“You are alive,” Triss says, holding on tight. Yennefer is warm against her. She’s warm and alive and here, in Triss’s guest room at Aretuza. The hug soothes at a weeping, pained part of Triss’s soul. Not all the way but a little.
It’s the most comfort she has felt in weeks.
“I’m so glad you are okay, Triss,” Yennefer says, voice muffled where her mouth is pressed against the thick curls of Triss’s hair.
Triss doesn’t know if she would say she’s okay. More often than not, she wakes up in cold sweat and with a scream on her lips, the memory of burning skin at the forefront of her mind. She can barely bring herself to look at her body in the mirror, the scars stretching across her throat and chest and covering the entirety of her left breast. Her body feels foreign to her, now, her skin itchy in more ways than one.
Triss can’t stop thinking about the people who didn’t make it, and the knowledge that she did haunts her every step.
She isn’t okay. But she is here and so is Yennefer. For now, that’s enough.
It has to be.
“Well, there was this one sorceress who took on a whole army by herself,” Triss jokes, shaking her head. She doesn’t want to think about all the ways she has changed, about how broken she feels. She just wants to hold Yennefer close and bask in the relief of having her back. Triss wants to cling to this joy for as long as she can.
“Oh?” Triss can hear the smirk in Yennefer’s voice, the sound of it so familiar it almost makes her want to cry.
“Don’t let it get to your head,” Triss chuckles, running a hand across the smooth, bare skin of Yennefer’s upper back.
“I won’t,” Yennefer says, voice growing serious again. “And I wasn’t alone.” Yennefer pulls away from the hug but keeps her palms where they are pressed against Triss’s waist. She eyes the skin of Triss’s neck where it peeks from her high-collared dress and hums thoughtfully.
“There are some wounds even magic can’t fix,” Triss says in explanation before Yennefer can even ask. She fixes her gaze on the wall above her friend's head, fighting the urge to turn away in shame or do something foolish like kiss the soft, understanding expression right off Yennefer’s face.
“I’m sorry,” Yennefer says, her voice quiet and sincere. Triss shakes her head and runs a palm over the purple-eyed mage’s arms.
“There’s nothing to be done about it,” she says. It’s what she has been telling herself for days. There’s nothing you can do, Triss. Stop worrying about it. It hasn’t worked yet, but she hopes that the sentiment will stick at some point. Hopes that when she wakes up one morning, she doesn’t feel this awful, gnawing disconnect from her own body. Hopes that she stops wishing she had gotten away unscathed or died instead.
Yennefer nods. “That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”
Triss knows that. She does. But… “Many lost their lives. Some who survived lost limbs. I only lost my beauty. I shouldn’t be this distraught over it."
There’s a flicker of something in Yennefer’s eyes that Triss doesn’t quite know how to interpret. The look is gone in a matter of seconds, hidden behind a kind smile. “Yes, they did. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”
One of Yenner’s hands leaves Triss’s waist, reaches up and cups her face slowly, almost hesitantly. Triss’s eyes slide shut on their own accord, a shaky sigh leaving her lips. Yennefer’s thumb brushes over the soft skin under her eye and she barely manages to swallow a whimper. No one has touched her this gently since… well, since . And for it to be Yennefer, of all people… Triss feels like she’s about to shatter into a million pieces.
“And you are still beautiful,” Yennefer adds.
“Don’t,” Triss whimpers, shaking apart in soft hands. Her eyes blink open and tears run down her face as she gasps for breath. It’s too much. It’s all she has ever wanted but it’s too much, too bright. Too precious. “Please don’t say that. I can’t–”
“I mean it,” Yennefer says, her voice firm. She looks confident. Determined and honest in a way that is distinctly Yennefer. Triss’s heart cracks open. A few minutes ago she wasn’t sure there was anything left to crack at all.
“Don’t say that,” Triss repeats, desperately wanting to believe the sweet words of her friend.
Yennefer smiles, slow and wide and mischievous, tilting her head in a challenge. “Shut me up, then.”
The words are barely out of Yennefer’s mouth before Triss surges forward and captures her lips in a rough kiss. Their noses bump together painfully with the force of it, and Yennefer lets out a pained chuckle. Triss swallows the sound and proceeds to bite on Yennefer’s lower lip, drawing a groan out of her instead.
