Renfri sees him from across the room, talking to the madam and clearly trying to make himself look smaller than he is. She can also see, from the look on Marjorie’s face, that he’ll be turned out.
She rolls her eyes and starts skirting the edge of the room, avoiding the other workers and hoping she doesn’t catch the attention of any other johns, because she can’t really afford to turn any work down. Luckily, she’s not a favorite or a stand out, especially since she hates dressing in the pretty, enticing things Marjorie always puts the rest of them in. Right now, it’s doubly to her advantage.
As soon as she’s within earshot, she announces, “I’ll take him, Marjorie,” and she knows that she’s been heard because the john goes rigid and Marjorie gives her a scathing, exasperated look.
Marjorie…tolerates her, and Renfri tolerates Marjorie right back. The thing is that whoring isn’t Renfri’s first choice of a job, though it’s not one she minds, either, and brothels and madams offer a certain level of safety that she can’t get on the streets – but it comes at the price of control, and half as often that puts Renfri back out on the corners for the sake of not causing a scene.
But, for the most part, Marjorie has put up with Renfri’s generally unusual method of whoring. Plus, as long as she gets a cut, she’ll let Renfri use the brothel rooms as a sort of inn for the johns she does pick up on the streets.
“Fine,” Marjorie snaps after a moment, “but take the negotiations to one of the rooms. He’s making the other girls nervous.”
Which is true, Renfri can see it in how the others are giving the three of them a wide berth; how even the ones with clients keep glancing over and then away, as if they’re afraid to take their eyes off of this one for too long. For his part, he sighs and scrubs a large hand roughly over his face, which Renfri notes is scarred.
“I apologize,” he says softly, and Renfri is taken aback by his voice. Deep, she’d expected, it’s unusual for a man as large as him to have a higher voice in her experience, but it’s…gentle, despite the roughness. He sounds like a lifetime smoker, really, but without the grate and none of the reek of stale tobacco. She…kind of likes it.
“I can leave, if I’m being a nuisance to the staff,” he continues, and then turns toward Renfri properly. His face is even more heavily scarred than she’d thought at first, but more interesting than that are his eyes.
“And thank you, Miss, for the offer.”
… the staff. Miss. Even aside from the fact that she’d been interested based on the size of him – even whores are allowed to have preferences – the fact that he seems to have some amount of respect for the profession, for her…. Well.
“You’re paying, are you not?”
The Witcher doesn’t have a terribly expressive face – probably because of the scars – but even still she can see the indignation in the way he frowns, how his eyebrows raise but pull together. “Of course,” he says, emphatically, and then, quieter, “double the asking, if it’s needed.”
She won’t ask him to pay double, but – that he’s willing.
“Then, Sir,” she says, smirking and holding out a hand as she gives a fake curtsy (she’s not wearing a dress). She sees Marjorie make an exasperated gesture in her periphery. “If you would come with me.”
The Witcher takes her offered hand, but his touch is tentative, so light that she barely even feels it. Something about that, too, thrills her, sends a shiver down her spine.
She’s almost never actually interested in the men who pay her. She’s usually barely interested in the men who don’t. But this one – this Witcher, he’s…there’s just something about him, besides the superficial. She can’t pin it, but she wants to.
“Tell me your name,” she says as she leads him into one of the nicer rooms. Usually, Marjorie would charge a client much more for one of these, but she hadn’t specified a room for Renfri to use and she knows better, so. “I’m Renfri.”
“Eskel,” he murmurs, and he sounds…nervous maybe isn’t the word. It’s almost more…timid.
Which is certainly something, considering he stands at least six-foot tall if not more and is nearly too broad to fit through the bedroom doorway facing forward.
“Well, Eskel,” Renfri sits on the end of the bed and spreads her arms. “Tell me what you’re looking for.”
Eskel…won’t quite look at her. He will, but it’s like he’s afraid of it, somehow; his eyes keep skipping, from her face to her body and then back, or away entirely. He’s also fidgeting, sort of, fingers making odd, jerky little movements to his side.
“I - look,” he says, after a moment. “I just – I’m not…small. And it’s. Been a while. I don’t – I’d rather….”
He stops and makes a frustrated noise, rubbing his hand across his face again. She watches how he moves, how even in frustration his movements are constrained, held close to his body. How, when he makes another, rougher frustrated noise, he actually turns slightly away from her, instead of directing it at her.
He just keeps getting more and more interesting.
“You’d rather?” she prompts, and he huffs.
“Whatever you’re willing to do,” he says, after a moment, and finally looks at her properly. His eyes are a little unsettling, really, especially with the way they shine in the low lamplight. Like a cat’s.
Except that, much like a cat, his pupils are round, now, not the slits they were downstairs, and they go rounder when he glances over her body again. It’s…heady, honestly, how easy it is to see his interest, because it’s so different from normal men. Her usual johns are…sweaty, and wide-eyed, and more…dog-like in how they show their wants.
Eskel, though, has kept his distance except to look, and even then, he’s clearly trying to – be respectful, maybe? Or not get ahead of himself. Whatever it is, it’s…a nice change of pace.
“I’m sure Marjorie already gave you the general rates for the establishment,” Renfri says. “Same prices. I’m willing to do what you’re paying for.”
Which is true in general, but Renfri thinks she’s willing to give Eskel plenty of free extras. Not that he needs to know that right now, though.
