lusi | 🌊 le déluge

[ Time spent with Trevor has felt oddly normal despite the absolute crock of weird shit that is just about everything about this place. They communicate easily, they get along well, and they both know what they're doing when it comes to survival, unlike many of the others here. While normally Geralt might ask for something in return for all of the help he's been giving people lately, there aren't many people who have anything to give right now. It's fine. Favors owed can always be valuable later.

The camp Geralt has made for himself (and for Roach, such a steadfast companion that apprently she'd followed him even here) had been fortified against the possibility of rain already, so he'd agreed easily to help Trevor weatherproof a larger space, one that could be used by multiple people if desired. They've secured a tarp beneath the largest holes in what had once been someone's roof, dragged in enough dry wood to make a decent stockpile, and used some of the less than sturdy furniture they'd been provided to get other supplies off the ground in case of flooding. They have no idea what to expect here, and it can't hurt to be prepared.

They were right to anticipate an eventual change in the weather, because when the rain does come it's a deluge almost all at once. It stops and starts, short bursts that leave the ground soaking and promote--surprisingly--vegetation to begin growing.

Geralt thinks it's a good sign, initially. Until it's not.

In the process of investigating the new growth near his own little campsite, Geralt pauses at Trevor's approach. It's unclear exactly what happened to prompt that reaction rather than a greeting, but Geralt keys into Trevor's confusion quickly. ]

What?

[ Maybe approaching so quickly isn't the best idea, but out of concern, he does exactly that. Having left most of his armor off, Geralt without his usual defenses. There is no thick leather between him and whatever buries itself against the back of his hand. He hisses sharply, eyes darting from the plant to Trevor to the spiky burr still clinging to his hand. ]

Fuck. It got you too?

[ Geralt removes his own carefully, gritting his teeth as he pulls it out, pricking his fingers in the process despite the care he takes. The spore gets dropped into the mud and crushed beneath his boot, but too little too late. It's clear that it had broken the skin and the area around it is already beginning to feel hot. ]

[ geralt approaches and trevor means to explain, he really does, but before he gets a chance to, geralt's already hissing and pulling something from his neck and trevor lets out a breath. ]

Yeah.

[ and whatever it is, it's acting fast. he'd complain that god's shitting in his dinner once again, that he's sick of this, whatever it is, but his mouth is dry and he figures that there are more important things to articulate than complaints right now.

so: ] Any - idea what it is?

[ although he's beginning to get some sense of what its effect might be, at least: he feels a little light-headed already, stomach tightening with a surge of undeniable want. ]

[ From the point of entry, the warmth spreads through his body alarmingly fast. It's not poison, Geralt knows that much immediately; rather than slowing him down or making him feel faint, he feels a newfound energy. And rather than pain, it brings a distinct and specific hunger. ]

None.

[ His voice is just above a growl. There's nothing back home that works like this, or that's strong enough to have an effect on him so quickly. ]

Think I know what it's doing, though.

[ He figures that Trevor probably knows by now too, if it's doing the same to him. Pretty hard to deny a surge of arousal this strong. This has the potential to become very awkward. Better to cut to the chase quickly and get it over with. ]

If you don't want to fuck, we should split up now. [ Blunt, but discretion is less important at this point than making his intentions clear. ] This is gonna to take some time to work through.

[ trevor knows what it's doing, too —he'd have to be a lot more naive than he is to be ignorant, especially given the way his cock is filling out in his trousers already, the way his mouth goes dry when geralt even mentions the word fuck.

this place is messed up, but it's still a lot better than the nighthordes, than dracula's war, than the bullshit the church keeps spouting.

trevor's teeth sink into his lower lip and he has to struggle to contain a moan before he can manage: ]

I'm not — [ god, he wants. ] opposed.

[ to fucking, he means. he's still a lot less used to doing it with men than he is with women and even that is not something that he's indulged in often or recently back in wallachia. even so: the way he steps toward geralt, the way he's reaching out tells its own story. ]

[ It's a good thing that Trevor's answer is affirmative, because Geralt gets far too distracted watching him bite his bottom lip. Thinking about doing that for him. ]

All right. Good. [ His words are already strained as his breath comes quicker. Trevor drifts toward him seemingly without even noticing it himself, and Geralt steps in to meet him, bringing them eye to eye. His hands curl around Trevor's forearms just above his wrists, but to pull in receptively rather than stop him. ] Really prefer to do this inside, though.

[ That way they can avoid being stung further. If this is what one dose of this shit does to him, he doesn't want to know how he might react to more. ]

Don't have much of a bed, but it's held up so far.

