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It had been raining for three days. The trees along the road to Temeria were bogged and tired, heaving with the weight of the water on their boughs. The path itself was muddy at its most solid, in other places flooded completely. The snowmelt of early spring didn’t help matters at all. It was still cold enough that Geralt’s breath was coming in puffs of smoke, but not quite cold enough to snow. Because of all of this, Geralt hadn’t stopped riding for at least a day and a half. There wasn’t much he could do otherwise, there was nowhere to take shelter for an evening, nowhere dry enough to support a fire. So he’d ridden on, heading west towards Vizima after he’d heard there was a katakan in the area. He’d also heard there was a certain bard staying in town as well, but that had nothing to do with his decision to come here, or at least so he told himself.
It was still pouring when Geralt arrived at the inn. He’d never been to the New Narakort, but he’d heard it was where high society gathered. Usually, that meant he would avoid the place like the plague, but not tonight. The stableboy hurried out to meet him, bowing low and trying to help him off his horse. Geralt brushed him off and headed towards the inn, tossing the boy a few orens for his trouble. He opened the door, and the flood of warm air was like a caress from Melitele herself.
It was a grand front room, with a large bar and an ornate stage and tables surrounding them on all sides. A few people turned to look as Geralt walked in, but they paid him little mind, entranced by the performance before them. There— up on the stage, was Dandelion himself, dressed in an ensemble of a greenish-blue with gold trimmings and pearls. Geralt inhaled sharply at the sight. He watched as the bard played his final notes and, to raucous applause, gave a grateful bow before hopping off the stage, swarmed by admirers and, most likely, nobles looking to commission him. A gravelly voice interrupted Geralt’s thoughts, “You. What’s your business here?”
Geralt turned to see a short, stocky man with his hands resting on his hips. “I came to see Master Dandelion, heard he was performing here.” Geralt said.
“Well, the show’s over, so you can leave now. Unless, of course, you plan on paying for a room for the evening?” the man scoffed, “If you could afford it, that is.”
Geralt set his jaw, “How much for a night?”
“300 orens.”
Geralt cursed internally. He could not, in fact, afford that at the moment. Just as he was turning to leave, he heard his name being called.
“Geralt? Geralt! How lovely to see you here!” a familiar voice exclaimed. Crossing the room with a flourish, Dandelion grabbed Geralt and spun him around, clapping him on the arm soundly, “I saw that head of hair and just knew it couldn’t be anyone else, how are you, dear friend?”
Geralt shrugged, “Been better, but I’m not complaining.”
Dandelion pulled his hand away from Geralt and, looking at him, seemingly only then noticed that Geralt was soaked through, dripping water onto the hardwood floor. “Oh, Geralt! You’re drenched, you must be freezing, come, we’ll get you a bath,” he turned to the short man, “Greagor, have a washtub brought up to my room along with the water, hot as you can get it.”
Greagor just stood there, gaping at him. Dandelion smiled imploringly at him, and with a sharp nod, Greagor finally departed. Without a word, Dandelion hurried him up the stairs, leading him to the end of the long hallway, where his rooms were. Once inside, Dandelion started up again, “Oh, Geralt, my dear, what are we going to do with you? How long have you been riding? Actually, don’t tell me, I don’t even want to know. Come, get out of your armor, take off your swords,” he said, lighting the candles in the room, “What are you even doing here?”
Geralt grunted, slinging his blades over his shoulder, “Katakan.”
Dandelion rolled his eyes, “Well, I figured you were in Vizima on a contract, yes, but what are you doing here, in the Trade Quarter? There are certainly no monsters to be found.” He was, after all their years traveling together, quite familiar with Geralt’s armor, and deftly helped him with the various unbucklings.
“Decided I didn’t want to stay in the slums tonight,” Geralt said with a shrug.
Dandelion pouted, “So you didn’t come here to see me, then?”
Geralt looked away, “Happy accident,” he muttered under his breath. Dandelion’s grin told him he’d been heard.
