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daydreaming-in-letters · 10 months

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Kindred Spirit

Part Two - To Love

07/06/2023

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Reeja (ofc)

Word Count: 5,848

Warnings: healed wounds/scars, mentions of monsters, language, fluff, unprotected sex

Summary: Geralt awakes at Melitele and finds himself soon after in the nightly gardens of the temple to thank the woman who nursed him back to life.

A/N: I know, I know, it's been ages since I posted the first part and I couldn't blame you if you were sure by now that the second part would never come. But here it is and there are two more planned. I just hope it won't take as long until I finish the next part. 🤞

Divider by @firefly-graphics

If you like my story, you are very welcome to like, comment or reblog. Please don’t copy, repost or share my work on other platforms.

Even before he had opened his eyes, Geralt knew exactly where he was. At first there was the heady scent of incense from the pendulum, eased by the fresh smell of water that was running through the gardens and collected in smaller and larger pools or fountains. The sound and the cool it brought was meant to calm body and mind alike. A deep inhale carried a notion of the medicinal herbs that were planted all over the gardens, riddled with lots of ornamental flowers to bring a little colour and shape to indulge the eyes as well. Slowly the sweet perfume of the flower wreaths that had been left by the temple’s many visitors as an offering to the goddess mixed with the tangy notes of the herbs, accompanied by an equally sweet scent of honey that rose from the warm wax of hundreds of candles placed all over the temple. Melitele.

For many days, he had woken to the familiar scents of the temple. He had been much younger then, at a time that seemed like a whole lifetime ago now. Yet there was hardly anything that could ease his mind like the atmosphere at Melitele. It was rooted deep inside of him, the security and peace this place offered, engraved in his bones to be remembered forever.

Still, something was not quite right about it today. There was something else, something unfamiliar mixing with the usual notes. Geralt couldn’t stop the slight alarm from crawling up on him and forcing his eyes open even though his lids still felt too heavy to abandon his sweet slumber just yet. The rich scent hung heavily in the air that filled the room, clinging to the walls and furniture despite the soft breeze that drifted through the open window. It was everywhere, on the sheets, his pillow, it even stuck to his skin.

Grabbing a fistful of cool cotton, he lifted the covers and inhaled again. Even here, from all over his naked form the unparalleled sweetness filled his nose and made him shiver. It was probably nothing, just his mind playing tricks on him, an aftereffect of the venom.

His jaw clenched as his fingertips found the pink patch of new skin on his abdomen. That fucking arachas. Usually they were not a difficult kill, but this one had been remarkably feisty. It had surprised him in a way, or maybe that was just the lie he chose to tell himself instead of allowing himself the thought that he might be beginning to slow.

With a sigh he sat up, the idea pushed far away to the back of his consciousness for now as the room started to spin for a moment.

“Fuck,” he muttered, one hand fisting the sheets to steady himself while the other reached for his clothes that he had made out from the corner of his eye. They had been washed, mended and neatly folded before someone had placed them on a stool next to his bed. It didn’t surprise him in the least that they too carried the unfamiliar scent. Unfamiliar but pleasant and before he knew what he was doing, he found himself pressing the dark shirt to his face and letting the sweet scent invade his senses once more.

“You’re awake.”

He froze in place, feeling caught even though he had his back turned towards the visitor. There was no shame between him and the woman who had taken him in, taught him the little magic he knew and cared for him more than his mother had ever done, but still he was glad that he had already managed to put on his trousers. He hurried to do the same with his shirt before he turned, a huge smile on his face.

“Nenneke.”

She didn’t return his smile at first, worry clouding her dark eyes instead. “How are you, Geralt?”

“I’ve been better,” he scoffed, a half-smile turning one corner of his lips upward, “but I’d probably be much worse if it weren’t for you.”

“I had no hand in healing your wounds. And to be honest, I don’t think you would be at all if you hadn’t managed to reach Melitele in time.”

