abraxaslogs | [ OPEN / CLOSED ] i think i found a way to kill the sun

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[ OPEN / CLOSED ] i think i found a way to kill the sun

Who: Geralt + Various
When: December
Where: Cadens, Horizon
What: Some catching up now that he's home
Warnings: Discussion of trauma; nsfw marked

(( placing starters in the comments below. find me at

discontinued or at Noa#1979 to plot stuff! ))

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[ his head lifts to her, his hand on her hip, and yennefer watches the small smile spread across his face. small, barely there, but it’s geralt. geralt, who looks at her with those eyes. geralt, who smiles, and yennefer. can’t help but smile back. who can’t help but settle a bit more comfortably where she sits on his leg.

there is a moment where she wonders if it’s worth it - worth saying it, worth speaking aloud, worth breaking what she had always known what is between them to be. but maybe that is what this is all about. maybe that is why they’re here at all. to change that, to offer herself up to that unknown edge.

geralt’s lips turn up in a smile, a joke somewhere in that rough voice of his, and yennefer feels like she can laugh a bit, can smile. ]

I will always recognize you, Witcher. I don’t need your horse’s smell for that.

[ it’s the truth, which is probably the scariest part. he relaxes under her hands and she melts into the open spaces in turn, finds her place in the crevices he leaves open for her. with him. with this newfound agreement between them. it’s a new feeling, that she can be here and that she can just breathe, and that even with everything else that’s happened over the last two years - with the wish, with sodden, with what lies before them both and what will be ahead of them when they return to their paths - maybe, just maybe, they will at least have this.

he reaches up and runs his thumb across her cheek, and yennefer relaxes under it. under his hands. under his eyes. he looks up at her like maybe this can be enough, maybe she. and he, can be enough for now. (it won’t be, and she knows that - he has ciri, to protect and to keep and to watch over, and she…maybe she can too)

yennefer kisses him back, once their lips brush. soft, at first, accepting all the things he doesn’t say aloud, but also all that he offers in the kiss. she takes it, and then kisses back in kind, her hand moving to his cheek with a bit more that a gentle brush. she wants him to stay - here, with her, now. and that is what she says to him back, in her own kiss. the things she won’t say because she knows he doesn’t want to hear them, but also that he knows she won’t say aloud, anyway. ]

[ The last time she'd smiled at him, it'd been shadowed by the knowledge of what was missing. Of her absent past. Here, finally, he sees it without any of that. It's just Yennefer, yielding to him, and it no longer feels so fragile as it once had, this thing between them.

(Part of him is still afraid, though. To want this much.)

He knows it's not ever so simple. Not ever so easy. He knows when he leaves this plane, he will not be free from what haunts him and neither will she. That's not how it works. The regrets and hurts will linger, always. But there are small moments they can have, where they can start to move on; he'll take them where he can, when he can. Isn't that the best they can hope for? For a chance to keep moving along their paths, together? His thumb traces down to her jaw, her chin, tilting it up for more. He breaks apart only when he feels the chair digging into places not near comfortable.

He breathes out. His eyebrow lifts. ]

How's your bed? [ Nicer than what he has out there, he's sure. ]

[ 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?

[ His breath catches, surprised in the way only she can do to him. The mattress bounces beneath them, soft, silk sheets. She can do that here, teleport them like it's nothing, without leaving his insides lurching, and he curls his arm around her waist. He's missed that, too. Her magic.

He remembers. Of course he remembers. It should hurt, this scene, taking them back to how thing had been before. Before Villentretenmerth spoke to them, before she pushed him away, before he pushed everyone else away in turn. It should, and maybe some part of it does, but the warmth is there, too, in the memory that lines every edge. His medallion dangles, her small charm clinking against his heavier silver pendant. For someone of importance.

He wonders if she thinks about it. If she has wondered this entire time if he's found it, seen it, what he's done with it. If she will notice that he's wearing it now. He wonders if she realizes it doesn't matter where they are, how their paths come together or diverge or if years and years may pass between them. She will always be important to him. The one thing that will never change.

He kisses her jaw, her throat, where the band of her necklace sits. ] Familiar. [ His eyes glint with a tease. ] Have we been here before?

