Ciri woke up suddenly, again. She ran a hand through her hair, damp with sweat. She mumbled a swear, wishing she could have slept a minute longer. The interrupted dream had been her best yet. A few moments more and she would have reached the chemical release that she was beginning to adore. Instead she was left with a longing, a palpable desire that she didn't know how to deal with on her own. The dream had, of course, been about the Witcher.

In the roughly two weeks since they shared a bed, Ciri rarely stopped thinking about it. That night consumed her waking thoughts, and apparently her unconscious ones too. She'd only had the recurring nightmare of the knight in dark armor once since. The dreadful nightly occurrence had been all but replaced by dreams she actually looked forward to at bedtime. And while she much preferred this new subconscious pattern, Ciri was still frustrated each time she woke up. She wanted nothing more than to disobey Geralt, crawl into bed with him, and make it her habitual sleeping place. She craved a better look at his body, and to explore it with more than her eyes.

And why shouldn't I, thought the Lion Cub, Because it's inappropriate according to Geralt?

"Pah!"

Ciri mustered her courage, decided that whatever disappointment she might find in the Witcher's expression would be worth it, and got out of bed.

Geralt turned over, his insomnia was beginning to become an issue. Even brutal, mutant monster slayers need their rest. Just like Ciri, he was unable to stop thinking of their night together. The biggest difference in their obsessions was the guilt which inextricably accompanied Geralt's.

He thought of her warm body pressed into his, her large eyes turned up to him, the way her breath felt on his neck. Then he thought of his responsibility to the girl, his promise to protect her, keep her safe. He thought of Ciri's innocent, inexperienced curiosity, and the way she had pressed her hips into him in her sleep. Then he thought of all her dead kin, the fact that she had no one else but him, and he thought of her age...

The door to Geralt's room cracked open a fraction, just as it had that night. Through the narrow opening he saw one green eye watching him from the hall.

"Come in Ciri."

She obeyed, closing the door quietly behind her.

"Can't sleep?"

"I got a little." She said truthfully. To her surprise, he didn't seem disappointed in her in the slightest.

"Hmm. Another nightmare?"

"Uh, not exactly. No. It doesn't come to me as often as it used to."

Geralt raised an inquisitive eyebrow. The girl smiled at him so sweetly that he couldn't help the corners of his mouth twisting up a little in response. Her feelings were contagious that way. In all the years he spent at Kaer Morhen before Ciri, he'd heard his fellow Witchers laugh so rarely the occurrences could be counted on his fingers (and almost all of them had been Vesemir). In the short time since her arrival, Ciri had remedied that with her infectious merriment.

"May I?" She inclined her head toward the planks of the bed.

After recieving a curt nod in response, Ciri sat on the edge beside Geralt, who remained horizontal. He reached up and smoothed her bright hair behind an ear. The near electric sensation from his fingers made her shiver though she wasn't cold.

"May I ask you something?" She inquired without making eye contact.

"Of course."

Ciri drew a deep, steadying breath, and exhaled it.

"Do you..." She trailed off immediately.

"Do I what?"

"Nothing." She lied. "Do you remember—" She tried... "Were you awake?" She sighed.

"Hmm... Yes."

Then her neck twisted sharply and those wide emerald eyes trained on him. Without being prompted or asking permission, Ciri lie down beside him and assumed the same position she had the last time she was in this bed. His torso was covered tonight, she wished she could feel the resonance of his bare skin on her cheek again.

It was quiet for what seemed a long time to them both, but in reality was only moments. Only Ciri's uncontrollable breathing broke the silence.

"Why... Why didn't you stop me? Kick me out?"

Silence.

"I know you think this inappro—"

Geralt cut her off with a long, low, growling sigh. "It is inappropriate, girl."

Ciri sat back up. Looking away to the door she said, "Yet you allow it."

She was filled with a resoluteness, determination. She ignored that incessant battle raging in her breast. Ciri began removing her trousers.

"What are you—"

"I'm hot." She explained.

Ciri would remember for years the look on the Witchers face. She had shocked him, and felt a swell of triumph. As she stood and leaned forward to pull the fabric down her bruised legs she looked back over her shoulder and caught him, just for a second, examining her as she bent over. Another feeling of triumph, and with it all the bravery she needed.

"Take this off." Ciri tugged at the hem of his shirt. She had never given him an order before, she tried to imitate her grandmother's tone. She hoped she could be half as commanding as the Lioness.

Geralt was too stunned to comply. Until Ciri slipped her hands under the clothing and lifted it as much as she could, spreading her fingers over his abdomen and relishing the feeling of his skin.

"It's hot..." She repeated, surprising even herself with the steadiness in her voice.

Geralt sat up without breaking eye contact, and allowed Ciri to remove his shirt completely.

He lie back down. Ciri followed. The feeling of his bare shoulder reverberating through her cheek was better than she remembered. How had she managed to go this many nights without this feeling? Ciri's hand returned to his chest, her leg draped back over him. It was as though no time had passed since that night, which had so completely occupied both their thoughts since.

Only now, Cirilla's lithe thigh that lie across him was bare, and Geralt felt compelled to run his hand up it. He needed to feel her flesh in his palms and squeeze her and slap her bottom. He resisted initially, but Ciri's leg was dragged almost weightlessly over his pelvis. Up and down his body. Her bare leg came up above his waist and he felt the impossibly soft skin of her inner thigh on his bare stomach. Ciri's nails gently scraped over his chest as she clenched her fingers. Her breath was restless now, and he could feel her heartbeat clearly through both their ribcages and the fabric of Ciri's shirt.

