"You're free to find comfort while we're apart," she had told him, her tone practiced, poised, utilizing a tenor from her repertoire that gave no more weight to the suggestion than if she had been requesting a different necklace for a certain dress. "As you've always done. You will do what you do, but this time, with my blessing." Despite her best efforts and impeccable performance, Geralt could still detect a note of regret, almost sadness in the sorceress' blunt tone, something which made his chest clench faintly in the thought that him in another's arms still had the power to make her feel something too strong to completely conceal.
"Hope is a foolish thing to weigh one's mind with," Yennefer had continued, not even seeming to notice he had recognized something a bit off with her performance, or if she had, intentionally ignoring it in the hope that he would pick up the hint and drop the detail as well. "But if we were to find one another again someday, I would not be averse to that. I've seen too much to put stock in fate, but should fate decide we should come together again… perhaps that would not be such a terrible outcome."
"Perhaps," Geralt had agreed. And that had been the last they had spoken on the subject.
A full month of winter had passed since the defeat of the Wild Hunt, the idle snowdrifts lying dormant and deep across the previously verdant, muddy fields of Velen, blindingly white against what pale, watery sunlight had managed to reach the ground through the deadened trees. The cold was the least of the little found family's worries, however; with the onset of ice had come an even more unwelcome encroacher, a bannered company swathed in gold, led by a man with the bloodless face of an iguana. Voorhis and his compatriots had appeared unannounced over the crest of the hill as Geralt and Ciri had played in the snow, causing Ciri's expression to sink in despair as soon as she spotted the formation approaching, knowing too well that the sight of them meant her hard-won, newfound happiness would be soon coming to an end.
Noting the change in his daughter's expression, Geralt had followed her line of sight, his own brow furrowing into stone as he watched the cavalry approaching. He wondered, faintly – recklessly – if there might still be time for the two of them to run, to disappear into the snowy woods, to hide out in the wild as witchers do and pretend they had never seen the banner of the Great Sun coming to collect its ghastly due. But that was unrealistic, he knew, and would reflect badly on Ciri's repute, and so he only stood his ground as the Nilfgaardian horses circled the two of them in the snow, snorting white gusts from their velvet pink noses as they tossed their ornate reigns in the frosty air.
Voorhis' bluish lips were a thin, stark gash in his face as he addressed Geralt and Ciri from atop his horse. He did not bother to dismount as he spoke, only informing them in his cold, detached way that, with the defeat of the Hunt and Ciri's obligation to the witchers now fulfilled, Emhyr would have his sole heir return to Nilfgaard to take her place as Empress. Ciri had held fast to Geralt's side, but Geralt had shaken his head, loathe as he was to let go of the hand that now clung so determinedly to his, seeking his support in a conflict in which he had no voice to intervene. He wanted her to stay with him as badly as she did, but he could not deny her a calling for which he knew she had been destined from the start. She had never truly been his, he knew, and perhaps there was some good in that – Ciri was kind, and good, and bright, and though he hated to see her leave, he was sure she would put those traits to good use when she took over as ruler of Nilfgaard.
That had been the beginning of the end for the little family left behind in Ciri's wake. With their daughter now gone, a weary silence had fallen between Geralt and Yennefer, a silence for which neither had been prepared, and which neither now seemed able to overcome. Without Ciri to offer a buffer between them, her silvery laugh to light the tiny taverns and halls on the road to wherever their feet would next take them, they found they had little left to say, little left to talk about, little left to wonder that had not yet been wondered to the barest of its threads. There was a sadness between them, a melancholy which neither of them had seen encroaching, but which now seemed intent to swallow them whole; an emptiness, a hollow through which the cold winter wind of the Hunt now whistled, chilling them to the bone, and one which nothing but Ciri, it seemed, was capable to fill.
It had been Yennefer who had first suggested they take a break, bringing up the subject as Geralt had watched her brushing her raven hair in front of a makeshift vanity. He was mesmerized by her preening, always had been, and it had taken him a good moment to realize she was speaking to him at all, too entranced by her ebony tresses to pay much attention to anything else. When he did finally comprehend her words, he found that he had little heart to react to them, a fact which only surprised him a bit, and then only for a fleeting moment. He had known, deep down, that something like this was likely to come, after all; the emptiness left by Ciri's absence had simply caused too large a rift for even the lovers to ignore.
"Should fate decide we should come together again, perhaps that would not be such a terrible outcome," Yennefer had said, her voice the sharp tone of a realist. He had awoken the following morning to find Yennefer's belongings gone from his bedside, the yawning emptiness left in their wake as if someone had torn the wall from his chambers, allowing a biting winter chill to enter and settle where the night before his would-be wife had lain. He had packed up his own things only a few minutes after waking, what slim possessions he deemed important enough to keep on his person, before saddling Roach and heading for the open road, hoping to distract from the hollowness in his heart with work and witcherly purpose.
Work had been simple enough to find – so simple, in fact, that, had he not known better, he might have thought the work had come to him, for how easily he had found it. It was only too late he realized his error in taking on a contract he had known from the start had sounded too good to be true, and he cursed himself for being so foolish, blaming his lapse in judgement on his distracted state of mind. He had been asked to slay a monster in the Oxenfurt sewers – a simple enough assignment, from the sound of it – only to find that nothing about it was as simple as it had originally been presented to seem. The monstrous façade of the Oxenfurt toad still loomed fresh in his mind as he made his way back to the Garin Estate, battered and shipwrecked and marred with the scar of a magical contract he did not fully comprehend, only to find that, with the toad now slain, he found himself with much more to do than he would ever have originally agreed, had he known the stipulations from the start.
Despite his growing frustration with his underhanded employers, Geralt found that not everything he had encountered on this wild, unpredictable contractual journey had been something to resent. It had been many years since he had last seen Shani, the beautiful redheaded doctoral student with whom he had shared a short, steamy tryst, interrupted as it was by Dandelion climbing so unceremoniously in through the bedroom window. She had been only seventeen then, eighteen at most, and Geralt old enough to be her father many times over, but she had not allowed that to stop her from falling for him, nor he from falling for her. He had encountered her again a few months later in Vizima, when she had gotten caught up in a mission he had taken on involving the safety of a young Source, but he had been too distracted by other matters at the time, and had not been able to take any satisfactory time to reconnect with the doctoral student then.
Now, as he had been pursuing his contract in the sewers of Oxenfurt, he had run into Shani again entirely by chance, and though it had been nearly eight years since their last encounter, it seemed neither of them had seen fit to forget the other, nor the lingering feelings still left unattended. She had told him then, there in the sewers, even covered as they were in slime and rot, that she would like to reconnect once the two of them found themselves back on the surface and slightly more clean. Even covered in entrails as she was, Geralt could see that her beauty had not faded at all from the last time the two had spoken – and so, on his return from the Garin Estate, he had followed her up on her request, making his way into Novigrad to visit her at her temporary clinic in the city.
