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Soft Mornings
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Reader/OC x Eskel
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Morning arrived gently. Golden sunlight spilled through the tall windows, warming the room in soft bands of amber. She woke first, for several long moments she simply lay still.
Listening.
Birdsong drifted in through the open window. The vineyards beyond the manor were peaceful. Beside her...Eskel still slept peacefully. One arm remained loosely draped around her waist, his breathing slow and wonderfully even.
She smiled to herself.
"...Handsome.", she whispered it so quietly it was little more than a breath. His hair had escaped its tie sometime during the night, dark strands scattered untidily across the pillow. She reached up carefully. Her fingers slipped through the loose strands, combing them back from his face with feather light touches.
"So soft..." Another gentle stroke, then another. She absentmindedly began separating a few strands, twisting them into the beginnings of a tiny braid before abandoning the idea halfway through simply because she preferred running her fingers through his hair.
Eskel made a sleepy sound, not quite awake. Instinctively, he leaned ever so slightly into her touch.
"Oh?" She smiled wider, "So that's your weakness."
She continued playing with his hair, massaging gently behind one ear.
Tracing lazy circles against his scalp. His brow slowly relaxed, a contented hum escaped him.
"Mmm..."
"There you are." She whispered fondly, "My breathtakingly handsome Witcher..."
Amber eyes slowly opened.
Blinking once. Twice.
They immediately found her.
He smiled, "Good morning."
"Good morning."
His voice was still rough with sleep, "Were you..." He reached up, catching one of her hands and bringing it gently to his lips, "...playing with my hair?"
She nodded without a trace of guilt.
"I discovered it makes you purr."
"I do not purr."
"You absolutely do! It was an adorable”
Eskel laughed softly."I see."
She shifted closer, resting comfortably against his chest, "I've decided it's my new favorite way to wake you."
"There are certainly worse ways."
She tilted her head,"Like what?"
He leaned forward just enough to brush a slow kiss across her forehead,"For example..."
Another kiss, this one against her temple,"...being awakened before sunrise because Lambert has stolen every blanket in existence."
She laughed,"That was a genuine emergency."
"So you claimed."
"It was freezing."
He smiled warmly, "I'm glad you came."
"So am I."
For a little while they simply stayed there, wrapped in blankets. Sunlight creeping steadily across the room.
Neither in any hurry to leave.
Ensanguined
Summary: During his final contract before the Winter, Eskel has an unexpected run-in with a Greater Incubus with unexpected consequences. Luckily, a certain sorceress knows what to do.
A/N: Wow, I genuinely toiled over this fic for MONTHS. I jumped around to a couple of projects, but always came back to this one. I’m so happy to have it finished, and I’m pretty proud of it! Now, without further ado, please enjoy some feral witcher smut c:
Pairing: Eskel/Reader
WC: 10.1k
Disclaimers: 18+, fuck or die, BRIEF dubious consent, there IS plot, use of she/her pronouns, no use of y/n, AO3 has more detailed tags
AO3 Link
Eskel was fond of succubi.
Extremely fond, in fact, back when he was a younger witcher with more appetite than common sense. Most were peaceful by nature, and the odd rampaging succubus was simple enough to handle. Sucubi typically satisfied their needs relatively quietly and without call for intervention.
Incubi were different beasts entirely.
Across multiple villages, miles-long trails of victims would appear near where an incubus made its nest. Men and women would crop up by the dozens, drained of their very souls and everything else. Rare and ravenous, it never took long for a hefty contract calling for a capable witcher to be issued.
That's where Eskel's hunt began.
Winter's promise whispered on the evening breeze, forewarning of a coming frost. The dark months would be there soon, and Eskel had intended this hunt to be his last before stealing away to Kaer Morhen. A simple contract that would pad his pockets as he journeyed north, but destiny possessed a particular fondness for mocking witchers.
The draw of the mountain haven had never been so strong before. It promised respite after an arduous season on the path, and what's more, Eskel anticipated a guest. Eagerness turned his stomach.
A guest, Eskel huffed to himself, Geralt and Lambert would never let him hear the end of it.
Just one contract stood between Eskel and the repose of winter, the hearth of his true home, and it made him careless. Tracking the incubus wasn't difficult. Eskel followed the scent of sex and blood to a secluded cave between hunting grounds. Flat, white eyes watched Eskel approach the lip of the cave, its cloven hooves propped atop two dead bodies—A husband and wife, both missing from the closest village.
"Hello, Witcher," It crooned, adorned with great ivory horns sprouting in spirals from ash grey skin, and an innocent smile stretching across plush lips, rouged with blood. Incongruous and perverse. "Malak welcomes you."
Succubi or incubi, it made no difference; seduction was always the first line of defense. Malak sang a siren's song of fucking and rutting until the sun rose, and sank, and rose again. Not a wholly unattractive offer, but after hundreds of years on the path, Eskel was far more shrewd.
"Sorry to disappoint," Rolling his shoulders, Eskel unsheathed his silver blade. It was balanced in his palm, ready for the hunt. He breathed out, centering his focus, "But I've got a contract."
Malak sneered, flashing its red-stained teeth, "Disappointing indeed, Malak has heard tales of Witcher… prowess."
"Don't worry, we'll still have some fun together." Eskel rushed forward, steps quick and silent against the stone ground of the cave. Hoofbeats echoed loudly as the incubus sprang to meet him.
Eskel quickly realized that his quarry was no common incubus.
Malak was a greater incubus and fought with the ferocity of the hells. The sounds of flesh rending under silver and claw filled the cave as they raged against each other. It was stronger and faster than any hellbeast he'd fought before, but ultimately, Eskel backed Malak into a corner. The scent of its blood, so deep red it was black, was potent. It smelled of sex and death, heady and intoxicating, like a whorehouse. The gurgle in Malak's lungs promised it was not long for the plane of the living.
Unbeknownst to Eskel, there was a final card up Malak's sleeve.
Its dying deed was to impale itself on the brandished silver, chest cracking as it slid down the sharp edges until it was flush with Eskel's leathers. Soft, bloodied lips collided against his and pulled Eskel into a rapturous kiss. Its foul tongue pushed into his dazed mouth, and with a vile wheeze, flooded Eskel's throat with a thick, rich ichor that sizzled and dissolved before he could spit.
"You think me a monster, Witcher?" Malak laughed, death rattling in its chest, watching as Eskel wretched in vain, "Soon, you will know the meaning of the word."
The incubus spasmed, agonized as Eskel's shaky hands wrapped around his sword's hilt and pulled it free, a triumphant grin still twisted across its face. The blade glinted as it arched through the air and kissed Malak's throat in a bloody cascade.
A horned head on his left and a disembodied torso on his right, Eskel fell exhausted and panting to the cave floor. The tingling heat from his lips spread rapidly through his body, burning like a wildfire as it went. His very soul felt oily and contaminated, greasy with a stubborn stain. Already, Eskel felt his body struggling to process the poison, and he knew the onslaught of symptoms would run fast and hot.
Eskel needed his bestiary.
Twilight flickered overhead as the sound of beating hooves filled the air. Scorpion galloped into the quiet camp, carrying her poorly witcher. Every jolt and tremor of the ride back to camp sent a shudder of strange pleasure through him, and by the time Eskel returned, he was hot with desire. All but falling from the saddle, Eskel landed on wobbly feet and stumbled across the browning grass of the clearing. Dual swords slipped from his shoulders and clattered down by the cold embers of last night's fire.
His mind slipped in and out of reason, governed by a delirious need that came in waves. It took every last bit of his rapidly diminishing self-restraint not to drop his trousers and touch himself where he stood. The thump of his heartbeat, usually slow and steady, pounded erratically in his ears.
Being a witcher was foul work, so he kept the belongings he didn't want covered in monster viscera in a discreet place near his current camp. Shaking hands slid the pack from a long-felled log at the center of camp. He tore open the top flap and removed a fresh waterskin, a bottle of superior swallow, and a leather-bound bestiary.
He winced. The soft light of sundown pierced his blown pupils, and the gentle chorus of night birds rapped painfully at his skull. Even the clothes on his back felt oppressive, made worse by the fever scorching his skin.
Eskel burned inside, too.
A blaze that aimed to blacken him from the inside out. It started at the base of his belly and emanated out in terrible waves that threatened to bring him to his knees. Uncorking the vial, he tossed back the contents with a gulp and choked down the swill. Swallow tasted of wintergreen and rotting fish on a good day, but now it burned like acid in his throat. The mutilated flesh of his leg began stitching shut, but the potion did nothing to quell the all-over ache of his body.
"Shit," he cursed.
Desperate to wash away the burn, he wrapped his lips around the mouth of the cool waterskin and drank deeply. The crisp water was broken glass in his raw throat. Coughing violently, Eskel threw down the traitorous waterskin, his mouth drier than at the start.
Fuming and thirsty, he seized the bestiary instead. Eskel searched for the correct entry, flipping clumsily through the yellowed pages. Sweat dripped from his furrowed brow and no matter how gentle he tried to be, the paper tore under his fingers. His jaw clenched apprehensively, a tight feeling of unease joining the burning in his belly as recognition set in.
For the first time since he was a pup, Eskel was uninhibited.
After the Trial of the Grasses, he had felt like a stranger in his own body. Beast and man were joined together inside of him, but did not live harmoniously. Not at first. Swords bent and bodies bruised too easily under his hand. Something howled beneath his skin, demanding to be loosed from it's cage and Eskel quickly realized that without restraint, he was no better than the monsters he trained to hunt.
Complete control is what kept the beast leashed, and Eskel felt his slipping away.
The harsh tear of paper snapped him back to the present. Eskel brought the page closer, cursing how Vesemir's neat handwriting swam under his scattered focus.
Incubi: Greater and Lesser.
Unlike Succubi, who often mean no harm and are motivated only by their insatiable lust, incubi take a demented pleasure in killing their quarry. Sadists all, incubi care less for slaking their desires and more for feeding them by any means necessary. Taking as much pleasure from the kill as the rut, incubi have been known to wipe out entire villages before moving on to the next.
Greater Incubi pose an even more notable threat. Not only are their physical abilities far beyond those typical of the species, but they also possess a hidden danger. Poisoned blood, a powerful aphrodisiac that serves as a punishment for those who would dare shed it, making trouble for Witchers in particular.
Its effects occur only upon ingestion, but beware, this is a threat that should not be taken lightly. Anyone who ingests the substance will be called to act upon their basest desires without heed for themselves or others. Humans who are unlucky enough to have tasted Greater Incubus blood will succumb to madness and die, no matter what they do to satisfy themselves. Witchers who fall prey to this underhanded trick fare slightly better, but only if they indulge. An affected Witcher must hope the object of their deepest desire is near, or perish within a matter of hours.
Be warned, the blood of a Greater Incubus will alter both mind and body to the point that one resembles more of an animal in heat than a creature with sentience. A weak will crumbles quickly under the poison's effects, and those who find themselves in contact with the affected should tread with caution, as they are not wholly themselves.
A crude drawing of erect genetalia signed off the entry, likely penned by a young Lambert back when Vesemir would punish him by having him study the text. Eskel would have found it funny if his own erect length wasn't throbbing painfully against his thigh.
"Shit," He hissed, a pit widening in his stomach.
He read the entry again, but his mind wasn’t playing tricks. The same words stared back at him. Eskel needed to fuck, or die. He nearly laughed at the absurdity, but he could feel the truth of it deep in his core. A journey to the closest brothel might’ve been plausible, but the barest thought of someone who wasn’t her sent a piercing pain through his skull.
It had to be her.
Despite straining to keep them open, Eskel's eyes fluttered shut. Memories of the bathhouse in Skellige flooded his mind, where he'd shared a private room with his traveling companion and employer—A bewildering and clever sorceress.
Eskel swore long ago not to involve himself with sorceresses, but contracts had been sparse. So, when she'd stepped through a shimmering portal holding a fat pouch of gold, necessity quickly won over sense. After all, Vesemir always taught that dull swords made for a dead fool.
A foremost scholar of astromancy and the conjunction of the spheres, she planned to map the night sky meticulously. This meant traveling into parts both treacherous and unknown, and the treacherous and unknown meant monsters. Monsters meant that she needed a witcher, so Eskel became her escort across the continent.
Until they'd met, all of her research had been done in gilded observatories, and to say that she was woefully unprepared for any environment that didn't offer a full library would be an understatement. She'd jump at any odd noise in the trees, and slept so fitfully in the cold that Eskel took to sleeping in whichever direction the wind blew from so they might both get some sleep. He thought her a fretful sorceress who merely played at adventure, that is, until they encountered the first real danger they'd met on their journey.
Eskel had only managed a few glancing blows on the feral rock troll when she felled the creature herself. With a clench of her gloved fist, the troll collapsed to the ground, a mess of blood and boiled brain dripping from its bulbous nose.
"If you can do that," Eskel asked, still panting from his bout, "What the hells do you need me for?"
"What can I say?" Roguish and wind-swept, she grinned at him, "I like watching you wave your swords around."
She was as sharp as his newly smelted blades and twice as dangerous. For months onward, they shared a fire, food, and more than enough mishaps. Eskel watched her find ease in the wilds and, even more surprisingly, with him. Slowly, her bedroll crept closer to his, and her touch lingered when they passed the waterskin. No change, no matter how minuscule, escaped Eskel's notice, and despite knowing better, he could not bring himself to discourage it. In fact, he found himself changing as well.
He would stall before dismounting Scorpion, if only to feel her pressed to him a moment longer. He feigned ignorance of common constellations just to hear her voice, and as she spoke, his gaze would fall to her lips again and again. Eskel could no longer deny that his heart was lost to her, but a romance between a sorceress and a witcher was begging for trouble, and the last thing Eskel wanted was to trouble her.
A striga contract is what did him in.
The shebeast had been stalking the stormy isles and tormenting defenseless caravans for months. Under the full moon, they discovered a rickety wooden coffin buried in unhallowed ground—The striga's resting place. His sorceress insisted on accompanying him, eager to watch Eskel lift the curse the striga was born from. Together, they waited for the moon to hit its peak.
Eventually, the ghoul pulled herself stinking and shrieking from her grave dirt, and Eskel trapped the creature in melee. They kept her from returning to the safety of her crypt, fighting until orange light reflected off dark water, but even after the third rooster's crow, the curse remained unbroken. The curse was too powerful to remove.
"We have to put her down!" Eskel yelled to his companion as he backed the striga to the cliff's edge.
"Then do it, Witcher!" She cried, white-hot energy crackling on her fingertips. Blood dripped from her temple to her chin. They were both exhausted. The striga had swiped a blow before Eskel could intervene.
Vicious claws dug deep into his shoulder just as he readied his killing blow. Eskel stumbled, swallowing a bellow of pain as he lost his footing. For a moment, he and the striga teetered over the edge of the rock face together, when a precise shock of lightning hissed past his ear and blasted the shebeast's arm clean from her body. The timely intervention by his companion was the only reason Eskel hadn't plummeted over the side with his quarry. He steadied himself and planted a heavy boot on the striga's chest. With a heave, Eskel sent her screaming into a watery grave.
Then, they dragged themselves to the nearest bathhouse in silent agreement, bleeding and smelling of ozone.
