Work Text:
The din of the mead hall washes around Geralt like gentle waves; tankards clink and words fall over one another in murmurs and in bellows, laughter and cheers and wooden chairs scraping the floor drown out everything, except for the racket coming from right beside him.
“I just find it more than coincidental, that you mention running into Yennefer for the first time in several years, and suddenly she seems to pop up in every town we stop through,” Jaskier is saying, tuning his lute and frowning the frown of a boy who feels unjustly wronged by the universe.
How Jaskier has escaped the ravages of time has never made sense to Geralt, but the annoyance of having to deal with the bard at all overwhelms any cursory curiosity over his apparent immortality.
“I mean if you ask me, she really is obsessed with you, seems like the witch wants to settle down and start a family,” Jaskier adds, raising his brows at the witcher, who sets down his mead a bit harder than necessary.
“She can’t start a family. Sorceresses are barren. And witchers are sterile,” Geralt deadpans, leveling the bard with the sort of look one might aim at a nuisance dog: frustrated, but with no true malcontent.
“Oh...you’ve never mentioned...I mean, you certainly have never had any… issue with the women at the brothels,” Jaskier says quickly, seeming quite mortified to be the one bringing up the subject.
Geralt manages a snort into his tankard, finishing his drink.
“I’m not a eunuch. The Trial of Grasses renders Witchers sterile, most everyone on the Continent knows that. That’s why young boys were collected to make more witchers. But it doesn’t happen anymore, perhaps a bit before your time,” Geralt adds sarcastically, flagging down a barmaid walking by with a tray of drinks.
He wouldn’t usually bother to educate the chatty bard, but a bit of drink does well to lubricate even the droll witcher’s introverted nature.
“I’ve heard rumors, of course, but I wasn’t certain,” Jaskier says quietly, giving him that sympathetic look that Geralt loathes to see.
“I don’t wish to father children. I wouldn’t bring a child into this shithole of a world. And besides, I’m already fully occupied keeping in work, and keeping you out of trouble,” Geralt teases, earning a scornful huff from the bard.
“Joke through your pain if you must, Geralt, but this really explains why you were so very unnerved to win a child by the Law of Surprise. Afraid of responsibility ,” Jaskier says as if he knows personally.
Geralt’s baleful glower silences the bard and ends the conversation, and the two men devolve into a slightly uncomfortable silence as they nurse their drinks.
Geralt lets his mind wander to Yennerfer. He does not know why she chose now of all times to start being more present in his life, he’s not sure if it is as purposeful as Jaskier seems to think, or if they simply are on similar paths for the time being.
Despite himself, the witcher truly does miss her. It’s been a few months now since she’s appeared in the same town as the traveling duo, and Geralt finds himself a bit sad to think perhaps the sorceress is done with finding him when he least expects it.
Another pint deeper, and Geralt’s sad musings turn more toward bitter, one might even say mopey. It isn’t fair, he thinks, that Destiny teases him with something like love, with someone like Yen, only to pull her away time and again.
The witcher is now actively ignoring Jaskier’s droning on, as Geralt finds himself both jealous and angry, and perhaps a bit horny as well.
He happens to look up to see the pretty barmaid making eyes at him, as she has the whole night, only now Geralt allows himself to consider her. She’s attractive enough, a strawberry blonde whose green eyes are perhaps a bit far set on her face, but she’s got ample cleavage spilling from the top of her corset, and Geralt is not one to turn down free company, or at least he assumes she isn’t a whore, since she is pulling pints behind the bar at the moment.
The witcher inclines his head towards her in a wordless gesture of assent, and her eyes light up with glee, no doubt tickled at the thought of getting to bed the mighty White Wolf. Geralt himself feels hollow; his flesh may desire this, but his mind is truly far away.
Cutting off Jaskier’s never ending questions, Geralt puts down the coin for his own food and drink and mumbles something about getting some sleep, before collecting his two swords and heading toward the room he rented the prior night. From the corner of his yellow eyes, Geralt sees the barmaid excuse herself and follow him rather discreetly and he is a bit impressed by her subterfuge in shirking work to pursue him.