She had clearly not expected him to come, as she had seemed surprised and delighted by his visit, and had eagerly invited him to join her again later in attending the wedding of a local acquaintance. He had given a half-hearted answer at the time, not much for parties or dancing, himself – but the ghost of Vlodimir von Everec had been insistent, and so Geralt found himself showing up at the wedding gate in spite of his own reservations, dressed in stolen finery, shaved clean, and smelling of floral soap, much to Shani's surprise. He had tried to have some fun at the party in spite of his spectral condition, but found it nearly impossible, as he had infuriatingly little control over the lascivious spirit and his desires – and by the end of the night, he could not help wondering if Shani might never deign to speak to him again. He could not blame her, he told himself, after the way she had been treated the whole night through by the ghostly philanderer, and he would not be surprised if she decided to disappear from his life all over again after this.
"A lad clutching stems is a lad caught at mischief!" came the scolding cry of a bent old woman, but Geralt ignored her as he made his way through the dancing and merriment that filled the too-warm barn. O'Dimm had been judicious enough to separate him from Vlodimir come midnight, and now that he found himself blessedly unencumbered, he hoped he could still salvage what was left of the night with Shani after what damage the spirit had done. He had plucked a stem of rowan from one of the trees in the courtyard, and now held the branch behind his back as he walked, taking special care to keep the leaves from peeking out and ruining the surprise before he had a chance to reach her and reveal it on his own time.
It seemed his precautions were unnecessary, however, as Shani appeared too lost in her thoughts to notice him approaching either way; her eyes were fixed deep in her half-empty flagon, her chin resting pensively in her slender hand, her pretty brow furrowed over her soft hazel eyes as she considered the darkened basin of her mug. Her concentration was broken only by the sound of his heavy boots coming closer, and she quickly looked up from the recesses of her thoughts, blinking a few times as she now found the witcher standing unexpectedly in front of her once more. Her expression faltered at his unforeseen return, surprise fighting confusion on her pretty face, before her countenance finally began to lift again, this time curving her rosy lips up into the softest of weary smiles. "Still here?" she asked, half-heartedly attempting to feign a note of cheerful surprise. "Thought you had to meet Olgierd."
Geralt hesitated at the comment, feeling a subconscious twinge of guilt begin to gnaw at him at the thought, but he quickly pushed it aside, instead offering Shani a gentle smile as he cleared his throat to speak. "You and I see each other so rarely, I figured Olgierd could wait until morning," he answered, feeling a bit out of his element even as he said it. He had never been much good with apologies, even less so with cheeky ones, and the words felt stiff and strange coming off his tongue – playful, something he had not felt in quite some time in his years as a witcher. Pulling the branch from behind his back, he held the spray out to her across the table, watching as her eyes settled on the bushel of rowan before her expression began to quickly lift from weariness to surprise, and then finally to genuine happiness as she realized what he was offering her.
"Smile, Shani," Geralt told her, grinning wider at the sight of her happy face.
A soft pink blush lit Shani's cheeks as she leaned in to admire the proffered bouquet, cradling the cluster of berries against her eager palms as she looked between Geralt and the gift. "You remembered I liked the rowan!" she told him, accepting the branch from his hand, before gently twisting a bushel of crimson berries from the stalk and tucking the sprig behind her ear. Securing the rowan in place, she looked up at him across the table again, smiling playfully as she sought his approval for her new hair decoration.
Geralt could feel his heart skip a beat at the sight – the vibrant red of the rowan berries bringing out the full, striking impact of her green-flecked hazel eyes – and he found himself searching half-awaredly for a seat before he even realized he needed to sit down, lest his knees give out beneath him. "Remember a lot of things about you," he answered, trying to sound as calm and collected as he hoped he still looked. Folding his hands in front of him, he leaned forward over the table, feeling the weight of his medallion bounce idly against his chest as he stared at Shani across their assortment of mugs. He tried to read her expression through the fading orange glow of the decorative lanterns, but found it was difficult to concentrate on just that.
She truly was a stunning woman, he thought; as stunning as any sorceress he had ever met, though there was something about her in particular that took his breath away in ways no sorceress ever had. Everything about her was honest, kind, and unpretentious – her smile sweet, her manner practical – all a far cry from almost every sorceress he had come to know through his years of travel as a witcher. At the moment, she seemed happy enough with the gift he had given her, elated almost, but even that instance of happiness did not seem enough to keep a weary melancholy from slowly beginning to creep back into her expression, and Geralt frowned at the slow, unconscious change, still not quite sure what was causing such distress in the usually high-spirited doctor.
Reaching across the table again, Geralt slid his large, rough fingers gently around her porcelain, well-kept hand, causing her to look up at the gesture, distracted, surprised to find her unconscious fidgeting so abruptly interrupted. "Wedding's still in full swing, but your face… I'd say you were at a funeral," he told her, causing her expression to falter again, still seeming half-surprised at having been caught. "Why so sad?"
"Sad?" Shani asked, raising her brows. She paused for a moment, considering the question, as if only half intent on trying to deny it, before finally taking a deep breath and letting it out in a low, soft sigh. "Not really," she answered, shaking her head. "It's just… after I caught the garland, I realized something…" Turning to look away from Geralt, she instead turned her attention to the courtyard outside, watching the merriment as the free-footed wedding-guests danced gaily beneath the light of the stars, bathed in the glow of celebratory torches and swaddled in a blanket of wistful night. The muffled voices of the guests were nearly unintelligible over the thrum of the barnyard minstrels, but their tone was undeniably joyous, their laughter cheerful and bright, and as Geralt listened, he began to feel more and more like a man apart, isolated from the world through no fault of his own by the sound of their simple mirth.
There was a familiarity to this sensation, Geralt realized; the recognition of an emotional display, but the inability to fully understand or partake in it the way others did. He wondered if that part of his being was as strange to Shani as it was to most people, before he suddenly realized that, if anyone could understand that feeling, it would probably be Shani – knowing the value of concepts, wanting to share in them like others did, but having them all but stripped away by the demands of her line of work. She could act as carefree as she chose, by performance – laughing, carousing, dancing the night away – all the while knowing deep down that the night would never last, and come morning, she would have to return to the hard, blood-soaked life she had before, with only the faintest memory of the taste of wine or the smell of sweetbread lingering on her senses to remind her that she had once been happy.
The thought of their shared disaffection was quickly pushed from Geralt's mind as he watched Shani turn her gaze down to the dusty floor, unable to continue watching the merriment going on outside the barnyard doors. "The years are flying by," she said after a moment, shaking her head, her voice quiet as she stared at the packed, hay-strewn floor beneath their feet. "Yet all I ever do is study, pump stomachs, and reattach limbs… all alone."
"You've got me," Geralt offered, trying not to be too put off by the fact that she seemed to have forgotten that.
Shani looked up at the sentiment, narrowing her hazel eyes momentarily. "For how long?" she asked, trying to sound good-natured about it, though some of her distress was still clearly perceptible in her voice. "A day? Two?"
"Don't know," Geralt answered, shrugging his shoulders. "Could be more. Maybe forever."
