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

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