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The stench of rotten crops, overfermented mead and horse manure weren’t exactly the kinds of scents Chan was rushing to bottle up for safe keeping, but, they were an unfortunately familiar combination for the witcher in his journeys. Although, even he could admit this town’s toxin level had risen to a worrisome degree, noting the undertones of rotted corpses as his horse steadily carried him further inland. It looked more like the aftermath of a battle, rather than the bustling market town he’d recalled it to be many years ago.
If his memory fared well, a tavern was only five more minutes away on horseback, so he maintained his pace in hopes of finding some answers. Or, at the very least, a human being without flies and insects coming out of them.
Much to the relief of Chan, and his nostrils, the ember hue of firelight shined through the tavern windows up ahead. The signs of civilisation continued as the witcher got closer, and tied his horse up on the nearby hitching post—sneaking her a treat to keep her settled—and took in the sight of locals that roamed around the building as normal. You’d never imagine that such destruction existed only a short walk down the path from all this.
As Chan crossed the threshold, an outpour of equal amounts disgust and awe were sent his way in the form of lingering eyes. This was another part of his journeys that he’d long since accepted, taking it in stride and reminding himself each day that it was merely a small burden to bear in order to serve people under the witcher’s banner. If a few strangers saw an abomination rather than a hero, so be it.
Unlike the town’s entrance, the alcohol here was brewed and fermented to perfection, along with the scent of freshly baked goods from the kitchen that caused Chan’s stomach to grumble in an instant. Ah, he should probably eat.
“Can I get—uh—your travellers special? Thank you so much.”
The sign behind the barkeep was worn down, and in turn the writing was smudged, but the text was just legible enough for Chan to feel confident in his choice. No further words were exchanged, both men simply nodded as an acknowledgement of the conversation’s end. The witcher absentmindedly stared off into the middle distance, whilst the barkeep gave instructions to the kitchen maiden.
An assortment of cheeses, meats, bread and a pint of mead soon appeared in front of Chan. It was nothing too fancy, nor particularly unique to this establishment, but in his post-sixteen-hour-travel-day body it settled like a feast.
“You’re a witcher, I take it?” The squeaky sound followed the barkeep’s words, a cloth rimming the edge of a newly washed pint glass.
Wiping the excess mead foam from his lower lip, Chan glanced up at the barkeep with a sheepish expression. Not the look of a mighty witcher, maybe that’ll conceal it. “Ah, what gave it away?”
“The sigil and massive sword, aren’t exactly blending in." With his unoccupied hand, the man brought his finger up to poke at the necklace carrying the sigil in between Chan’s pecs before darting it down to the sword nestled against his bar-stool. “Not to mention that the firelight is reflecting off your entire upper body right now.” Both hands resumed their previous position on the glass he was cleaning, before it was placed down under the bar.
The ‘House of Wolf’ didn’t exactly pride themselves on subtlety, so the metal roaring wolf’s head that dangled from Chan’s neck twenty-four-seven was usually the biggest giveaway of his witcher status. If the full body armour—that was worn like it was permanently fused to him—didn’t do the job.
“Don’t worry, I am not going to kick you out.” Arms perched themselves down in the space between the two men, as the barkeep leaned against the wooden surface to lessen the gap between their faces before he continued. “But, I will say my kindness isn’t unconditional.”
“Got a nasty rat problem you need sorting out?” Chan’s eyes scanned the area, nodding ever so slightly as he took in the exceptionally well-kept space. There were a few nooks and crannies he could fix up, but otherwise spotless. Not rats.
The barkeep’s laugh was humorous, it made Chan understand why ‘hahaha’ was used in books to describe the noise. “Well, it is an infestation. In a way.” For a beat, the man disappeared out of sight before he sprung up with a notice in hand, which was passed over to Chan. “A sorceress has been taunting us, placing hexes on us. Seemingly using our little town as her guinea pigs for testing new spells.”
Ah, Chan should’ve guessed that from a mile away. He’d have to reassess the bodies individually, but the lack of visible battle wounds made sense now. “I’d be happy to check this out for you guys. However, it’ll come at a fee.” If he could do it for free, Chan would in a heartbeat. Alas, it costs a lot to live on this earth.
“Not my first tussle with a witcher, don’t worry. You’ll be adequately compensated once the problem is dealt with.” The barkeep took Chan’s now empty plate, and placed it on the counter a few feet away from him for the kitchen maiden, before turning back around. “Hyunjin, by the way.”
Glancing over the paper, the sum offered was reasonable given the likelihood of how long it would take Chan to complete the task plus materials needed. This would be fun, certainly an improvement from his current routine of strolling from town to town in hopes of finding something substantial—usually just delivery jobs.
“Chan, pleasure doing business with you.”
˚⊱🔮⊰˚
Unfortunately the notice wasn’t a huge help. Much to his dismay, the townspeople weren’t exactly poets or masterful writers so the descriptions were vague at best. This could be any sorceress.