It’s not long after he has gotten into his room, and shrugged off his chest piece, that there is a timid knock at the door. Geralt opens it, revealing the eager maiden who seems more nervous now, but she steps in quietly, watching the witcher as he shrugs off his boots.
“I’ve heard so much about you, I’ve heard all the songs,” the young woman bubbles excitedly in her kingdom's distinctive drawl.
Geralt simply nods, and tosses aside more of his armor until he’s down to his underclothes and sits on the foot of his bed. The barmaid comes over meekly, and hikes up her skirts a bit to lower herself to her knees between his legs.
More than a small twinge of guilt floods the witcher’s mind, and he tries to ignore it as the woman starts to rub his inner thighs, working closer and closer to his slowly-interested cock.
When the barmaid unlaces his trousers, Geralt closes his eyes and tries to clear his thoughts, but he sees clearly in his mind’s eye those big purple eyes and dark waves of hair. It’s more this image than the woman’s ministrations that gets his cock fully hard, and the witcher exhales roughly as she frees and starts to stroke him with a timid grace that comes from a woman who is not a virgin, but is not overtly experienced either.
Geralt tries to let his slightly-intoxicated mind wander to thoughts of Yennefer, as the barmaid closes her lips down around his shaft, he drifts in and out of focus as she works his member over in her mouth, it’s not the worst he’s had, but she’s so far from the woman he loves, that he finds himself almost disinterested.
With a hard sigh, the witcher carefully pushes the blonde woman off of him, stuffing his prick back into his trousers, he levels her with a tired look. “I’m sorry, it’s not you, I just…I’m fatigued, I need to rest,” Geralt manages lamely, trying to assuage the woman’s hurt expression.
“Is it someone else?” she asks tearfully, the rejection seeming to hit her hard.
The witcher swallows unevenly and his shoulders tense, he angrily yanks the tie from his hair and lets it spill around his shoulders so he can comb his fingers roughly through his tangled white locks.
“Yes. To be truthful, yes. There is a woman ...a sorceress, and no matter what I do, or how many years pass us by, I cannot forget her. I must love her,” Geralt admits to the barmaid, and to himself, unable to look her in the eyes now, hot shame runs down his back as he realizes he doesn’t even know her name.
The strawberry blonde girl starts to laugh, and Geralt looks back to her, startled and confused. As her laugh grows, her physical form blurs, and before his very eyes, she changes, her shape shifting with a white light, to that of Yennefer herself.
Shock freezes Geralt as still as stone, he knows his jaw has dropped but he can’t hide his surprise as the sorceress smirks and gets to her feet, dusting her hands off more for show than for need.
“Well, well, well,” Yennefer drawls slowly, crossing her arms across her black dressed bodice, her expression the epitome of amusement and mirth.
Geralt isn’t really sure he’s not dreaming right now, it wouldn’t be the first ale-drenched dream of Yen he’s had. Trying to ignore the insistence of his cock straining in his pants, the witcher swallows hard and tries to push past his slight inebriation to form eloquent words to address the situation.
“Fuck, Yennefer,” he manages lamely, his eyes taking in her curvaceous frame, her long dark locks, her smooth brown skin, her dramatic black dress snug to her curves.
“The Great White Wolf is in love? So in love that he can’t handle a casual fuck from a stranger?” Yennefer says, leaning gracefully on the table in the corner and clasping her hands together in mock adoration, her pink lips quirked up in a sassy smirk that Geralt can actually feel in his balls. He can’t suppress his embarrassment, but it lashes out of him as anger.
“Why are you spying on me, Yen?” the witcher quips, crossing his arms, and his quick senses catch Yennefer unashamedly watching his biceps bulging, Geralt’s whole body tense as a drawn bow.
“Boredom?” she offers innocently, giving a slight shrug.
