The Witcher is Kind of Gay - 4. Yaevinn

‘I do appreciate it, you know,’ said Yaevinn.

Geralt took a sip of his wine. ‘Hm?’

‘What you have done for us. I know it was not an easy decision to make.’ He paused, drank some wine. ‘You had to kill a friend today. That knight.’

‘Siegfried.’ Geralt sighed. ‘There was never any way of changing his mind. A knight of the Order, through and through. For all that . . . He was misguided, but . . .’

‘He was a good man.’ Yaevinn’s words took Geralt by surprise, and he met his gaze. Yaevinn shook his head and smiled. ‘You are right to be surprised, I suppose. But the world is not divided into Scoia’tael and villains. As a Witcher, you know this better than most, Gwynbleidd. Sometimes good people make the wrong choices.’

‘And here I thought you were a militant, Yaevinn.’

‘Oh, I am that.’ Yaevinn smiled and drank deeply. ‘But I am prone to sentimentality, particularly when I am in my cups. So, here then is a toast, to fallen warriors. Ours and theirs alike.’ He drained his goblet, and Geralt followed suit. ‘Anyway. I know your code compels you to remain neutral. I am grateful that you did not. Do not for a second believe that I am not grateful, Geralt.’

Geralt shook his head. ‘I only did what I felt was right. I . . . remember more now than I did at first, but many details still escape me. People I ought to remember but don’t. And my Witcher’s training, our code, all of it is fuzzy at best. So now I follow my instincts. My gut. And my gut told me that this was the right thing to do. You were right. I have more in common with you than I have with most humans.’

‘Our choices are what defines us,’ said Yaevinn.

‘I would drink to that, but I’m out of wine.’

‘So are we all, unfortunately.’

The camp was quiet. Remaining in Vizima hadn’t been particularly tempting after everything that had happened, and so Geralt had accepted Yaevinn’s invitation. He would return, most likely the following day, but it was a relief to be able to ignore the political consequences that would no doubt follow, at least for tonight.

Around them, Yaevinn’s compatriots had near as all settled down for the night. Exhausted or drunk or both, they had found tents and bedrolls and were most of them fast asleep. Aside from a few scouts and sentries on duty, only Geralt and Yaevinn remained, sitting by the fire.

‘You helped me as well, you know,’ said Geralt. ‘I stood with you against the Order of the Flaming Rose, and you stood with me against Salamandra. So I’m grateful to you as well.’

‘For all you have done for me and mine, it was the least I could do.’ Yaevinn stood. ‘But now it is time for me to find my tent. You are welcome to join me if you like. I know you don’t need sleep in the strictest sense, but it must be more comfortable all the same.’

Geralt couldn’t help his sly smile as he stood as well. ‘Join you in your tent, huh?’ Perhaps it was the wine, or the after effects of battle, but Yaevinn, like most elves, possessed a certain otherworldly beauty, and though Geralt wasn’t fully aroused, now that the thought had entered his head it was hard to shake.

Yaevinn gave him a look that Geralt couldn’t quite read and set off in the direction of his tent. Geralt followed. Yaevinn’s tent stood a little ways off from the main camp. The perks of being a leader, Geralt supposed. It was small, and could not comfortably fit more than two people, but then that was all it needed to do.

As soon as they were inside, Yaevinn turned to Geralt. ‘You know, Aen Seidhe do not have the same . . . social restrictions as dh’oine do. Not in general.’

‘Is that so?’

‘It is. So if there is something you want, Gwynbleidd, you need not rely on innuendo.’

Geralt’s smile widened. ‘But I like innuendo.’

Yaevinn rolled his eyes, and without further ceremony reached out to cup the front of Geralt’s trousers. The touch was welcome, and Geralt leaned in to press his lips to Yaevinn’s. This seemed to somewhat surprise the elf, who uttered a soft, ‘Mmf!’ but soon he melted, allowing himself to be kissed while he continued to palm Geralt through the fabric of his trousers.

The kiss was slow, languid. They were in no hurry. Yaevinn’s lips were surprisingly supple and pliant, his tongue soft like velvet. Geralt unbuckled the leather strap over Yaevinn’s shoulder, removing his wide belt, and Yaevinn let him. Geralt bestowed the same touch on him as he was currently receiving himself. The other released a sigh against Geralt’s lips.

‘Good?’ Geralt murmured.

Yaevinn simply nodded, and began to unlace the front of Geralt’s trousers so he could get at his cock properly. By this time, Geralt was fully hard, and he groaned softly as Yaevinn began to stroke him with nimble fingers.

They lay down together on Yaevinn’s bedroll, taking their time to undress and touch one another. Lately, sex for Geralt had been a rushed affair. There was always something he had to do, somewhere he needed to be. Now he had no such worries, and Yaevinn knew it. He wouldn’t have let Geralt rush even if he wanted to.

‘I have been curious, you know,’ said Yaevinn, running his fingers over Geralt’s pale chest. ‘Hard not to be, everything you hear of Witcher stamina. Not if one is even remotely interested in the male sex.’

‘Which you are.’

Yaevinn smiled. ‘Which I am. Clearly.’ He slid his hand down Geralt’s stomach and wrapped it around his cock again. ‘As are you, it would seem.’

‘Ah! What . . . what gave me away?’ Geralt grinned.

