abraxaslogs | [ CLOSED ] let these bones be the giver

Mm-hmm. [ Well. He considers before adding, deadpan, ] Actually, it was a piece of parchment for a gold.

[ What would it look like if he accepted? Would it be personally signed by her? Could he retain it for a keepsake autograph? He still has a supposed favour from her, but that offer was doubtless granted with the same sincerity as her apology. They do not consider her a ruler, the people, but as far as he's concerned, she may as well be. Military crowns are not unusual. The Usurper was not so long ago, even if the Emperor claims Nilfgaard now. As much as he cares little for Nilfgaard's current thirst for conquest, he didn't observe a hell of a lot of pleasantries when the south was under the Usurper, either.

They're all the same. Whatever the place or world or time period. It's only a matter of who will show their hand first.

His lips curl a hint. ] Oh, at least five? I'd be unwise to turn that down.

[ He still thinks about it. What Marlo said to him, when he told her he's no desire to be owed her protection. Not assimilated. As though she expects they all will be, one way or another, in time. He'd find it less troubling if she explicitly didn't give a fuck. He is not her people. He doesn't want to be. He'd prefer nothing more than to be seen as a stranger who's wandered in, who deserves nothing except to be ignored and forgotten—or even treated with suspicion. That, he is used to. But this sense that she wants to placate the Summoned, as though they may be unruly hounds, is something else. ]

Oh, a coupon? Even better. She try to give you a second one that was good for one small fries at Burger King? [ He will not understand this joke. She doesn't care, it's a solid joke either way. He has probably never had french fries. She can manifest him some.

Making jokes and laughing about the fact that the most powerful person in the Free Cities is so frighteningly averse to actually hearing their complaints, their requests, to dealing with the fact that fucking spies are kidnapping people on her territory is so much easier than actually processing that information. There's nothing any of them can do to make her listen or care, so why not make light of it? After all, it's not like they have other options.

With a soft chuckle, she leans more against him, bumps her knee against his leg more forcefully. ] Five gold ain't nothin' to sneeze at, but if you're gonna be greedy, I can figure out somethin' else to sweeten the "Sorry You Got Snatched Up" pot.

[ He does not understand the joke. Never seen a fry in his life. He does know what a burger is, however, thanks to Sam's outdoor gathering way back when. All this means is she gets a squint in her direction; a vague hint of amusement, like he knows he isn't expected to grasp the humour. ] You'll have to explain where royalty plays a part.

[ His head tips back against the wall behind him. There's a point where so much weighs on his mind, everything begins to. Float. Is it possible to face things one at a time when it's piled on all at once? He can't ignore it forever, but war will not break out within the day if he puts it aside for a few hours. Probably. Most likely. He thinks.

Hm. His fingers curl with more intention around her shoulder, where his hand's been resting. It's easier to pretend he's shrugged it off, what happened only some weeks prior, when he really has not. ]

They do say Witchers are greedy.

It's a restaurant. A cheap one. [ She giggles harder at his expression, shakes her head a little. God, how can she even start to explain the concept of fast food? Let alone the fact that there is more than one royalty-themed fast food chain? "The king one makes sticks out of chicken, but the queen one puts candy in ice cream", it sounds like insanity. Maybe there are some things that people from medieval monster worlds just don't need to know. (He can still have some fries later, though.)

With a hum, she cranes her neck, watching him with a smirk. No, they can't shrug off the weight of the past two months, but they don't have to stay continuously crushed under it, either. Reaching up, she laces her fingers through his. ] That's funny, they say the same thing about me.

[ Mild understanding crosses his features. It may be a completely wrong understanding, but it's an understanding nonetheless. ] Ah. Like a tavern.

[ He's getting there. He's in the rough vicinity of the true concept of fast food, for a man who regularly carries back a deer or rabbits to feed everyone. He's also never had a stick made out of a chicken, but in his mind, little can confuse his taste buds more than the chocolate peanut concoction Nadine gave him. She explained it to him. He still hasn't any idea what the fuck he ate.

