The Witcher is Kind of Gay - 5. Cedric

Here's a really sad one. Merry Christmas!  

Geralt climbed the ladders up to the observation platform by Lobinden. As ever, Cedric stood at the edge, observing the forest, bow at his side. Geralt approached him.

Cedric spoke before Geralt had even reached him, his hunter’s ears no doubt recognising the sound of his gait. ‘Did you find your rose of remembrance, Gwynbleidd?’

Geralt nodded, stepping up next to him. ‘Yeah. Gave it to Triss.’

The elf smiled sadly. ‘The legend says if you give the rose to someone you love, it will never wilt.’

‘Mm. Legends say a lot of things.’ Geralt scratched the back of his neck, unwilling to continue this vein of the conversation. Cedric showed no signs of relenting.

‘Do you think it will live forever in Miss Merigold’s hands?’

Geralt considered telling him to mind his own fucking business, but something about that sad smile of his, his voice slurred by drink, made him hold his tongue. Cedric did not deserve his scorn. He was a kind elf.

‘I don’t know,’ said Geralt at last, truthfully.

Cedric nodded, and they stood in silence for a while. At last, Cedric looked at him. ‘Why did you come, Gwynbleidd? What do you need?’

Geralt shrugged. ‘Nothing. Wanted to thank you, for your advice on the kayran, and for helping me find the rose.’

‘Think nothing of it.’ Cedric turned his eyes back on the forest.

Geralt reached into his pack and retrieved a bottle of vodka. ‘Thought we might share a drink, if you’re willing.’

Cedric smiled again, glancing at him, and the bottle in his hand. ‘That I am always willing to do.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Let’s go somewhere else. There’s an oak nearby in the forest. I go there to think. And to drink. It would be nice to have company for once.’

‘Lead the way,’ Geralt told him.

* * *

The oak stood by a pond, amid ferns and moss. It was a grand oak indeed, thick branches forming a canopy of leaves above them. If it rained, Geralt was sure not a drop would reach them if they sat by the oak’s wide trunk.

They made themselves comfortable amid the roots of the tree, and Geralt passed Cedric the bottle. The elf took a long swig, and looked at the bottle. ‘This is . . . pricier than what I normally drink, I think.’

Geralt shrugged one shoulder, and took the bottle when offered. ‘Maybe.’ He studied Cedric’s face for a moment. The elf was not looking at him, instead gazing off between the trees, at some unseen thing in the forest. Or perhaps he was simply gazing at the forest itself. He wore a fond smile.

‘This forest,’ he said after a moment, ‘is everything to me. It is the place I know best. The place I love most. It is part of the reason I left the Scoia’tael. To dedicate myself to this.’ He gestured with his hand. ‘Is it not beautiful, Gwynbleidd?’

The Witcher nodded. ‘It is. This is a beautiful place.’

‘It’s terribly elven of me, isn’t it?’ Cedric’s eyes gleamed with good humour then. He looked far happier here than Geralt had seen him in the brief time he had known him, and Geralt was pleased that he was capable of happiness still, however brief.

‘Yeah,’ Geralt conceded. ‘But that’s okay. You are of the Aen Seidhe, after all.’

Cedric laughed softly. ‘That I am.’

Geralt smiled. ‘Anyway, I’ve always been fond of elves.’ He paused, considering. ‘I think,’ he added after a moment. ‘Hard to be sure with my memory being largely gone.’

‘You have helped my kind in the past,’ said Cedric. ‘Even gone so far as to side with the Scoia’tael against dh’oine, I believe?’

Geralt gave another nonchalant shrug. ‘It was the right thing to do.’

‘And that is what sets you apart from other vatt’ghern. Your need to do the right thing, rather than maintain your neutrality. I . . . try to be neutral, now.’

‘I know,’ said Geralt. ‘I take it the Scoia’tael see this as betrayal.’

‘They have left me be, so far.’ Cedric took another drink of vodka, wiping his mouth. ‘But a battle is coming. I may once more have to pick a side . . . Or perhaps I’ll not get the chance . . .’ He trailed off, and Geralt took the bottle from him, taking yet another drink before handing it back. Taking it, Cedric fixed him with a penetrating gaze. ‘Why?’

‘Why what?’

‘Why are you fond of elves?’

Another shrug. ‘Guess I just like the underdog.’

Cedric shook his head. ‘No.’

