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

[ 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. ]

[ Her head is full of static, mind completely clouded with sensation. Dark eyes flashing as she looks down at him, her hand grabs tight at his chin. She swallows roughly, licks her lips and watches him, like she's trying to find something in his face, but the truth is that she is just caught up in everything she feels at the moment -- the physical, yes, but also the fact that her ribs are doing that thing where she thinks they might burst from emotions she can't even name.

All she can think about is how fucking strong and important and valuable he makes her feel, and how good he feels inside her, and then his eyes go black, his skin white, and she swears under her breath. Her whole body seems to contract at once.

She wails against his mouth, both arms immediately wrapping tight around him, one hand clenched in his hair, pulling without meaning to. ]

[ This is one of the few times his expression is open—nothing shuttered behind closed doors. His eyes are pure want, even black as they are, and when he kisses her, they fall shut.

The groan that comes from him is more of a growl, a rumble deep in his chest. She pulls hard on his hair; it almost hurts, and along with the squeeze of her legs, her body, around him, everything snaps and spills. His teeth sink into her shoulder: piercing, maybe even enough to break the skin, leave an imprint.

He catches a breath, one arm around her, sprawled beneath on the scattering of cushions and rough sand. Fuck. For a long moment, he just lays there. Lets himself enjoy the hazy warmth, the weight of her on top of him. No one's ever asked to see him like that before, something monstrous to most, and it's. Different. It's good. ]

[ Her eyes never seem to fully close, stay fixed on his until he lays them back down. Only then does she let them shut, as she settles against him, her nose pressed to his jaw. The noise she makes would best be described as a purr, like particularly happy cat.

When she lifts her arm to comb her fingers through his hair on the other side, there's a very dull ache on her shoulder where he just barely punctured the skin. She doesn't take much note of it, just sighs and lazily opens her eyes halfway, looking at the fine map of black lines around his eye socket, almost to his temple. It looks like abstract art. ]

Thanks for bringin' me out here. [ She means it. Even minus the incredible sex, this day was something she needed. ] Way better than huntin' back home.

[ He hums, contented. His fingers trace idly patterns into her skin as she lays beside him.

Eventually, he cracks open his eyes to look up at her. He smiles. Sure. Of course. ]

Your magic's grown. [ He lifts an eyebrow. Lightly curious, but not much more. He brushes her chest. ] Maybe some time, we'll hunt you a tooth of your own.

[ For out here. To match the one he gave her in the Horizon. ]

I do spend a lotta time practicin', you know. It'd be pretty pathetic if I never got any better. But this is the biggest thing I ever conjured before.

[ And she doesn't know that she could have managed anything more complicated than a basic tent and some cushions, but she's still pleased with herself. It's much, much more than she ever thought she'd accomplish when she practically passed out a year ago, after a single small spark of flame.

She gently catches his fingers and presses them to her lips. ] What has good teeth 'round here? 'Sides you. I'll let you keep yours.

[ Hm. It's nice. This is the first time he's had any real shelter in the desert that wasn't a pile of rocks and a cave or an overhang. He could almost get used to it. ]

Generous. [ He tucks one arm under his head while she has his other hand. His thumb presses gently to her lips. ] Sandcats. Impressive canines. Almost as much as mine.

[ Which are now beginning to fade again. He can feel the points growing blunt against his tongue. Just as well. They should return soon. As pleasant as their little tent is, he'd still prefer to sleep in a bed tonight. ]

[ She grazes her own dull teeth over the pad of his thumb, watching the black veins grow lighter and lighter. It really is a bit hypnotic, and she doesn't know why, but she likes it.

Her hand falls to his chest, next to his medallion. Dragging her nails lightly along one of his scars, she snorts and closes her eyes, head resting on his shoulder. ]

Speakin' of impressive. Are you aware that Jaskier's tryin' to drag you into a threesome by tellin' Nadine that you're amazin' in bed? 'Cause he is.

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