Something about her tone or the tilt of her head alerts Geralt to know her statement is off somehow. The witcher feels nearly sober now, as he gets to his feet, and crosses the small room to stand before her. He’s not sure how she managed to enchant away her scent as well, but now that she’s dropped the illusion, that smell of lilac and gooseberries is thick in his nostrils, threatening to weaken his already muddied concentration.
The sorceress is silent as Geralt looks down at her, his intense yellow eyes evaluate her expression, the tightness in her eyes, the set of her mouth.
“You need something from me, something you’re afraid to ask for,” he declares, watching her lips purse in annoyance.
“You think you’re so perceptive, Geralt. And arrogant, to assume I need anything from you,” Yennefer quips back, seeming irritated to even have to look up at the tall man.
The witcher focuses his exquisite senses on the sorceress, the beating of her heart, the heat of her skin, her scent and her aura, everything about her. But Geralt can’t divine the reasons for her presence here now. A deeper frown turns his mouth, and Yennefer gives a smirk, having picked up on his scrutiny.
“Are you done evaluating me? What have you figured out?” she challenges, her voice a bit softer now.
“I can’t figure out your reasons, all I can sense is you,” Geralt says, his voice a bit gruffer than usual with emotion, and he clears his throat to attempt to distract from that.
Yennefer’s enchanting purple eyes soften a bit, and she sighs, looking down at the witcher’s chest. The sorceress lays a hand there and absently touches his wolf’s head amulet, her thin fingers stroking the fearsome beast.
“Maybe I’m here just for you, you thick idiot,” she tries to tease but it falls flat and almost sad.
Geralt frowns more and shakes his head, his loose white locks drifting into his face. He grows very still when Yennefer reaches up to tuck his hair behind his ear, looking up at him now with eyes shockingly full of tears.
“You are perceptive. You’re just wrong. I don’t need anything from you, I just missed you. And I wanted to see that you were safe, some of the tales Jaskier has been spreading of late are…terrifying. Either he’s writing better music or you are taking on many more monsters,” the sorceress tries to tease at the end but the vulnerability of her statement ruins the humor of it.
She looks so genuinely concerned, Geralt feels the need to soothe her fears, though they are actually true, he has been taking on more and more jobs of late, throwing himself into the work and the life of a witcher, to attempt to distract himself from his feelings about her.
“I would say his music is getting better, but I’d never actually admit that to him. Never would hear the end of it,” Geralt teases, his rough hand coming up to cup Yennefer’s cheek, his thumb stroking softly across her cheekbone. His tone confirms that her fears are founded.
The sorceress takes a deep breath and composes herself quickly, her resilience never ceases to impress Geralt. “Well, you’re out there trying to get yourself killed for money, saving people who aren’t even grateful. And for what?” she says angrily, turning her head away from his touch.
The witcher frowns and drops his hand, stepping back from her to give her the space she seems to want. “That’s The Path, it’s what I was made for.”
“I walked away from what I was made for, why can’t you?” Yennefer fires back, leveling him again with that intense purple gaze.
“What else would I do with my life, Yen?” Geralt says with annoyance, crossing his arms again.
“We could do whatever we want! We didn’t choose to be made into what we are! We can choose our own happiness!” the sorceress exclaims, slapping her hands down on Geralt’s chest in frustration. The witcher neither moves nor flinches, which seems to annoy her even further.
“Instead, you blindly follow what you were taught and risk your life for coin. Then I find you and see you are fine, and have your eye out for whores,” Yennefer spits, her glare enough to deeply frighten most mortal men.
But Geralt frowns and tries to take her by the shoulders, scowling more when she shrugs off his touch again and turns to face away from him.
“I was only trying to distract myself from thinking about you,” the witcher says to the back of her head, watching the tension in her shoulders relax a bit, and when Yennefer turns back, she seems genuinely surprised.
“I thought you just felt guilty once we got started, I didn’t realize…” she trails off, dropping her defensive stance and looking at Geralt’s lips.