When he doesn’t respond immediately, though, she figures maybe she needs to try to be more enticing. It’s…not her favorite game.
“You said it’s been a while?” she asks, and Eskel gives a jerky nod. “Well, then, no reason to hold off, if you’ve got the coin for a fuck.”
Shit. She was meant to be going for enticing.
To her surprise, though, Eskel’s pupils only get wider, and his breathing goes a little unsteady for a moment before he seems to master himself.
“I…like I said,” he says, slowly, “I’m not…small.”
And Renfri really can’t help herself, with that; she nods and gives him a very obvious once-over, licking her lips. “I noticed,” she says, and doesn’t bother to hide the want in her voice.
Eskel actually shivers. It’s a bit of a rush.
“I – it’s. Proportional. I’m not – most wh…most women aren’t….” He runs a hand through his hair, pulling at it a little. “I would much rather ensure your comfort than my pleasure.”
Renfri’s mouth drops open.
“...I’m sorry,” Eskel says, after a moment, face twisting. “I didn’t mean to…. I can go.”
“No, don’t,” Renfri says it immediately. She doesn’t know what else to say, but she doesn’t want Eskel going anywhere right now. Possibly for a good, long while. “Stay.”
“Oh. Okay.” He fidgets, and Renfri wills herself to move past the shock and actually think.
“...I’ll make you a deal,” she suggests, finally, after a solid minute of internal scrambling. “How much are you able to spend? I won’t double the prices, just give me the total you’ve got to work with.”
Eskel blinks at her. “...hundred crowns,” he says quietly.
Renfri resists the urge to whistle, but only just. He’d said it's been a while, and that’s common enough, but a hundred crowns for a man whose work isn’t that different from hers, someone who lives from contract to contract just the same – he’s saved up.
“Alright, so how about this,” she says, and waits til he looks back at her properly to continue. “Thirty crowns,” the amount for a full night, or a fuck, “and we’ll just – see how it goes.” Seeing how he starts to frown, brows drawing together, she holds up a hand and adds on, “And if we need to renegotiate, we can.”
He’s still frowning a little, but his brow smooths. “...alright,” he nods. “That’s – if you’re okay with that.” He reaches into a pouch at his side and pulls out the handful of crowns, setting it on the vanity where she can see. She’s fairly certain that pile is more than thirty, but she’ll leave it be for now.
“Wouldn’t have offered it if I wasn’t,” Renfri shrugs. “Now, come here and stop looming.”
She immediately regrets her phrasing, because Eskel’s shoulders hunch, and he clearly tries to make himself appear less tall and broad. All the same, though, he hums an affirmative and crosses the room, tentatively perching on the end of the bed next to her.
“Would you like to undress yourself, or have me do it?” She’s realizing she probably needs to be more…maybe not gentle, but intentional, with him. More direct. He’s clearly insecure, and he seems fairly sweet underneath all the scarring and deep voice and spiky armor.
“I can,” he says, and Renfri can’t help but roll her eyes.
“I didn’t ask if you can,” she says, reaching out and starting to tug at buttons. “I asked which you wanted.”
“Come here,” she says, and, careful of the spikes on his jacket, pushes gently at his shoulder to make him turn toward her. He goes easily, just lets her sort of manhandle him where she wants him, and she squirrels that away for later, starting to work properly at the buckles on the leather belt across his chest. “I’m not afraid of you, Eskel.”
She’s not entirely sure, in the low light, but she thinks she sees his cheeks go pink. “...people generally are,” he murmurs.
She hums, and finally loosens the belt enough he’s able to shrug it off and set it to the floor. “The scars?” she asks, and he winces, slightly, but nods. She keeps working at his clothes, focused now on the buttons keeping the spiky gambeson secured.
“They are nasty,” she said, entirely matter of fact, but before Eskel can try to take that personally – he would definitely be the type – she continues, “but you’re handsome, and not even in spite of them. And really, they’re not worth fear. Pity, if anything, but I’m not about to start pitying a Witcher for a scar, to tell you the truth.”
That, at least, makes him laugh. She grins, and lets him get out of the now-loose gambeson, then starts on the small fastenings of his shirt, steadfastly not letting herself get distracted when it’s loose and he pulls it off.
He really is not small, and he doesn’t dress to seem that way; somehow, though, the clothes managed to make him look daintier. But without the gambeson or the shirt, she can see clearly just how broad he really is, and he is. Just… incredibly broad.
She licks her lips, and grins when Eskel sucks in a breath, which he immediately loses again on a rumbling groan as her hands drop to his pants. She just winks when he gives her a weak glare.
Once she’s gotten the ties around his codpiece loose, and the breeches themselves unfastened, she slides from the bed to the floor, pushing aside his already-shed clothes to kneel in front of him. She grins again at the cut off, breathy noise he makes about it, and he groans around a laugh at the realization that she’s poking fun at him. He lets her continue undressing him, though, so she figures there’s no harm done in a little teasing.
Once his boots are off, though, and she’s started tugging at his breeches to get rid of them, too, he stops her with a hand on her shoulder.
“Before – before I get too distracted,” he says, and he sounds charmingly embarrassed about the inherent admission. She hums and looks up at him, knowing full well that the effect of her on her knees is a distraction in and of itself; she smirks when she’s right, and he has to take a deep breath and look away from her to continue. “Have you had other clients, today?”