Shani chuckled softly at the response, her slender fingers squeezing a bit tighter against his palm as she ran the pad of her thumb tenderly across the back of his weathered knuckles. "Forever is a very long time, Geralt. Especially for a witcher," she told him, offering him a sad, reassuring smile at the thought. "Don't get me wrong – it's nice, having you around, but… you come and go. I need someone who'll be there every night when I come home." She paused, her gaze trailing to one side again, though she did not appear to be looking at anything in particular this time, merely distracted from the moment by a thought.
"After a day of bandaging wounds and sewing up guts, I need a good glass and a good laugh with someone who will help me forget it all for a moment," she said, her tone almost wistful, making Geralt wish he had never tried to press the matter. Shani deserved that life – that quiet, uneventful life, where the only thing she had to worry about coming home to at the end of the day was a home-cooked meal and a warm embrace. She deserved someone to listen to her worries and help her feel like herself again, not someone whose very existence would only add to her already-wearisome list of woes and responsibilities.
"I get it," he answered, solemnly, not yet ready to let go of the hand that held so tenderly to his. He hated to admit it, hated to see the look on her face that said she had known all along. Perhaps it was the heat of the nuptial barn, or the fumes of the plentiful liquor causing his head to swim, but he could not remember ever having seen anything as beautiful as Shani was right now – pink and vibrant as a rose, adorned in a cluster of rowan – and the thought of disappointing her was almost more than the witcher could bear. He wanted to correct her on their life together, to tell her otherwise, promise her the moon and all its stars; tell her that he could be the man she wanted, live the life she dreamed; but even now he knew that could never be true. He was an old man, stuck in his ways – an itinerant soul, incapable of sitting still for more than a few short weeks at a time before the restlessness of the path called him back to the wilds once more.
Letting out a solemn breath, he forced a silvered smile to his face, before reaching out his other hand to place it atop the two of theirs still clasped across the table. "But… I am happy to see you, always," he told her, offering her an affectionate nod. "And tonight, I'm all yours."
Shani smiled back at him at this, her smile softer this time, brighter, as if the hint of sadness that had entered her expression earlier had all but faded away, at least for one fleeting moment. "Well… in that case, let's drink to tonight," she answered, using her free hand to pick up her goblet and indicating towards him with it.
"To tonight," Geralt agreed, retrieving one hand to pick up his goblet as well. "May the moment last."
The raised scratches Shani's short nails had left on Geralt's back had lasted only a day before his enhanced healing had seen to their removal, but the memory of their night together after the wedding was still fresh and floral in his mind as he made his way back to Novigrad. He still saw every detail as clearly as if it had happened only hours before, rather than days; the pale of moonlight against her porcelain skin, the lapping of water on the sides of the rowboat as it rocked against their weight. Her gasps and moans still rang in his ears, the soft touch of her hands against his chest as she straddled him in the tiny confines of the boat, his rough palms tender against the pink blush of her thighs as he pressed up inside her, feeling her slender form shudder on top of him, silhouetted against the painted night sky. He still felt the warmth of her body encompassing him as he had let loose inside her, throwing her head back with a wild, blissful moan and laugh, her thighs tensing against his sweaty hips as he growled like an animal at the sensation, panting as the shocks of orgasm shuddered through him like a tidal wave.
They had spent only a few minutes recovering after that, with Shani lying on top of him in the boat, her face buried in the side of his neck as he ran his fingers through her soft, sweaty hair, kissing her forehead as he took in her intoxicating, feminine scent. Shani smelled of sweet wine and rowan berries, mixed with something more floral and medicinal – lavender maybe, or sage. He had never been much good with aesthetic scents; his expertise as a witcher lay more in the smells used for tracking, or the scent of a creature's intentions. He could smell fear, and blood, and the stench of death, but had sneezed like a dog the first few times he had caught a whiff of Yennefer's perfume, only learning through time to love and recognize its signature components.
Geralt and Shani had rowed back to the shore after their first go-round in the boat, Geralt still half-erect as he watched the starlight shimmer off Shani's flawless, sweat-dappled skin. They had barely managed to make ground and set out a blanket before they had started up again, this time with Geralt on top, driving the doctor into the soft sand of the shore as she rocked eagerly against his motions. Her nails dug deep in the flesh of his back as she moaned, hot and heavy, in his ear, the sound of her pleading to feel him inside her pushing him to press harder, faster, the knot of orgasm starting to twist again in his stomach as he felt her wrap her sweaty legs around his waist. Letting out another feverish laugh, she leaned back her head, exposing her milky neck, and he kissed it, breathlessly, dragging his teeth across her skin, shuddering as he heard her moan once again, ecstatic with the thrill of danger.
She had heard Dandelion's ballads, of course – knew well the story of Geralt and the striga – and he growled softly, the sound deep in his throat, grinning like a wolf as he sank his teeth softly into the flesh of her neck, not hard enough to bruise, only to entice. Shani gasped as a shock of thrill and pleasure rocked through her at the motion, the sensation causing Geralt's body to shudder as he pushed up inside her again, and he pressed a hungry, feral kiss against the underside of her jaw, forcing her to lift her head further upward to accommodate. "Melitele, yes," she breathed, sounding thoroughly pleased, and he had grinned at the sentiment, catching her lips in another desperate kiss, before his hand found her breast, his rough thumb playing over the rosy nipple as he cupped the soft warmth of it in his weathered palm.
He had only managed to last a little while longer before her pleas to come inside again had driven him past the edge of reason, and he had done as he was told, spilling deep inside her as she exclaimed in pleasure, clutching the witcher close as he let out a short, sated howl of his own. His fingers dug deep in her skin as he panted and shuddered, the last shocks of aftermath pulsating through him as he lay down beside her on the blanket, this time pressing his face into the soft pillow of her bare chest. He could feel her gentle fingers in his wintery hair as he breathed heavily against her, and he wrapped a strong arm around her slender form, pulling her close to him across the blanket, afraid to let go for fear of realizing this perfect moment was never meant to last.
When he woke up the next morning, he found to his dismay that his fear of the previous night had come true; Shani was already dressed by the time he awoke, the first rays of sunlight filtering through his eyelids to rouse him from a restful sleep. She smiled sadly over at him as he sat up on the blanket, still fully naked, looking confused and disappointed at the realization that the night before, like all good things in his life, had always been destined to come to an end. They had spoken only shortly of the night before, just enough to confirm that it had not all simply been a wonderful dream, before Shani had gotten up to leave, seeming strangely melancholy and distant at the thought of lingering feelings still existing between them.
"I need to sort it all out in my head," Shani had told him. "Alone."
And so he had left her alone for a while, allowing her time to collect her thoughts before returning to visit her in Novigrad again. By the time he arrived to her temporary clinic, she was already packing her things in her trunk, preparing to leave on some new adventure she had not seen fit to tell him was coming. He had been surprised by the revelation, but had been put at ease once more by her reassurance that she would never have left the city for good without first finding him to bid him farewell. She had gone to sit on the bed after that, turning her gaze out over the room, as if to take stock of the life she had made in the few short weeks she had settled in the city. Seeing his opportunity to talk, Geralt had followed suit, settling down on the opposite end of the bed before looking up at her across its worn counterpane.