Their kiss is a wild thing, all of tongue and teeth, their lips slick with saliva. Triss’s heart is beating out of her chest but she doesn’t care, she just wants and wants and wants.
A moment or perhaps an eternity later, Yennefer’s hands find their way to Triss’s hair. Her fingers twine into the unruly curls and pull, hard.
“Fuck,” Triss moans, startled by the sensation. She blinks her eyes open and catches Yennefer’s gaze. “What are we doing?”
Yennefer pulls back slightly to take in the blush of Triss’s cheeks, her hands still fisted in Triss’s red hair and tugging lightly, playfully. There’s a teasing smile on her face, a smile Triss knows has entirely too much power over her. “What do you think we’re doing?”
Triss flushes anew at the words, this time with embarrassment and irritation. A shiver runs down her spine and she steps away from Yennefer in a rush, causing the other mage’s hands to slide out of her hair. Triss crosses her arms and hunches in on herself protectively. “I don’t want you to kiss me out of pity,” she says after a tense moment, hating how crestfallen she sounds.
Triss thinks, briefly, about leaving. About running out of the door and hiding out somewhere for a while. Long enough for… whatever this is, to stop feeling quite so mortifying. She may not have her looks any longer but she still has her dignity and she will not be attending some grand pity party. Not even if it’s Yennefer of Vengerberg throwing it.
Triss sways on her feet but ultimately decides not to run. She does still have her dignity, after all.
Yennefer simply watches her for a moment, hands awkwardly hovering in the air between them. She can’t seem to decide whether to reach out again or not. In the end, she chooses to walk to Triss’s bed on the other side of the room. Once there, she sits down gingerly, smoothing her hands over the dark red, silky bedspread. She looks anxious now, the emotion almost foreign on her face.
It doesn’t suit her, Triss thinks.
“It’s not pity,” Yennefer says eventually, avoiding eye contact, her gaze trained low.
When it becomes clear that she isn’t going to elaborate, Triss asks, more than a little exasperated: “What is it then?”
“I lost something, too, that day. No, that’s not right. Not something … I lost everything, ” Yennefer replies, her voice small. Triss steps closer to the bed to better hear her. She has a feeling that whatever Yennefer is about to say – whatever vulnerability is at show here – Triss needs to pay close attention to it.
Yennefer’s eyes flick to Triss’s movement for a second, but she stays silent and goes back to staring at the floor by her feet. The candle on the bedside table flickers and Triss waits.
“Yennefer…” Triss’s voice is hesitant, confused. She doesn’t understand.
“I lost my magic. It’s… It’s gone, Triss,” Yennefer croaks out, finally meeting Triss’s gaze. The purple of her eyes looks even brighter than usual. She is gorgeous, Triss thinks briefly, before her friend’s words truly sink in.
“How?” is all she can ask.
“Just burned out, I guess. I have tried everything I can think of. I don’t think I can get it back. I… I don’t know who or what I am without it,” Yennefer continues, her voice more unsure than Triss has ever heard it. Triss closes the remaining distance between them and kneels on the floor at her feet. She reaches out and takes Yennefer’s hands into hers, squeezing at them in reassurance. It’s a gesture that could never be enough in the face of a loss like this.
“You are still Yennefer of Vengerberg. You are still extraordinary,” Triss says, pouring all the confidence and conviction she can into the words. She may not be sure about a lot of things these days, may not be sure about herself. But this? This she knows. “You are still the person who saved us all at Sodden Hill.”
“I just want to feel something again,” Yennefer replies, her eyes shining in the candlelight. “I don’t want to be alone, Triss.”
“You aren’t,” Triss says, pressing a kiss on one of her palms. And because she suspects Yennefer isn’t talking about just tonight, she adds: “And you won’t be. We won’t let you. I won’t let you. This is still where you belong.”
Yennefer’s lips quirk up in a watery smile. “Aretuza? I hate it here, you know that.”
The comment startles a laugh out of Triss. It rings loud and bright in the air between them, and maybe this isn’t the time, but Triss doesn’t remember the last time she laughed like that. Sudden and honest. Really, it couldn’t have been that long ago – the scars on her body only a few weeks old.
It sure feels like forever, though.
“No. Not literally here. I can’t fucking wait to find an excuse to get out of this place,” Triss scoffs and rolls her eyes. She presses another kiss to Yennefer’s palm, her voice growing serious again. “I just meant that we will look after you. We won’t let our savior suffer alone.”