She tilts her head in question. “...I usually clean up rather thoroughly between,” she says, “but no, I actually haven’t yet, today.”
Eskel snorts, but he’s explaining himself before she can get offended. “I’m not worried about cleanliness, or – evidence of your work,” he says, surprisingly delicately for an offhand reference to another man’s spend. “It’s what I keep telling you: I’m not small. If you haven’t been working yet today, as it were, I’d much rather you come up here and let me open you up first.”
And now it’s Renfri’s turn to suck in a startled breath and moan, because that – the idea of it alone is arousing, never mind the fact that he wants to do it for the sake of her comfort. But that also gives her pause, because frankly, as much as she’d appreciate the attention, she’s not terribly interested in it being perfunctory on his end.
“It’ll be fine,” she says, instead, and starts tugging at his pants again.
Except that he doesn’t actually let her. “No,” he says, grasping gently but firmly at her wrists. The touch, even as tiny as it is, makes her shiver. “I don’t – I already told you that it’s been a while. I don’t…if you’re up for letting me fuck you, I would love to, but I can’t and won’t risk hurting you for it. I…appreciate that you apparently don’t fear me, but the fear of Witchers isn’t entirely unfounded. We’re strong, and we have more stamina than five regular men. Human women…can’t always handle that in general, and especially not without preparation.”
Renfri squeezes her thighs together to try and ignore the way that makes her cunt pulse. “I won’t stop you, if you want to go to the effort,” she says, after a moment of consideration. She doesn’t really want to say that she’d immediately assumed he’d be doing it begrudgingly, because that seems rude. “And to be honest with you – I’m questionably human. And tougher than I look, anyway.”
“...questionably human?” he asks, eyes flicking to her ears, and she laughs.
“We don’t have time to get into it,” she says. “And besides, my tragic backstory isn’t what you’re paying for.”
He hums, but it’s a reluctant sort of sound, as if he disagrees. She’s not terribly interested in changing the subject. “Let me take your pants off,” she says, “and then you can do whatever you’d like to me.”
She’s treated to feeling his hands flex around her wrists before he lets them go, as well as the way his eyes flash. She just smirks in response to the warning look he gives her, and gets back to freeing him from his breeches, though she leaves his smallclothes. Regrettably, in her opinion, but he had said he wanted to be able to prepare her before he gets too distracted – if she gets his cock out now, that feels like defeating the purpose.
As soon as she stands again, his hands are at her waist, although he doesn’t quite touch her at first.
“May I?” he asks, pinching her shirt between his fingers, and she grins.
“It is what you’re paying for, isn’t it?” she teases, and he chuckles even as he rolls his eyes, then starts tugging her shirt up. Once it’s to her chest, she takes over and yanks it over her head, freeing his hands to start working on her pants. She’s not wearing proper shoes, either, just a sort of slipper – easier to get in and out of quickly – so he doesn’t even have to bend down to get at her feet, and he doesn’t seem to have the same sort of practical compunction about her smallclothes.
She shivers lightly with the exposure, and he hums questioningly as his hands hover at her waist again.
“Go on,” she laughs. “Honestly. I’ve already agreed and you’ve already paid, Eskel.”
“Yes, well,” he shrugs, but doesn’t elaborate, and finally puts his hands on her properly.
She’s expecting the heat, and how rough his calluses feel rasping across her skin. She’s not expecting the tingling, and it startles a little whimper out of her, heat pooling in her belly. “Oh,” she mumbles, grasping his wrists to press his hands harder against her. “That’s – mm.”
“...you can feel it?” he asks, and she manages to get her eyes half-open to look at him. He’s not looking back, not really, eyes fixed on where her hands are wrapped tightly around his wrists. “That’s – is it okay?”
“Okay?” she laughs, using her grip to make him drag his palms up her sides a little and shuddering at the sparking sort of buzz. “It’s fantastic, fuck.” She has no idea what it is, and frankly, she doesn’t care.
“Good,” he murmurs, and then pulls his wrists from her grasp just to slide his palms up past her ribs to cup her breasts. She whines.
“Oh, fuck, Eskel,” she gasps, arching into the touch even though it puts her a little off balance. Eskel chuckles softly, and suddenly his hands disappear, but before she can complain he’s getting an arm around her and pulling her onto the bed.
She stumbles and yells a little, but he’s got a good hold on her, and the landing is soft with his hand on the back of her head so she doesn’t bounce too much, and she just whimpers again, pressing her thighs together.
“C’mon, let me,” he says, and prods her up the bed, til she’s reclined on the pillows and he’s shouldering confidently between her legs. She’s…almost embarrassingly hot for it, which he clearly notices when he trails two rough, buzzing fingers lightly through her folds.
She whines again, hips jumping, and when she manages to open her eyes he’s smirking down at her, just slightly.
Oh, she’s fucking doomed. “Eskel,” she murmurs, and that’s apparently all it takes for him to stop teasing. He settles on his belly between her thighs, and she pants, lifting her legs to hook them over his wide shoulders when he cups the back of her thighs. That tingle so close to her center makes her moan and arch, and he takes advantage of that, palms sliding up to cup her ass and then smooth around her hips, til he can splay his fingers out over her belly, thumbs slotted on either side of her cunt.