NOTICE: SORCERESS POTENTIAL IDENTITY
Height: Five feet, and six to eight inches (from a distance).
Hair: Appears to be long (slight waves? or just the wind) and stops mid-chest. Unknown colour.
Clothes: All black except white undershirt, fur-lined coat, gloves.
Other: Radiates mint green hues from hands, spells? Jewellery littered across neck, arms and fingers.
Whereabouts: Unknown, but seemingly appears from the forest each night.
The attire was the standard for sorcerers and sorceresses—can’t leave your fingertips or evidence anywhere, and you must look elegant. Put together, and better than those around you. Long hair also wasn’t exactly case solving evidence, Chan having already seen four women that matched that description during his short visit.
Green hues, and a vague direction, were the only pieces of stand-out evidence from the list. Better than nothing.
Trees as far as the eye could see bordered the town, acting as both a shield from the dangers of the world and also an invitation for them to lurk within. Grass was overgrown, intruding onto the manmade paths and a wide variety of potentially poisonous vines emerged from the bushes surrounding the same area.
As a child, Chan had been scared of forests. The vast unknown, all the little pockets of pitch-black voids and seemingly endless possibilities for an ambush. Nowadays, it felt more or less the same as anywhere else did. Travelling full-time meant that the man never settled, and didn't have time to find a place to call home. Instead, he simply weaved between trees then towns over and over. Wherever he was needed, Chan went without delay.
Any sign of human life was minimal in the space—it lacked any marked soil to indicate steps were taken. Chan was smart enough to know a sorceress would cover such easily spotted evidence so that didn’t sway him. The only horse prints were his own mares’, he partly hoped it would lure the sorceress out but didn’t bank on it.
Notes of freshly sprouted grass, wet bark, and moss filled the witcher’s nostrils in a way that felt like a full-body cleanse after being drowned in the overwhelmingly pungent smells of the town. It was refreshing to be reminded of nature, that not everything in this world was decayed and rotten. He had always preferred the spring time, stars were most visible during those nights.
The sound of running lake water reached Chan’s ears not long after entering the forest, which prompted the witcher to signal for his horse to head in its direction. He’d learnt many years ago—from an old friend—that sorceresses favoured being near bodies of water when hiding as it was, ‘earth's natural cleanser’, you could easily rid yourself (or items) of any identifying notes. Let it be carried away by the stream, and disappear in the blink of an eye.
He should have paid closer attention to that last part at the time.
Soon enough, the river came into view and in-turn so did the—distant—visualisation of a cabin further down stream. “Stay, Roach.” Mellow neighs emerged from the horse as Chan stepped off, and rummaged through the satchel bag on her side. The witcher was able to retrieve an apple to soothe her whilst gathering his more necessary items, before expertly hitching her up to a nearby tree. “Good girl.”
“I’ll be back. Always am, yeah?”
Subtlety was key for the next part of his trek, so he would have to reunite with his beloved mare later.
Unluckily for Chan, the sorceress was experienced in disappearing it seemed—no noticeable footprints, left behind items or otherwise. Not even a stray feather, or loose thread from her coat. To the naked eye, it would seem as if no one had passed by this trail in months. However, the witcher was blessed with the ability to see beyond meets-the-eye, things no one else would be able to pick up on.
The world darkened around him as Chan’s otherworldly senses overtook him, allowing for him to focus on the more supernatural elements that hung in the air—found it. Remnants of saltpeter, and sewant mushroom lingered from days passed. Neither item was native to the surrounding lands, these were carried in with intent; to make a ‘devil’s puffball’ explosive. The work of a sorceress. A vengeful one at that.
Said notes carried—as expected—to the cabin upstream, confirming Chan’s suspicions about the inhabitant.
The cabin was also unassuming, covered in the usual flowers and plants that liked to overtake manmade structures that dared to appear in their land. Small patches of intentionally planted herbs, spices and other ingredients sat on the left-side of the building. Potions ingredients, it had to be.
Dusk began to fall over the sky like a blanket—ideal for concealing yourself when your go-to colour scheme is greys and blacks. The witcher did his best to blend in amongst the cluster of trees in front of the cabin, and prayed his silver hair didn’t give him away, as he awaited final confirmation that his ‘target’ was here. Torches being lit inside, and outside.
Time appeared as if to drag on, and tested the restraints Chan had within himself as he stared at the cabin door for what felt like days. It was something of a reoccurring annoyance for him, having to remind himself of a particular sentiment he’d heard once; ‘Patience is a virtue, Chan-ah. You mustn’t rush things.’
It seemed the wisdom of an old friend lingered on Chan’s mind more than ever today, though part of him wondered if it had ever left. Or, rather just laid dormant til he needed it most. They had a habit of doing that.