[ she does love the sound of that - of catching him off guard, of his breath caught in the magic of it. it's a silly thought, really, but something about that alone excites her. catching him, surprising him. it makes her feel young (if that's even really possible), almost playful. the mattress bounces under them and geralt tenses for that moment and yennefer's smile widens.

using her magic was always like this - easy, simple, as much a part of her as breathing. the horizon provides for that unlimited access to chaos, and even with tissaia's voice in the back of her head - don't waste chaos on things like this - yennefer knows she can. knows she can afford to.

and while she doesn't necessarily notice the charm just yet, that doesn't mean she won't. that doesn't mean she might not look for it, when the candles run a bit lower, when they're curled up in the sheets together. because she's thought about it - equally in embarrassment for who she'd been that night and in curiosity, if it had been found, if he would even care to...care to what?

his lips move from her jaw to her neck, the stubble of his jaw nearly sending a shiver through her, and yennefer just...lets herself keep smiling. moves, though not far from him, to adjust how she sits - now moving to come astride him, her knees on the mattress on either side of his thighs. she also leans her head, moves her hair to on side, opens up more skin of her neck for him. for his mouth. ]

Hmmmm. [ the hum is content, catching the glint in his eyes. it sends a sort of heat her through - being here, being here with him, seeing that look from him. it feels like it's been years, lifetimes, since a moment felt this easy. she chooses to let it happen. ] Perhaps. [ there is a brief moment where her one hand moves to his chest, fingers splayed out flat across his pectoral, and she considers pushing him down onto the mattress. it is only a brief moment, because before she can, she remembers the throne room.

and so, instead of shoving back against him, her hand wanders. across his chest, up to his neck, back into his hair. it nearly feels like she's learning what all of this feels like again, like some part of her hadn't, really, thought she'd be here again. and that part feels hungry at the opportunity to. after that moment, her hand tugs at his hair, pulling him away from wherever it is his lips might have traveled, her eyes fluttering down to his mouth and then to his eyes, that smile, that curl to her mouth, lingering even now. ]

But you might also find I've made some adjustments.

[ His fingers curl around her wrist where her palm rests against his chest, wraps with ease around the slim bone. Her scars are raised beneath. Familiar, as much as his own. He's learned the grooves of them. (He's learned the grooves of all her unseen scars. Glimpsed more of them in the Horizon, with her shifting features, and he understands. He does.)

He lets her hands wander, bury in his hair. When she tilts her head, he takes the invitation and trails his lips further down, towards where the curve of her neck meets her shoulder. He reaches behind, tugging on the laces he finds there, undoing them until her dress loosens and he can push it off to bare more of her skin. He's more careful with his movements, hitching her up, careful not to disturb the still healing marks on his back. But he does lift her, arms underneath to encourage her to lay back. And if she does, he will lean over her, one hand cupping her face. His thumb traces her lips. The gentle curl to its edges.

(Is he giving himself over too quickly? There's more he's yet to ask, more they've yet to talk about. But he's so tired of heavy clouds plaguing his every thought, his every action, and he wants to put it behind him. All the blood and terror that grips his memories at night. He wants to be okay again, and he wants her to be all right, too.)

Adjustments, she says. He only raises an eyebrow at that. She will show him, he's certain, soon enough. For a moment, his forehead rests against hers. He breathes her in, memorizes all over again her eyes, the violet glow under candlelight. He wants to not be separated by a vast swathe of mountains and rivers, but at least they can have this. At least they can be here, away from prying eyes. ]

[ 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…

[ that it was over. ]

Edited 2021-12-25 09:21 (UTC)

[ Bent over, their lips meet again. His eyes close and for once, the splashes of red and rusted chains are less vivid. Her scent fills the air instead, fills his head, and he sinks into it. Into what is familiar and warm. He ignores the sting on his back to curve over her as her hand rests on his cheek.

Missed you. He nearly says he did, too. Missed her. She keeps talking, though, and he lets her. His brows draw together. Sodden. She had never really told him about Sodden. They'd only spoken of it briefly—her wrapped up in her anger, him wrapped up in his worry and fear for Cirilla. For all of them. He'd been so fucking thrown by Yennefer's appearance. Especially after the Horizon, after that first time. That life he still thinks about. It will always stay with him, he knows, even with the understanding that none of it was real. But he lived it and the realization that Ciri was not...that had been real. How he felt upon returning to the world.

He stares down at her. He'd never thought, not once, that she'd...somehow, in his mind, he wanted to believe she was fine. She'd appeared here, after all. Injured, but not fatally so. Still herself. Whole.