Yennefer leans towards her, then, and pulls her into a tight hug. Triss clings to her just the same, her fingers digging into Yennefer’s bare back.
“You can come with me when I leave. We can research magic loss together,” Triss mumbles into Yennefer’s neck. Her heart feels like it’s beating out of her scarred chest at the possibility of sharing – if not a life, then at least something , at least for a little while – with Yennefer. She thinks, wildly, terribly , that she would rather have a chance at that, broken as she is, than not have it and be whole again.
Triss has always been desperate like that.
“Maybe,” Yennefer replies, probably going for a nonchalant tone. The shiver in her voice dampens the effect somewhat. Triss kindly doesn’t mention it, doesn’t push for more of an answer, just rubs her nose against the warm, smooth skin of Yennefer’s neck. Yennefer pets Triss’s back over the embroidered fabric of her dress in response. Triss relaxes into the hold, content to simply breathe and draw comfort from her friend’s touch.
“You still want to make out?” Yennefer asks after a while, her voice a touch steadier now.
Triss nearly chokes on her own damned breath at the question. Something horrible and wonderful and hot curls in her belly. “Do you? ” she asks, voice thick with equal amounts of awe and disbelief.
Yennefer pulls away from the hug and cups Triss’s face in her hands. Her fingers draw small, circular patterns on Triss’s temples, stroking at the wispy hair she finds there. Triss feels like putty in her hands – like she could melt away with the force of Yennefer’s smile.
“I already told you, it wasn’t out of pity. I do think you are beautiful, Triss. Always have,” Yennefer says, her voice as warm as the mess of emotions swirling in Triss’s stomach.
“You have? I never realized...”
Yennefer doesn’t elaborate on her words, even though Triss really, really wishes she would. She has been pining for Yennefer for years, feeling like some foolish girl. Triss doubts it’s the same for her friend – surely she would have noticed something – but even this? Even the knowledge that Yennefer has looked and has liked what she has seen? At this moment, it feels like everything. It heats Triss up inside, makes her blush all over. The thought has her hands trembling where they have slid down to rest on Yennefer’s hips.
“Are you going to kiss me again or are you just going to kneel down there like a moron?” Yennefer quips, drawing another sudden and bright laugh from Triss’s lips.
“Piss off,” she snorts as she closes the short distance between their faces for the second time tonight.
The kiss is still passionate, still breathtaking, but it doesn’t feel as rushed and as desperate as the first one. Yennefer licks at the seam of Triss’s lips and she lets her in, the slick slide of their tongues against each other heavenly. Triss whines into the kiss, squirming where she kneels on the floor.
“Good?” Yennefer asks between kisses. Triss is pleased to notice that her friend is panting.
“Yes,” Triss laughs, or tries to. Her voice is rough from disuse and she has to clear her throat a few times to be able to speak. “Yes, it’s good, Yenna. Fuck.”
She feels more than sees Yennefer’s smirk, pressed close as they are. “You are a great kisser,” Yennefer says matter-of-factly, as if the words don’t cut straight through to Triss’s very core. As if her heart doesn’t sing at the thought of Yennefer of fucking Vengerberg finding her skill worthy of praise.
Before Triss can blurt out something entirely too embarrassing and lovesick, Yennefer surges forward and kisses her again, a bit softer this time. Triss’s head spins with it, her mouth falling open in pleasure. Yennefer chuckles at her slack-jawed expression and starts pressing kisses on Triss’s face instead. Her cheeks, her twitching eyelids, her sweat-damp hairline. When Yennefer’s head ducks down with the intention of pressing a kiss to the scarred skin of her neck, Triss pulls back in shock.
“Don’t,” is all she says, voice thick with an emotion she feels all too light-headed to name.
Yennefer blinks at her. “Does it pain you?”
“Not physically,” Triss replies, running her hands over Yennefer's dress, her palms catching on the shiny embellishments sewn into the fabric. It’s a beautiful dress – Triss, for one, is incredibly fond of the low neckline – but it’s not the most comfortable one to caress. Gods know Triss is still going to try.
This might be the only time she can.
“Does it… would it make you feel bad if I touched your scars?” Yennefer’s question brings Triss back to the present.
