She used a tiny knife to cut the stitches.
Snick. Snick. The blade sliced through the threads and she gently pulled them out of his flesh. It didn't hurt, was only a little tugging, a little uncomfortable. Maya was gentle and her fingers were warm. Eskel wished it didn't feel so damn good to have those little fingers on his thigh. It was making him crazy.
Didn't help that there was another storm raging. Through the window, swirls of tiny snowflakes were so thick it was hard to see whether it was day or night. There's no way he was getting out of there for a long time, if this kept up. He looked back at Maya, focused on her task. There were 67 stitches total; he counted. She was checking the wound as she went, making sure his flesh held. He knew it was fine - the stitches probably been in longer than they needed to be, but she checked anyway. He didn't stop her.
The longer it took, the longer she'd keep touching him. He wanted to get away and he never wanted her to stop.
He was a mess.
Nice thing was, when he got himself all stupid over her, then he wasn't thinking about everything else that had happened. She was kneeling on the floor, her skirt flipped up over her knees. Maya tucked her hair behind her ear, her head cocked, finger prodding at a long stretch of scar she'd freed from the stitches. He smiled at her unconsciously and the scar on his face tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He should tell her. He should tell somebody. She was right about one thing, it was too long.
"Have you heard of the Law of Surprise?" he asked, almost surprising himself that he just came out and said it.
Maya's hands stilled on his leg. She turned her face up to look at him. She had these big grey-green eyes and her eyelashes were so pale, he could only see them at all because he was so close. She blinked at him.
"Yes, that's how Witchers get children to train, isn't it?"
Eskel nodded. "We used to, at least. We haven't in years. Its...complicated." He trailed off, not sure how to go further. He was always better at fighting than talking. Maya didn't prod, just waited. She looked back down and sliced through another stitch, giving him a chance to collect himself.
Snick. She pulled on the thread gently.
"What you find at home, yet don't expect." He made a bitter noise. "It's how I got the horse later. Vesemir got a dog once. I don't think I really expected it to be a child, but there it was. Usually, when it happens, the Witcher would go back and collect the child when they were 6 or 7. Young enough to train, old enough to not have to look after too closely." He shook his head as she snipped the next stitch. Snick. "We weren't going to take in new Witchers anymore, so I just never went back. I kept hoping it would go away, even after I started having dreams about her."
Maya's fingers stopped and he heard her swallow with his sensitive hearing. Her heart sped up a little. She pulled on the thread.
"If I'd met her as a child, saw her as a daughter, maybe it would have been different. But she was a woman before I ever laid eyes of her. And fate or magic, it bound us together. I felt a bond with her, even the first time we met, when she showed up on our doorstep." He paused to catch his breath. "The girl, her name was Deirdre. She used to say that she only needed to think about me, and she'd know where I was. It was the same for me." His lungs felt hot. "But she wasn't a child. And I think..." He trailed off. How did he say it?
He thought that bond was love, even when he knew it wasn't. He thought it was his destiny, this wild she-wolf princess. He thought...
"I understand," Maya said. Eskel let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding. Her fingers squeezed against his skin softly. "Go on."
"We tried to help her. There was a sorceress, she wanted to...dissect her, thought she was cursed. And then there was an attack and Deirdre just lashed out wildly and instead of an enemy, she attacked me. It was her sword that cut my face. And I thought that would be enough to sever this bond, that when we sent her away, it would just be done." He clenched his jaw. "But it didn't. My face healed, but I could still feel her. Nothing changed."
Eskel shook his head. "So fucking stupid. She was just a girl and she grew up and got married and got old and died and I was still the same, still killing monsters up to my ass in filth and blood." He made a strangled sound. "She died and I felt it and the world just kept going and I kept being broken and ugly, just like she made me. That was my fucking surprise. That was my destiny, to be just wrecked and then thrown away?" He could hear the venom in his own voice.
This had been poisoning him for so long.
At some point while he was talking, Maya had removed the last of the stitches, but her hands were still resting over his newest scar, palms warm and soft. She was looking at him again. He expected pity, but it was something else in her eyes. Something softer and kind. She had been kneeling on the floor beside him as she worked but she got to her feet, putting her knee between his where he sat on the bed. Her hand came up and traced the scars on his face.