Geralt sighed. ‘I feel I have a lot in common with the Elder Races. Witchers live long lives, you know. Not as long as your kind, perhaps, but . . . I’m nearly a hundred. Humans are mayflies by comparison, it’s hard to form lasting friendships, especially when most of them are distrustful of my kind. I know a thing or two about enduring the hatred of humans. Also,’ he said, smiling, ‘elves are just really pretty.’

Cedric laughed out loud at that. ‘Are we now?’

Geralt took in Cedric’s face, the sharp cheekbones, the angular features that all the same had a softness to them. ‘Yes. You are.’

Cedric looked thoughtful. He took another swig of vodka, and then scooted closer to Geralt, until he sat facing him, no more than two feet away. Slowly, hesitantly, he leaned in. When the Witcher did not pull away, Cedric touched his lips to Geralt’s. The kiss was feather light and soft. There was feeling, willingness, honesty in that kiss, and Geralt responded to it by cupping the side of Cedric’s face, running his thumb over his cheek. His mouth tasted of vodka, but he smelled like spring rain. Geralt felt desire rising in the pit of his stomach.

When they parted, Cedric was smiling. ‘Do you want me, Gwynbleidd?’ he slurred, drawing the word out.

Geralt hesitated a moment. ‘You’re drunk, Cedric.’

‘Yes, I always am. But you didn’t answer my question. Do you want me?’

‘Yes,’ said Geralt, with honesty.

Cedric kissed him again, harder this time, deeper, and Geralt could hear his heartbeat quickening. As Cedric’s tongue entered his mouth, Geralt uttered a soft groan. They came up for air a minute later, both panting. Geralt licked his lips. ‘Cedric . . . You sure you want this?’

‘I would not have kissed you otherwise,’ Cedric breathed.

That was all the encouragement Geralt needed, and he drew the elf into his lap, kissing him deeply. He pushed Cedric’s green jacket off his shoulders and kissed his neck, scraping his teeth over his jugular, and biting his shoulder, firmly but not painfully. Cedric was soft, pliant in his arms, and his body responded with great enthusiasm to Geralt’s touch. Geralt felt the elf’s hard cock against his thigh, and smiled.

‘Eager, aren’t you?’

Cedric released a small moan, and quivered when Geralt palmed him through his trousers. Cedric rocked his hips, and Geralt felt his own cock harden at the friction.

‘Will you fuck me, Gwynbleidd?’ Cedric’s voice shook, his entire body taut and trembling. ‘Please?’

‘I’ll do anything you want,’ Geralt replied, and meant it. Cedric needed this, needed someone to want him, to love him if only for a moment. And, in the moment, Geralt knew he would do just that, because in a way, he always did.

He reversed their positions, pressed Cedric down on his back, until he lay in the moss, amongst the ferns, gazing up at Geralt with eyes half closed. Like this, in the green, with the afternoon sun filtering through the foliage of the great oak above them, Cedric looked otherworldly, pure, beautiful. Geralt could see that, before the drinking and the pain, Cedric had been a proud elf. Confident in his heritage, but no less compassionate or kind. And he would have been an idealist. All Scoia’tael were, underneath it all. One would have to be, in order to fight for such a cause, an idealist at heart. Yaevinn had been pragmatic, but he too had been idealistic. Geralt wondered for a fleeting moment what had changed, to make Cedric abandon such ideals and become a realist. But then Cedric pulled him down into an open mouthed kiss, and all thought flew from Geralt’s mind.

He unstrapped his armour and undressed the elf with deft hands. He stroked Cedric’s cock, slowly, watching his eyes flutter closed, hearing his breath and his heartbeat change, speed up. When he took him into his mouth, Cedric whimpered softly. Geralt could tell that it had been a while since anyone had done this to him. Geralt slid his tongue over the head of Cedric’s cock, tasting the salty-sweet bitterness, before swallowing it down, as deep as he could, provoking a cry of pleasure from the other.

Geralt slid a hand up Cedric’s body. His smooth, hairless skin felt warm. He caressed his neck and cheek, and then pressed the tips of two fingers to his lips. Cedric parted them, pulled the fingers into his mouth, licking, until they were coated with saliva. So he knew how this was done.

Taking his hand back, Geralt reached between Cedric’s legs. The latter parted them willingly, raising his pelvis to provide access, thrusting into Geralt’s mouth as he did, and Geralt groaned around his cock. He pressed his fingers to Cedric’s hole, and after a moment it gave way, allowing for the entry of first one finger and then the other.