[ trevor would love to have geralt do that for him. he'd love to feel geralt's teeth against his lips or his neck or anywhere on his skin, to have geralt's hands on him, to touch and be touched —

the strain in geralt's voice makes his stomach tighten again, want surging, strong enough that he thinks he can taste it at the back of his throat. it's a desperate thing, overwhelming already, and he's barely holding himself together. geralt's hand finds his arm, pulling him in, and trevor moans, the noise startling but not something he could have kept inside, closing the last of the distance between them to fit himself against geralt's body, broad and solid like his own, seeking pressure against his swelling cock, friction, anything —

inside. right. yes. doing this inside would be good, wouldn't it? it takes him a moment to find his voice, throat working. ]

Lead the way.

[ Shit. The sound of that involuntary moan, the feel of Trevor's body against his--warm strong--does something to him. Specifically, it goes straight to his cock, already stiffening rapidly. Geralt's pupils contract briefly before they widen, darkening his eyes as he looks into Trevor's face.

He could just do it now--kiss him, take his mouth and worry at his lower lip, feel the scrape of the stubble around his mouth. The temptation is so strong he nearly gives in. But ultimately, nothing is better than sex in an actual bed--however shoddily made--and he isn't about to pass that up when he has the chance. With a tug on Trevor's arm, Geralt directs him wordlessly back the way he'd come.

Lucky that they know where to find each other. It isn't far at all to Geralt's camp. For once, he doesn't stop to greet Roach; he directs Trevor straight back to the room he sleeps in, which is the only space in the dilapidated house that has a roof that is almost completely intact. Most of his belongings are there, including his armor, swords, and most of Roach's tack. But most importantly: his bed. Which he's now shoving Trevor back toward. It's little more than a thin twin mattress and a mess of blankets on top of a simple frame, but at least it keeps him off the ground, and it hasn't collapsed yet. ]

[ the way geralt's gaze darkens has trevor almost moaning again. it's ridiculous, he thinks--he should have better control than this, should be stronger than this. (shouldn't look at another man like this at all, but fuck the church and their rules, really, this is one he'll more than happily trample all over, for all that it still gives him that instinctive pause.)

the family bestiary mentions succubi and related creatures. to a twelve-year old trevor, that had seemed exciting. now, he thinks it's a good thing that whatever it is, whether succubus or other, that's affecting him, he's glad it's with someone he already knows, that it isn't the sort of thing that happens between two people who'd otherwise be unwilling--or worse perhaps, with one person unwilling.

he runs through these thoughts, although none of them manage to linger, to really take hold in his mind, while geralt leads them back to his camp, into a room that has a roof and a bed, and then geralt's shoving him toward it and geralt has just enough presence of mind to shed some of his weapons, to drop the cape to the side, before he drops onto the bed, grabbing hold of geralt's shoulders and pulling him along. ]

[ As Trevor sheds the more cumbersome parts of his attire, Geralt does the same. For him, it's just the baldric strapped across his chest that holds his swords, which he lowers to the floor beside the bed after undoing the buckle. After that he's all Trevor's, and allows himself to be tugged into his space.

He's really fucking glad he isn't wearing armor.

One knee settles between Trevor's thighs on the bed, nudging firmly and deliberately against the outline of his cock. Geralt balances himself with a hand settled on a broad shoulder, uses the other to slide rough fingertips against the the dark stubble on Trevor's face, meeting his eyes and finding them dark and wide. Geralt inhales slowly, can smell--practically taste--Trevor's arousal, and that pulls on something low and hot in his belly, tugs it loose.

Cupping the firm, sharp edge of Trevor's jaw in his palm, Geralt tilts his face up so that he can lean down to kiss him sharply, both more certain of this and more desperate for it than he'd expected to be. ]

[ one of geralt's knees settles between his thighs, pressing against trevor's cock, and trevor moans helplessly, the sound dragged from deep within him. the sensation of pressure is enough to have him buck up, hips thrusting up and forward, rutting against the thigh that geralt's lodged there. there's little finesse to it, but trevor's not an elegant or sophisticated man by any stretch of the imagination.

it's only when geralt kisses him that he finds himself distracted from chasing the thrill of pleasure, from essentially dry-humping geralt's leg. it's sharp, certain and desperate in equal measure, and for a moment, trevor gives as good as he gets, nipping at geralt's lower lip —and then he yields, going pliant, lips softening, although the kiss grows no less urgent for it. ]

[ The moment Trevor's mouth softens Geralt presses in, sliding his tongue past Trevor's lips. His own sting from the drag of the other man's teeth, but he savors that feeling as he kisses him deeply. His knee rocks gently between Trevor's thighs as he presses back against it, providing the friction he's clearly craving. Geralt's fingers tighten around his shoulder.

It takes an immense amount of willpower to draw his mouth away, wet and aching. ]

Fuck, you're hard.

[ Rasped, almost amazed--like his own cock isn't obviously straining in his trousers. His knee rubs back against the motion of Trevor's hips, encouraging. A hand slides to the back of his neck as the other trails down his chest to the hem of his shirt. Geralt's fingers slide under it, over warm, taut skin, tracing prominent lines of muscle beneath the fabric. ]

Take this off. I wanna see you.

