Bear Patiently, My Heart

Months had passed since that fateful afternoon when Geralt of Rivia saved you from a monster in the woods, and you thought of the night you two had shared more often than you’d like to admit. You saw him everywhere; his eyes in the yellow poppies you planted in your garden, his silver hair in the reflection of light off water, the hitch of his breath in a gust of wind. You kept yourself busy, working late nights at Dedrik’s tavern and chastising yourself for thinking so often of a man who likely didn’t even remember your name. 

“Orion.” 

You paused at the deep voice, but didn’t turn around. It sounded like his, but was probably just one of the regulars and you didn’t have time to be wishful. “I’ll be right with you, sir,” you responded, continuing to polish the last of a stack of mugs.

“Take your time,” he responded, and you obliged. It didn’t take long though before you turned around and were face to face with that razor-sharp jawline. You had heard stories of witchers’ heightened senses, rumours that they could hear heartbeats - if that was true, then Geralt definitely heard yours skip. 

You cleared your throat and shifted your weight, “Back in town?” you asked, attempting to appear poised and unbothered by his long absence from your life. “Ale so good it brought you back for more?” “Something like that,” Geralt responded. He looked you up and down, but it wasn’t thirst on his face; it was hunger. Slowly, he produced two coins and set them in front of you. “Drink with me.”

With a tight lip you took the coins and set them beneath the bar before filling two mugs of ale. You gave one to Geralt and kept the other for yourself, nodding towards a secluded booth in the corner of the tavern. The two of you walked over to it, sitting across from each other in silence for a moment before you could muster up the courage to talk. “If not the ale,” you asked, circling a finger around the rim of your drink, “then might I assume you’ve come for more repayment?” 

He leaned back in his seat, taking another sip. “I was passing through town,” he said, “thought I might find you here.”

“Well, here I am,” you responded, uncertain of how to feel. The fact that he had remembered you and thought to come find you sent butterflies through your stomach, but you were sure his intentions weren’t nearly as romantic. “There are some rooms for rent upstairs if you’re leaving soon,” you continued on, “Dedrik charges by the hour.”

Geralt cocked an eyebrow and you wondered if maybe you had actually misread his intentions. “I was hoping to spend the night in that cottage of yours,” he said, “unless I’m not the only visitor you’ll be having tonight?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his words. Other men had vied for your attention, sure, but your sheets hadn’t felt the warmth of another since that morning months ago when you awoke and found that Geralt had left in the night. “Only you, witcher.” 

It wasn’t long before the two of you had drained your mugs and you had to go back to tending the bar. You expected Geralt to leave, but were happy to see him sitting at that booth for the remainder of the night, sipping on a few more drinks. His back was to the wall so that he might see the entirety of the room, but whenever you shot a glance in his direction he was staring only at you. Soon the two of you were the only ones left in the tavern and you hurried to finish the last of the dishes, eager to get home. As you hunched over the washbasin you soon felt a pair of hands on your waist, rubbing soft circles against your hips. “I’ll be done soon,” you said, “and then we can head home.”

“What if I don’t want to wait,” Geralt purred in response, nuzzling into your neck, “what if I want to fuck you right here and now?” There was alcohol on his breath. His hands continued to paw at you, growing more ravenous as he began to stray from your waist and hips down to your thighs and the supple curve of your ass. Your pulse began to quicken and you nearly dropped a dish. In your adulthood you had grown to become an independent woman and if you were nothing else, you were strong against the advances of men. But here you were, putty in the witcher’s hands.

Eventually you couldn’t take it anymore and spun around, grabbing the White Wolf by his cheeks and pressing your mouth to his as if he was a meal and you hadn’t eaten for days. He kissed you in return, hard and passionate. His tongue slipped past your lips and you felt his teeth graze your flesh, sending shivers through your body and causing a moan to vibrate between you. It wasn’t clear whether it was yours or his. You could have stayed there for hours, lips locked in embrace, but Geralt had other plans. 

You felt his hands on your backside again, curving against the roundness of your cheeks and squeezing gently. He was being so soft, but all you could think about was how badly you wanted to feel the sting of his palms striking your ass. Soon he had hiked up your skirts and wrapped his forearms around your thighs, spreading them apart. You yelped into his mouth and wrapped your arms around his neck for stability as he lifted you off the ground, legs wrapped around his hips in the perfect position to feel his package bulging against your smallclothes. 