Geralt released his cock with a soft, wet pop, pressing his fingers as far in as he could, until Cedric was panting, covering his mouth with the back of his hand to stifle the moans issuing forth from his lips. Geralt pulled his fingers out, undid his trousers and pulled them down, finally revealing his own cock. Though already slick with pre-cum (he always had been a leaker), Geralt spat in his palm, stroking himself a few times. Then he positioned himself at Cedric’s entrance, and slowly, agonisingly pushed inside the tight warmth of him.

Cedric arched his back, and Geralt grasped his thigh, gritting his teeth, because this sensation was almost too much. It had been a good long while since he had been in someone’s ass. Longer still since he had done so with spit alone. As he sank in to the hilt, he groaned loudly, stilling, calming his heart and his breathing, getting used to how impossibly tight Cedric’s ass was. He worried that he was hurting him, but Cedric rocked his hips, and Geralt slid, impossibly, even deeper.

Staying still for a moment longer, he leaned forward, placing his weight on Cedric’s lean body and trapping his weeping cock between them. With his free hand, he stroked Cedric’s dark hair away from his sweaty brow, locking gazes with him, trying to read those old eyes. Cedric exhaled shakily, his eyes gleaming, pupils blown wide with lust, though the sun shone above them.

Geralt crashed his lips into Cedric’s and all at once began to move, coaxing a soft cry from the other’s throat, swallowing the sound. Pulling his mouth away, he leaned his forehead against Cedric’s and drew a shuddering breath of his own.

‘Fuck,’ he groaned. ‘You feel so good.’

Cedric’s voice was high, desperate. ‘As do you . . . Please . . . Don’t stop!’

Geralt kissed him again, picked up his pace. Cedric had loosened somewhat around him, less overwhelmingly tight now. He kissed Cedric’s cheek, his eyelids, ran his tongue down his neck, back up again to nip at his earlobe. Cedric pushed back against him, quivering with every thrust and uttering short, high moans, bordering on whimpers.

When Geralt felt his own climax building, he reached between them, taking Cedric’s cock in his hand. ‘Do you want to come?’ he asked, his voice even deeper and more gravelly than usual. He could hold back still, if Cedric hadn’t had his fill, but the elf nodded, and so Geralt began to stroke.

His partner did not last long, his seed spilling onto his stomach and over Geralt’s hand. He tightened up so much again at his orgasm that Geralt could muster but one more thrust before he swore and came, spending himself inside Cedric’s tight ass and collapsing on top of him, finding his lips again and kissing him, hard.

The kiss broke, and Cedric put his arms around Geralt, held him tight, breathing into his ear. His hand went into Geralt’s white hair, some of which had come loose from its ponytail, and caressed the short hair on the sides. After a moment, Geralt rolled off him, and after taking a few deep breaths, stood and made his way over to the pond where he rinsed his hand and, for lack of anything better, soaked a tuft of moss in the cool water and returned with it so Cedric could clean the cum from his stomach and chest.

They dressed, and sat in silence after that, finishing off the bottle of vodka. Cedric had the last sip, draining it and putting it down on the ground.

‘I dreamt the other night that I died,’ said Cedric after a while. ‘I think . . . I believe I’m not long for this world.’ Geralt opened his mouth to argue, but Cedric raised his hand to silence him. ‘Don’t pity me, or try to comfort me. I am ready. I’ve lived too long. And you have already provided me with all the comfort I need.’

He met Geralt’s eyes, then, and a sad smile played across his features. ‘I am glad that we could share this, Geralt.’

Geralt was accustomed to elves calling him by his moniker, White Wolf, in their Elder Speech. Gwynbleidd. He liked the sound of his true name spoken in Cedric’s soft, gentle voice, and he leaned closer, hand firmly gripping the back of Cedric’s neck, and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, as though he could taste his name on them.

‘So am I, Cedric,’ he said, touching his forehead to Cedric’s again. ‘So am I.’

* * *

When the elf lay bleeding out at the foot of the old oak, Geralt knew he had been right. He took it seriously, Cedric’s vision about him. After all, he’d known he was going to die, when they were here together, what felt like a lifetime ago, though it had really only been a couple of days. Geralt regretted nothing, and he sat with Cedric until the life left his eyes and his heart stopped beating; watched as the forest bid him farewell. Then he closed the elf’s glassy, unseeing eyes, kissed his forehead, and whispered, ‘Va faill, Cedric.’