abraxaslogs | [ CLOSED ] the feeling never dies in your eyes

[ One bounces his direction and stops with a gentle roll by his boot, scorched to shit. He nudges it aside; one of its pincers crumble into ash. It is, in essence, live target practice, which is what he promised her. She's enjoying it, which is all that matters to him.

She doesn't appear to tire, either; it's the only part that makes him cock his head, studying her a bit like he isn't certain if that's typical for her or not. They aren't doing too much, though. A bit of fire down on a little field of scorpions. So after a moment, he pushes it out of his mind.

As the viper shatters into butterflies, he settles on rock it's vacated. He's having a fine time watching as she is destroying.

The more smoke fills the nesting dens, the more scorpions skitter to the surface. One last one rushes her—either coming for her or mindlessly fleeing the carnage behind it. ]

[ She doesn't tire at all -- if anything, she seems to gain energy the more scorpions she incinerates. Half of them, she nails directly, like bullseyes (she's always had good aim). Several of them are launched into the air by the first fireball striking the ground, and are then caught with the second before they can land.

The last one that comes at her gets closer than any other, but just as it enters any kind of striking range, it bursts into flame as if from within. As the other carcasses smolder into piles of soot, the final one shrieks like a boiling lobster as it dies.

Julie's hands gradually lose their glow as she notices there's nothing left to kill. She's mildly perspiring right around her hairline, but how much of that is due to the sun versus actual exertion is up for interpretation. ]

[ The last scorpion combusts entirely. That is new. He lifts an eyebrow. When did she learn to do that? The Horizon, perhaps. He knows she's not been learning in the city. Far too brazen.

It's good. She looks good, for multiple reasons—never let it be said he doesn't appreciate a woman who could turn him into a crisp—but mostly, she looks happy for the first time in a while. And truthfully that's all he wanted out of this little excursion.

He picks up one of the burnt scorpions. Hot to the touch. Blackened soot and ash rub off on his fingers. Not exactly suitable for selling, but that isn't what they're here for. He sets it aside. ]

Perhaps I should be taking you out on hunts.

[ She's always been a bit of an adrenaline junkie, and the giddiness of actually using her magic hits deeper than she expected. The vast majority of Julie's magic use is done within the Horizon -- the things she does in the real world tend to be much more muted, smaller and less potent. There's too much potential for damage, for disaster, for some magic-hating random to find out and set their targets on her. But the Horizon is so magical in its own right that it's a bit like turning on a faucet underwater.

Out here, flinging fire around, it feels much more like power. Like she's doing something. It's a feeling she hasn't had much over the course of her life, and it's thrilling.

Geralt speaks and she looks away from her little field of still-smoking carapaces. She's beaming; he can probably hear her heart still racing with excitement. There's a skip in her step as she crosses to the rock where he sits, wraps her arms over his shoulders. ]

Lucky for you that I don't go into business for myself. Steal your contracts.

[ Bouncing is the word for how she is. There's the lightest curl to his lips. He rests a hand on her waist, kicking one of the smouldering carcass aside as her arms go around him.

He knows what she's feeling. He felt it, too, in a different way. First time he picked up a sword—really picked it up under Vesemir's tutelage—his first run of the trail. When you realize there's more you can do in a world that's often only taken things away from you. And this, with Julie, maybe it reminds him of that. How you wake up one day in a place you never asked to be, torn away from everything you know—but it's also there where you start to find your power, your people, your purpose.

He wants her to have those things. Whether she discovers it in magic or something else.

He brushes back her hair, fallen a little loose from the exertion. A quiet laugh escapes him. He needed this, too. Something outside all the death and destruction. (Death and destruction of desert critters is completely different.) ] Are you saying you wouldn't share?

Edited 2022-10-06 14:22 (UTC)

[ It is, easily, the best she has felt since at least the summit. Possibly since she was brought to Abraxas. Remembering that she's not the weak, helpless girl from Kansas, or even just from the dungeon, that she is actually incredibly powerful. That she can do magic others can't, that she truly is the special, unique person she always wanted to be.

