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What had once been a place of beauty, now felt like a circle of hell. The tall walls surrounding the city no longer felt comforting and safe; they were the bars of her prison. At every street corner, Witchhunters were posted. The sight of them made her stomach turn, so she readjusted the hood of her cloak, to ensure her face and radiant hair was hidden. It would not do to fail at one of the final hurdles. All her work would have been for nought.
The sight of the Rosemary and Thyme filled her with relief. Dandelion himself was still missing, but Zoltan was a friendly face at least. Grateful to be out of the miserable rain, Triss cast a glance around the tavern before lowering her hood. The tavern smelled like spices and Dwarvish liquor, a friendly smell after the reek of the Bits.
“You shouldnae be here, m’lady” Zoltan greeted her. He was propped up on a stool behind the bar, serving patrons of the tavern.
“I know, Zoltan, but I had to see him one last time. He is here, is he not?” She approached the bar
“Aye. Upstairs, last room on the first floor. He’s meditating. Might be unwise to disturb him.”
“I know,” Triss replied before making her way upstairs. As she ascended, Triss remarked that Zoltan had done a great job on the tavern. The bannisters were smooth to the touch and the wood was properly cared for. It was a soothing touch to her frayed nerves.
As she walked the hallway of the first floor, she caught glimpses of the lives of the other people renting a room. Some snoring, as the sun had already gone under. Some laughing, clinking together bottles, carefree in life. One room had a particularly creaky bed, the sound of which made her breath hitch. Clasping her cloak, she walked on.
She did not bother to knock. Her visit was a surprise, as was her arrival. Opening the door gently, she took a moment to gaze upon the man she loved. Silently, the door closed behind her and the lock slid into place. The white-haired man sat cross-legged near the fire. His eyes were closed and his breathing was slow. On the bed his two swords rested, freshly oiled.
Triss hung her cloak on the hook behind the door and faced him as she disrobed. Her eyes rested on the line of his jaw, and the width of his shoulders as she relied on muscle memory to undo her of her garments. She did not stop at her underwear, choosing to only keep her necklace on. The warmth of the fire felt heavenly on her bare skin. The bed creaked a little when she sat down on it, crossing her legs and waited for Geralt to notice her.
The slight sound of the creaking bed brought Geralt of Rivia back from his trance. The redhead saw him inspect his surroundings to determine the origin of the sound before they noticed her. His eyes dragged up from her pale legs, over her bare chest, to her freckled face. At the slight widening of his eyes, she smiled at his surprise.
“Good evening, Geralt,” she purred.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he scolded her in that deliciously deep voice of his. He looked away from her and moved his swords off the bed so he wouldn’t have to look upon her nudity in all its glory.
“You can’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t do. I am here because I want to be. Do you not want me here?” She asked smoothly, not deterred at the slightest. Secretly, she prayed he would not send her away. The humiliation would be hard to bear.
“No, stay. It’s raining and I hate the idea of you needlessly in danger.”
Triss smiled because she knew she had won, right then and there. He has not denied her.
“Come sit with me. It’s a chilly night,” she said as her nipples hardened. She knew he did not like being tricked, so it was a careful balance between guiding him to do what she wanted, and getting him to want it too. He sighed as he sat next to her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and lightly rubbed her soft skin with his calloused thumb. It sent shivers down her spine and made her gasp quietly.
“Why do you do this to me, temptress?” Geralt murmured as he pressed his lips against the side of her neck.
“This is my last night in Novigrad. Please don’t deny me this. I need you, Geralt.” She pressed a hand against his chest and guided him to lie down on the bed. He moved with her willingly, keeping his catlike eyes on her at all times. To make sure he would not change his mind and leave, she straddled his hips. His hands tentatively brushed the sides of her arms, the creamy white skin of her sides, and the plumpness of her thighs. She kissed him tenderly as he squeezed her ass. With a throaty groan, he pressed up against her.
“Fuck,” he uttered breathlessly, bracing his forehead against her collarbone. Triss laughed.
“That’s exactly what I intend to do,” she promised him, moving to bite his earlobe. As he palmed her full breasts, she undid his shirt, revealing skin paler than hers, littered with scars. She was relieved to see no fresh ones. “Undress for me,” she whispered, tugging on his trousers.
He wasted no time. With practised ease, he flipped her over and got off the bed. His shirt was flung towards the door, his boots narrowly missed the fire, and his trousers fell on the floor in one fluid motion. Like a man starved, he crawled over her and wrapped his lips around one of her nipples. His other hand stroked the side of her thigh, keeping skin contact at all times.
Cupping his face, she angled his head up, gasping when her nipple left his mouth with a wet pop. She kissed him hungrily, to hopefully portray how much she needed him. One of her hands found his hard shaft. It throbbed in her palm, warm to the touch. The angle was slightly awkward, but Geralt gasped for her regardless. She was so occupied stroking him and feeling him groan against her lips that she failed to notice his other hand sneaking in between her legs. It wasn’t until his calloused fingers expertly brushed her clit that she nearly arched off the bed. He chuckled against her ample chest, scraping the sensitive skin with his beard.
When his fingers slid inside of her, testing how tight she was while gently biting on her nipple, she cried out quietly. She was no longer chilly; instead, she felt like the fire was inside of her.
“Fuck me, Geralt,” she demanded, rubbing the head of his cock with the palm of her hand.
“Not yet,” he purred, adding a third finger. “I need to make sure you’re ready. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Unf, quite…” She groaned, pulling him in for a hug with her free arm. He obliged her, cradling her against his chest as he slid his fingers in and out of her wet cunt. It’s been a long time since she felt good like this, much too long.
When he was finally satisfied she could handle him, he withdrew his hand and used the remaining wetness to lube up his cock. He positioned himself, slid his hands under her shoulder blades to grasp her shoulders for leverage, and looked her in the eye.
“Last chance to say no. Are you ready?” He asked quietly. Always the honourable man.
“Yes,” she replied, filled with certainty. She kissed him sweetly, which turned into a soft cry when he buried himself inside of her.
“Fuck, Triss. You’re so tight. Has it been that long?”
“It has been, and it will be after this, so fuck me like this is the last opportunity we’ll get.”
The reality of her fleeing Novigrad tomorrow at dawn came crashing in. He wrapped her in a tight hug and thrust inside of her firmly in a steady, pounding rhythm. Her gasps were muffled by his broad shoulders so that none of the other tenants would be woken by their passion.
A tear escaped her and slid down her cheek, which was kissed away by her white-haired lover. He offered her no comforting words, no false sense of safety. Both knew they would be empty words. She took comfort in him being inside of her, an act so familiar to her. Like one of her healing potions, to which she was allergic herself, she found herself mended again. Whatever would come tomorrow, she was ready for it.
With that realisation, her release crept upon her until she could deny it no more. With a kiss-muffled cry, she came until she cried. Geralt kept going, guiding her through it. Her walls were down and she was vulnerable. He would protect her, tonight.
His release came as quietly as he walked. He could not get her pregnant; after all, witchers were sterile. There were no consequences.
He cuddled her close against his chest, with her the closest to the fire. They dozed for a few hours like that, naked, cradling. A few hours before dawn, Triss slipped away. She got dressed quietly, covered her face with her hood, and left the tavern on her way to the docks. She would meet the other mages there.
As they sailed away from Novigrad at dawn, she relived the night by herself. She could still feel his hands on her breasts and thighs and felt his seed trail down her thigh.
She would miss him dearly.