Archive of Our Own ^beta

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"Braids are not of my preference."

The witcher's voice was as grim as the expression in his face. Thor paused for a moment, loosening his grip as he gazes at the witcher. He has his eyes closed, and Thor had thought he was asleep. Perhaps, witchers never lay their defenses down. Not around close friends, not even around lovers.

"What a surprise." He quips, mockery in tone and amusement in his eyes as he combs through the straight, white locks. "I was about to clip in a rose."

Geralt made no movement to pry his hands away, and Thor tentatively crossed a strand over the other, continuing the plaits he had been doing, still taking his time in playing with the soft strands.

Regarding that, he can genuinely say, is a fascinating surprise. He had not expected the witcher's hair to be as soft as snow despite it being in the identical shade.

"Taking such sweet time, kochanie-" Geralt turns around at him, with Thor momentarily seeing the braids come undone in that swift movement. He sighs, laying face to face with the White wolf. "If you did manage to clip in that rose then your efforts would not have been futile."

Geralt took Thor's hands, kissing it softly as he intertwines it with his own. Thor runs his thumb over the rough calluses over Geralt's finger, whether it was from gripping the silver sword or Roach's reins, Thor is sure it's one of those.

"Who said that I had failed?" Thor says with a hum, unable to stop his hands from moving towards the witcher's hair and running his hands through it again. Geralt settles his hands around Thor's waist instead, pulling him closer, and for minutes - comfortable silence settled in them again.

"You have such beautiful hair, Elskan mín. Yet, you let it remain messy."

He frowns, Geralt had never been one for fixing his hair. He always used to say that it was not worth combing since he would mess it up in fights. He rarely washed it either, saying that it is too time-consuming and the smell of corpses already lingers anyway.

And when it is an inch or two longer from his shoulders, he would take a blade and slash it off.

It took time before Geralt agreed to not cutting his hair simply because Thor loved playing with it — although his excuse at that time was far more convincing (well, it is still true that Thor loved pulling on the other man's hair during their lovemaking).

"You are the one messing it up, I can recall correctly.—" his lover speaks, his tone frivolous as he thinks of their previous nights, "I was merely holding the evidence." Geralt cranes his neck while Thor turns as red as the marks that became prominent against the moonlight.

"- Among other things that keep me busy." He concludes with a smirk in his lips. A small scar had formed from the previous fight against a griffin, and Thor was almost tempted to add another by jumping on the witcher.

"I'm sure if you spend less time fucking me, you'd actually have time combing your hair."

He retorts back, which was met with a deep chuckle. He almost shuddered, his own senses was becoming overwhelming, and he can feel his heart pounding in excitement. It would be several days before they find a safe inn to stay in that is guarded and protected from monsters.

"Not worth it, even more, I'd rather you doing it so. You wanted it long, remember?"

Before he could find a witty answer for that, Geralt had already lifted himself from the bed and grabbed Thor's wrists, pinning him down. His breath hitches, feeling the weight of the witcher above him. From outside, a weak rain started to pour on, matching Thor's mood.

"Well, you do like a lot of long things."

Geralt whispers near his ear, making Thor almost laugh at how ticklish it felt. He shivers and smiles, eyes shining as he angles his lips to kiss the witcher's broad shoulders.

"I do? Why don't you remind me—" he groans, the grip on his wrists and the Geralt's warmth momentarily shattered his line of thinking. "- just how much I — love your long things?"

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There is always something that strikes Thor whenever they arrive at the edges of the south and sees the familiar grapevines that both serve as a border and a elegant mark of Toussaint.

Whether it's the beautiful sun that always manages to pass by the south, or the fair maidens that would sing songs and dance in the garden square — Thor always finds a moment to appreciate the place.

It is a reminder that peace still can exist in a world of chaos.

He pats his horse, Slepnir, as he ties her to the stables. He checks on his silver sword before sheating back and hiding it beneath the clothed layers. He carried an oil — just in case, and loosened his armor.

