Commitment

The night air hung heavy with the scent of damp earth and the distant chirping of crickets as Tommon and Ciri made their way out of the village. Tommon's steps faltered slightly, a wince crossing his face as he pressed a hand to his bruised ribs. The adrenaline of the confrontation was fading, along with the effects of the potion, leaving behind a dull ache and a creeping sense of doubt.

He glanced over his shoulder, back towards the sleeping village, the only home he'd ever known. The excitement that had filled him mere moments ago began to drain away, replaced by a gnawing uncertainty. What was he doing? Running off into the night with a witcher, leaving behind everything he'd ever known... it was madness.

Ciri, as if sensing his hesitation, slowed her pace, turning to look at him. "Not so easy now that it’s real, is it?" she asked, her voice neutral.

Tommon closed his eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. The thought of staying here, of facing Edmund and Hedley's wrath, of enduring his mother's drunken rages... it filled him with a sick dread.

But the unknown that stretched before him, the vast, dangerous world beyond.

"The farm," he said suddenly, his eyes snapping open. "It's just a little way out on the way to the main road. I... I need to get some things. Say goodbye. Then I'll know for sure."

Ciri nodded, her expression still inscrutable. "Lead the way," she said simply. "But hurry. We can't linger long."

They trekked through the fields, the tall grass whispering against their legs. The hovel appeared on the horizon, a dark shape against the star-strewn sky. As they drew closer, the neglect became apparent - the sagging roof, the crumbling walls, the overgrown weeds choking the path. It was hardly a farm at all, more a ramshackle building with a haggard flock of sheep.

Tommon felt a flush of shame as they approached, acutely aware of Ciri's presence at his side. What must she think of him, of this place? But if the witcher was phased by the state of the farm, she didn't show it. Her eyes merely swept over the scene, taking in every detail.

They stepped inside, the door creaking. The stench of stale alcohol and unwashed bodies assaulted their nostrils, making Tommon's stomach turn. In the dim light of a single guttering candle, he could make out the slumped form of his mother, draped across a rickety chair, a bottle dangling from her limp fingers.

"Izzat you, boy?" she slurred, her head lolling towards the sound of their footsteps. "Why ain’t you home? Don’t you ever think of yer mother?"

Tommon sighed, a heavy, weary sound. "Yes ma, it's me," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.

He moved past her, feeling Ciri's eyes on his back as he began to rummage through his meager belongings in a corner. He was used to this, to the drunken ramblings, the slurred insults. It had been this way for too long now, ever since his father’s sudden disappearance.

"Who'sat with ya?" his mother demanded suddenly, squinting blearily in Ciri's direction. "One of yer li'l friends?"

"Yeh, it's me," Ciri responded, her voice a rough mimicry of Edmund's nasal whine. "Come to give yer layabout son a proper beating, I 'ave!"

Tommon's mother blinked, her brow furrowing in confusion, eyes squinting into the dim light with no avail. But then she merely grunted, waving a dismissive hand. "Have at 'im then," she mumbled, her eyes already drooping closed. "Useless whelp, 'e is. Dunno why I bother..." Her words trailed off into an incoherent mumble as she slipped back into her drunken stupor.

In the silence that followed, Ciri's gaze wandered the room, taking in the cracked walls, the threadbare furniture, the layer of grime that seemed to coat every surface. She looked to Tommon, her expression softening.

“I –” Ciri started before faltering.

"Don't bother," Tommon said, his voice flat.

He turned back to his corner, rummaging through piles of worn things. After a moment, he pulled out a small, leather-bound volume, its cover embossed with the flaking image of a man with a prominently hooked nose. "Valrin's verses," Tommon said, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he brushed a thumb over the faded gold lettering. "The greatest bard who ever lived."

Ciri took the book from his proffered fingers, flipping through the pages. Her eyes skimmed the lines of poetry and musical notation. "Ah, the source of your powers," she said, her tone appreciative. "The classics are the best teachers."

Tommon shrugged, taking the book back and tucking it into his pack. "Not much else to do while watching sheep. Sing the old songs, make up new ones. It's how I've always passed the time."

He continued to fortify his pack with a few other meager possessions - a spare shirt, a tinderbox, a small pouch of coins that constituted his life savings. It wasn't much, but it was all he had. All he'd ever had.

Straightening, he turned to face Ciri, a new resolve hardening in his eyes. "I'm ready," he said, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. "Let's go."

Ciri nodded, a flicker of something like approval crossing her face. Without another word, she turned and strode out into the night, Tommon following close behind.

The road stretched out before them, winding into the unknown. Tommon squared his shoulders, hefted his pack, and stepped forward into his new life.

≋ ≋ ≋

They walked for what felt like hours, the night sky slowly fading into the gray light of pre-dawn. When they reached a small clearing some distance from the road, Ciri called a halt.

"We'll camp here for a few hours," she said, shrugging off her pack. "Get some rest before we move on."