Eskel was gripped entirely by the phantasm of his memories. He recalled the dancing shadows cast by flickering candles on stone walls and rivulets of steaming water that dripped down his chest. Earthen oils and dried sea moss had scented their water, soothing sore muscles and enveloping them both in relaxing, verdant vapor. Every reminisced sensation became real and pulled Eskel further into the delirium of his poisoned mind.
The dim candlelight and steam had obscured her form, but the sound of that silk robe sliding down bare shoulders and onto the wood-paneled floor had been deafening. Eskel had looked away, but it was torture with her constantly, infuriatingly, in his periphery. The shadow of her body through the scented water was branded in his mind; the mere memory of her naked shape was enough to set him rigid and wanting.
He draped a hot towel over his face and tried every trick he knew to tame his growing arousal. A naked hag, a gutted drowner, a bloated ghoul, but every splash and satisfied sigh had brought him right back to her. Eventually, blessedly, she'd announced that she was returning to her rooms and left him to his agony.
Eskel satisfied himself that night.
He'd put up a good fight. Attempted thoughts of eager strumpets, tempting succubi lovers, even the one nice girl from that inn a hundred years ago, but each time he came close, Eskel was inexplicably drawn back to her. He came hard to the thought of her washing, slowly, skin lathered with that damn honeysuckle soap, and again to thoughts of taking her from behind, her still wet hair tangled in his fist.
The next day, Eskel had been so ashamed that he hadn't been able to look at her.
That same shame burned in him now, accented by unbearable waves of desire that rolled over him with each painstaking gasp. Eskel was unmoored. Grappling for the discarded waterskin, he poured the contents over his face. The water cooled his fevered brow for a brief moment, enough to pull him from the brink.
Eskel laughed bitterly at the absurdity of his impending doom. The cure may as well have been true love's kiss for how likely he was to have it.
A letter from Yennefer arrived the night before, declaring a state of emergency. Something about the spheres being unbalanced and needing her expertise to figure out why, so she'd left before dawn and wouldn't be returning anytime soon. Before leaving, she took his hand into hers and asked him to be safe. Eskel assured her he would be, and hadn't meant to lie. Her hands had been soft and cool against his.
Eskel jolted, surprised by the tremor of desire that stirred his cock. He pushed the feeling down, but arousal overwhelmed him so completely that he doubled over with want.
Visions of her unlacing his breeches to stroke him with those soft hands played in his mind. He scrubbed one hand down his face, like this might be a dream he could wake from, but his need only grew more ravenous. It was deep and hungry, and Eskel would do anything to feed it. The incubi's final words echoed in his ringing ears.
You think me a monster, Witcher? Soon, you will know the meaning of the word.
Sick understanding washed over him.
He had barely controlled himself in the bathhouse, and that was without incubus blood burning in his belly. If she were here, with her shining eyes and exposed throat, Eskel knew he wouldn't be able to stop himself from taking her. Disgust coiled tightly in his belly. He wanted to believe this was the incubi's curse, but he knew the truth. It only brought forth what was already there.
A monster.
"No," Eskel growled aloud to no one.
He would happily choose death if living meant doing what his body begged him to, but he'd prepared for the end every witcher expects: Blood, gore, and if they were lucky, a bit of glory, but not this. Not reduced to the thrashing, howling beast he'd caged so long ago. Despite this, the small part of Eskel that was still capable of experiencing anything other than crippling desire was strangely at ease knowing she was safe.
A flash of velvet caught his eye, and he reached back into the rotted log to retrieve the smaller, finer pack that she'd tucked behind his. It contained some keepsakes, a few of tools of her trade, and a change of traveling clothes.
When attending her duties as a sorceress, she favored lush layers of deep reds, as if she were a sweet, chilled wine. With Eskel, she preferred to dress casually. Often sporting a loose tunic that drooped to display her collar bones, and comfortable trousers that hugged the curve of her ass. Thoughts of her in nothing but her underclothes crowded his pounding skull.
Lace, maybe, the color of mulled wine, like all her cloaks.
His cock twitched at the image of her lying before him like a gift wrapped in spice-red lace. Instinctively, Eskel brought the burgundy velvet to his nose and inhaled deeply. His chest swelled with her scent. The potent aroma of amber and honeysuckle washed over him, his hips bucking excitedly.
Eskel was swimming in it. In her. The smell of her hair when she would mount Scorpion in front of him, nestled between his thighs for hours, and of her body, shivering by the fire, fresh from bathing in the cold stream. After pushing his lust down many times before, Eskel could do it no longer.
Accepting defeat, he palmed himself, groaning and rutting into his hand. He clutched her bag to his chest and imagined it was her rubbing frantically over his cock. The burning was only momentarily soothed before intensifying, and as the blaze of his body grew, it began to feel like he was thrusting into grit. He released his twitching length, sending his fist colliding into the dirt next to him.
No sooner did he stop than visions of his sorceress started again, so vivid and exquisite that Eskel hardly registered they weren't real. He saw her kneeling between his spread legs, leaning down to press wet kisses to his inner thighs. Her phantom gaze watched him intently, daring Eskel to use her open mouth.
A frustrated whine curled from his throat as he hurried to loosen the laces of his breeches enough to wrap one calloused hand around himself. Eskel's head fell back as he stroked himself, keening loudly at the sweet friction. His cock trembled the way it did when he was close to spilling, and for an exhilarating moment, Eskel believed he would come.
Then, his cock stilled, and the impending climax faded. Eskel tried desperately to find it again, but had to pull away; his grip splintered wood on the sensitive skin. Immediately, he throbbed again, red and leaking against his belly. Abstaining was unbearable, but any attempt at quelling his desire only worsened it.
Eskel fractured in two. One part horror, one part pleasure as his mind and body were locked in a cycle of fiendish torment.
Panic gripped him, and the padded armor about his shoulders suddenly felt far too tight. Suffocated and sweltering, Eskel tore at the latches of his gambeson and pulled it over his head. Desperate fingers shredded his linen undershirt, baring his heaving chest to the cool night air, but even the bracing wind could not soothe his fever. Eskel fell to the grass, rolling fitfully to his back and tossing half-nude on the ground. He understood that he must look pathetic, but shame no longer had hold over him, not when the incessant need of his swollen cock was driving him to madness.
Pressing the velveteen bag to his scarred cheek, its gentle caress was a small reprieve. He fantasized about how that caress might feel all over his body, the barrier between fantasy and reality dropping away. Eskel was trapped in a waking dream so intense that he felt spectral hands roaming down his chest, his arms, his cock. They moved languidly, stroking with a tenderness so excruciating that he knew it had to be her.
Then came a whisper. Carried on the night wind was his name in her voice, more lovely than birdsong. His eyes fluttered open in time to catch a glimpse of wine-red disappearing into the treeline, the color of her cloak trailing behind her as she ran.
Eskel didn't register getting to his feet, or the pound of soil beneath his boots as he made chase. Carnal desire controlled him, focusing him completely on the evasive specter. Where she dodged branches and roots, Eskel crashed and stumbled. Like a shadow, she was always just out of his reach, and every near miss brought him closer to madness.
Eskel stopped, a broken sob ripping from his chest and echoing in the clearing. The moment he stilled, the feeling of hands over his body began again. This time, cupping his balls, sliding up to his cock, and teasing the raw head. Sobs grew into growls, and when her red-draped form flitted through the trees again, he didn't hesitate.
Eskel hunted.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Luckily, Yennefer's urgent letter had rather dramatized the situation with the spheres. Her friend had innumerable skills as a sorceress, but reading a starmap was not one of them. Once any likelihood of an impending conjunction was dismissed, Yennefer bashfully opened a bottle of Est Est as an apology.
They lounged together on a sprawling chaise, with Yennefer listening attentively as she received a beginner's course in starmap progressions. However, the smooth finish of the dark fruit gradually loosened their lips, moving their conversation from conjunctions to witchers.
"And how is our 'Red Wolf'?" Yennefer asked, her signature smirk teasing over the rim of her wine-filled goblet.
"Red Wolf!?" She grinned back at her fellow sorceress in exaggerated disbelief, "I’m afraid Eskel is not quite as renowned as your Geralt. He hasn't been honored with such an epithet yet."
"Perhaps, you could be the first to honor him," Yennefer teased, a double meaning dripping from her words, "The trials altered them in many ways, but removal of the ego was not one of those modifications. In my experience, they enjoy having it stroked once in a while."
"Well, then I suppose I should defer to you," She paused, taking a deep pull from her cup. She did not often or readily share what was on her heart, but the earthy red called her to divulge all her woes. Besides, if anyone could aid her in understanding the inner workings of a witcher's mind, it was certainly Yennefer.
"I am having a rather difficult time determining what strokes my breed of Witcher enjoys."
Yennefer sputtered, surprised by her uncharacteristic forthrightness. Quickly recovering, she quirked one judgmental eyebrow, "Surely, it cannot be that complex."
"That's what I thought too," She sighed, exasperated, "I'm coming to accept that there is simply nothing between us."
"Horseshit," Yennefer hissed, leaning forward conspiratorially, "Eskel invited you to winter at Kaer Morhen!"
She stared down at the sanguine liquid, hearing Yennefer's words but not quite letting them settle inside. It was true that an invitation to winter with witchers was an honor—A showing of trust akin to a wolf offering up its soft underbelly. She'd accepted eagerly, almost too eagerly. Her cheeks, already flushed with alcohol, heated anew at the memory of trying to play off her love-struck giddiness as excitement about creating a winter map for the stars above the keep. She had gone on and on about how there were enough uncharted star positions atop that mountain for three winters' worth of work. She cringed at the memory, squeezing the bridge of her nose in embarrassment.
"In all the years I've known him, Eskel has never once brought a guest for wintering," Yennefer interrupted her pity party, "That should be all the evidence you need!"
"You know that I prefer evidence of a more tangible sort," She waggled an eyebrow at Yennefer, a weak attempt at disguising hurt with humor, but it was surprisingly effective. The tipsy sorceress snorted inelegantly, sending them both into bouts of uproarious laughter. Grasping at each other, they keeled over with giggles so contagious that all feelings of dejection were pushed far from her mind.
Their laughter faded, and Yennefer leaned against her, resting a rouged cheek on the burgundy silk of her shoulder, "For such simple creatures, they do tend to overcomplicate everything."
Yennefer thought for a long moment, "If your mutt is anything like mine, honesty will come when you least expect it,” She paused, "And when he is at his most irritating."
After staying later than intended, she was sent on her way through a portal of Yennefer's making. Her own attempt had been messy and broken, distorted by her eagerness to return to Eskel and a fair bit of wine.
A chill shot down her spine as she stepped through the portal, draining the pleasant buzz of alcohol that had warmed her skin and replacing it with prickling unease. The wood was dead silent, eerily absent of the night song that had become her comfort. No chirping bugs or hooting birds, even the breeze blew silently through gnarled tree branches.
A harsh whinny pierced the uneasy quiet.
Scorpion, Eskel’s prized warhorse, trotted nervously from the shadows. Her feathered hooves stomped erratically against the dirt as she frantically tossed her head. The last time she witnessed steadfast Scorpion this agitated was when Eskel had gotten himself cornered by a pack of dire wolves near Temeria. And even then, the loyal beast had been rearing back, ready to bash in their skulls. Now, she paced timidly, her large eyes focused intently in the direction of camp.
With dread needling in her chest and hands raised in that universal gesture of peace, she approached slowly. The pin cushion feeling intensified when she realized Scorpion still wore her riding gear, heavy saddlebags, and all. Eskel leaving her untended was unheard of. When she'd taken a nasty swipe from a ghoul, and most would have written the horse off as dead, Eskel meticulously treated the wound throughout the night to ward off infection.
Voice hushed and soothing, she inched closer. Once she was close enough to gather Scorpion’s reins in one hand, she slid a comforting touch down her sleek black mane with the other. The horse huffed with recognition, her deep brown eyes flicking between the familiar sorceress and their nearby camp. Scorpion nudged her arm with the white fuzz of her nose, as if urging her to investigate.
A strangled wail broke through the trees, startling the pair. Prolonged and guttural, it sounded like an animal strung in a wire trap.
She abandoned caution, “Eskel!”
When no answer came, she dropped Scorpion’s reins and gathered her skirts. She sprinted toward the noise, cursing at how her legs tangled in the fabric and struggling through the underbrush. Her heart sank when she broke past the treeline and stumbled into the carnage of their camp.
Their belongings were scattered haphazardly across the clearing, and strangely, all the clothes from her pack looked as if a wild animal had shredded them. A small branch cracked underfoot as she stepped forward, straining to see in the grey dark. Midnight was fast approaching, and no fire had been set.
It didn't matter if it was a blistering summer night or the frigid midwinter, Eskel always made a fire. He’d even bashfully admitted how he'd listen to the crackling embers and pretend he was back in Kaer Morhen. He told her how it would help him to sleep.
Her boot knocked against something heavy and drew her back to the present. Looking down, her stomach plummeted to join the dual swords that sat abandoned at her feet. They were both sheathed and forgotten, the hilt of the silver blade smudged with traces of a strange substance, the color of blood but that glimmered like an oil slick in the sun.
She called for Eskel again, her sad whisper met by a wall of silence. Tears pricked at the rims of her eyes, "You damn, foolishWitcher—"
Her head shot up. The shadows around her shifted, and instinct called crackling energy to her fingertips, a warning to whatever was watching that she wasn't prey. A hulking figure stepped free of the forest. It dragged toward her, distorting the shafts of moonlight that shone through reaching branches as it moved. Then, she heard her name in Eskel's rumbling baritone, and her magic died in her palms.
She stepped toward him, "Eskel-"
Cold, unblinking eyes stared her down. They shone yellow in the dark, no flicker of the warmth or affection she had grown accustomed to. Instead of his typical confident gait, Eskel was hunched over, mouth hanging open, and panting like a dog. His shredded singlet hung tattered from his shoulders while half-unlaced breeches slid sinfully down his hips. The smell of stress and sex that wafted from him in an unsettling perfume left her reeling.
Instinctually, she stumbled back, feet dumb with fear.
A pained grimace stretched tightly over his scars, distorting his features beyond recognition. He seemed to stare into the beyond, eyes tracing the trail of a ghost unseen in the trees, but then Eskel raised his head, scenting the air. She watched in dawning horror as those thin-slitted pupils bloomed, darkening his gaze completely. Eskel was hunting.
Then, sallow eyes snapped to hers, frighteningly lucid.
Eskel was hunting her.
As she turned to run, she knew it was in vain. Even without the length of her skirts or the wine leading her limbs, she would have been too slow for Eskel, whom she once watched outrun a wild boar. Tripping feet took her as far as the nearest tree before his savage grasp twisted into her hair. Briefly, she wondered why she hadn't conjured a portal or a blast of wind to push Eskel away, but then the air was knocked from her lungs and all rational thought along with it.
Her back slammed against jagged bark, then her head, creating dark spots that danced across her vision. Her struggle was brief and pitiful, ending when Eskel pinned one arm above her head in a bruising grip. Her other arm stuck uselessly against his heaving chest. A knee parted her thighs, and unyielding hips pinned her against the trunk. Through the fog of pain, she felt Eskel's hard length searing through her clothes. Relentlessly, he pressed himself to her, inhaling deeply and scenting that delicate honeysuckle, soured by her acrid terror. Cold nausea shivered through her body and threatened to send her wretching as she fought to think through shock.
