middaeg | ( closed ) Spiral bones of a supernova starlight...

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( closed ) Spiral bones of a supernova starlight...

Who: Geralt and Yennefer
When: Towards end of the month, about two weeks after seeing each other here
Where: Her cottage
What: Delivering apple juice, attempting to talk, maybe asking for a favor
Warnings: This will probably be NSFW
[ To say her kitchen was being used for the most conventional of purposes, that'd be a lie. While she saved some space for actual cooking, it wasn't her strong suit. Opting for a lot of fruits, breads, and cheeses paired nicely with soups and some dried meats. Easy to prepare and easy to store. She'd been studying evocation magic specifically, when universal spells weren't getting her as far as she'd wanted. They'd warned her again that she should bond, but she wanted to be tied to anyone or anything. Not until it was absolutely necessary. Managing her internal chaos had been a work in progress for the last 40 years. She could handle a few months -- especially with how pitiful some of her spellcasting could be. Magical build-up of any kind would be welcome, at this point. To make her feel like she was making progress of some sort.

Dressed simply, she'd relocated out to the garden near sunset with an assorted plate of fruits and cheeses, a bottle of wine, and a journal. Yennefer reluctantly had started attending the classes when she wasn't making any progress on her own. It was slow, but she was beginning to show progress. And she needed to track it as well as notes of the spells and components or movements needed to cast.

Filling her glass after settling with her feet in her outdoor bath, she can't help but let her mind wander to a certain Witcher that had all but invaded her presence upon arrival. Maybe she'll reach out to him sometime in this century. They needed to talk, but she'd also said her piece of things and they weren't exactly the best at talking through emotions. And while she had believed she'd wanted to close that chapter of her life, this place had a way of making her reassess things. To look at it as something of a blessing than a curse. Because if she viewed it as a curse, she'd never survive whatever was going to be thrown at them. ]

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[ After returning from the Northern Outpost, the heat is even more fucking oppressive. Southern weather doesn't suit him as it is; he's gathered on top of that, his body has started to run hotter. The night before, he cut his tongue on a suddenly sharpened tooth.

The ongoing changes gnaw at him more than he wants to admit. There's no one who would understand here how it feels to a Witcher, all the old memories it's started to unearth. Ones he's put away a long time ago, for good reason.

His restlessness makes his thoughts turn towards Yennefer more and more. They have a lot to talk about. Most of it, he doesn't want to broach. Like her, there's little he wants to discuss regarding how he feels. They don't need to talk about that, though. Their last parting had been less tumultuous than the mountain, so he's willing to see how long they can skirt any explosive conversations. He knows if he doesn't come look for her, she'll stubbornly go through this place alone. (He's not going to address the fact that that's exactly what he's doing himself.) Besides, he misses the way her company had always taken his mind off things in the past. He could use that right now.

Finding her isn't difficult. Whether she's planted the gooseberries on purpose or she doesn't care to shield her presence from him, Geralt easily tracks the scent of it and accompanying lilacs to a small cottage near the edge of the woods. Turns out, there's no need to knock: she's already outside in the garden.

Geralt stands by the fence, watching her for a moment. There's a sealed jug in his hands: apple juice, procured from the market square this morning. He tilts it to indicate it. ] Something better than wine for you.

[ Dressing in linen and spending most of her time at home in some form of cool water is about the only relief she can manage on her own. Especially once the sun starts to set. That break from the heat could be downright blissful. And as much as she hated to admit it, spending time in the Coven libraries and sessions also offered a break from the heat.

Another thing she absolutely did not want to admit to the wind for fear of those words getting carried to him, knowing Geralt was here and avoiding him was torture. He was a familiar anchor in a strange storm, but he was also a point of pain that she just wasn't ready to bleed for.

The sound of heavy footfalls and the snapping of twigs grabs her attention, pausing to look up. Somehow both surprised and not at his presence. Figures he'd seek her out before she'd made a decision if she ever wanted to actually see him again and force that point to the front of her mind. The only thing that gives her enough of a pause is the jug. ]

Is this a payment for a favor you're about to ask me?

[ Setting down the bottle, she leans forward to brush water further up her legs, an attempt at appearing disinterested. It's literally the first assumption she can make about his presence and she doesn't want to see any hurt that may dance across his face at the suggestion. Not that he missed her or wanted to be near her. That he needed something. So she looks away, interested in the water and cooling effect of the air hitting her damp skin.