When her fingers curl around him, his smile widens a hint. ] And what are you greedy for now?

I mean, that's bein' generous, but close enough. [ Julie's not quite sure she'd even rank Burger King up with a tavern, food-wise, but the joke is just based on how shitty of an offer the Prime Minister made him.

He really should compare his chocolate/peanut butter experience to Jaskier's. It would help them understand how ubiquitous the flavors are, that both Julie and Nadine, separately and without discussion, were able to simply supply the combination in different forms as examples of good sweets from their world. Jaskier can explain why he's still banned from carbonated beverages.

She stretches a bit further, grazes her teeth over his jaw, then shifts entirely to face him. Leaving her sweater on the floor, she swings one leg to his other side and leans into him, arms draped over his shoulders. ] Everything.

[ He pushes the thunderstorm lantern aside to make room as her leg goes over his lap. One arm wraps around her waist, lifting her up. They end up in this position often and he can't say he minds. Of course not. She settles there, a familiar weight.

Given all that's happened, it feels as though they could both use. Companionship.

Everything is a good answer. He can do that. His eyes drop to her lips. They linger there for a second or two. Then he leans in to kiss her, hand sliding up her arm. ]

[ It's routine, almost, and it's easy, and nothing else seems to feel that way at the moment. No risk, all reward, and that's all she wants right now. Easiness, simplicity. A fucking break.

Her hand goes to the back of his head and she sighs against his mouth as her eyes fall shut. She does him one better and sends all of her various belongings away, just lets the thought of them back in their proper places in the loft float through her mind, and that's all it takes. The reptiles back on their shelf, the unicorn back in his bed (yes he has a bed), the bottle and lantern and bong all back where they normally live. Until it's just them, just him to take all of her focus, fill her senses.

Weight seems to fall off of her, all of the problems and misery and fear, and she is in no rush to gain it back. ]

[ He doesn't blink anymore when the animals and things simply vanish. Like her, the place is always shifting, changing. Geralt is not so—he's the same, every time, as is Kaer Morhen (barring unwanted collapses)—but maybe that's part of why he likes coming here.

The moment it all goes, he takes advantage of the floor space—flips them both over, knees on either side of her. The air thickens with something other than heartache, for the first time today.

His eyes roam. He bends over to capture her lips again. His hand cups her jaw, rough pad of his thumb tracing over soft skin. ]

[ Honestly, Julie has never really taken note of the fact that no one else seems to make alterations to their domain quite as frequently as she does, that most other people don't control theirs so directly through their thoughts. That's all it takes for her -- a single idea or vision, briefly dwelt on and then directed outward, and the Horizon simply obeys without much more instruction. For other people, it is a backdrop to live against, but for her, it's almost another living being, willing to speak and work with her. She can't remember if it was always that easy; she thinks it was, but the Horizon had known her very soul from the first time she showed up. The club, the people, the warehouse, it had all unfurled from nothing when she arrived, called to her even when she didn't know who she was. That's what she recalls most vividly from her first time, when Lloyd brought her into his version of the Inferno. He'd said that they needed to get her a space, and then she suddenly had the most powerful instinct to just walk in a certain direction, just go towards it, and when she opened the door, it was all waiting for her.

The only additions she made after that day were the loft and its contents, because she wanted to have a more personal space and also a bunch of random shit she never had at home.

He puts her on her back and she laughs softly, her legs hooked over his hips. She slides her hands up his chest, over his shoulders, when he comes back to her. He's warm even through clothing. ]

[ He did not, at least, build Kaer Morhen partially by hand as he did his cabin, though that remains his first instinct. Doing by hand what he could use the Horizon's powers to accomplish instead. He's never given it too much thought as to why. Just feels right. But recently, he's begun to create small items out of thin air for the hell of it, like her miniature dragon, so perhaps he's expanding his. Horizons. So to speak.