Who was this?
It couldn't be Eskel, who asked her permission before helping her down from Scorpion. Not the same man who'd protected her from a diving harpy by covering her body with his own, and had the nerve to apologize after. Eskel, who averted his eyes respectfully and made polite conversation when she'd dropped her robe, trying to seduce him in that damned bathhouse like an imbecile.
"Please!" She choked, her face turned away, and one hand pushing weakly at his chest, "Eskel, stop!"
At her plea, the carnal strain drained from Eskel's face, morphing into guilt, then disgust. The fog gripping his mind had blinked.
Eskel could see again, and staring back at him were her eyes, shining with terror. This was no fiction of his mind. His sorceress was truly there, and he had her caged under his traitor's body while he rutted into her like an animal. Eskel dropped her wrist like it was a brand, bile burning his throat when her face distorted in pain.
"You," He searched her for injuries, terrified by how good it felt to have her pressed to him, "You're not supposed to be here."
She flinched away from the hand that lifted to graze her cheek. It was a touch that she might've leaned into under any other circumstance. Eskel no longer writhed against her like a dog in heat, but still, she willed him back.
"What's happening?" The distraught crack of her voice pierced Eskel's chest, cutting cleanly through his bewitchment long enough to grasp ahold of himself.
He dropped hard to his knees, head hung, and his fists clenched painfully at his sides. Grunting with the effort of restraining himself, Eskel tried, but could not wholly force himself away with the incubus blood compelling him toward her.
At her feet was perhaps the most feared creature on the continent, but she could tell by the tremble of his shoulders that this submission was temporary. Veins icy with fear, the thought of fleeing once again seemed an attractive option. She could open a portal, silently; she'd only need to make it—
"Do not run," Eskel snarled, as if he knew what she was thinking, "You won't make it."
She knew he was right. Hunted and cornered, she summoned what little of her bravery was left and spoke evenly, "Explain yourself, Witcher."
"I need you—" Eskel's lifted his chin, his gaze unshakeable in its conviction, "I need you to kill me."
"Kill you?" Shock instantly shattered any facade of detachment, her voice rising shrilly. She expected tell of a curse, or a mutated ghoul bite, not Eskel begging for death.
Quick as a snake, he snatched her hand and pressed it to his forehead. Bewildered, she watched Eskel swallow a moan as the contact shuddered through him, "You know what to do." His eyes squeezed shut, "It'll be easy."
One spike of pressurized air right at his temple would end all of this in a moment. He had seen her kill like this a hundred times before. It was easy when it was a stray ghoul or beastly witch hunter. She pictured Eskel's skull crumpling beneath her palm and felt a fresh wave of nausea roll over her.
He grew desperate at her hesitation, "I'm already dying—"
"No," She decided, hissing through clenched teeth.
Frustrated, Eskel's eyes darted over the set of her jaw and narrowed eyes. He knew that look well. Ever curious and thorough, she would only move forward once she had the information she needed.
"I've been poisoned," Eskel conceded.
She raised an eyebrow, "I'm not familiar with any poison that elicits these symptoms."
Effort trembled in the slope of his great shoulders, troubled by unseen injuries. Fitful hands curled slowly into the fine fabric of her skirts, brushing desperately at her ankles. Her eyes traced the toned slope of his shoulders, to the cut of his stomach, and down again to the rigid outline of his cock straining against leather trousers. The scarlet tip peeked from his waistband, red and raw like he'd been stroking himself for hours to no relief.
It was torture to watch Eskel like this, panting like a sinner on his knees. Now that she had been given space to breathe, to think, she wanted his touch again. She craved it, rough and feverish on her body, but her hopeless pining was the least of their concerns.
"Tell me," She begged, "What did this to you?"
Eskel looked away, "Greater Incubi blood."
She swallowed hard. Her knowledge of the realm's monsters was not encyclopedic like his, but one didn't need to be a seasoned witcher to connect these dots. Carding her fingers gently through Eskel's dark hair, she soothed the damp strands from his forehead, "Let me help you."
"Yes!" Eskel moaned, forgetting himself in a jarring display of need, then immediately stiffened, "Wait, no, I mean—You can't!" Dazed, he shook his head and gazed up at her with those too-wide pupils, "You can't help me."
"Why not?" She demanded.
He hesitated slightly before answering in a half-hearted riddle, intended to stray her from the truth, "There is no potion or poultice I can take to end this affliction."
"What is it that you aren't saying?" Her fingers tightened in his hair and pulled sharply, "Speak."
Eskel's resolve crumbled with a loud moan, "You—You're the cure," He gasped, "That which I most desire!"
She froze, her mouth dropping in a silent 'o' of realization. Vulnerability gleamed in his golden eyes, dread hidden in the clench of his jaw. Eskel spoke quickly, "I would never ask that of you, just incapacitate me before I lose control again—"
"Yes," She agreed, breathless with excitement, then blinked before quickly correcting, "Not the incapacitation! Yes to, uh…"
Eskel went rigid with disbelief. Absentminded hands drifted from her ankles to stroke the slope of her calves as he searched for any modicum of hesitation. A shiver pebbled gooseflesh across her skin, "Yes, to you."
"No!” He blinked hard, like he was forcing himself from a dream, and looked at her like she was the crazed one, "You don't understand what you're agreeing to—"
"I do—"
"You don't!" All at once, Eskel became the fearsome witcher that villagers warn their naughty children of. Hardening, he became a vision of cold marble and bloodthirst. An apex predator staring down its kill. He bared his teeth to her, snarling, "I am untethered."
She stood her ground. This act was one she'd seen many times before, and it wouldn't scare her away now. Cupping Eskel's face, her thumbs stroking softly over the scarred plains. Each caress wiped away his witcher's mask little by little, until only the heart she knew knelt before her.
"Yes," She breathed again.
Eskel's breathing quickened, his chest brushing tantalizingly against her thighs as he stared up at her as if she were a dream. With the tainted blood burning in his belly and his sorceress offering herself so freely, once he let go, there would be no holding back.
Fear flickered across his face, "Once we start, I won't be able to stop."
"I trust you," She was certain.
Elation and surprise flooded his chest, then were quickly smothered by a savage wave of arousal. Eskel grit his teeth and tightened his fists, wanting nothing more than to give in to instinct. He wanted to free the beast that scratched inside his skin, pull her to the ground, and bend her down in front of him.
But Eskel wouldn't. Not yet.
"Say you want me," He pleaded.
"I want you," She answered without hesitation, "I've wanted you."
Eskel slid the swaths of her silk skirt up to her waist, reveling in the expanse of her legs until he was greeted by burgundy lace, teasing in its sheerness. He tried bunching all of the fabric into one fist, but it slipped like water through his fingers. Trying to help him, her hands fumbled for the ties, but Eskel had already decided that she had plenty of dresses.
He tore at the waistband of her skirt and dropped it carelessly to the ground. Eskel heard her heart rate accelerate in shock, but he didn't stop. One hand braced her hip as he freed her of the obstructing lace with a flourish. Eager hands slid to the plush of her ass and lifted with ease. Then, with one leg hiked over his shoulder and the other stabilized, she was bared to the cool night air.
Eskel teased the bridge of his nose up the inside of her leg until his hot, erratic breathing stopped just over the apex of her thighs. He inhaled, shuddering, his eyes rolling at the scent of her honeyed arousal. She glistened before him, and saliva pooled under his tongue in carnal anticipation. He was on borrowed time, but now that she was slick and open before him, he couldn't give a damn.
His mind emptied as she melted on his tongue, and all at once, the incubus blood that had blistered in his veins for hours dulled into warm bliss. The soft velvet of her cunt soothed his burning throat, and his trembling cock threatened to spill just from the act of tasting her. She played on his tongue, dewy and sweet, as he laved over her with wide, frantic strokes. He moaned, desperate for more.
Eskel slipped down, deft tongue gently coaxing her open before retreating to lap at her clit again, then back down, pushing deeper.
He palmed the fat of her ass, kneading the tender flesh. His fingertips dug fiercely into the plush of her thighs, holding her squirming hips fast as he flicked over her clit with sharp, side-to-side licks that pulled cries of his name from her lips. She overwhelmed his senses. Her breathy moans, her honeysuckle slick, the feel of her fluttering as she readied to come. She was nearly there, and he needed it on his tongue.
Again, he slipped down to her entrance and lapped sloppily at the sensitive skin before returning to her peak. His pointed tongue circled her bud firmly, again and again, bringing the quiver of her cunt to a breaking point.
The taught twine of her orgasm snapped with a cry, the rush of dew on his lips bringing Eskel to the edge of his own sudden release. He shuddered beneath her, losing himself in the motions of his working mouth and bucking hips as pitiful half-bursts of spend twitched from his cock and puddled in his trousers.
Eskel didn't slow. She writhed as he latched onto her still sensitive bud and sucked, but with nowhere to run, she had no choice but to yield to his demanding mouth. His orgasm was broken and unsatisfactory, but he'd tasted relief, if only a fraction, and was demanding more. One finger grazed over her, gathering her slick and pressing softly, testing her give and meeting no resistance.
Slipping inside, her moans were a chorus to his ears. He motioned sharply, once, then twice, and another finger joined the first. Eskel moaned with her, dizzy with the feel of her wrapped around his fingers. He began slowly, savoring the way his thick fingers split her heat, but soon broke into a breathless pace. Eskel fell into a trance, his tongue flicking steadily over her clit, up and down, side to side, while his fingers kept at speed. Incessantly, Eskel stroked that ridged spot with only one focus in mind—To drink from her.
"Eskel," Her voice was quiet, coiled as tightly as the muscles of her core that squeezed his fingers.
A throaty moan and an increase in tempo were Eskel's response. She arched, stunned gaze lifting to the night sky, while her standing leg went limp. With her weight now on his shoulder and palm, he continued to serve her. Each curl of his fingers pushed the air from her lungs, keeping her silent and pliable while his swollen cock leaked in anticipation of what was to come.
When the tension in her core burst against his fingertips like a flooding levee, stars danced behind his eyelids. Every sweet swell that rushed his waiting mouth was an intoxicating reprieve from his burning blood. He could drink an entire case of her, drown in her, and die happily. Keeping his feverish rhythm, Eskel drank until she clenched around his fingers again, writhing against his face and soaring through her second orgasm. He drank until his chest dripped with her slick and her legs kicked. He drank until she went still above him and her hands fell limply to her sides.
When Eskel finally slipped from her, his fingers came away covered in strands of arousal. He licked them clean while she watched, slumped against the oak tree. A sheen of sweat covered her skin despite the chill of the evening. Rising to his feet, a flicker of guilt in Eskel's chest as he pushed down his soiled trousers. He knew he should slow down, but when his freed cock bounced against her soft belly, reason was forgotten.
His calloused hands found her ass again, palming the downy skin and savoring the way her skin felt on his. He tucked his forehead to her shoulder and wished that she'd fuck him, want him, love him, without death as their voyeur.
"Eskel," She whispered, "Take me."
He lifted her, leaving his longing behind when her soft legs wrapped dutifully around his waist. She slipped against his weeping cock, and they moaned together as the fat head of his cock notched at her sex. Eskel felt the last vestiges of his restraint disappear. Lancing forward with a brutal snap of his hips, he sank into her. The soft vice of her hot cunt pulled a low wail from his throat as he bottomed out against her tremoring hips.
Eskel was different again. Not completely altered, like when he pursued her through the woods, but it was clear he now had no other goal besides driving deeper and deeper into her. Each heavy drag of his hips seared through her, the pain melting into mind-numbing pleasure as he built a relentless rhythm.
Relishing every rigid inch, she held fast to Eskel's shoulders, her nails digging into the corded muscle of his back. The jagged bark of the tree bit into her back, but she felt only the intoxicating drumming of his cockhead, in and out. Her staccato moans echoed in the clearing, mirroring Eskel's wild panting with every wet thrust.
Eskel pulled down the bodice of her dress, freeing her breasts and taking a peaked nipple into his hungry mouth. Canines grazed the sensitive skin before his lips closed around the nub and sucked hard. His hot mouth teased and bit, every swipe of his tongue sending her fluttering around him. Thorough in his ministrations, Eskel only moved to her other breast once the first was suitably marked, and indulged again. Eager to feel him in return, she dragged one hand down the planes of his chest and belly. Her fingers traced over long-healed scars and solid muscle, savouring the cut of his body. His hot skin under her palm sent ripples of excitement to her core.
When Eskel pulled away from her bitten chest with a wet pop, she was flushed and dizzy. A thin line of saliva trailed between them, and his dark hair was slicked to his forehead by exertion. Blown pupils studied her own mussed hair and the way her bruised breasts bounced over the top of her ruined bodice. The way she dripped messily down her thighs and ass, soaking his cock. Eskel committed it all to memory.
Burning under his reverent gaze, she wondered if the way he looked at her now—Like she might've secretly hung the very stars she studied—was just another side effect of the poison. What if it was all a sickness? And once they fucked, and lay spent on the forest floor, would Eskel ever hold her this closely again? Would he even bear to look at her?
Eskel's slowing hips drew her back to the present. An indignant noise of complaint died on her lips when the grip on her thighs shifted to underhand. Still buried inside her, Eskel turned them both until his back pressed against the tree and, without missing a second beat, began to bounce her on his cock.
Controlling her hips with ease, he lifted her until she rested just at the head of his cock before allowing gravity to drop her down again. He buried himself again and again so deeply that she felt him in her stomach. Mouth wide open, she gasped for air as Eskel's unceasing pace drove her peak higher and higher, until she was overwhelmed completely. She went limp, dark spots dancing over her vision as she pulsed around him, moaning brokenly as she came.
Eskel howled as the demanding clench of her cunt took him to the edge of pleasure, but didn't quite tip him over. Desperate, oversensitive, and still ensnared by the incubi's curse, he fell with her to the ground.
Hitting his knees, Eskel lay her out on the grass before pushing her legs back until the tops of her thighs pressed flush with her belly and her calves draped over his shoulders. Spread completely, she watched him drive into her cunt with renewed vigor, focused solely on chasing his relief and the rush of hot spend leaking around his still hard cock. An involuntary sob tore from her lips, and as tears of ecstasy slipped down her cheeks, she found that her slack arms were too weak to wipe them away.
Eskel inhaled sharply next to her ear. He'd scented the salt of her tears. She longed to assure him, to tell him what they meant, but each brush of their feverish bodies sent waves of heady pleasure to her core that left her tongue tied. Her cunt clenched erratically, and with some concern, she realized that she was going to come again.
"Fuck!" She cried, her red-rimmed eyes wide with impending pleasure, "Eskel, I can't-"
"Sorry," Eskel held her closer, but turned his face from hers, "Sorry, so, so sorry-"
His voice was drowned by the rush of her orgasm, rendering her mind blank with a ruinous pleasure. Distantly, she heard herself screaming Eskel's name as he met the deepest parts of her. The delicious drag of his cock stretched each wave into sweet torture and pushed her deeper into pleasure.
