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love me gently

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The weight of the silence is comforting, the stillness of the room a balm.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. How many times are you going to ask me?” She's sweet, but I don’t need to be coddled.

“I just want you to be comfortable, Yenna.” She reaches out a finger and traces my cheek in a comforting gesture. Doesn’t she understand? There’s no one else in the world I’d allow this, not even Geralt.

“I’m as comfortable as I can be.”

It’s the best I can give her, and by now, she has to know that. I walk over to the bed and lie down, not wanting to delay any longer. I take a breath and close my eyes, wanting to be in control of this final moment.

“You know what to say if you want me to stop,” Triss says. I can hear her make her way over to the bed, pausing to collect the various items we so carefully laid out earlier.

“Stop,” I smirk. I can’t help the snark.

“Yenna.” Triss’s tone is fond, if a bit exasperated.

“I know you’ll stop as soon as I ask, and I’ll still have my magic, too, so you don’t need to worry so much.” We’d thought it best if we didn’t use dimeritium for the first time, easing our way into this new dimension of our relationship. Even though I’d always dreamed of letting someone else be in control, if only for a few moments, I’d never felt safe enough to ask until Triss. “I want to do this. I know you’ll take care of me.”

“I will.”

I hold my hand out for her to grab, and once she does, I bring both our hands to my lips for a light kiss. “Please,” I whisper against her fingers.

“Of course,” she says, and I can hear the fondness in her tone. She pulls her hand away from mine and comes back with a soft piece of fabric. “I’m going to tie the blindfold around your eyes and secure it with magic.” I nod and then feel the cool cloth across my eyes. I lift my head so Triss can tie it at the back and listen as she says the spell. Even though I could easily undo it, the weight is comforting all the same. When I lay my head back down on the bed, there’s a heaviness to the movement that wasn’t there before.

“Do you trust me?” Triss asks, and it’s the most ridiculous question. Would I ever let anyone else do this? No. Never in a millenia.

I don’t respond immediately and the silence stretches between us. When she makes no move to start, I know she’s going to make me say it, the bastard. “Yes, Triss, I trust you,” I parrot like a good school girl.

“Good.” And then all I can hear is the sound of her breath, steady and soothing.

When her hands are touching me, it’s easier because I know exactly where they are on my body. When they aren’t, the anticipation starts building—I don't know where she might place them next.

She brushes her fingers across my face, caresses my collarbones, tickles the insides of my wrists. She runs the palms of her hands along my calves, massages the arches of my feet. She touches my breasts and the tenderness is too much—the soft way she cups them as if they hold the keys to the universe is breaking me.

Gentleness could never before be a part of who I was, not when I had to fight so hard to survive. But Triss makes me believe that it can be a part of who I’m becoming.

Tears leak, wetting the blindfold, but I don’t want Triss to stop. I would lie in this quiet room and let her gently love me forever.