Slowly she made her way over to the chair that stood by the open window on the other side of his bed and sat. Geralt was not sure whether she was watching him button up his shirt or if she was observing something on the other side of the door. But he hadn’t even managed to reach the last button, when a whiff of air seemed to follow Nenneke’s path through the room and he knew.

The scent came richer than before, urging him to turn around and he had to steady himself as it rolled over his whole body, so fresh and enticing. His ears picked up a soft hum as well, as sweet as the scent it accompanied, and without noticing his hand lifted to ease along the pair of deep creases between his eyebrows.

“Who—” he started his question, but the words refused to leave his mouth as for a split second, someone came into view. She was gone as quickly as she had appeared, too fast for him to memorise whether she was short or tall, whether her hair was long, blonde or black, there was only one thing apart from her scent his mind had committed to memory: her eyes. They were beautiful, sparkling, but so were others. No, there was something else about them, something deeper, that had drawn him in in the blink of an eye, irrevocably, that had opened him up for her to gaze beyond flesh and bone directly into his heart.

“That’s Adreejana.”

For the second time, Nenneke’s voice startled him and as he turned to find an amused smile on her lips, he could feel the heat crawl into his cheeks.

“She’s the best student I ever had. I introduced her to the studies of healing, her salves and potions are extraordinary. Don’t tell her I said that, but they might even exceed my own. You would still be unconscious and lying in bed with a bad fever if it weren’t for her.”

It took him a while to find his voice again, and even then he only managed to form half a sentence. “So she’s the one—” who nursed me back to life, he had wanted to say, but it would have sounded awfully sentimental for someone like him.

“She is.”

As if the confirmation had made her reappear at the door again, Geralt turned once more. Of course the spot where she had been mere moments ago was empty, still he couldn’t help but stare foolishly at it.

“Why don’t you go talk to her? I know she may seem shy at first, but once you’ve gained her trust, I’m certain you two will find that you have much in common.”

He strongly doubted that. Whatever could he have in common with someone like her? Someone delicate, refined, someone soulful.

It was quiet now in the gardens. Without the sound of birdsong or the buzzing of insects, there was only the soft susurration of the leaves and grass, mixing with the light gurgling of water from the fountains and pools. And a little further away, somewhere in the dark, he could make out a low hum.

It was what he had come for—who he had come for—and still it made him stop in his tracks. He had put this off all day even though his thoughts had revolved around little else. It was ridiculous really to be this nervous about talking to a woman for the first time. He had talked to many women before, had uttered things in the heat of carnal passion he wouldn’t even dare repeat to his brothers, yet here he stood, lost for even a simple expression of gratitude for the person who had healed him and thus saved his life.

With a sigh he finally pushed on, his feet growing heavier with every step and once again, he contemplated turning back around and trying again in the morning, when his eyes made out her form in the deserted garden at last. As he had anticipated, she was harvesting herbs—woolly thyme, lamb’s ear, lavender, sage. Some said it was mere superstition to do so at night. He wasn’t one of them. And neither was she, it seemed, as he watched her go about her work for a while. Skilful hands moved swiftly, yet the movement was of an elegance that only sprung from long experience. She looked so innocent, the world around her forgotten while she had fully emerged herself in her task.

Thanks to the darkness and the fact that her back was turned to him, he still couldn’t make out any distinct features. From what little hair peeked out from underneath the veil that covered it, he could tell it was of a dark colour, probably an earthy tone, and long, ending somewhere just above her behind. And even though the fashion of her dress resembled that of the temple priestesses, its colour, most likely a shade of green, told him that she wasn’t one of them.

Without a sound, Geralt drew closer, eager to discover more details on the way. But all he got was more of her scent, pure, like the rest of her, as the first winter snow. The closer he came, the surer he grew that for the first time, Nenneke must have been mistaken. They had nothing in common, not in the least. On the contrary, it couldn’t have been more obvious that everything about her was a stark contrast to himself, a monster in comparison, his hands having killed so many while hers had probably saved the same amount of lives, or more.

