Author's Note: After I finished The Witcher 3: The Wild Hunt, I couldn't believe there wasn't more M-rated fanfiction about Yen and Geralt. I adore them...and since I'm working on my M-rated skills, I thought I'd try to write the fics I wasn't finding.

If you don't like reading about fictional characters boning, kindly hit the back button. This is my first story with explicit sex, and I intend for it to get steamy.

'Beg Me' gives a bit more of a, hmm...satisfying look at what happens when Geralt finally sees Yennefer at King Bran's wake. The story skips through some of the scenes at the wake before landing at the inn. I've probably gotten some little lore details wrong; feel free to correct me, but I don't care that much.

Seeing Yennefer after a long time always feels like a shock to Geralt. They've left each other and reunited many times, but even a glimpse of her dark hair and her intelligent, piercing gaze are always sharper than any memory.

She must know he's walking up the pier at Kaer Trolde, into the crowd of mourners, but she doesn't turn around. He enjoys the sight of her in profile: head raised to listen to the speeches, exposing her long neck. Attentive, calculating, measuring the air around her. A keen observer, Yen is. Like him.

Yennefer fiddles with the charm at her neck, and his eyes are drawn to the triangle of pale skin at her neckline. She's dressed elegantly, in dark velvets and furs. Though Geralt knows he should pay attention to the eulogy for King Bran, he can't focus on anything but Yennefer.

"You look beautiful," he murmurs as he sidles up next to her.

She looks at him and smiles, just a hair. "Thank you."

If she were a different woman, her still face would make Geralt doubt that she meant those words. But he sees her shoulders relax, and she sways ever so slightly closer to him.

"It's good to see you again," she adds after a moment, and then he smiles just a bit, too.

The feast hall at Kaer Trolde echoes with the sounds of drinking and eating. Men and women toast to Bran's legacy, and musicians fill the hall with a rhythmic din. Geralt can hardly hear the sons of the jarls as they boast across the table.

Next to him, Yennefer can barely keep from rolling her eyes. Out of instinct, he places a hand on her knee. It's just meant to calm her, but it's the first time he's touched her in months, and he sighs at the feeling of her.

She glances at him, one brow raised as if to say, Here?, then slides her hand down to cover his.

As they search the halls outside Ermion's quarters, Geralt lets his gaze wander to Yennefer's lips. No one else has lips like her, he decides. They're full, and usually parted just a hair, as if she's about to say something. To cast a spell, maybe, or cut someone to ribbons with her tongue.

He wouldn't mind if she cut him with that tongue of hers. He's thought about it plenty since they met again six months ago, and the reality of her just a few feet from him makes those thoughts bubble to the surface of his mind.

"Someone's coming," she says, startling him. "Footsteps. The guards." She's right. Damn it. He should have noticed. "Behind the tapestry."

"The tapestry, Yen? Really? Are we in one of Dandelion's plays?" he mutters, but she's already dragging him behind it. The tapestry is long and heavy, with an alcove large enough to hide them both.

Which is good, since he's so close to her now that he wouldn't be able to think through finding a hiding spot on his own.

"Aren't you lucky I'm here, then?" she whispers, and Geralt realizes that she's been reading his mind. He wraps his arms around her waist and rests his head on her shoulder, breathing in the scent of lilac and gooseberries. He can feel the heat of her.

"Don't try anything," Yennefer says, but there's teasing in her voice, and a slight wobble, too. He's not the only distracted one.

"Nothing you wouldn't like."

And then they're both quiet as the clanking of the guards' armor fills the room.

He draws his hands along the lines of her body, slowly, so as not to disturb the tapestry. His fingers feel out the black velvet of her overdress and the silk of her shift. There are her hips, which curve delicately into her waist; there are her ribs; there is the hammer of her heart, which thrums beneath her skin; there are her breasts.

If they actually were in one of Dandelion's plays, he would deliver a soliloquy on how perfect he finds her breasts.

As it is, he contents himself with the hitches in her breath as he presses her even closer to him. His hands wander to her face, to the lips he was admiring earlier. She kisses the pads of his fingers, then draws one into her mouth and sucks. Yen knows that makes him weak in the knees. His body fills with fire as he images her mouth on –

She turns suddenly, bites him hard on the lip, and then brushes the tapestry aside. The guards are long gone, Geralt realizes. Yennefer's breath is unsteady as she says, "Come, then. We've no time to lose."

"Surely we can spare five minutes." The heat in his groin makes it impossible to think of anything else but his hands on her hips again, this time with no dress in the way.

"You make a compelling argument, witcher. We can spare five minutes…" Yennefer brushes a finger across his lips. "Later."

"That a promise?"

"Let's say it's conditional," she says, raising one eyebrow, "on whether you work hard enough to deserve it."