She moans again, jerking her hips, and he just hums soothingly, nosing at the curls on her mound before licking into her with enthusiasm. It shouldn’t startle her, really, but somehow it does, and she squeaks, rolling her hips up into the slick pressure just to have him shift and press her back down before giving her another broad, intentional lick that sends fire through her veins.
“Oh, fuck,” she sighs, and this time when her whole body rolls he doesn’t really hold her down so much as move with her, letting his tongue dip shallowly inside her before it moves back up to her clit, and then repeating the circuit. “Gods.”
He eats her out slow and ridiculously indulgent, working her to that first orgasm as if he’s the one getting paid, except then he doesn’t stop. Once she’s finished shuddering and whimpering through that first peak, he’s pushing his tongue properly inside her to fuck her on it, one of those tingling thumbs sweeping up to circle over her clit, and she’s so fucking sensitive she’s close again near immediately.
“Fuck, fuck, Eskel, oh my gods,” she pants, and he just hums right into her, burying his tongue deeper inside when her hips jerk in response, and the feeling of that has her thighs trembling around him. “I can’t – you – fuck.”
It doesn’t take more than a handful more minutes of that for her to tumble off the edge again, shouting this time because she’s so sensitive it nearly hurts to come again so soon. He leaves off the buzzing touch to her clit, at least, after a moment of her quivering and making pitchy, oversensitive noises, but she’s not entirely certain that him replacing it with his tongue is any less intense.
Whether it is or isn’t, she’s rapidly distracted from it anyway, because he shifts to lean on one elbow and drags one of his hands back around to be between her legs properly again. She knows, logically, what he’s going to do, but even knowing that can’t prepare her for feeling it. His fingers are inhumanly hot and the tingling is so much worse, so much better, as he carefully sinks one thick finger inside her.
She’s so slick from her own arousal and his tongue there’s barely any friction, and that just makes her whimper, cunt clenching hard around that single digit. He growls at the feeling of it, too, a deep, rumbling sound only sort of muffled by the way he’s still teasing at her clit with his tongue, and she’s suddenly rather concerned she won’t make it out of this encounter conscious.
…it’s a much less frightening thought than it should be. Godsdamnit, she barely knows Eskel, but everything about him just radiates gentleness and safety, and she’s downright irritated at being sucked in by it. And of course he’s fucking talented with that scarred mouth and ridiculously large hands, because she can’t even focus enough to stay irritated about it.
“Gods, gods, more, please,” she gasps, eventually, when the feeling of one finger has gone from mind-bending to entirely not enough. He hums against her, making her hips jerk, but there’s a second finger flirting at the edge of her entrance and she wants it. “Eskel, fuck – yes, yes.”
He really is just big, everywhere, because that second finger is a stretch she can feel, and the thought of what that means about his cock…. She might be drooling.
But then Eskel starts sucking at her clit with intent and she cannot possibly give a single fuck about that.
The third orgasm is sudden and sharp, her body tensing hard as she wails. Eskel just murmurs encouragingly at her, fingers curling up to press into that spot that makes her see stars, and she’s certain that she’s making too much noise, but she doesn’t have any control.
Eventually, he lets her come down, gentling the thrust of his fingers until he’s not moving, just letting her clench spasmodically around his knuckles. She’s still panting, chest heaving, and he just kisses over her mound, her hip, humming wordless and soothing.
“Gods,” she finally mutters. “You just – fuck.”
He chuckles, at that, and she wants to swat at him, but three orgasms in such a short time has her feeling like her limbs are full of lead. She’s not really sleepy, per se, just feeling incredibly sedate, and it’s…really fucking nice, actually. She tips her head back against the pillows and just lets herself feel it, lets Eskel kiss over her hips and thighs while he slowly, carefully starts moving the fingers buried inside her again.
That fucking tingling. It feels so good she’s damn near cross eyed, and it’s deeply not fair, but the last thing she wants is for him to stop.
“More,” she demands, after a minute, rolling her hips so his fingers sink just a little bit deeper inside her.
“Patience,” he murmurs, still mouthing at her hip.
She huffs and clenches around his fingers intentionally, delighting in how his breathing goes momentarily shallow. “More,” she demands again.
Eskel is the one to huff, this time, and the sharp little nip to her hipbone makes her twitch, but it’s not painful, and he’s licking over the mild sting immediately afterward.
“Don’t want to hurt you,” he says, and feeling his mouth move over that spot he nipped makes her suddenly ache for him to properly bite her, to dig his teeth in and suck and leave a real mark.
She shoves that desire as far down as she can get it, and instead rolls her hips against his fingers again. “You won’t,” she says. “Tougher than I look. I want it, Eskel. Please?”
Clearly, that’s the master key, because she’s treated to the sight of his eyes fluttering closed before he presses his forehead to her belly and swears quietly. Before she can say anything, though, he’s pulling his fingers back just to press three against her instead, and she whines needily instead.
“Yes, yes, please,” she babbles, shuddering at the feeling of the buzz right up against her entrance like that. Her cunt clenches, as if she could pull his fingers in with that alone, and he groans.
“Fuck, Renfri,” he mutters, and slowly, carefully, he’s pushing those fingers forward.
If two of his fingers had been a stretch, three of them take Renfri’s breath away, but it’s good, so good she knows she’s drooling, now, and still doesn’t give a fuck. Her thighs are twitching wildly where she’s got them over his shoulders, as if she could squeeze them together around his bulk, but he’s immovable.