“Ah, but you admit it’s a happy one!” he laughed, clapping his hands together.
With a knock on the door, a tub was brought in alongside buckets of water, laid out before the large bed in the center of the room. Geralt refrained from continuing to undress, not wanting to shock or scare the barmaids. If Dandelion noticed this, he didn’t comment on it. He waited patiently until the ladies had left before turning his attentions back to Geralt, peeling off his soaked shirt and putting it on the hearth, chattering all the while. It wasn’t until Geralt was down to his braes and Dandelion turned to go that Geralt stopped him.
“It’s your room, you shouldn’t have to leave,” Geralt said, still standing awkwardly near the fire, unwilling to sit in either of the two armchairs and dampen the velvet.
“Oh, no, Geralt, you misunderstand me,” Dandelion said, smiling, “I’m just going to grab your bags; the only soaps they have here are scented, and I know how you loathe those.”
“Oh,” Geralt said, dumbly. Dandelion closed the door behind him and Geralt stepped into the tub. The water was scalding, just the way he liked it, and he was still thinking about the gesture of Dandelion going out and getting his things for him, the way it made his heart squirm in his chest. He sat down, letting the heat wash over him, his muscles relaxing in the warmth. He leaned his head against the side of the tub, almost dozing, his eyes half closed. Dandelion returned, divested himself of his pearly doublet and, quietly, pulled up a stool alongside the tub. Holding the soap, he reached for Geralt tentatively and, when Geralt didn’t pull away, then more firmly, using the pitcher of water to pour over the upper part of Geralt’s chest and body, leaning him up to pour some of it over his head. He washed him gently, like he would when Geralt was hurt, all those times they were traveling together. Geralt simply sat there, limp, unsure how to respond to the gentle touch. He wasn’t used to this, not like this, not when he wasn’t halfway dead and certainly not in this nice of an inn.
“I’m not an invalid,” he grumbled, but declined to move when Dandelion started soaping up his hair.
“Never said that, my dear.” Dandelion replied airily. Maybe years ago he would’ve stopped there, taken Geralt’s grumble as an actual complaint, but he was older now, knew damn well Geralt could’ve stopped this, could still stop this at any time.
Geralt tried not to groan in pleasure when Dandelion massaged his scalp, twisting out the knots in his hair and kneading at his neck. He largely failed, at least, he assumed he did by the way Dandelion chuckled behind him. Gently rinsing his hair out and helping him out of the tub, Dandelion gently toweled Geralt down and looked at him earnestly.
“Why did you come here tonight, Geralt? Truly.”
Geralt just shrugged, looking down at his bare feet, “Already told you,” he said.
“Then let me ask you a different question, what are you running from that brought you here? You’re never this far down the continent so early in the season, not when there’s plenty to be made in Kaedwen.”
Geralt sighed and sat down on the side of the bed, staring into the fire on the far side of the room, He sighed, “It’s all fucked, you know? Everything’s going to shit and you’re— I don’t know, it’s nice to get away from it, for a moment.”
Dandelion sat down next to him and took his hand, “I’m always up to hiding away with you somewhere, Geralt. Just say the word.”
“That’s just it though, I can’t hide away. It’s destiny, it’s fate. I can’t run from it.”
Dandelion smiled softly, “I’m sure destiny wouldn’t mind you taking a night off, hmm?” He squeezed his hand gently.
Before he knew what was happening, Geralt was softly pushed flat on the bed, Dandelion climbing over him and pressing kisses to his face and neck, his hands moving up and down Geralt’s chest. All Geralt could do is lay back and take it, the exhaustion in his bones too deep and pervasive for him to have the effort to do little more than loop his arms around Dandelion’s neck.
Dandelion kissed him deeply on the mouth, messy and loving, moving his hands to Geralt’s waist and thighs, and between them, and Geralt moaned, spreading his legs so Dandelion could have easier access to him, to all of him.
