Geralt and Wednesday: A Weird Hot Encounter

"What the...?" Geralt grunted as he stumbled out of the swirling vortex of the space-time portal. His eyes narrowed, adjusting to the gloom of the unfamiliar room. The cobwebs clinging to the walls whispered secrets of ages long forgotten. The dusty air carried the faint scent of decay and...was that the distant sound of a piano playing a melancholic tune?

In the corner, a disembodied hand skittered across the floor, moving with a life of its own. Geralt's instincts sharpened, and he unsheathed his steel sword, the blade cutting through the silence like a knife through the dark. The hand saw him, paused for a heartbeat, then darted away, disappearing through a crack in the wall. The Witcher's eyes followed its escape, a mix of surprise and determination etched on his face.

The mansion loomed around him, a labyrinth of shadows and echoes. He had encountered many strange things in his travels, but a walking hand? That was a first. He took a step forward, the creaking floorboards announcing his presence to the silent halls. The hand reappeared, leading him deeper into the mysterious house. It danced away every time he tried to grab it, a taunting guide in this eerie ballet.

A sudden, hulking and towering figure filled the corridor ahead. The butler, or so it seemed, was not amused by the uninvited guest. "You shouldn't be here," it inarticulatedly rumbled, its massive form blocking the path. Geralt's hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. The creature took a menacing step closer, and the Witcher felt the cold sweat of distress prickle the back of his neck. But the hand reappeared, beckoning from a side door, offering an escape. Without a second thought, Geralt dashed after it, the thunderous footsteps of the butler chasing him into the bowels of the mansion.

The corridors twisted and turned, the walls seemingly moving with every fleeting glance. The house felt alive, a beast with a mind of its own. Suddenly choosing a different path than the Hand seemed to want him to take, as he didn't trust such a bizarre creature, Geralt climbed the stairs that led him into a chamber that seemed much larger than it should be, and the door closing fast behind him as if by magic. In the center of the room stood a bed, but unlike any he had encountered before, as this one was like a grand, ornated coffin, and within it, a girl slept as still as death. Her face was a canvas of unblemished porcelain, and her braided raven hair spilled over the velvet lining like a midnight waterfall.

Geralt approached, his sword at the ready, expecting the worst. Then as he slowly moved away deciding to exit the place, the girl's eyes snapped open, revealing pools of the deepest dark. "You can't leave," she said, her voice as cold and unyielding as the room around them.

Ignoring the command, Geralt reached for the door's handle. It wouldn't open. He strained, muscles bulging beneath his leather armor. The girl's expression didn't change, but there was something in her eyes that suggested she was watching him closely. With a grunt, he momentarily decided to give up, and the girl sat up, unfazed by the sudden intrusion.

"I'm not trapped here," she stated, the corners of her mouth hinting at the faintest of smiles. "But you, on the other hand..."

The Witcher's hand hovered over the hilt of his sword, the silver runes etched into the steel gleaming in the dim light. "Nothing will," he began, his voice low and dangerous, "nothing will keep me here if I don't wish to be."

The girl's eyes widened slightly, and she studied the blade with a newfound interest. Her seriousness never wavered, but something in her demeanor shifted, as if she had just found a puzzle piece she didn't know she was missing. "Your power is...different," she murmured, almost to herself.

Geralt felt the tension in the room thicken, a silent dance of curiosity and potential conflict. He had no idea what lay ahead in this bizarre world, but one thing was clear: he wasn't going anywhere without answers.

"I am Geralt of Rivia," he finally introduced himself after glancing at the girl seeing her staring back at him, his voice echoing in the vast, shadowy chamber. "A Witcher."

The girl's eyebrows shot up, and she nodded thoughtfully. "Ah, I see," she said, her tone as deadpan as ever. "I'm Wednesday Addams."

For a moment, the absurdity of the situation hit him, and he couldn't help but chuckle. A gothic nymphet from a different reality trapped with him in a bedroom that at first glance looked more like a bondage lair, in a house that seemed to be alive, with a hand that was more mischievous than a sprite. But the situation grew more complicated when she spoke again.

