Chapter Text
Geralt brushes the hair away from her shoulders and places soft kisses there, his beard brushing gently against her skin. She feels the urge to pull away, to tell him his beard is too scratchy, his kisses too wet, but she doesn’t. She instead watches him from the reflection of the window, his eyes seem to be on her and they’re waiting. No, she corrects, hoping, worrying about her, for her. And so she says nothing. His hand comes to rest on hers and he attempts soothing circles but the brush of his finger agitates her to no end making her skin bristle and her agitation rise. She lets out a breath.
“Yen?” he says, “I know today was hard, I’m-” He stutters for a moment and she can practically hear him cursing himself for his inability to speak when she is there. “I-” Once again, he stammers and moves to pull her in close to him.
She feels gross, she feels angry, she wants to pull away and rinse all touch off of her skin, but she instead takes a breath and then another. His hand rests upon her stomach and she feels the warmth of it through the cloth of her shirt, feels the heaviness and from that, a peace like no other. His other hand stops moving too, staying on the upper portion of her thigh. And suddenly, it’s not enough, it’s too chaste. She wants him everywhere and dammit, she thinks, she also wants him no where.
“I’m fine, Geralt. I’m just- it was just a hard day is all.”
He does nothing, says nothing, refuses to move and she would almost think he didn’t hear her except for the quiet “Hmm,” that escapes his lips finally.
“It just all went to shit,” she explains slowly. “And I’m not- I’m not upset with you. I just- I need some time alone. I just had a bad day so,” she makes a frustrated noise, “every damn touch feels like a cockroach climbing up me, I just want to sizzle it off.” He removes his hands and she anxiously brings them back to where they were.
“No, no,” she corrects, “that’s- that’s not what I meant. I just-” She adjusts his hands so that they are warm and heavy against her stomach, against her thigh, and again she feels that feeling of desire, of frustration. She wants him to touch her, wants him to break into her thoughts and follow them to the letter, to choose this for them both, but she knows he can’t, he won’t.
“Please Geralt,” she whispers and moves his hand to caress the inside of her thigh, “touch me?”
“Yen,” he begins to protest but his fingers trail where she leads them all the same, “should we? I don’t want you to-” his words leave him and he tries again, “I don’t think we should do this if you’re upset.”
And now she is enraged and hurt, and the feelings rip through her, boiling her blood, scalding her heart. “Fine.” She stands, pushing him away and he looks at her with the broken battered eyes of a man hopelessly in love. Her expression softens as she curses quietly to herself.
“No, I’m sorry,” she says, “perhaps you’re right, I just- I,” her eyes close tight and she begins to walk away from the room, “I need time to myself. I need to just- I need to go. I’ll be back.”
She walks to him, grabs his hands in hers and kisses his head attempting to convey to him the love she has. Her hand touches his cheek and his hand rests on her as he leans into her touch.“I’ll be back, and when I’m back we can do as we please.”
Geralt releases her hand and watches her go.
The day slips by and, for Geralt, it takes an eternity. He waits and in his time whittles the set of utensils he’s begun making, tends to Roach, and goes outside to feed the geese that roam Corvo Bianco. He looks at the sun’s placement in the sky and knows that soon it will be setting and Yennefer is nowhere in sight. Geralt worries for a moment until he catches the smell of her perfume on the breeze. Turning his head, he sees her in the distance. She looks to be sitting, her feet in the water, her white gown hiked up to her thighs. He wonders if she wishes him there and his heart aches.
The cold water is calming against her legs and she watches as it rushes over her toes, past the small plants and river rocks, and then she sees his reflection in the river. Geralt’s silhouette ripples against the water and she watches as he removes his shoes and rolls up his pants and moves to sit next to her in the grass.
He turns to her and a soft smile graces his face as he grabs her hand, kisses her knuckles once and then places her hand back upon the green grass. Geralt feels her eyes on him, thoughtful, calculating, he knows she is running over all plans of action and so he waits, patiently, for her to respond in the way she will. He feels her pinky first as it wraps around his own and then her other fingers slowly entwining with his, hears her dress move across the grass as she scoots her way closer to him, and then wordlessly she is in his lap, huddled against his chest like a babe. She rests her head against his shoulder and he wraps his arms around her, his hands moving the length of her back, soothing.
“It’s alright, love,” he says, “you can cry.” He feels her breath as she begins to whimper and then hears the sound of a sob catching in her throat and he holds her to him, continuing to rub circles into her back. When she pulls away from his shoulder to wipe her hair from her tear-stained cheeks she sees him smiling at her softly. It is the same smile that greets her when they make love, the same smile that he has as he holds her against his chest after a warm meal, the same smile that comes when he says something she thinks is funny and she can’t stop laughing. It’s a warm smile, full of honey and amber, a smile that says I love you.
He leans forward to kiss her nose and gently tucks her hair behind her ears. She smiles back at him, slowly, tentatively.
“There she is,” he says.
Do you know? She thinks. Are you looking for me? Searching through my pain to find me, hidden behind tears? Who is this ‘she’ you speak of? Who do you love? It is as if you know her and I do not. But I am thankful for it.
Her smile widens and he brushes his nose against her, one hand supporting her back, the other on her face, cupping her cheek.
I am thankful that you know where she is, that you can find her, because I don’t always know where she hides, but you always know how to pull her out.
“What?” he says when he spots the twinkle in her eye. He quirks an eyebrow at her and laughs when she lunges from her spot in his lap to push him against the soft grass, her hand behind his head to shield the blow.
He laughs and to her, it is the most amazing sound in the world. She rests her head against his chest and listens to his heart beat, her feet are tangled in his legs and she smiles.“Your laugh,” she begins, he is quiet, “it’s like a ripple in a pond, like someone scattering stars across the sky.” She sits up on her arm to look at him and traces his nose with her finger, then his sharp cheekbones. “It’s beautiful.” She expects him to look away but instead his eyes meet hers softly, intensely.
“Thank you,” he says. And with a flash his hands on are on her hips, on her waist, tickling her ribs. “So is yours!”
And she’s giggling against the grass, all the while demanding that he stop at once. He does before laying back down and offering the space on his outstretched arm to her. She looks at him carefully, her eyes narrowed.
“I won’t do it again,” he says with a smile. “Come here, please. Come be with me.” She smiles and complies. They sit and listen to the sound of crickets and running water as the sky is painted pink and the sun sinks into the horizon.
“You hurt my ribs,” she says rubbing them softly, “you’ll have to make it up some how.”
Geralt rolls his eyes but sits up and smiles when he sees that she has a mischievous grin on her face, one he knows quite well by now. He leans down and lifts the fabric of her blouse, exposing only her ribs, and presses a soft kiss to her skin.
“I’m sure we’ll think of something.”