A lot of the time, it's terrifying -- how could it not be? -- but at this moment, it just feels like strength, like control. Like the life she spent all those years dreaming about.

She giggles, still on the high of it all, idly kneading at his back. ] I'd throw you a bone every now an' then. If you asked me nice.

[ He ends up hitching her onto his lap, weight resting on one palm against the boulder. She isn't the only one who feels some of the heavy burden lift from his shoulders. Temporarily, at least. ]

Mm. How nice? [ He tilts his head up at her. ] Like this?

[ He leans in without waiting for an answer, lips meeting hers. The sun is sweltering, the land dusty and smouldering; possibly right here and now is not the most ideal of circumstances.

He isn't thinking that far ahead at the moment. She's close, looks damn good in leather, and he wants to kiss her. So he does. ]

[ She leans into him when he lifts her up, moves one hand to clutch the back of his head. The circumstances aren't exactly forefront in her mind, either -- Julie has absolutely had spur-of-the-moment sex outside, but usually in corn or wheat fields, or else in the woods behind someone's house. Sand and possible sunstroke were not really pressing issues.

The rock is hard under her knees as she settles in his lap. She puts her free hand on his chest as she pulls back slightly to speak, biting his lip as she does. ]

I think you can be nicer'n that.

[ Yeah. All right. He can be nicer.

His hand trails down her chest, and he kisses her again. Heavy, the air growing thick already—and for a long moment, he can't be bothered about the sand, the heat, the critters skittering across the rocky ground. But.

Shit.

He rests his forehead against hers. Hm. ] How good's your magic? For...concealment.

[ Mostly against the elements. He doesn't give a fuck about stray eyes. He does care about snakes interrupting. ]

[ Loath as she is to divert her attention, he does present an interesting opportunity. Julie is so rarely able to perform large-scale magic like she can right now, or at least anything larger than can fit in her living room. Her eyebrows arch thoughtfully and she glances to one side for a moment. ] I don't know. I never tried.

[ Theoretically, she believes she can conjure something large enough. It doesn't have to be particularly large or intricate -- it would have fewer details to account for than the Christmas tree had, and she frankly thinks she did a pretty bang-up job with it.

She kisses him again, then stands back up and moves to an angle that she thinks will give her enough space next to the horses. Her hands rise and begin to glow pink again. ]

No promises. [ She says it a bit wryly, then takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. This is not the effortlessness that had accompanied a large amount of controlled fire; after all, fire was the first thing that Julie ever mastered. She can feel the weight of this idea pulling at her mind, at the nameless part of her deep inside that changes pure magic into solid objects.

Wooden poles. Draped linen. Posts to hold it all down.
Wooden poles. Draped linen. Posts to hold it all down.

It's slower to shape than most things she's made, but it forms all the same, a few yards away from her. It's not unlike the tents from the summit, just scaled down immensely, and with fewer furnishings -- Julie instead manages only a large, thick cushion and a handful of smaller pillows. Her body shakes by the time she's done, although it wasn't enough exertion to make her legs go weak. What she actually created is honestly sturdy enough to act as a solid shelter option for a longer excursion, though, and she's pleased with it, for a first attempt.

She doesn't say anything yet, still catching her breath. ]

[ He was only envisioning a small bubble, a mat—not a furnished tent. They shimmer from nothingness, settling gently over the empty desert landscape. It's more than he's seen Julie do in...ever, in truth. Common enough to a practiced mage. For someone who's been learning for a handful of seasons?

That's new. (Is the magic of this world that powerful? It has strengthened his Signs in ways that shouldn't be possible, and yet.)

He goes to her, taking her arm just in case. His gaze sweeps over conjured tent. ] Impressive.

[ To say the least. There's a second where he looks her over, like he's searching for something—but once she catches her breath, he only closes the distance between them. His hands cup her face. Then he lifts her up, arm under her legs. They can talk about magic later. Right now, he's got other things on his mind. ]

[ It does probably help that a tent is a simple structure in its own right. Should she have tried to make something even slightly more complicated than cloth and ropes tied to poles, she most likely would have failed. But she's done upgrades to some of the furniture that she and Nadine have accumulated mostly secondhand, and it has given her at least some experience dealing with how various parts can be put together with magic, rather than construction.