And look... Maybe she wants him to see what he's missing. A bit of teasing temptation to remind him of what he lost. Totally healthy. ]

[ That that's her first assumption isn't a surprise. It bothers him, as she suspects. He can't help but think she should know he's here for her, even as he realizes he hasn't exactly been open with her. There are still a million things he's never said and probably never will. But he also has been more open with her than he has with anyone else. That's always the thing, isn't it? How granting an inch feels like a fucking mile when he's used to giving nothing at all?

It's beside the point. The point is Geralt has apple juice and she hasn't told him to fuck off. ]

No. I know what payment you prefer for a favor. [ His gaze lingers on her, pointed but not without interest, either. The water is reminiscent of the first and last time he came to her asking for her help -- and what she decided was suitable payment in return.

And yeah. He's well aware of what she's doing and why. It's exasperating and yet so like her, so familiar of the way they used to tease, he feels a fondness, too. Fondness and other things. It's conflicting. He hates having conflicting feelings, so he does else he does best: he ignores it and pushes open the gate. ]

I'm here for your garden. [ He sets the jug down beside her and leans back against a shaded tree. There's a flash of sharpened teeth when he speaks. A drop of water glides down her bare leg. He makes no effort to hide that he's watching. ] It's a nice view.

[ She hums in response, continuing with the process of cooling off her legs -- slowly and steadily. Yes, the physical side of things was often exceedingly more enjoyable than talking through anything. Speaking brought complications she wasn't ready to face. So, it was easier to just dance around it and pretend everything is fine. It's something they did well, well enough anyway. Catching the glimpse of sharpened teeth and that pointed gaze -- they both know he's not here for the garden. It always felt like he could see into her soul some days with the way he looked at her, full conversations ringing in his eyes. Or maybe it was just the stories she wanted to see in them.

Letting his words hang in the air for a moment, a corner of her lips curl up in what could be interpreted as a smirk. Maybe. The directly indirect flirting paired with his ridiculous lack of charm had always been endearing. She knew what to expect when it came to him, what he wanted -- no games. Not from him, games and manipulation were more her tactics. At least, if it was going to be intentional. But it never made the accidental hurts any less painful. So she's going for transparency. A bit.

Yennefer takes another handful of water -- lifting it to her neck as she holds his gaze. The cool water trickles down her collarbone a winding line between her cleavage before disappearing beneath the blue fabric of her dress. ]

I will never understand how you can survive in the heat while wearing those pants. [ Her hand moves to pick up her wine glass as she leans back, watching him. The apple juice, thoughts of her first comment about fangs when they'd first crossed paths, the uncertainty -- it's making her have a sudden wave of nostalgia for a simpler time and she is both disgusted with herself while not wanting to pull away. ]

[ As complicated as Yennefer is (as she always has been), she's familiar. Her complications themselves are familiar: the way he always feels a bit off balance around her when he rarely does, the way he finds himself saying what he never says otherwise, how fucking frustrated she makes him. It's all things he's come to expect when he sees her.

Familiarity is what he needs now. That includes her sitting in the water, droplets glistening against her skin in the sun. Her understanding exactly what she's doing and making that known. It's the Yennefer he—

(No. He's not going there right now. He can appreciate watching her without getting into all that. He can avoid thinking about the wish and Sudden.) ]

Don't you? [ His expression is faintly amused, though there's a quiet hesitation there that flickers, almost imperceptible except perhaps to her. In the past he might have already reached for her; now he remains where he is. Right. Of course she'd bother him about his clothes. He crosses his feet at the ankles. ] As I recall, you've never had a problem getting me into clothes you deemed more suitable.

[ They must both be thinking about it, their first meeting. It isn't just simpler times between them for him; beyond that, everything around him has grown chaotic long before this world swallowed him in. He's tired of it. ]

[ She was an enigma meant to spark confusion rather than pity. Build up a level of intrigue that had strangers often either curious and wanting to learn more or enough danger sense to stay away depending on her mood.

His comment, that sparkle of amusement paired with the light teasing is enough to get her to relax a bit. She catches the hesitation and there's no judgment from her because of it. She knows. They're doing a dangerous dance into territory that is both safer than their more emotionally loaded conversations while teetering on the edge of falling off a cliff into one of those same emotional conversations she'd rather avoid. ]

Into and out of, if memory serves.