He does not want to dwell on what-ifs or tragedies that didn't come to pass. She's alive, just as he is. He'd survived what he was not meant to. Several things he was not meant to, from the bite that's now scarred his leg to the throne room. They are still both together. Drawn into the same fate. Forces at work, apparently. Perhaps it's true. ]

It wasn't. [ His reply comes simply. He eases down beside her on his side. Pushes back her hair, tucking it behind her ear. He catches that flicker of fear. It's the same one he saw flash down at him when he'd been bleeding on the floor. ] I'm right here. So are you.

Edited 2021-12-27 08:14 (UTC)

[ she knows he is in pain - it is written through her, whether by memory or observation alone. she had watched each strike the queen had made against him, and each stretch grigory had made. some part of her has it written in her very body, the pain he must be in, the worry he may or may not have found a healer. yennefer wants to run her fingers over it, to stitch him up with a simple brush of fingertips (not to remind him of her use, not to use her power so that he remembers she's worth more around than thrown away). but she doesn't. she won't. she knows him too well, knows he wouldn't want her to.

despite it all, geralt does ease down next to her. does look at her with those same golden eyes, that same creased brow. she nearly breaks under it, under the weight of what both goes unsaid, and is spoken, between them. everything is difficult, everything is weighty, between their first fight when she'd appeared bloodied and uncertain, to the horizon, to this even now.

he offers her truthful reassurances. that they are here, that they are together. and yennefer flashes a kind of smile up towards him - honest, even in its hesitancy. small, in a way only geralt has really seen. she leans forward to press another kiss to his lips, gentle but wanting, soft and unhurried, before he lays back to face him. ]

I know. [ she won't say anything about how they're still half a continent away from each other, how they might feel like they can touch, they can kiss, they can hold - but the reality is far different. she had used the last chance she had to touch him on a desperate hope to keep them safe, to keep ciri safe, and she does not regret it. won't let herself.

instead, yennefer scoots just a bit closer. sets her hands on his chest, and then runs them down the fabric of what he wears. her eyes flash between his lips to his eyes, curious and thoughtful. being with him always excites her, always makes her feel young, no matter the years that weight on them both. ] Ciri told me that I teach her about her magic, later on. That our paths haven't diverged yet. That even we cannot rid ourselves of each other.

[ maybe it's not the sexiest topic to bring up while they're facing each other in her bed, but yennefer can't quite shake herself of that feeling. of a future, of them. of geralt, and her, and something she can look forward to. she has plans for her hands to drive further downward, to start on his trousers, to start getting closer, but her hands come across a familiar object. something she knows well, something she's seen above her many other nights - but different, this time. her fingers wrap around his pendant, drawing out the second on behind it - breaking what had nearly been another long, languid kiss to take a look at what she procures, and stilling once she sees it. ]

This. [ her eyes are on her pendant, on her trinket another version of her had left for him. for someone special. settled comfortably, almost perfectly, behind the copy of his witcher pendant - the one she'd had asked ronan for. the one she'd gone out of her way to make sure he received. yennefer's yes go from the the two, between her fingers back to his face. his expression. ] Is this...?

[ It isn't accurate to say he's never seen her so vulnerable. He has. Even when she doesn't realize, even when she thinks she's hiding it well—he's seen it. Heard it in the beat of her heart. But this feels different, too. It feels...hopeful. It almost makes him afraid to lean into it, into her and all the things he's wanted. He nearly doesn't. A part of him instinctively wants to draw away—but she's always been so good at getting him to yield and he does. He trails his fingers through her hair and lets her explore his chest, lets her drink him in. He does the same. ]

Mm. [ He knows. That's not left his mind since he realized. Her, Jaskier, him. Ciri knows all of them, is close with them. Which means, for all that he'd turned away from each of them and they from him, their paths crossed. He'd just not wanted to let it mean anything. Because it might not. Because it might simply mean Ciri learned from Yen in a distant place, sent to her across the Continent. It does not have to mean they're—

(He wants it to mean that. And it's so fucking hard to ignore it when he can tell how much Yennefer wants it to mean that, too. That they find their way to each other. ) ]

I suppose no matter what, you'd have been the only mage I could trust with her. [ That's true enough. What might've been between them, where Ciri and her magic was concerned, who else would he have turned to but Yen? Someone with a similar amount of chaos that needed control?