When she finally blinked the haze of her last climax from her bleary eyes, she found Eskel watching her. Guilt underwrote the pleasure of his slack mouth and blown pupils, and she needed to wipe it clean.
Tilting her chin, she captured his desperate mouth in a kiss, deep and sweet. Eskel yielded immediately. His lips slotted over hers hungrily, and when their tongues met, Eskel whined into her mouth. He pressed himself to her entirely, his hips losing their tempo and beginning to stutter erratically.
Unlike before, roaring and wild, Eskel was quiet. He trembled with the effort of his climax, every muscle in his body contracting with ecstasy. With each roll of his hips came a rush of liquid heat that flooded her core and amplified the slick noises between them. Mouth pressed hard to hers, he whimpered, and she swallowed each warm honey sound as Eskel spilled, and spilled until she was full in a way she'd never imagined.
The filthy flood of seed breached the seal of his cock and surged out of her with every twitch of his hips. Spend pooled on her belly, slid down the curve of her ass, and when even more followed in its wake, her head spun with the realization that Eskel was still coming. Eskel cradled her head with one hand, while the other slid to the divot of her back and pressed her closer, angling even deeper. He cried out again as he did, overstimulated but unable to stop himself.
Relief caught in her throat when Eskel finally relaxed, and his cock began to soften inside her. Exhaustion washed over her like a rip current, and her vision began to blur. With Eskel resting boneless atop her, still recovering from his high, she couldn't catch her breath. Her hand was clammy and damp when she pushed weakly at his shoulder.
Eskel lifted his head, looking lost and exhausted. Barely aware of the soft body smothered beneath him, he jumped when his cock slipped free from her snug heat and blinked down at her. Moonish eyes processed the bruises that bloomed down her neck and chest, concentrating in dark splotches around her overworked nipples. His gaze dropped to her thighs, finding bruises the shape of his fingertips littering her skin. Unable to bring himself to look at the crest of her thighs, Eskel's stare found the ground.
He didn't want to see the evidence of how he used her.
She huffed. Eskel had lifted some of his weight from her, but not all, and she desperately needed space to breathe. When she pushed at his shoulder a second time, she thought her touch might have burned him. Eskel jumped, shifting to sit in the cool grass. Shimmying his trousers to his hips, he tucked away his flaccid cock, his eyes not once leaving the ground.
Eskel looked whole and hale, but he wouldn't look at her.
Her mouth turned sour. Flashes of Eskel—Bared teeth, his body crashing into hers, the shocking crescendo of his finish—still played in her mind. Her thighs clenched together, and she cringed with the unbearable realization that she was an idiot. Their passion was a figment of the incubi's blood, a necessity for his survival, and she should have known better.
Suddenly, her position felt unpleasantly vulnerable. Wincing, she brought her thighs together, moving slowly, her joints tender from overexertion. Her hiss of discomfort brought Eskel's worried stare back from the dirt, but it felt soiled.
"What is it?" She snapped, and his mouth opened to speak, but closed again infuriatingly quickly. Indignation was white-hot in her chest as she gathered scraps of her clothes to cover herself and tried not to look pitiful.
Shoulders slumped and fists tight in his lap, Eskel started, "There aren't words—"
"I am not a child, Eskel. Don't coddle me," If he was going to reject her, she demanded that he have the spine to speak plainly. She set her jaw, "Say it."
"I hurt you," His stare darted over her body before burying itself in the grass again.
She scoffed, "This is nothing! You've seen me take far worse. Don't you remember the time in Velen with the wraith?"
"It's not about that!"
"Then, do tell, Witcher! What is it about?" Her voice was purposefully cruel as she found herself infuriated by another verbal parry. Eskel was becoming agitated as well. She knew it by his clenched jaw and rolling shoulders, but she needed him to stop hiding from her. She would see him, even if it hurt, even if it meant pulling back the curtain herself.
"I'm sorry," Eskel rasped.
There it was. The pity before he broke her heart.
"Sorry for what?" Her voice cracked, and she flinched, trying to recover by forcing nonchalance, "Bedding a sorceress? You're hardly the first Witcher in history to do that—"
"No! Not that," He bit back at her, voice sharp but quiet, "Never."
The hope that ignited again in her chest felt like a hundred needles, and she nearly choked on the pain of it. She cried, "Just sayit!"
Eskel's head lifted, the veil of dark hair falling away from his face and revealing a man cracked open. She froze, her mouth going slack with shock. Bloodshot eyes burned like embers back at her, and sorrow pulled his lips downward, but it was the slight wobble of his chin that siphoned air from her lungs.
"For being something to be afraid of!" Eskel roared now, "For being a monster!"
"Eskel," Stunned by his admission, she stuttered, "It was the incubus blood—"
He didn't stop, "It wasn't, not completely. I wanted you, and I would have done anything to have you! I could have killed you," Eskel's face crumpled further, "That's what happens when a Witcher…"
He quieted, but she wouldn't let him finish there, "When a Witcher what?"
"Loves someone!" Eskel yelled, then stiffened as if he couldn't believe his own tongue.
"You…love me?" She asked, frozen in her own disbelief. Night sounds kept them company as they sat, silent and staring at each other.
"Yes," Eskel breathed, "I love you." He continued, stammering, "And I am sorry, because that places you in danger. It is selfish, even if you could love me back—"
Her lips found his for the second time that night, silencing Eskel's absurd martyr ramblings as she clambered into his lap and pulled him to her. Strong arms wrapped around her waist as he rose to meet her. She tilted his jaw, kissing Eskel deeper and pouring into it every ounce of the longing she'd felt for ages.
Despite his earlier protests, his embrace tightened, and they moved together like a waterfall over an eroded rock face, breathtaking and familiar. They knew what the other wanted before it had to be asked for, and each offered it freely. The fever was gone from Eskel's lips, and in its place, she found a curious openness. He didn't understand what she was doing, but didn't want her to stop.
And, Gods, she never wanted to stop.
She kissed him until she was lightheaded, and Eskel was the one to pull away, knowing she needed to breathe. He panted up at her, stars in his eyes and a soft, confused smile on his face. That Eskel had the audacity to still be confused nearly bent her over in a fit of laughter.
"I do," She sighed, dropping her forehead to meet his, "I love you too. For so long, I've wanted this."
Eskel's brow ticked subtly, his tone even with a touch of doubt, "You wanted this?"
She huffed a laugh, rolling her eyes before kissing him once again. It was sweet and soft. Eskel shivered at the unfamiliar sensation. He'd had many lovers, but none before that kissed him like this, like he was precious. He was intoxicated by it.
"Like I said before," Their lips brushed as she spoke, "I've wanted you."
"I'm sorry it happened this way," Eskel whispered, sounding dangerously close to sulking again. She wouldn't have it.
"I'm sorry it took a near-death experience to remove your head from your ass, though, I suppose that's to be expected from a Witcher."
This time, Eskel kissed her. He moved purposefully, finally understanding. They had all the time in the world, and he knew exactly how he wanted to use it. When he pulled away, the barest hint of a grin lifted the corner of his mouth.
"Why don't we find ourselves a bathhouse?"
The Witcher (Eskel x Reader): The Last Dance ⚔️
Link to Masterlist here Summary: 25 years ago, your father summoned a Witcher to deal with the wraith that plagued the village water well. 25 years ago, a dark-haired stranger bearing a wolf medallion answered the call. As was tradition, the man invoked the Law of Surprise as payment for the contract he completed. 25 years ago, you were promised. A Child of Destiny. Word Count: ~1.3k Tags/T.W's: brief descriptions of child birth. Mentions of blood.
Prologue
25 years earlier
Heavy rain falls in an unbroken sheet across the valley, a stark summer breeze pulling at the tall grass. The inky violet sky cracks wide open for a moment, a great of bolt of lightning reaching down towards the damp earth. The stench of ozone and charred branches lingers in the air. For a moment, the silhouette of a village is visible, dark thatched rooves huddled together against the storm.
Tobias Gendry, the aging ealdorman of Evergreen, runs for his life.
His water-logged robes weigh him down, his protesting knees screeching for mercy as he clambers up a small incline, racing back towards the village – to safety. As he sprints, the talisman meant to protect him from harm jingles against the wolf teeth he keeps looped around his neck. He does not dare to wipe the rain from his eyes, lungs heaving with every fiery breath as he moves through the oppressive darkness, praying for another bolt of lightning to illuminate his way.
A chilling wail erupts from the forest behind him.
“By the grace of Melitele,” he murmurs in fear, keeping his gaze forward. “Save me”.
Around him, the wind shifts dramatically, pulling at his clothes and ruffling his hair. He pushes against it, losing traction with every step forward. Another scream pierces his ears. Putting his hands to his ears to stifle the sound, his knees buckle, stumbling forward as he cowers. He cannot catch himself, careening back down the incline, elbow scraping against an exposed rock as he goes.
A few feet away, a shimmering apparition approaches.
The woman, or what is left of her, hovers above the ground, her long skeletal arms reaching towards him. A tattered black dress clings to her frame, decaying with age. Tobias cries out as her empty eye sockets bore into his, her unhinged jaw revealing rows of jagged teeth. The ealdorman attempts to scramble upright – to flee – but finds himself pinned in place as his final moments rush to meet him.
A putrid stench fills his nostrils – the unmistakable odor of carrion and rot. A soft, helpless whimper escapes his throat as his fingers dig into the grass.
Concurrently, as a bolt of lighting ignites a tree at the edge of the clearing, a glistening blade arcs through the darkness, burying itself in the specter’s shoulder. Tobias’s eyes go wide, mouth pressed in a thin line as another beast emerges from the darkness, his silver sword slicing through the wraith as though she were immaterial. Quickly, she turns, emitting another skull-splitting wail, and lunges at the assailant.
The ealdorman knows he should run – to seize the opportunity to flee and preserve himself – but finds that he cannot. Instead, he remains fixated on the beast – a man, he realizes – dodging the crude, talon-like fingers of the wraith. He moves like water, twisting, parrying, and launching himself towards the monster without fear. She cannot catch him, crying out as each solid swing of his blade meets its mark in her leathery flesh.
A faint purple glow rises from the rain-slicked grass, seeming to trap the wraith within the confines of the circle it creates. The man advances, keeping her close to the centre, grunting with exertion as he maneuvers a quick succession of strikes.
After what seems like a fraction of a second – the space between heartbeats – the wraith lets out a final bellow, folding in on herself in a crescendo of bone and ash, until all that remains is a pile of filthy rags. The rain does not let up, washing away the dust that was her being, returning it to the earth.
Tobias looks up at his saviour, who is sheathing his sword into a scabbard strapped to his back. The stranger wears simple red armour, hand-stitched, and mud-spattered riding boots. Every visible section of skin is covered in raised scars – seen even in the darkness. The ealdorman finds his eyes. They glow yellow, bright and wild, with slitted pupils like that of a cat. His face is as equally battle-worn as the rest of his body. A hideous wound winds its way from his disconcerting gaze to his snarled mouth, revealing a sliver of a pearly canine tooth.
The ealdorman notices the medallion hanging from his neck. A wolf, maw agape.
“A Witcher,” he breathes, a terrible pit opening up in his gut.
“A notice was posted,” the man replies, voice as rough as stone. “I p-posted the notice,” Tobias clarifies, standing on wooden legs, the adrenaline that had been coursing through his veins starting to ebb away. “Then it’s you that’ll pay me,” the Witcher tells him, his head turning suddenly in the direction of the forest, as if called. “I need to burn the bones of your wraith – but I’ll come find you in the daylight,” he promises, hardly sparing the ealdorman a second glance before heading back into the woods.
“Wait!” Tobias cries. The Witcher stops, turning slowly. “I-I have no coin,” he confesses, wringing his hands with shame. The Witcher cocks his head, waiting. “The villagers thought we could trade a sow and some chickens – but surely you have no use for livestock”.
“You would be correct,” the Witcher growls, arms folding across his broad chest. The ealdorman swallows thickly. “Please, tell me how I can repay you for this liberation,” he pleads, blinking the rainwater from his stinging eyes. The Witcher’s ruined mouth twists, as if chewing on something sour. He goes quiet for a long moment.
“What you find at home yet don't expect,” he murmurs, scarcely heard above the storm. “That’s how you will repay me”.
The Law of Surprise.
“But I have so little,” Tobias protests, his head hanging at the ancient custom. If he were to deny it, Fate herself would have her way with him. The Witcher is silent.
“I accept, Master Witcher,” he exhales with resignation. “Come see me in the morning light for your boon”.
Stoically, the scarred stranger nods.
Matilda Gendry laboured all night long, while the storm outside rattled the shutters and pelted the thatched roof. The midwife dabbed away the sweat gathering at her temples diligently, whispering words of encouragement and prayer as she brayed like animal all through the witching hours. There were moments when her breath seemed so weak, her heart beating so furiously, the pain so insurmountable that she did not expect to see the daybreak. Alas, she persevered. As the gale outside died down, a small cry of new life rang out within the old wooden hut.
“My Melody,” she breathed, holding the bloody, wriggling creature to her breast. “Listen to that voice,” the midwife cooed, stoking the babe’s chin as she wailed. “She’s a strong one,” her mother murmured, pressing her lips to the child’s waxy forehead. Smoothing her trembling hand over her damp hair, she gasped. “It’s red!” she delighted, tilting the baby slightly to show the midwife. “
We’ll I’ll be”.
“Tobias will be pleased,” she grinned, kissing her forehead once more. “She’s beautiful,” the midwife agreed. “You did well”.
The ealdorman steps through the front door of his family home to be greeted by the most precious – yet most devastating – tableau of his life.
His wife, as radiant as the day he first met her, and a newborn babe, nursing at her breast. She smiles at him, exhaustion pulling at her under eyes, but beaming, nonetheless. Tobias could weep. He should have never left the hut to check on his people. He should have stayed where he was needed, letting the storm pass like everyone else, and waiting on his heavily pregnant wife.
Behind him, darkening the threshold, the Witcher appears.
Immediately, the color drains from Mathilda’s cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers hoarsely, crossing the worn floorboards to kneel by her side. The Witcher does not move, observing the scene with cool impassivity. His wife’s gaze flicks between his face and the stranger at the doorway, taking in his terrible scars and studded armour. “What did you do?” she whimpers, clutching the newborn tighter to her chest. “I’m so sorry,” he repeats, pressing his forehead to her shoulder.
No forgiveness ever came.
What endearing mischief
Prompt: double date
Eskel/reader, gender neutral, part of my Valentine's event! Fluffy and sweet. Eskel is based off the game version.
AO3 | Valentines 2026 | Masterlist
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There were a lot of things Eskel was willing to do to help his brothers out, given the fact that he did, for some fucking reason, care for them despite the chaos they caused and the carnage they all brought with them. But this? A double picnic date? Not only was it pushing his limits - he was happy that Lambert had found love in Aiden, but neither of them were particularly subtle in their PDA, and he really didn’t want the entire afternoon to be spent trying to find a way to discreetly gouge out his own eyes - but it was also completely unexpected. Lambert, the hot-head of the century, wanted to sit down in a field somewhere and have lunch without a fight, without any mockery, without being forced? Something wasn’t right. Surely he’s possessed or got hit on the head one too many times. What other explanation was there?