Glancing at Geralt, he sees the witcher hiding his medallion beneath his brown tunic. Thor subconsciously holds unto his own, feeling his thunderous seidr still captured inside the artifact. It was one of the things that Vesemir, the oldest witcher in Kaer Morhen, asked of Thor when he decided to join with Geralt in keeping the Continent safe. Humans are no stranger to the magic, but that did not entail they do not fear it.

Thor loops the medallion beneath his tunic as well, wincing against the bright sun as he walks behind the witcher - with other maidens looking at his way. He was too busy staring at the large buildings and wineries that he had not realized that Geralt had stopped in front of him.

"Omf—" he winces, massaging his face that had knocked against the witcher's back. He looked up, wondering for a moment how there was suddenly a distance between him and Geralt's height, and noticed a small step that leads to a risen wooden board.

"Distracted?"

Geralt says with a grave voice and Thor didn't need to even see his face to know that there is that smug look in his eyes again. He wasn't sure whether to flirt with the witcher, since they are in public. It's easy to do so in private rooms, inns, and sometimes - in noisy taverns, where most patrons would be too drunk playing Gwent and drinking beer to notice that there are two witchers in the corner, huddled and talking about something more than just killing monsters.

Thor tried to seem busy with looking towards the contracts displayed, haphazardly written with names and requests.

"A cattle falling out of the sky, what the— a witcher, preferred. Willing to pay 300 crowns."

By Geralt's eyes alone, Thor can already tell where half of it is going. He doesn't even know where Geralt manages to fit those Gwent cards he had bought.

"It's in the Quarry. Could be a monster."

He continues on, already trying to remember the potions and oils they can use. Toussaint edges are fairly cold, and it would be difficult to move in some places.

"I'll get our silver swords."

Even though Thor had been a witcher for decades now, one of his weaknesses still had been managing his directions. With the number of crowd in the walkways, there are already too many people he had to pay attention to.

"On your left—" he hears Geralt say beside him and he tries to seem as if he is exactly sure where left is.

"Shut up." He grimaces, when he noticed that he had been straying away from the Witcher into another different direction. Geralt only smirks at him and Thor noticed more maidens paying attention to them.

Damn it, can the silver-haired man be  less conspicuous?

A guard bumps on his shoulder and Thor tried to mask in the irritation. Any misconstrued actions can lead to dangerous situations, and he'd rather not be facing the duchess's wrath. He looked back, though, and sees the guard grinning at him.

"What was that?"

Geralt says sharply, a foot away in front of him.

"Nothing..." Thor mutters, trying to ignore the number of strange looks he is receiving. He shudders when he feels something from his... right side (he had to take a moment to make sure), he hears a sharp giggle, then locks eyes with a maiden who was waving at him. Just one look and Thor knew that she is probably a sorcereress. She winked at him, and blew him a kiss.

Thor was about to try and look ahead when he feels something warm in his left hand. He looks down, and sees Geralt's hands clasped on his.

"Uh..." He starts to say, unsure of the new stares on their way. He can almost hear the harsh beating of Geralt's heart against his wrist and Thor tried to will his heart to stop pounding rapidly as well.

"You're hopeless with directions."

Geralt cuts in, and Thor sees his hands adjust as Geralt lets go for a moment before intertwining their hands together. He grins, unable to stop the giddy feeling in his heart and though he's unsure if there would gossips about them — people loved stories about witchers after all, he still took the risk.

"In my defense... I get easily distracted."

He hears Geralt scoff although his heartbeat was just as jumpy as Thor's. He smirks failing to hear the mutter of the witcher before him, too absorbed with the beauty of the duchy and the beating of their hearts slowing down to match each other's pace.

"As do I."