They've made a mistake, Geralt realizes as soon as the golem collapses on the floor of Ermion's chambers. The gas that fills the room smells of sulfur and earth. Damn it all, he thinks. If he'd been concentrating harder, he might have noticed that Ermion placed a second trap.

Yennefer clutches the Mask of Uroboros so tightly that her knuckles go white, and she whirls around to look at Geralt. "Is there anything you can-"

"No." Geralt doesn't recognize this scent, and even if his antidotes protected him from the poison, they'd kill Yennefer. "Teleport us out of here."

She pushes the mask into his hands and draws a circle in the air in front of them. "I know this isn't ideal," Yennefer grits out, "but think of something – the first good thing that comes to mind – and using the portal won't be so bad-"

Instead of thinking about how much he detests portals, Geralt thinks about kissing her, her mouth open to his. He imagines the feel of her lips as they move from his mouth to his neck. He imagines her hands in his hair, pulling him closer, closer, until he gives himself over entirely.

There is a flash, then sudden heat on his skin, and they're gone.

The cold stone of the inn floor calms Geralt's spinning head. The scent of lilac and gooseberries deepens, and now he can detect other scents: wine, old books, soap. They're in Yennefer's rooms.

He sits up, then closes his eyes for a moment, letting the nausea and dizziness fade away. He opens them again when he feels Yennefer's hand on his temple. She is on her knees in front of him, and she is stroking his hair, lightly, calmly, without saying anything. He leans into her touch like a cat. The mask of Uroboros lies a few feet away, he notices, relieved.

"Are you all right?" she says after a minute.

"I'll be fine. You?"

"I've ripped my dress. But I'll live, I think."

"Your dress? That's serious." He catches her hand and presses his lips to it. Yennefer would rather go naked than wear clothing not up to her standards. Once, he remembers, she hurled an entire trunk off an inn balcony after she discovered that moths had gotten to her underclothes.

"Oh, hush." She pauses. "Well? Are you going to kiss me or not?"

"So you heard that thought, then."

"I would wager a guess," she says, leaning forward, "that anyone in Kaer Trolde with magical abilities heard it."

Geralt glances at her dress, which is torn along a seam. Underneath are her stockings, then the bare skin of her thigh. He slides his hand up her leg until he reaches that skin, which still tingles with the dissipating magic of the portal she summoned. "What do you think?" he asks. "Have I earned my five minutes?"

"You've earned one, at least." Her eyes don't leave his.

He pulls her into his lap, ripped dress and all, and kisses her hard. She moans lightly and opens her mouth under his, and then she is on him, her mouth rough and demanding. She bites his lip again, in the same place she bit it before, but instead of letting her get away this time he tightens his grip on her waist and bites her back. She gasps, and he soothes her lips with his tongue.

"Do I get the other four minutes?" Geralt asks.

"Mmm. Yes." Yennefer slips a hand under his rough, Skellige-style doublet and runs her fingers up his chest. "That was even better than I'd envisioned."

"You thought about this?"

"Of course I did." She smiles. "Perhaps not as much as you."

"You'll have to fill me in on those thoughts," he says, and nips at her neck.

"They are private."

"But you listen in on my thoughts all the time. See-" He imagines her riding him on the enormous bed in the next room, exultant as she takes her pleasure from him, and the image makes him burn. "What was I thinking of just now?"

"About something that would please me as much as it clearly pleases you." She brushes her other hand across his trousers and smirks. "But first things first. I must attend to my dress."

"You've taken up sewing?"

"Are you mad? I've an enchanted needle."

He shakes his head, stands up, and follows her into her bedchamber.

At this point, the luxury Yennefer manages to find for herself, even in places like Skellige, no longer surprises him. Fur rugs cover the floor, and two full-breasted sirens carved of wood hold up the mirror on her dressing table. When she sits in front of it and reaches for the buttons on the back of her dress, he pushes her hand away. "Let me," he says, and runs his tongue along her earlobe. He watches her reflection shiver with desire.

"If you pop a single button-"

He pops all five of them with a single tug.

"Geralt of Rivia."

"You have an enchanted needle, remember?" The black velvet of her dress pools around her waist. He unhooks her thin corset and admires the curve of her pale breasts, the sudden flush of her nipples, in the candlelit glow.

"I will make you regret the day you first saw me," Yennefer says, and pulls his hands onto her breasts. He groans as he cups them, then rubs his thumbs over her nipples. They harden at his touch. "I will make you beg-" she gasps – "for my forgiveness."

"Make me beg, then."

"Oh," she says, her voice throaty, "I intend to."

Author's Note: Aren't they the loveliest? And fear not: their sexy adventures will be continued. Do you have suggestions as to what should or shouldn't appear in the next section? Do let me know!

Oh, and the unicorn will be making an appearance in the next chapter ;) I'd never leave it out!