“Argh. Must bugs always fly at my face? I have a special glass for you guys.” Just in case the words weren’t threatening enough, two hands swiftly came up to swat the unwanted guests away. The figure’s upper lip twitched in the way a cats’ would, snarling at an intruder in it’s home. Cat-like similarities didn’t stop there, with the woman taking the time to sniff the air around her in curiosity. Searching for something.
Absolutely not. It couldn’t be.
Except, no matter how many gods Chan prayed to, it wouldn’t change the fact that the town and him shared the same tormentor—Lee Minhee.
The descriptions had done her no justice, none ever did. The finest hands could never sculpt nor paint her beauty, words were a fools game when it came time to recall what you’d seen when crossing paths with her.
A new sensation took the place of irritation within Chan—guilt, the kind that caused him to coat his throat in bile and revert back to the primal fetal position on the floor. Minhee had a habit of invoking that feeling.
This time around, he couldn't cast all blame onto her for the sudden shift in his conscience. Her actions had led him here, and seemingly harmed the lives of several dozen but it was Chan who’d agreed to hunt her down. It wasn’t malicious or intentional, yet it did little to stop the guilt from seeping deeper into his blood stream.
Reunions are always fun, right?
Like a wolf hunted its prey, Chan swept his way around the cabin in order to access ‘weak’ spots. Any vantage points that could let him in, unscathed and undetected—for now. The element of surprise was his only upper hand here, knowing the strength that his dear sorceress possessed.
Though, this was ultimately futile in nature.
“Silly witcher, you're aware I’ve not gone blind nor deaf since we last saw each other. Right?”
The sorceress had seized him by the ear, widening their non-existent height difference by nudging the man down a few inches. It would be humiliating for Chan in other circumstances, but with Minhee it felt like their natural state of being. Allowing her to manhandle him as she pleased, (almost) anything for her.
Chan’s earlobe rang with pain as the sorceress' fingers pinched him like a badly behaved mutt. “A man can’t dream?” Their eyes hadn’t yet met, instead Chan became particularly focused on a row of ladybugs that scurried past on the ground near his boots.
“Didn't know you had the time to. Given all the responsibilities and slaying you have to attend to.” Contrary to popular belief about Minhee, her words were not laced in venom but rather profound sadness. She knew exactly which threads of Chan’s heart to pull to extract guilt from him.
With that though, her grip on him loosened and the closeness of their bodies ceased as she took a step back.
“Lovely as always, Minhee.” The witcher’s own hand came up to soothe the now pissed off skin of his ear, watching as the other scooted past him and around the cabin to the front. He followed, like clockwork.
Like she could peek through his armour—and ribcage—Minhee’s eyes bored right into Chan’s heart, and trailed over his body before she spoke up. “Mm. Come in, you clearly want to.”
Cabins were Minhee’s favourite spots, besides the castle she once resided in as a younger lady. That was back when she was the court sorceress to a queen, fleeing the stone walls once the woman passed and in-turn unknowingly left the crown to a famously anti-magic son. Chan knew that a part of her yearned still for the stability of it all, even if she’d never admit it and repeatedly insisted that the adventurer life was for her.
As far as cabins went, this one was on the nicer side. Littered in personalised touches, many items that Chan recognised from previous places that Minhee inhabited; cat figurines (clearly worn down with time, but loved) that the witcher had gifted her nearly a decade ago as a courting gift, her usual alchemy set-up with the potions to prove its usage and the various clothes scattered across surfaces haphazardly. Not to mention her trusty king-sized bed, draped in only the finest and most comfortable materials. Heavens forbid she has a backache.
“I see time has been kind to your scaring, dear witcher. Haven’t gained any new ones?”
Decades had passed since Chan first became a witcher, no longer the fresh-faced recruit straight out of Kaer Morhen, dawning an untarnished set of ‘School of The Wolf’ armour. In the years since, countless men had repaired and welded new armour sets for the man, all of which were used thoroughly. The other aspect of him which hadn’t survived the passage of time unscathed—his face, and body. He’d stopped counting many years ago the number of scars across his body, and even had friends that turned guessing the total into a drinking game.
His face however was far easier to track; one on the left side mid-cheek to above the eyebrow, a second that ran straight through his eye (thankfully it remained unscathed), and lastly a much smaller one, probably the size of his pinky, on his right side a few centimetres above his eyebrow. The larger one was gained in battle against a griffin, and the other in knife-to-knife combat with a drunken man outside a bar in Novigrad.
“Don’t worry, you don’t have to play medic. Just yet.” Many years ago, Minhee had insisted Chan invest in proper wound care and gifted him several homemade cleansing balms. One of which he retrieved from his back pocket to show her. “Kept this handy.”
“Atta’ boy, good to know you’re capable of listening on occasion.”