It almost seemed blasphemous to touch her, still he found his hand reaching out for her until his fingertips found the warm skin of her bare shoulder. She jolted, rising to her feet in an instant, but it was only when she turned to face the intruder that Geralt felt her heart speeding up and caught the hitch in her breath. He fully expected her to take a step back to bring some distance between them, but to his surprise she stayed put.

“Geralt!” Her voice was steady, seeming perfectly calm, but then her words chose to betray her. “I mean Master Witcher, um, Mr White Wolf of Rivia, sir.”

“Geralt is fine.” He tried an encouraging smile, but when she didn’t return it, he feared he had messed up. He didn’t have much practice in smiling and more than once he had been told that it could strike more terror than his scowl. The only reaction he could make out was a quick nod.

“Can I help you with anything, Geralt? If you are looking for Nenneke, she’s—”

“I’m not looking for Nenneke.”

“You’re not?”

“No.” Without meaning to, he took a step closer.

“Some medicine then? Is the wound still troubling you?”

Even before her hand reached out, he could sense the movement. It wasn’t consciously made but born from instinct, leading her as far as the black fabric that covered his stomach before her senses came back to life, and she pulled away in a hurry. Wide eyes starred up at him, shocked by her own lack of restraint.

“Actually I was looking for you.”

“For me?”

If it was possible, her eyes grew even wider.

“Yes, for you. Nenneke told me who you are and what you did for me.”

Her mouth opened for a reply, but then she seemed to remember something and averted her gaze. It wasn’t hard to guess which images had come back to her judging from the flustered state she was in and another pleased smile spread across Geralt’s lips.

“I wanted to thank you for your…kindness,” he teased, reeling in the way it almost made her squirm.

“It was nothing.”

They both knew it was far from nothing. She had saved his life.

“You needed help and I knew what to do. Anyone else would have done the same.”

If Geralt had learned anything about mankind, it was that there was no help to expect. Not for a witcher.

“Believe me, they wouldn’t.”

For a moment, they just looked at each other. He wasn’t sure whether to try a smile again, but when he noticed the nervous fiddling of her fingers, he abandoned that idea. Instead, he took the freshly plucked roots she had been twisting and turning from her hands and brought them to his nose.

“Valerian?”

Immediately her face lit up, “You have an understanding of herbs?”, just to fall again when she realised. “Sorry, what a stupid question. Of course you do.”

“A little, yes. Not that my knowledge could ever match yours though.”

Geralt watched her teeth dig into her lower lip, the thread of their conversation slightly slipping from his mind.

“I probably don’t even know half as much as you credit me for.”

“And still it’s obviously more than I do.” He lifted the roots in his hands before putting them back into the basket that was still standing next to her feet. “For example I didn’t know valerian had to be harvested during a full moon.”

His deduction made her chuckle and even though he didn’t know why, he couldn’t help but smile along.

“It doesn’t. I just didn’t find the time during the day.”

“You better don’t keep your sleepless patient waiting then.”

Idiot, he scolded himself. The conversation had just begun to become less awkward and now he was practically sending her away. And judging from her bewildered look, she would be more than eager to escape him. But then her gaze suddenly cleared.

“Ah, no. The valerian is not for a patient.”

“Hm. So it is you who has trouble sleeping then?”

Her eyes fell to the ground. “I do, sometimes.”

“Do you know what I used to do when I couldn’t sleep during my time at the temple school?”

She shook her head. Of course she didn’t know, how could she? And when she lifted her head in hope of an answer, she found his hand already waiting for her to take it.

“Come, I’ll show you.”

There was no hesitation in the way her hand found his. It looked so delicate against his own, glistening in the bright moonlight like a precious jewel. He gave her a moment, waiting for her to reach for her basket, but she didn’t. And so he began to lead her through the nightly garden. Soon they reached one of the inner courtyards which housed a small fountain lined with jasmine. The air was heavy with its intoxicating aroma and he could feel it take a hold of them both.

