Disclaimer/warning: Slight spoilers for the Witcher 3 and Blood and Wine DLC. Characters and world belong Andrzej Sapkowski and CD Projekt Red. This has not been beta'd. M for graphic sexual content.

A/N: I love this pairing and wanted to write a short one-shot about them. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

There was nothing wrong with Kovir. In fact, Triss thought it was lovely, despite the constant rain and cold. She didn't have to hide her magic abilities and she worked for a sympathetic king. There were no more secret magical cabals and plots. There was no more war. The days were perfectly uneventful and quiet. This was all fine.

Truth be told, she was lonely.

Geralt had promised to live with her in Kovir after finding Ciri and defeating the Wild Hunt. However, he was quickly summoned to Toussaint and involved in a complicated contract. She had been happy for him to continue his work in the south, however it had taken months of his time. As the days passed silently onward, her heart hurt more than ever that he wasn't with her.

From her hydromancy spells, she had seen that he was living on a vineyard estate. The thought of Geralt playing overseer or wining and dining amused her. She was eager to visit him and his new house. The duchy of Toussaint also fascinated her; it seemed something out of a fairytale. In a rash moment of self-determination, she packed up her things and traveled southward.

When she first arrived, her heart had been in her throat, overwhelmed with apprehension. Geralt didn't like surprises, this she knew, yet she had been so eager to come to Toussaint she had completely forgotten to write in advance. When she gained the courage to knock at the door, instead of her familiar, white-haired witcher, a bespectacled man answered.

The man introduced himself as the estate's majordormo and explained that "Master Geralt" would be away for the day, presumably pursuing another contract. She convinced him to let her in, perhaps being a tad overbearing and demanding, and ignored his sputtering at her pile of luggage. She resigned to wait for Geralt's return. His trade as a witcher put him in perilous situations often and he was always able to handle himself. Yet Triss was worried, both about his wellbeing and about her barging into his house unannounced.

Aside from her general anxiety about their reunion, Triss felt insecure about herself. She always felt like she had something to prove. She was a young, talented sorceress, gifted with political savvy, but was still too young to be notorious. Similarly, she could never hold back in her relationships. Her heart wanted what it wanted, and she wasn't in the habit of denying herself pleasure. She came off as overeager at best and desperate at worse. This all contributed to her staying away from him for so long, and added to her unhappiness so far in Kovir.

She had worn practical traveling clothes and underneath she wore her favorite lingerie. Geralt didn't care too much for satin and frills, but it always made her feel like a lady, so she wore them anyways. The thought that he would soon see them sent thrills up and down her spine. To expel her nervous energy, she paced around his house. He had already started decorating, hanging up old swords and displaying pieces of armor. How witcherly, she thought, to display these things like art!

Triss stewed in these thoughts for hours while she inspected his house. Eventually, she settled down in the bedroom, brushing out and doing her hair in her familiar twin buns. At long last, she heard him out front speaking to his majordormo. She listened to the door creak open and she knew he would find her quickly; his heightened sense of smell could certainly detect her perfume. She was right. Half a beat later he was pushing at the door of the bedroom.

Triss knew him well; they were old friends as well as partners. Of course, she knew what he looked like: pale, scarred, a little scruffy. His face was as familiar as her own. Now, though, it was like she was seeing him for the first time. Her eyes raked over his face, trying to catalogue each new pockmark and scrape and wrinkle, then were pulled into the vortex of his amber eyes. He was frozen as well, his eyes roaming over the landscape of her face, then a warm look of happiness spread over his features. They stood there for a moment in silence, drinking in each other like they hadn't been together in ages.

"Triss?" he asked, breaking the spell over them both.

"In the flesh." They moved together, closing the space between their bodies in an instant. She reached up and hugged him so tightly that the spikes of his medallion pressed against her chest.

"I thought you were in Kovir."

"I got tired of waiting for you," she admitted, pulling away to look at his face. Every time she stared into his eyes, her gut squirmed in pleasure. "So I came to Toussaint, to see how things are going. Maybe catch some sun."

"Things are pretty much wrapped up here. We'll be able to head north soon."

"I hope –" she swallowed, and looked away. She tried to bury her loneliness, her sadness that had colored her life for the past few months. "I hope you're not too upset I came like this. Without warning."

His voice was gentle, as if in response to her emotional insecurity. "Well, I haven't always been fond of surprises. They remind me of work, you know, Law of Surprise, the surprise child." He paused, and she turned back towards him. "But I think I've changed my mind. Seems surprises can sometimes be pleasant." He ran his eyes over her body, from bottom to top. "Very pleasant."