“Look so fucking good,” he mumbles, after a moment, and she jolts at the sound of his voice pitched even deeper, even rougher. “Feel so fucking good, sweet fucking Melitele.”
She wants to quip about blasphemy, but before she can even find the breath, never mind the words, Eskel is curling his fingers hard into her sweet spot and she sobs.
Eskel is clearly a little alarmed, but when he tries to shift, clearly intent on pulling back, she locks her legs around him and makes a sharp sound. “More,” she orders.
He makes a delicious little noise, somewhere between a growl and a needy whine, and does exactly as he’s told. It doesn’t take long for that vicious push, alongside the thrum of his skin, to get her riding the edge of a fourth orgasm. She’s – all but insensate, gurgling around her own desperate whimpers, entire body quivering with the sheer force of the pleasure overtaking her, and he just – doesn’t. Stop.
Even as she starts to come, finally hits that burning peak, he keeps up the exact same pressure with his fingers, the same rapid thrusts that have her pulse beating in her fingertips, and it builds and builds and builds, until suddenly it snaps like a bough and she screams.
She also gushes slick fucking everywhere, practically soaking Eskel from his hairline to his chest. It’s – humiliating, probably, except that she can’t care when she can’t breathe past the pleasure searing through her blood, and Eskel still doesn’t stop. He keeps going, dragging out the pleasure until it’s turned into something closer to actual ecstasy, her vision whiting out and hearing going muffled with the labored rush of her breathing.
Reality comes back to her in pieces, and she has no idea how long she spent swept away by rapture, but her cunt is still spasming around the thickness of Eskel’s knuckles, and he’s murmuring sweet nonsense at her as he kisses over anything he can reach from her hips to her breasts. She’s still gasping, too, chest working as she continues to quiver.
“Melitele’s tits,” Eskel swears quietly, and apparently her ability to snark has come back with the vicious wiping of her mind’s slate, somehow, because she laughs breathlessly and replies without even thinking.
“What, my tits aren’t good enough for you? They’re right here.” She even manages to lever her arm up from her side to cup one, sucking in a sharp breath at the spike of sensation when her fingers swipe across her nipple.
Eskel makes a choked sound, something between a pleased, hungry growl and a laugh, and suddenly he’s moving. She’s not sure if it’s the Witcher thing, or that her brain is in a puddle on the bed beneath her hips, but she can’t parse what he’s doing til he’s done, her legs moved from his shoulders to his waist as he hovers over her.
With his fingers still buried in her cunt, she notes. She shivers.
“They are, at that,” he mutters, and she’s confused for a split second, gone so stupid from that orgasm (or orgasm s? Maybe?) and the thrill of his touch, his size, that she’s already forgotten her comment about her tits. He reminds her very effectively, though, ducking down and nosing against the breast she’s not still holding, breath hot where he mouths at the skin just below.
She whines. “Oh,” she mumbles, and then, when his mouth starts wandering, eventually making it to her nipple, “oh, fuck, Eskel.”
He just hums, lips pressed to her areola, and she jerks, cunt clenching around his buried fingers, which just makes her whine all over again. She can feel his grin, and once more she wants to whack him for it, but she doesn’t have the strength, and besides, he’s distracting the thought quickly and easily with the slight, threatening drag of his teeth as he toys with her nipple.
Apparently, he took her offhand quip quite seriously, because he spends quite a while at her chest, mouthing over the swell of her breasts and tonguing at her nipples. He even noses her hand away so he can access both of them equally, and keeps the attention up until she’s swollen and tender and twitching with each new kiss or lick or drag of teeth.
He never takes his fingers away, either, and eventually he starts moving them again, too.
Renfri has never been this well attended to, and he hasn’t even taken his cock out still. Sweet fucking Melitele might have been right.
“Fuck, Eskel, gods,” she pants, when his fingers have managed to work her up to the edge again. She’s squirming, this time, entirely unsure if she’s trying to get away or somehow closer, and everything is so much hotter for the fact that he doesn’t even have to hold her down. He just – keeps going, follows her movements as if he can somehow anticipate them, and it means she really can’t get away, not without trying, and – “Fuck, fuck, slow down,” she manages to gasp, and to her shock he…does.
He freezes, for a second, and then everything suddenly dials back; he shifts so there’s more room between them, and he doesn’t remove his fingers entirely but he does pull them back, just a little, and they stop moving.
“Are you alright?” he asks, low and completely sincere, and she – laughs.
She can’t help it, it’s just – he’s so strange, in just so many ways, and he’s also sweet and good with his hands and his mouth and she’s – not used to it, for one, and she hadn’t really expected it, when she’d looked across the main room of the brothel to see a man built like an improbable god, and.
And she really, really wants his cock. Among other things.
“Fine,” she says, past giggles, and he looks absolutely baffled but, to his credit, has kept waiting for a response, and she’s not thinking straight, so – “Why haven’t you kissed me?”
She knows it’s frowned upon to kiss a whore. In fact, she usually avoids it entirely, if she can, but even if it is an unspoken rule not to and she tries to avoid it, most customers still try, and Eskel…hasn’t.
“...do you want me to?” he asks, and he sounds as baffled as he looks, and Renfri devolves into a fit of giggles again.
It’s got to be the endorphins, or something. Whatever.