[ And the same could be said of him, remembering deft fingers making quick work of complicated lacing on some of her more intricate dresses.

Taking a long sip of her wine, she drains the glass to make room for the juice later. Setting it down, she gracefully slides into the pool of water from the edge where she'd settled originally. She'd been planning on doing this anyway, he'd just made those plans change slightly. Or maybe made those plans seem far more seductive than she'd intended. Yennefer kept the dress on to give an illusion of a barrier between them for at least half a moment. Linen did tend to be a little absorbent after all. She approaches the side of the pool of water nearest the tree he'd settled under, moving her plate of fruits and cheeses nearer in reach of him - as well as the bottles of wine and apple juice. A peace offering of sorts to keep things civil. ]

Help yourself. You could even relax a little. Take off your boots and cool off. I promise I won't bite.

[ She even backs up towards the center of the pool, dipping further under the water as she watches him. ]

Mm. [ Geralt acknowledges that comment, and it's a little thoughtful. The quiet settles over them for a moment. Things are not back as they were before, but the air isn't so sharp. He feels himself relaxing. Ironically, it's what makes him guarded once more—how easily he can forget himself near her.

His eyes follow the curve of her body as the wet fabric clings to her skin, then dip to her fingers as she pushes the tray forward. (They're fingers he remembers well.) Predictably, he takes her invitation. Seems like they're both on the same page again, at least about this. He won't complain. Of course not. He pushes off the tree, crouching by the edge of the pool. ]

I thought that's my line. [ It is scorching. He slips off his boots and lets his feet slide into the cool water. The sun sparkles over the pool's surface. He leans forward on one hand. When he fills a glass, it's hers that he does so with the juice. It is also hers that he reaches for afterwards, curious if she'll stop him with a touch. ]

[ If they just never addressed it again, they might be able to continue along their current path for at least a little while without too many bumps. But, such miracles were rarely seen. So, she'll play along in the spirit of the new world and this seeming second chance she's been given.

This was a strange game of cat and mouse and she wasn't certain who the mouse was in this scenario. Or if cat and wolf might be more accurate. Watching him almost as intently as he was watching her, she follows the path of the glass as it lifts to his lips (equally as memorable as her fingers might be to him). If things weren't so complicated between them, she'd have already been on him, chasing the taste of the apple juice with a kiss. But, she doesn't. Not yet. They have quite a bit to get through before she operates with that level of abandon again.

The closest she can manage while maintaining a modicum of distance is to lift herself up to a standing position again, the water sloshing against her waist and his legs with the movement. Whatever fake attempts she'd started with for modesty are gone, her dress now a second skin as she approaches.

Reaching for the glass after he's taken a drink, her other hand moves to touch his jaw to try and take a peek at his teeth -- another test. ]

The Great White Wolf taking a new form.

[ The closer she moves, the quieter the world grows, narrowed down to this pool and garden. Geralt leans closer. He's not even trying to avoid getting his trousers wet; it's too late for that and either he'll get the chance to dry off here or he's walking back damp in the next little while.

When she reaches for him, he doesn't pull away. Her touch is a delicate tease. If she wants to pull down his lip to better glimpse his teeth, he'll let her: his canines elongated just a hint, pointed at the tips. He takes things a bit further and curls his hand around her wrist, her skin wet under his palm. ]

I was hoping they'd be bigger. [ It's a wry comment meant to hide how much he isn't keen to acknowledge the changes. It isn't the obvious visual of it that bothers him; fangs hardly make him stand out any more than he always has. But he's spent his life being certain of one thing and that's what they made him to be: a Witcher. Now he's not so sure. Does it even fucking matter? Maybe not. The world's always labeled him what they pleased, anyway. ]

[ Her heartbeat speeds up ever so slightly as she gets closer, the only indication that she isn't sure how this will be received. But then he's leaning in and a strong hand she'd made the mistake of growing too accustomed to only deepens whatever this encounter was stirring up. They were now past a point where honestly either of them might be able to walk away. It was hard to not seek out something or someone familiar in these trying times.