She knew she was having a similar effect on Geralt. His chest rose and fell more and more quickly all the time. Not to mention the swelling she felt beneath her leg that she continued to haul up and down.

Geralt's guilt and shame gave out to lust momentarily. He gripped the back of Ciri's thigh a little too tightly, but careful to avoid the bruises from her training. With his other hand, wrapped lovingly around the girl he took a not-so-subtle handful of her rear. Ciri dug her fingernails deeper into his chest, groaned a heavy sigh into his shoulder, and stifled herself by biting him there.

Ciri gave in entirely. She kissed his shoulder and trailed more kisses up his collar and neck and jaw, as he'd done to her in her dreams. She slipped a hand in the top of Geralt's trousers.

He took his hands off of her, and gripped her wrist a second too late as her tiny fingers reached his base and encircled him.

"Ciri... No. I can't."

The look on her face broke his heart.

"I—I'm not a little girl."

"Yes..." Geralt sighed. "You are."

Tears welled at the edges of her giant green eyes which flicked back and forth, searching his gaze for anything that would betray his words.

Her hand tore away from his grip and his groin and slapped him across his cheek. He was stunned, they both were. And she kissed him. His lips, just as she'd imagined, carried far stronger a sensation than the rest of his skin.

"I love you." She told him.

"...I love you too little one, but—"

"Don't call me that!" She flattened herself against his body again and a few tears spilled over.

They both thought a long while about the right thing to say next. Ciri spoke first.

"You don't need to protect me from this."

"Ciri I—"

"This is what I want... and I know you want it too."

"We don't always get what we want."

She lifted her head to meet his gaze again. "But we can have this."

Ciri chewed her lip. "Please Geralt."

She grabbed him by the wrist this time, and gently guided his hand between her legs. He stopped it a few inches away. Ciri was unable to pull his fingers any closer so she closed the gap herself and pressed her pelvis into his hand.

"Please..." Her eyes closed and her lips parted. She slid her hips back and forth, wetting his fingers through the thin fabric of her underwear, moaning near imperceptibly.

Geralt growled. In a second, he'd lifted her set her down on her back, and was now poised above her.

"Damnit!" He whispered. And he kissed her back.

Where his fingers had been a moment ago, he pressed the stiff bulge in his pants. Ciri gasped, breaking their kiss. She looked down and spread her legs wider. The friction from Geralt's pelvis thrusting against hers felt far better than anything in her dreams. It was bliss. Ecstasy.

Ciri pressed herself into his motions as hard as she could. Her nails raked his back. She'd been waiting for this so eagerly, craving it so badly, building it up in her head with each dream. It did not disappoint.

When he kissed her again it was over. Her hips were wracked with trembling spasms. Geralt's lips kept her from crying out.

Her shuddering soon stopped. Geralt did not. He continued grinding into her through it all.

When he did finally stop, he reached into his trousers and freed himself from their confines. There wasn't as much light to see by this time, but it was still a far better view than she'd gotten before. Geralt held himself at the base, and pointed his tip toward Ciri's saturated undergarment. He moved the soaked fabric aside, exposing her. Ciri felt her arousal start over again, building twice as much as before.

Geralt swore under his breath. He guided the tip toward Ciri's wet, exposed crotch. He prodded her. The vibration of his Witcher skin on hers had never felt this intense. It was quite too much. He slid the tip of it up and down the sensitive pink flesh. It felt best when he reached the top. He seemed to know this already, because he started guiding it in gentle circles around that spot. He lifted and slapped it back down several times right there, causing Ciri to flinch slightly each time at the severe over stimulation. Geralt let go of himself, sighed a deep sigh, and continued grinding into her. Ciri watched as his erection slid up and down between her lips. It was the most arousing thing she'd ever seen. Not even her dreams could have created such a vivid picture. She closed her mouth, realising it had been agape for some time.

She was trembling again. Nearing that chemical release that, until a minute ago, she'd only ever felt in her sleep. Just as she was about to cum again, Geralt stopped. He lifted the throbbing thing out of contact with her and he began stroking it vigorously. Ciri tried to catch her breath, an impossible feat at the moment. She watched him holding himself tightly and pumping his hand up and down the length of it. She wanted to try. And she did. Ciri grabbed hold of it, feeling his pulse in her palm.

"Oh my..." She sighed.

She repeated his motion. Squeezing him tightly and stroking him repetitively, rapidly. Geralt grunted. Then he reached down and placed his palm on her pelvis, with his thumb positioned right on that most sensitive point.

Oh my!" She said again. Then she quietly muttered several swear words.

Geralt spun his thumb around and around. Ciri pumped her first.

Geralt groaned. Ciri felt him tense in her hand, then spasm a few times, and she felt something hot shoot onto her hand and stomach, pooling in her navel.

He never stopped the motion of his thumb though, and soon Ciri had had enough. Again her hips buckled and stiffened with involuntary motions.

They both sighed deeply and slowly regained their breath. Geralt lie down beside her.

"Everything you hoped for?"

"Yes... Most definitely yes." She said between deep breaths, grinning. "But... I want to try for real."

Geralt breathed a small chuckle through his nose. He grabbed his shirt from the floor beside the bed and mopped Ciri's stomach dry with it, let her dry her hand on it.

"I'm serious." She said, seriously.

"I know you are." Geralt told her with a sad smile. "Not tonight little one."

Ciri beamed at him. She snuggled up to the Witcher, and suddenly feeling exhausted, found sleep quite easily. From that night forward, her dreams involving Geralt of Rivia, were far more detailed and explicit.

The Witcher lie awake for another hour or more, alternately cursing his lack of self control, and stroking Ciri's fair hair.