Tommon nodded, too exhausted to argue. Together, they cleared a space for a small fire, gathering dry wood and kindling from the surrounding trees. As the flames crackled to life, casting a warm glow over their makeshift campsite, Tommon felt some of the tension drain from his shoulders.

He settled down on a fallen log, stretching out his aching legs with a groan. Ciri took a seat across from him.

"Tommon," she said, her voice firm. "I want to make something clear."

He looked up, meeting her gaze with a sinking feeling in his gut.

"This... whatever this is," Ciri gestured between them, "this thing we’re doing. We're not together. Not like that."

Tommon felt a sting of rejection, sharp and bitter, even though it was obviously coming. He grunted, looking away into the fire.

"I know," he said, his voice gruff. "I didn't think that coming on your chest one time means..."

He trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence. Didn't think what? That a witcher could ever be interested in a simple farm boy? That he stood a chance with a woman like her?

Ciri sighed, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. "I'll travel with you," she said. "For a time. But there will be places I need to go, things I need to do. Places where you can't follow. You understand that, right?"

Tommon nodded, still not meeting her eyes. "I understand," he said quietly.

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire. Then Ciri spoke again, her voice softer now.

"It's for the best," she said. "Trust me. You're starting a new life, Tommon. You don't want to be tied down, not even to me. Especially not to me."

He looked up at that, a flicker of defiance in his eyes. "Maybe I do," he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. "Maybe I want..."

He broke off, flushing deeply as he realized what he'd been about to say. Ciri raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement playing around her lips.

"Want what?" she asked, her voice low and teasing. "To be mine? To follow me around like a lost puppy?”

Tommon's flush deepened, but he forced himself to hold her gaze. "No," he said, his voice steadier than he felt.

Ciri's expression softened, something almost like tenderness flickering in her eyes. "Good. That’s the spirit."

She leaned back, stretching out her long legs towards the fire. "But enough of that," she said, her tone brisk once more. "We need to discuss our next move."

"Our next move?" he echoed. "Where are we going?"

Ciri shrugged. "Somewhere bigger than that little village of yours," she said

Despite himself, Tommon felt a thrill of excitement at the prospect. "How big?" he asked, leaning forward eagerly. "How many taverns?"

Ciri laughed. "Three," she said, holding up three fingers. "Three whole taverns, can you imagine? And one of them even has a proper bath. We’ll find a willing audience for young Tommon the Bard."

Tommon's eyes widened. A bath. When was the last time he'd had a real bath, with hot water and soap? He couldn't even remember.

As if reading his thoughts, Ciri's smile turned sly. "I'd like to see you in that bath," she murmured, her eyes roving over him in a way that made his skin prickle with heat. "All clean and wet and shiny."

Tommon gulped. "I'd like that too," he managed.

Ciri's smile widened, her eyes glinting with mischief. "And what about me?" she asked, her voice dropping to a purr. "Would you like to see me in the bath?"

Tommon nodded mutely, not trusting himself to speak. Ciri leaned closer, her face mere inches from his own.

"What about under the stars?" she breathed, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Naked and gleaming in the moonlight?"

He hesitated for a moment, his thoughts swirling. "I thought we weren't together," he said, his voice a mix of confusion and desire.

Ciri's smile turned wicked, her eyes darkening. "That doesn't mean I don't want you to fuck my brains out," she said, matter of factly.

Ciri rose, her fingers deftly untying the laces of her tunic. The fabric slipped from her shoulders, revealing the smooth expanse of her skin, illuminated by the soft glow of the firelight. Tommon watched, transfixed, as she continued to undress, each piece of clothing falling away to reveal more of her curves.

“Besides, we have unfinished business.” Ciri leaned forward, palming Tommon’s rapidly hardening manhood through his trousers.

Some remnant of the potion must have still lingered in his blood. Without thinking, he reached down, freeing himself from the confines of his trousers. His hand wrapped around his throbbing length, stroking slowly as he watched her.

Ciri's eyes flicked to his movements, a satisfied smirk curling her lips. "That's it," she encouraged, her voice a breathy whisper. "Show me how much you want me."

He couldn't tear his gaze away from her, his hand moving faster as her naked body was revealed in full. She stood before him, gloriously bare, her curves bathed in the silvery light of the moon. Her eyes locked onto his.

She raised her arms, leaning against a nearby tree, her back arching to present her backside to him. Her eyes closed, a cheeky smile playing on her lips as she offered herself to him completely.

“If only there was a strapping farmboy here to fuck me so hard I forget my name.”

He approached her, his fingers trembling with anticipation as he ran his hands over the smooth expanse of her back, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath his touch. Ciri moaned softly, arching her back further, presenting her backside to him even more invitingly. The sound sent a shiver of desire down his spine.