Besides, she was more than capable of remaining upset with him over what happened all those years ago that tied them together while also recognizing that they were in uncharted territory when it came to what they might mean to each other. Wanting or not, avoiding him wasn't going to be possible in a city this small. So, being reasonable and managing the circumstances of it all is the best she might be able to do. They both had needs and while she'd never admit it, even if she'd do a shit job keeping a secret... She's glad he's come to her pool and not some brothel.

Taking the touch of his hand to her wrist as permission, she does gently pull his lip down for a better look. There's a temptation to meet the wry comment with one of her own, but she takes a page out of his book to just give a hum. The sound a mixture of unspoken sympathy and concern. If she had the power to halt the changes or at least give him control over them, she would. Out of a base understanding of wanting that control when so much has already been taken. But she can't do that and offering verbal apology of any kind seems ridiculous on her part. The hand doesn't linger, though, instead letting go of his lip and tracing a line along the edge of his jaw and down to the new medallion. ]

Steel. [ It's not phrased as a question, her trained eye noticing the slight differences in weight and shine as it catches the last of the evening sun. Continuing on her path of inquiry, she gently lifts it to check on the scar she'd spotted when he'd surprised her the first time in the field. Yennefer realizes he might ask about her own healing wound, but if they continue on the path she's at this point accepted they're probably going to follow... He'll see soon enough. ]

[ The beat of her heart tells him what he needs to know. He hears it, as familiar as his own slower one. Truth be told, he hadn't known how he'd be received, coming here like this. Seems it wasn't the worst decision he's ever made. (Not that that's a high bar to clear.)

No comment comes forth about his teeth. Better that way, really. It is what it is. He knows her well enough to hear what she doesn't say. Her nails scrape gently along his stubble and towards his chest. He doesn't confirm what she notes out loud: that it isn't his medallion. He'd debated it on and off, getting one replicated. A frivolous piece of jewelry without its usual magic. But the lack of its familiar weight had bothered him, reminding him of yet one more thing that's different now.

He moves with her hand to the mark beneath: faded now to a pale pink, to match the burn on his palm. It's healed slowly, but it is healing. He lets his thumb rest against the pulse on her wrist, where her own scar rests, and reaches out with his other hand to brush back a lock of damp hair. It crosses his mind, her wound. He keeps the question to himself. That's the last damn thing he wants, bringing that up right now. The reality of it lingers heavy enough between them as it is.

Instead, he leans forward. He closes the distance between them unhurriedly. They've shared countless kisses and they all stay with him, but the one they shared last—he wants something now that doesn't feel so much like a fucking parting gift steeped in heartache. ]

[ The fact that he'd caught her off guard and already relaxing with a gift in hand is probably the only thing that got him into her garden. Anything past that is something she could attribute to the wave of nostalgia paired with some time away from him to come to terms with... everything.

Paired with the intimacy of the touch he allowed her and vice versa, his thumb pressed against a scar that has long since healed physically -- the kiss is the safest route they could take to keep conversation from ruining everything. As it was wont to do.

The kiss is slow and a promise of more, as if he was cautiously opening the door she'd tried to close. Her hand that was exploring his scar moves to wrap around the medallion to give it a tug. They could dry out his clothes later, but him remaining on the ledge won't do. ]

[ Her scent with that of the garden is even stronger up close. He breathes it in, deepens the kiss, and lets her tug him into the water with ease.

Yeah. He doesn't give a fuck about getting wet. The water splashes around them, soaking his shirt and trousers both, and dampening his hair. He leans back against the ledge of the pool and tugs her close -- close enough to feel the press of her body against his. It's been too fucking long. He missed her. The danger about seeing her again always lies in that: how quickly he's reminded that he misses her, when he hasn't ever allowed himself to miss anything or anyone.

When being alone is something he's learned to not only accept but stubbornly embrace.

He has her here now. And it's easy when they aren't talking. Easy to sink into her taste and the way she feels. They know each other well in more ways than one. He hitches the hem of her dress up, gliding his hand over her thigh beneath the water. ]

[ She adjusts easily to allow him room to slide in without breaking the kiss. And then he's pulling her in and it's hard to not just relax into the kiss. Taking her time, she just enjoys the moment for what it was. The reunion they should have had the last time they were here. When things were better and she was a ball of frustration with nowhere to direct that energy.