Yaevinn chuckled softly and gave Geralt a couple of deft strokes. ‘Is this a common occurence, or am I an exception?’

‘Not common, exactly . . . More for lack of opportunity than lack of will, though. Where there’s attraction, gender holds no relevance.’

‘A man after my own heart.’ Yaevinn bowed his head and took Geralt into his mouth, and for several minutes the world was quiet bliss. The elf was certainly talented, his tongue swirling around the crown of Geralt’s member before he swallowed him down as far as he would go. Geralt didn’t want to make too much noise, but silence was impossible, and he found himself uttering soft grunts of pleasure. Then Yaevinn let go and came back up to kiss Geralt’s lips. Geralt kissed him back hungrily, and reversed their positions, so Yaevinn was on his back beneath him.

They were both the dominant sort, Geralt knew that without asking. Yaevinn would never let Geralt fuck him, and Geralt wasn’t in the mood to be fucked. He couldn’t remember if he had ever been the receiving party, though the idea did not entirely put him off. Some other time, perhaps. Now he settled for kissing and licking his way down Yaevinn’s sculpted chest and abdomen, until he reached his prize.

Yaevinn’s cock, much like the rest of him, was long and slender. Geralt took it into his mouth, savouring the salty-sweet taste. Yaevinn combed his fingers through Geralt’s loose, white hair, tugging ever so slightly. Geralt found himself enjoying that, and hummed appreciatively around Yaevinn’s cock before he began to suck, bobbing his head up and down.

‘Mm . . . careful, or I’ll come,’ Yaevinn warned him after a few minutes.

Geralt took his mouth off him and met his gaze. ‘I don’t mind one bit if you do.’

Yaevinn smiled at him. ‘Come here.’

Geralt did as he was asked, leaving a few kisses on Yaevinn’s torso before reaching his mouth. Yaevinn grasped his hips, tugging Geralt into place so he lay on top of him, their cock’s aligned. He locked his gaze to the Witcher’s and arched his back, grinding his pelvis into Geralt’s, and Geralt swore and licked his lips.

He took Yaevinn’s hand, lacing their fingers together before he thrust down to meet him, sliding his own cock against Yaevinn’s. Yaevinn was mostly quiet, only uttering the occasional soft grunt or gasp. Geralt tried to match him, but it was difficult when his entire body was aching for release. ‘Fuck . . .’ he breathed. ‘Feels good . . .’

‘Shh.’ Yaevinn’s hand snaked up into Geralt’s hair and tugged gently once more. ‘Control yourself, vatt’ghern.’

Geralt tried to slow his movements, hold back on his impending climax, though it was easier said than done. Yaevinn tugged harder at his hair, which only made things worse. ‘Close!’ Geralt gasped.

‘No.’ Yaevinn’s tone was firm. ‘Not yet.’

With a sound that very nearly amounted to a whimper, Geralt stopped moving. Dominant did not even begin to cover it. Yaevinn was as ruthless a lover as he was a warrior. Panting, Geralt rested his forehead against Yaevinn’s. ‘You’re a cruel bastard.’

Yaevinn only laughed. ‘You can hold back until I say so.’ He loosened his grip on Geralt’s hair and combed gently through the strands. ‘Now keep going.’

Geralt started up again, with excruciating slowness, every thrust of his hips making him feel like he was on fire. How he could ever have believed that he was in control of any of this was now beyond him. ‘Good. That’s it,’ Yaevinn murmured, and pulled Geralt’s face down to kiss him. He reached between them, taking both their cocks in his hand, and they worked up a rhythm together. Then Yaevinn got noisier—not by much, but still—and his heartbeat more rapid, and Geralt thrust faster and harder into his hand.

Begging was not Geralt’s style. He was not in the habit of pleading, but now he gritted out, ‘Please! Fuck . . . Yaevinn, please let me—’

‘Yes,’ was all Yaevinn said, and Geralt came with a stuttering thrust of his hips, spilling his seed onto Yaevinn’s cock and stomach. Reaching down and batting Yaevinn’s hand away, because this much he was determined to do, he brought his elven lover to completion in a few rough strokes.

After that he collapsed on Yaevinn’s chest, leaving sloppy kisses there, while Yaevinn stroked his hair and released a satisfied sigh. ‘That was good, Gwynbleidd,’ he said.

Geralt only nodded, too exhausted and spent now to even speak. Once his heart and breathing had returned to normal, he rolled off Yaevinn and onto his back. Finally, he managed to say, ‘Just good? Felt pretty fucking spectacular to me.’

Yaevinn chuckled. He propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at Geralt, tracing the lines of his chest muscles with his fingers. ‘It was very good.’ Of course he wouldn’t say more than that. The bastard. He did kiss Geralt, though, and then, after cleaning them both up with his own shirt, invited him inside the warmth of the bedroll, where they lay snug, Geralt’s front to Yaevinn’s back.

‘Been a while since I’ve had occasion to stay and sleep,’ Geralt murmured, and kissed the back of Yaevinn’s neck.

‘Then sleep, vatt’ghern,’ said Yaevinn, his tone one of mingled annoyance and amusement. He took Geralt’s hand, which rested against his chest, laced their fingers together, and drifted off to sleep.

When they woke just before dawn, they did the whole thing over again.