No matter how much time passed, or the amount of land stretched between them, Chan and Minhee had a way of finding their way back to each other every time. It always felt natural, like it was meant to happen. If he was more romantically inclined, Chan would say they were perhaps meant to be together. Foolish thoughts.
Dancing around the nature of their reunion only lasted a few moments, with the pair settling down around a table that the sorceress had propped up in the corner with two piping hot teas placed on it. As they mutually swallowed their first sips, Chan took initiative and broke the ice. “Why, Minhee? Did the town wrong you, in some way? Insult your fine garments?”
Sighing, another familiar sound for the witcher to invoke from the sorceress. “Hm? I can’t practice magic anymore? I didn’t take you for close-minded, Chan-ah.” Lavender lipstick residue lined the top of the clay mug in Minhee’s hand, and built up as she took another sip without breaking eye-contact.
Ah, that’s how this was going to be.
“You know for a fact that’s not what I meant, Minhee.” If Chan’s hair wasn’t already the same colour as a wolf’s coat, this conversation would’ve gained him a few new silvers. “Usually your escapades have intent, motivation. I am just drawing a blank on what partially massacring a small market town achieves for you.”
Chan didn’t need his witcher senses to read the sorceress; his gaze picked up the moment her bottom lip was caught between her upper teeth—as cute as a bunny’s, always—sucked on momentarily and abandoned all in the blink of an eye. Muscles tensed, and loosened within her throat as well. He said nothing though, awaiting her admission of guilt instead.
“You speak with a lot of conviction for a man that knows very little.” Tea was forgotten as Minhee stood, widening the gap between them as she found a new spot to perch at by the stove across the cabin, hands resting on the stone-top as she spoke. “If you must know, it wasn’t me. I am merely here cleaning up the mess of another sorceress I have been tailing for months. Which you’d be aware of, if you ever wrote to me.”
As always, this back-and-forth could have been avoided if both parties knew when to swallow their prides.
You’d think a string or rope tethered them together as Chan rose to his feet only a few seconds later, not letting the sorceress escape his sight this time. “I didn’t mean to come at you so… heavy handed. I also have no intent on turning you in, even if you had done it.” His hand found solace on her shoulder, peering down at her from behind to get any read he could on her.
“Perhaps that’s wrong of me, on some moral level, but I have long since come to terms with that.”
It was hard to say if the electricity that sparked in their touch was romantic, or a bodily defence on Minhee’s part. The answer was quickly given as the sorceress turned around, finding her usual spot to rest her head against Chan's chest. This scene had played out countless times—a ‘lovers’ quarrel, turned into reconciliation.
“I’ll help you disappear, vanish into the night. Tell the townsfolk I rid the woods of their pesky sorceress, and you can keep doing what you do best.” The witcher’s tone was definitive, leaving no room for rejection or objection.
“Escaping?” The wolf-head sigil on Chan’s chest was now being toyed with between Minhee’s fingers.
Chan’s finger tapped at the base of Minee’s chin, smiling in a way which didn’t quite reach his ears as they made eye contact. “Being selflessly good, doing what’s right and virtuous to you. Without the recognition you deserve.” For a fleeting moment, a feeling close to love swelled in his chest as Chan watched the other noticeably melt into his touch before stepping back with an acknowledging hum.
“Let’s make me disappear, shall we?”
Tricking the residents would be easy—usually the word of a witcher was enough, just a ‘job’s done’ and walk away. However, to be thorough, Minhee suggested taking some ‘tokens’ of battle in case there’s any non-believers amongst them. It wouldn’t be the first time Chan had to drag a corpse with him to prove his point.
Much to the witcher’s relief, the tokens this time were merely a lock of hair (sourced straight from her scalp) and a vial of blood drawn from the side of her neck. It included some artificial clots in it, courtesy of Minhee’s expertise in deception, as she believed it would be more authentic that way.
That spark of electricity was ever present as they weaved around each other—Chan’s callused fingers lingered for a beat too long as they held Minhee’s neck steady for the blood extraction, and her own hand magnetised to his wrist for stability (or comfort, if the witcher let himself indulge) as a pinch of pain coursed through her.
After over a decade of this back and forth, he’d imagine the thrill would fizzle out eventually. The touches would become as mundane as the handshake a barkeep gave you after a good round of gwent, or as unassuming as bumping into a stranger in a crowded city.
That wasn’t the case for Chan and Minhee, it never had been. Every touch, glance, or word left the witcher aching for more. Perhaps it was greed, a touch of selfishness.
But, Chan had never let himself be selfish about anything. His entire life was a devotion to those around him, in spite of himself or what he truly wanted—regardless of the toll it took on his body. So, fuck it, he let himself be selfish with Minhee. She was his indulgence, a sip of the finer things in life that were kept out of reach for him.