Witchers weren't the only ones who walked a lonely path in life. It was easy to fill a vacancy in the bed, but often it meant nothing. A quick tryst to scratch an itch that her own ministrations couldn't always take care of. He's familiar and he feels so fucking good against her. The hand on her thigh is all the invitation she needs, her hands following his as she pulls the dress up over her head -- breaking the kiss for a moment.

It makes a wet sort of thud as it connects somewhere outside of the pool, her hands then taking the opportunity to dip between them and begin making quick work on the closures of his pants. At least he was predictable in that sense, the clothing familiar and easy to navigate. Her newest scar is visible above the line of the water, healing but still a little tender if she moved wrong. Not that she gave a single shit about a little pain right now. ]

[ Once her dress is rid of, Geralt lets his hand glide even higher up her leg. He kisses down her throat, stopping only when he feels her working the buttons against his waist open. He readjusts for a second: unlike her dress, his trousers aren't as easy to slip off and it takes a bit of shifting before he sends them floating off somewhere in the pool.

His shirt follows next without pause. More than her warmth, he wants to feel her skin against his own. There are few instances where he allows someone to get close enough to knife him between the ribs and this is one of them. His gaze drifts over her body, taking her in as much as his hands had. He traces the fresh scar just above her stomach, careful not to do much more than lightly brush it. His expression grows shuttered, concern rising to the surface. He knows the marks wounds leave behind well and this one must've fucking hurt. Not that he's ever been under the illusion she's a stranger to pain, but—

He doesn't let himself linger long enough for it to become a conversation they're both avoiding. He guides her leg upwards to hitch it over his hip instead. Blunt nails press just a hint into her skin. ]

[ The mixture of his mouth and the heat of his breath on her neck is distracting, the closures suddenly becoming a little more difficult than before. There's a mutual trust when it comes to personal vulnerability. Once he's out of his clothes, there's that moment where she thinks this might have all been for nothing. When his eyes linger on her scar. It's not a clean-cut, jagged edges from the arrow being ripped out. It tells a story to a trained eye and she's waiting for the question. For something.

But it doesn't come.

A modicum of relief washes over her as she settles back into a familiar pace -- letting him lift her leg, a moan escaping at the feeling of fingers digging into her skin. She had no intention of allowing a moment for one of them to slip again and make the mistake of saying the wrong thing right now. Her hand dips between them again, this time wrapping around him to guide him into her. If there was one thing they were good at, it was fucking. Fast and hard or soft and slow. Or a mixture of both and everything in between. ]

[ Might be room for that conversation later. For the time being, he's good with putting his focus on other things: her hands on him, around him, sending a pleasant slither down his spine. It's one he's been needing since he's set foot in this damn sphere, and though this isn't the whole reason he's here—not even close—it's part of it.

With her seated in his lap, his arm underneath to hold her up, it's easy for his lips to find her collarbone, and then her breast. He kisses her there, maybe a little too soft but heated, also. They are good at this. Nearly a decade between them, he's learned what she likes several times over. What draws the sounds he wants to hear and the hitches in her breath.

There are hitches in his own breath, too. He's quiet, as he is in all things, but he gives an audible hum that encourages what she's currently doing. ]

[ It was so easy to get lost to the rhythms and sounds, back arching as his mouth finds her breast. She gives him what he wants, vocal in her pleasure. Her other leg lifts to wrap around his waist, rocking her hips against him to increase the speed. The water sloshes, matching their rhythm as ripples dance across the surface. Her arms settle on his shoulders, bracing herself. Nails dig into his shoulder blades as she moans, her head falling backwards to expose her neck. ]

Geralt.

[ His name is soft on the wind, said with the reverence of a prayer as her toes curl in pleasure at the unexpected heightened addition of the contrast of the heat of his mouth and body against her damp cooled skin. ]

[ Her breath as she says his name glides along his skin. It sinks into him as much as the lingering scent of her perfume does. As much as the grip of her nails.

He lifts his hips, falling into rhythm with her. He lets himself take in the gentle slope of her neck before he curves over her. His eyes close. He presses his lips to her throat, tasting the salt on her skin, the dampness from the pool. He's careful with his newly sharpened teeth, but they scrape just a hint.