"Said you needed to think things over," he told her, broaching the question with less hesitation than he had expected. "Have you?"
Shani sucked her lip at the question, her dark lashes dropping to obscure her hazel eyes, making it difficult to tell what she was thinking as she stared at the floor between their feet. "Yes…" she finally responded, though he could tell from her voice that she was not as concrete on the matter as she wanted him to think. "I've decided… you're incredibly sweet, but…"
"But we're better off keeping things as they were," Geralt answered, finishing her sentence for her. He had known from the start that this was where this conversation was going, but he had hoped he might give Shani a chance to surprise him, to prove him wrong, to make him feel a bit more human and wanted for the first time in as many years as he could remember. She had no obligation to do so, of course; whatever decision she made would be hers to choose, and if that meant bidding farewell to the witcher, he found he could not hold it against her.
Shani's expression was difficult to read as she stared at him across the bed, her mouth twisted in an odd, thoughtful half-frown as she listened to him speak. "Mhm," she finally answered, turning her attention down to her attire, smoothing the sleek material between her hands, as if looking for some tangible distraction to help her think more clearly. "Y-you're always going places, and they're likely to ship me off soon… and besides, we tried once, and you know how that worked out."
"We were younger then," Geralt pointed out. "Different people. You were…"
"I was seventeen," Shani said, looking up at him again.
"Mm," Geralt answered, letting out a low grunt at the reminder. "And I was a cretin. But you're…"
"Twenty-five."
"Older… now," Geralt continued, treading much more lightly now. "And so am I."
Shani sighed at the conversation, crossing one dainty leg over the other as she folded her hands in her lap again. "Geralt… I adore you," she told him, causing him to frown at the lead-in. "You know I do. That hasn't changed, and I doubt it ever will. But… we just have too much history between us. I know the kind of person you are." Taking a deep breath, she laced her fingers anxiously over her crossed knee, rocking back a bit in her seat on the bed as she fidgeted her dangling, booted foot in thought. "You leave," she told him, frankly. "You always do. And I'm afraid, if I become too used to seeing your face… one of these days I might not want to let you leave again."
Geralt took a deep breath at the admission, turning to look away from Shani for a moment as he thought it over. It was an honest answer, and not one without merit, but for some reason he was finding it hard to accept as something he still felt an unalterable connection to. She had every reason to think of him as that kind of person, after the way their relationships had always gone – the way he had left without a word after Oxenfurt, the way he had disappeared completely after Vizima – but he knew he had changed in their time apart, and now looked back on the way he had treated her as something a cad would do, a man with no moral or emotional commitment except to himself and the path ahead.
That was the man he had been before Ciri, before she had brought him and Yennefer back from the strange abyss of death, before he had grown so close to the girl he had come to see as his own flesh and blood. That was who he had been before the concept of life and the ones who meant the most in it had seemed so dear and fleeting, so much so that the thought of taking those things for granted made him sick to his stomach in a way he had not felt in years.
"Shani…" he said, speaking slowly now. "When I talked about forever…"
"I know," Shani answered. "You weren't being serious. The wedding, the time we've spent together… it was nice. But you have your life, and I have mine." She shrugged at the thought, her lips thinning in a strained smile. "We—this doesn't make sense, long-term," she said, looking away again. "You know that as well as I do."
Geralt frowned at the redirection, shaking his head, as much to clear it as to prove her wrong. "No, that's—that's not it at all," he told her, sounding more distressed than he had expected. Letting out a deep sigh, he rested his hands on his weary knees, staring down at the floor between his boots as he tried to think of how to explain it. "I'm tired, Shani," he finally said, looking up at her again, his expression wan but sincere. "After all my years spent on the path… I just want to rest. Which was why I thought… maybe I could do that… with you. Rest. Live a normal life." He paused as he said this, watching her face, as if hoping for some indication that he had chosen the proper words to convey what he was feeling. "I guess I just wondered if… you've ever considered that possibility," he added, quieter now, much less sure. "Settling down… with a witcher."
Shani paused, before looking up at the question, her pretty brow furrowed, as if this had been the last thing she had expected to hear from the usually steadfast witcher. He was not known for his sentimentality, that much was true, but he still felt he had too much to lose by not speaking his mind to allow his generally stoic nature to overwhelm his deeper feelings. Despite what people said about him, and about witchers in general, he did have emotions, just like anyone else – sorrow, fear, pain, and joy, all blunted by the Trials to keep from overtaking his common sense, but all still very much present and real. Now, the thought of losing Shani again after so many years apart was enough to cause his heart to clench in anguish, the same anguish he had felt when Ciri had left to rule Nilfgaard, twisted the same way in the fear that he might never see her again.
"Any witcher, or…?" Shani asked after a moment, clearly teasing, though it took him a moment to register; he was still lost in his thoughts, weary and worried, and the wry joke had gone right over his head. Looking down again, Shani smirked faintly at her hands in her lap, the corners of her rosebud lips turning upward in a soft, witty grin as she let out a quiet sigh. "Honestly… I did think about it, at one time," she answered, more truthfully this time. "And, in a different life, I might have taken it seriously as a possibility. Settling down, spending the rest of my life by your side… coming home every night to curl up beside you and dream of a life of marital bliss." Pausing at this, she stared down at her lap, at her dainty hands folded and fidgeting, noting, Geralt supposed, the lack of rings on her fingers, with one in particular being the most prominently lacking.
"But I know you, Geralt," she added after a moment, looking up at him again, drawing his gaze back to her serious face. "You're not the settling-down type. No matter how nice it is to think about, that life could never be."
"You never know," Geralt answered. "It could happen. People change all the time."
Shani only chuckled at this. "I don't think so," she said, shaking her head, not even seeming to notice as Geralt's expression twisted at her from across the bed, discouraged by her so-easy dismissal. "A simple life would bore you to madness. I couldn't do that to you." Having said this, she paused again, her gaze turning down to her lap once more, before she took in a deep breath, sucking thoughtfully at her lower lip. "Besides," she added, a bit sheepishly. "I want children, and… if your constant reminders about witchers' sterility is anything to go by, I don't think that's something you could give me. No offense."
"None taken," Geralt answered, honestly. "Can't say I'd be much good with kids anyway."
"Oh, I don't know about that," Shani returned, turning her hazel gaze up to look at him again. "You were always good with Ciri, from what I've been told." She hesitated at the mention of Ciri, realizing too late her unwitting slip, her watchful expression never leaving his face, as if worried she might have struck a chord that would upset the witcher more than the current conversation was already doing. Geralt said nothing at the comment, his expression set, staring just as evenly across the bed, watching as Shani let out another soft, tired sigh before reaching over to take one of his hands in hers, resting them both in his lap. "I'm sorry, Geralt," she said, shaking her head again. "I love you, but… I don't think this could work. That we… could work."
