(geralt) the sorcerer's soulmate

[bestdressed]

Geralt of Rivia,
I write to you with utmost urgency, and so will not waste time with pleasantries. Witchers care little for smalltalk anyway, or so I hear. The kingdom of Temeria once again has need of a witcher, and none but you will do.

Some unknown creature has slaughtered a local lord and the entirety of his entourage of knights and servants on the road near the capital, and the squadron which was sent out by the king to find and kill the beast has not returned after nearly a week. One must assume they have met the same fate. The monster left prints of remarkable size in the ground near the site of the first attack, so it would belie that it likely did not take the travelers by surprise. But it is strange that so many of its victims appear to have died without so much as drawing their weapons.

The king is understandably cautious of mysterious and cursed creatures, considering his history. I request that you travel to Vizima with all haste, before more lives are lost. There I will meet with you to discuss the situation, as well as the matter of your payment. Be cautious of the southern road.

Yours,
Dorian Pavus, Magical Advisor to King Foltest of Temeria

-

It has been nearly two weeks since Dorian dispatched the letter by raven, and in that time, the road from Maribor to Vizima has become nigh impassable. Warnings have been issued to take a different route when approaching the capital from the south, but even so, there have been more victims. It is, therefore, a relief to be informed by a runner of the awaited arrival of the witcher he had sent for.

Of course, this is not the only reason Dorian's heart pounds as he pulls a heavy, fur-lined cloak over his shoulders and leather gloves onto his hands as he hurries to meet the witcher by the front gate. In fact, it hardly even comes close. The problem of the unknown monster no doubt requires the attention of a professional, it's true; but that it be Geralt of Rivia specifically is entirely Dorian's design. There is only one reason that Dorian is grateful to have ever set foot in the kingdom of Temeria: it is here that he has finally learned the identity of the man he's been aching to know all his life.

That he is a witcher comes as no surprise. Dorian determined as much himself years ago, given the rate of injury and recovery, and the severity of the wounds that he has apparently lived through. But that he would happen to be the witcher known for lifting the curse on Foltest's daughter five years past--Ada; a sweet girl, if still a bit skittish at times--had been a shock. Dorian had known from the moment the story was related to him; he remembers well the pain of teeth ripping into the tender skin between his neck and shoulder. And so he finally had a name for the man connected to the unseen hurts that have plagued him all his life--pain he's come to both resent and adore. (Though if he's being entirely honest with himself, it's more the latter, if only because it means he exists somewhere: someone just for him. A man who, if soulmates work for sorcerers the same way they do everyone else, is meant to love him.)

"Geralt of Rivia?"

Clutching his cloak around his shoulders, Dorian speaks the name aloud across the quiet courtyard, a note of hopeful anticipation in the inflection of his voice. Several yards away, a man stands beside his horse, armored and broad-shouldered with a shock of white hair and a pair of swords on his back, facing away from Dorian. Already, Dorian knows it must be him, as he feels an ebbing of the pain he has lived with for decades. It fades more with each passing moment, the dull aches and strains and old, smarting hurts that accompany years spent in the dangerous monster-hunting trade. Dorian knows them intimately; knows this man intimately.

He could trace the scars on his body from memory, though he has never seen his face.

Comments

[bestdressed]

Piece by piece Geralt's layers come off, and Dorian assists with each. The close proximity makes him miss the way Geralt's mouth had felt on his earlier, though the kiss had been so brief. But he waits, and when the witcher finally remains in only a a thin shirt and padded trousers, he slides his hands with care beneath the hem of his shirt and helps Geralt pull it up over his head.

The sight that greets him is not surprising, given what he already knows. But he had not expected it to seize him with such a sudden rush of emotion. There, mapped out on Geralt's body, are so many moments he recognizes. He may not know the cause or the circumstances, but he knows how it had felt to receive every one of those scars.

"Oh," he breathes, dropping the shirt to the floor and forgetting it as soon as it leaves his fingers. He touches the bite first, traces the outline with his fingertips; the one that had made him sure Geralt was his. He still stands fully clothed while Geralt is mostly undressed. "It almost feels as though I should match," he says softly, tearing his gaze from the map of scars.

[evilisevil]

Geralt rarely feels self-conscious, and he isn't sure that is the feeling that washes over him when Dorian sees him bare. He can't quite describe it, especially since he understands that Dorian knows the injuries as intimately as he does. He might not have bled or been broken, but he felt the pain. His hand lifts to cover Dorian's where it is against his neck.

"Not the first time I'd be naked in front of a fully dressed mage," he quips with a wry smile and a bright look in his eyes. "But I won't complain if you want to get more comfortable."

He'll even help.

[bestdressed]

Unable to resist any longer, Dorian lets himself drift closer as Geralt's hand covers his. His lips slide against the witcher's in a way that feels natural, inevitable. His other hand settles as Geralt's waist, feeling the defined muscle there as well as a deep slash that curls over his hip bone.

He has no interest in being dressed any longer.

"I'd like that," he murmurs, and reluctantly moves a hand from Geralt's skin to begin plucking at the ties around his waist securing the thick belt over the midnight blue velvet jacket he wears. "But I'd like it even more if you did it for me."

[evilisevil]

"You're gonna have to direct," he teases as he looks over Dorian's outfit, then chooses what he thinks is the best place to start. Some of it is obvious, but he knows mages like fiddly, impressive clothes. Sorcerers are no better than their female counterparts.

With Dorian's help - or at least his direction - Geralt starts working the layers off. Rather than tossing them, he makes sure to drape them over the back of a chair.

[bestdressed]

It's amusing to direct Geralt to the little ties and clasps holding together his outfit, just as Geralt had instructed him on how to remove his armor. But this is one of Dorian's simpler ensembles, or else it might take as long as the armor had. But quickly enough, Dorian is standing bared to the waist as well, wearing just his boots and the dark velvet breeches that cling so nicely to the curves of his legs.

In direct contrast to Geralt's, Dorian's skin is golden and flawless. There isn't a single visible scar to be found. The sorcerer's lips quirk almost ruefully. "You would never know," he murmurs, fingers tracing a raised line on Geralt's bicep, "that I'd felt all of these injuries as well."

[evilisevil]

Geralt brushes his fingers over the bare skin where he knows he has a scar.

"No," he says quietly. "I don't know if that makes it better or worse. At least I knew what was going on."

Dorian, as far as he understands, would just have pain with no way of knowing what was happening on the other end of his bond. No idea what might be happening to this witcher he's attached to. Geralt feels--not guilty, but a little bad about that.

[bestdressed]

Dorian's smile is rueful but genuine. Geralt's hit on a large part of what had been so difficult for him--apart from the actual pain, of course. "I started making notes about it," he says, realizing it sounds more than a little morbid. "Guessing what might have happened to you. As you've probably gathered already, I like to know things. But this was something I could never know. It bothered me."

But now he is touching the marks that correspond to what he remembers. The more his gaze wanders over Geralt's exposed body, the more relieved he feels. Geralt is his match. This is real. Gently, he fits his fingers over a set of deep claw marks etched into the witcher's chest. Surely his own unmarked skin can't be so intriguing.

The firelight turns Geralt's catlike eyes a bright, molten gold. It's beautiful. "I'm hoping you'll be able to tell me more."

[evilisevil]

"Chort," he says absently. "Cut right through chainmail."

Geralt remembers all of his scars and what caused them. Even over the long years of his life, he remembers. He even still remembers the trauma of the Trials and he regrets that any other person had to live through even a ghost of that pain and terror. Never mind the years of injuries before and after.

Makes him almost feel bad for some of the stupid things he'd done.