Triss grinned mischievously, recognizing the lilt of his voice. She sauntered closer to him again and her fingers starting to work at unbuckling his armor. He smiled, their thoughts united, and helped her with his myriad of buckles and straps. His swords and armor dropped heavily to the floor.

"Surprise," she whispered, smiling. She took his hands and guided them to her waist. He began unbuttoning her jacket and slipping off her shirt. Soon, she was only covered by a light brassiere, one half of her elaborate lingerie ensemble. She could already feel her heart pick up tempo. A warmth started to pool in her lower belly.

She reached her hands under his shirt and lifted it up, so he was nearly naked from the waist up. All that remained was his wolf medallion, its eyes a silent witness to their rendezvous. He took her face in his hands and finally, gingerly, kissed her. She had no time for his sweet kisses; she was a starving woman. She kissed him greedily, sticking her tongue in his mouth. He tasted slightly of salt and sweat and witcher potions, but it was a taste she knew well. He kissed back just as eagerly, swallowing her own taste.

He reached around her back to unlace her bra. She quickly pulled away, stopping his hands before he could free her breasts. "No, you didn't even look!" she teased.

"I did," he said, running his fingers over the ribbons. He was certainly looking now, and Triss smiled at that.

She walked him close to the bed and pushed him gently, so he was seated on the edge. "I want you to fully appreciate it." She looked down at herself, and toyed with one of the many decorative ribbons. When she looked up, she saw him watching her raptly.

"Duly noted," he replied, cocking an eyebrow and smiling. She couldn't resist when he looked at her like that. She leaned over and chewed lightly on his ear, allowing him to run his rough hands over her body. His fingers inched their way down her trousers, masterfully unlacing them as he went down. She assisted him, never pulling her face away from his neck, and slipped them off in one smooth motion.

She stood back, watching his eyes as he followed her movements. "Are you appreciating?" Her voice always got a little huskier when she was turned on, an easy indication that she was aroused. She twirled once, showing off the backside and the ribbons that crisscrossed her ass, before facing him once more.

"Mhm." He reached out his hands and grabbed her. She straddled him as he sat upright. "I like the, uh… color."

Men! Can never appreciate the craftsmanship of fine underwear. She draped her arms over his shoulders and kissed him again. She felt his fingers on her front, beginning from the hallow of her collarbone and descending downwards. His callous digits made their way down the center line of her body, under her satin underwear, and settled into the sweet place between her thighs. Eagerly, he ran his fingers through her folds, then explored her slippery entrance.

"You're already wet." It was a statement of fact. She could feel that she was dripping.

"For you." She peered at him through her eyelashes. "I've waited so long."

He ran his lips along her collarbone. "It feels nice," he mumbled into her neck. He tugged at her panties, pulling them down over her thighs and down her legs. She was acutely aware of how she smelled: of sweat, sex, and apples. It didn't matter to him, he simply paused in delight, taking in her nearly naked body. She completed the picture by finally peeling off her bra. She watched as he looked at her nudity in wonder.

She had always been quite proud of her hourglass figure. Her breasts were full but perky, with sensitive nipples like two rosebuds. She had a slim waist that curved out to balanced hips. Nestled between her thighs was a soft patch of firey red pubic hair. She ran her hands over her soft skin, putting on a little show, and ended with releasing her hair so it cascaded down her back. She rejoined him on the bed, straddling his lap.

Geralt explored her body with his fingers and mouth. He nuzzled into one of her breasts and resumed fingering her vagina, slipping in and out and occasionally brushing up against her sensitive clit. She was holding onto his shoulders, pressing her forehead into his hair, as he played her like an instrument. It frustrated her, she was already close, simply from a little fingering. She didn't want to come just yet.

"It's not fair," she breathed, trying to regain some of her composure. She lost herself so completely to him; it was hard for her to flirt and tease.

"Hm?" he asked, nibbling at one of her nipples.

She rolled off him quickly and crawled away from him onto the bed. Her skin was already flushed and her heart beat escalated. He stared at her, confused. She smiled cheekily, wriggling around. "I'm already naked and you're not. Play fair, witcher."

Geralt disrobed swiftly, his cock already erect. Triss watched in amusement, supporting her head on her hand. Her other hand wandered downwards, picking up where he had left off. She bit her lip in anticipation, staring at his erection.

Quickly, he was beside her. Triss spread her legs apart for him to sit between them. She was still feeling herself, nimble fingers sliding between her labia. She smiled up at him, licking her lips.

He grabbed her wrist. "You said to play fair," he warned. He stayed upright while she lay down on the bed, squirming with anticipation. He took his cock with one hand and dragged it between her engorged pussy lips. He repeated it again, and she tensed when the head of his penis hit her clit. He smiled at her response and continued his gentle teasing.

