worstsin | (no subject)

Entry tags:

amalthea,
nina

(no subject)

There was something wrong happening.

At first Geralt had avoided the woods, because it felt like that off-ness was concentrated there. The birds and insects had gone quiet at first, and soon after they'd started to flee to the forest's edges. Though autumn had barely begun, in some areas Geralt found trees turning rusty, leaves dying off.

That had been at first, and from there things had gotten wronger.

When Geralt realized what was happening, he went to the woods. He worried it had no longer become an issue of protecting himself until he managed to leave Darrow, but of protecting Darrow potentially from himself.

Whatever corruption existed in the forest, growing and spreading, it affected his body, and his mind. It had twisted itself around the witcher mutations, had expressed them in new ways, or simply more.

And so Geralt was back at his old camp. Hiding, biding time, and keeping a baleful eye on the situation. He ought to do something about it, but what? What could he do, when he didn't even understand what was happening to himself?

He sat beside the fire, hunkered over an evening meal in a foulest mood. His skin was paler than usual, dark veins standing out against the white. All of his senses screamed. He gripped his dinner in hands that had begun to end in blackened, pointed nails, that reminded Geralt too much of Regis. That was the bruxa in him, no doubt, a fact that he wanted to put little thought into, if he could avoid it.

The canines that filled his mouth too much more than they used to, those were likely more attributable to a manticore mutagen.

And the fact that he had made dinner of a squirrel, and had not felt the bother or desire to cook it, that Geralt wanted to put thought into even less.

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He felt her skin prickle under his fingers, and then settle again, beneath his touch. With her dress lifted over her head, Geralt gave a grunt and lifted both of them from where he sat to drop them onto his makeshift camp bed, a pile of quilts and furs on the top of a pile of dried, shredded grass.

Geralt mouthed at Nina's hip, tracing the soft way the bone of it stuck out just enough when she was on her back. His teeth tugged at the lace band of her dark underwear.

"You're so soft."

Nina's breath escaped in a little huff when her back hit the camp bed. She could smell the leather and fur and sweet grass, and she liked it.

But she didn't have a lot of time to think about how much she liked the scent as Geralt's mouth, hot and perfect, traced kisses across her hip. She squirmed at the light scrape of his teeth.

"I work very hard on that," she quipped, a grin lighting her face. It was nice to hear the appreciation in his voice.

"Mm, the work paid off. Could probably use some more time soaking in a tub and some oil myself."

Geralt's voice was distracted, his eyes drinking in the details of Nina's bare skin. The gentle way her belly button dotted the middle of her, the constellations of tiny, light brown moles that decorated her here and there.

He took her underwear in his teeth firmly this time, and while lifting her hips with his fingers pressed gently into her, he tugged the fabric down toward her knees. Setting Nina back down, Geralt moved them the rest of the way off, slowly, moving inch by inch as his rough hands smoothed down the length of her bare legs. She shaved them.

That caught his attention, made his trousers feel uncomfortably tight, too restrictive. But Geralt left them on, at least for the meantime.

Geralt caught the scent of her down there, stronger now that she was bared, and excited. His eyes fluttered shut, his jaw gave a shudder. When he opened his eyes again, the thin pupils shivered.

Edited 2017-09-22 01:50 (UTC)

Nina bit her lip as Geralt peeled her panties off with his teeth. She lifted her hips to help, so aware of the callouses on his fingers, the rough slide against her soft skin.

She wasn't even trying to listen and she could still hear the thrum of his heart, the way his body responded to hers, and she didn't bother to try to quell the ache she felt. She looked at him, lips slightly parted as she breathed and she couldn't help the shiver coursing through her.

Anticipation.

There was a joke, some little witticism on the tip of her tongue, but it died there when she saw his eyes, the way he looked at her. Saints.

Geralt leaned toward over her, body touching hers, his skin hot even through the thin fabric of his white blouse. He smoothed one of his palms up her chest, careful of the points that had developed, unwanted, at the ends of his nails, but only just. He let them trace Nina's skin, barely, until he reached her bra. He pressed his palm below the cup of it, molding against the round give of her breast. Her nipple, already becoming hard, rolled against his palm.

He made another growl of interest in the back of his throat, very softly, and bent low over Nina again, pulling back so that his head rested between her legs.

Geralt rubbed his cheek against the inside of her thigh, rough hair there brushing against sensitive, impossibly tender skin.

"Nina," he murmured, eyes gone half-lidded. "Still okay?"

Nina arched her back and reached beneath herself while Geralt teased her breast through the damned fabric. With a soft, frustrated sound she managed to get the clasp free. As much as she appreciated the lingerie here, she wasn't quite used to bras yet.

She managed to get it off, tossing it somewhere while Geralt slid down her body; she could feel the scruff of his beard against her thigh. It took every ounce of restraint not to try to wiggle her hips. She could feel his breath against her and it was maddening.