“Yen, I kept pretending she was you, that’s why I closed my eyes. Little did I know,” Geralt manages a weak chuckle, his hands gently pulling Yennefer’s hips to face him, she scoffs lightly but doesn’t pull away this time, actually smiling at the witcher now.
“Do you know how hard it was to try to suck you off differently, so it wouldn’t alert you that it was me?” she teases, smirking when a slight shiver runs through Geralt.
He feigns ignorance, making a thoughtful face.
“I’m not sure I recall what else you might have done as yourself,” the witcher offers innocently, actually laughing when Yennefer scowls and pushes against him. Geralt tightens his embrace and pulls the sorceress in against his body. He presses his lips to hers, kissing her deeply in a way they’ve both clearly been pining for.
What started as a cheeky smooch turns steamy very fast, their hands roaming each other’s bodies. Geralt moans lightly against Yennefer’s lips as his cock twitches back to life, and he exhales hard as she leans into him on purpose now. The witcher tightens his hands at her hips as the sorceress grasps his member through his trousers.
“Shall I show you what I do differently?” she teases in a whisper, backing Geralt up to his bed again.
He sits down more than willingly as Yen slides gracefully back to her knees. The witcher’s eagerness and excitement is obvious this time, his erection tenting his trousers harshly.
Yennefer frees his cock once more, and takes his full length in her mouth all at once. Geralt moans brokenly and cards his fingers into her hair, trying not to rock his hips up into her face, but the heat of her mouth is driving him crazy.
The sorceress pulls back a bit and teases his cockhead with her tongue, causing Geralt to gasp and tense all over. He holds Yennefer’s hair as she works him over with much more finesse than earlier. She looks up at her lover with smirks in between her ministrations, wearing quickly at Geralt’s resolve.
The witcher eventually has to pull her away from his prick, his hands slightly rough on her shoulders. Yennefer looks upset for half a moment but Geralt shakes his head, his usually infallible breathing unsteady.
“I need you,” he admits, his voice thick with lust.
Yennefer shivers lightly and nods, getting up and kissing Geralt roughly while he yanks her hips forward so she’s straddling his lap. The sorceress gasps at how hard he is right now, brushing against her.
In a graceful roll, the witcher spins to pin Yennefer down on his bed without hurting her and Geralt pushes her skirts up to get his hands on her body. His calloused hands are frantic on her, and his fingers work inside her just a bit too fast and she inhales harshly, grabbing the witcher’s hand to still it. Geralt murmurs his apology and kisses her neck, more gently swirling his fingertips against her clit, marveling at how wet the sorceress already is.
She whimpers a little impatiently, so Geralt sits back to pull his shirt up and off. The witcher watches Yennefer unlacing her dress slowly as he hurries to get his trousers off, his hard cock throbbing with want for her. They toss their clothes aside and Geralt lies between her legs, kissing her roughly. He lines up his prick and thrusts inside her slowly, stretching her. Yennefer gasps and grabs at Geralt’s shoulders, her fingers absently trace his scars and she bites her lip.
“Fuck, Yennefer…you’re really tight,” Geralt gasps out with a little surprise, giving her a few inches more and unable to stifle his own moans.
“Lots of foreplay?” she teases with a little groan and half shrug, hitching her legs up over the witcher’s narrow hips.
Geralt grunts by way of an answer, and fucks into her quickly, earning moans from them both.
The witcher makes love to her hard and fast, the visceral sound of their skin slapping together serves to excite them both further. The sorceress whispers his name between her gasps, and Geralt lavishes kisses across her throat and down her chest.
All of the built up tension has Geralt very close to his climax much sooner than he’d like to admit, and he shakes his head a bit, trying to stay focused and not give in to the sensation of his orgasm coiling deep in his belly. Yennefer sees his struggles, and she touches low on his abdomen and murmurs something of an incantation, and Geralt gasps as he feels an oddly cold sensation grip his groin.