"Hm," Geralt responded, more of a grunt than an actual reply. He hated to admit that she had a point – several, in fact – but he knew that everything she said carried weight, and all of it had merit, at least in her eyes. He wanted to argue back again, to tell her she was wrong, to reconsider, that they could figure out a way to get her everything she wanted, even if he, himself was not fully capable of providing it on his own. Instead, he only let out a soft sigh, dropping his gaze to the hand still in his lap, before nodding along with her decision, feeling his heart clench tight at the motion. "You're right," he told her, his voice soft with finality. Then, looking up at her again, he paused, considering, before offering her a soft, weary, crookedly forced attempt at a smile. "But… promise to share a bottle of wine with me from time to time?"
Shani smiled back at the question, her hand squeezing affectionately around Geralt's palm. "Of course," she told him, her voice bright. "I'll be sure to keep one handy."
He had seen it coming from the start, he told himself. People like him were not meant to be happy; that was what the world had determined, whether or not he and those like him might agree. Witchers, mages, nonhumans alike – the world was unkind to those who did not fit its ideal, and he had always known, deep down, that lasting happiness was not something that had ever been truly within his reach. The thought had been there all along, lingering like a spectre at the back of his mind, but to hear it expressed so plainly to his face by the ever-resilient Shani felt like the final nail in a coffin of his own design.
He had brought it on himself as much as anything, he knew. Though his witcherly nature had played a part, he had ultimately been the one who had decided to act as he had all these years, forging a reputation for himself as a man for whom settling down was impossible. He was impulsive, unreliable, and unrefined, with a fatal weakness for beautiful women, whether or not they happened to be the same beautiful women he was supposed to be bonded with at the time. He could remember the look on Yennefer's face when she had learned he had slept with Triss during their time apart – that he had bonded with Triss, told her he loved her – a look which still haunted him to this day. Her anger, however, had not been what struck him most when she had been told of his interlude with her once-best friend; it had been the look of betrayal in her face, betrayal by a man she had loved with a bond beyond that which the world could comprehend.
There was nothing in this world more precious to him than Yennefer, and though he had been without memory at the time and so could not be fully blamed for his actions, he still felt he had committed a wrong for which he could never be entirely forgiven, and could not help wondering if he might truly deserve the life of loneliness he now led as a result.
The thought of Yennefer made his heart clench in his chest, and he turned to look out over the side of the ship he had secured passage on after leaving Novigrad, taking note of the white-capped waves lapping frothily against the side of the vessel, warning of harsher weather. The sky did not appear to promise rain, at least not anytime soon, but the sea never lied, and Geralt frowned as he stared out over its endless, cerulean depths, wondering if they might make land in Skellige before the worst of the storm began to fall. He tried his best to concentrate solely on the journey ahead, but thoughts of the weather could only hold his interest for so long before his mind began to wander back to where it had been before – to Yennefer, a woman for whom he had fallen so hard and so fast on their very first meeting that he had made the rash decision to command an otherworldly wish to tie them forever in destiny.
Even after Yennefer had managed to track down another djinn, using her new wish to dispel the first, nothing had changed between them. Their destiny had changed, he knew – the threads of fate which had tied them in life as in death – but their feelings had remained the same, a thought which had given Geralt hope at the time, but which he now realized was just one more thing he could never truly enjoy.
He had seen it happen only a few times: a witcher abandoning the path for want of a normal life, trying as he might to carve a small home and bed for himself from the substratum of a civil society. It had never turned out, as far as he knew, but the fact that some still tried amazed him – though whether that was in envy or morbid fascination he could not quite say. The thought had never truly crossed his mind at all before the past year or so, with the meeting first of Jad Karadin, Lambert's Cat School rival, and then later the Countess Mignole, Vesemir's long-lost sweetheart. The Countess had held a flame for Vesemir, and he for her, for more years than even Geralt and Yennefer had known one another existed, and the fact that not even one as accomplished as Vesemir could justify leaving the path after so many years was a telling omen into Geralt's own bleak future.
Vesemir had spoken of the Countess only once in his and Geralt's years together, and then only in strangely awkward passing, as if the idea of leaving Kaer Morhen for his own personal happiness was a shameful thought Vesemir could not justify himself to indulge in. "And you've no desire to go and find her?" Geralt had asked, fascinated by the rare kernel of insight into the thoughts of the older witcher.
Vesemir had grunted at the question, ruffling his moustache with a huff of breath. "Later, maybe," he had replied after a while. "Once it's over. Once things are… calm again." But things had never calmed for Vesemir, and Geralt had not had the heart nor courage to return to Oxenfurt and inform his lady love that her dashing witcher would never be coming back from his wild trail.
The knock on Yennefer's tavern-room door came just as she was starting to disrobe for sleep, and she looked up quickly at the sound, irritated at having been interrupted in her nightly rituals. Her velvet and leather jacket hung half-buttoned across her bosom as she stood from the vanity she had been provided on request, taking the few steps to the door to see who dared call on the sorceress at such an hour. She was painfully underdressed for an audience, she realized – she had already shed her feathered shrug, folding it neatly with her gloves and belt on the vanity – but she at least still had on her tall leather boots, making her seem not so short as she made her way to the doorframe.
It was not unusual for townsfolk to approach her to ask for help, if they recognized her for what she was and needed some sort of magical assistance. Even so it frustrated her to no end when they chose to approach her during times when she was least available, rather than doing it at some point during the day when she was at her most helpful and dressed. Throwing open the tavern-room door with a scowl, Yennefer glowered out at her unwelcome guest, intent on giving her unscheduled visitor a razor-sharp piece of her mind – only to find that, to her surprise, her mind was not what this visitor was interested in. The weight of Geralt's body hit hers like a battering ram, and she found herself pushed back into the room, his mouth on hers, being pinned up against the nearest wall as the door slammed shut behind them.
"Geralt," Yennefer barely found time to breathe, before they started kissing again, winded, desperate, devouring one another, their hands blind with passion as they tried to touch every inch of the other's body they could find. Geralt's mouth moved across her face, kissing her cheek, her jaw, her throat, his hands gripping fast to the pristine breasts half-exposed by the low cut of her shirt. She could feel the solid bulge of his pants as he pushed up against her on the wall, the wild heat pulsating from its straining threads nearly causing her to sweat in anticipation. Her breath heaved hot and heavy in her chest as she felt him press his groin against hers again, touching her, teasing her, feeling the pulsing warmth of an indulgence they had both missed so much in the weeks between.
"Geralt," Yennefer panted again, still stunned by his unexpected appearance. "What—" But she did not have time to finish the thought, as she suddenly felt his hands on her pants, his rough fingers, deft with years of practice, taking only a second to undo the intricate clasp. The air of the tavern was cold on Yennefer's bare skin as he pulled her pants and panties down to her knees in one skilled motion, and she shuddered as she felt his strong hands on her thighs, spreading them to accommodate him as he knelt down before her. Yennefer gasped as he set to work, feeling a shock run up her back at the first sensation of his tongue between her legs, and she whimpered in pleasure, running her fingers eagerly through his wild, white hair.
