Geralt shucks the dress off Yennefer's body, leaving her in just boots, stockings, and a filmy strip of fabric that barely counts as underclothes. She lowers herself back into the chair so gracefully that she could be a queen sitting in her throne. "You said you wanted to know what I thought about, late at night?" she says. "When I became distracted from my research?"

"Yes," he says. He pulls the doublet over his head and tosses it to the floor, along with his medallion, then comes to stand behind her chair. Their reflections gaze back from the dressing table mirror.

"Sometimes a passage from my books would remind me of you. Something you'd perhaps say or do. Then I would imagine what it might feel like to have your mouth on me."

He kisses her ear. His breath is coming fast in his throat. One of Yennefer's best qualities is her boldness, and she is just as forward in bed as anywhere else. At times she directs him like a marionette, and he likes the feel of the strings. "Where?"

"My breasts, to start with."

Geralt kneels before her and teases the tip of one breast with his tongue. Her breath hitches as he grazes the sensitive flesh with his teeth. "Like this?" he says.

"Yes," she whispers, "much like that."

His head spins again, though this time it has nothing to do with the portal. His life is so full of hardness and grit – the iron and silver of his swords, the dirt and rain of the roads he travels – that her body draws him like a lamia's song draws a sailor. Yennefer's skin is as smooth as her demeanor is sharp, and he could trace his lips over her for hours. He has, in fact, many times over many years, but each time they come together he discovers another sliver of her. Another secret.

His hands trace along her hipbones, then find their way to her underclothes. The fabric is wet to the touch, and he sucks in a breath as he slips a finger underneath, teasing her. "What else did you think about?"

Yennefer lifts his chin, and their eyes meet. "I would imagine your lips trailing downwards," she says, as evenly as she can, "and then I would imagine you using that stoic mouth of yours to make me come until I could hardly stand." Yennefer inhales, tensing her body for a moment, and her underclothes disappear with a slight crackle of magic. "Well?"

A shockwave of desire tears through his body. His lips graze her abdomen and her hips, and his fingers ghost over her clit. Then he eases away, tracing a pattern along her inner thighs instead of giving her what she wants.

She moans, twining her hands in his hair. He can feel the sharpness of her nails, and he likes it, the pain mixed with the pleasure of teasing her. "Geralt," she says.

"Say 'please.'"

"Oh, no. That's my game," she tells him, but a slow smile is spreading across her face.

"Beg me."

"You're an egomaniac."

"I'll let you do whatever you want in a minute."

Her hand snakes down between her legs as she tries to please herself, but he seizes her hand in his own and pulls her out of the chair. "Yen," he says, "I have spent months in a war zone, then a city ruled by a madman, then a boat that Skelligan marauders attacked and sunk. I thought about being with you, and fucking you, and lying next to you, the entire time. And you thought about me." Geralt pins her to the wall. She's still wearing her boots and stockings, but her head barely comes to his chin. He'd forgotten how short she is, how much cold fire she keeps in such a small frame. "So tell me how much you want this."

"That was almost poetic. Until you said 'fuck.'" He grabs her ass with both hands. "Oh."

"I'm not a poet," he says, kneeling in front of her again, "but I can do a few things with my tongue." His lips touch her core, just briefly. "So?"

"Mm. I want you to…" She trails off as he dips a finger inside her, then removes it.

"Want me to what?"

She lets out a cry. "Please," she says, "please. Touch me."

Geralt doesn't hesitate. He covers her clit with his tongue, and she bucks her hips, grinding herself against his mouth. He's so hard he wants only one thing more than burying his cock inside her, and that is her satisfaction. He wants the wide 'O' of her mouth as she orgasms. He wants the sting of her nails buried in his back. He wants everything he can remember about her body and its passions.

"Then put a finger back inside me," Yennefer gasps. She's reading his mind again. He does what she asks, tantalizing her with both fingers and tongue.

"Another," she says.

He moves his fingers in the same rhythm as his mouth, touching her faster, and faster, and faster. The taste of her, and the sound of her ragged breathing, drives him wild. When she comes he can feel it in her body's sudden slackness. She moans, deep and soft, like an animal's muted cry in the night.

