flahwed | via Tumblr su We Heart It - http://weheartit.com/entry/159278682
aenwoedbeannaa
Requested by: salmonbutter
Warnings: We all knew that the s e x was coming (smutty smut)
Word Count: 3,387
Summary: It has been almost two weeks since you dragged the injured Witcher from the woods. In those two weeks, it feels like everything has changed. You are exhausted from the extra work, but the Witcher seems to have taken notice.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
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You wake up before dawn, thanks to your internal clock. The mornings have been getting colder and colder as autumn settles in. You sigh softly, wishing that you could just curl right back up underneath the old quilt, but you cannot; so you push off the warmth of the blanket, shivering slightly in the cold.
Glancing over at the Witcher, it is easy to see that he is still asleep. It has been a bit over a week, and thankfully he was healing very well. Of course, that had something to do with the Witcher mutations, but he insisted that you take credit for your work. Without you, Geralt would be dead. You find yourself smiling at his sleeping form——he looks so peaceful.
You pad over to the fire, which is now mostly burned through, and toss some kindling on top of the smoldering remains of logs, and place a few logs on top of that. Though you don’t have an ounce of magic in your blood, you use a twig to draw the runes that your mother taught you to guard against fire from catching anywhere outside the fireplace. You’ve left many a fire lit when you went out to leave so that you could come home to a warm cottage and have yet to have any fires, so perhaps they do work. It’s more of a habit than anything else.
Once the fire is lit, you go wash and dress quickly. Considering you have one more mouth to feed for the foreseeable future, you know you ought to go hunting. You also have set a few traps, and you need to go check to see if you’ve caught anything. You pull on your leather leggings. They were nothing fancy——you made them yourself. They are practical, though, and allow for easy and silent movement.
You slip on a woolen jerkin, hoping that it will help guard from the cold. Over the top, you pull on a leather vest and cinch it together. You pull your hair into its usual plait down your back and pull on your belt, all of your hunting knives holstered in their proper places. Before stepping back out into the main room of the cottage, you find yourself checking your appearance in the mirror one more time.
You don’t know why you’re looking, exactly, nor why you feel slightly dismayed that you have deep circles under your eyes. You find yourself, for the first time, feeling plain and boring——nothing like the beautiful, amber-eyed Witcher asleep in your bed. You sigh once more shrugging off the feeling, and head back out into the main room of the house to make yourself breakfast.
You go outside to fill another bucket with water, breaking out into a sweat as you lug it back inside. Your muscles are tired. Your back hurts. These are pretty usual feelings, but the extra work these last few days has certainly made it worse. Your arms ache as you take care to place the bucket gently on the large table so as not to wake Geralt.
You cook up some oatmeal——plain but filling, and serve yourself a large bowl. Once you finish eating, you cover the pot so that it will still be warm for Geralt when he wakes up.
Once you are satisfied with everything, you grab your bow and finally head out to go hunt.
***
It is late afternoon by the time you return to the cottage. You managed to catch three rabbits in the snares you’d left——they’ll make excellent soup, especially good this time of year. You also managed to track and hunt a deer.
You spend quite some time in the shed, making sure that everything is taken care of. You will tan the deer hide, and the rabbit fur will make excellent lining. You will salt and dry most of the meet from the deer——it will be especially good in the winter, when there is not much hunting to be done.
By the time you head back to the cottage, you are weak with exhaustion, but happy with your day’s work. Hopefully, Geralt will have eaten, and perhaps will be sleeping again. He had spent the last two days protesting that he could help more with chores around the house, but you had vehemently refused. He needed to rest. Just because you’d been able to remove the stitches a three days prior did not mean he was healthy enough to start working——in your opinion, anyhow.
As you draw closer to the couch, you can smell smoky scent of meat cooking. You quirk an eyebrow, a mix between confusion and a strange sense of happiness. Before you even get to step into the cottage and see what exactly the Witcher has been up to while you’ve been gone, you spot him at the well, pulling a bucket out.
“Geralt!” you call,exasperated. “You shouldn’t be lifting that!”
You hurry towards him, wanting to take the bucket from his arms. You couldn’t quite explain the worry you felt.
By the time you reach him, he’s already un-looped the bucket and was holding it easily in one arm.
“I am a Witcher, Huntress,” he says with an impish grin, “Not a damsel.”
It was at that moment that you suddenly felt a rush of heat to your cheeks, a flush creeping up your face.
“I’m no damsel!” you grin, following after him into the cottage.
“I didn’t say that you were, now, did I, Huntress?” He grins.
You gasp as you enter the cottage. It is spotless. The last weeks have been so incredibly busy, you hadn’t had much time to devote to cleaning. But now, everything it back in its proper place. There are no herbs left strewn about, the dust has been swept away, the table is clean, and there is even laundry hanging to dry.
You turn and find the source of the delicious smell——a pot of stew in a pot over the fire. Geralt, however, has already made his way to the bathroom, and you hear him pouring the water into the wooden tub.
