#aryia cw voyeurism

[aryianite]

inflection point (pt 1 of 5)

Hi. So I’ve been reading fic for a long, long, time and I feel too old to be on this site but I discovered @piceuscelus‘s fantastic work while ago and was so inspired by it that I decided to try my hand at writing it for the first time. and immediately dove into writing hard smut so, i might be a clown and this might be terrible but hope you enjoy. i wrote parts 1, 2, and 3 in a one-sitting haze, finished part 4, and have a part 5 planned out but haven’t written it. might post this to AO3 sometime if people like it.

Pairing: geralt x ciri (not underage)

content warnings (part 1): dead dove: do not eat, pseudo-incest, mutual masturbation, voyeurism, exhibitionism, comeplay (minor), squirting (minor), kaer morhen’s fanon hot springs, geralt’s canonically giant cock, not underage

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Ciri is staring at him.

Geralt can tell because the nervous thump of her rabbit-fast heart is so loud it almost echoes in the near-silence of the hot springs. The only other sound is the gentle lapping of the water against the edge of the stone and the sloshing of waves as he scrubs his arms.

He hums a little, deep in his throat, almost subverbal. It reverberates around the chamber, and the smell of her slick intensifies. Geralt smirks a little. Out of the corner of his eye he can see her hiding behind an outcropping of rock, knees pressed together. He turns slightly in her direction and he hears a small gasp, though he purposefully doesn’t make eye contact.

He reaches behind him and gathers his hair up, tying it into a messy bun. The sound of Ciri’s breathing gets heavier, and he picks up the swish of her legs pressing and rubbing together. The glowing stones on the floor of the hot springs illuminate the turquoise waters, throwing warm flickering light about the chamber. In the dim lighting, Geralt knows Ciri will only be able to see parts of him, with shadows dancing over him. But he’d be able to see all of her in his peripherals, if only she came a little closer.

In the corner of the chamber, at the edge of one of the pools is a flat ledge that juts out, sloping out from the wall. A vent sits just under it, warming it slightly with steam that adds to the swirls rising from the water. It’s a little ways out from where Geralt is now - so he knows that if he moves over there, Ciri will have to leave her position to see him better.

He braces his arms against the edge of the pool he’s in and slowly rises out of the water, climbing panther-smooth and quietly out. He’s unashamed in his nudity, cock hanging heavy and proud from his dripping body as he pads quietly over to the ledge. He hears a small, barely stifled squeak from the corner, but gives no indication that he heard it. The aroma of her slick is so strong in the air now that Geralt can almost taste it, rich and heavy on his tongue. He rumbles again, cock half-hard and heavy on his thigh.

Reaching the ledge, he bends down and smooths his hand over the rock. It’s almost slippery, worn silken by hundreds of witchers before him who’ve found it and used it as a relaxation station. Geralt sits down on it, legs straight out in front of him, back against the wall. The contrast between the cool stone on the hot skin of his back and the warmth of the heated stone is thrilling; his nipples harden and twinge with a jolt of pleasure as he roughs a hand over his chest. He moans a little, lowly, and he hears the sound of feet shuffling closer.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Ciri poorly hidden behind another outcropping of rock a couple of meters away. She’s wearing a thin night shift - she must have climbed out of bed to come find him, with everyone in the keep asleep at this hour. He can see the bottom of the shift stuck to her thighs, whether from slick or steam, and he groans.

He closes his eyes and strokes his hand down his firm stomach and thick thighs. The muscles in his legs jump a little, and his cock throbs as he scrapes his nails gently on his skin. This winter has been a kind one so far, and with it being the last one before Ciri heads out with him on the Path as a full witcher, everyone has been merrier and more affectionate than usual. The savory stew that Vesemir made several hours earlier sits comfortably in his stomach, and Geralt feels rested and at peace. He knows once he and Ciri are out on the Path it’ll be back to lean hunts and cold days, and he savors the serenity and comfort that comes with being at home.

And speaking of Ciri, she’s been acting strange the last few weeks. At night, after Vesemir goes to bed, when the four of them gather to play Gwent by the fire, Ciri often declines and opts to simply sit next to him and watch. Which is strange, because out of the four of them, she’s the one who would play any drunkard out of his cards and steal all his winnings if she could. She’ll lean on his shoulder and hold onto his arm - which isn’t particularly strange in itself, but what it unusual is the arousal he’s been scenting on her when he presses against her. Eskel and Lambert smell it too, and they’re certainly interested, but defer to him on how to approach things. None of them want to pressure her if she’s unsure, but they don’t know how to broach the subject.