A sharp exhale slips out of him, then something louder, close to a groan. His chest rises and falls, pleasure coiling tightly in him. ]

[ A huff of a laugh works its way out, lips parted as sharp teeth gently drag against her neck. It's new and surprisingly exhilarating. A little taste of the safest danger she could encounter in this place. While it's also a dark reminder of the changes taking hold of Geralt, she intended to show him that perhaps it wasn't all negative.

Pressing herself closer to him, she moves to capture his mouth again, wanting him entangled with as much of her as she could manage. She kisses him with a passion that only shows itself when they're either fighting or fucking, wanting to lose herself to the rhythm of their bodies. ]

[ It's a welcome sound, her little laugh. He's heard it caught between them in bed and outside of it both, whenever he's amused her enough. And sometimes, he thinks he hears an edge of fondness to it.

When she kisses him, his lips part for her. His head tips back. He shifts his hold on her, reaching up to sink his fingers into her thick locks. She tastes of wine and apples, and something else that's uniquely hers. He chases after it, wanting more.

He falls into it all with her. Lets himself lose his thoughts in her. There's no better way than this; he responds to her heated desire with his own. Time stretches between them, just heavy breaths and the press of their bodies as the afternoon sun hangs low on the horizon.

His fingers tangle in her hair, grips her thigh as he finds himself on the cusp. He breathes her name, a low rumble in his chest. ]

[ It's not a sound she often allows other people to hear, any sort of joy or transparent enjoyment often seen as a weakness that can be exploited. But while they could be cruel to each other, there's some things that were off-limits.

They're a tangle of tongues and limbs, moaning into his mouth as his fingers tangle in her hair. The grip on her thigh might leave a mark tomorrow, but she didn't care. It only drove her deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole with him. There's a mixture of sensations, the brush of her nipples against him, the sounds of their breaths -- it all culminates into a flood when he breathes her name. The dam snaps, pleasure pouring over her as she cries out. Her muscles contract around him, her hips continuing to grind against him. ]

[ He catches his breath against her shoulder when it's over. There's no tension left in his shoulders now nor in the lines of his brow. A faint buzz of pleasure lingers in the air between them, dances along his skin.

When he tucks back her hair behind her ear, it's gentle. Geralt brushes his thumb over her lip, tracing the shape of it. In the bright sun, her eyes glitter.

For a moment, he simply relaxes in the water. Almost makes him not want to say anything -- as if it might shatter the small pocket of calm they'd found together. It's rare between them, and yet at the same time, she's the only one he can really find it with. ]

[ She could drown herself in those tender touches and tonight? Tonight she just might. The intelligent thing to do would be to send him on his way before the entangle themselves further into something she can only assume is going to lead to disappointment on one of their ends. Disappointment or pain.

Her fingers trace the line of his jaw, placing a light kiss on his lips before she disentangles herself from him. The chill at the sudden lack of his body heat paired with the cooling air leaves a trail of goosebumps on her exposed skin. She grabs his pants from the pool before moving towards the stairs. She picks up his shirt and her dress, movements smooth and easy. Her bare skin glistens in the light, finally looking at him over her shoulder. ]

Come inside. Bring the apple juice.

[ As Yennefer climbs out the pool, Geralt finds himself simply watching: the long lines of her legs, the curve of her hips. Her dark hair falling in waves over her shoulders. After a second, he follows. He roughly dries off before he picks up the jug, letting it dangle from his fingers as they walk into her home.

Unlike his sparse room, the cottage is tastefully decorated, with carefully aligned furniture and paintings on the walls. It smells, of course, like her. (Lilacs and gooseberries, technically, but he's long stopped thinking of it that way. In his mind, it's just become her scent.)

Their bare feet leave damp footprints on the floors. He glances up at the high ceilings. ] Thought you'd have made it bigger on the inside.

[ She gives a hum of a chuckle in response to his comment, starting up the stairs to the obviously most important room in the house. ]

If I still had my powers? You would be correct.

[ Her bedroom is dark, but inviting. The four poster bed calls attention just by it's size alone. It's king size and far larger than anything she could possibly need, but she'd liked it.

And maybe, deep down, she'd wanted enough space to share it. While she might not openly admit she'd had Geralt in mind because any sort of romantic rendezvous wasn't exactly on the list, subconsciously? Sure.