Just taking about Deirdre made them ache.
Maya didn't say anything at first, just moved her fingers, from the edge of his forehead and over his cheekbone, down to the corner of his mouth and chin, then back up again. He closed his eyes. Her fingers made them ache just a little less, made them feel just a little less like a punishment.
He felt her lips brush over his cheek, but this time, right over his scars. Her hair smelled like rosemary.
"These aren't ugly," she said. He felt her breath against his skin. "And neither are you. The world is maybe. It's hard and mean and horrible." She pulled back and he opened his eyes to look at her. "All these years, you've been killing monsters and protecting people, for coin and few thanks to show for it, yes?"
He nodded in reply. There was a suspicious lump in his throat. He tried to swallow it.
"And yet you kept doing it, not because you're a Witcher or a mutant or whatever slurs they throw at you. You did it because it was the right thing to do. To help people, even when they hated you."
"That's what Witchers have always done." His voice was tight.
"But you didn't have to, don't you understand?" She cupped his face between her hands. "You could have walked away. Witchers are skilled enough, strong enough, you could have just taken what you wanted; you could have taken your coin and gone somewhere where you never had to fight a monster again. But you didn't. You stayed." She smiled. "You're the one who killed the rotfiends in our cemetery. You've helped so many people you didn't even remember."
Eskel snorted. "Monsters killing monsters."
"No," she said. She kissed his scars gently again, this time close to the edge of his lips, her own cheek brushing against them. "I'm sorry she hurt you. But that wasn't your destiny, just a bit of magic. You're still alive, Eskel. Don't waste it thinking you missed your chance."
He tried to think of something to say, but he couldn't. There was a part of him, some carefully conditioned part that was threatening to jump up and throttle his feelings down. He didn't want to let it. He wanted to let the poison out, let it stop hurting him. He wanted what she said to be the truth.
"I'm glad you fell in my door," she said, the corner of her mouth turned up just slightly. Slowly, delicately, watching for the slightest flicker from him, she leaned in and kissed him on the mouth. Just pressure of her lips against his; they lingered for ten frantic heartbeats, then fifteen. Her fingers flexed against his jaw.
He felt her start to pull away and he instinctively grabbed her shoulders so she couldn't move. Her mouth curved into a smile against his lips. He tilted her head and kissed her back, pulling her bottom lip into his mouth. One arm slipped down around her lower back and he grabbed her, pulling her closer until she was on his lap. She made a low, hungry whimper.
"This is a bad idea," he muttered, but kissed her again anyway.
"This is a wonderful idea," she retorted. One of her hands slid under the hem of his shirt and ran from his waist up over his ribs, skidding over his myriad of scars, each with a story he hadn't told her yet. She closed her eyes and her whole body melted against him. "This is the best idea."
Then her mouth was on his again, her lips soft and firm all at once, her tongue brushing across his, dancing over his scarred lip with reverence instead of disgust. He felt his body respond to her, dizzy and light headed suddenly as his blood took a sharp detour elsewhere. She wriggled her hips against him.
He almost asked her if she was sure, but she was grinding herself against him and he was pretty sure that was a yes. He wanted her so badly. It was a terrible idea no matter what she said, but he didn't care.
There was a gust of wind outside, hard enough that a draft slipped in through the window. He felt goosebumps on her skin when his hands slid up under the hem of her dress. His hands cupped under her bare ass, and it was just as soft and round and plump as it looked. He pulled her against him hard.
With one swift movement, she grabbed her dress and whipped it off over her head. She wasn't wearing anything underneath, all this pale pink round curvy skin suddenly at his mercy. With a low growl, he sunk his teeth into the soft skin at the base of her neck, hard enough to leave a mark.
"Mm," she said, tilting her head away to give him better access. She leaned against him, her breasts pressed up against his chest as he left a series of tiny marks along her collarbone. "Eskel?"
"Mhm?"
"Too many clothes," she said. She sounded breathless and it thrilled him. "Too many."