“Mhm, darling, I missed this, missed you. All winter I thought about you, you know that?” Dandelion purred into his ear, “Did you think about me?”
Geralt nodded, but Dandelion cupped his cheek, “Let me hear you, Geralt. Did you think about me?
Geralt moaned weakly, “Y—yes.”
Delicately moving his other hand between Geralt’s thighs, pressing a thumb right against his dick and circling ever so slowly, Dandelion smiled indulgently, “What did you think about?”
“You, touching me,” Geralt ground out, wanting to hide his face but having nowhere to go.
“Is that so? I thought about much the same thing, my dear. I thought about more than touching you, though, is that what you want?”
Geralt nodded again, and Dandelion laughed, the sound breathy and hot, “Let me hear you,”
Geralt felt like the wind had been knocked out of him, Dandelion now had two gentle fingers in him, coaxing him open soft, like he was some maiden, like he was something precious , and that made his knees weak so he wrapped them tight around Dandelion’s waist and just let his words fall out.
“Yes, please, want— you, in me.”
Dandelion groaned at that, shucking his breeches entirely and leaning further over the other man, moving his fingers a bit faster and making Geralt cry out. He sucked a bruise onto Geralt’s chest, and Geralt hid his face in Dandelion’s neck, letting the skin muffle his whimpers.
Pulling his fingers out gently, Dandelion slowly lined himself up, rubbing against Geralt’s folds. Geralt’s breath hitched when the head caught on the rim of him, and he reached down to press Dandelion in, to just make him move , but at the same time Dandelion caught his hand and moved it back up to his stomach, shushing him gently, “Let me take care of you, my love.”
And then Dandelion was pressing inside of him and sweet melitele it was right there, he could feel the stars building behind his eyes and when Dandelion brushed a thumb against his cock it was over, he was pushed over the edge like being thrown from a horse, violent and with a great impact, squeezing his thighs around Dandelion’s waist like he was trying to strangle him from below, keening and panting. When he came to, Dandelion was brushing hair from his face, murmuring sweet things to him and still deep inside of him, hard as a rock, and all he could do was grind his hips down and whine at him, still too lost to form words. Taking his cue, Dandelion slowly pulled almost all the way out before slamming back into him, and Geralt mewled at that, at the slow but hard, deep rhythm Dandelion had going, rolling and rocking his hips expertly.
Geralt just lay on the bed, every muscle in his body worn beyond measure. He kept letting out these soft sounds he doesn’t remember ever making before, certainly not for anyone else. And Dandelion kept kissing him, mouthing at his neck and face and chest and rubbing over his cock and it was all so much, almost too much and suddenly his eyes were wet and Dandelion was moving faster now, pounding into him like there was nowhere else he wanted to be but deep inside of Geralt, and that only made Geralt cry harder, all this love bubbling up and out of him. He swiped at his eyes with balled fists and Dandelion took the hand off his cock to pull Geralt’s hands over his head, kissing away the salty tears and smiling at the other man.
“Oh lovely, Geralt, you sweet thing,”
Geralt hiccupped and moaned and pressed his body back towards Dandelion, wrapping his arms around him tightly and burying his face in the crook of his neck. Picking up his rhythm, Dandelion embraced Geralt, pressing them chest-to-scarred-chest, and with a groan and sweet whispering Dandelion came, his hips stuttering. They lay like that, pressed against each other, for a moment, where the only sounds were their mingled breath and the crackling of the fire. Panting as he pulled out, Dandelion untangled himself from Geralt’s embrace and got to his knees on the floor, pressing his mouth against Geralt greedily, lapping at the mess of him, and that was all it took, just the thought of the sight of that sent Geralt spiraling again, his ears ringing and head heavy, clenching empty around Dandelion’s tongue.
And it was here, with Dandelion’s head resting on his inner thigh, that Geralt felt like he wasn’t meant for anything at all, and oh, what a wonderful feeling that was.