Minhee’s busy hands worked away, wrapping up the items up in a safe cloth for the witcher to put in his satchel, touches as intricate as ever. Though, for a few beats, her gaze lingered on Chan. “You’ve got that… look in your eyes, Chan-ah. You’re far away from here.” It was a curse how well she could read him.
Chan’s body slumped against the cabin wall, arms folded over his chest and hands tucked into the cervices of them in an attempt to hide their shaken nature. “Do you ever think of us?”
The motion was so quick—Minhee’s slight hand tremble as she gave him the covered items—that you could have blinked and missed it. Part of Chan thought he’d imagined it, maybe he did.
“Would it upset you if I said no, because I can not let myself hope?”
Bridging the gap between them only took a few steps for Chan, leaving an arms length amount of space as he gauged the situation. The woman was receptive, not making any attempt at broadening their distance again.
“You don’t have to leave right away, nor I. The townsfolk haven’t given me a curfew.” Daring to indulge, Chan’s hand found the swell of Minhee’s back and steadied her body mere inches away from his. “Let’s give ourselves hope, just for tonight. My token for you.”
It was a risk, Chan knew that. Everything with them was, and like most risks in his life, this one paid off.
Minhee’s hands settled themselves on his chest, fingers spread out as they felt for his heartbeat and found it’s quickened nature. This seemed to amuse her, and brought a familiar feline smile to her face. “Still got a crush on me, Chan-ah?” Subconsciously or consciously, Minhee’s nail traced a heart shape over the spot of his very real one.
Using the hand on her back, Chan finally sealed them flushed together as his head lowered to her ear, “Always.”
Before further reactions could occur, their lips were smashed together in a haze—Chan wasn’t sure who made first contact—and the clarity of Minhee’s taste washed over him once again. Feelings akin to ascending to the afterlife brewed inside of the witcher as he kissed her and wondered why he ever stopped.
Dancing was a pastime the pair enjoyed during the quieter lulls of their time together, and their kisses were a lot like that. Synchronised and perfectly in-tune with the other’s body in a way they couldn’t find anywhere else. Not that either of them wanted to. Even so, it still felt like their first kiss all over again as butterflies settled in the pit of Chan’s stomach and began swarming his body as little gasps slipped from Minhee’s lips.
“Over there.” Minhee’s firm tone broke Chan out of his daze, as did the pressure of her hands on his chest as she nudged them both closer to her bed a few feet away. An itch to comment on the size of it—king sized—bubbled away inside of him, ask if she’s had any other suitors on it. But, it’s hard to care about who came before when all of her attention was on him now. So, he let himself be manhandled.
The only obstacle in their way now were the clothes on their bodies, which the witcher and sorceress made quick work of. Metal hit the ground with a thump as armour was discarded, silks thrown over it as Minhee stripped herself off in the blink of an eye, and revealed a matching set of purple lace trimmed under garments.
Oh, she was going to be the death of him.
“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” Chan asked, voice writhed with sincerity and an edge of lust.
Earnestly, Minhee chuckled as she laid herself down on the bed in front of Chan. “Doesn’t hurt to be reminded.”
Hooded eyes stared up at Chan, and drank in the sight of him unabashedly. Modesty was still partly maintained on his part, in the form of a plain white undershirt and his briefs. Which—based off Minhee’s lingering gaze—he needed to get off, quickly. So, he did just that. The witcher was well trained after all.
“I would remind you every single day if I could.” In a few short swift motions Chan found himself engulfing Minhee as he crawled onto the bed and hovered over her body below him. It was a sight worthy of the heavens, a higher honour than being given the title of Witcher. “I should.”
Minhee was the beginning and end of what the word ‘beautiful’ meant to him.
Specks of blush trailed across Minhee’s face and neck, before landing on her chest like a breadcrumb trail for Chan’s kisses to follow, which was exactly what he did, revelling in the way blush continued to spread and deepen. This wasn’t enough, though. Chan knew how flushed she could get, and wanted to make the most of their time together. Who knew when this would happen again?
As he reached her chest, the man shifted to sit up right and made quick work of removing the garment in his way. Not too hastily, though, he knew better than to tear her finer clothes, and instead he put the bra neatly to the side before perching down on his forearms.
With easier access, and her caged between his arms, the man wasted no time taking her left nipple in between his lips. Minhee had always been so sensitive to his touch, and even had a habit of cumming from breast simulation alone. Though, that’s not what he was going for tonight—just laying the ground work for later.
The sudden contact caused the sorceress to jolt, and arch up into the touch as her hands settled on his shoulders with a sighed out, “Chan-ahh.” Once again, the sorceress's bottom lip was caught in her bunny teeth to suppress any further noises.
Adorable, that wouldn’t last long.