Yeah--

[ yes, he's hard. yes, he's going to take off his shirt. yes, yes, to anything geralt wants right now, in truth. just yes in general to this, to geralt. he's so hard, aching with it, every touch, every shift of their bodies, soothing the ache and deepening it all at once. it's maddening an it's wonderful and trevor wants, needs more.

he manages, after some fumbling, to get his shirt up over his head, to toss it aside. ]

You, too.

[ fair's fair, but it isn't really fairness that trevor's concerned with so much as with being able to feel skin against skin, to be able to run his hands freely over the expanse of geralt's chest, to feel solid muscle and warm skin under his fingertips, against his own chest without the cloth getting in the way. ]

[ Geralt is feeling much the same way. He just wants to feel Trevor's skin against his, the more contact the better. He hardly needs to be urged. As soon as the words are out of Trevor's mouth Geralt is pulling his own shirt over his head, letting it fall from his hands somewhere beside the bed. Unimportant right now. The only thing he's concerned with is getting his hands and his mouth back on Trevor.

He kisses him again with both hands cradling his face, teeth and tongue dragging over his lips. There's a rough edge to his kiss that continues even as he trails from trevor's mouth to his jaw to the curve of his neck, where Geralt scrapes his teeth hard over a pulse point. He inhales deeply, breathes him in. ]

Lay back.

[ Geralt moves reluctantly away as he begins to undo the laces of his own trousers with clear intent. ]

I'll help you with the rest.

Yeah—

[ trevor likes that idea. likes letting geralt pull the shots, determining what happens. some part of him thinks that maybe he shouldn't, that the last son of the house of belmont, the last monster hunter should, perhaps, take more control of a situation like this, shouldn't be quite so happy to submit to someone else —but then, what does 'should' matter these days?

the truth is that he likes this. that his cock jerks at the quiet command as much as the teeth against his pulse point, the hint of danger. geralt can best him in battle and that shouldn't add to the excitement, but it does.

to hell with should. trevor tips his head back, baring it. lying back, the way geralt's told him to, his breathing coming faster, more shallowly. ]

[ While the sight of Trevor doing as he's told and baring his throat in the process is tempting, Geralt manages to keep his goal in mind. It helps that this goal is relatively simple, and involves getting both of them undressed as soon as possible. This is easy enough to do for himself, all quick efficient movements as he loosens his laces and pushes his trousers and the simple undergarments beneath off his hips and down over his thighs, stepping out of them as soon as they're loose enough.

To do the same for Trevor will take a little more finesse, and Geralt is feeling increasingly impatient as the aphrodisiac in his system makes him crave tactile contact. His scarred body is now entirely bared as he shifts back onto the bed, nudging his way between Trevor's still clothed thighs.

Leaning over him, Geralt busies his hands with opening his pants while his mouth is drawn to the vulnerable stretch of his neck. He noses beneath Trevor's jaw again with a sigh before he presses another nipping kiss to the same spot. From there he works his way down, tugging at the waist of Trevor's pants as soon as they're loose enough to budge. ]

C'mon, [ he urges, breath hot. Another scrape of teeth follows. ] Let's get these off. I'll suck your cock.

God, fuck, yes. [ he's an eloquent man, really. (no, he's not. he's never had use for it, never needed to be. he isn't learned or sophisticated, isn't a scholalr. trevor's native language is the physical.)

there are scars on geralt's body; the same holds true for trevor, although there are perhaps not quite as many scars. either way, he finds himself appreciating the reminder that their lives cannot have been all that different, that there are some shared truths between them, even as he finds it increasingly difficult to form thoughts at all, to think of anything but touching geralt. so he does: running his hands over all that skin geralt's bared for him, trailing his fingers over scars and muscle, down geralt's spine.

he's got enough presence of mind still, at least, to lift his hips when geralt starts tugging at his trousers. ]

[ Luckily, fuck yes is all Geralt needs to hear. His lips don't shy from Trevor's scars as he works his way down his body, but neither does he focus on them in particular. A pleased hum rumbles up in his chest when he reaches Trevor's sternum, as the other man's hands explore his body, rough and curious.

With a joint effort they manage to peel Trevor's trousers and what's beneath down and off, baring the remainder of his body. He's built thickly with muscles that testify to the strength Geralt had felt when sparring with him. It's an easy body to appreciate, and Geralt does so without hesitation, nipping a hip bone as he leans down over him, a hand sliding between thick thighs to wrap around his cock.

Rather than getting immediately to what he'd promised, Geralt takes a little time to appreciate the newly bared skin spread out for him. He mouths along the inside of a thigh with kisses edged with teeth, all the way up to the crux of his hip. His hand, rough and dry, pumps slow over Trevor's cock from balls to tip and down again as his mouth sucks a mark into the skin just where thigh and groin meet. ]

🌊 le déluge

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