“Earth to Handsome?” Your voice cut through his thinking, a welcome distraction. He lifted his head, eyes immediately softening when they landed on you. “You look like you’re thinking hard about something. Mind sharing your troubles?” No matter how many times you showed your love for him, it was still a shock to his system when you asked about his inner turmoil.
“Just.. Wondering what Lambert’s up to.” He admitted, returning his gaze to the field in search of the perfect place to lay the blanket.
“Maybe he’s not up to anything nefarious this time? Maybe he genuinely wants to spend time with his brother and his brother’s partner?” Even you knew how unlikely that was. Eskel only hummed in response. “I mean, I know I certainly like spending time with his brother.” Your tone was playful, but he knew you well enough by now to know you were being completely serious.
“I’ll be sure to let Geralt know when we see him next.” He also knew you well enough to know you were talking about him, but he couldn’t deny that you brought out his more teasing, fun side.
“Aww, thank you, you’re so kind.” Taking one side of the blanket, you help him lay it out flat on the grass, dodging as many flowers as possible. “Hard to believe there’s still views like this out here.” You commented as the two of you sat down, side by side with your shoulders and knees touching.
Had he not heard Lambert and Aiden approaching, Eskel would’ve commented on how you were the greatest view around, but he didn’t want to be the subject of every shit joke Lambert made while drunk for the next 50 years. “Well well well, if it isn’t my favourite lovebirds!” Lambert called out to you both as he approached, picnic basket in hand. You really hoped Aiden had just given it to him to carry because he’d spent so long cooking, and not that Lambert was carrying a meal he himself had made. Greetings were exchanged, happy smiles on everyone’s faces after so long not seeing each other, and you breathed a sigh of relief upon being told Aiden prepared the food without any ‘help’ from Lambert.
Eskel spent most of the afternoon with his hand either on your knee or your thigh, depending on how occupied either of you were in the stories you told of your grand adventures. Thankfully, the other two kept their PDA to a respectful minimum, but you could see the looks they exchanged. It was cute, and you knew damn well Eskel was beyond proud of and happy for his baby brother, even if he sighed at every other joke. The fond little smile on his face gave him away, even if he’d never admit it.
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Thanks for readin! I know tis a bit shorter thana others I made, but in my defence I was actively havin a allergic reaction while writin, cause I. Forgot the chocolates I got had pistachio in, oops. Don't do that, don't eat shit y'allergic to, y'gotta take care of your you!
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A Teaspoon of Porridge
A/N: Hello lovely readers! I live! I know it has been ages since I last posted. Life has been kind of hectic lately and writing has always been my go-to healthy-ish coping mechanism. I just need to mentally get away for a little while. A mental vacation if you will. So I’m going to be working on some of the requests that I have collected over time. This was an anon request from years ago. I am sorry that it has taken me this long. I doubt that the requester is even on my page anymore, but if they happen to see it in the future, I just want to say thank you. Thank you.
Pairings: Eskel x Reader
Summary: You had always regarded Eskel as a larger man. It was the combination of the witcher mutagens and your somewhat short stature. He was like a bear next to you. And despite his usual politeness around other people, he had no qualms about pointing out the differences between the two of you, much to your dismay. That is until the encounter with the amulet.
Or, “can u write an eskel x short!reader? (established romantic relationship). so eskel always teases the reader for being short, but then he is cursed and shrinks to the height of like two inches or smthn? i thought it would be funny lol and the reader would look after him, but also tease him lmao. could it be a long one shot? if not, it's totally fine! :) i rlly like ur writing!”
Word count: 2,012
Warnings: light cursing
“What are you doing at this hour?”
The baritone sound of Eskel’s voice from the doorway almost made you fall to the ground. It was your death grip on the cabinet shelves which saved you from your end. “Eskel!” You did not mean to sound so rude with him but he nearly scared the life out of you. “What are you doing here?”
“I could say the same to you.” He entered the room with a little smirk on his lips that you simply wanted to tear off his face. “Do you require assistance, my sweet sparrow?”
Your feet were up on the wooden counters. Your hands were gripped tightly onto the shelves; nails digging into the grains there.Yet, you could still not reach the jar of cinnamon on the top shelf. The Keep was built for giants. That was simply the only explanation there was.
“I can do it myself, thank you very much.” You could not keep the pout from your lips if you tried. You would make yourself a cup of hot cocoa with a nice garnish if it was the last thing you did.
“Please don’t hurt yourself.”
Ignoring the witcher, you turned away from Eskel and continued your climb. It was just barely out of your reach. If only you had a little more to your height or something to step onto. There was the bottom shelf of course, but it was a little high off the ground for your liking.
“No,” Eskel began before you even lifted your foot. “My sweet sparrow.” He reached up to the top shelf with only the slightly leaning on the tips of his toes. There was barely a struggle for him. He didn’t even have to scale any of the countertops. “Here. Is this what you desired?”
You snatched the jar of cinnamon from his hands and crossed your arms. From here, you could look down on him. It was amusing to see the top of his nose for once. Or the part in his hair. He looked different from here. Smaller. Cuter even. You saw the appeal.
“Can I get you down now?”
“I quite like it here actually. I might just stay up here.”
“Enjoying the views from up there?” Eskel hugged your legs and laid his cheek against your chest. He peered up to you through his lashes. You had never noticed how long they were or the way they curled up like a swish of a paint brush.
It was difficult to hide your smile, especially from Eskel. “It’s very nice. Have I ever told you how handsome you look from up here? I should hang around here more often.”
“Please get off the counter before you hurt yourself,” he pleaded. “I’m afraid I’ll forget about an open window and the breeze will blow you away.”
It was instinctual the way you smacked him over the head. The wince that he gave you was playful, the offended look on his face dimmed by the smirk tugging the corner of his lips. “Oh, please,” you remarked. “I’m a fully grown human, you know. A breeze will not take me away. Really, I belong here.”
Eskel kept grinning up at you. “Really?”
You nodded.
“Well, what about a storm?” With that, he picked you up off the countertop and began spilling you around in circles in the kitchen. His legs worked quickly, his footwork that of a dancer’s. Around and around and around you went until you were dizzy with it.
“Put me down this instant!” You giggled, smacking him in the shoulder.
Eskel settled and gently placed you back on the floor. He peered down at you with the softest of expressions. A fire with slowly burning embers nestled by ash was the only accurate comparison you could make to the look on his face.
“I think you belong here much better.”
“On the ground?” You raised a brow at that.
“In my arms.”
*****
There was a lot that was stored in the Keep: old tomes in long forgotten languages, trinkets from far off regions, and coins from long past civilizations to name a few. You adored looking through the old storage rooms after training in the courtyard. Who knows what treasures you might find in the dust?
The other witchers may moan and groan at having to clean out the rooms once a season, but you enjoyed the process. There was so much to see and look through. Like, for example, this amulet that you had come across in an old chest with a picked out lock. It was such a brilliant blue like the color of the sea near the shore. It shone with an internal light that just made you want to hold it close to your chest.
“May I have this?” You asked Eskel and by extension Vesemir who was dusting shelves nearby.
“Let me have a look at that.”
You handed over the necklace to the old witcher, watching the way his eyes looked it over. Vesemir was cautious in his observations. He held the amulet close to his chest and when his medallion didn’t hum, he returned the necklace to your hand.
“If it’s cursed, it’s a fairly harmless one,” Vesemir summarized. “Won’t kill you.” He shrugged and returned to his shelf.
“Oh, that’s lovely.”
“So, I’ll be taking that.” Eskel snatched the necklace from your hand before you could clasped it around your neck.
“What the hell, Eskel?! I found it first.”
“Mild curse, remember?” He held up the amulet to prove his point. The moment he did so, a ray of light from the stone like summer sunshine over a running river. Where one moment ago stood a scarred witcher, the next he was gone.
“Eskel!” you screamed, rushing over to where he once stood.
“My boy!”
There, on the stone floor stood a very disgruntled witcher with his arms crossed over his chest. Only, now he was the size of a forefinger.
“Mild curse?” came Eskel’s voice from the ground. “Mild? Is it going to wear out on its own or will I need to travel to find an anecdote?" To make his point, Eskel walked towards you on very little legs. By the time he climbed up onto your shoes, you could tell he was even more angry than before seeing as it took him a solid two minutes to do so.
“Oh, Eskel. You’re adorable.” You bent down and picked him up by the collar of his shirt so as to not hurt his little form. “You’re like a doll, darling.”
There didn’t seem to be any damage to his physical form. It seemed that all the amulet had managed to do was reduce his size. Eskel was still able to use his magics and his strength was relative to his size. He could lift silverware and trinkets, and even an empty tankard if he really, really tried. The biggest damage was that to his pride.
Personally, you thought he was adorable. Eskel had always been good looking. The board shoulders. The brown hair. The smile that had your heart beating like a desperate pounding and your face flushed like a summer’s noon. But like this, he was just darling. He was so little he could fit into the palm of your hand and have room to spread out his arms and legs. Much to his dismay.
“It’s really not harmful,” Vesemir repeated for the umpth time that day. “The amulet could have done a lot worse. There’s one laying around somewhere that would’ve given you a monkey’s tail and bat wings. We would have to cut those off of you.”
“I think you’re perfect like this.” You placed Eskel down on the dining hall table and brought over a sweet bun from the kitchen. “I mean, just look. Who wouldn’t love a bun twice the size of them?”
Eskel tore off a crumb. The sugar crystals were the size of his palm now. He did have to admit that was nice. “Is this what you have to manage everyday?”
“I could crush you under my thumb and we’d be none the wiser, my love.”
The threat did nothing to deter the shit-eating grin on his face. He ate his crumbs of sweet bun and crossed over the span of the table to where Vezemir was telling to the hearth. “How long do you think this will last?”
Vesemir sighed. “Another hour? The night? Daybreak? Who knows?”
You giggled. “Oh won’t that be lovely, darling?”
Eskel rolled his eyes. “You are enjoying this far too much for my liking.”
“Taste of your own medicine is what I think it is. You deserve this, my love.”
Eskel went back to you. He placed his small palm on your forefinger and peered up into your eyes. “I was not this eager, my sweet sparrow.”
“Horseshit.”
Vesemir chuckled, audible and swine-like. “I’ll leave you two to it.
*****
Evening arrived with the brisk wind of the season and Eskel was still no taller than an inkpot. He had not grown in the time that had transpired and there was no signs that he would begin to do so in the coming hours. With that in mind and really nothing to do but wait, you decided that it was simply time to get ready for bed.
“Oh, may I please, please carry you in my pocket,” you begged the small witcher with stars in your eyes and a quiver to your lips. Had you not already been sitting down, you would’ve gotten on your knees and pleaded.
“What’s wrong with me being on your palm?”
“What if I dropped you?” you replied, making the gesture with your hands. “You’d surely be hurt by such a fall. It is much safer if I had you in my pocket.”
Eskel was skeptical to say the least but when you opened up your hand for him to step on, he did so without complaint. He climbed into the top pocket of your tunic and used your collar for support lest he falls.
“Come morning, if you’re still this size I’ll make you a teaspoon of porridge." You began scaling the staircase to your quarters, making sure to even out your steps so Eskel was not shaken too much in your pocket. “Or would that be too much for you?” you teased. “A proper feast for my darling witcher.”
“Well, are you able to finish a spoonful or do you get full with only a taste? Otherwise, I’ll have to fill a thimble for your breakfast.”
You rolled your eyes and shook your head. “You’re one to talk when you’re this size. You make it out to be as if I were a mouse or some small fae. I’ll have you know, Eskel, that I am of a perfectly average s—!”
There was a shift in the air as if an oncoming storm had overtaken the skies. One moment you were turning the corner towards your room, the next you were stumbling downwards face first towards the floor. Yet instead of landing on the unforgiving stone of the Keep, you were met with a much more forgiving chest.
“But you fit right into the palm of my hand.”
“Oh bugger off. I was having a grand time and you had to go and ruin it.” You pouted up at Eskel. His arm was a comfortable weight around your waist as you raised yourself up to look at him. “I preferred it when you were small.”
“When I was your size?” He smiled, touching the tip of your nose with his forefinger.
You swatted his hand away not unkindly. It was hard to hide the grin tugging on the corner of your lips like strings to a marionette. “You were more fun when I could fit you into my pocket. “
“I prefer being like this much more.” He held you tightly and you couldn’t help but hold him back.
“You’re lucky so very lucky I love you.”
“I know it with all my heart."
Cold, Dark Water
Summary: Two companions have weathered many adventures together, but will this be the one that tears them apart, or brings them closer together? Budding tensions burst after a near-death experience.
A/N: First ever full-on smut. My goal writing this was "they would NOT be doing that, except they are, because I said so". So, please suspend your disbelief with me and enjoy!
Pairing: Eskel/Reader
WC: 6.1k
Disclaimers: 18+, full on smut, there IS plot, use of she/her pronouns, AO3 has more detailed tags
AO3 Link
“Fuck, Eskel, we’re going to have to swim.”
The inky shoreline stared back at them like pitch against a moonless sky. The lake was calm, but there had been snow in the past fortnight, meaning frigid water. Pounding footsteps and clamoring yells from behind reminded them there was nowhere else to go. They were supposed to slip away from the party quietly and have time to send up a silent smoke signal, whereupon, Dandelion and Geralt would have met them with a dinghy. However, their cover was blown unexpectedly by nosy waitstaff who found out they weren't who they said they were.
“Shit.” Eskel hissed out, “Can you make it?” He eyeballed her with some doubt in his eyes as he secured his swords at his back. "We'll need to be fast. Might be drowners that the cold hasn't put to sleep yet."
“Drowners. Of course." She’d always been a strong swimmer, so she wasn’t worried about the exertion, but the cold and the threat of ghoulish creatures flitting about in dark water were enough to make anyone's heart race. "We don't have much of a choice."
“No, we don't." Eskel nodded in agreement, then gestured to the elegant, corseted gown she wore. "You'll need to undress.”
“Huh?” She balked at his brazen statement before looking down. He was right. The silken thing clung to her body like it was made for her, but would become an anchor once saturated in water. She briefly prayed that Yennefer, the gown's loaner, wouldn't kill her for leaving it behind.
“Godsdamnit, help me out of this thing.”
She turned so he could get his fingers into the laces at the back, but his bulky digits fumbled with the delicate strings. Turned away, she couldn't see the way his cat-slit eyes dilated at the task before him.
“Eskel, hurry.” Urgency filled her voice. The movements of their assailants grew even closer. Metal clanging against cobblestone walls echoed in the night.
“I’m tryin’." Eskel's breath fanned at the back of her neck as he spoke. "Usually like to take my time with these things.”
“That would be fine under any other circumstances besides this one." She snapped, but couldn't ignore the flutter in her stomach at his words. The violent clamor in the distance grew, and grew. "Gods… Just— Just tear it off me!”
Eskel froze. They stood silently for a beat, his hands ghosting against her back.
“Eskel? We kind of need to… go…?” Her voice was a whisper, and she dipped her head, hoping to conceal the growing flush across her cheeks.
Then, he grunted in affirmation. She jolted forward as he gripped the fabric of the bodice. Eskel’s calloused fingers worked their way between the silk and her skin. The roughness of it sent a shiver down her spine, and she felt a moment of anticipation between them, like taut twine ready to snap.
