Work Text:
Geralt opened his eyes to a room where a single candle fought against the darkness of a new moon night. He rolled over to the creaking of worn wood, hand landing in the space shaped by a missing body. The mattress was still warm.
Alert but not alarmed, details emerged out of shades of gray. Like Vernon's back, bent over his silver witcher sword, inspecting the blade, using his nail to test its edge, trailing fingertip catching on too many nicks. - Geralt doubted that Roche could make out the lines of the engraved runes and glyphs.
In the tavern below, people laughed and hollered, ordering mead and the local moonshine. A woman shrieked, not long after a palm had slapped her ass, her own swift to collide with a bearded cheek.
Geralt inhaled, focusing not on the obvious - stale and fresh sweat, semen flaking on skin - but what lay underneath. A mix of hormones he lacked the words to describe, but that gave away enough of Vernon's state of mind to make him smile. Contentment, maybe. Remnants of that after-sex haze that rendered men boneless. Far less bitter than the usual strain of guerrilla warfare.
He moved closer, sheets tangling around his legs and straw rustling, until he could drop a kiss on Vernon's shoulder, feel muscles tense and relax against his lips. At the same time, Geralt leaned to the side, enough so to channel just a trace of power into his sword.
The runes flared up, a vibrant blue. The faint light reflected in Roche's eyes, the color almost matching.