"I missed you, Yen," Geralt told her, breathless, looking up for a moment, hoping to meet her eyes. The moistened white of his scruffy beard sparkled like snow in the candlelight, and Yennefer felt her breath catch in her throat at the sight of his face so adoringly covered in her fluids. He knew exactly what he was doing, she knew, and she could not help but feel a bit amused by how well he had come to know and exploit even her most depraved quirks.
"Don't stop," Yennefer insisted, reaching down a hand to rest on his head. "Don't talk. Not now."
Taking the signal, Geralt tucked his face back between the sorceress' legs, feeling her painted nails comb eagerly through his hair as he worked his magic beneath her. She moaned, shuddering at his touch, each flick of his tongue earning a jolt of pleasure, and he grinned to himself at the accomplishment, pleased with his own talent and skill.
In his years as a witcher, he had made a habit of always trying to help the most humanoid of creatures, rather than resorting to killing them, and he found that that often paid off in unexpected ways – such as the time he had learned from a grateful succubus the best methods for pleasuring his female companions. The succubus had allowed him to try it out on her, guiding him until he got it just right, and eventually, with practice, he had managed to bring the demon to orgasm without ever taking off his trousers. He had had to wash those same trousers on his return to the tavern, but the fact still stood that he had learned his lesson well, and was now using that same knowledge on Yennefer, intent on pleasuring his lover until she came.
Yennefer shivered as he moved his hands around to grab hold of her ass, his rough fingers pressing into the pale, supple flesh, and she leaned her head back against the wall, grateful to have him there grounding her, lest she melt into a puddle at the sensation. Every so often Geralt would feel a jolt of adrenaline shoot through her body at a particularly skilled touch, and he chuckled, the sound low and animal in his throat, taking great pleasure in the way her body moved, her knees shaking, chest heaving, hands furling and unfurling at her sides. He explored her with his mouth, knowing her, feeling her knees jerk towards his head as she let out a sharp exclamation of pleasure, her shoulders locking as her pristine hands began to travel over her body, unsure where to put them in her ecstasy. She eventually settled on her breasts, massaging them with a deep, breathy moan, her legs starting to shake as Geralt readjusted them against his shoulders on the wall.
The sorceress whined, biting her lip, squirming in pleasure as she arched her spine, before another visceral shudder caused her body to quake, and Geralt finally felt the sweet taste of success cross his lips. The witcher grinned as he wiped his mouth, before standing again to kiss her lips, allowing his hands to work their way down her front, skilfully undoing her jacket. Each button popped open easily at his touch, and he quickly pulled the garment over her slender arms, tossing it aside onto the floor. "Be careful with my clothes!" Yennefer scolded, half-annoyed, but found her protests quickly stifled with another hungry kiss.
Geralt grinned into her lips as he next unlaced her low-cut blouse, sliding it down her shoulders as well before tossing it aside to join the jacket on the floor. With her shirt now gone, Yennefer found her breasts exposed to the chill tavern air, her petal-pink nipples already standing erect as Geralt leaned down to suck them, and, grabbing the witcher's shirttail, Yennefer yanked it over his head as he bent, throwing it aside to join the other clothes before starting to work on the clasp of his pants. His trousers popped open with almost no effort, his erect member clearly aching to be seen, and she quickly released the garment to his hands, allowing him to haphazardly kick off his boots before pulling off his pants and undergarment with one motion.
Kicking his trousers aside, Geralt bent down to help the sorceress out of her boots as well, kissing the inside of each thigh as he worked, unzipping the expensive leather and sliding it off before carefully setting it aside with the rest. He knew how much Yennefer liked those boots, and how upset she would be if anything were to happen to them, so he took special care with them, even as he could feel the first trickles of precum start to drip onto his thigh in anticipation of what was to come. Once her boots were no longer an obstacle, Yennefer quickly stepped out of her pants and panties, kicking them aside to join the rest, too caught up to concern herself with the wrinkles they were sure to get. With that done, Geralt began to kiss his way up Yennefer's body, starting at her thighs, and then her supple hips, his hungry lips lingering as he nipped his teeth softly against her ivory skin, and Yennefer watched as he worked his way up her torso, his winter beard tickling her navel as he kissed in a circle around it.
"I missed you so much," Geralt told her, breathlessly, moving his hands to take hold of her hips. His lips travelled over her ribcage next, taking time to kiss each individual bone, before he found his way to her breasts, allowing his mouth to travel over each nipple, sucking on each one before nipping at it gently with a soft growl, just hard enough to warrant a shudder from the sorceress. As much as she usually berated him for his animalistic tendencies, he found that the bedroom was one place she did not seem to mind the more wild aspects of his witcherly nature, and he grinned, wide and wild like a wolf, as he kissed his way across her collar-bone, pressing his lips to the side of her neck before dragging his teeth gently across the soft, perfect skin.
"Did you miss me too?" he asked, pressing another, harder, hungrier kiss to the side of her neck, causing her to moan again as his hand found her supple breast, beginning to massage it. His rough thumb trailed over her sensitive nipple, causing her to bite her lip, stifling a whimper, and Geralt grinned again, loving every noise he managed to wrest from the usually stalwart sorceress. His stiff cock trailed idly across her stomach as he finally stood to his full height again, kissing her neck and the underside of her jaw, before nipping playfully at her ear, breathing hot and heavy into it as he moved to begin kissing her lips instead – those perfect lips he had missed so dearly, and had dreaded he might never kiss again.
"I love you," Geralt breathed, not waiting for her answer. "Don't leave me again, Yen. I can't stand it. I was so lonely without you."
"I imagine you weren't so very lonely," Yennefer teased him, her humour biting, and he raked his teeth over her lip in response, causing her to moan as he silenced her with another kiss. His thumb trailed precariously over the pale skin of her throat, making her shudder at the implied danger of the touch, and, breaking free of the kiss, Yennefer gasped for breath, her dark lashes fluttering over her violet eyes as she reached out to run her fingers over the taut, scarred map of his body, taking in every mark and blemish she had long ago come to know by heart. "I thought time apart would be best for us," she admitted, her voice breathy, strained, gasping for air between desperate kisses as his mouth all but fought to devour hers again. "And it was, in a way. We've each seen what we would be missing without the other. We've seen it to be too much to bear—"
"No more talk," Geralt insisted, reaching down to hoist her up under her thighs, causing her to gasp in surprise as he lifted her to wrap her legs around his waist. Moving to the makeshift vanity, he pushed everything off onto the floor, clearing it for use before propping Yennefer against the counter and starting to kiss her neck again, forcing her to press her naked back into the cold glass of the mirror. Yennefer gasped at the frigid sensation, but quickly recovered from the shock, wrapping her arms around Geralt's neck and pulling him in close before spreading her legs to welcome him inside. Bracing himself against the vanity, Geralt slid eagerly inside her, feeling the sorceress shudder around him as she enveloped him down to the base. She moaned with delight as she rode him, rocking, pressing her soft breasts against his chest with every thrust, and he gripped her hips, digging his fingers into her skin.