It was silent here, apart from the string concert of a few cicadas and the steady breathing of his companion behind him. She probably knew where they were headed by now, still she didn’t let go of his hand as he stopped in front of the large wooden door. He listened for a moment, and he only allowed himself to breathe again when his ears didn’t pick up any heartbeats on the other side. With a groan the door gave way and Geralt lead her to the middle of the pitch black room.

“Close your eyes,” he whispered, his lips close to her ear, causing a shiver. And even though his command seemed redundant in a dark room, she did as he had asked of her. “Wait here.”

Soon, the black was replaced by soft hues of gold and orange that danced across her closed lids and she could feel his presence by her side even though she hadn’t heard him approach. The warmth that radiated off his body came closer and she felt it seep through her clothes and underneath her skin long before his chest met her back. Gently his arm rounded her middle until his hand came to rest on her stomach and he pulled her closer. Warm fingers touching her forehead, he guided her head back to rest against him.

“Now open your eyes.”

The soft vibrations of his low voice rumbled through his chest, spreading to her own body, rolling through her to collect deep inside her core, causing a sensation that threatened to unleash in a heady moan, when she obeyed his wish and the sight before her rendered her speechless.

She knew the room, knew the dark blue ceiling with its spots of mother of pearl and gold, but she had never seen it like this. The blue had faded to black in the dim light of the candles, the dancing flames creating a perfect illusion that made her feel as if she was gazing straight through the ceiling, up into the night sky with a million of twinkling stars.

“This is my favourite room at Melitele. I used to sneak in here many nights during my time here.”

It was his voice again. There was something about it that made her foolish and what made it even more dangerous was that it stopped her from caring. And so she closed her eyes and allowed her head to tilt towards the warmth of his cheek until she could feel the tickle of his scruff against her skin.

“I think it is something about this artificial sky, it offers a strange sense of peace.”

She hummed in agreement, her cheek moving against his in a gentle caress and his fingers pressed further into her stomach in a wordless answer.

“If people knew, they’d surely come here more often.” Not simply because of the view, but because of his connection to it. “You are quite the legend inside these walls.”

She could feel him stiffen against her back. “It seems I have quite the reputation outside of these walls as well,” he scoffed.

“Really? I didn’t know that. I don’t leave this place often. What do people say?”

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“No,” she finally whispered after a moment of consideration, wiping away the tension from his body with just one word. “I’d rather like to find out who you are by myself.”

He would have noticed much sooner, but the hand that found his neck distracted him for a moment. The heat it brought spread through his whole body, pulsing through him without restraint until the blooming desire made him dizzy. But even through the white noise that clouded his ears, he could hear it loud and clear. He also felt it, against his chest as much as underneath his fingertips, beating wildly and faster with every breath she took. There was also this scent, heady and bewitching as it evaporated from her skin freely, and he knew that it meant one thing and one thing only. She wanted him, just as much as he wanted her.

Assured by the unmistakable signs her body sent him, his hand began to wander, following the call of heat south, a heat he felt growing stronger in the valley of her thighs with every heartbeat. The grip on his neck tightened as his fingers finally reached their destination. Everything about her was ready to give in, her legs slightly spreading, allowing him more room to venture further, her lips falling apart in a gasp, aching to meet his, so close now, when the spell suddenly broke and she drew away.

His instincts told him to follow her and for the first time in forever he felt they had betrayed him when she took another step back, away from him. And so he stopped, ready to apologise and bid her goodnight. He had seen this many times, people, women, shying away from him as soon as they realised what he was. By now, he didn’t take it personal anymore. The fear in their eyes had lost its power to break his heart long ago.

But it wasn’t fear he found when her eyes met his again. At least not of him. For once, someone hadn’t fled his touch because they thought he was a monster. She was afraid of herself, afraid of giving in to her own desire.

Patiently he waited until her breathing slowed and when he took another step towards her, she didn’t shy away again. To be fair, she wouldn’t have come far anyway with one of the large pillars that supported the ceiling almost right behind her. But the smell of honeyed nectar that began to pool at the apex of her thighs as he drew in on her promised that she didn’t want to go anywhere.