He chuckled, the tight pain in his chest shifting into an entirely different emotion. There was a fine, naked elf wrapped around him. He'd be pretty damned stupid if he decided to mope instead of enjoying it. He managed to get his shirt off, flinging it on to the floor. He kissed her hard then, his mouth hungry for hers. He scooted them back onto the bed until she was on top of him, straddling his hips, just the ridiculous thin linen pants she'd scrounged up for him between them.
She was leaning down over him, her small but full breasts hanging down. She kissed her way over his scars, along the edge of his jaw, pausing over the big pulsing artery in his neck for a moment. Her hips were raised up just enough so he could only feel slight pressure against his entirely overwrought erection that was reminding him vividly that it had been entirely too long since he'd had a woman.
Maya's hand reached down between them and untied the drawstring at his waist, fiddling with the fabric, trying to get it down out of the way. Eskel raised his hips and his bare skin brushed against hers. He thought he was going to lose his mind.
Unable to contain himself, he grabbed her and flipped them over, yanking the offending fabric out of the way as they moved. All he did was shift his hips and she was so warm, so aroused already. He slid inside of her. He saw stars behind his eyelids.
He just barely resisted the urge to pound her into the bed when she arched her hips up and encouraged him to do it anyway. There wasn't anything gentle about it, not like her little fingers on his face, or her sweet, compassionate words. He couldn't even think, just feel. He was like an animal, his hips driving his cock into her, the small bed slamming against the wall.
It had been too long and maybe Witchers had more stamina that normal men, maybe they were supposed to be sort of numb and disconnected, but he could already feel his orgasm threatening to wash over him. She clung to him, her fingernails in his shoulders, one leg around his waist with her heel dug into the meat of his thigh. She made tiny, inarticulate sounds. Their skin made other sounds, flesh and damp. His own breathing was too loud, his heartbeat raged in his ears.
"Oh by the gods, Eskel," her voice panted in his ear as she clung to him. His name sounded so sweet from her lips. "I'm-" Coherent words failed her, and she moaned, nipping his earlobe between her teeth. He felt her body react, grip at him. The muscles inside her fluttered around him, pulled at him, pushed him over the edge.
He couldn't speak, couldn't think, couldn't even breathe. He came, pleasure washing over him, his orgasm riding into the last waves of hers. Eskel kissed her hard, pressing their damp skin together, holding her desperately against him. He couldn't even remember a time when he felt so desired, so wanted, so entirely accepted.
He rolled them over so his weight wasn't on top of her and buried his face in her hair. She was making small contented sounds, her breath still coming fast, her heart pattering in her chest against his. Her hand moved up the back of his neck into his hair, nails lazily running over his scalp. He relaxed against her, so comfortable and satisfied he thought maybe he could just die right there and that would be fine.
Instead, he drifted off to sleep to the sound of her heartbeat, happy in a way he wasn't sure he'd ever been before.
Eskel woke alone in the bed and it was dark; night came early this time of year. Snow still battered at the window, sounding heavy and damp. The wind whistled. The first burned merry and hot, but she hadn't lit any candles, just the glow of the fire casting shadows across the room. There was a scent of spicy broth in the air.
Maya sat straddling her bench, her fingers busy at a task on the little table in front of her. She was dressed in his shirt, the threadbare linen too big for her, yet just barely coming down to cover her round hips. She rolled up the long sleeves to her elbows as she worked.
She didn't know he was awake yet. He watched. She was folding pinches of something that smelled wonderful, meat, ginger, garlic, into pouches of dough. She was smiling faintly as she made the dumplings and dropped them carefully into the cast iron pot over the fire.
The fire cast a warm gold glow on her skin, cast her hair into violet shadows. The edges of her delicately pointed ears were a sliver of light in the purple mass of her hair. She was so beautiful, but not like a sorceress was beautiful, flawless and carefully tended. It was by accident, and maybe it was because he knew she was making those for him, hoping to please him, even though he would have been happy with anything, as long as it was warm and it was here with her.
As quietly as he could, he got out of the bed, not bothering to cover himself - they were past that now. He didn't want to startle her, so he let he hear his footsteps before he sat down on the bench behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders.
She made a happy little sound and leaned back against him. He kissed the side of he neck.
"Sleep well?" she asked.