“Mhm,” she hums, instead of trying to use her words, and reaches up to grab at the back of his neck. She’s fumbling, arms still leaden and fingers weak, but he takes direction well even if it’s poor, and leans back down to meet her.
It’s tentative, at first, just a chaste little press, but when Eskel realizes Renfri is serious – which is its own sort of funny, really – it changes quickly.
He kisses exactly like he ate her out, which is to say wet and indulgent and immediately fucking overwhelming. And she – loves it, really, loves how she can nip at him and he just kisses her deeper, how the rough skin of his scar feels against her face, her lips. When he slips away to let her breathe, she’s whimpering, overtaken by how much she wants.
“More,” she mutters, clenching around his fingers, and he grunts. “Want your cock.”
It’s what he paid for, after all. She doesn’t have to feel bad about asking for it.
His laugh is strangled, almost more of a choked groan, and he shakes his head. “Not yet,” he murmurs, voice rumbling where his lips are pressed to her throat. “I don’t – ”
“I know,” she huffs. “You’re very sweet and noble and I like you very much for it, but I know what I can take, and I told you I’m tougher than I look. Give me what I want.” She pauses, then tacks on, “Please?”
Magic words, after all.
He just outright groans this time, teeth bared against her neck, and she shudders, finding the control to get her hand in his hair (noting that he never even took it out of the bun, which makes her giggle stupidly). She uses her weak grip on the strands to pull him back to her mouth, and he follows easily, eyes burning when his gaze meets hers.
She gets the kiss she’s looking for before he starts being noble again, at least.
“Do you have oil?” he asks, and when she quirks a brow, he rolls his eyes. “Just in case,” he adds, and she giggles again.
“Mm. In the table your money is on, though.”
And she really should expect that he’ll still want to go get it, even with the enticement of her under him, but somehow she doesn’t. She whines when his fingers slip out of her, and he just murmurs something wordless and soothing, kissing the corner of her mouth before he’s climbing off the bed to grab the oil.
Needing a distraction from how empty she suddenly feels, she finds the will and coordination to shift on the bed, enough to wrestle the ruined sheet from under her and toss it to the end of the bed, then rearrange the pillows so she can lay more comfortably on them. There’s still the massive wet spot in the center of the bed to cope with, but realistically, she’s dealt with worse
Also, Eskel is fairly likely to just make that worse by the end of the night, so. Lost cause.
By the time she’s settled, he’s found the oil and lost his smallclothes, and she…is staring. Rather rudely and blatantly, really, and when he notices he goes properly red, just standing awkwardly at the end of the bed with the little bottle in his hands.
He looks like a statue. A particularly raunchy, erotic statue. She might be drooling again.
“Come here,” she demands, sitting up enough to reach out to him, and he immediately jumps forward to take her hand, kneeing his way onto the bed and back between her thighs, which is where he belongs, in her opinion. It’s easy to pull him over her that way, until he’s forced to bend and drop the oil just to catch himself on his free hand, and from there she lets go of the other to get her arms around his neck.
They slot together easily, and she doesn’t bother to try and mask her whine at the feeling of his cock pressed against her belly. She hadn’t actually thought he was lying, but…. Well.
She’s a whore. She’s learned to take a man’s assumptions about his own cock with a grain of salt.
Eskel, though, may have been downplaying it a bit.
She drags him back into a kiss, and he comes willingly, groaning into her mouth when she wraps her legs tight around his waist. The hand he’s not leaning on finds her again, landing on her waist before he slides it around to her back, holding her up where she’s arched into his chest, and that touch is just as electric as the first, fingers leaving a trail of prickling goosebumps in its wake.
“Fuck,” she mutters around a gasp, caught between wanting more of that touch and arching away from it entirely to feel his bulk pressed against her again. He chuckles and kisses down one side of her neck just to kiss back up the other, scars rough and thrilling where they drag across her sensitive skin. “Gods, fuck me, please.”
“Mm. Not like this.”
Renfri makes a frustrated, indignant noise. “What do you mean, you – ”
She registers that he’s laughing, first, and before she can rile herself up into further offense, he’s pulling her closer by that humming hand against her back and – flipping them.
Like when he first pulled her onto the bed, she shouts, but between the grip she’s already got on him with her arms and legs and how he’s holding her to his chest, it’s more shock at the sudden movement than anything. He settles a little awkwardly, back too far up on the pillows, but she’s more focused on how sitting astride his waist like this is – a bit more than a stretch.
“Ah, fuck,” she mutters, and plants her hands on his chest to lever herself up. The change in angle makes it easier on her hips, and he lets her wriggle around until she’s comfortable, hands hovering just close enough around her waist she swears she can feel the phantom tingling.
“Like this,” he murmurs, once she’s settled again. “So you can set the pace.”
Gods, he really is just – so fucking noble. She’s been much more accomodating and – and nice to him than she ever has been to a john, she’s pretty sure, and even the ones she’s mean to usually take the first chance they get to just rail her.
Eskel, though – so you can set the pace.
Well, at least that means he can’t complain if she takes what she wants, which is, for once, to get fucking railed.
“Does that mean I can ride your cock now, or are you going to insist on further prep, Mister Careful?”
She’s – probably pushing her luck, with that, but something about Eskel makes her want to push, and now that she’s more or less recovered (mentally, at least) from the orgasms he coaxed out of her with alarming skill, she can. Instead of just babbling.