She was so close now, his chest almost touching hers, the heat of her laboured breaths slipping past the buttons of his shirt to tease the hair that covered his pecs and stomach. He inhaled deeply to steady himself, a mistake, he realised at once as another strong wave of her arousal flooded his senses. One hand reaching for the cool stone behind her to keep him from crushing into her, his eyes fell closed as the world began to spin.

“Geralt?”

He wasn’t sure what caused his eyes to snap open again, the worry in her voice or the touch of her hand, squeezing his own. He thought he was dreaming as he watched her while she slowly lifted it to her face to cup her cheek. She was soft as silk against his touch and soon he found himself exploring more of her, fingertips gliding along her jaw, her chin, her lips. Somewhere along the way her eyes had fallen shut, her lips parted and she was his.

He was hers too, although he couldn’t tell when exactly it had happened. Had it been when he had first laid eyes on her, that brief moment after he had regained consciousness? Or had it been while he had watched her work, the moonlight washing over her form and making her glow? Or was it now that his lips touched hers for the first time, barely even so, careful, probing, then deeper, more intimately until her arms and legs wrapped around him and they tasted each other fully, breathed each other in as if they could do the impossible and become one.

Not here though, not in an act of fleeting passion against a stone pillar. He wanted to enjoy this, wanted her to enjoy this, to celebrate whatever it was that was blooming between them, all night long. And then all morning, all afternoon and evening and then all night again, until they were blissed out and spent.

And so he carried her to his room, her lips not once leaving his until he had set her down on her feet again. Gently he took her hands from his neck and brought them to his mouth to kiss her fingertips.

“Tell me what you want me to do, Adreejana.”

“Call me Reeja, please.”

“Reeja.” A shiver washed over her skin as his lips and tongue caressed her name, speaking it with a softness no one ever had. “What else do you want me to do?”

She pondered his question for a while, aching to feel him close again, to kiss him, and yet there was something that would make all of this even sweeter.

“Undress yourself.”

She had expected him to raise his brows in astonishment or at least tease her a little for her request, but he did nothing of the sort. He simply did as she had asked of him, starting with the buttons of his shirt. Reeja remained close, watching as determined hands yanked the dark fabric out of his trousers before it glided from his wide shoulders and fell to the ground. He didn’t stop, not one second of hesitation as his fingers repeated their actions on his trousers and they, too, fell away to reveal every last bit of him.

Geralt watched the same twitch in her hand that he had seen earlier tonight when she had asked after his wound, but this time, he hoped, she wouldn’t pull away.

“Go ahead, nothing you haven’t touched before.”

The sensation of her caress tempted him to close his eyes when her fingers finally found his skin, but even more he wanted to see them move, wanted to watch her explore his body, no matter how much it would cost him not to go insane with want while doing so.

The movement of her hand mirrored that of her other, tracing the lines of his shoulders and clavicles until her fingers touched right underneath the dip where his neck and chest met and ventured further down to graze through his silky fur. She let them rest there for a while, her right hand close to his heart.

“I always thought a witcher’s heartbeat is supposed to be much slower than a humans.”

“It usually is,” he smirked.

“Oh.”

She was adorable when she was flustered and he couldn’t help his hand from gliding into her hair to bring her lips to his again. All senses dazed by his kiss, he could feel her touch loosing grip and her hands began to drift down his stomach. Lazily they followed the slight up and down of his muscles, moving closer to the prominent V that lined his hips when they came to an abrupt stop and then left his skin altogether.

Bewildered by the sudden absence of her touch, Geralt broke the kiss to search her eyes for the reason of her retreat.

“Does it still hurt?”

It was clear that he didn’t understand, his eyebrows knitting even closer together than before her question.

“Your scar.”

He still looked a little puzzled, but then he followed the line of her finger that pointed at the latest edition to his collection. It was hardly any different from the many other scars that decorated his skin, only a touch of light rose hinted at the fact that it was the most recent of them all.