He stands and runs his hands up her body, holding her against the wall. He keeps her upright as aftershocks of pleasure run through her. Geralt's mouth is slick with her but she kisses him anyway, biting and sucking with abandon, tasting herself on his lips.

"So you haven't forgotten how to please me," she says when she can speak again.

"Of course not."

Geralt had been with women – many women – before he met Yen, but she was the first who made him study her body until he could map her desires across her skin. On lazy afternoons she would spend hours instructing him where she wanted to be touched, and how. With other women, sex meant letting off steam. With Yen, it meant exploration.

"Good," Yennefer says. "Allow me to return the favor."

"Go ahead," he says, and nibbles at her neck. Then he notices that her eyes are fixed on something across the room. Geralt turns, and there it is, impossibly: the stuffed unicorn. He can't believe he didn't notice it earlier. "Oh, no."

"Oh, yes."

He can't keep a grin from creeping across his face. "How did you even get it to Skellige?"

She kisses his shoulder. "I keep many secrets, Geralt, and some of them I shall not reveal even to you."

"On second thought, I don't want to know. Plough the unicorn."

"That is filthy." Her gaze turns again from tender to fierce. "But I will plough you on the unicorn." Her hands rip at his belt buckle, and his breath catches in his throat as she finally touches him.

"Yen," he says, "slow down. I still have my boots on."

She shoves him playfully. "Then take them off. Quickly, now."

"Is that a command?" he says as he unlaces his boots and tugs them off. Geralt is an agile man, but he always feels clumsy next to Yen's poise.

"Yes. You said I could do whatever I wanted 'in a minute.' It has been more than a minute, so now you will do exactly what I want." She turns around, reaches for a brush and pot on her dressing table, and concentrates on her reflection as she applies another coat of lipstick.

"Really?"

"I've envisioned how this moment will go, remember? And in this moment, I will look perfect." He stifles But you always look perfect as he drops his breeches. "Now." She takes the few steps back to him and presses her body against his. Her hands trace down to his hips, and then his undershorts hit the floor. "Astride the unicorn, please."

Making love atop a stuffed unicorn of questionable structural integrity isn't something Geralt prefers. But his cock is now so hard that he would do anything to bury himself in the slickness he felt just moments ago. He heaves himself onto the unicorn's back, facing its rump, and extends a hand to Yen.

"Oh, no," she says. "Hands behind you."

He places his hands behind his head. As soon as his fingers touch, something coils around them: magic bonds. "You could just use a rope, you know," he says.

"Ah, but I'm terrible with real knots." She leaps onto the unicorn, crawling forward until their knees touch. "Now I shall have my way with you."

Geralt tries and fails to say something witty as her lips meet the scarred skin at the base of his neck. She kisses her way down his chest, and though each kiss enflames him, it also soothes him. No one knows his body better than Yennefer, and to have her kiss his scars is a kind of homecoming.

She lingers on the pitchfork scars that dot his abdomen. "It's a good thing you didn't stay dead, witcher."

"I agree," he says, panting.

"Because if you were…" She flicks her tongue over the head of his cock.

Geralt moans. "Yen."

"…I wouldn't be able to do this." She slides her lips down the length of him, then back, sucking and licking as she goes. Geralt's breath catches in his throat, and he lets his head fall back. His hair is loose on the unicorn's mane, white on white, and Yen's black curls move rhythmically in his lap. He fists his hands in knots of her hair, but she withdraws, leaving him gasping.

"What do I have to do to get you to keep going?" he bites out.

"Return the favor, that's all." She pulls herself closer and teases his cock with her slit. "Tell me what you thought of, all those nights on the road."

Geralt scrambles to pull his thoughts together. "I imagined what it felt like to love you," he says after a moment. "How warm you are. And wet."

Yen lowers herself onto him, and they both cry out as they come together at last. "And?" she says. Her stormy eyes darken with pleasure as she moves, slow enough to torment him.

"I thought about taking you so deep and hard you screamed."

She quirks an eyebrow and begins to move faster. As she rocks back and forth, she reaches down to touch herself. The sight of her magnificent body writhing on top of him, taking everything she wants, is almost too much for him to bear.

"Yen," he says, "Yen, please-"

"Beg me."