His hands wandered down, tracing the contours of her toned stomach. Ciri grabbed his hands, guiding them lower to her already wet heat. Tommon’s fingers danced across her sensitive folds, exploring her wetness, his touches still tentative but eager. She responded by pressing her bare buttocks against him, the firmness of her ass rubbing against his throbbing erection.

Ciri let him paw at her for a few moments before turning, taking his cock in her hands. She descended to her knees, looking up at him in a way that made his heart leap. Her lips parted slightly, and her tongue emerged, glistening and poised. She licked him slowly, tracing a slow, wet path along the length of his shaft. His fingers found their way into her hair, threading through the platinum tresses.

Then Ciri took him into the warmth of her mouth, enveloping him slowly, drawing him in until he was engulfed by heat. She began gently, exploring the length of his cock with lips and tongue. Then, as if sensing his growing need, she intensified her efforts. Her head began to bob rhythmically, in sync with the deepening moans that vibrated from Tommon's throat.

Her tongue became a tool of exquisite torment; it swirled around the very tip before she took him deep, her nose brushing against hair at the base of his cock. She pulled back, her cheeks hollowing with suction before licking up and down his length again.

He could feel the pressure building, his balls tightening as her skilled mouth worked him. But just as he was about to tip over, Ciri pulled back, releasing him with a wet pop.

"I need you," she breathed, her eyes dark with desire. "Now."

Ciri slowly rose to her feet and pivoted to face away from him, casting a sultry gaze over her shoulder. The flickering shadows accentuated the subtle sway of her hips as she leaned onto all fours. She spread herself for him.

"Ready for your real first time with a woman?" Her voice curled around him like a spell.

Tommon’s pulse thundered in his ears as he stepped closer, the air between them charged with electric desire. His hands, unsteady with a mix of nerves and excitement, reached out to trace the contours of her hips, then lower, to the firm roundness of her buttocks.

Gently, he parted her, revealing her wet slickness. The sight of her, so ready and waiting, pulled a deep groan from his chest. He allowed the head of his erection to brush against her, sliding along her folds, coating himself with her. The teasing contact made Ciri arch back slightly, a soft moan escaping her lips.

Ciri's fingers wrapped around him as she reached back between her legs, her touch assertive. She guided him inside slowly. He inched deeper, feeling the resistance of her warm tightness. Once fully sheathed within her, Tommon paused, overwhelmed. He lingered there for a heartbeat, his cock fluttering deep inside her.

But then Ciri was rocking on his hard length, her back arched. Encouraged by her groans, he began to move. Each withdrawal was almost reluctant, each return felt like it went even deeper. The rhythm they found was unhurried at first, exploratory, as he familiarized himself with the new sensation of being hilted in a woman.

But Ciri's increasingly fervent gasps soon brought up his pace. His hands gripped her waist, pulling her into thrust after thrust. “Tommon, fuck," she gasped, her voice breaking with pleasure, "don’t hold back."

His restraint shattered, Tommon’s thrusts became more insistent, each one punctuated by Ciri’s sharp intakes of breath and mews of pleasure. The building pressure in his core was relentless, pushing him toward an orgasm he couldn’t control.

Ciri’s moans grew louder, more insistent, signaling her orgasm’s approach. “Tommon,” she gasped, her voice laced with pleasure and urgency, “harder!”

"Ciri... I'm close... should I...?" Tommon gasped out between ragged breaths.

Ciri, her eyes glazed with pleasure, shook her head. "Don't stop," she panted. "I'm a witcher, fucking fill me up, come inside me."

Encouraged by her pleas, Tommon increased his pace, his movements becoming more forceful. He felt her body tighten around him, her walls clenching on his cock. With a few more thrusts, she was there—crying out beneath the canopy of stars, her body shuddering in the throes of a powerful orgasm, her back arching in a divine curve.

As Ciri’s climax washed over her, Tommon felt his own control unravel. With a low, primal groan, he gave in. He gripped her hips tightly, anchoring himself as he drove into her with a few final, powerful thrusts.

Then, with an intensity that seemed to shake the forest itself, he released. His body spasmed in powerful waves, each pulse releasing deep within her. The warmth of his climax flooded Ciri, filling her. He kept moving gently as he came, milking the moment, prolonging the sensation as he pumped her full of his seed, each throb syncing with the lingering aftershocks of her orgasm.

As the last waves of his release ebbed, Tommon gradually stilled, though he remained inside Ciri, unwilling to pull out. He leaned forward to rest his forehead against her back, feeling the sweat and warmth of her skin against his as their breaths mingled in the cool night air.

They stayed like that for a long moment, clinging to each other. Finally, Tommon's knees gave out, and they sank to the forest floor, still tangled in each other's arms.

Ciri let out a contented sigh, her fingers tracing idle patterns on Tommon's sweat-slicked chest. "That was good, Tommon. You fuck like you sing."

“How was that for a first time?” Ciri asked, satisfaction clear on her face.

"... Hrngnggg," Tommon offered.

Ciri tweaked his nipple. “Ever the poet.”