She thinks about it. “I don’t know. No one… I mean–”
Yennefer hums in understanding, running her hands through Triss’s hair. Fingernails brush against Triss’s scalp and send sparks through her body. “Would you like to try?”
Only Triss and the mages who worked tirelessly to save her life and heal her wounds, have touched her burned skin. Triss doesn’t like touching it herself. Some days she has to force herself to apply the ointment that is supposed to help bring down the redness of the skin, her body quivering with painful memories the entire time.
But maybe it would be different if it was someone who can still look her in the eye and say she looks beautiful. Maybe it would be different if it was Yennefer.
“Yes,” Triss whispers, trembling in anticipation.
“Would you get up on the bed for me, sweetheart? You are still kneeling on the floor.”
Triss laughs, the sound coming out slightly strangled. Yennefer has never called her sweetheart before, not even as a joke. Triss lifts an eyebrow, feigns surprise.
“What?” Yennefer asks, still petting her hair.
“I just always figured you were be the kind of woman who liked having folks on their knees for you, that’s all,” Triss shrugs.
Yennefer snorts, amused. “Maybe I am. You have wondered about that, have you?”
Triss blushes furiously at the teasing words. She jumps up from the floor and climbs up to the bed, averting her eyes in embarrassment. There aren’t many things more humiliating in life than wanting someone more than they want you.
Triss sees Yennefer looking at her from the corner of her eye. “Would you like to do more than just make out?” Yennefer asks, then, crawling towards her on the bed. Triss’s eyes snap up in shock.
I’m up for anything you want, Triss thinks but doesn’t say. Instead, she shrugs, desperate to put on the airs of a semi-unaffected woman instead of a completely heartsick one. “I could be persuaded.”
“Oh yeah?” Yennefer smirks, kisses her again. It’s a mess of tongue and spit and Triss moans, steadily growing wetter in her underthings.
“Yes,” Triss says between kisses, panting where she sits on the bed opposite of Yennefer. “What would we do?” she asks, reaching a hesitant hand to Yennefer’s raven-black hair. Her friend simply smiles and leans into the touch when Triss’s fingers make contact with her head.
“I could fuck you with my fingers. Or I could lick you,” Yennefer whispers into the air between them. Triss’s whole body shakes. “I could press you down and sit on your face,” she continues, drawing a loud moan out of Triss.
“Yenna–” She thinks about Yennefer’s body above her, her hands fisting Triss’s hair as she laps at Yennefer’s slit. She thinks about getting to know what Yennefer tastes like, thinks about making her come.
“You like that? Want me to fuck your face while you lie there and take it?”
“Please.” It’s all she can say. The only other thing that comes out is a particularly loud and drawn-out whimper, one that Triss would no doubt feel embarrassed about, were she not too turned on to care.
“Okay, sweetheart. Okay. Shh,” Yennefer soothes, catching one of Triss’s wrists in her hand and guiding it to Yennefer’s chest. Triss’s fingers slip under the neckline of her dress and caress the swell of Yennefer’s breast. “I will have my way with you soon enough. But first… we have some kissing to do, don’t we?” Yennefer asks.
“Yes,” Triss whines. She hasn’t forgotten. She doesn’t think she could forget anything about tonight, even if she tried.
“Tell me to stop it if anything feels bad, okay? I don’t want to hurt you,” Yennefer murmurs. Triss simply nods.
She knows Yennefer wouldn’t hurt her. Her feelings for Triss may not be as strong as Triss’s feelings are for her – it really wouldn’t be Yennefer’s style to spend years pining for someone, she is way too collected for that – but they are good friends. They have been for a long time.
Yennefer would never hurt her on purpose.
Triss unbuttons her dress a little in a silent permission for Yennefer to touch her where the burns have scarred over, the skin a waxy mix of brown-purple-pink. Triss thinks it looks horrific, but Yennefer doesn’t blink an eye, simply smiles up at her before bending her head and leaning in.
“Wait!” Triss exclaims, suddenly nervous again.
Yennefer stops immediately, just like she said she would. “What, sweetheart?”
There it is again, that word. “Are you sure it’s not pity?” Triss’s heart is drumming up a storm in her chest.
Yennefer nods. “It’s not pity.”
Triss breathes out slowly, considering. “But what is it?”
Yennefer leans back with a sigh. “I don’t know. I think you are gorgeous. You are my friend and I don’t want either of us to be alone. I like you,” Yennefer starts. Frowns. “I just… I’m not sure I know what anything is anymore.”