There's a table by the chaise lounge in the corner, a large armoire that is disappointingly empty, and nightstands on both sides of the bed. The doors to a small balcony with seating are open allowing for a soft breeze, the curtains gently moving as they catch the wind. Opening a door to the ensuite bathroom, she quickly hangs up their clothes to dry before grabbing a few towels. ]

Make yourself comfortable.

[ The reminder that her powers have been diminished here gives him pause, expression flickering. At least it seems she's been regaining it, bit by bit.

He steps into her bedroom, taking in the bed (because of course it's the first thing he looks at) and the touches that are very Yennefer to him. She'd be disappointed in the state of his room, he thinks. Disappointed but likely not surprised.

The cord in his hair comes undone so he can dry himself off properly and his typical lack of care means a few white strands come out with it. He settles on the bed. It's familiar. He's missed this, simply being here with her. He knows there are things unsaid between them, but he's not ready to say them yet. Not right now.

He lowers the towel. ] Next time, I'll bring a plant as a housewarming gift.

[ Beneath it, the implication hangs there: that he has an intention of returning. If she'll have him. ]

[ Slowly. Very slowly. And yes, bonding would absolutely accelerate that -- something she hasn’t lost sight of despite her hesitations. But, she’d done everything incredibly quickly before, had thrown herself into the deep end eager to gain as much power as she could as quickly as she could. And what had that gotten her?

No, this time, she wasn’t going to make the same mistakes of her youth. Not when the consequences could have an impact on both herself and others. Negative or otherwise.

Moving back into the bedroom, she wraps the towel very loosely around herself and heads over to a small cabinet in the corner, grabbing two glasses. She sets them down on a nightstand, making no move to fill them up just yet. Not sure what he had in mind -- whether it be talking or taking things slower than they had in the pool.

Or just resting.

She chuckles at the wry comment, picking up on the implication. Making her way over the bed, she settles next to him -- her pose relaxed as the barely wrapped towel slips with the new position. Looking up at him, she sighs -- the sound carrying no weight. Nothing that would indicate she wouldn’t allow him back again. ]

Perhaps something herbal.

[ Once she's next to him, he leans in, brushing some of her hair behind her ear. He's not looking for anything more, not right now. It's just easy, for the moment, to be casually affectionate in a way he never really is with anyone else. ]

Naturally. [ Housewarming aside, Geralt has considered bringing her the plants he's found in the woods, some close to the city and others near the edge of the Wilde. He's out there most days, anyway. Maybe she could have some use for them, now that his potions are no longer effective.

Geralt leans back on the bed, covers loosely tangled around his legs and the towel slung over a nearby chair. The sheets cool against his heated skin, though out of the pool, he's already beginning to feel the rise in temperature, both inside his body and in the air.

He picks up the jug of juice, tipping it in offering. They might as well drink it. Before any unwanted topics of conversation bubbling beneath bleed through. ]

[ If she were more of a suspicious person, she might've expected a shoe to drop in the form of an unwanted conversation. But, sometimes a gift paired with a quick release of tension could just be that.

Eventually, there could be something to be gained from their dynamic, operating once again in different circles that could overlap in beneficial ways. She wasn't ready to bond -- with him or anyone. But, she also recognized she may never be ready. And at least with Geralt, she was familiar with those particular emotional strings.

Gods, what a pair.

Following his movements, she mirrors him on the other side of the bed as she takes the offered jug. It's such a simple and ridiculous thing, but it's still charming. Bringing it to her lips, she takes a drink -- a drop escaping its confines as she pulls the jug away. The droplet rests on her lower lip for a moment before beginning its descent, her finger quickly moving to catch it as she offers the jug back to him. ]

[ His eyes stay with her (of course it does), more interested in watching her than having a drink himself. The drop disappears onto her finger and whether or not there's a speck remaining on her chin, Geralt moves to brush it away, anyway, with his thumb. His hand stays a few seconds longer than it needs to.

He takes the jug. They're not bothering with glasses and that's fine by him; he drinks straight out of it, the liquid almost too sweet for his tastes but still welcome. It's surprisingly cool despite having sat in the sun for a bit. Magic, perhaps. It permeates almost every inch of this world.

Geralt is not exactly suspicious or uncomfortable around magic. But he has his reservations nonetheless about what powers this city. (The irony that he should find himself most drawn to a sorceress, after everything, isn't lost on him.)