Though she expected it, the ripping from her garments startled her, and she barely managed to conceal a gasp. Tearing with one hand and holding her steady with the other, Eskel made quick work of the bodice, corset, and the layered skirt. The fabric disintegrated in Eskel's hands and fell in ribbons to the floor. In a matter of moments, she was left shivering in her silky white shift, and he’d hardly expended any effort.
The cold breeze cut against her skin, and she was no longer falsely warmed by the glass of mead she had nursed back in the ballroom. Gooseflesh crept over her from head to toe, but she didn't bother to hide the stiffness of her nipples through the slip before she turned to face Eskel.
He was a strange sight. The shadowed edges of his chest heaved erratically against the night, in a way she had never seen before, not even after slaying a particularly troublesome beast. Her eyebrows screwed up as she looked at him, trying and failing to read his features under a moonless sky. She often cursed her weaker vision in the presence of Eskel.
“Witcher?” She started, concern playing in her tone.
“Get in the water,” Eskel commanded, his voice rough and low, like a warning. She'd never heard him like this before, but with their ever-approaching pursuers, she decided now was not the time to question it, or the fever that burned in her belly at the brutality he had shown her dress.
So, she steeled herself for the swim. Eskel was already diving in when she crouched at the edge of the pier. She took in as much air as her lungs could hold and dove into the water.
She came back up sputtering and barely treading water. The wind had been pushed from her lungs like a punch to the gut, and it was all she could do not to inhale buckets of water. A protective arm came around her shoulders, pulling her head well above the water line while she caught her breath.
“Too. Cold.” She barely shuddered. "Way too cold."
“Slow your breathing.” Eskel hissed into her ears. The cold was affecting him, too, but his higher body heat and more powerful circulatory system were doing their job. “There's no time.”
The measured but urgent tone of Eskel’s voice brought back her reason. She focused all her energy on treading water and steadying her breathing. Eventually, and with great effort, she was able to take steady but shallow breaths.
“'M good now." Her voice was as choppy as the short waves licking at her neck. "Let's swim." When Eskel was sure she had found her sea legs, so to speak, he slowly let go and gave her a reassuring nod.
“You go ahead of me. I’ll be right behind you.” Eskel gave her a gentle nudge towards the opposite shoreline. Each movement felt like swimming through wet fire, but she found a steady pace as she cut through the water, and she thanked whatever Gods that were watching that the dolts chasing them did not think to check the lake. She doubted she could outswim arrows in her state.
They were more than halfway across the lake when the air changed. She wasn't sure if it was the way the water stilled or how night birds went quiet, but the cold grip of panic took hold of her heart. Legs flailing in the water, she spun to check on Eskel, only to find him lunging for her, her name a desperate cry of warning on his lips. Then she was underwater.
Eskel reached for her waist, her shoulder, her hand, anything to keep her above the surface with him, but slimy, scaled hands were faster. Eskel cursed, not pausing to think as he fumbled a vial of Killer Whale from his belt, downed it, and dove into the wine-dark of the lake.
Fighting drowners on land was akin to swatting down a slow, fat fly that lingered on your dinner for too long. Eskel didn't put much thought into it. Fighting drowners in water, in their territory, was like trying to swat a persistent mosquito. Something Eskel liked to avoid altogether if possible, but not altogether too dangerous.
This was different. There had never been someone he loved—Gods, that he loved?—between him and the monster. In fact, he spent most of his life making sure that would never happen. Eskel had many lovers over the years, but never anyone he'd been willing to share a tent with while on The Path, much less something more. He'd seen what love did to an unlucky Witcher, and he wasn't keen on bearing that pain, but she was undeniable.
Now, as she was being dragged to a watery grave, he knew two things for certain: that he loved her and that he'd do anything to have her safe in his arms.
Eskel found the crossbow at his back as he kicked, desperately trying to catch up to the drowners pulling her deeper. They struck at her struggling body as they swam down, and Eskel's heart clamored as he swam past bubbles that had been air in her lungs. He watched as she had no choice but to inhale lake water.
He steadied the crossbow and fired, the first bolt finding its new home square in the eye of the drowner that held her ankles, stopping their descent. Now, he had their attention. The two remaining wretches sprang at him, and Eskel loosed another bolt. This one sailed past its target and lodged in the muck lake floor.
A growl of frustration hummed in his chest as he notched another bolt, each of his movements frustratingly slow compared to his adversaries. The hunt underwater was different. There was only the variable suspension of water to hold him, no breathing to steady himself, or earth to ground in. One drowner went for his legs, while the other went for his chest. Webbed claws wrapped around his calf, yanking at Eskel as he fired again. The jolt sent his bolt off course, but luck was on his side for once tonight. It's new arc sent the bolt directly through the heart of the drowner ahead of him.
It screeched in agony, purple blood spilling into the water around them, obscuring his vision as the last drowner swam up behind him and slashed a vicious line across his upper back. Agony swept over him as his blood mixed in the water, but Eskel swallowed the cry of pain and rotated to meet his adversary. Eskel grabbed the drowner by the shoulder, holding it still as he fired one last bolt into its forehead.
Eskel didn't have time to admire his handiwork. He twisted desperately in the water, searching for where she had fallen along the lake floor. He could feel the potion wearing off, his vision dulling, his chest tightening from the lack of oxygen. More than that, Eskel could feel her time running out at the bottom of this frozen lake.
Then there was a flash of her white slip in the murk, and he swam hard. A cloud of debris had been shadowing her form. He wrapped one arm around her waist, steadying her against him, and kicked and pulled for the surface.
By the time Eskel pulled them both onto land, she was waterlogged and still. Her lips were purple, even in the dark of night, and her chest unmoving. Eskel cradled her face in his two big hands and shook, trying to banish the images of drowned dead in his head, and how much she looked like them.
"Wake up." Eskel hated the fear he heard in his trembling voice, tried to swallow it down, but she wasn't responding. He turned her on her side, wincing at the way her body lay limp and pliable in his hands, and pounded on her back. Eskel kept her there a moment, hoping the movement would draw the water from her lungs, but still, nothing. He cursed, and cursed again.
Eskel lay her flat again and brought his lips to hers, breathing deeply into her. He felt the false rise and fall of her chest against his, and his stomach twisted, helpless and frustrated by their cold kiss. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. This wasn't how he wanted to undress her. This wasn't how he wanted to touch her, hold her. Not how he wanted to kiss her. Eskel gave her another lungful of air and dropped his forehead to hers, eyes closed tight in desperation.
"Love, my heart, please." He urged, begged.
Only silence met his plea. Eskel gritted his teeth. He should've known she couldn't handle the cold. He should've known there'd be drowners waiting for them. He should've stood his ground and slit the throat of every foolish guard that dared pursue them instead of putting her in harm's way like this.
Then, he felt her twitch beneath him. Eskel's narrow slit eyes flew open, watching her intently as hope flooded his chest.
She jolted, body arching away from the pebbled beach and retched frothy water from her frozen lips. Her hands clawed at her throat as she coughed. Trying to breathe, trying to expel water. Dark, morphing spots danced across her gaze, and beyond was the vague shape of her Witcher, his brow scrunched in distress. Hot tears streamed down her face, and calloused hands wiped them away.
“It’s okay, I've got you.” Eskel's familiar baritone. “Breathe.”
Just when she thought that the unbearable pressure in her lungs would kill her, she was rewarded by a deep breath of air. Then another fit of coughing wracked through her. She couldn’t feel anything aside from the burning in her lungs, her body numb. The ordeal itself couldn’t have been more than ten minutes, but her fine motor skills were inaccessible, and her mind full of fog.
"Good girl."
Eskel dragged her between his legs and rested her on his chest, laying her body against his in a sitting position. The heat of his body felt like a bonfire at her back. It burned, and she needed it. He brought his fingers to his lips and let loose a sharp whistle.
No response.
“Shit.” Eskel huffed. “This is where they said they'd be waiting for the signal.“ He pointed to an orange strip of fabric tied around a low-hanging branch.
“They must be otherwise occupied.” She tried for snide, but she barely got the words out, fighting to control her shivering and failing.
“We gotta get you warm.”
Obviously, was the one thought that echoed resoundingly through her head, but through the mental fog, she noted there was an edge to his voice that sounded concerningly close to worry. She didn't like that. Eskel never worried.
Looking down at herself, she saw how deadly cold had enveloped her in its sharp shroud, and she understood. She couldn’t feel her fingers or toes, and her shivering was rapidly growing into convulsions. The soaked slip she wore clung to her body, doing nothing to keep her warm. She was exposed, vulnerable.
She tried to ask for cover but found her mind too jumbled to string together a coherent sentence. Her head lolled against his chest as she blinked hard, trying to focus. All she managed was creasing her brow in frustration.
As if he read her mind, he tore off the formal overshirt he had donned begrudgingly for the ball and draped it over her. The fine wool was damp, but still able to offer her a semblance of warmth. Then, his pointer finger found the pulse of her throat, slow and desperate in its exertion.
“Shit.” Eskel huffed again, with more intensity.
Eskel gathered her in his arms, far more gently than she ever imagined he was capable of, and hefted the artifact over his shoulder haphazardly. The rare, valuable artifact that Yennefer needed for a spell. It would supposedly save humanity, but he didn't seem to be thinking of it now as he stared down at her. She watched how his dark hair clung to his cheekbones, dripping, sending rivulets of water down over his lips and neck. His grasp felt red hot against her skin, shocking and enticing all at once. She blinked slowly, her eyelids falling closed.
"Not the time for sleep." Eskel adjusted her in his arms, the movement jolting her awake.
"Feels like the perfect time for sleep." She slurred back, eyes fluttering. The logical, survival part of her brain knew Eskel was right, but the heavy feeling in her body was edging on irresistible. Eskel hurried across the pebbled beach, and when she opened her eyes again, they were in a cave, or maybe under the jutty of a cliff, and he was building a fire. The stone walls offered shelter from the winds that blew across the lake, and she rested on a smooth stone, a reprieve from the sharp rocks of the beach.
Normally, when Eskel built the fire for their camp, he took his time. He would place the tinder just so, and crown it carefully with the kindling he had gathered. Then, he would cast Igni, low and slow, and let the fire roar to life gradually. Now, Eskel was hurried, brash like she had never seen. Eskel always moved with the slow and steady grace of a predator. Now, he looked more like prey. He tossed tinder and kindling together hapahazardly and doused it with a tiny vial of oil that she recognized from his work table—an accelerant.
Eskel cast Igni in one fluid motion, and the fire roared to life, burning so hot that the flame was nearly smokeless. The warmth of the blaze reached her almost immediately, sending a pleasurable tremble up her spine, but it wasn't enough. He watched for one, two moments, to make sure that the flame would hold, and then he was back on her, holding her as if the time apart had been just as unbearable for him as it was for her. Eskel tucked his head to her neck and inhaled slowly, like he did when he sat down for his meditations.
"Eskel," She croaked. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Eskel replied quickly, like he was trying to convince himself. "You're gonna be okay." His hands stroked up and down her shoulders, trying to create heat with the friction, but it wasn't enough, and they both knew it. Eskel's voice took on a nervous edge. "You need to be warmer than this."
"Then warm me."
It was an unspoken agreement to what she knew Eskel needed to do, but as he reached for the hem of her slip, she realized that she wanted him to. He hooked his thumbs under the still-soaked fabric and looked back at her, his golden eyes meeting hers in a silent question: Is this okay? She nodded, lifting shaking arms, and he pulled it over her head, leaving her only in her underthings, her breasts bare.
She didn't bother to cover herself, not when she desperately wanted him, his body hot against hers. Eskel shifted over her, his hands sliding to her hips, hovering over her underwear, waiting. She nodded again, trying not to show her building attraction. Eskel averted his eyes, swallowing hard as he slid the fabric down her legs. The removal of her cold, wet clothes helped until it didn't.
She needed more.
She was only bare momentarily before Eskel wrapped his shirt around her shoulders. It draped over her comfortably, and the fire-warmed wool kept the shivering at bay for the moment. She let out a pleased sigh, and Eskel's eyes darted to her mouth, his own lips dropping open slightly.
"Better?" He asked, kneeling next to her at the ready, unsure if she still wanted his touch now that she was somewhat warmer.
"Yes," She agreed, then paused, looking up at him through lidded eyes. "Still cold." Her shivering had improved, but the danger wasn't gone, and neither was her urge to feel him against her. She reached for him.
Eskel reached back, pulling her once again into his arms. This time, she found herself straddling one of his thighs. In any other situation, she would have flushed and shied away from such an exposed position, but instinct prevailed, and it told her to curl further into the blazing heat of Eskel's body.
"Is… Is this okay?" He asked.
"Mmhm," She responded, nuzzling into his neck and breathing him in the way he had her. Eskel was forest and smoke, and medicinal herbs. Eskel was safety, she realized. "Touch me." Eskel stiffened at her words, and she felt how the muscles of his thigh tensed between her legs; her hips nearly responded in kind, but she willed herself to ignore the sensation. "Like you did earlier. Warm me, Eskel."
Eskel relaxed and gathered her trembling hands in his. He murmured under his breath, and a bloom of warmth flooded her fingers so suddenly that it nearly made her jump in surprise. It wasn't just the warmth either; below the steady heat was a pleasant hum, a soft vibration that emanated into her fingers and up her arms.
"What's this?" She breathed in awe. She'd seen Eskel's magic before, watched him cast each hand sign in a hundred different moments, but had never seen anything like this before. Never felt anything like it.
"Igni."
"But there was no hand sign…" She pondered, wrenching her gaze from their conjoined grasp to meet his face. He stared down at her, a gentle smile on his lips and affection so plain in his eyes that it nearly took her breath away.
"Party trick." He murmured. "The heat is weakened without the somatics. Good for cold nights."
"Good for lonely nights, too, I bet." She teased, a shaky grin spreading on her face. He laughed in response, and she felt comforted by the return of his easy demeanor.
"Yeah, those too." Eskel brought his lips to her temple and placed a chaste kiss there, something he'd never done before, but felt unbelievably natural. Relief was apparent in his voice as he spoke. "You're feeling better."
"I am," She nodded. His hands still massaged her own as a wicked idea formed in her mind and slunk its way deep into her belly. "But I know how I could feel even better."
"What do you need?" It was an innocent question, born from a place of care and willingness, but it sent a shiver up her spine that, for the first time in a very long hour, wasn't from the cold. Using her newly returned fine motor skills, she brought his warm hands to her waist and leaned forward. Her lips brushed against Eskel's ear as she pressed her stiff-peaked breasts against his chest.
"More," She mouthed against his earlobe. Eskel shuddered under her, and she couldn't help it; she rolled her hips against his, and he responded in kind. He pressed against her, and she could feel how badly he wanted this, but then he stopped. A momentary combination of both disappointment and embarrassment flooded through her. Had she gotten this wrong?
"I—We can't," Eskel spoke without conviction, but with care. "You almost died. You need rest."
"No," She bit back stubbornly, "I need you." Without waiting for his response, she took his hands in hers and moved them to the heft of her ass. Eskel groaned at the feeling of soft skin under his hands and dropped his head forward. He placed an open-mouth kiss on her neck that drew a delicious whine from her lips, but then he pulled back again, like he was afraid to make a wrong move. She tried not to writhe against him in frustration.