You follow him in. “Don’t bathe in the cold water!” you warn him, “I can head it up for you, just give me a moment to—” you are attempting to grab the now empty bucket out of Geralt’s hands when he silences you with one calloused finger pressed to your lips. It feels as if your mind melts slightly at his touch, and you find yourself not speaking a word in protest.
“Hush,” he says softly. “I’m a Witcher.”
As if you are supposed to understand what that means in this particular situation.
He turns from you to the tub full of water, and mutters something incomprehensible under his breath. You gasp and jump back, half in fear and half in awe, as fire shoots from his hand to the water itself, appearing to immediately bring the whole thing to a boil for just a moment before it begins to cool again.
“There’s stew in the pot, go eat while the water cools,” he tells you. “I’ll finish drawing your bath.”
You look at him incredulously. You are the healer here, you should be taking care of him. But before you can protest that he should wash, considering he just did all the work, he throws an offhand comment over his shoulder as he begins sifting through oils and adding several to the water about how he’s already washed today.
Without much to say in response, you find yourself nodding and heading back to the main room of the house, where you manage to wolf down a large bowl of rabbit stew. He must have gone hunting as well, considering you didn’t have any rabbit before this, and the stew tastes fresh.
“It’s easy to make while I’m on the road.” You jump slightly, not having heard him leave the bathroom. Godamn Witcher, silent as a cat.
“That was delicious,” you manage.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he says. “Now go get in the bath, I’ll be there in a minute.”
You could protest that you certainly are capable of washing yourself. But at the same time…Every single muscle is sore, and it would be nice to…
Your mind has already drifted to images of the Witcher’s large hands, on your back, in your hair, running up and down your arms, and lower. You shiver as you remove your dirty clothes and pull the tie from your hair, but this time, not because its cold.
You find the tub full, the water cloudy from the oils and soaps. It smells heavenly, you have to admit. You gingerly lower yourself into the perfectly warm water and sigh, leaning your head back and breathing deeply. Some of the tension in your back has already eased, and your sore muscles appreciate the warm water.
Once again, silent as a cat, the Witcher seems to materialize behind you. You look up at him, locking eyes with his amber ones for a moment. All of the tension, all of those unsaid words, still hang between you. But, there is a knowing there.
Neither of you say anything as he pulls up a stool and sits behind you, like you had done for him days earlier, when he was still quite injured. You lean forward in the water, allowing him to take a soapy washcloth and gently scrub your back and neck. You find it difficult to concentrate on washing your front as he does so. Your eyes keep closing, and goosebumps keep appearing on your skin despite the warm water.
He chuckles behind you as you feel his hands on your back once more. He must have dropped the washcloth, because you feel only his rough and calloused hands on your back now. With great care, he begins massaging your sore back, neck, and shoulders. Somehow, he knows just where every knot and sore spot his. You drop the soap you’d been using into the water, forgotten, as a moan escapes your lips.
You don’t even feel embarrassed. That knowing glance that passed between the two of you said more than words could.
Eventually, he moves on to your hair, pouring water over your head, urging you to lean your head back. You are more than willing.
He massages your scalp with the same great care, eliciting several satisfied sighs, and one embarrassing mewling sound from you. You want those hands all over you, but Geralt seems like he’s in no hurry.
Once you are clean, he gets up and finds a towel.
“Up,” he says gruffly, “Let me dry you.”
You don’t think twice before obeying.
You feel somewhat exposed as he towels off your back and shoulders first, before moving down your middle and your legs, but you can’t say that you are not enjoying it. As he moves his way down your body, your body seems to move on its own, and you melt backwards, leaning into him. He chuckles——a low, rumbling sound that makes your heart rate pick up.
He towels off your hair last, grabbing your hairbrush and running it gently from roots to ends. You have been doing things on your own, been so completely alone, for so long. Its hard for you to feel comfortable with someone taking care of you, but somehow in this moment, this is all that you want.
Once he’s done, he sets the brush down and lets the towel drop to the floor. You lean your back against his chest, peering up at him to meet his amber Witcher eyes, so different from anyone else’s. He is gazing down at you with this warmth, that somehow makes you shiver.
“You going to kiss me, or what?” You blurt.
He doesn’t respond, except to place his hands on your shoulders and turn you to face him. His arms snake around your naked body and he crashes his lips to yours.
Your melt into the kiss, parting your lips. He immediately takes the control that you immediately give him. Heat is already pooling in your core. You found this man nearly dead only a couple of weeks before, and now here he was, making your completely lose your mind. You eagerly press yourself against him, pressing you hands against his chest, careful to avoid the mostly healed wounds you know are under his linen shirt.
“You’re eager, little Huntress,” he teases in that intoxicating deep voice as he shifts his hands under your bottom, lifting you from the ground.
Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his waist and wrap your arms around his neck, reveling in the smoke-and-salt smell of his skin and the intoxicating taste of his kisses.
“I never said I was patient, did I? I am a Huntress after all.” you quip, smirking up at him. For another moment, your eyes lock and no words pass between the two of you.
“Not tonight,” Geralt says with a gleam in his eyes, “I’ve already caught you.”