Triss can relate to that.
“I’m sorry I can’t give you a proper answer,” Yennefer says softly.
“That’s okay,” Triss manages. It is. Or at least it has to be. She won’t hold it against Yennefer, not when she’s as much of a mess herself. “That’s okay, Yenna.”
Triss loops her hands behind Yennefer’s neck and pulls her close, pulls her down. Yennefer goes willingly.
The first touch of Yennefer’s lips to Triss’s neck feels like lightning. The sudden spark makes her jerk. Yennefer tries to pull away, no doubt to ask her if she is alright, but Triss keeps her still and mumbles that everything is alright. Yennefer mouths at the uneven skin softly. Triss whines and sighs and squirms on the bed. It feels good. Overwhelming but good. It’s nothing like when she touches the area herself.
She tells Yennefer as much.
“Yeah? It feels good?” she confirms, her voice pleased.
Triss nods, her head knocking against Yennefer’s. She laughs, then, light and amused. “Yes, Yenna. So good.”
“Mmm… I’m glad,” Yennefer murmurs, bending back down. She licks a long, wet stripe up Triss’s chest and neck, all the way up to her chin. Once there, she gives Triss a peck on the mouth.
“Sit on my face?” Triss asks, almost shyly. Or as shyly as anyone can ask for such a thing, she supposes.
Yennefer smiles. It’s one of those warm, genuine smiles that make Triss fall for her a little more every time she sees them. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”
“It is. I want you. I want you so badly,” Triss says, the act of unaffectedness long since forgotten.
Yennefer steps out of the bed and Triss’s breath catches in her chest. She is suddenly overcome with fear, fear that Yennefer has seen through her and judged her too needy, too desperate for her friend’s warm body against hers. But instead of walking away, Yennefer simply steps out of her black dress before sliding back onto the silk sheets – back to Triss. She is now completely naked where Triss is still wearing her dress, unbuttoned as it is.
She is gorgeous. Triss can’t take her eyes off of her.
“Lie back, sweetheart,” Yennefer murmurs, giving Triss’s shoulders a gentle push. Triss goes. She settles on her back on the bed and goes lax. Yenner coos at her and strokes a hand up and down her scarred chest. “Good job.”
The praise goes straight to Triss’s belly. It heats her up and makes her slick. Triss must make some soft, needy sound because Yennefer smiles down at her and repeats the action. “So good, Triss.”
Triss sighs softly.
“You ready for me?” Yennefer asks. She crawls forward on the bed, her breasts swaying with the movement. Triss watches, mesmerized.
“I’m ready. Give it to me, Yenna,” is all she needs to say before Yennefer is settling on top of her, the slick lips of her cunt hovering over her face. Triss’s mouth waters.
“Tap my leg three times if you want me to stop, okay?”
“Okay,” Triss responds dutifully even though she can’t imagine ever wanting to stop. It’s always good to have a safety system in place. “Tap three times, I got it.”
“Good girl,” Yennefer murmurs as she lowers herself on Triss’s face.
Triss starts lapping at Yennefer’s cunt immediately, hungry for her wetness, for her pleasure. Yennefer tastes salty and musky, slightly metallic. Her slick is thick and slippery and wonderful on Triss’s tongue.
After a moment of simply letting Triss do her thing, Yennefer moves her hips in a circular motion and lets out a long, beautiful whine. Triss moans encouragingly against her cunt. She wants Yennefer to use her, to take her pleasure.
Yennefer grabs a hold of Triss’s hair, the pull making Triss squirm in arousal between her thighs. Her friend laughs, the sound coming out breathless. Triss loves knowing that she is the cause of Yennefer’s unraveling.
“You are great at this, too,” Yennefer whimpers in awe. Triss preens under her, molding her mouth around Yennefer’s clit and sucking the swolled nub into her mouth.
Yennefer lets out a string of fairly imaginative curses at the sensation. Something about Melitele’s whore mother – Triss isn’t paying too close an attention to it, not with Yennefer’s thighs suddenly clamping around her head and covering her ears. She gets the message, though. Gets it loud and clear. The “good job” is evident in the way her thighs start to shake after a few minutes of Triss’s suckling.
“I’m gonna fuck your face now, okay? Hum for yes, tap for no.”