Geralt carried you out from behind the bar and you expected him to bring you upstairs to one of the beds you had mentioned earlier, but he instead chose a table square in the middle of the room. “I wanted to do this hours ago,” he grunted, setting you down on the edge of the table and beginning to unlace his trousers, “but I’d hate to make you feel like some common whore.” 

“What if that’s how I like it?” the words came out of your mouth without a thought, but you were done with thinking. Thinking had gotten you nowhere in life but a dead-end job in a town you’d never left. It was time to take what you wanted.

A sensual growl rose up from some primal source deep within him as a devilish smirk spread across Geralt’s face. “Ask and you shall receive, girl,” he said, placing a firm hand on your shoulder, “kneel.” Immediately you were on your knees, doe eyes peering up at him as he pulled his bulging cock from his trousers. You took him in your hand and wrapped your lips around the base of his shaft, licking slowly up and down his length, peppering his cock with kisses and swirling your tongue around the tip of his head. Another sinful noise escaped his lips as he placed his hands on the sides of your face. “Suck.”

You did as you were told, taking him inside your mouth. His massive size made you gag, but only for a moment. Soon your head was bobbing up and down, your hand stroking the inch of him that your mouth couldn’t reach. Hick cock throbbed inside your mouth and he bucked his hips, fucking your face. Dulcet moans poured from his lips and you could tell he was close. “Gods,” his voice was breathy as he suddenly pulled himself from the grasp of your lips, “I want to be inside you.”

Grabbing you under the arms he pulled you up to standing and turned you around to face away from him once more. You felt one of his hands trace up your spine before tangling into your hair as the other gripped you at the hip. Soon you were bent over the table and he was pulling your skirts down, leaving your holes exposed to the open air. 

His hand tightened its grip on your hair and you felt his thick cock rub against your folds, slick with your own excitement. In one fluid motion he plunged himself within you, this position allowing him to reach parts of you that hadn’t felt pleasure in a long time. Unlike the first time you had felt him inside you there was no subtle buildup in rhythm; he came at you with a vigorous rut and you were his cockhungry whore. Your hands gripped the sides of the table and your knees buckled beneath you as you let out cries of pleasure. His balls slapped against you with every thrust, creating lewd sounds that only made you slicker. “Geralt,” you said, gasping for air, “Geralt... I’m gonna..”

Geralt pulled back on your hair, causing you to arch your back and slam into him. He reached his other hand around your leg to grab you, rubbing quick circles against your clit. “Come for me,” he whispered in your ear, his assault on your pussy never wavering. The onslaught of stimulation coupled with his breathy words sent you over the edge, and you practically melted into a puddle on the table as the pleasure overtook you. It was the type of orgasm that radiated out from your soul, you could feel it in every inch of you. Your head was reeling and you screamed his name as your cunt pulsed with a heartbeat of its own. Were it not for Geralt’s grip on you, you would be on the floor. 

Geralt spent most of the day outside with his mare as you went about your daily chores, still slow and shaky from the previous day’s events. As you sat in your garden and mended his shirt you couldn’t help but steal glances at his muscular form, beads of sweat glistening off his bare chest. How badly you wanted to run your fingers all over him, exploring the curvature of his body and discovering if any other parts of him were glistening. Toes curling in your boots, you returned inside before the thoughts could overtake you.

Hours later he entered your cottage, his hand wrapped around the neck of a dead bird, its throat slit and drained of blood. He lifted the beast and set it on your kitchen table. “Dinner,” he said gruffly, beginning to clean his kill. You nodded and joined him at the table to cut the vegetables you had foraged the day before. The two of you prepared and ate dinner in silence, and afterwards you offered him your bed to sleep in for the night, which he accepted with little argument. As you laid down on the floor near the fireplace you wondered how long it had been since he’d slept in a bed, and whether or not he slept in it alone.

When you awoke the next morning you noticed his boots were missing from near your front door. Your suspicions were confirmed when you peeked into your bedroom and found it empty, bedclothes pulled up and tucked neatly. Like so many women before you, the witcher had left you without farewell. You wondered if your debt to him was repaid, but a single night’s lodging in exchange for a life hardly seemed an equal trade. Sighing, you turned to pull fresh clothes from your wardrobe and began to dress for a day’s work.