You don’t even have time to respond before he devours you with a hungry kiss, this one much more forceful than the last. You don’t mind. You’ve already decided to give yourself to him. Desire burns like a fire in your veins.
It must be burning in the Witcher’s veins too, because he has you out of the bathroom and in the main room of the house in a split-second. He pushes you down onto the bed roughly and pulls off his shirt in one swift motion.
He’s on top of you a moment later, and your eyes flick to the scars across his chest. For a moment, your mind had been so clouded you hadn’t even thought to ask if he was in pain.
As if he can read your mind, he grabs one of your hands in his. It looks comically small against his chest as he places it on one of the raised scars over his heard. “I’m fine, thanks to you,” he says. His tone is deep and gravely, but his eyes are soft and warm.
Your hand traces down the raised flesh——he’s not wrong. All that is left of his grave injuries are only scars now. “I’m so glad I found you,” you say softly.
The words are heavy with meaning. You are happy that you found him, because otherwise you probably would have ended up dead thanks to that dire wolf; and you are glad because you are a healer, and you would never want to leave a person to die. But more than all of that, you feel like you found a part of yourself lying on the forest floor that day.
“Not as glad as I am that I was found by you,” he says, almost whispering.
This time, his kiss is soft and slow, but filled with desire. You hope that you understood the words right. It has been only two weeks, and already you cannot imagine a life without Geralt. You’d feel like that new piece of you was ripped away, taking your heart with it, if he were gone.
Finally, he breaks the kiss to continue kissing down your neck, nipping at the skin. He is leaving marks, but you don’t care. You want him to leave marks. You want to be his. You arch your back up into him, urging him on. He obliges.
When his lips close around one hard nipple, you can’t help the desperate sound it elicits. You moan, soft and hungry, as he flicks over it with his tongue. He moves over to your other breast to give it the same attention, replacing his mouth with his hand——pinching and pulling as he swipes his tongue over the other.
Your hips are grinding against his of their own accord. You need him. Your hands move down his chest, pulling selfishly at his trousers. You can feel the whole length of him through the fabric, and it only makes you want to remove it. You want nothing between the two of you.
He obliges once again, shifting to push off his trousers and underwear so that he is naked like you, save for the medallion around his neck. This time, when he kisses you, his hand travels lower, to your core. He moans in pleasure as he runs two fingers over your slit, just barely grazing your clit and making you buck helplessly against him.
All you can think is more, more, more.
“So wet already?” he asks,letting his fingers trace your clit in lazy circles. You can’t even answer, you are so lost in the feeling.
Apparently, he was not looking for an answer, anyway, because he plunges two fingers into you. You scream.
It feels so good. His fingers stretching you, exploring you. He grins down at you through a curtain of silver hair as he grazes that sensitive spot inside of you over and over as he plunges his fingers in and out.
It doesn’t take long before you are incoherently babbling his name as you buck against him. His eyes don’t leave you for a second. Something about that turns you on even more, and all of a sudden you are spasming around his fingers, calling his dame.
He helps you ride out your orgasm as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you, finally gently removing his fingers and bringing them to his lips to taste you.
“Fuck, Geralt…” you say breathlessly.
You look up at him, your eyes and his locked once more. Again, there is no need to say anything. Even though you just came, you are already hungry for more. Your eyes must be doing all of the pleading that your mouth can’t quite form the words for, because he is gently guiding himself to your entrance.
“I’ve definitely caught you,” he says into your ear as he plunges in.
You gasp, something between a scream and a moan, adjusting to the size of him. You’re not inexperienced, but it has been a while, and you’ve never had anyone as big as him. It is painful in the most pleasurable way.
Your hands are all over him as he pushes in and out again, establishing a rhythm that has you seeing stars. He grunts in approval when one of your hands tangles in his hair and forces his lips back to yours again.
You bit his lip, hard. But he is still in complete control.
He quickens his pace and angles your hips so that he goes deeper, deeper every time. You are incoherent again.
Every time he slams into you, he hits all the right spots. You are losing your mind, you swear. When his thumb finds your clit and sweeps back and forth over it in time with his thrusts, you gasp, locking eyes with him one more time.
“Geralt…Fuck…Don’t stop, I’m—”
With one final thrust, he groans, burying his face in your neck as he spills inside of you while you spasm around him. You have never, ever, cum so hard.
It is several minutes before you finally come back to your senses. You can feel him stroking your hair. He has pulled you against his chest, and you can hear his heart—steady, strong. His breath is even, even after all of that.
You nuzzle into his chest, aware of your own heart rate finally beginning to slow as you relax into him. one hand stroking your hair, the other tracing circles on your back. It’s as if he knows exactly what you need.
The feeling of having just had the best sex of your entire life, with this Witcher who you might never have met, who you care about more than yourself though he is barely more than a stranger when you really thing about it… But thoughts don’t matter to you at the moment. You don’t need thoughts when you can feel everything so deeply with your heart.
It isn’t long before he has coaxed you to sleep, the exhaustion from a day’s work crashing down on you along with everything else.
The world fades to black, but with bright, amber stars.
To be continued.