The witcher levels her with an exasperated look and shudders at the slight numbness settling into his member, the sorceress smirks and rolls her hips up at him with as much sass as she can muster, giggling as he groans.
“I’m not done with you yet,” Yennefer says, gripping his shoulders tighter as Geralt adjusts his weight above her, his long white hair falling into both their faces.
“Am I just a toy to you?” Geralt teases gruffly, giving Yen several fast and deep thrusts since his stamina is renewed with the dampened sensation from his prick. She moans hard and digs her nails into his shoulders, earning a moan from him as well.
“Toys aren’t usually so verbose,” the sorceress retorts, her toes curling with pleasure as Geralt fucks her slowly now. Her eyes drift close and Geralt chuckles warmly, sucking a bruising kiss against her throat and obediently being quiet for her, for now.
Geralt controls his pace easily now, working Yennefer through several leg-trembling climaxes, his own composure much more solid after her magical intervention. However, the witcher feels the need to teach her a bit of a lesson for bewitching him without his consent. So he torments her with too much pleasure instead, reaching down with his fingers to roughly stimulate her clit as he fucks her hard, and after almost an hour of her repeated orgasms, Yennefer is nearly in tears.
Loving the sight of her so wrecked beneath him, Geralt starts to feel his own climax not far off now, he kisses the sorceress slowly and speeds up his thrusts to the tune of her desperate moans.
“Please, Geralt, please,” she actually begs, her moans ruining her whiny expression.
But the effect of her pleas on the witcher is almost instantaneous. Geralt feels his orgasm building fast, and starts to pull out of Yennefer, but she hooks her legs over his hips again and holds him above her, and inside her. He groans hard and fucks deep inside her, cumming with a needy gasp, his yellow eyes shutting and his lips parting as he spurts his hot load deep inside her. Yennefer whimpers softly and pets Geralt’s white hair slowly as he gives her a few more weak thrusts.
The witcher catches his breath and gently pulls out, lying on his side beside her but he keeps his arm around Yen, unwilling to allow any space between them. The sorceress is relaxed against his side, her face dewed with sweat as she looks up at him, and the affection in her eyes is plain for Geralt to see.
He gently touches her dark locks and tries to stay awake as the waves of post-coital fatigue threaten to drag him under, looking into Yennefer’s purple eyes. She smiles, looking perhaps more relaxed than he’s ever seen her.
“Did you mean what you said?” the sorceress murmurs softly as Geralt pulls the blanket up over them both.
“When I said what?” he asks, pushing his hair back from his face.
“When you said you must love me?” Yen says, touching the witcher’s face and his loose hair.
Geralt smiles softly and turns to kiss her fingers.
“Yes. When I consider all else, I truly must love you,” he admits passionately, turning to hold the sorceress closer in their embrace.
Yennefer smiles and leans up to kiss Geralt. “And I love you,” She barely whispers between kisses.
Geralt kisses her back and pulls her leg to straddle his hip, he rolls to his back so Yennefer is lying on top of him. She bites her lip and shifts back to see if his prick is interested, the witcher is at about half-mast, but he chuckles and kisses her forehead.
“I’m going to sleep , Yen. I’d like you to stay,” Geralt murmurs, his admission is obviously hard for him to make and he almost holds his breath as he awaits Yennefer’s reply.
She lays her head on the witcher’s chest, relaxing and nodding. Geralt smiles and closes his eyes, when something occurs to him. “How did you get a job as a barmaid if you weren’t real?” Geralt mumbles, nearly falling asleep.
“Easy, I bribed the bartender. I also bribed him to spit in all of Jaskier’s ales,” Yennefer says with a shrug.
Geralt’s quiet laughter gently shakes her where she lies on his chest, and he kisses the top of her head, before quickly succumbing to his sleep.
Yennefer laid awake for a while yet, listening to Geralt breathe and fall deeper asleep, and dreads what she has to do to him now.