Triss moaned, unable to bear the unsatisfying sensations. One of her hands grabbed her own breast, felt her own soft flesh, and twisted the nipple. She reached her other hand to her crotch, spreading her opening. The head of his penis grazed her clit and dipped into her wet pussy, before again pulling away. Geralt grabbed both her wrists with his. "What do you want, Triss?" His voice was deep and deadly. She replied wordlessly, shimmying and bucking her pelvis. "Tell me what you want."

There was only so much teasing she could take, so she dropped her pretenses and said, throatily, "Fuck me, Geralt."

Suddenly, he was pushing into her. She moaned with pleasure, grabbing the bedclothes in her hand. He lifted one of her legs and placed it on his shoulder, allowing his erection to enter deeper. He was slow at first, moving gently in and out of her hot entrance. The way he looked down at her when he was inside her was almost animalistic. It ignited a fire within her.

"Geralt," she breathed, her voice sliding into a wine. "Kiss me."

He switched positions gracefully, hovering over her and supporting his weight with his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his legs and they were tangled and together. She reunited their lips while he continued thrusting, slowly and deeply, into her.

The frequency of his movements increased. Their kiss broke off, and she sucked and bit at his neck. His hair tickled her nose. She could feel his teeth along her jaw and hear him groaning, rough and deadly, into her ear. She sighed back (yes, yes, yes) into his.

Triss arched her back up, melding into him, feeling his heart beat with hers. They were perfectly in rhythm with each other. His medallion bounced along her collarbone and she could feel it pulsate in tune with her magical body. They were conducting a symphony, one made not of instruments but of sighs, moans, fleshy smacks; the squeaking of the bed; and outside, the cicadas and the stars and the world.

He filled her up and all the empty places where her loneliness and sadness collected were gone. Each thrust brought her closer – closer to him, closer to coming, closer to the great, mysterious... something.

Geralt growled something sweet into her ear, hitting the perfect spot inside her. Her fingers clawed against his scarred back, her toes curled, and her hips bucked with him. She felt her insides tighten around him and forgot everything that wasn't him and her and now.

There was an ocean inside of her, and she struggled to keep it all in. She was failing, with each cry from her lover and each thrust he pushed deeper into her. He hit her spot again, driving her over the edge and into the great expanse.

"Geralt," she moaned, and she squeezed him with all she could. A riptide of pleasure shot through her, sending waves of sensation throughout her body. It washed away her doubts and insecurities and left her clean and trembling. It was the crescendo, the beautiful climax, and all the pieces fell into place. She knew she was his and he was hers and there was nothing else that mattered.

In response, he whispered her name, and released, shakily, deep inside her. She was falling into a sweet expanse; the ocean was calm. She wanted to close her eyes, but she didn't want to lose a second of his company. She couldn't move. He laid beside her, and they sat for many moments in silence, letting the pleasure course through their bodies.

They lay together, her head on his chest while he gently stroked her arm. She could hear his heartbeat, a low, even thump, a beat to lull her to sleep.

Triss was the first to break their silence. "That was…" There were no words to describe it. "Mmm."

"I agree." She could feel his voice rumble through his chest. "It's been a while."

"Too long," she complained. He stroked her hair in response.

"How did you find me?" he asked.

She traced her fingers over the scars that crisscrossed his chest. "I have my ways, Geralt." He stayed silent, and she continued. "Hydromancy, for example."

"Ah, that's right." He moved his hand to her back, so he was massaging gentle circles between her shoulder blades. "So, what becomes of us? See anything else in the reflections?"

Her fingers dragged lower over his stomach, beginning to dart down towards his pelvis. "Mhm. Zoltan moves in."

He stopped his caressing. She could feel his eyes on her head. "Please, tell me you're joking."

She looked up and giggled. "Of course, he's happily settled in Novigrad and has no intentions of moving." She continued exploring his collection of scars. "I did see some glimpses into our future." She thought back to the flashes she had seen: winter in Kovir, visiting with Ciri, traveling somewhere far south. She decided not to tell him. "But… I'd rather not tell you exactly what."

"Why not?"

"Because you've grown to like pleasant surprises." She followed a scar that ended in his white pubic hair, drawing a circle where it stopped.

She could hear him him exhale a laugh, and pictured him smiling. She wrapped her arm around his chest and laid perfectly still. They said nothing, but she could hear everything: Geralt's heart beating in her ear; their breathing, in and out; his fingers, tracing circles on her back; the sounds of her lips; the faint sound of his medallion's pulse. The parts fit together perfectly. It was a love song, one that only they could make.

"Triss?" His voice, gruff and tender, was barely above a whisper.

"Hm?"

"I love you, you know."

"… I know."