And he…his eyes flash, but it’s not anger, not even irritation, it’s something…entirely different, hotter, and his hands are like steel on her hips when they land there. He pulls her down, until her legs are back around his hips, her weight pressing his cock flat to his belly, and oh fuck.
“Not – not just your hands, sweet fucking gods, Eskel,” she practically wails it, immediately trying to writhe, to grind her cunt against his cock, but his grip is sure and impossible to break. She whimpers.
“Can you behave?” he asks, and it takes a second too long for her to realize that he’s asking in response to her previous question. She whimpers again, wrapping her own hands around his wrists as if she could break his hold that way, but she knows she can’t, and that’s – even better, actually.
She couldn’t break his hold, not really, but she knows if she asked, he’d let go, and…. Gods, she wants his cock so badly she can feel her pulse in her cunt, now, and it’s just exacerbated by that tingling.
“Yes,” she gasps. “Gods, yes, I will, please let me have it.”
He hums, and for an agonizing moment keeps her held still, but then he’s releasing her. She’s immediately pushing up on her knees, trying to adjust so she’ll be able to catch his cock, and he – helps, sort of, one hand going around the base to hold his erection up, but the other detours between her legs, flicking gently at her clit before he sinks three fingers inside of her again.
She does wail, this time, nails digging angry red lines into his chest, and he just grunts as he presses those fingers as deep inside of her as he can get them, then removes them just to smear the slick they’re covered in over the head of his cock.
“Slow,” he tells her, that slick-sticky hand landing on her hip again to help guide.
“I will,” she mutters, snappish even though the sensation of it as the slick head of his cock slides over her folds has her stammering through even that simple phrase. The tingling is – worse, or maybe better, with his cock. Whichever it is, it’s fucking intense, and the fact that even after three of his impossibly thick fingers and four fucking orgasms it takes effort to let him inside…. All of it has her basically incoherent, nails doing a number on Eskel’s chest that he doesn’t seem to give a fuck about as he holds her steady and encourages her.
“That’s it, just like that, gods you’re so wet – good girl, keep going, slow….”
She makes a sound caught somewhere between a whine and a sob, and feels the give as the head of his cock finally sinks inside her, that buzzing feeling even more intense layered on top of the way the stretch burns.
“Oh, oh fuck,” she pants, and Eskel is still murmuring encouragement, but the words are lost on her. He feels so fucking good she can feel tears gathering in her eyes, and she throws her head back to get her hair out of her face, rocking her hips to get more, more.
And Eskel lets her, even though at this point she’s kind of thrown slow right out the window. Instead of stopping her, or admonishing her, anything she’d expect as she sinks a handful of inches onto his cock with one deep breath and a startled keen, he just shifts his hands to cup around the backs of her thighs, taking more of her weight off of her knees.
Which leaves her free to lean a little more forward and lift, just a little, only to drop back down as quickly as she dares, and he’s groaning, low and rumbling and a little feral. His legs shift, and then his hips, and on the next rock of her hips he meets her, not pushing further but just meeting her, and she clenches so tightly around him she swears she can feel it in her gut.
“Fuck, fuck, Eskel, shit,” she babbles. Between the stretch of him and that wonderful, awful, breathtaking tingling, her thighs are shaking in his grip, and her chest is heaving as she tries to take in enough air to fucking focus past the all-encompassing pleasure of being split open so godsdamned literally.
Of course, focusing so hard on not getting lost in her body means that when Eskel angles his hips and meets her with a thrust that nails that swollen, tender spot inside her, the orgasm it sparks doesn’t just take her breath away, it practically knocks her out. It feels a little like being lit on fire, like a fever spreading out from between her hips to the rest of her, and the way her body clenches rhythmically around Eskel’s massive fucking cock just makes it better – or worse, or both, fuck. She doesn’t think she’s ever come just from having a cock shoved inside her, and shit fuck she hadn’t known what she was missing.
“Good girl, feel so fucking good around my cock, fuck, just like that – ”
And that really is the magic fucking word, because Eskel finally seems inclined to just take her at it; his grip on her thighs turns almost bruising, and he doesn’t even grunt as he lifts her almost to the head of his cock again and then pulls her down, rocking his hips in counterpoint to hit her just right again.
She – gets loud. She knows she does, but she can’t care, not when Eskel keeps fucking her like that, as if he has a map of her body from inside out. She tips her head back and just lets him work, vaguely aware that her hips are keeping pace on instinct, but mostly floating on the rush of pleasure and tender, not-quite-pain flooding her entire body.
Eventually, she comes again – how many is that, now? She’s entirely lost count – and this one finally takes the strength entirely out of her. She’s gasping as she sort of collapses into Eskel’s chest, her elbows gone weak, and he grunts questioningly, and then again, with more concern this time, when she just sighs and nuzzles into his neck.
“Renfri?” he asks, and she giggles against his throat.
“‘M fine,” she breathes, cunt still clenching around his cock and sending shockwaves of oversensitive pleasure rocking up her spine. She can’t even manage to open her eyes, never mind lever herself up to look at him. “I’m fantastic, fuck. Feels good.”
He makes a strangled noise, at that, and rocks his hips, letting her feel how his cock is throbbing inside her. She groans and then giggles again, biting messily at his throat.