Chan couldn’t deny the way his cock twitched eagerly at the sound, but elected to ignore it for now. His sole purpose in this moment was bringing Minhee to orgasm, or as close as he could get. The feeling of her hardening bud in his mouth was addictive—Chan loved nothing more than feeling the affect he had on someone. Seeking out more, Chan brought his right hand up to cup and toy with the neglected breast he couldn’t reach. It only took a few rolls of his finger tips, and suction from his lips, before both nipples were perked up and sensitives under his touch.
Minhee’s noises remained muffled by the lip she was chewing on, eyes sealed shut as the woman no doubt recounted alchemy lists and potion recipes in her mind to stay calm, not let the sensations overwhelm her too quickly. Ah, it’s been awhile since she was pleasured. Dotted on by anyone but her own hand, which shouldn’t make Chan so happy.
But, it did.
Begrudgingly, Chan pulled himself off Minhee’s chest for a moment and tapped her chin to get the attention he so desperately craved. “My love, it’s been far too long since we last did this. Let me hear those pretty sounds, yeah?” Once the words were out, he wasted no time in taking the bud back into his mouth and patiently waited to see if she’d listen.
Through his eyelashes, Chan gazed up at the sorceress and grinned against the flesh of her breast as sounds freely fell from her lips. Gasped pleas for ‘more’ echoed off the cabin walls and around Chan’s head. The sweetest lullaby you have ever heard.
“Good girl.”
As a reward, Chan made sure to suck a reminder of their time together on the spot he’d been teething at and fully bit down from the sting of his skin as her nails scratched down his bare back. A mark of her own. They’d always been so possessive of one another, so it didn't surprise him. In fact, it made his cock kick once again.
“Quit teasing, darling.” Minhee’s nails remained fixed in place—it seemed she sought to etch new scars of her own into his skin. He would let her do so in a heartbeat. “What happened to ‘it's been far too long’, hm?”
Part of him wanted to argue that they’d always taken their time. It was part of the fun—dragged out pleasure that led to mutual ravenousness due to the way it slowly ticked away at them. But, he knew that months of separation had stoked that fire within them already. Instead of an argument, the man leaned up to kiss her once more before he trailed his lips back down her body and landed on the skin above her panties.
Similarly to the bra, Chan used a gentle hand as he hooked his fingers into the lace waistband to shift the panties down, and placed them atop the bra a few inches away. Only then could he truly appreciate in the sight before him, his favourite meal. Hair framed the glistening pussy, and caused an involuntary moan from the witcher as saliva pooled under his tongue.
“You're drooling like a dog, Chan.” Minhee’s hands shifted from their previous position as one combed through his hair in the same fashion you would pet a domesticated wolf, and the other tangled the bedsheets below into a stress reliever in preparation.
Before Minhee could taunt him further—and he knew she wanted to—Chan’s hands settled on her thighs, and pushed them apart to make room for his head as he dove into the feast that awaited him. The sweetness washed over him like the finest wine in the land, and seeped into every taste bud in a way that (hopefully) cemented it’s place forever.
Like a greedy mutt with its latest hunt, Chan’s tongue lapped up the folds in front of him without restraint, only further encouraged by the way Minhee’s fingers tugged on the roots of his hair and white-knuckled the sheets. Years of stolen moments in shadowy corners of castles, on desks that previously occupied important documents, and beds of varying ownership had trained the witcher for this. His tongue was designed to pleasure only her.
Chan didn’t want her simply blissful, he wanted her drunk on the feeling of pleasure in a way that dulled the world around them out. Indulging himself, Chan gave a hearty squeeze to the muscle of Minhee’s thigh before bringing his fingers to her hole and rimming the edge with his thumb to test the waters. Vulgar words were coaxed out of her, along with barely legible promises of how she’d torment him forever if he didn’t put it in.
Threats of eternal suffering at her hand did sound appealing, but not more than her pretty sensual noises did.
As his ring finger slipped in, Chan made sure to press a kiss to her clit before paying it sole attention—like he’d done previously with her nipple, his lips sucked on the tender area with more dedication than he gave to battles. The sanctity of his life mattered less than pleasing her.
Further simulation came in the form of his groans vibrating through her pussy as his finger pumped in and out, not relenting even when her thighs clenched around the his head and caged Chan in without exit. If he could, the older would spend an eternity in service of her. Working orgasm after orgasm out of her.
“Cha—ah. More, please, you can”—Hiccups broke up Minhee’s words as the sorceress did her best to compose herself back to coherent speech—“give me more. Right?” Whines escaped her lips in the last moment, and in turn Chan worked a second finger into the woman’s pussy to fill her back up in their place.
If she asks, she shall receive.
The pair stayed like this for a few minutes, eventually a third finger was added as Chan continued to savour Minhee’s clit and pussy like it was his last meal, tongue mapping out any part of her it could reach. Every point of her body deserved to be worshipped, and devoured with the upmost care without any slacking.