No. They can't be rid of each other. Not fully. And as her hand curls around his medallion, finding the pendant on the chain, he finds he can't stop thinking about the look on Ciri's face as she asked, What is Yennefer doing? He saves the question for another time. The things he still wants to ask her about, talk to her about. Right now, he wants to turn his attention to Yennefer grasping the token, as though she can't quite be certain he's really wearing it. ]

Did you hope I'd find it? [ The question is quiet, honest. He wants to know. ]

[ 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. ]

[ Her widening smile draws one out of him in return. He is teasing when he says, ] You? Blush? Are you even capable?

[ She is. He's seen it, in rare moments, and though he knows it isn't true, sometimes he likes to think he's the only one who ever has. He likes to think that there are parts of her only he's been granted a glimpse of.

He's patient while she searches for her answer. That she takes her time at all tells him everything, tells him she wants to be sincere, that she's not pretending there isn't more here than there really is. His hand covers hers as it curls around his medallion, the pendant. He'd accept any reply from her, in truth. It's only the honesty that he's searching for—and it's what he receives when she says yes. Is this the first time since the mountain? That she's been so openly raw with him? It must be, and it gently pulls loose something inside him that he's been holding back, too. ]

I'm glad, too. [ He doesn't regret meeting her as she was without her memories, he doesn't want it to not have happened. Not anymore. It had hurt both of them, still does, but he thinks—he thinks it showed them something, too. Something important. Didn't it? (They've always come together for a reason.)

He pushes up on one hand, leans over her to meet the kiss. His eyes close. He breathes in her scent, sinks into the taste of her. Yours. It feels that way. The sentiment of it, that sense of belonging. He wants to make that space for her, he wants to believe she has made that space for him, and so he does: tentative, but more solid than it's been in a long time. ]

[ he teases her, and it widens her smile that much more. the ease of it, the way his lips part, the way she catches a glimpse of the sharp edge of his teeth. it pulls her towards him, arching her body closer. again, that feeling surges through her. light, young, warm, safe- in so many ways she hasn't felt in a long time. ] I'm not certain. Why don't you do something to find out?

[ if anyone would know, it would be him, the glimpses of her he's seen that no one else has. istredd would have been the closest other who would have any idea of what she could be, who she is, but even then istredd was only ever there for another version of her. the version that did not know her power, did not know her strength, and when she had gone back to him the way she was now, he had turned her away.

that is probably, probably, the reason it takes yennefer so long to come to her answer. probably why she needs the moment to see the pendant, to know of its direct connection with another her, a softer her, a her that did not exist any more (and might never had in the first place), and for geralt to be with her now. wanting that. wanting her, sharp edges and feral reactions and everything else. him, wearing that now, feels a bit like an acceptance. of all of her, or maybe just more than she's felt like she's ever shown one person. more than she's ever given one person to know.

i'm glad, too he says, and yennefer thinks she feels it. the making of space, the opening up, for him to have. the sliding in, of the space he makes for her. this is what she's been wanting. this is what she's been missing. this.

( there is a hope in her that she won't give credence to, a hope she doesn't want to voice. that maybe it's been him, this whole time, that could fill that hole. maybe it was never having a baby at all. maybe... )

geralt sits up on one hand and leans over to kiss her, and yennefer feels him inhale, slowly. she smiles into the kiss when she notices it, knowing that he's breathing her in, the scent of her that he knows, that he carries with him, even in his horizon domain. she pulls him down over her just to feel the weight of him, to feel him, in whatever way this space allows them. her hands travel from his face to his neck, then down across his shoulders, just wanting to touch. ]

[ Hmm. He could do that. He could, but despite the playful edge to his smile, his touches are soft, exploring—relearning, almost. He leans down over her, places some of his weight on her how he knows she likes it. His lips press to her neck, her jaw.

He hasn't forgotten. How she curves under him, the tilt of her head, the dark shadows cast by her lashes—he remembers every detail. Seeing it again only reminds him of how much she's impossible for him to ever forget.