Triss hums against the throbbing clit in her mouth, causing Yennefer’s thighs to tighten further around her head. Triss moans, a pleasant buzzing taking over her thoughts.
“Relax your mouth, baby. Press your tongue flat against– Yes, there you go. Good,” Yennefer instructs, voice shaky. She then bucks against Triss’s tongue, cursing and whimpering mindlessly.
It takes her a while to find a rhythm that works for her. Triss doesn’t mind. Her head is light, a continuous loop of baby, baby, sweetheart, baby running through her mind in Yennefer’s voice. Triss thinks there might be tears running down her temples.
She is sure there are tears running down her temples when Yennefer comes against her mouth, gasping and cursing, her voice high and blissed out. She gushes her satisfaction onto Triss’s face, grinds down a few more times and then collapses next to her on the bed. Triss blinks and blinks and blinks, but her vision doesn’t clear.
“You’re crying,” Yennefer says, stroking her face. “Are you okay?” There’s soft concern in her hoarse voice.
Triss is not okay. She has been burned and she will carry the scars for the rest of her life. She has lost friends, some close like family. She has nightmares where she can smell the burning of her own flesh and she is stuck at Aretuza because she doesn’t know where else to go, doesn’t know where is safe. She thought the woman she is in love with was dead a day ago and she still can’t quite grasp that she’s not dead at all; that she’s here, in Triss’s arms of all places, safe and sound.
She is not okay.
But she feels good. Triss feels so incredibly good at this moment that the rest of it melts away. There’s only Yennefer’s fingers on her face, her slick on Triss’s lips and the knowledge that Triss made her come burrowing itself somewhere deep into her scarred chest.
Baby, sweetheart, baby. Sweetheart.
“Triss? Sweetheart?” Yennefer is leaning above her, her purple eyes wide.
“Yes,” Triss breathes. “Was good.” It’s all she can manage for the moment, too busy catching her breath and licking her lips, desperate for every drop of Yennefer she can get.
The words seem to be enough, because Yennefer sighs in relief before kissing her forehead. “Do you want me to make you come?”
“You don’t have to,” Triss mumbles, the words heavy in her mouth, tears still slowly leaking from her eyes. She doesn’t know how to stop them. She is throbbing in her underwear but she doesn’t really have to come. She is already pleasantly buzzed and maybe Yennefer doesn’t even want to–
“Triss. I want to.”
Okay, well… maybe she does. Maybe, for once, it’s that simple. “Okay,” Triss says, “make me come, Yenna.”
Yennefer hums fondly and kisses Triss, no doubt tasting herself on Triss’s lips. “Do you want me to eat you out, baby?”
Triss thinks about it for a moment, shakes her head. “Fingers, please. I want to look you in the eyes when I finish.”
“Alright,” Yennefer agrees with a smile. “Do you want to take off your dress?”
Triss hesitates. Yennefer notices it – of course she does – and kisses her cheek sweetly. “Whatever you want, baby.” There’s no judgment in her tone, just kindness and care. Triss’s heart roars with it.
She gets up on unstead feet and slides out of the embroidered dress. Then, she removes her underpants but not her brassiere. She isn’t quite ready for anyone to see just how the fire licked her other breast, the shape of it different now, bumpy and uneven. “Like this,” Triss says, arms crossing over her chest protectively.
Yennefer nods, a look of understanding crossing her face when her eyes trail the waxy skin down the swell of her chest. “Whatever you want,” she repeats.
Satisfied, Triss lies back down on the bed, the sheets wonderfully sleek under her bare skin. She opens her legs and bends the other at the knee. Yennefer’s eyes track the movement hungrily, much to Triss’s delight.
“Do you have slick somewhere?” Yennefer asks. Her hand trails circular patterns across Triss’s stomach before reaching lower and cupping her mound, tugging playfully at the bush of dark curls she finds there.
Triss sighs in anticipation, an amused smile taking her face. “Oh, you mean somewhere that’s not my face?”
“You, Triss Merigold, are a menace,” Yennefer laughs, visibly startled by the joke. She has a beautiful laugh, the kind that always makes Triss want to join in. It’s one of the many things she loves about her friend. Yennefer doesn’t laugh too often or openly, at least not here at Aretuza, but when she does, it’s magical.