Pre-cum leaked from Chan’s neglected cock, and onto the sheets below only to be met by the wetness of Minhee’s pussy that had dripped down to soak the same spot. It was disgusting, objectively, but you’d never be able to tell from the groan that rumbled through Chan’s body then over the sensitive spots for Minhee.
“Gonna cum, baby—”
Before the woman could finish her sentence, or anything else, Chan pulled back fully to postpone the inevitable. The spark was quickly reignited as the witcher’s cock worked its way into her plush hole without delay, nearly doubling over as she clenched around his length in shock before catching himself with his hands braced on either side of the sorceresses face. Oh, what a beautiful sight.
Minhee’s teeth glistened from the candle light, and shined up from below Chan as she gazed at the man. It was the kind of look usually reserved for couples walking down the aisle, greeting each other after the birth of their child or enjoying the breeze on a beach after retirement. It scared him, as it did all cowards.
In just a few short thrusts, Chan bottomed out. Thighs flushed against Minhee’s ass as he took a beat to let the other adjust—and allowed himself to steal a kiss—before he picked up the pace to unload all those months of frustration, regret and cowardice into her. He wasn’t alone in this, with her legs now thrown over his shoulders and hands on his pecs as she dug the tips of her refined nails into the flesh.
With new found composure, Chan pulled himself back up and took Minhee’s waist into his hands for better stability—his cock twitched inside her as his hands spread out just a little, noticing the way they engulfed the area without even trying. “You were made for me, Minhee. To take my cock, to be held by me.”
To be loved by me, doesn’t quite reach his tongue.
“Yes. Nghhh—made to be yours, Chan-ah.” The sorceress affirmed, and nodded with moans to prove it further.
Minhee’s lips had fallen into the perfect ‘o’ shape, like a bunny caught in the hands of a big bad wolf. She’d been captured by him, and he’d never let her leave the hinges of his jaw. If only things went his way.
The sheer act of pleasuring her on his tongue had brought them both close to orgasm—Chan was mere seconds from cumming all over the sheets untouched—which meant it only took a few minutes for the coil of pleasure within the witcher to reappear, with the intent on unleashing this time.
“My love, fuckin’ hell, where do you want me to cum?” Words were hard for Chan right now, all hoarse and breathless as the witcher mustered up all the excess energy he had just to get through this request. “Please?”
Humorous laughs from the sorceress filled the space in between the more lewd squelches of slick skin, winced ‘fuck’s from Chan as Minhee bit down on his pec just once before she pulled off to answer. “Inside, darling. I want to feel full, reminded of you. Claimed by y—”
As much as Chan wanted to listen to every sinful confession and desire that Minhee had, it was his body that betrayed him this time. Stars overtook his vision like a fleeting memory of the night sky, pleasure pulsed through every bit of him that blood flowed to and unloaded into the fluttering warmth of Minhee’s body.
Nails pierced skin when the sorceress's orgasm overtook her simultaneously, using Chan’s chest as an outlet as the pair’s speech became an endless babble of mutual praise and incoherent sounds that were threaded with the kind of pleasure they’d both been searching for—they were each other’s salvation.
Separation wasn’t immediate. Instead, Chan’s body slacked down onto the bed beside Minhee—who was pulled promptly on top of him—so they could spend just a little longer still fused to one another. It was all about selfish indulgences tonight, and this was certainty a highlight.
As all good things do, it couldn't last very long. Minhee snapped Chan right into work, with his role being to rinse them both off in her makeshift wooden tub at the other side of the cabin. It was less romantic bubble bath time, and more endless apologises from both parties as new bruises were discovered all over their bodies like the aftermath of a gruesome battle. The eruption of giggles from Minhee soothed it over, with Chan peppering every mark she received with a kiss and mumbled ‘sorry’ against the spot.
Chan wanted to steal Minhee’s bottles and fill them up with her laughter, to keep him company on long travel days or particularly harsh nights. The latter had became increasingly regular, with the witcher not remembering the last night he’d felt properly rested after sleeping.
Once they were dried off, and Minhee worked her magic to clean the clothes without dampening them, the pair found themselves nestled in bed together like this was their standard routine. It felt as natural as Chan’s innate witcher instincts, to be domestic with her, to lay with her in his arms as she rumbled on and on about the next place she wanted to visit after this. It was a mountain town, more recluse and private, perfect for her.
Endless chatter dulled out to faint whispers, sleepiness overtaking the sorceress as her eyes continued to fall down and her grip on his chest softened into a meek cuddled up nature. She looked at peace, and his heart settled for the first time in a very long while.
Barely above a whisper, Chan made a confession as his lips placed a kiss on her head. “I missed this.”
“Goodnight, darling.”
And, just like that, sleep washed over Chan like it was the easiest thing to do.