"You really want this?" Eskel asked, his voice suddenly thick with an entirely different emotion.
"Eskel—" She started in frustration.
"You really want me?" He spoke again, and then she understood the weight of his question. The true meaning behind those words. He wanted her, and he wanted it to be more than a fleeting tryst. She understood his worry, but found the thought inconceivable.
She thought of how Eskel always placed her in front while they travelled on Scorpion. 'So, that I can still reach my swords,' he had said, but she knew it was so he could hold her, one hand always on her waist, keeping her steady. She thought of the time Eskel had taught her to whittle. He'd been watching over her so intently that he caught the slip of her carving blade before she knew what was happening. 'Lucky catch,' he'd said. She thought of how even when she was drowning, her last conscious thought was of him and how his golden eyes shone in the deep. 'Love,' he had called her, 'My heart.' A quiet admission just before she tore back into consciousness. She thought of how the same was true for her. Eskel was her love.
"I said," She started again, bringing one hand up to his cheek and stroking the scarred flesh there. "I need you."
And Eskel washed over her like a purifying flame. With the press of his lips, she felt the cold leech from her body and be replaced by a radiant heat that traveled to the tips of her toes. She moaned into the kiss, and Eskel answered, mumbling the same incantation as before against her lips. His warm hands wandered over her body in an electrifying dance, the pleasant heat and soft vibration sending her into soft chants of his name. He kissed and stroked her until she began to tremble, and when that wasn't enough, he pulled her closer still.
Now, she sat straddling his hard cock, feeling how it strained against the fabric of his trousers. She wasted no time in pressing herself fully against him, wanting to show how ready she was for him, how wet. Eskel gasped at the sensation, bucking up into her wildly, his hands gripping her soft thighs.
"I've needed this for so long." His voice was steeped in desire, and she recognized the tone from earlier, when he'd been tearing at her dress. "I didn't know how to say—"
"Your heart?" She interrupted softly, teasingly. He groaned into her neck, a mix of embarrassment and excitement.
"You heard?"
"I did." She replied, accenting her response with another swipe of her hips against his.
"It's true," Eskel sighed against her, kissing her temple again, then trailing a line of kisses down to her neck. "You are."
"I know." And then she lifted his mouth to hers, moving against him like a bow against a fiddle. Fast and slow. Soft and hard. She felt his hands roam to her breasts, massaging the plush skin before brushing his fingers lightly over her hardened nipples. She sighed at the sensation, and when Eskel dipped his head to her chest, taking one peak into his mouth and swirling his tongue in tantalizing licks, she let out an obscene moan. He takes his time, sucking and biting thoroughly before moving to the other, continually drawing a chorus of pleasure from her lips while holding her steady with strong hands.
The cold, which had almost taken her, seemed so far away now. Each movement together only warmed her further, and Eskel showed no sign of stopping. One hand dipped to the apex of her thighs, and she opened for him, eager for Eskel to see her want. He stroked her gently, collecting arousal on his fingers before sliding one thick finger between her folds.
They moaned together as her fluttering muscles pulled him deeper, and Eskel's deft hand worked into her, gently teasing and stroking. It wasn't long before another digit joined the first, and he curled his fingers just so, finding that sensitive spot within and petting it. She tossed her head back at the sensation. The warmth of his hands was even more intoxicating inside her, and that same, subtle vibration emanated from his fingers and throughout her cunt. When Eskel placed the pad of his thumb on her clit and rubbed gently, her entire body tremored with pleasure.
"Warm enough for you?" Eskel asked, gazing at her, a relaxed grin on his lips and a look of worship in his eyes. All she could do was nod in response as that steady, vibrating warmth built in her belly. She pulsed around his fingers desperately, and feeling her impending release, Eskel increased his pace. Slick noises filled the air around them, and she felt her want dripping down her thighs. "So good for me, love."
That was all she needed to topple over the edge. She collapsed into Eskel's chest, grinding and clenching around his fingers as she came. He kept a vice grip on her waist, not allowing her to run from the pleasure while his thumb kept a steadfast pace against her bud, working her through an orgasm that seemed to last for ages.
When she at last blinked the haze of pleasure from her eyes, Eskel had brought both hands to cup her face, a grounding gesture.
"Will you rest now, my heart?" His voice was gentle, but she couldn't help but laugh at the suggestion. She needed him more now than before.
"You must be joking." She muttered as eager hands fumbled with the drawstrings of his pants. Eskel began to chuckle, but the feeling of one cool hand wrapping around his member transformed it into a groan. Despite himself, Eskel thrust into her hand, and she rewarded him with quick, firm strokes. He watched, jaw clenched, as she freed him fully from his trousers. His cock was thick and painfully hard in her grasp.
"How will you have me?" Eskel gasped, completely at her mercy. She took him in, watched as he panted in wanting below her, and wondered how this Witcher came to be hers. She had seen Eskel be efficient and brutal. She had seen him powerful and daring, but she had never seen him so soft and unsheilded. His face was relaxed, open, and his eyes shone with devotion. Her free hand traced the planes of his chest, ghosting over long-healed scars and fading bruises. Her other hand kept busy, lightly working the sensitive head of his cock in her palm. Eskel's jaw dropped open, and his hips bucked slightly. Then, a sound that sounded dangerously close to a whine fell from his lips, and she knew she had to put his waiting to an end.
"Just like this." And she sank onto him in one fluid movement. Her name fell from Eskel's lips like a prayer, and the stretch of him knocked the air from her lungs completely. Eskel kept still while she pulsed around him, allowing her to adjust, but his hands held her in a bruising grasp, a necessary evil to keep the frenzy of his hips at bay.
When the stretch faded into wanting, she rolled her hips. Once, then twice, finding a feverish rhythm in no time at all. Eskel pressed open-mouthed kisses to her body as she bounced, pausing only to palm and nip at her sensitive breasts. As the heat in her belly grew into a fever pitch, so did the chant of Eskel's name on her lips. Eskel, Eskel, Eskel. She felt her muscles fluttering again, this time around the intensity of his cock and she moaned.
"I'm going to—"
Then she was on her back, the cold stone of the cave soothing her heated skin. Eskel was still inside her, having swapped their positions with such ease that her head spun. He effortlessly picked up a more measured rhythm, fucking into her with deep, frustratingly slow movements. The tempo of his hips was maddening, enough to fog her mind with pleasure while still pulling her back from the precipice of release. She whined desperately into his chest.
"I've got you." Eskel hushed, nuzzling into her hair and inhaling deeply. She finally recognized the behavior; he was scenting her. Yennefer had told her of that behavior ages ago, explaining that Witchers scented as an instinctual way to mark a person as safe, as theirs. She had thought the idea absurd then, but now the knot at the base of her belly tightened at being claimed by Eskel.
"Yours." She whispered, and Eskel's hips stuttered against hers. A low growl emanated from deep within his chest.
"Mine." He snarled and drove deep into her with a renewed fervor, having forgotten his steady march of earlier. Eskel held her tightly, one arm wrapped under her back, while he tucked his head into the crook of her neck. His other hand found her clit once again, and her eyes rolled back at the contradictory pound of his hips and caress of his thumb. That same wild heat as before built into a crescendo, and she tightened around his cock.
With a cry, she was overtaken by her climax. Her core was hot and pulsing, and the waves of pleasure that washed over her were so intense that she shook in Eskel's arms. A tear streaked down her cheek, only to be kissed away swiftly. Eskel whispered praises into her ear as she traversed the mind-bending high, groaning as her cunt clenched around his still thrusting cock. She was still floating, euphoric, when Eskel began to lose his pace.
Wrapping her legs around the thick trunk of his waist, she brought him deeper, and he growled desperately. She opened her eyes at the untamed vision above her and watched as he took her relentlessly, now chasing his own release. Suddenly, a hand cupped the back of her head, and Eskel was kissing her in a surge of passion. His hips rocked at an unbelievable pace, deep, fervent, endless, and with a shout, he came. Eskel writhed over her, the weight of his thick cock pulsing inside her and filling her to the brim with his spend.
"Fuck," Eskel bit, "So good."
The warmth built and pooled in her core as he moved, still unrelenting. After a long moment, she looked up at Eskel and found that his eyes were still clenched shut and his mouth dropped open in pleasure, and realized that he was still coming. He was a raw nerve inside her, moaning at each thrust of his hips like he'd never come so hard, so completely.
Then, Eskel collapsed against her, wrapping his arms around her so they pressed entirely against each other. She held him in return and placed soft kisses to the scarred skin of his cheek. They relaxed against each other, breathing in sweet tandem, while coming down from their peaks. After a moment, Eskel shifted, wordlessly reaching for the discarded wool shirt and wrapping her up once again. Sighing at the utter tenderness of Eskel's actions, she curled into him, almost able to forget the horrid events that had led up to this moment.
"Thank you." She breathed, hoping that he felt the weight of it. He nodded, another rare smile building on his lips. Eskel's gaze was dilated, black saucers shining against slivers of gold. He leaned in and kissed her wholly. A promise of more, if she'd have him, and of course, she would.
When the air trembled beside them in preparation for an opening portal, Eskel didn't stop to think as he hid her behind his form, one hand raised in the defensive Quen hand sign. A slender figure stepped through the portal, adorned in black and white, and an unimpressed look on her face. Yennefer.
"Now," She paused a quick moment before a knowing grin grew on her lips. They both relaxed at the realization it was Yennefer, but knew there was no hiding their disheveled appearances, or the thick scent of sex in the air. "If you two are quite finished, a little songbird told me that you lot required rescuing."
"Nice of Dandelion to remember, but it's a little too late for that," Eskel spoke, his voice droll.
"Quite," Yennefer snarked back. "Too late to be your knight in shining armor, and too soon for you to have put your manhood away." Eskel's face dropped, and he glanced down at his groin in confusion. This drew a cackle from the woman before them. "Made you look, darling. Now, let us get going. I have better things to do than interrupt a lover's embrace."
"Where the hells are those bastards anyway?" Eskel turned to help her up, still shielding her naked form from view as much as he could. Her legs still wobbly from nearly dying and then being thoroughly fucked.
"Kidnapped by a djinn." Their eyes widened in alarm, and Yennefer scoffed. "Oh, hush, Geralt and Dandelion are fine. They're resting comfortably by the fire, which is something I'm certain you two would like to do right about now."
"Yennefer," She peeked her head around Eskel's form and made a vague gesturing motion to her nakedness. "Would you mind?"
"After you so cruelly abandoned the gown I already lent you? I should know better by now, but I suppose I am just too kind-hearted." A warm woolen dress and plush furs replaced her dreary wool shirt with an impatient wave of Yennefer's hand. She gestured again to the portal. "Now, unless you two haven't had your fill of copulating caves, do come on."
She turned back to Eskel, clothed, sexed, and happy. She quirked a smile at him. "At least we didn't have to fight a djinn."
Eskel grinned in turn, a warm laugh echoing from his broad chest. "I'd do tonight ten times over before I fought a djinn."
"I'm sure you would." She rolled her eyes teasingly and took his arm, and they walked through the portal.
Onward they went, arm in arm to the next adventure.
My Time at Corvo Bianco
eskel x f!reader
summary | while visiting geralt at his home in toussaint, eskel meets a dyer from the port who agrees to dye his favorite jacket, and he begins questioning everything
wc | 4.2k
read on ao3
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“Wolf!”
“Eskel, took you long enough!”
Eskel passed the archway into Corvo Bianco, dismounted, pulled Geralt into a tight hug, and patted him on the back when he pulled away.
“So many contracts in Toussaint, hard to turn down the coin.”
Geralt led Eskel and Scorpion to the stables, where a hand took over from there.
“I know that all too well.”
“Not anymore though?”
“Seems not. I take a few here and there, but I don’t have much reason to. I’ve got a home, a wife, and mostly, I don’t even miss the path.”
“Seems to have all worked out in the end for you?”
“It’ll happen for you too, Eskel, if you let it. Witchers are a dying people, no use in continuing after some point.”
“I doubt it, my place is on the path. But I’m glad things have been working out for you.” Eskel was sincere in everything he said, he was happy for his brother.
“Don’t let your doubts keep you from happiness, I was there, but it turns out retirement is a welcome change from the constant abuse.”
Eskel chuckled and let Geralt open his home’s door, leading into a cozy open room with a dining table in the middle where the two sat down.
From midday to well into the night, they talked. Last they spoke was at the battle of Kaer Morhen, and those were certainly not good memories.
The drinks kept conversation light, though, and laughter could be heard from outside the home’s walls.
The night ended with Geralt showing Eskel up the stairs to his guest room, where he would be staying for the foreseeable future. Eskel needed rest, and here he would get it.
He set his pack down on the bedside table, rummaging through it for his journal. He’d taken to writing after the battle to deal with the loss of his mentor and he continued since then. Most of what he wrote was mundane and meaningless, but it brought him a sense of familiarity. A sense of normalcy.
He wrote by candlelight until his eyes grew heavy and he settled for the night where he got the first night of real rest he’d had in years. A roof over his head and a bed beneath him without the compromise of loud noise in a tavern or inn. The silence was welcome.
Eskel woke to a rooster crow and a bright ray of light over his tired form. He lay on his back for a few moments, taking everything in, already starting to understand the appeal of retirement. The smell of breakfast cooking coaxed him downstairs where he found Geralt in the kitchen.
“Finally learned to cook then?”
“I always knew how to cook.”
“That’s news to me.” Eskel took a seat. “Where’s Yennefer?”
“On a trip, she needed the cooler weather for a change. She’ll be back within the week. She’s happy here, guess you could say we’re both retired now.”
“Never thought you’d say that, did you?”
“Can’t say that I would have.”
The two ate in comfortable silence, a change from the other meals he shared with strangers in crowded taverns. The food was also remarkably different. No taste of the previous day's meal left lingering from the pan in the next day's food and fresh ingredients made more of a difference than he’d thought.
While walking around the grounds, Eskel changed the subject of conversation by asking Geralt to show him around Beauclair. He agreed and they readied their horses.
“Any armorers you like in the city? My jacket is in need of some care.” Eskel laughed.
“Absolutely, there’s one who helps me with crafting some old witcher gear we’ve found diagrams for. He’s the best I've come across.”
When they reached the armorer Eskel shucked off his jacket and handed it over. It had been needing repair for far too long, and wouldn’t do much to protect against a serious attack anymore. Jacket in hand, the man looked the armor over, giving his estimate on coin and time. A steep price, but you got what you paid for in Beauclair.
Geralt and Eskel headed over to the nearest tavern for a drink while they waited.
“I could get used to this, Geralt. I don’t think I could ever stop taking contracts fully, but you know, a place to call home, to go back to every night.”
“Not gonna say I told you so, but the life does get a hold of you. Turns out comfort is incredibly important to happiness.”
“I think I’m starting to agree with you there.”
When the time to head back to the armorer came, Eskel walked there with racing thoughts.
When they entered the shop, the armorer greeted them, “Just in time!” He set the jacket on the counter and looked up at Eskel, “This was red, right? It looks a bit faded. I’d say if you’re interested, in the Beauclair port there's a group of people who’ll dye clothes for a fair price. If you care about that sort of thing I think it's worth it.”
