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    Summary

    Those memories will always be embedded into his mind. He’ll always remember how his fingers and hands trembled and his breath caught in his throat and shivers rattled through his spine. Even if wine or ale or mead dulled his senses and muddled his words, there’s enough clarity to remember and lavish.

    There were a lot of firsts he likes to let wash over him again; the first time he lured a laugh out of the Witcher; the first time he sewed the Witcher’s skin back together after a particularly difficult hunt; the first time Geralt called him by his name and not 'bard'. And just like those times, he finds warmth blooming through his entire body, letting the memory wash and lap over him like gentle waves.

    Then he digs for more securely hidden memories. Ones locked away just for him and he would never make their way into songs – no matter how much he teases the Witcher.

    The first time they shared a bed and woke entangled around each other; the first time they kissed; the first time they slept together. Memories that flush his skin and stir his core.

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