The next morning had been less domestic and more strategic. They’d made sure to wake up at the earliest light, bags packed with efficiency, which included the tokens she’d fabricated for him. Proof of their ‘fight’, and her death. Dried blood was splattered across Chan’s armour, and untwined into parts of his hair to give the necessary affects of a gruesome fight. The pair knew this was procedural, it was their usual song and dance. There was no malicious intent behind it, no ulterior motive.
Didn’t make it sting any less for Chan, it had always been his least favourite part of their arrangement. The anonymity and inherent shame that came with it for both of them.
“I did it, by the way. Tormented the town, ripped their livelihood to shreds.” Wisps of hair framed Minhee’s face, the light morning breeze provided that for her as they stepped out the cabin and began their small trek over to the lake. “It’s the only way you’d return to me, my destruction invites you in.” Her eyes landed on his and searched for an inkling of surprise, or, disgust maybe.
Neither of those could be found anywhere on his face, instead the famous ‘crescent moon’ (as she would say) smile dawned over his face in a similar fashion to the way the sun behind Minhee ascended over the morning skies. Waves of oranges and pinks fell over the forest, a soothing sight for the witcher.
Finally acknowledging her confession, Chan's hand soothed over her back for a few strokes before it returned to his side. “I know—I knew, from the second I saw the corpses. I could recognise the handiwork of my love anywhere.”
Even if Chan hadn’t acknowledged it outwardly, a sense of recognition lingered within himself—the way her words echoed in his mind, and guided the witcher towards the truth. She was his anchor point in all of this.
“Why still lay with me? Why not turn me in?” It was a futile question, they both knew that. Even as she pestered him, Chan could tell a part of her was simply searching for a very specific response. “Doesn’t the witcher instinct within you thrash with the need to throw me to the wolves, seek justice and all that self-righteous nonsense?”
Translucent blues of the lake came into view, along with the sight of a very familiar and sleepy horse hitched up not too far along the stream, nibbling away at the grass that invaded the tree bed. Sweet Roach, she’d always been good at listening to Chan. He just hoped she’d indulge his next request, it was his most important yet.
Chan turned to lift Minhee with his arm and hoist her over the shallow part of the stream before placing her down. Only then did he feel confident in his answer, “You tamed that wolf in me long ago, he is merely a purring pup at your feet now.” It wasn’t what she needed, those three words were just out of reach.
The few steps over to the horse were silent, but weighty, something lingered in the air that made it hard to swallow. Chan knew he was being cruel to an extent, not giving in and letting himself along with Minhee finally be happy. He could end this cat and mouse game, but instead he just said,
“I want you to take my horse. She’s well-travelled, and can withstand the harsher climate you’re aspiring for so. It only makes sense she keeps you company, plus I have an inkling she’s always favoured you.”
“Chan, that’s absurd. I couldn’t possibly take her, she’s been with you sinc—” Minhee’s hands shot up in an instant, waving around like she was attempting to shoo the idea out of Chan’s head.
Chan’s hands settled over Minhee’s, interlacing so seamlessly. Another arrow straight to his heart, but he soldiered on. “Since I met you. Please, I can’t give you much commitment in this lifetime but I can provide for you.”
It took a few seconds of Minhee chewing away on her bottom lip before she hummed in agreement, and allowed Chan the grace of meeting her eyes. There was a glossy look to them, rainbows reflecting off them like stained glass in a Kaer Morhen. It reminded him of home.
The agreement was sealed with a kiss, and hug that both lasted a beat longer than ‘normal’ for these things. But, what part of this was normal anyways?
Silly or not, Chan took the time to lay with his mare. Comb through her hair and reminisce on the good times they’d had together—which mostly consisted of battles, but hey! they won, so, fond memories. Even made her promise to look after Minhee, not let anything or anyone get too close. That’s what he trained those back legs for.
This felt like letting go, for good.
As expected, the horse welcomed her new owner without complaint and neighed contently as Chan strapped Minhee into the sandal with a detailed list of Roach’s favourite snacks, places to sleep or generally rest, least favourites and so on. It was ridiculous, the sorceress knew how to care for a horse but it soothed Chan so she indulged him.
Two final kisses were given—one to the side of Roach’s face, and the other on Minhee’s cheek. His two favourite girls in one place surged a sense of pride in him to see. Even if it was the last time he may do so.
“Until next time, darling. Less destruction, I promise.”
Minhee's silhouette vanished amongst the trees in a few blinks, gone in the wind along with any semblance of control Chan had over his body. Tears stained the man’s face, lips tugged into a tight line as the sounds of gushing winds and flowing water did their best to soothe him. Put his heart at ease from the realisations that settled over him as she disappeared out of sight, but not his mind. Blood had no reason to be such a comforting scent right now, but for Chan the faint smell of her in his hair was the greatest gift she could’ve given him.
The worst part of it all?
Chan could watch her burn the world down, torch everything he’s ever seen—or loved—and the only thing that would cross his mind would be, ‘I am glad she’s warm, she’s always hated the winter.’