When he returns the jug to her, he settles down on the bed, one arm tucked behind his head. Wouldn't mind spending the night here, really. There are a number of things he thinks about often -- things he won't say out loud -- and waking up beside her is one of them. ]

[ She didn't have a liquor cabinet of any kind set up in her bedroom, not having planned to entertain any companions -- at least not for awhile. Whether it would be him or not remained to be seen, but she wasn't in the business of regret for something so small as glasses upstairs in a convenient location.

His hand lingers and she almost laughs at the absurdity of it all, something that isn't lost on her as well.

He makes himself comfortable and she doesn't hold back a hum of amusement. Maybe this time they'd start balancing out managing to stick around until dawn. Taking the jug back, she hooks it on her finger and rises from the bed to close the balcony doors for a bit. The towel she'd loosely wrapped around herself pools at her feet. The action should help -- at least until things cooled off outside. There's a slight shift to the temperature of the room once the doors are shut, hopefully a relief to his warmer body temperature. And before he can ask, she speaks as she's returning to the bed. ]

One of the enchantments that came with the cottage.

[ There were others she didn't understand yet or didn't care to understand, some she had plans on improving should she stay here longterm. But, that was also always up in the air as she waited for the other shoe to drop and return her to her home. And if she's still here by the next round of warm weather, she might look for enchanted cooling sheets. ]

[ The cooling temperature makes him lift an eyebrow. Of course. Magic. Mages have been in and out of most of his life, in various ways, but even for him, this city and its enchantments -- it's steeped in more magic than he's usually seen. From the houses to the lit lanterns, he hasn't encountered many things not powered by some sort of spell.

Though he's not got complaints. Relief from the heat is always welcome.

He turns on his side to look at her as the sun begins to sink lower in the sky. When he kisses her later as the night settles in, it's an invitation for more if she wants it. Spending the full night together is a rarity for them both, but he thinks, still, of her telling him you left first. And he won't deny he sleeps easier with her beside him.

So he stays until the sun rises, for only the second time between them. The warm glow of the morning sun across her face makes it worth it. (It's dangerous, too. He wants to stay longer, and he knows what that holds for them: there are still unwanted conversations threatening to boil over beneath the surface.)

Which means before too long, he throws on his still vaguely damp clothes and exits her home. Thoughts of making himself look presentable don't cross his mind: the most he's done is pull his hair back. It's not like anyone will give a shit and he's on his way back to his room as it is. ]

[ When the invitation is extended, she takes it -- ready to lose herself for the night in someone familiar. Waking up to the feeling of him still being there is still novel and she is grateful, but expressing that would not be an option. Because opening up that kind of vulnerability would be a horrid idea -- she is also painfully aware of what’s lurking in the shadows when it comes to unwanted conversations. They’ll need to happen eventually, but that doesn’t need to be today.

Her softer side shows when she says goodbye, trying very hard to not give herself something she’ll regret. But, for all their faults, he was a safe port in a storm and she needed to be able to let her guard down from time to time. Even if the results were explosive in an awful way. She watches him leave from her balcony, wrapped loosely in a jewel-toned robe. The smooth fabric slips from her shoulder as she leans against the railing, her hair loose as it catches the breeze. She watches him for a long moment before returning inside once he’s far enough away. ]

[It is through mere coincidence that Jaskier's abode rests closer to Yennefer's than he'd like. Certainly the cottages out closer to the forest are less likely to be occupied, wall or not. Perhaps paranoia about monster attacks rests easily in Aefenglom's citizens.

Monsters are simply a fact of life for Jaskier, and besides, it works out when he needs to collect some certain herbs or such for his magic practice. (Or, sometimes more likely, a handful of flowers to stick in an urn for decoration.)

However, Jaskier is beginning to rethink how much of his connection to the two immortals truly lies at the fault of coincidence. Because it's at the moment Geralt is leaving what he knows to be Yennefer's cottage that Jaskier peers out the front with a cup of tea in his hand, the steam rising in curls.

Oh, how well he knows the look of hand-ruffled hair and the glow of sex. Except he really barely needs any sign to know exactly what the immortals have been doing.

Jaskier knocks on his window to get Geralt's attention to give him a point and a wave. He'd had a feeling all of that shouting and you've lost her forever talk would not last quite so long.

In a way, he's... happy. For his friend. Ugh.]

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