"Very." It sounded like a laugh. He nuzzled against her. "What're you making?"
"Ginger dumplings," she said. "They're very popular in Ellander."
He inhaled. "In Novigrad too," he said. "I love them."
"Good." He could hear the smile in her voice. Her fingers folded the little packet of dough closed and he considered distracting her.
He ran his hand down her arm to her elbow, pulling her a little tighter against him. "You look adorable in my shirt," he said into her ear, tucking his fingers into the soft skin inside her elbow.
"Do I now?" It wasn't really a question. She shifted her hips back against him. "I guess I do."
Gods, was there a point when he wasn't going to be at least half hard just because she was near him? Apparently not. And why the fuck not, at this point?
He rubbed his cock against the swell of her ass, and his face in her neck. He could control his own heart rate usually, but he didn't try, loving the way his heart sped up when he touched her. She chuckled.
"Now, now, let me finish these before you get all frisky back there," she laughed. It was painful to wait, but he wrapped an arm around her waist and waited as patiently as he could. One, two. Four. She dropped them into the pot and used her spoon to swing it back over the fire so she didn't have to move away. Then she relaxed back against him again. "There we are."
He grabbed her hips, dug his fingers in. She didn't offer even a hint of resistance, so he lifted her up and angled her body backwards. His cock brushed against her, warm, soft; she was already as aroused as he was. He closed his eyes and she sank down around him. His heart thudded in his chest.
It was a bit of an awkward position, but it didn't thwart her, she rocked her hips, rode him with long, slow strokes. He reached around her, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing firmly, hoping his sword calloused fingers wouldn't hurt her. The soft, plaintive moans that escaped her made it clear that pain was the last thing he was causing.
She sighed, one hand gripping the front of the bench, the other on his knee. "Oh Eskel," she said. He loved that. He loved it when she said his name. "You feel incredible, I..." She trailed off, but he understood. He couldn't talk at all.
This felt so good, and it wasn't just that she was incredible and hot and tight and her body was round and soft and warm and sexy. Those were all true, but they were just the beginning. The hot fire on his legs, even this stupid little worn bench under them, the smell of the food, the fireplace. Everything was perfect.
He felt the muscles in her thighs begin to tremble and he moved his fingers a little faster over the little bud of firm, hot flesh under his fingertips. He felt her, powerful internal muscles gripping at him, pulling at him. She was so responsive to his touch; it made him feel powerful, which wasn't something he really ever felt, not even with his sword in his hands.
She pushed down hard and groaned. She fluttered around him, less powerfully than the last time, but her sounds were so sweet and it lingered, dragged on. He contained himself to just let her ride out her orgasm, until she sagged down against him. Only then did he move and it only took a few quick jerks of his hips before he joined her, coming inside of her again. He wrapped his arms around her tight and held her against his chest.
He never wanted to let go.
Gods, he loved to touch her. Her loved to be here, be inside her and in her house and he couldn't have been happier. He loved her. He suddenly tensed when the thought ran through his head. He couldn't do that. He...he couldn't.
She turned her head to look at him, feeling the change in his posture. "Are you all right?"
He nodded, trying to think of something to say. "Yeah, I'm, yeah. Fine."
Maya put her hand over his forearms, still wrapped around her. He was horrified at himself, but he couldn't let go either. She didn't say anything else, just the pressure of her fingers on his arms seemed to say volumes anyway. After a few moments, she picked up her discarded spoon again and used to swing the pot back toward her. She stirred and steam rose, spicy and comforting.
"I hope you're hungry." The smile was still in her voice, but it was a little guarded now. It made his eyes burn.
"I'm starving." She turned around at his reply and he relaxed a little as a genuine smile spread across her face. He thought himself ugly; he hadn't always been. After Deirdre it was different; he was scarred in a lot of ways. But when she looked at him, he forgot. She looked at him like it made her inordinately pleased just to see him, like he was a nice sunset, instead of a nearly century old Witcher with a torn up face.
She kissed him. On his mouth, on the scar that bisected his chin. She didn't say anything. He tried to calm himself, use his Witcher skills to slow his still rapid heartbeat. But he couldn't do it.
He loved her. There wasn't a technique he knew to deal with that.