“No, it doesn’t.” He hadn’t even noticed a difference when her fingers had crossed it. And even now, when they found the freshly healed wound again, her touch didn’t cause any discomfort. On the contrary.

“I’m afraid it will stay though.”

Slowly his hand pushed across hers, sealing it in place.

“Good, it will forever remind me of your kindness. The mind tends to forget, but scars remember everything.”

“I know.” Her voice was but a mere whisper, her eyes suddenly avoiding him once more and when she freed her hand from underneath his, he let her. Shaky fingers began to unclasp the plaited leather belt that set on her hips before they travelled up to the simple golden fibula on her shoulder, the only thing that held her dress in place. By now her hands were trembling so violently that it kept gliding out of her fingers over and over again.

“May I?”

It seemed that her words had abandoned her once more, still she consented with a nod and Geralt was quick to finish the task for her. He could have watched forever as the olive fabric cascaded down her form, like a curtain, falling instead of rising, to reveal what his eyes had longed so much to see. The moment was over too soon, but the effect grew stronger by the second, until every single fibre of his body was fighting the urge to sink his fingertips into her skin to feel her, all of her, inch by inch by inch.

Instead he forced himself to look up into her eyes again. She was about to turn when he caught something in her gaze that sent a cold shiver down his spine. And then he understood. Almost all of her back was covered in a huge, angry burn mark, spreading all the way from her shoulders down to her pelvis. Simply imagining the pain it must have caused her made his stomach turn and red heat course through his veins. He wanted to touch her, to soothe the memory of the pain however long ago it might have subsided, but then he remembered how hesitant she had been to touch his scars and halted midway.

“It’s appalling, I know,” she spoke lowly, and he knew he had messed up again, his hesitation leading her to believe that he was repulsed.

“No, it’s not. Not in the least. Nothing about you could ever be appalling to me.”

She sighed and he knew she didn’t believe him even before she spoke again. “Then why did you pull away?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

A myriad of emotions washed over her face at once and Geralt hadn’t identified them all when she took his hand and brought it closer to her face. Softly her fingertips glided along his palm, inspecting it as if she could measure whether his hand held any danger.

“You would never.”

No, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. And he was eager to show her when she guided his hand to her back and placed it right in the center of her scar. He was astonished how smooth it was, silky and soft like the rest of her skin. The tissue was nothing like the scars on his body, not bulgy or messy to show at first glance how much the wounds had hurt. But he knew all too well the agony she must have been through.

“What happened?”

She turned in his arms, burying her face in the crook of his neck, and he pulled her tightly against himself.

“Let the past be the past. Just for tonight. I promise to tell you another time. But for now I’d rather forget about it.”

“Then let me help you forget.”

The touch of her lips was light, barely even palpable against his strong pulse, but he hadn’t just imagined it and it was all the confirmation he needed. He left an open mouthed kiss on the top of her shoulder, his tongue darting out to taste the salted honey of her skin. A few inches away, he repeated his movement, venturing further with every kiss until he had reached the exact spot her lips had met his skin mere seconds ago and a loud moan broke the silence as he began to tend to her sensitive flesh. It was heaven and he needed more of it. Luckily he knew how to get it, not waisting a single second to let his fingers glide right into the heat they had tasted before. Slick with arousal, she welcomed him in, sharp nails digging into his shoulder the further he ventured.

“Geralt,” she breathed, sending a flash of lightning straight to his loins that coaxed an unholy grunt from the depths of his chest. “If you keep on using that technique I will have forgotten even my name come morning.”

He stopped immediately, a deep chuckle telling of his amusement as he softly removed his fingers.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?”

She had wanted to reply something witty, but when the two glistening fingers he had pleasured her with vanished in between his lips with a delighted hum, her mind went completely blank. Speechless she watched as he walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge, his massive chest bouncing enticingly in the process. If he had already registered her dumbfounded state, he didn’t let on. Not even the slightest hint of a self-satisfied smirk played on his lips as he extended his hand and bade her join him.