***

“Look who decided to show up!” Dedrik called at you when you entered the near-empty tavern. “Didn’t feel like gracing us with your presence yesterday?” the pub owner asked, crossing his arms across his chest.

Your face flushed crimson as you brushed a lock of hair behind your ear. A silk scarf wrapped around the crown of your head covered your wound, now scabbed over and bruised. “I’m sorry, I-”

“Yeah, well, sorry doesn’t sell ale,” Dedrik cut you off and threw a rag at you, which hit you in the chest before falling into your arms, “luckily that ass of yours does.” You gritted your teeth and balled the rag between your fists, uttering silent curses at your boss when he turned his back on you.

The rest of the day was uneventful. You wiped down tables, slung mugs of ale, and laughed flirtatiously at the advances of bar patrons in hopes they’d fill your pocket with coin. Some of them did. As the night grew dark and the pub filled with its usual rowdy bunch you noticed a shimmer of silver hair cutting through the crowd. Your heart raced in your chest as you saw Geralt walking towards the bar. His ochre eyes met yours and widened ever so slightly in surprise before looking you up and down, the corner of his mouth creeping upward. He took a seat across from you at the bar. “What can I get for you, witcher?” you ask, bending forward to lean on the wood. 

He pulled a coin from his pocket and set it between you. “A pint.” You obliged, pulling a mug from the cabinet and filling it with ale before handing it to him. His hand brushed against yours as he took it, making the hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end. He took a long sip and stared at you for a moment before speaking. “So is this where you’re usually found?” he asked, “When you’re not traipsing naked through monster-infested forests?” 

You pursed your lips and shifted your weight. “Most days, yes,” you responded. “I’m sure you understand the necessity of a steady income.”

“Have to pay for that shack somehow, hm?” 

“That shack,” you replied, with a bite in your tone, “was my parents’.”

“Mmhm,” he took another sip, “and where are they now?”

You stared into his eyes, deliberately, “Six feet beneath the earth.”

He drained the rest of his pint and produced another coin. You took the mug and refilled it, and when you slid it back to him he rested his callous hand on yours, running the pad of his thumb across your knuckles before taking the drink. You stand, motionless, wishing that time would stand still. It doesn’t. 

The moment is broken at the sound of Dedrik’s laugh as he slides up next to you. “Well, what have we here?” he asks, wrapping an arm around you and resting a hand at the back side of your hip, “Has the White Wolf taken a liking to our barmaid?” Geralt responds by taking a silent sip. “I’m sorry to say she’s not on the menu,” Dedrik continues, “unless, of course, I get a cut of the coin!” He laughs and drags his hand up the side of your body until it meets your breast, which he quickly squeezes before you can squirm out of his grip. Your eyes, downcast in embarrassment, catch Geralt’s hand tightening on the handle of his mug. 

After Dedrik left you took a rag and began cleaning the bar. “Do you need lodging tonight?” you asked quietly, not meeting the witcher’s eyes.

He nodded solemnly, “Yes.”

Geralt sat at the bar for an hour or so before leaving. You stayed, working until the small hours of the morning when the last drunkard was kicked out and you could finally close. You expected to head home and find Geralt waiting there, or perhaps already in bed, but when you left the bar you found him across the street, holding his horse’s reins and staring at you. “Were you waiting for me?” you asked, crossing to meet him, “You know where I live.” 

He stared at you for a moment, then began to walk down the street in the direction of your cottage at the edge of town. “I don’t like that man,” he said.

“Yeah, well, neither do I,” you responded, “but the bastard gave me a job when I needed one. You get used to it after a while.”

“Get used to what? Being fondled like a piece of meat? Get used to his hands?”

I could get used to you, you thought to yourself, could get used to your hands. But you said nothing. And was that a twinge of jealousy in his voice, or simply your wishful imagination?

The two of you walked in silence for a moment before he spoke again. “You deserve better, Orion.” 

“And where am I supposed to find better?” you asked, “I see no knight in shining armor come to sweep me off my feet. All I see is a witcher, to whom I owe my life.”

More silence followed and the two of you arrived at your home. You entered and headed for your bedroom as Geralt tied up his mare. You quickly undressed and slid your nightgown over your head, and he entered just as it fell to cover your modesty. He crossed to the bed as you nervously tucked your hair behind each ear, having narrowly avoided giving him a second show. “Is there anything else I can do for you tonight, Geralt?” you asked. You took his silence as an answer and began to walk towards the door.