He's certainly more comfortable entering than he was a few months ago. One can get used to anything. Like fucking inside this space that doesn't physically exist, which is another instinct he doesn't think twice about. It's natural, how her legs hitch around him, and their lips meet.

He can smell her sugar-sweetness, what reminds him a little of Nadine's shop full of candy now that he's been there. There is, as is often the case, not much by way of clothing to manage. He slips a hand under the light silk she wears, palm against her stomach, pushing her shift up. ]

[ She actually understands that impulse; she'd done it at Christmas, decorating entirely by hand. It was a manic undertaking that she was using as an unhealthy coping method, but she gets it. There's a sense of satisfaction and action when you do pieces of it yourself, a sense that's not always present when you manifest things. Even now, as fluent in the Horizon's shapeshifting as she is, Julie often does her makeup by hand, organizes all of her belongings and moves things that aren't too heavy around. It feels natural to do it that way.

But she's been down to fuck on the astral plane (or whatever the Horizon is -- she doesn't actually know) since the get-go. If anything, she wonders what it will be like to fuck the regular way now. Realizing that people could be out here changing their dick size with manifestation is an eye-opener. Julie might need to send out a PSA flier.

A soft noise escapes from somewhere low in her throat, and her back arches slightly against his hand. It says a lot about Julie that this is what she chose to wear for the act of getting blackout drunk on the floor, alone, but like many things she does for no apparent reason, it works out for the best. Her fingers tangle in his hair before she shifts just enough to actually shed the chemise, throws it to the side and then grabs his face again. ]

[ That. Is not a concept that's occurred to him, but he won't be surprised if he ever finds out someone tries it down the line, and that it was Julie who enlightened them.

He can taste the liquor on her lips, but it's heavy on his tongue, too, after they've shared the bottle. He reaches around to undo the clasp on her bra, something he's learned his way around quickly. There was incentive. It all gets shoved aside, out of the way.

When she catches hold of him again, he lets her draw him back down. He closes his eyes. His fingers explore her body, nails dragging over the dips and bumps against her ribs, her hips. ]

[ Julie will not stand for false representation! Anyone caught manifesting a larger dick will be publicly shamed. Exceptions exist only for people who choose an entirely different form as their appearance, for whatever reason. Anyone else gets extensive and loud ridicule. Maybe put in stocks for a while.

Between the alcohol and his hand, her head swims, and it takes her a moment to focus on literally anything else. When she does, it's to pull at his shirt with insistent fingers, get to his skin. This is the first time in weeks that she hasn't felt desperately lonely, and she has no problem chasing after that sense of connection. ]

[ He's quick to give into her demands. The shirt comes off and is shoved somewhere that doesn't matter so long as it's not in their way.

Like her, there's a pull towards filling the hollow ache that loss leaves behind. And he's lost a lot, bodies on top of bodies, but that's how life goes. He's learned a variety of ways to work through it. This of one of them.

He kisses down her throat, where it only just meets her jawline, then lower. His hand cups around the curve of her breast. A thumb teases towards her nipple—circling as his teeth scrape at her collarbone. ]

[ He takes away the urge to think, to further sit around and dwell on how she can't trust her family, on how the last thing she said to Susan was just "fuck you". Also the whole demon thing too, now. Super helpful addition. But all of that seems to stop feeling so central at the moment, with him warm against her palms and heavy on top of her.

Her spine arches with his movements, and already she can feel her breathing pick up, her legs tightening around his hips. One hand tangles back into his hair as she takes a sharp breath and bites her lower lip. The back of her head presses hard against the floor when she shifts. ]

[ Her fingers twist in his hair, familiar in the way they tug and pull, and he lets them. He presses down against her, rolling his hips. A spark crawls up his spine. What heaviness lies in his heart, he puts it aside a little easier as he breathes in her scent.

He teases for awhile longer, watching the way she tenses under him, her breath catching. Eventually, he pauses at the hem of her silk bottoms. He tugs it past her hips, casting it aside.