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Rare does Geralt find the days where he wakes fully-rested with time to spare. Even rarer, are the days where he can feel the soft cotton bed beneath him with the warm furs, hear the soft chirping of wild birds outside as they flutter their wings to the east in search for the sun's glow, and even feel just the warmth of the soft body beside him - softly snoring and exhausted from finishing last night's contract.

They earned 400 crowns from it. A hundred went to their ratio of food, fifty for his Gwent and another for Thor's beers. Thirty had been paid for a night's rest just on the outskirts of Belfort, travelling the river way to the Hengfors.

It would be nice to encounter some rebels and bandits they can haggle with for information or service. And it has been a while sincd Geralt had gone to Hengfors... Much more with anyone. The shrine of the Egernal fire and most of the rituals there are not befitting for him as a Witcher, and most worshippers would glare at his way.

But alas, they say that there is a good number of monsters to slay and good Gwent cards to play — and Thor had always been curious of the shrines made about his people. He gazes at the sleeping witcher-god beside him, whose blonde hair had been combed, with very few curls still stubbornly loopef with other strands. Golden lashes with the platinum eyebrows made him even ethereal looking than others.

Geralt knows that when Thor opens his eyes, those striking blue eyes that is in the same shade of his thunder 'seidr' would overpower those features, and he would be struck for s moment at how such eyes can hold so many hues, unlike his own that is a bronze iris with dark pupils that turns into golden cat-like appearance when he taps into his senses.

Thor's nose sharp pointed, and his lips were thin - usually in pale pink and bleeding due to his mannerism in biting his lip when they are riding in silence or threatening hostile rebels.

Geralt slowly moved his hand to carress the soft hair of the god beside him. Thor would always say that there is a reason why mortals like them give so much emphasis on hair - whether putting crowns, attaching jewels, using strands of their loved ones — hair is important to Gods for they are seen as the glory of life.

The longer it is, the longer they live. The longer they live, the more worthy they are for they are continuously provided with those golden apples that give life.

When Thor had chosen to stay with him, he had opted to keeping his hair shorter — still long and reaching around his waist but he had kept tied with either cloths or hardened leaves.

However, when he sleeps — Geralt smiles as he sees the golden strands following his movement softly like waves - they are just calm seas whenever Thor is asleep.

It is difficult to wonder what his life would lead to if he didn't meet the ever impulsive god. If he didn't take the challenge in being a witcher and kept into the shadows of being a peasant. He wonders if Thor would even notice him if it wasn't for the mutations that developed his white hair.

Geralt took his time gazing at the marks that he had left on Thor's neck, then to his shoulders — a couple of bruises by his elbows, a rough hickey at the inside of his wrist. There is something that is still wonderous — fascinating, even - when the curtains behind them flutters for a moment and shines on Thor's tan skin.

He is the moon as Thor is the sun.

For years he had wondered why he never appreciated the vast mountains of the Continent, or why he rather traverse the horrific aftermath of all wars and fights in Velen than enjoy the wonderful Kaer Morhen or the soft grounds of Toussaint... He had always preferred the shadows than the colors, and thought it was all going fine.

When Vesemir had once told him that love is not thinking that something is missing - but that life can be better, Geralt thought it was all bullshit.

But seeing the warm glow of the sun against his lover's face, and feeling it behind him - buzzing in his skin and reminding him that this is what it meant to live - he couldn't even fathom how he had lived for decades thinking that he would never want this.

He hears him stir, and Geralt had moved his hands from Thor's arm, snaking it beneath him and pulling the other man towards him. Thor hummed, then yawned — before blinking awake, revealing that ever heavenly blue eyes. It was still a bit misty and in haze, and Thor shutted his eyes again, squinting almost, for another several seconds before looking at him, finally.

"How long have you been awake?"

He asks, and Geralt can tell that he was indeed curious rather than just teasing. With the sun's direction at them, he knew that it must've been an hour and he had missed his schedule for mediation.

"...Just for a few minutes."

But maybe it is not so bad, after all.

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