But she still shivered at the way he said her name. Oh, she'd be dreaming of that.

"Geralt," she breathes, voice tight with desire. "I promise I will be very clear when it's not okay."

Her fingers slid through his hair, tangling, giving a little tug.

Geralt chuckled, because he knew that Nina was becoming frustrated, could smell it on her. Knew that she was serious and she was saying she was about done with hearing his consistent requests for reassurance. She wanted him, badly. He wanted to give himself to her.

"Shhh," he murmured. "I won't interrupt."

He pressed his long, straight nose against the mound between her legs and breathed in, hands beginning to shake unsteadily against her, holding himself back. Geralt darted his tongue out, hot as his skin, and licked along the split of her, before slipping his tongue in. The motion was gentle at first, curious and thoughtful, as he memorized the smell and taste of her.

Then he found the center of her and folded his tongue around, moving against her with more and more pressure, more and more roughly, but patiently, restrainedly slow.

He was, as promised, utterly silent.

Edited 2017-09-22 02:27 (UTC)

His laugh was infuriating and Nina slid one of her legs over Geralt's shoulder like she had every intention of hooking his head closer if he didn't do it himself.

But saints, he did. Nina's head dropped back with a soft, sharp gasp at the first touch of his tongue. Oh it had been ages, and Geralt knew what he was doing. Her fingers stayed tight in her hair and the other hand grabbed at the blanket beneath her.

"Don't stop," she moaned, like she was legitimately concerned that he might. Nina moved her hips, nearly matching the rhythm of his tongue, seeking more, more. "Tak, os tak."

Geralt didn't, he wouldn't have. His tongue kept moving against her, experienced, untiring. His breath was hot, deep, impossibly even. He worked her until he could feel her nearing an edge, feel the muscles in her thighs tense and shake.

And then he slowed, gentled, until she fell back from the edge. But only once. Any more, and she would become too sensitive, he might risk making her overstimulated, sore.

He urged Nina on again with a soft noise of encouragement, his hands moving up and down the sides of her torso in long, gentle strokes, assured and eager to hear her tumble over.

Her thighs trembled and her hands clenched and unclenched, pulling at his hair and at the blanket as he worked her higher. She could feel the sweet coil of tension in her, low in her belly. She couldn't be still and she was trying, desperately, to ride his blessed mouth when he started-- he started to slow.

Nina whimpered, eyebrows drawing together in sweet consternation as Geralt teased her.

She eased down from that sweet edge with a soft whine, tried to catch her breath. But it only lasted a moment and she shivered hard when his voice vibrated against her. The way he touched her, his rough hands dragging down her sides to her hips as he worked her up again.

This time he let her have it. Her voice broke and she reminded herself they were in the middle of the woods and who cared if a bunch of deer and a few foxes heard her? She moaned, sharp and sweet as her body tensed. She tried not to trap his head, fairly certain a man needed to breathe even if she coming. She nearly sat up as her stomach tightened and as she sank back down again she pushed at his head, gentle but insistent.

Nina practically shoved his head against her, and Geralt gave the same laugh again, very quiet, a rumble. He lifted his face, Nina's hands still pulling at his white hair. Geralt replaced his tongue with his palm, pressed the flat of it against her there as he crawled up her body.

He mouthed her hip, sucked until he left soft, damp red marks. Geralt found Nina's neck again, soft, shapely, and instinct, the heady smell of her, had his lips wrapped around the column of it before he could argue otherwise with himself. His teeth dug in, less gently, and he pressed into her skin with them, leaving a broad love bite there.

Edited 2017-09-22 03:15 (UTC)

Her fingers loosened their grip, going weak in the wake of her pleasure. A little grin flickered to life when she realized he was leaving little bruises along her hip. His shirt brushed over her skin as he climbed higher and even that felt exciting.

Nina's breath caught when Geralt's mouth covered the delicate column of her throat. Her fingers tightened in his hair, a brief warning to be gentle. But he was. He bit her, but it was more tantalizing than anything else, and she blushed to think about explaining the mark to Inej.

Maybe she would just let her wonder.

As soon as he released her, she tugged Geralt's head a little higher and kissed him as she framed his clothed hips with her thighs.

"You smell gorgeous this way." He mumbled against her mouth, face flushed pink from arousal, eyes swamped with black. He kissed her back, messy, feeling her lips against his, against his beard. Geralt let out a very long, low growl.

He shifted to straddle one of Nina's bare thighs, pressing down against her, rough and hungry for contact, his cock hard and trapped between his legs. It wasn't a terrible sensation, arousing in its own right, all sweet torture and ache.

Geralt gripped one of the quilts beneath them with his hand, hard enough that his pale knuckles turned a pure white even under firelight. His nails, what had become claws, ripped into the layered fabric. He was alright with the sacrifice of a blanket or two. He'd managed to be gentle with Nina.