When her hands travel across his shoulders, he reaches up to tug his shirt over his head. He knows what is under there, what she will see: the faded bruises up his ribs, the bandages on his back, the shallower lash marks that have already scarred. It is not something he pauses over; what happened has happened, and how she feels about it, how they both do—it's a part of him now. Etched far deeper than what's found on the surface of his skin. He's little interest in hiding it, in sparing either of them by pretending he emerged unscathed. Because he didn't but—

They can move on. He can move on. (Has he ever had any choice otherwise?) And whether she reaches for his fresh scars or looks at him or away, he is quiet, fingers trailing up her arm. He lets her take him in as she will, lets her have as much or as little time as she needs. It's worse sometimes, isn't it? To be the one on the other end, watching, helpless, and he gets that. He understands that feeling more intimately than anyone. ]

[ she lets him touch her - though, if she were being honest, it's much more than that. yennefer wants him to touch her, hands and mouth wandering and exploring, treading over ground they may know well, but with a kind of care and focus that makes her head feel light. his attention on her, she supposes, might feel suffocating for some. the intensity of him, even with his softness, even with his care, and yet yennefer feels herself drinking in every breath of him.

it is easy, to fall into habits. into arches and touches she knows he likes, she knows she likes in return. when her hands travel across his shoulders, it is with an unspoken plea - one he hears, one he acts on, pulling the fabric over his head and discarding it off the side of the bed. it also opens up him for her to see - really, truly, see. the faded bruises, the newer scars, what (if she chose to turn him over and look for herself) are most likely some open wounds against his back. bandages that cover him even now. her breath does not catch, necessarily, but her focus is drawn immediately down to the coloration across his ribs. the scrapes that have healed, or nearly healed, and the parts of him that haven't.

it is not with hesitation, necessarily, but with a gentle, careful sort of focus that her hands travel down his chest to them. a light brush of her fingertips down his ribs. when she closes her eyes she sees more of him than he ever meant for her to see, sees more of him than she ever wanted to see herself, but this - as he bares the scars left behind, that he's carried with him to this very room - that yennefer feels like she can see it. not the wounds, not the unspoken details, not the dark secrets they both now carry; instead, she sees geralt, shouldering on. geralt, offering an olive branch to keep moving forward. geralt, patient, willing, waiting for her to make the next move.

yennefer lets out a breath she does not quite remember holding in a slow, precise exhale. a bit like she is focusing, a bit like she is pulling chaos to her, even when she knows she doesn't need to here. when she looks up to catch his eyes, it is at the exact moment that she sets her hands over the bruises on his ribs, pressing palms to purple, just as if she were to heal him were they together. she supposes whether or not it works is up to him, supposes that it is his decision if the magic she attempts to use on him actually will heal the images he's created, but the intent is there. and if it all works, the bruises will fade under her hands, the pain alongside it.

and - judging by his reaction - yennefer will lean forward to press a kiss to his neck, and then another further up towards his jaw, as her hands move slowly around his ribs to the parts of his back she can reach, that same healing magic he's felt from her before spreading across his skin. healing wounds, closing skin, stitching him back together - all the while her tongue and teeth map the muscles of his neck, her bite scraping across the stubble of his jaw, her legs pulling out from under him to wrap around his waist. ]

[ 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. ]

Edited 2022-01-02 02:43 (UTC)

[ she doesn’t want him to forget about his wounds, or what waits for him when they wake up - or, perhaps maybe she does. perhaps more than anything, she wants him to be able to forget what happened, and in doing so maybe she could as well. but yennefer knows he won’t, just like she won’t. knows that forgetting that sort of trauma never happens, never leaves the lines of your body. not really, not fully.

it is a gesture. a branch. an inch because that is all they can give each other. an inch, that really does mean miles. a kind of hope that he understands that she wants to be able to do for him. he lets her magic warm through him, words she knows like they’re written into her very fingertips. her hands reach out across him, her magic settling into his skin, and he lets it. lets her.

there have always been miles between them, physically or otherwise. and yennefer has lived long enough to know that they haven’t crossed them now, now in this exchange alone, but with his weight over her now and her hands at his back - maybe those miles aren’t nearly as far.

he tilts up for her and she takes it. takes the skin he offers and arches with his hands. their foreheads brush, and yennefer feels her eyes open up again, just to have the view of him. of his face, this close, the way he looks when he breathes. his mouth finds the spot, and her body reacts. her breath hitches, just as he knew it would. just as she knew he would.

the sound of wanting that escapes him sends all sorts of shivers through her, her nails digging into the newly healed (and still scarred) skin of his back. ]

Geralt- [ it’s a request, but it’s also not - something wanting and strained in it. impatient. ]

[ Her impatience rolls through him—that hunger he's come to know so well. In bed, out of it. She wants what she wants and he's never been under the illusion that they do not consume her, these multitude of desires she holds, but sometimes he thinks—maybe he can slide into the places where pieces of her are missing, where the world has taken its pound of flesh and left only a hollowed space in return and left her chasing what she can't have. That maybe she has found something important in what she does have here, between them, something not so fiery, so all-consuming.