So she is satisfied, to have succeeded at something this large. At something she never would have thought she could do even a few months ago.

He stands next to her and she beams at him, more proud than she thought she'd be. She gladly lets him lift her, because whoo, that really is a strain, and clutches at his shoulder and his hair. Already, she can feel a flutter in the pit of her stomach as she kisses him. ]

[ Really, it's how elated she looks that makes Geralt not give any of this too much thought, makes it easy to assume she's been working on her magic more than he realized. She's told him she's taken on teachers, Stephen among one. He must've been teaching her since.

And it's a weight off his mind. Knowing she can protect herself. Perhaps others, too, the way her magic's grown.

He tilts down to kiss her, carrying her straight into the tent. The cushions are plenty to lay her down; he climbs on top, dropping the leather scabbard with his sword and shoving it aside. At least he's not in any real gear. Makes it easier. His hands are eager as they slide down her body, over her hips. ]

[ That's good. There is nothing to think about. It's some wood and cloth, and sure she could only conjure various writing implements until about four months ago, but this is good and fine and normal. Nothing to consider off at all.

The cushions are cool compared to the air, and it's a welcome relief against her back. Her palm rests on the back of his neck, her knees hook around his hips. It's a bit like she's trying to hold him in place against her, almost possessive. Behind him, she removes her boots with her third hand and deposits them on the ground.

Her pulse is already growing loud in her ears; when she purrs against his mouth, she can barely hear it inside her own head. There's a sizzle starting to wrap around her pelvis, in the best way. ]

[ Possessive is more than fine by him. He hitches up her shirt, hand sliding under the fabric, letting himself be distracted from where his thoughts might otherwise stray. Should've known they'd end up here. He can't say he minds. Can't say he's surprised, either.

There are occasions where he takes it slow, draws things out. Now is not one of those times. Laces and buttons are undone without pause. He wants what she wants, and he's not interested in waiting. His fingers curl around her wrist, coaxing her hand between his legs. A jolt slithers up his spine, then back down.

Her pulse thrums in his ears. He curves over her—weight held up on one hand as he rocks against her. ]

Edited 2022-10-11 06:05 (UTC)

[ She scrambles and squirms to get out of her clothes without breaking contact. In her defense, she is wearing both more and tighter clothing than she's become accustomed to -- the close-fitting leather of her pants winds up just caught and bunched halfway over her hips as she abandons them to run her hands up his chest, grab at his face.

No coaxing is required to get her to drop her hand, though; her fingers around him are firm and impatient. Her head falling to the pillow, she looks up at him with dark eyes, her lips parted a bit as she breathes in time with the movement of her arm. There is a feverish feeling of power that she's riding on, of strength, and it's written clear across her face.

She feels like she could fight a fucking lion right now. But she doesn't have a lion. She has Geralt. ]

[ He's got some success pulling those trousers down a bit further—and if any seams come a little loose in the act, they mend quickly under his hands without his notice. His clothes aren't really on or off, either. Something in between with his shirt pulled loose and the buttons open, falling off one shoulder.

He brushes her hair out of the way, leans in to capture her lips. His stomach curls tightly, a swell of heat rushing through him. Thick dirt pushes under his nails as he digs them into the earth, sharp little pebbles biting that he can't give a damn about.

Part of him keeps one ear out for what lies outside the tent. The rest of his attention is just on her. She looks about ready to devour him alive, grips his cock like she means to, and he's plenty willing to let that happen. ]

[ Her neck cranes up suddenly and her kiss is vicious, all teeth and tongue. She strokes him tightly a few times, then pauses and lets go to actually put in the concentration necessary to get a leg out of these pants. The second she's got one freed, it's wrapped around him and she bucks up against him with a groan. ]

Geralt. [ Her nails dig into his shoulder and neck where she grabs at him. Her voice is husky. ] Can you do that eye thing? And the teeth.