Eskel thanked the man, paid and then the pair then headed out.
“How do you feel about that? I know where he’s talking about, I know one of the women who works there, I could take you.”
After he agreed, the two mounted their horses and headed up to the port, taking in the sights in silence. This part of town was busier than the rest it seemed. People were coming and going, and merchants were trying their hardest to get potential customers' attention.
When they arrived, Eskel gawked at all the colors. He’d thought he’d seen it all when he entered Toussaint, colored clothes were a common thing here, but to see all the concentrated colors was almost breathtaking. But his thoughts stopped in their tracks when you walked up to them.
“Welcome back, Geralt! You’ve brought company?” Your demeanor was always light and airy, like a lone cloud in a clear sky. The yellow smock that you wore was splashed with other colors and more so when you wiped your stained hands down it. “I would hug you, but I’m afraid I would just ruin your clothing. Gotta keep your image even if you’re retired. Or whatever you’re calling it now.”
“Appreciated. This is Eskel, I grew up with him back at Kaer Morhen.” Geralt introduced you to him, though it was hard to tell what was actually sticking. Eskel seemed to be stuck in place. At least heard your name, and he repeated it back to you, nodding his head.
“I’ve heard of you, Eskel. From this one here.” You gestured at Geralt. “Though I admit I’m curious to find out if everything he’s said is true.”
“You’ll be pleased to know that it’s all true.” Geralt defended himself and glanced over to Eskel who seemed, well, it was impossible to read the expression on his face. It was true to Eskel’s character to be hesitant, shy even, around those he did not know, but this seemed different to Geralt. Because of their history, he knew there was something more to this reaction.
“I have trust that he would not lie, but Geralt tends to exaggerate details. To my disliking.” Eskel finally spoke and his lip even twitched in a way that was almost the beginning of a smile.
“My friend here needs his jacket dyed. The bloodiest shade of red you have, preferably.”
Eskel scoffed and removed said jacket. There was still a strange air about him to Geralt’s eye, but he could dig into that later.
“It would be a pleasure. Any friend of Geralt’s is a friend of mine. In any way, I do need to get back to work, but I promise your jacket will be done in a few days. And Geralt, you and your friend are always invited into my home, please take me up on that. And sooner than later, too. Goodbye!” You turned, jacket in hand, and headed back to work.
The witchers eventually wandered back to Corvo Bianco where they sat at the table and poured themselves wine. Eskel still seemed off to Geralt, and after a short amount of small talk, he asked his question.
“Is everything ok? The idea of retirement shaking you that much?” Geralt knew something was off, but now it was time to decipher what it was from Eskel’s clues.
“It’s appealing, to be sure, but I don’t think it’s shaking me that much?” Though it wasn’t a question, it sounded as if he was asking. He sipped from his glass and put his hand flat on the table, as if to stabilize himself.
“Then what is?” After taking a drink of wine Geralt whispered your name, “It’s her isn’t it?”
Eskel did not speak. But the way his splayed hand twitched, it seemed as though Geralt was right on the mark.
“She’s a good one, brother. Get to know her, stay in Toussaint a while longer. Who knows what will happen.”
“Be realistic. That is not my destiny.” What Eskel meant to say was, I don’t deserve that kind of life. I am doomed to live out a witcher’s end alone.
“Be a man and say what you’re actually thinking, Eskel.” Geralt pulled no punches, but when his brother did not speak, he continued. “You think too low of yourself. If that is something that you want, only you can make that happen. You don’t have to follow orders or the witcher code anymore, forge your own path.”
Eskel’s brows were furrowed as he gazed into his glass. What Geralt spoke was true and they both knew it.
“If I were to stay here I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”
Geralt said your name again. “Go for it. Whatever you’re worried about, that won't matter to her. Don’t tell her I said this, but you and her are just about two of the loneliest people I’ve ever met. Forge your own path. You’ll retrieve your jacket alone and I’m counting on you to take that first step.”
When he went to bed, Eskel laid awake staring at the ceiling. As the shadows danced on the walls, he pictured you. He pictured Toussaint and its heart, Beauclair. He pictured the life he could make here. Certainly not as well off as Geralt, but enough to settle down and calm his being. He fell into a deep meditation with a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
The next two days came and went in the blink of an eye. Geralt showed Eskel everything that he could in that short amount of time, but it was enough. The third day of his visit, Eskel found himself at the port and eyed you from afar.
You were busy laughing with other women, hands dipping in and out of the dyes staining both them and the cloth you held at once. Whatever confidence he had mustered had vanished the moment he saw you. But you had his beloved jacket and he would have to get it one way or another. So down the steps he went and when a woman asked his business, he asked for you by name.
“Eskel.” You smiled as you made your way toward him with a colorful wave. “You came just in time, your jacket has finished drying. This way, please.”
He followed without question into a nearby building where he saw his jacket hanging looking brighter than he’d gotten it. The color a deep concentrated red that popped against the dark black of the leather.
“I hope it’s to your liking, it's the ‘bloodiest shade’ I could make.” You quoted with your fingers, mocking the absent Geralt’s request from a few days past.
“It’s perfect.” Eskel’s eyes flitted from his jacket to you a few times before settling on your eyes. He found himself lost in them for a moment as he tried to memorize their color. When he reached for payment, you pushed his hand away.
“Like I said the other day, any friend of Geralt’s is a friend of mine. I never let him pay either. He’s done me more kindnesses than any other, I trust he chooses his friends wisely. So no payments, please and thank you.”
Your smile shined even in the dark of the room and it made his slow heart skip a beat.
“I do have a lot of work to do today, I apologize, but I should be going now.”
He had to act now before he no longer had an excuse to speak with you.
“Just a moment.” He called out as you turned the door handle. “Please.”
You asked him why with your eyes. As concisely as he could, he invited you to dinner at Corvo Bianco with him and Geralt the next day. You happily agreed. It seemed as though Geralt’s observation was right. His offer seemed to brighten your entire world as if you were the loneliest person in it.
As he walked back to his horse, newly dyed jacket on, Eskel was afraid he did not make his intentions clear enough. He should have asked you to dinner, one on one. Though he had no idea how he would have done that.
It was past dark by the time he reached the gates to Corvo Bianco and he stabled his horse before making his way into Geralt’s home, who was there to greet him.
“How did it go?” He asked with an air of mischief.
“She’s coming to dinner tomorrow.”
“Why so glum, then?” Geralt noticed it in the way Eskel spoke and carried himself through the door.
“I don’t have a good feeling about this. What if I’m getting my hopes up too much? I can’t help but feel like I’m falling for her already.”
“Then let it happen. Worst case is that she says no, but trust she will not be cruel about it, I know her better than that.” Geralt took in the expression on his brother’s face and backtracked. “I don’t think you’ll have any trouble with that though. I saw the way she eyed you.”
“How?”
“I’ve spent quite a lot of time with her, I understand her without words being spoken. And just like you’re my brother, I consider her my sister.”
Eskel had nothing left to say. What he needed to do now was stew on the events of the past few days. Interaction and conversation with you and words spoken with Geralt. So he once again laid in his borrowed bed and thought. Would it be so bad? To talk to her and take the risk? I’m not even sure what my feelings would be toward her once I got to know her. All I know is that I want to. I need to. And what would retirement look like for me? Could I do it?
There was no rest for the witcher that night and the following morning he was so full of nerves that Geralt had to reassure him once more. He felt a wreck. Toussaint was supposed to be a break like all those winters at Kaer Morhen. So far it had turned out to have quite the opposite effect. He could run, like he tended to, starting all the way back with his child surprise. Or he could take his life into his own hands and deal with everything happening to him. For the first time, he chose the latter.
Yennefer came home late in the morning and greeted him politely. She’d never interacted much with Eskel and her indifferent demeanor made it hard for him to believe that she even wanted to. But she did try. During lunch she had divulged that Geralt had told her much of the happenings over the past few days, to Eskel’s embarrassment. And in an effort that he found out of character, Yennefer gave the same sentiments as Geralt had. She told him that she knew you as well as her husband did and that you would make a fine match with him.
Other than wanting to shrivel up during the entire meal, lunch went as well as he could have expected. Dinner might be a different story entirely. B.B., as Geralt so endearingly called Barnabas-Basil, would be preparing dinner. If Eskel was going to impress you, he would stay away from the kitchen. On the path he could make food as good as any witcher, but over a campfire is just about where his skills ended. But B.B. would make a fine meal.
Eskel had to admit he was more than nervous. Somehow he felt it would be so much easier if it would be a one on one dinner, but Geralt, and now Yennefer, would both be included. As long as he was himself it would go well enough. He was betting on that.
Eskel chose to wander the grounds to kill time before your arrival. The gardens were especially nice in the weather which was sunny with a few clouds that offered the occasional relief from the scorching sun.
As the sun followed its natural path downward toward the west, Eskel saw you seated upon a horse, borrowed, he assumed, city dwellers had no need for personal horses. The sun hit your face in a most wonderful way and though you seemed awkward from your place on the horse, you had an air of confidence that captured him immediately.
“Eskel!” You called and beamed once you spotted him. After letting a stable hand take the horse, you made your way to Eskel, who nodded at your call.
When you got to him it seemed neither of you knew what to do or say. So you stood there like fools before Geralt opened the door to his home and let out a yell to beckon you both. After a look that said that’s our Geralt was exchanged, you made it up the stairs and into the main room where a feast of a dinner was sat on the table.
The five of you took your places at the table. B.B., who was always invited to the table, was seated at its head, Geralt across from Yennefer, and Eskel across from you. Geralt was the first to dig in. In front of you laid a sizeable salmon, crusted and seared, enough salad with berries and nuts for everyone to share, an intricate loaf of bread from Beauclair and a seasoned oil to dip it in, as well as a plate of roasted vegetables and glasses of wine for each attendant. To you and Eskel both it was more food than you’d seen at once likely in your entire lives. Eskel was used to whatever scraps he could find on the path, and before that, whatever Vesemir had prepared for the young boys at Kaer Morhen. As for you, you were used to eating whatever your fellow dyers had prepared, usually modest amounts of protein and bread for each meal. This was a new experience welcomed by you both.
Geralt led conversation in the first half of the meal, occasionally joined by Yennefer adding on to the stories she’d likely heard more times than she could count on both hands. You sat quietly for a while, drinking in the comfort of a meal shared with friends, old and new. Every so often you would sneak a glimpse of the man in front of you, noting every last detail of his being. The way that his hair framed his face and the scars that lay on the left side of it. You committed his demeanor to memory. His shoulders hunched slightly, enough that you figured he was trying to make himself as small as possible, a feat he could never accomplish. The manner in which he dealt with his food you noticed as well. He would pick at his plate with his fork before carefully choosing what went on his fork. You would have assumed he was disinterested in the meal and his company if it weren’t for the way he would glance around with inquisitive eyes. Eyes that hovered over you longer than anyone else.
To Eskel, the staring made him uneasy. There was no way to know what was going on in that pretty head of yours, but the way you eyed him made him think the worst. He naively hoped that the dim candle light would soften his features, but he knew that only really deepened the lines of his scars. But there was something about the way your gaze lingered that soothed him as well. The smirk that he would get from you when he caught you staring more than once gave him reassurance that you were not frightened by the sight of him. Regardless of what he thought was going on inside your mind, he was more sure than ever that he was falling for you. The shadows that enhanced your features drew him in and by the time dinner was done he was sure the reason Geralt said he was headed to bed early was because of the way you were staring at each other.
As B.B. cleaned up, Geralt announced that he and Yennefer were going to retire to their bed for the evening. This left you and Eskel alone, still seated across from each other at the table. He rubbed at his cheek for a moment before he realized what he was doing while you picked at the hem of your shirt.
“Do you want to go outside with me? The stars are especially beautiful on nights without clouds.” You asked him with wide eyes and a nervous smile.
Eskel stood before agreeing and boldly helped you from the table with an outstretched hand that you readily took. He only let go to open the door for you. From there you took the lead, guiding him to a bench at the side of the house.
When you both were seated, you laughed under your breath to which Eskel gave you a questioning look.
“We barely got to speak together at all with all of Geralt’s talking. But I’d like to now, if that’s alright with you?”
“I would like that as well.” Eskel’s voice was unsure, and he was certain you could tell. He was also certain that he was blowing any chance of getting to know you out the window if he kept up talking like this. Rehearsed and mechanical.
“Am I bothering you?” It was an honest question.
“NO.” Eskel’s eyes widened. “I mean… I.” He was lost for words, but you had the situation under control.
“I talk with a lot of people in my profession. But I don’t often get the chance to get to know them. Much less dine with them. I know Geralt and Yennefer, they’ve done more for me than I could ever pay them back for so I don’t discount them, but I don’t have anybody else. I’m sure this resonates with you?”
“It does, actually. I grew up with Geralt and Lambert under Vesemir’s guidance. I consider them family, but most of the time I’m not with them. I came here to visit with Geralt. To relax. But so far I’ve gotten quite the opposite.” He realized he’d said too much.
“What do you mean by that? Do you not like it here?”
“I like it plenty. Too much, in fact, that’s the problem. Geralt keeps telling me how great retirement is, and I can see that. The only thing is that the life of a witcher is all I’ve ever known. I’ve never consorted with witches or warlocks, nor dirtied my hands with politics. I know what I do and that’s what I do best. As appealing as it sounds, I could never quit the path nor would I want to.”
“You don’t have to, not completely. Geralt told me of all the winters he spent at Kaer Morhen. You can still take contracts, gods know there are plenty in Toussaint. But you could take time off. Build a cottage, or steal one. There’s many left abandoned in the countryside.” You laughed. “I’m not trying to convince you of anything, but I do see how happy Geralt is now versus how he was when I met him. There’s more, though, to your plight. Am I right?”
Eskel eyed you hesitantly. It was like he was weighing very heavy options in his mind.
“There is. Though I’m not sure you want to hear it.”
“Try me.”
“I’m a simple witcher, as I’ve described. Geralt found Yennefer many years ago and that was not simple. I’ve never had my eye on anyone, and the opposite goes as well.” He sighed as if he was already regretting what he was about to say. “But then I saw you at the docks covered in dye.”
There was a twinkle in your eye as Eskel continued.
“You’ve captured me and I want to know you.”
You reached over to Eskels hand which was laying on his thigh, yours was shaky against his, but still you grasped it. He did not back away or flinch at your touch, but took his other hand to rest upon yours.
“I’d like to know you too, Eskel.”
He smiled for the first time in front of you. Before, he was too filled with nerves and he knew that when he smiled his scars pulled on his lip in an unsightly way. But you seemed to not mind that.
“I like it when you smile.” You said sweetly, you surely did not mind.
here is a little teaser for the eskel x reader fic i'm working on :)
Eskel had nothing left to say. What he needed to do now was stew on the events of the past few days. Interactions and conversations with you and words spoken with Geralt. So he once again laid in his borrowed bed and thought. Would it be so bad? To talk to you and take the risk? I’m not even sure what my feelings would be toward her once I got to know her. All I know is that I want to. I need to. What would retirement look like for me? Could I do it?
i'm back on my eskel shit guys. my plan is to make another non-chronological series based on this one like my love letters series, so stay tuned