He manages a smile even as he feels he might split apart. "You haven't-" he gasps – "changed at all-"

"Beg me, Geralt." She places her other hand over his throat, choking him lightly.

"I'm begging you."

Her nails dig into his skin, and he meets each of her thrusts with his own. Their rhythm speeds up until she is screaming, wild and throaty, and seeing her orgasm again is too much for him to bear. He comes hard and long, riding out wave after wave of feeling as she collapses onto his chest.

When he comes back to himself, he can move his hands again, and he cradles Yen against him. Their skin is damp with sweat.

"My, oh my," she says after a bit. Her voice is muffled. "Why do we ever travel separately?"

"Well, we forgot that the other existed for a while, and then we-"

A small hand smacks his chest. "That was rhetorical, my darling fool."

He kisses the top of her head. "Not fool enough to keep me from seducing you again."

"I seduced you." She sits up and places her finger against his lips. "Not one more word." She slides off the unicorn and dips a cloth in her washbasin.

"I'll risk it," Geralt says as she dabs at her face. Though her lipstick should cover her from ear to ear, it's hardly moved. Sorceresses, he thinks, and tries not to roll his eyes. "It's good to be with you again, Yen. In every way."

She stops. "Do you really mean that? After…" After Triss, is what she wants to say, and both of them know it.

"Yes. I do." Her eyes still look shuttered, so he follows her to the washbasin and takes the cloth from her hand. "If I had a crown for every time I wished I could be with you these past few months, to talk to, and joke with, and touch, I could have sailed to Skellige with a merchant's fleet." Geralt wipes each trickle of sweat from her shoulders. They're still uneven, he notices, and he kisses them.

Yennefer looks at him tenderly. "A fleet would have been excessive. Even for you."

"Even for me," he agrees.

They towel each other off in contented silence. Geralt tugs his breeches back on, and Yen selects another dress from her cavernous trunk. "They'll be scandalized when they notice I've changed," she mutters.

"They're all probably too drunk to care."

"Hmm. One of the only perks of this cursed place." She draws her hands through the air, which shimmers in front of her. "Now, just a moment and we'll be right back at Kaer-"

"Yen. No more portals tonight. For me, at least." She huffs. "You go ahead. I'll walk."

"Suit yourself," she says, but she wraps her arms around him and presses one last kiss to his throat before she disappears in a golden flash.

Geralt of Rivia is not a man who whistles. But, he thinks as he strolls out of the deserted inn, he would right now if he could.

EPILOGUE

"I came at a good time, it seems," Geralt tells Yen as she pores through her books. The late afternoon light streams through the inn windows, and her long lashes cast shadows on her cheeks.

"You call a king's funeral good timing?"

"At least I got to meet all the jarls and their children this way."

"I suppose you're right." Yennefer stands and stretches. "I'll be back in a moment. I need a glass of apple juice."

"I'll get it," Geralt offers.

"No, no. I need to stretch my legs." She hurries out of the room before he can say anything else. Geralt shrugs and busies himself with his potions and oils.

A few minutes pass, and Yen doesn't return. Concerned now, he heads for the door. It's locked.

"Yen?" Geralt says. He tries the knob, but it doesn't move. Magic, he realizes. Yen's magic. "What are you playing at?"

"I was wondering how long it would take you to notice," says her muffled voice. "Look to your right. You see my chair?"

He turns to the right and sees an elaborately carved wooden chair. Yennefer's dress from last night is draped over it, and the five buttons he ripped off rest on the chair in a neat line. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"I left you my enchanted needle," she calls.

"But I don't know how to work that enchantment." Geralt reaches for the needle lying on Yen's desk. "Let me out."

"Certainly. When the buttons are back on my dress."

Geralt tries one last time. "Yen," he says, "I'll never do it again. Your buttons are sacred from this day onward. I adore you, and-"

"And I adore that dress."

Geralt isn't sure, but he could swear he hears muffled laughter on the other side of the door.

He half-smiles, half-groans, and picks up the needle.

A/N: I wrote this whole chapter with a lilac candle burning on my desk. An excellent investment, that.

Like I said, this is my first explicit piece, and I loved writing it, but I'm sure there's more I can do. Tips? Requests? Ideas? You know what to do!