He had probably anticipated she would take the place next to him, but she chose to climb his lap instead. She could feel him against herself, hard and heavy, twitching in anticipation as she pulled herself even closer against him. There was a need in his kiss she hadn’t felt there before. But not only in his kiss, it was in his hands, too, as they eagerly grabbed her behind and guided her up and down. It matched her own, matched the growing heat inside of her, from a fire only he could quench.

“Have you…have you been with a man before?”

“With men, yes. But never with someone like you.”

“A mutant?” He didn’t know why he had assumed that was what she meant, a reflex probably. But it made her stop and that was the last he had wanted.

“No,” she laid her palm against his cheek, her eyes holding his intently, “a gentle soul. A kindred spirit.”

“Reeja.”

His voice was shaky, overwhelmed by the goodness her heart held. And thankful for it because maybe it was that very goodness that made her see beyond what everyone else saw in him and helped her fathom the goodness in his own heart. And however little of it still remained, it was hers, entirely hers.

“Geralt,” she moaned his name as she aligned his tip with her entrance and lowered herself in an agonisingly slow pace. Their names were the last that was spoken. There was no room for more words, all they needed was to feel. Feel the way he filled her so perfectly as if they were made for each other, feel the velvet of her walls embracing him tightly, welcoming him deeper with every slow roll of her hips. It was anguish and delight, they were delirious, lost in each other and yet they had never been more at peace.

Every kiss, every thrust they celebrated with the longing of the first and the hesitancy to let go of the last, their bodies completely tangled in each other after he had turned them both over. She was writhing underneath him, drawing him down against her to feel more of his delicious weight on her. Grunts and groans, mewling and moaning filled the silence of the night, rising, rising, rising until they both came apart in each others arms. Once, twice, losing count somewhere in the spiral of desire and satisfaction long before morning came.

For Geralt’s taste, it came far too soon. His limbs were still entangled with Reeja’s, impossible to unravel. Not that he had wanted to. He loved to lie here, nestled in between her breasts, her fingers woven into his hair to keep him close. In the still of the approaching morning he could hear her heartbeat against his ear. Steady now, needing the peace after the heated passion of the past night. He pushed the thought aside for the moment as it threatened to fan the embers of his desire anew, but he didn’t want to wake her. There would be time enough to spoil her again after she had rested.

He smiled when he recalled the original plan to leave as soon as his wound had healed. Everyone always chided him for not allowing his body to properly restore itself. Maybe it was time to try something new and listen to them, just this once. Just to make sure.

***

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daydreaming-in-letters · 2 years

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Kindred Spirit

Part One - To Live

08/27/2022

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Reeja (ofc)

Word Count: 1,171

Warnings: blood, injuries, fever, mention of monsters, Geralt fighting for his life

Summary: After encountering an arachas in the woods, Geralt needs to gather all his remaining strength to make it to the nearest sanctuary, the Temple of Melitele.

A/N: I've had the idea for this in mind ever since the launch of season 2. I'm more than delighted to bring you the first of four instalments today.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

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He was tired. So tired. Limbs heavy as lead, his head softly bobbing to the rhythm of Roach’s steps. Once again he could feel it lulling forwards and he didn’t know whether he would find enough strength left in his aching form to fight off sleep once again. He was aware what it would mean if he gave in to the temptation, but it felt like the right thing to do. To stop fighting at last, to leave the burning pain behind, and cut the last remaining string that bound him to this miserable existence.

It would be all right. Not a glorious end, but a fitting one. And why should he worry about it anyway? He would be dead and such profanities wouldn’t matter to him anymore. But objection came promptly as a soft nicker broke the silence and startled him. It took him a moment to realise that Roach had stopped, and after a short but strenuous battle his eyelids fluttered open to a view that sparked new hope.

His eyes had been longing to take in this sight for hours now. Or had it been days since that fucking arachas had pierced his flesh and planted a gush of its venom inside his body? He couldn’t tell anymore, his sense of time had blurred in his delirious state. What he could tell though was that he had almost made it, his destination lying right ahead of him like a shining pearl amidst a sea of emerald green.