“Keep going,” she mumbles. “Get – get your money’s worth, hm?”
There’s that strangled noise again, and the gratifying sensation of his hips jerking, grinding his cock so deep into her it aches just a little. She gasps and rolls her hips back, weak as she is, just to feel it again.
“You’re sure?” he asks, and it’s – desperate, he’s panting and clearly barely holding on to his control, and even as loopy and fucked-out as she is, it’s thrilling.
“Positive, Witcher,” she murmurs back, and this time when she bites at his jaw it’s more successful, and he actually whimpers . “Go on.”
“Fuck, Renfri, I – ”
She doesn’t know what he was going to say, because that’s all that ever makes it out of his mouth, but he’s rolling them over, then, and adjusting them so she can lay back across the pillows and just
as he fucks her, and she figures if it’s important it’ll come up again later. Right now, she’s much too interested in laying back and feeling his desperation in how he moves.
For once, the sun doesn’t wake her. In fact, by the time she blinks her eyes open and glares at the window, it’s inching close enough to noon she’s a little shocked that Marjorie hasn’t sent someone up to do a check.
Or maybe she did, and Eskel waved them off, because when she rolls over, he looks plenty awake. He’s propped up a little on the pillows, but otherwise he’s laying down like her, just sort of – watching her, it seems. He smiles when he notices her eyes are open, and somehow it makes his watching feel…nice, rather than creepy.
He is a baffling man. She stretches and sighs, frowning slightly at the aches, and then cuddles closer into his embrace.
“Morning,” he murmurs, and she laughs.
“Afternoon?” she replies. He snorts.
“Not quite, but – yeah, fair,” he says, and squeezes her waist with one arm before shifting to sit up a little more. “I suppose I should go, hm? Let you have the rest of the day.”
She stretches again, moaning slightly when it aches in a good way, her muscles shaky from the use. “Mm. If you insist.”
When she finishes stretching and rubbing her eyes, he’s looking at her again, but it’s not soft and sweet this time – instead, it’s the same kind of look he’d given her last night, near burning, and she hums, fighting the urge to squirm.
“Sorry if I…left a mess,” he murmurs, eyes skating down to her thighs and then back up. “Was…a little distracted. Fell asleep too quickly.”
At that, she pauses to take better stock of her body, and finds that a mess is a bit of an understatement. She’s still soaked and sticky between her legs, and while it seems that he managed to move them out of the original wet spot on the bed, she’s sort of formed a new one where she’s lying.
It should be – a little gross, maybe. At the very least she should be indignant at being left a mess of his spend, but…. Well.
First off, everyone knows that Witchers are sterile. It’s probably the only reason most regular whores will still take them, even with their reputations and the (in Renfri’s updated opinion, completely unfounded) fear. So there’s no worry of a bastard causing her problems, here. Secondly, her memories of falling asleep last night are…hazy, to put it lightly, but she does remember him murmuring sweetly to her before she totally lost her grasp, the sweet nonsense and praise he’d purred in her ear, and, well….
She’s a bit of a sucker for it, if she’s honest – and she will be, even if only to herself, in her own head.
“I can – clean up, if you’d like,” he offers, after a moment of silence, and when she looks at him again she knows immediately that he’s not offering to go find a rag and some water.
She shivers, and she considers it, for a long moment – but then she hears a shout from outside, and the light is shifting into proper midday, and…. She really can’t. She’s got to go out to the market, and possibly see about hiring some men for a project, and then come back and make more money. Sleeping for so long cut into the time she’s got for all of that.
“I would say yes, if it weren’t so late,” she says, finally, and he looks disappointed, but nods and doesn’t push. Instead, they stand from the bed together, and Renfri does a quick wipe-down with what she can, and then dresses again. She’s dressed long before he is, so she crosses the room to help, and after a moment of clear shock, he lets her.
Once he’s strapped back into everything of his, she returns to the vanity and the pile of coins he’d set out the night before. Forty crowns, not thirty, and she snorts, turning around to try and hand him the extra ten.
He doesn’t let her, though, and she’s not entirely sure why she expected he would. He pushes her hand back, giving her an earnest look, and murmurs, “A tip.”
“Tips are not a third of the cost, Eskel.”
“It’s what I’m giving you.”
She gives him a look, but he doesn’t back down, and instead he reaches to the pouch at his waist, all but a threat. She huffs.
“Fine.” She pockets the coins. “If you insist.”
He just grins, at that, and she has the passing thought that his smile is much like the sun dawning – bright and almost unexpected, but very welcome for it. She can’t help but grin back.
“Come back next time you’re passing through, hm?” she says, and his grin morphs into open-mouthed shock for a moment. She laughs. “I’m serious. Though – maybe give me a bit.” She massages her thigh. “I’m entirely too sore to handle you immediately.”
He frowns, then, and she reaches up to put a finger over his mouth before he can start. “I’m fine,” she says, firm. “I like it. And I am serious about you coming back, when you’re nearby again. Now, however,” she taps his cheek, “go, before I let you distract me any further.”
For a moment, he continues to stand there, frowning at her, but apparently decides it’s not worth the effort to fight her. “Okay,” he says. “Have a good day, then.”
“Oh, I will.” She winks at him, and then he’s gone.
She sighs – back to the usual slog, then. Though at least she’ll have this to look back on – and maybe forward to? – to get through it.