"Oh… Geralt…!" Yennefer exclaimed, breathless, the only words she could manage.
"Yeah… say my name," Geralt answered, growling, before thrusting inside her again, his fingers digging harder into the shapely curve of her ass. Sliding his hand further down her ass, he slipped two fingers up between her cheeks, grinning as he felt her give a short jolt at the sensation, letting out a high-pitched gasp before moaning again as she settled into the newness of his touch. She had been penetrated like this before, letting him fill two holes at once, but it had been so long since the last time they had done it that she had almost forgotten what it felt like. As he pressed up further inside with his fingers, she moaned again, approvingly, biting hard on her lower lip, her eyes nearly rolling to the back of her head as she rocked against his body, wanting more.
"Tell me you missed me," Geralt insisted, huffing as he drove his cock inside her warmth, rocking his hips against hers, feeling their sweat mingling on his thighs as the sound of their skin colliding filled the air. "Tell me you thought about me every day. As much as I thought about you."
"You're certainly full of yourself," Yennefer teased, breathless, what laughter she could manage through her ecstasy coming out only in short, winded huffs. "You can't know that for sure. What if I told you… I hardly thought about you at all in our time apart?"
"I'd say you're a liar," Geralt returned, his voice guttural, causing an excited shudder to run through Yennefer's frame at the promise of danger. "And you know what happens to liars." Pulling out, he grabbed her up under the thighs again, lifting her off the vanity with an exclamation of surprise and a giddy laugh from the sorceress. Then, turning to the small dining-table in the room, he set her down on the edge of it, before flipping her over, exposing her shapely ass to the air. Spitting into his palm, he began to rub the saliva over his cock, wetting it, only to look up in surprise as he heard a scoff of disapproval from the sorceress, finding Yennefer looking back at him over her shoulder with an expression of incredulity. Only Yennefer could manage to switch so easily between sensual and critical without missing a beat, he thought, and he found that in itself to be strangely arousing as she pointed towards the bed in the corner of the tavern room.
"There's lubricating oil in my bedside table," Yennefer told him, as practical as if she were asking for an ingredient for a potion. "Use that. Don't try to come in without preparation."
Geralt grunted at the instruction, placing his hands on her shapely hips and kissing the curve of her spine. "I don't know that I can wait that long," he returned, his voice low, still playing on the gruff tone that had gotten such a positive reaction from her earlier. But not even that seemed to work, as he found his hand quickly swatted off her hip, and she turned to face him, propping herself against the edge of the table with a censorious glare.
"You will use the oil, or I will cast a withering charm on your equipment," Yennefer told him, clearly in no mood for his teasing. "I won't be ignored on this, Geralt. And get my cleansing decoction while you're at it."
Geralt smirked at her stubbornness, leaning in to steal another kiss before starting to head for the bedside table. "I like it when you take charge," he told her, nearly purring the words as he opened the drawer, starting to rummage around for the aforementioned lubricant.
Yennefer huffed, seeming less genuinely annoyed by his antics than she would have him believe, glancing over her shoulder as she took a moment to salvage her tousled mane. "Good," she answered, shortly, combing her fingers absentmindedly through her wild ebony hair. "You should be used to it by now."
"I am," Geralt returned, his smirk widening at the back-and-forth. "I still love it, though." For a woman as meticulous as Yennefer, she certainly kept a wild assortment of things in her bedside table – but even so it did not take long for him to locate the bottles she had requested. The lubricating oil was the easiest to identify – a small, tulip-shaped vial of dark purple glass stoppered with a cork that resembled an elegant, twisting flame – but the cleansing liquid was simple enough to recognize as well: a green glass vial in the shape of a medicinal ampoule, with a thick cork stoppering it from accidental contamination. Pouring out a fair amount of lubricant into his palm, enough that he figured he would have no risk of unintentionally harming Yennefer, he stoppered the purple vial again, before starting to rub the oil on his erect member, trying to suppress a shudder at the strangeness of the sensation.
It was only ever with sorceresses that he was made to take measures like this; sorceresses were high-maintenance, and spent a fairly large amount of time and magical energy perfecting their bodies, and while it made sense that they did not want anyone like him coming along and spoiling that with his lack of sexual courtesy, it still made him feel a bit out of sorts whenever Yennefer or Triss made him oil down before they allowed him to take his preferred liberties.
Making his way back to Yennefer, Geralt set both vials aside on the table for her to see, running his hands over her feminine hips and drawing her in for a deep, breathless kiss before turning her around against the table again and taking hold of her shapely ass. With a grunt of pleasure, he slid his way inside, causing Yennefer to gasp he pushed up inside her, pulling back on her hips as he rocked forward with his own. The sorceress let out a long, low groan, her dark hair falling to cover her face in silky curtains as she dropped her head closer to the table, and in almost no time they were fucking again, just as enthusiastically as before on the vanity. Yennefer cried out in pleasure as Geralt drove into her from behind, his hands gripped firmly on her curvy backside, both rocking with the motion as he pushed up inside her, harder and faster, until the table she was leaning on shook with the vigour of their lovemaking.
The sound of rattling table fixtures mixed with the moans and cries of the sorceress, creating a chaotic cacophony that made Geralt's lusty heart race with excitement. He drove in again, more enthusiastic than before, letting out a soft, rumbling chuckle as he cleared her dark hair from the back of her neck, leaning in to kiss her lovely spine as he fucked her from behind. "Don't stop," Yennefer panted, digging her nails into the wood of the table as one of Geralt's thrusts caused a wine goblet to knock over, rolling across the tabletop before clanging loudly onto the tavern-room floor. Another few thrusts caused the plates on the table to rattle, one sliding dangerously close to the edge, only to be beaten to the floor by a set of forks, clattering noisily off the table as it quaked and rocked under the remaining setting-ware.
"Marry me," Geralt breathed, thrusting into her again, his words hot against the back of her neck as he spoke.
Yennefer paused at the appeal, wincing a bit as an elaborate candlestick toppled over onto the tabletop at their fucking, clanging loudly against one of the plates, threatening to break the earthenware in two. "What was that?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder, bracing as she continued to rock against the table, rattling what few settings still remained. "Did you just ask me to marry you? If you're going to do that, at least turn me over and ask me properly."
"Can't," Geralt answered, swallowing hard, panting too much to properly articulate. "Not done yet."
"Don't finish back there, Geralt," Yennefer objected, clenching her fist as another wine goblet rolled noisily from the table to the floor. "You know that makes a mess. Finish on yourself, then we can clean it off easily before going again."
"Don't want to," Geralt panted, gripping her shapely hips between his palms, leaning forward to kiss the ivory nape of her neck as he pushed up inside her as forcefully as before. "Marry me, Yen."