His hand glides around her ankle, then up—coaxing her to make room for him between her legs before he brushes his lips over the inside of her thigh. ]

[ Letting go of him as he moves, she lifts her hips without thinking, lets him undress her, makes room for him. Heat wraps around her stomach, her backbone, and she allows her head to fall back to the floor with a quiet, airy noise that seems to escape her rather than be intentionally made.

When she closes her eyes, there is none of what she usually suffers with, just thick, blissful dark to sink into instead. That simplicity sends another pang of desire through her, makes her skin flush and her toes curl. That's all she wants, that easy blank space, and though she chews the inside of her cheek for patience, she shudders just a little as she inhales. ]

[ He kisses up her leg, holding her hips. His teeth bite down, the barest hint. When he drags a shiver out of her finally, he lifts up to press his lips to her stomach instead.

The air thickens further. He sinks lower. His mouth might be skirting where she's most sensitive, but his fingers are not. He dips between her legs, teasing and testing all at once.

His eyes flick up—watching as much as he's listening. ]

[ Her thigh shakes under his teeth, and when he touches her, she rolls her hips both into and against his hands. The heaviness in the air is almost oppressive, like summer humidity, swathes her fully, and already she can feel clamminess everywhere his skin covers hers.

He kisses her stomach and she opens her eyes lazily, shifts slightly with a sigh to look at him. Her eyelids are low and her pupils blown-out, dark. She reaches out, cards her fingers loosely through his hair. ] Don't be a dick.

[ There's no real bite to her voice. If anything, she sounds rather pleased. ]

[ He laughs: low, a rumble in his throat. The balcony is new, he thinks. They've been in her room, her loft, a variety of furniture downstairs—but not outside up here, overlooking the floor below.

Not that that's the view on his mind right now.

He curves over her, kissing further down. He takes his time, but he's working his way south, bit by bit. Places another kiss on the inner side of her leg, where the skin is softest. Then he finally delves between her with his tongue, hand curling tightly around her hip as he does, like he can draw her even closer. There's a soft clink where his medallion bumps the ground. ]

[ Just wait until you experience a hot tub jet on a sore muscle, Geralt. You will be angry this technology has been kept from you for so long.

She doesn't rush him, lets him meander and set various patches of skin aflame with need, and she can feel her stomach already start to tighten into a low knot. Her head falls back to the ground with a barely-there whimper when he mouths at her leg, but then he is holding her so tightly and everything is good and her breath is knocked away for a moment.

Her fingers scrabble at his around her hip and her back arches up, comes back down with a groan. ]

[ His life can only be improved with hot tub jets.

Her skin grows heated under him. When she arches, he digs his fingers in a little harder, imprints of his nails left behind. His lips part against her. She's warm, slick. Growing ever more so. He breathes her in, spread on his knees and hair spilling over his shoulders.

He can hear that noise she makes, soft and breathless; he wants to hear it some more—the one that lets him know he's found exactly what she likes. ]

[ Her fingers close around his wrist, his pulse under her palm, and her grip is tight. She hooks one knee over his shoulder, lifts up with a gasp and her heel pressed against his spine. Her other hand threads in his hair and she can't keep her eyes open anymore. ]

Fuck, Geralt. [ It's a feverish, choked whine, followed by a sharp squeak as he shifts his hand just so. The knot squeezes, wrings itself ever more taut. More swears escape as panted breaths, her eyes dark and shiny when she manages to open them again, look down. ] Harder...

[ She's easy to sink into, always, so that's what he does. Her heel digs into his back, right along the thick scar that's formed over it.

When she cries out, he buries himself deeper. Flattens his tongue like that against her. The taste of her sits heavy there, and he curls his fingers a little.

He lifts his eyes to meet hers briefly, but he doesn't slow or stop. His own pleasure rises from it all: her grip in his hair, the sharp noises she can't help. It leaves a tightness in his trousers and there's an equally wanting sound that comes from his throat. ]

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nsfw.

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