He can look at the medallion she held, long before he landed in Thorne, and he understands: she doesn't want to forget him, either.

He hears the catch in her breath, the strain in her voice. His hand slips directly between her legs, glides up, until his fingers find a heat, a slickness. He lets her watch him, lets her see the flutter of heavy eyelids and how his gaze follows the curve of her lips, the length of her neck. When he kisses her there, his mouth finds her pulse. He hears it, and now he can feel it, too, thrumming underneath. Every press of her nails makes his breath stutter—and it's especially so when they bite into the fresh scar there.

His own hunger stirs: unfurling, rising steady like the tide to meet hers. For a moment, he feels. (Whole.) Like he has something, someone, to hold onto, someone here in this world he needn't explain in words exactly what he went through. Exactly how it tore into him, because she knows now, felt it intimately when she reached inside him. It's hard to explain, that ever-present conflict. How much he both doesn't want her to have found this part of him and yet, now that she has, it's grown to bind them, too. And he still can't fucking tell if he wants to push her away for it or cling to her, but right now, he chooses the latter, his grip tightening around her, pressing down. ]

[ it is a terrifying thing for yennefer to admit to, that feeling she’s all but run from since their fight on the mountainside. because he’s not far from the truth - he does have a place in her, a part of her that is only really complete when he is here. for a brief moment, she had considered if that would be enough. if she could be enough, with that part of her patched clean. it says something about how much she’d started to believe it, when the truth about the wish had been shared. when she’d understood where the pieces came from, that they hadn’t been perfect fits from the start. magic had made his square shape feel as though it fit in the round void she’s been so desperate to fill, expanding into spaces where it didn’t, making her think…

well. that didn’t matter anymore, did it? or perhaps not that it didn’t matter, but that yennefer made the choice that the parts of her he could fill would have to be all she was able to have.

( there will always be a part of her searching for that extra thing, driven by the chance that maybe, maybe there is a way for her to be entirely full.

it’s just that here - with geralt, with ciri, with a purpose and a chance and pieces that might not fit perfectly yet, but maybe they could, maybe there is a chance - yennefer feels like hoping isn’t too dangerous an act. )

geralt pulls away from her just enough for her to watch as he slips his fingers into her. a separation that gives her all the view she needs of him, as her breath hitches again, as his eyelids flutter. the effect she has on him is intoxicating, watching the hunger grow in his eyes, watching his attention turn from her face to her neck, before he buries his face into her, finds her pulse with his teeth, his tongue. she leans into it a bit more than she might have with anyone else, letting herself feel everything; his fingers (as she opens her legs even wider for him), his mouth (as she bares her throat, her neck, wanting him to take more), his breath (stuttering with each press of her fingernails, which makes her do it again, and then again), and of course the strength and size of him, pressing her down into the mattress.

because it is this moment now, just like every time before, that yennefer has felt the closest to whole that she’s probably ever felt. magic, her magic, all around them. geralt, present and hungry and whole. and her thoughts, brought down to only this moment. only them. only this. one of her hands moves up his back to tangle in his hair, holding him against her as if there was something that could take him away, her face turned up against his own. her voice, heavy and hungry and low, as she arches back up against his pressing - feeling herself open up for him, relax for him, his fingers slick and hot between her legs - and let’s free a breathy moan. ]

[ The more she leans into him, the more he wants. The more he takes. And he gets it, sometimes, how easily it is to want and take and have, especially when the world is willing to give up so fucking little. It's a beast he's tamed and learned to shape into something less sharp, but right here with her, it's safe to let those desires run free, just a bit.

He lets her wrap her arms around him; they press together, skin and linen and silk all brushing and rubbing against him. His breath falls hot, heavy, from his lips. He slides deeper into her, until he draws that shuddering noise out of her, or a moan. He does want more, though; it isn't long before he rolls onto his back and flips her on top instead—an inhumanly quick motion that makes the bed frame creak. Because he can do that now—roll onto his back—and because she isn't the only one who likes to see if they can surprise the other.

He stares up at her for a second, taking her in from this angle that's both new and long familiar. Her dark hair curls around her ears. He reaches up—carefully undoes the ties and braids that hold some of it together until it all comes tumbling loose. His fingers run through the thick waves of it, before he cups her face and leans up to kiss her.