“Go on, Roach,” he mumbled, the three words merged into one slurred term. “You know the way.”

The reins had slipped through his numb fingers a long while ago and there was no chance at all he would be able to flex the massive muscles in his thighs to bid his friend move on, but Geralt didn’t need to. And so he allowed his lids to fall closed once again as the mare’s steady steps rocked his tormented body back into sweet delirium.

The soft light of the late afternoon sun fell through the leaded glass, painting his bare torso in the prettiest hues of blue, purple and dark green until his bruises had melted with the colours completely. Careful fingers smoothed a damp cloth along his chest, to soak up the sweat from his feverish skin as much as providing him with some much needed cooling. With each move, Reeja could sense every single ridge of his chiselled form underneath the linen in her hand. She caught herself licking her lips, her cue to finally tear her eyes away from his impressive pecs and the soft fur they were covered in for a moment to check on the wound in his abdomen.

It was closed already and completely dry. By tomorrow, she guessed, there would be nothing left but an angry, pink scar to remind him of the fact that he had barely just escaped death’s claws today.

Satisfied with her work, Reeja disposed of the cloth and pulled the thin sheets up to his shoulders. She was about to rise from the edge of the bed to let him slumber in peace when her eyes landed on his handsome face once again and she knew she couldn’t leave him like this.

It was more than apparent that he was still in a tremendous amount of pain, despite the strong tonics and the pain killing salve she had applied to his wound earlier. But the arachas’ venom was strong and therefore it was no wonder that even his body had its difficulties neutralising the toxins in his bloodstream. Luckily she had never encountered one of the insectoids herself, but those who had and still lived to tell their story swore that it felt as if their blood had turned into streams of lava, burning them alive from the inside. No wonder he clenched his jaws so hard that she feared he might shatter his teeth in the process. His forehead was lined with deep creases and covered in a light sheen of sweat. Like the rest of his body, she thought and shivered.

Gentle fingers wiped a few sticky strands of white hair from his face before her thumb pressed down on the deepest creases of them all, the short, vertical lines between his eyebrows. He groaned softly as she began to apply a soothing pressure—just like her mother had done whenever Reeja had been struck down by a fever as a little girl—and let her thumb tenderly glide along the sign of his torment. But it was only when the quiet hum of her voice echoed through the room that she could finally feel him relax a little.

The poor man, she thought, as she kept on watching him intently. It had needed four of the temple’s strongest inhabitants to carry his unconscious form into these chambers. Someone had found him passed out on the steps right outside the front gate—a miracle he had made it that far with the enormous amount of poison flowing through his veins. Nenneke herself had called for her shortly after, with a terror in her eyes that Reeja had never found there before and she had known immediately that whatever she had to do in the fight for this man’s life, losing it wouldn’t be an option.

But despite giving it everything she had got, for a long time it hadn’t looked like they were going to win. It was only when the dark veins that seemed to crawl from his wound like black bolts of lightning slowly began to fade against his milky skin that she knew he would live.

For the first time, she had allowed herself to lift her gaze and look Nenneke in the eyes again, but it weren’t only her eyes she had found on herself. It seemed a whole crowd of spectators had gathered around them in the meantime, and after the first relief she could see something else awaken in their gazes. Their curiosity was understandable, considering that it was the White Wolf himself who had just battled for his life, probably one of the most famous students the school of the temple of Melitele had ever seen. But even he was entitled to some privacy and so she had shooed everyone away and waited until they were alone before she had stripped him off his clothes that were drained in a stenchy mixture of caked dirt and drying blood—not solely his own, she assumed. It had taken her a while to peel every last layer from his body without moving him around too much, always fearing his wound might break open again, but as soon as she had succeeded, she had begun to clean his bruised and battered form. All of it.

The thought still heated her cheeks with the might of a blazing firestorm. She was sure that, in her whole life, she had never seen a man like him. Then again, he wasn’t a man.

He was a witcher.

Part 2

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