Yennefer’s smile grew when Geralt purred. She loved it when he did that, the way his happiness filled the air around him, vibrated through his body and so through hers in turn. “Oh, I did miss that sound.” As he followed her touch, she conceded to brush his hair back from his eyes. “You’re home, Geralt,” she assured him. She knew well enough that the familiar walls and sounds were not always enough, that dreams were powerful–and nightmares even worse,–that portals could be disorienting and those between worlds (she could only assume, having never traveled one on her own, not without Ciri) even worse. “You’re home, and I will not be letting you out of my sight for a very long time, Witcher, so I do hope you enjoyed your freedom while it lasted.” Her tone was teasing, for though in their bed she would claim very well that she owned him, that he was hers and she his, they had always been and would always be fiercely independent people.
This house was no prison, and he was free to come and go as he pleased, just as she was. Granted, this house was his, but Yennefer would not have moved in if she didn’t think he wanted her here–and she would leave if she thought he’d ever changed his mind. But after so long searching, after so much pain and grief, after so much fighting, it was a relief to feel that they had both found someone who needed–and wanted–them to stay.
She reached for a flagon of wine near the bed and poured herself a glass, crossing her legs as she watched him undress. “Good boy,” she purred.
“Well, it seems I owe this Tony a great favor.” Her eyebrows raised, interest written in every line of her face as she took in the details of this strange world. She craved the power to traverse worlds, to see beyond their realm, but after years of seeking out danger, of traversing dangerous paths and crossing darkened lines, she knew the cost. Ciri’s power was a wonderful, beautiful, and dangerous thing. Ciri had nearly been lost to them before, and Geralt almost lost to her now. She would have to find other things to satiate her curiosity; for now, the story would do, and so she soaked in every wonderful detail, gaining more from the moments between Geralt’s words than anything else.
“Ciri is fine,” Yen spoke over his questions, cutting to the chase before that line of worry could go on too long. “I found her soon after you disappeared. She is well, though worried about you, of course.” As Geralt pulled her close, Yennefer leaned into the touch, wrapping her arms around him in turn. “I will write to her. She will be thrilled to see you again.” As she spoke, Yen gently maneuvered Geralt until his head was in her lap. She continued to stroke through his white hair, one hand trailing up and down his back, black painted fingers moving up and down his spine in a rhythmic pattern. “You’re home, Geralt. And you’re safe. Rest now. You’re going to need it. I plan to throughly wear you out again when you wake up.”
Geralt had, at one point in his life, been overly conscious of how he looked when he undressed. The scars, though his face had mostly been spared, were more telling the more he took off. Clear marks of teeth on his shoulder, a divot in one of his thighs where the muscle had been lost, never to be regrown. And of course all the other scars, the lines that littered his body, very few places were spared. It did not take long after the first dozen or so scars for him to stop wasting energy on worrying, everyone was already disgusted at the thought of seeing him undressed, twenty, fifty, or even hundreds of scars did not add to that disgust. This was of course before he’d met Yennefer, Yennefer who could probably map out his scars better than he could Yennefer who’d left marks of her own, not scars, she’d not taken away but added. The pricings had brought on teasing from the other wolves, but only the first winter, and when he had been with Tony they had grounded him. He was Yen’s and she was his, they would find each other again, they always did.
Geralt hummed as Yen told him of Ciri. The worry fading immediately. He had other friends to ask after, Jaskier at the top of the list, perhaps Yen knew something of the other wolves though no news was always the best news when it came to other witchers. Those were all secondary, Jaskeir knew where to find them, and if Ciri was okay then it could all wait. Yen would write to her and they could spend time togeather the three of them, with out the entire weight of the world on them.
Again he let Yennefer move him. Laid with his head in her lap and let her voice wash over him. You’re home, You’re safe Witchers did not have homes, Witchers were never safe. But Yen was not lying to him, this was home, these walls were a nice trapping but it was where he was with Yen that was truly home. And it was with Yennefer that he was safe. He did not know what kind of Witcher that made him, perhaps not a witcher at all. Geralt didn’t let himself follow that thought, instead he hummed, more like a growl turning to kiss Yen’s thigh. Neither was that a lie, if Yen said she would wear him out he knew he would spend longer in bed the next morning than he ought to. Those thoughts did not keep Geralt awake either. Yen’s hand in hair, her hand on his back, the smell of lilac and gooseberries following him to sleep.
He dreamt of his time with tony, bits replayed, the soft calm of Bruce, sharp intensity of Steve. The way everyone seemed to be waiting for something from Barnes. But the dream changed, and Geralt was stuck in the room Tony had given him. The magic that Tony had told him would answer questions was not answering, the tower had locked his door, he could not get out, he was running though endless hallways following the faintest smell of-
Gearalt sat up as soon as he was awake, turning to Yennefer, he saw her, saw the way her chest moved with each breath, he could hear her heart beat. He took a deep breath, he could smell her, the lilac and goosberries but more than that he smell of her under the perfume, placed a hand on her chest felt her heart before he finally leaned forward face in her neck a kiss that tasted of Yen. It did not take long for him to go though all five natural senses, it was habit when waking from an injury or meditation. Though usually not done so franticly, it was meant to ground him, what could he see, smell, hear, taste, meant to help him understand where he was. He did not think that the trainers had meant for him to use this routine to make sure that he was truly with another person.
“Yennefer” Geralt’s voice was scratchy, but he did not bother to clear his throat as he repeated her name “Yennefer.” Before he had fallen asleep Yen had joked about not letting Geralt go, right now that sounded like the best idea she had. He would, he knew he would leave eventually, no matter how poor a Witcher he was he could not stand being in the same place for so long. Or perhaps she would leave, follow some line of inquiry, something that needed to be known. That was who they were but right now Geralt didn’t want her to let him go.