Edited 2017-09-22 03:35 (UTC)

"Not so bad yourself." Her voice came out breathless and her hands slid down Geralt's back until she could grab his hips. She pressed her thigh up against him. "Are you going to take these off?"

She lifted her eyebrows at him and her hands released his hips to start gathering his shirt, drawing it higher across his back; she let the fabric tease his skin as much as her fingers did until she pulled it over his head. She met him with another kiss and she could hear the fabric tear as he dug into it.

"Not sure." The words were in perfect honesty. Geralt made an exquisite grimace as Nina pressed up against his cock, throbbing where it was caught between his legs. He bared his teeth, gave a pant.

"I like that. I liked it- it was-- " He breathed again, more slowly.

"I should really just ... calm myself down. Maybe throw myself in a river."

It wasn't that he didn't want her, because he did. It wasn't that Geralt had any particular hangups, because he did not. But something was still wrong, something was still off in him. He didn't fully trust himself.

But he lay down against Nina. Gathered the blankets around her. Lifting a hand, he brought the fire to stronger life, the flames lifting more, warmer.

Saints, she could feel him against her.

"Is that really necessary?" She knew something had him spooked, but she trusted him and more than that, she trusted herself.

As his weight settled against her, Nina tried to calm down a little. "Don't think you had to worry about me getting cold," she said with a small smile as he gathered the blankets around her. As it was, his body heat was doing plenty for her.

"What, the fire? Or the river?"

He didn't smile, but in the firelight, his eyes glittered. He settled in beside Nina, now shirtless, and he pressed their chests against one another, curling her against him, beneath his chin.

"You still planning on staying? Not sure what you might wake up to in the morning. Might be a side of me you're not gonna like."

"The river," she clarified, smiling back at him. Even if they were subtle, she found his expressions easy to read now. She twisted toward him, snuggling against his chest.

"Yes, I'm still planning on staying. I'm a very stubborn person, Geralt. Surely you've noticed." Her voice was light and she pressed a tender kiss to his chest. "Besides, you might see a side of me you don't like. I am not a morning person," she sniffed.

"Are you sure you don't want...?"

She trailed off but as she did her hand slid down his stomach, until her fingers brushed over his covered cock.

"And I'm a very thick witcher, but I've noticed."

He was about to tell her to relax, to go to sleep, when her hand found the heat and throb between his legs. He'd been trying to will it to settle, trying to wait out the hormones in his own blood, but the gentle ouch, knowing that it was a woman's hand, renewed it all.

"Mm," was all he managed to say. He pressed his hips against her hand, his mouth a thin line as he sighed.

She tipped her head up to kiss his neck, to let her lips drift along his jaw. "That isn't a yes or a no, Geralt," she murmured against his skin.

It seemed like a thin line to walk: he had stopped, and perhaps she should just respect that but-- but he'd wanted, hadn't he? Nina wanted to offer, just once more.

"Yes."

It was soft, but certain. Nina wanted certainty from him, he understood perfectly. He was willing to give it. He reached down, fingers tugging, a little clumsily, at the laces of his trousers. He hadn't grown used to the change to his hands yet. Fortunately. Nina had stopped things where they were.

At least for now.

Her sigh sounded like relief and Nina leaned up to kiss Geralt full on the mouth. She helped, or maybe just got in the way, as the pair of them tried to work his laces free. She laughed, because she had to, and after a moment she shoved Geralt's shoulder and used her body to push him onto his back.

The blanket fell away from her as she straddled him and she made quick work of his laces from there. "Men and all your complicated gear," she teased as she leaned down over him, smiling as she nudged into another kiss.

"Ow. He whined, but he hadn't been hurt. Instead, he looked up at Nina above him with expectant amusement, eyes bright again, yellow, but warm in the light of the fire.

"And you haven't seen the first of it. I'm under-dressed tonight."

He had figured nothing would bother him. That was true enough -- Nina was here, but she was the opposite of a bother.

He kissed her back. His hips, narrow beneath her, gave a jump when her knuckles brushed against his cock, beneath the thin fabric of his underwear.

"Just my luck." Nina sat up more so she could work his shorts lower. And maybe she bit her lip at the sight of his cock, a coy little smile flickering across her face.

Her eyes, deep green in the dim light from the fire, slowly traced back up to Geralt's face as her fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly.

Geralt's head fell back. He let out a quiet sigh of deepest relief. Nina's hands were warm and soft on his prick, her touch was kind but eager. The smile on her face reminded him of no one, and that, too, made him enjoy the touch all the more.

"Nina, please."

His hands serched for purchase, and found it, one in the blankets, one on the nearby log he'd sat on.

Geralt's nails dug in deeply, fingers pressing into the old wood with a strange strength reserved usually for landing sword-blows against fleders and forktails.