[ Does it have a name? She probably should ask at some point. Either way, he'd been so rough last time, and she got off so hard. It just happened to be a really unfortunate coincidence that it was timed so fucking poorly and she didn't have warning. God, and with that voice from that memory, too... She swallows hard, not waiting for any response before she starts kissing the line of his jaw. ]

[ It takes some coordination between them, but eventually, he's got her undressed the rest of the way. Her skin is heated, nearly burning against his own. He's still chasing after her lips when—

Oh. He blinks. ] I don't— [ He curls his fingers around her arm. A huff escapes him. Is he surprised she's asking? No. Can't say he is. ] It comes on its own.

[ Doubts he needs to explain when or why. He can't will it from nowhere, but he can certainly predict the circumstances. And to be frank, he doesn't think it'll be hard for her to bring that side of him to the surface. ]

[ She does seem mildly surprised, but that's probably because her knowledge of these bizarre... extras is fairly limited. When your special little skill makes you throw things or turn into an animal upon any emotional irregulation, you learn how to control that shit as quickly as possible. So she's only a bit impressed that he hasn't needed to learn how to control it to the point of doing it on command.

Seems like something that might be handy to look into, though.

There's a muffled, amused noise into the side of his neck. Her second leg is freed, and with the arm he's not got a grip on, reaches back down and guides his cock inside herself. Her eyelids flutter and she sighs heavily, blissfully. Nails digging into his bicep, she squeezes around him and rolls her hips. ]

[ Likely, it's because Geralt's already spent a few decades working with his emotional irregularities. (More or less.) His problem lies not in suppressing these odd so-called gifts. It's in getting to a place where they'll trigger at all—and letting it happen instead of pushing it down.

Something that's easier to do when he's mostly riding on instinct instead of thinking. Like a fight. Or fucking.

With her legs wrapped around him, he sinks inside her. Knowing what she's after, he's exactly as rough as she wants. His grip is tight, bruising, still-blunt teeth leaving marks on her skin. Bit by bit, he does feel it creeping forward: that familiar prickle along his skin that makes his entire body burn hot. Maybe she can sense it, too, but either way, he doesn't slow down. ]

Edited (rip early post) 2022-10-15 08:03 (UTC)

[ Her nails drag down his arm, his back; Geralt is always a bit of a human space heater, but he is actually growing noticeably warmer under her hands. The backs of her knees and insides of her thighs begin to bead with perspiration that makes a slow path down her legs. Biting her lip, she stifles a sobbing moan.

Arching her back up, she roughly shoves at his shoulder to flip them. She’s aware that it doesn’t matter how much force she uses, but in the moment, that logic is gone from her mind —- she can only meet his roughness with her own. She wants him underneath her, wants to be able to look down at him. Her heart pounds in her ears like a drum and her chest feels tight. ]

[ It may not matter, but he rolls with it easily, landing on his back with her on top. His fingers dig into her thighs, her hips. He breathes in; every time her nails scrape over his skin, he wants more, sharper, harder.

From below, he can look at her, see those eyes blown wide and her lashes heavy. He wraps his hand around her wrist, brings her thumb between his lips.

The slightest peek of his teeth show through, one sharp canine that begins to grow with the rest. ]

[ Being out from under him, the air is almost cool in comparison. The contrast feels good; her skin pebbles as she sits up, supporting herself with her free hand on his chest. Her hips move at a savage pace, her knees already starting to grow sore.

With her hair falling around her face, she forces her eyes to stay open, fixed on him. Her thumb curls over the edge of his teeth, and she can feel them sharpening. It only serves to strengthen her hunger, makes her dig her nails in and claw across his sternum. ]

[ There. That's it. He rolls his hips beneath her, lets out a low sound in his chest as her nails rake hard. She's slick against him, her heart pounding in his ears, and it only tightens every muscle in his body.

His teeth continued to sharpen into points as she brushes her thumb over it. He reaches up, pushes the tangle of her hair back. His own has fallen loose. Pleasure curls inside—and his eyes flood black, a rush that turns them a shiny black ichor, leaves darkened veins that trail away from them.

He leans up, propped on an elbow to kiss her, teeth and all. ]

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