“Orion.” You stopped in your tracks and turned to look at him, sitting on the edge of your bed. “Come here.” Warmth rushed through your body as you walked toward him. He slid his palm across the bed and you sat next to him, your heart racing. He placed his hand over yours and rubbed gently up the length of your arm. “I’m no knight. And my armor is tarnished,” his hand came to rest at your shoulder, thumb caressing your collarbone, “and I did not come here with intentions to sweep you off your feet. But you do owe me your life. And it took every ounce of my strength not to strangle that man when he touched you today how I’ve wanted to touch you since I saw you standing in that pool.” Your breath hitched and you leaned into his touch, hungry for more. He pulled you close, breathing in your scent and nuzzling your cheek with his stubble as he whispered in your ear. “There’s a way for you to repay your debt,” he said, “but you must tell me you want it.” 

“I want it,” you responded, breathlessly.

“What do you want?” he asked, his lips like feathers brushing against your skin.

“I want you to take me.”

That was all he needed to hear. His mouth was at your neck, teeth grazing and nibbling your flesh, as he rapidly pulled your nightgown up, breaking away only to lift it above your head and throw it to the floor. He gazed at your body in the low lamplight, admiring every roll and curve. “I’ve missed this view,” he said, before placing a hand at the back of your head and leaning you down onto the mattress as he pressed his lips to yours. You removed his shirt in turn, eager to see his body as well. Your legs were wrapped around his hips, and you could feel his bulging cock beneath his trousers rubbing against your already wet cunt. His hands traced the swells and valleys of your body, lingering at your breasts and tugging at your nipples. A moan rose up from deep within you but you placed your hand against your mouth to stifle it. 

A grin spread across Geralt’s face when you did this, and he grabbed your wrist and pinned it to the mattress above your head, the soft pressure restraining you without causing pain. “No need to be quiet, girl,” he said, his other hand tracing farther down your abdomen, “I want to hear those noises.”

“Fuck.” The word escaped your lips as his finger entered your cunt. 

“Dripping already, are we?” His finger curled within you, feeling the soft ridges of your walls. He inserted another finger and you let out a moan, not bothering to fight it this time. The pad of his thumb circled your clit as he fucked you with his hand, and you bucked your hips. His pace quickened and he released your wrist to grab your breast instead, replacing his thumb with his mouth. You grabbed a tangle of his white hair and tightened your thighs’ grip on his face as the crescendo of pleasure rolled out from within. Your moans reached a peak, and he began to slow his pace before coming up from air and pulling out his fingers, dripping with your cum. 

Basking in the afterglow of orgasm you turned your face away from him, still subconsciously bashful in his presence. No sooner did you do this than he grabbed your chin and sharply turned your head, forcing you to lock eyes with him as he unbuttoned his trousers. Without breaking your gaze you took his hand from your chin and guided it towards your lips, brushing your tongue against his fingertips before taking them in your mouth. You could taste yourself on his fingers.

“Fuck, girl,” he said, fully removing his trousers. 

“That’s the idea,” you responded, wrapping your hand around his thick cock and stroking the length of him. 

His amber eyes rolled back in pleasure and he mounted you, lifting your hips for better access. He slid himself against your folds, tapping at your clitoris with the head of his cock. “Tell me what you want,” he said. There was a carnal energy in his voice.

“I want you to fuck me.” You could barely get the words out before letting out a squeal of delight as he thrust himself inside you. You had taken men before, but they all paled in comparison to his size. You moaned with every thrust as he went deeper within you, head poking against your cervix. He would pull out slowly, almost exiting you completely, before ramming his hips into yours. You would be surprised (and a little disappointed, honestly) if you were not smattered with bruises the next morning. “Geralt,” his name came out a breathy sigh as you felt yourself nearing orgasm again.

His grip on your hips tightened, and you welcomed the pain. “Say that again.” 

“Geralt...” He rammed himself into you, picking up the pace. “Geralt.” Faster still, harder. “Geralt! Oh god, Geralt!” You practically screamed his name in pleasure as the waves of climax came rushing over you. You felt your cunt contract in release against his cock as he continued to pound you, slicker than ever now that you’d coated him with your cum. His orgasm came soon after, filling you with his hot seed.