Geralt thinks the best way to let everything happen organically is to let Ciri approach him on her own. But it has been weeks of soft touches and Ciri looking away shyly, him looking up and seeing her gaze heavy on him before she startles and glances askance like a little deer. His cock has been almost constantly hard with the scent of her arousal thick in the air all the time, so much so that he has to take himself in hand multiple times a day.

Which led him to wake up in the middle of the night tonight, sweating with his hair plastered to his face and hand shoved down his smalls. Geralt had groaned into his pillow and stomped down to the hot springs in hopes that a bath and a long soak in the pools would relax him enough to go back to sleep - and he was almost calmed down before he realized Ciri had followed him down and was watching him bathe.

Geralt scrapes his hand down his leg again and opens his eyes, watching his full cock jump a little. He takes himself in hand and strokes slowly, but firmly, from root to tip, groaning lowly as he does. A bead of precome wells at the tip and slowly runs down. With his other hand, he pinches and rolls one of his nipples, rumbling again when his nail catches on the bud. He thumbs over the rosy tip of his cock, massaging under the spongy head and gently stroking the thick vein that pulses on the side. He groans a little louder.

To his left, he can hear Ciri rustling a little as she lifts up the edge of her shift. He closes his eyes and imagines her gaze on him. The heat of her eyes, with blush high on her cheeks. How she can’t see all of him, only light and darkness playing over his body, with the glow of the water and stones embedded in the walls illuminating him from the side and below.

He strokes his cock a little faster, and hears the slick sounds of her fingers on her cunt. Geralt growls lowly at this, and hears her answering gasp, quiet and still muffled as if she’s got a hand over her mouth. Fuck.

“Fuck,” he groans aloud, gripping his cock tighter and pinching his nipple roughly. His harsh breaths echo a little in the chamber, and the just-barely there sounds of Ciri matching his strokes has him so hard he’s almost in tears.

The thought of her slim fingers plunging in and out of her pink cunt almost brings him to the edge, but he just barely manages to hold on to a thread of control by grabbing the base of his cock. He’s sliding a little on the rock, sweating from arousal and from the heat of the steamy air around him. He forces his eyes open a little, and catches the profile of Ciri’s hand frantically rubbing her clit. Geralt groans so loudly it reverberates around the entire chamber - he’s so wet from precome that his fist almost feels like a cunt with how tight he’s gripping himself.

Ciri’s slick is leaking onto her upper thighs, and she’s so drenched that he can see it from how the light from the water is reflecting on her, giving her lower half an almost sparkling effect, and he throbs almost painfully thinking about it. The thought of sinking into her and grinding up against the velvet clutch of her - fuck. He’s so, so hard. Geralt is sure he’s never been this hard in his life.

The obscene sound of her cunt suckling at her fingers as she plunges them in and out is so loud that Geralt isn’t sure how she hasn’t realized he can hear her yet - but he’s so close to coming that he doesn’t have much room for anything in his brain at this point. All that is left is Ciri and fuck and the tight, wet clutch of his own hand. Geralt strokes harder, bracing his feet against the stone and fucking up into his hand. He rolls his hips and closes his eyes, scraping his left hand over his chest and neck and ending with holding onto the edge of the stone slab for dear life.

He’s close, and he’s about to switch hands before he hears the splash of slick dripping onto the ground and a muffled fuck, Geralt from Ciri and it’s that whisper that sends him over the edge, coming so hard his vision whites out. Thick ropes of come land on his stomach and legs, and his cock throbs roughly as he jerks with each pulse, groaning like his life depends on it and rolling his hips into the air. Geralt can’t stop the harsh pants and high, almost animalistic whine that comes out of him as he fucks his fist. Grey spots dance at the edge of his vision. He’s never come this fucking hard in his entire life.

He opens his eyes fully and runs a shaky finger through his own mess, bringing it to his mouth and sucking, moaning at the taste. Fuck.

Ciri’s breaths are coming out roughly too as she comes down from her orgasm as well. Geralt decides he’s tired of this impasse and turns his body over towards her.

“Did you enjoy the show, little swallow?”

Ciri squeaks in shock as she jerks her head up, and their eyes meet in the dim light. Her cheeks are still rosy from arousal and her hair is falling out slightly from her bun. Her mouth is agape from his comment, but Geralt can see that she presses her thighs together when he says it.

part 2