“Menace? I thought I was a sweetheart,” Triss jokes right back, a sliver of vulnerability slipping into her voice. If Yennefer notices, she doesn’t call her out on it.
“You are, sweet thing. Did such a good job making me come with your mouth…” Yennefer murmurs, smirking at the way the praise makes Triss’s whole body shiver. Yennefer’s hand presses against her mound more firmly, a curious finger slipping between her folds, feeling the wetness pooling there.
“Yenna…” Triss whines when she doesn’t press inside, just slides her fingers over Triss’s cunt slowly.
“Slick? Do you have oil or anything? I don’t want it to be uncomfortable.”
“Give me your hand,” Triss says and Yennefer does. Once in her hold, she magicks some oil onto the awaiting palm. Yennefer looks up at her at the use of magic, a shadow of sorrow in her purple eyes. Triss immediately feels like an idiot. “Yennefer… I’m–”
“Don’t apologize. It’s a gift. You should use it whenever you can,” Yennefer says firmly, the tone of her voice letting Triss know that she doesn’t wish to continue the conversation further. “You should especially use it for this,” she continues as she presses her oiled hand against Triss again.
“Please, Yenna,” Triss sighs.
“Inside or outside?” Yennefer asks, running two fingers up and down her slit.
“Both, please,” Triss whines. Yennefer nods. She wastes no time, pressing a slick finger into Triss immediately after getting her permission. Triss gasps and squirms on the bed, eager for more. Her wish is granted when after a few pumps, Yennefer presses another finger into her hole.
Yennefer shifts and twists her fingers inside Triss for a while until she finds a spot that makes her weak at the knees. Triss moans and moans and moans, and Yennefer keeps pressing on the spot every chance she gets.
“So beautiful for me. Gorgeous girl,” she murmurs. “I love seeing you like this.”
“Rub my clit, please,” Triss whimpers as her thighs begin to shake. The words earn her a sloppy kiss from Yennefer.
“Only because you ask so nicely, sweetheart ,” Yennefer replies against Triss’s lips, the smile audible in her voice.
“Prick,” Triss tries to snort. It comes out as a moan when Yennefer’s thumb brushes against her swollen clit. Yennefer laughs brightly, joyously, as she gasps and trembles on the bed, and Triss can’t help but to think about how one day she will surely either drown in this sound or float away with how light it makes her feel.
When Triss comes, it’s with two fingers inside of her, a thumb stroking her clit and Yennefer’s mouth on her neck. Her back bows off the bed and her mouth opens in a long whimper. Her whole body shakes with the force of her orgasm and her eyes grow wet again.
Yennefer strokes her through it, her purple eyes drinking in Triss’s pleasure. When the touch becomes too much, too overwhelming, Triss moves to squeeze her thighs together in a silent plea for the movement to stop. It does. The kisses and the soft words, however, do not.
“–good, so good, sweetheart–”
“Yenna,” Triss whispers when the burst of pleasure quiets down into warm and pleasant ripples. She blinks away the tears from her eyes and raises a lazy hand to stroke at Yennefer’s sleek, black hair.
“Mmm,” Yennefer hums, pressing her head against Triss’s pleasure-clumsy fingers. “You did so good, beautiful girl. Absolutely gorgeous.”
Triss’s cheeks heat up with the force of the compliment, a familiar knot tightening around her heart. “Yennefer…”
“I love you.”
Saying it out loud is easier than Triss thought it would be. Maybe it’s because she has thought the words so often, has said them in her mind so many times that they feel like second nature to her by now.
Yennefer stares at her, eyes wide with an emotion Triss can’t place. She has a feeling even Yennefer herself doesn’t know what it is.
“I don’t know what–” The words come out raw. Terrified.
Don’t be afraid , Triss wants to tell her. I have loved you for too long and too brightly to hate you for a small thing like not loving me back.
“It’s okay,” she says instead. “Just… don’t go? Stay the night? I don’t want to be alone.”
Yennefer swallows heavily and nods. She curls up close against Triss and pulls up the blankets. Her head presses against the uneven skin of Triss’s chest and Triss finds that she doesn’t mind. In fact, she doesn’t think she has ever felt more present in her own body than she does right now, with Yennefer’s limbs wrapped around hers, her black hair tickling a sensitive spot on Triss's chin.
Triss isn’t okay.
But she is alive and she has a feeling that she might be home as well. At least for tonight.