"I'll admit. You're the first...weird enough to hold my interest," she said, and Geralt felt a strange thrill run through him as he looked at her. He wasn't used to being considered "weird," but he could see how his supernatural background might appeal to someone like her.

As they sat together on her velvet-covered bed, she studied him with those intense dark eyes, and he soon found himself telling her stories of his battles with monsters, his adventures across the Continent. Her expression remained impassive, but he could sense the fascination beneath the surface, a silent invitation to share her world, if only for a little while.

And then, out of the blue, she asked him the question that made his heart stutter. "Do you want to have sex?" Her voice was so flat it was almost a statement, not a question at all.

Geralt blinked, his mind racing. Sex? With a girl who just fully realized he was from a different reality entirely? A girl who was eerily calm about the whole situation? He searched her face for a hint of jest, but found none. "Will I be able to leave if I...agree?" he asked cautiously.

Wednesday nodded, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips. "You can leave whenever you want," she assured him.

He took a deep breath, weighing his options. He had come there for a reason, to escape the other sinister inhabitants of the house, but was it worth the risk to enjoy his time with that girl? And yet, the allure of the unknown was powerful. He found himself drawn to her, to the calm darkness that seemed to pulse within her.

Without another word, he leaned in, and she met him halfway. Her kiss was as cold as her demeanor, but it set his blood on fire. He didn't know what he was getting into, but he couldn't resist the offer from the girl who was as strange and fascinating as the world she belonged to.

As they began to undress, her movements were slow and deliberate, each layer revealing more of her pale, slender body. The passion that had been hidden beneath her stoic exterior began to emerge, and it was unlike anything he had ever experienced. Her moans grew louder as he explored her, as if she had been waiting for this moment all along.

Their bodies entwined, they became one in the candlelit room, the shadows playing across their skin as they moved together in a rhythm as ancient as the foundations of the house itself. And for a brief, glorious moment, Geralt forgot about the monsters, the quests, and the world outside. He was lost in the embrace of the girl who had captured his interest and his heart, in a place where reality and fantasy blurred into something dark and beautiful.

Wednesday's hands clawed at his back, her nails digging into his flesh as he pounded into her with a ferocity that seemed to match the beating of his heart. Her moans grew more desperate, her eyes squeezed shut as she begged him for more, for him to fill her completely. It was a side of her neither he nor she herself had never seen before, raw and unfiltered, and it was intoxicating.

Finally, with a roar that appeared to resonate through the very core of the mansion, he released himself inside her, feeling her quiver around him as she reached her peak. For a moment, she clung onto him tightly, her body a live wire of pleasure, and he knew that she had dropped her mask, if only for this single evening.

But as quickly as it had come, the moment passed. She lay there, panting and spent, but her expression was already returning to its usual icy calm. Geralt watched her, his own passion ebbing as he began to realize the depth of her detachment. It was as if she had taken what she wanted and now had no further use for him.

Wednesday spoke, her voice still devoid of any warmth. "My family won't be happy if they find you here."

He nodded, pulling on his clothes with a sense of déjà vu. The room had changed around them, the shadows retreating to their corners, the candles flickering out one by one. The air felt colder, more sterile.

And then, without any fanfare, a swirling vortex of light and darkness appeared in the center of the room. It was his exit, his way back to his own world. He turned to look at her, expecting...what? Gratitude? Regret? But all he saw was the same, unreadable gaze that had greeted him when he first arrived.

As he approached the portal, she spoke again, her tone surprisingly almost wistful. "Will you come back?"

Geralt paused, his hand hovering over the shimmering edge. He looked back at her, and for a moment, he saw a flicker of something else in her eyes. Something vulnerable and human. And then it was gone, swallowed up by the coldness that was her usual armor.

With a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, he said, "Maybe." And with that, he stepped through the portal, leaving the girl named Wednesday Addams behind in her world of shadows and secrets.