He missed her. He did. Not just in their time apart in this world, but when she left him on that mountain. Lately, he's thought more and more about the truth of what they've been told time and again. Destiny. Drawn together. (For what? Is it for this? Them pulled together into a strange world?) And he wonders if this is the beginning of something more for them, or if he simply wants to believe what isn't there. He doesn't know. Even now, nothing feels certain, but the ground is steadier than it's been in a long time. Like maybe if they both meet one another at exactly the right point, they can keep each other from slipping. ]

Edited 2022-01-04 05:18 (UTC)

[ if geralt has learned to tame this beast, yennefer has learned to control it - her hunger, her want, her truth that she deserves the world because the world has already taken so much from her. she worked for everything she has, she suffered for everything she gained, and she will keep her hold on it no matter how it fights back. it's also why she's so quick to hunger around him, too. the excitement he'd brought her by showing up in that house in rinde. the way she's circled him for all that time after. ( she knows the wish is at play, the magic, pulling them together and holding this feeling in her gut, but right here, after everything, it just doesn't matter to her. )

he presses into her with ease, with hot and heavy breaths, and yennefer arches with it. pushes back as best she can and pulls him close. the wanting of more is mutual, as evident by the way her nails dig into his skin. that is when he flips them, and yennefer - despite herself - lets out a surprised intake of breath. with their positions flipped and her sitting up on stop of him, she feels him slip further into her, deeper, and gods, gods she feels it - her hands moving to his chest as she arches back a bit to just feel the new position, to feel him. it's not new to either of them, her seated atop him and his eyes on her, but it feels different, here. feels just new enough. after another moment, once she's had the chance to catch her breath and settle, she tilts her eyes down to see him looking back at her - really looking - and it sends a completely different sort of shiver through her.

her smile is gentle, when it curls at the corner of her mouth. warm. she feels the strands of her hair falling errantly at her ears and neck, and like he'd known her focus had gone there, geralt leans up to brush them away, unspooling her hair from its braids and clips just as he's unspooled the tension from her. his hands on her face are large, warm, and she kisses him back with the same thoughts he does not give voice to. i missed you, too she doesn't say, and instead reaches with one hand to grasp at his wrist, to hold his hand to her face as she slowly starts to move again, her hips falling into a familiar enough pattern.

when she'd arrived to this place, down in the dungeons of thorne, she'd turned on geralt with flames in her eyes. i should have known she'd said. should have known that it would have been only a matter of time, before the two of them wound their fates together once again. the difference now, though, is that yennefer feels like what there is for her, for them, in this place...it might be worth finding footing in. this is something she can sink her teeth into, something she can trust the strength of, if only for right now, and maybe longer. maybe even longer still. ]

[ Her sharp inhale brings a curl to his lips. Her weight settles atop him: familiar, missed. Warm. His breath catches as she shifts her hips and he rises to meet her. They fall into a steady rhythm, one he knows so well with her after all these years. He keeps his hand where she holds it, runs his thumb gently back and forth. His other hand rests at the small of her back—presses his fingers a little into her spine where he can feel it arch and bend with her movements. The candles flicker; a heat curls inside him.

When they part, he presses his thumb to her lips. They're wet, a hint swollen. He can see the flush on her cheeks, the shine of her eyes. Eventually, his hand travels from her jaw to her collarbone, over her bare shoulder. He cups the curve of her breast, but it is the mark on her stomach where his gaze really lingers. Sodden. That's new. For as long as he's known her, the only mark she's ever born were the ones on her wrists. This is, he realizes, the first time he's seen the scars of that battle. (What the fuck really happened there? What had she done?)

Perhaps it's the first she's seen some of his, not just the ones on his back but the teeth sunk into his leg, too. They've been here before—here, in this tent, in this bed. Wrapped around each other. But it feels different. It does not feel like they've gone back, like they're living out a past they once had and can no longer. That's not what he'd have wanted, but this. This, he does, where he can see her reaching for him, knowing the walls built between them since the mountain—the scars they've earned since, visible and not—and wanting him, anyway. ]

[ that is the feeling she's never able to rid herself of. even when the heat of him fades, even without the press of his body, she can never lose the shudder that goes through her when his fingers press back into her spine. can never truly find herself forgetting the amount of her he can cover, with just one hand. she feels it too, when his hand on her cheek moves to her neck, her collar bone, her breast. she likes the feeling of him enveloping her, all around her, overwhelming and present and impossible to fade (because it is only, really, in these moments that she's ever felt like she could believe it. that he, or she, would stay. that this might not be something fleeting, something that would fade.

