abraxaslogs | [ CLOSED ] let these bones be the giver

[ 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. ]

[ It's the noise he makes that does it. Her head falls back, the knot snaps, and everything in her head goes blessedly, gloriously silent. Just washed away as if on the tide sweeping through her, deafening and explosive all at once.

Spine curved up, her breath stops in her throat, takes a minute before she can feel it in her lungs. She realizes she's babbling, just a repetitive string of swears and Geralts that trails off into a whimper. Every inch of her shudders, convulses, and her nails scrabble on his scalp. ]

[ She clenches so tightly around him, and he grips her in turn. Lets her ride it out before he rises, his hair a tangled mess and propped up on one hand. He draws in a breath that catches.

When he's certain she's looking, he licks his lips, then wipes his thumb over them: slow, taking in the flush of her cheeks. The pounding of her heart that he can hear. ]

Good? [ His eyes glint; he knows it was. ]

[ She looks up at him in a daze, still trying to catch her breath. Her hand is shaky when she raises it to his cheek. Her mouth twists, a moue that doesn't fully cover a smirk, and when she speaks, her voice is still thick, raspy. ]

Thought I told you not to be a dick. [ There's no effort to hide the amusement in her voice, and she reaches up to pull him back down to her, eyelids fluttered closed. He tastes like her and that's all she can focus on. ]

[ He gives a pleased hum, low in his chest, and allows himself to be tugged downward. He hooks a finger in the necklace she wears—the tooth he gave her and which he's found around her neck since.

His smile is half-hidden. ] You like mine.

[ His lips part for her; she can taste herself on him as much as she wants. He hasn't fully undressed, and he doesn't yet even now, but she can probably feel him where he grinds down slowly against her. ]

[ She'd told him at the very start, she wouldn't take it off. Granted, she had mostly been joking at the time, but things changed. Also, there was an aspect she hadn't known at the time -- in a place where she can just create any necklace she wants, wear the fucking Hope Diamond while she watches TV, a gift that was made with thought and care means something. It's worth wearing all the time.

Snorting, she runs her hand over his cheekbone, back into his hair where her fingers catch on tangles. ] It'll do, I guess.

[ There's a soft croon into his mouth, and she wraps her legs around his, presses back against him. It only takes a few moments before she slips her arms between them, blindly unfastens the line of buttons. She bites his lip as she uses one hand to gather some of the moisture he left behind on her, that still comes, and then wraps her slick fingers around him. ]

[ It'll do. His amusement grows a hint, but most of it is overridden by a sharp shiver through him as she reaches for him. He brushes some of her hair back, leans in to mouth against her throat. That spot just under her jaw.

Somewhere along the way, there's a rough Harder, but really—he's been halfway there already while he was between her. It doesn't take much before he grabs hold of something—a railing, a cushion—and digs in hard. The sound he makes catches, almost desperate, like he's forgotten what it is to let go and find his mind empty of anything except what's right in front of him.

His forehead rests against her shoulder. Maybe he's clinging to the feeling for a bit; he doesn't know, but he stays there for a moment or two as he catches his breath. ]

[ She coos and murmurs in his ear, tightens her hand and grazes with her nails. The sound that comes out of him makes her core throb so hard that she shudders. He spills over her hand, her stomach, and she sighs against his cheek.

There's no need for him to move, not really. It's not like she has other plans. He catches his breath and she wraps her free arm around his neck, her hand cradling the back of his head. There is not a single thought in her brain, not beyond the immediacy of his weight, his warmth above her. ]

[ Eventually, he rolls off of her but not away. He lands instead on the floor beside her, with a miniature dragon peering down at him from the railing. His fingers rest lightly on her arm.

His eyes close for a second or two. He isn't in much of a hurry. He should be, perhaps, but he isn't. He's not normally one to avoid reality, but fuck if he doesn't want to put his head in the sand for awhile. He's tired of caring. And with Jaskier and Ciri both avoiding their home, and Rinwell exploring the city, what's he returning to? A reminder of all that's happened? He hasn't even thought of finding another contract after he cut his last one short to return to the city.

Besides, he doesn't want to run out on Julie, either. Not after everything she's told him. He turns his head to face her. ]

Should I find us another bottle? Or does work call?

[ CLOSED ] let these bones be the giver

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

nsfw.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)