ribbon holding her bodice together. ]
no subject
(He has not missed the way she never fails to search for her pendant on his chain. As though she fears one day, she will not find it. Geralt does not reassure her he's no plans of ever removing it—he simply lets her look, lets her find it and feel that reassurance on her own each time. Perhaps some part of him needs the reassurance of her looking, too. That gesture which tells him it remains important to her that he hasn't taken it off. That she wants to know he still has it.
It's good, he thinks, to feel that trust grow between them again.) ]
Mm. Information. Are we conspiring across borders now? [ He's teasing, but there's a novelty to how he says it, too. Neither of them have had borders. Him even less so than her; a Witcher's only border is what town that night will or will not allow him in. Until this place. This world that's forced them behind gates and invisible walls.
But that's a thought for later. For now, he focuses on what's more pressing: the silk that drapes over her body. Geralt reaches behind her and tugs on one of the laces, pulling loose a ribbon holding her bodice together. ]