"And what if I say no?" Yennefer returned, sucking in a breath as she felt him nip playfully at the back of her neck, her pristine fingernails digging into the table as she was pounded vigorously against it. "Then what will you do?"
"Ask you again," Geralt responded, breathlessly. "And if you say no again, I'll keep asking until you change your mind."
"And what if I never change my mind?" Yennefer asked.
Geralt grunted at the question, squeezing her perfect ass between his hands, thrusting deeper and grinning as she gave a sharp gasp of pleasure at the motion. "Doesn't matter," he answered, disengaging, breathless and soaking with sweat. Grabbing up the cleansing decoction, he popped open the cork, letting it roll away on the floor as he picked up a cloth napkin they had not managed to knock off the table with their fucking. Then, wetting the napkin with the decoction, he wiped his member down, thorough and clean, before setting both aside and leaning in to kiss Yennefer's neck again, his still-erect cock pressing hard into her back as she turned to face him, taking him firmly by the face and directing his kiss to her lips instead. Geralt breathed heavily against her mouth as he drank deeply from her proffered lips, his firm hands finding her ass again to give it another squeeze, feeling her give a small jump at the motion before he tucked his hands under her milky thighs, lifting her up and around his waist once more.
Yennefer's arms wrapped around his neck as he picked her up, holding him tight, her thighs encasing him in a cocoon of warmth as he slid her down once again over his erect cock. Then, pushing her up against the nearest wall, he began to fuck her against it, working his hardest to wrest every moan and gasp he could wrangle from her perfect body. Yennefer gripped tight to the witcher's back as they fucked, dragging her nails across his weathered skin, his hands leaving pink marks against her ass as he gripped her as tight as he had ever done before. She exclaimed at the fervent sensation, laughing, tilting her head back to expose her soft throat, her breaths coming out in desperate, whimpering moans as she rocked and bounced with the force of his passion.
"Marry me," Geralt gasped between thrusts, pressing his lips to her collar-bone, her throat, under her jaw, her ear – anywhere he could reach with his desperate, hungry mouth. "Marry me, Yen. We'll settle down. Live in Toussiant. Grow old and fat together."
"You're a witcher," Yennefer pointed out, breathlessly, shaking her head as she was pressed up against the wall again. "I'm a sorceress. It could never work. People like us… we aren't meant to be happy."
"But I want to be happy," Geralt insisted, breathing hard against her neck. "And I know you do too. I've read your letters. And those books you read… I've seen them. I've read them, too." Yennefer looked surprised at this, her expression easy to read despite the pleasure still written all over her face. That was a fair reaction, he supposed; the idea of him sitting down to read was strange enough as it was, but the thought of him reading the smutty, perfumed romance novels Yennefer sometimes indulged in was a phenomenon that bordered on blasphemous. "I wanted to know what you liked," he explained, pressing his thumbs into her thighs as he readjusted his grip. "What piqued your interest. I know now. You want to be happy as much as I do."
"I never took you for a romantic, Geralt," Yennefer laughed, the sound reedy and breathless as she rocked up against the wall again. "But you know as well as I the world would never let us be. It's just not realistic."
"Fuck the world," Geralt growled, giving another sharp thrust, causing Yennefer to audibly gasp at the motion, a shock of pleasure coursing down her thighs and into his pulsing body. "I don't care. I'm tired of being realistic." He began to thrust faster at this, more fervently, feeling the wet heat of Yennefer's body against his cock as he drove inside her, her legs shuddering with unmasked pleasure as she gripped his muscular form. Her nails cut deep into the flesh of his back as he fucked her, her whimpers and moans making him sweat, driving him wild, his fingers digging into her hips as he rocked her up against the wall. Leaning her head back, Yennefer shouted in ecstasy, her raven locks cascading wildly off her shoulders as her perfect breasts bounded with every thrust, and Geralt pressed his lips to her exposed neck, needing her, wanting her, tasting the sweat of her ivory skin. Her flavour was intoxicating on his tongue as he kissed her, harder, devouring every inch of her he could find.
"We don't need the world, Yen," he told her, panting, barely finding time to catch his breath between kisses. "All we need is you and me. Don't you want to be happy with me?"
Yennefer swallowed, thinking about it a moment. "Ask me again," she finally answered, breathless.
"Ask you what?" Geralt asked, feeling the telltale, white-hot sensation of orgasm starting to build in his stomach again as he thrusted. "If you want to be happy?"
"No," Yennefer answered, shaking her head. "The other thing. Ask—oh! Ask me again… about Toussaint…"
Geralt grunted, breathing heavily, burying his face in the soft hair at her neck as he thrust inside again with a wracking shudder. "I'm gonna come," he announced, panting, his fingers digging into her thighs, hard enough that he was sure the sorceress would have bruises in the shape of his hands come morning.
"No," Yennefer insisted, taking hold of his face and forcing him to look up at her again. "You'll propose to me first. Then you can come."
She was playing with fire and Geralt loved it, even as his body gave a shock of objection, and he gritted his teeth, feeling a froth of spittle start to seep between his lips as he fought to obey. "Marry me, Yennefer of Vengerberg," he repeated, breathing hard against her lips as he slowed, trying his hardest to push back the burning sensation fighting to rip its way through him, but still unable to keep from stealing every kiss his weary mouth could manage. "Move with me to Toussaint. We'll live out the rest of our days on our vineyard. We'll vanish from the world. Cut all contacts. Change our names. Disappear. Just you and me."
He stopped as a jolt of pain coursed through him, causing him to grunt, and then huff, breathing heavily as his sturdy legs began to shake weakly beneath him. "We can finally be happy," he continued, undeterred, even as his voice began to crack into painful hiccups. "Live the life we always wanted. The life we thought we could never have. The life we deserve. The life you deserve." He breathed in again, heavily, pressing his face against her cheek as he gave another slow, agonizing thrust. "Say you'll marry me," he breathed, almost silently, gasping up breath and saliva as he spoke, not even realizing he had started to drool ever so slightly in his pain.
Yennefer smiled, wiping the trickle of spit from his mouth with her thumb, before bringing her lips to his to kiss him again, acknowledging his valiant effort. "Yes," she told him, leaning in to press her forehead to his. "I will marry you, Geralt of Rivia." The sound Geralt made when he finally came was like nothing Yennefer had ever heard, and she nearly laughed at the strangeness of it all, at the sound and everything that had led up to it – his unexpected visit and subsequent proposal, and the resulting wreckage of what had once been a lovely, accommodating room. She kissed his face as he shuddered beneath her, the last shocks of aftermath vibrating through him as he slowly lowered her back to the floor, holding her upright as her own numb legs attempted to readjust to the world of before.
"I love you, Geralt," Yennefer told him, barely speaking above a whisper, trailing her fingers languorously across the wintery scruff of his beard. "I can't wait to start our new life together. To be happy with you. Live out our days together. Forever."
"Forever is a very long time," Geralt joked, breathing heavily, taking her hand from his face to kiss her delicate fingertips. "Especially for a witcher."
"Or a sorceress," Yennefer agreed, offering a wry smile at the observation.