as his fingers brush over the scar from sodden, the wound she hadn't truly been able to attend to, due to the dungeons, yennefer's breath stutters again. nerve endings she'd thought healed over, now alight under his fingertips.

with her mouth free, she lets out another noise - his name, yes, but with a bit more under those words. she quickens the pace of her hips, of the rhythm she works herself over him, and her hands reach for him, palms running across his shoulders, his back. because she has noticed the new scars, has noticed the details of him that have changed over time, and they help ground her. help give foundation to the wanting that burns away at her gut. because they are different, older, survived through what they did - and yes, she does still reach for him. does still want him. ]

Geralt...

[ she says again, one hand curling around the back of his neck, nails digging into the skin under his hair. with that new angle, with the added grip on him, she pulls him in for another kiss - a little more desperate, given the way she is starting to move. a little more teeth, too, biting into his lower lip. and it feels a bit like she's letting down another wall, like she's letting loose another floodgate, like she needs to be closer to him here - too. ]

[ A curse tumbles out of him as she grinds down on top of him. He hears too much wrapped up in the sound of his name; a longing, a need. It stirs an ache in his chest he can't explain. He kisses her hard—feels his breath stolen from him as he steals some of hers in turn. Her lips are soft, as are her fingers. So much of her is soft: her hair, her scent, her smooth skin beneath his own coarse hands. (Her heart, despite it all; he knows it can be soft, fragile, behind its hardened walls because although he's rare to ever admit it, his own is the same.)

He pulls her closer, tighter. She's fucking hot around him, a heat that scorches through his veins. Makes his fingers dig into her. Their foreheads touch. His thighs press against her and he can feel her tracing his scars, the path of them where they bite into his skin. He cants upwards, shifts the angle that he knows she's seeking from how she moves.

Eventually, his face buries in the crook of her neck. Her hair falls around him, and he tangles his fingers up in it. He's breathing heavier, a hitch when her name comes out of him: low, deep in his chest, a simple Yen that says more than anything else. His body tightens—all of him, down to his toes, and then it releases. He groans, a flush running through him as he starts to steady his breath. ]

[ the moment she feels herself pull the curse from him, she knows he's close. knows, just as he can hear all of that in the single noise she makes when she says his name, what he's saying when he reaches across her with calloused, rough hands. he kisses her just as hard, just as unforgiving, just as unrelenting, and it's exactly what yennefer needs. more than that, it's what she wants - from this, from him, from whatever form them is going to take - but no matter how well she might know it, she can't get enough.

his hold on her tightens, and her's on him does in return - her fingers and nails pressing into his skin. she traces the scars as best she can, wanting her hands across every inch of him she might not already know, and when their foreheads touch she opens her eyes to him. makes a conscious effort for him to see her looking at him, if he finds himself looking back at her. or- at least, that is the plan of it. that is her intention. up until he cants his hips just so, and that feeling shoots through her. electric and sharp and overwhelming, that threatens to push her over. her breathing hitches and races with it, noises she doesn't even have the awareness to know she's making, pleasure and him the only things she can hold onto.

yennefer isn't really aware of how he he curves into her so much as she just adjusts for him, his face in the crook of her neck and her body arched up to fill the space. his fingers tugging at her, most likely in her hair, his breaths hot and heavy and all over her. she holds onto him with all the ferocity she can manage, losing herself in the feeling of him, in the feeling of him losing himself. and without really planning it, without realizing so much of what she's doing, her arm crooked over his head - the one he's got his face buried into her shoulder. she pulls him closer to her, tucking her cheek and nose to his temple as she feels the tension cresting, can feel him building and building. ]

Yes- [ she whispers against his hair, their breathing and their bodies and the smell of both of them the only thing she can really sense. ] Yes, Geralt- [ and then the tension breaks, his groan matching her own as she feels it, feels him inside her.

she doesn't quite let go of him, even as their breathing starts to slow. doesn't quite peel away from where he's wrapped up in her, even if her own grip on him starts to loosen. she feels the steadying of the air between them, but even so, yennefer feels an almost stubborn need to hold onto it - nosing still at geralt's temple. ]

[ OPEN / CLOSED ] i think i found a way to kill the sun

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nsfw on down

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