Eddie Star Child

“Would you like it if I played with your hair?”

“Hmm.”

“Alright. I’m going to lift your head into my lap now,” he narrates the movements he makes as he makes them. Geralt could be flinchy and flighty in this state and Jaskier doesn’t ever want to frighten him. He starts weaving his fingers through the long white strands, delicately and carefully pulling any knots or tangles free. “Is this still okay?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Jaskier plays with it for awhile, braiding and unbraiding it as Geralt slowly comes down from his post-hunt potion high. Slowly but surely the bard listens as his breathing evens out and watches as his body stops making frantic little twitching movements from within his cocoon. 

“Shall we sleep now, dear heart?”

“Hmm. Get in,” the Witcher scoots over, making room for Jaskier to slip easily into the circle of his arms. It’s a smooth, practiced series of movements and soon they’re pressed together within the confines of Geralt’s shared bedroll. 

Jaskier’s lips find the Witcher’s even in the pitch dark (he’d let the fire fade to nothing in the warm embrace of summer) and latched them together. It gave him a point of connection. Geralt could anchor himself to the world with Jaskier’s warmth alone; sometimes he thought it might be the only thing keeping him from going absolutely mad with the darkness of his life. 

Jaskier, the man who was now winding his hands into the front of the Witcher’s worn black shirt like it was his favorite childhood blanket, was the Witcher’s personal sun. His arms dart out and wrap around the bard with sudden intensity, crushing the smaller man against his chest. 

A deep and thunderous rumbling erupts from his very core. Jaskier’s hands are still clasped against his chest and his head is resting safely in the crook of Geralt’s neck. Soft puffs of air breeze across the skin of his Adam’s apple every few seconds, marking the bard’s breathing and further strengthening the Witcher’s happy purring. 

“I’m glad to hear that you’re happy, darling.”

“You’re here. You’re safe. I’m happy.”

“Does it make you happy, you know, keeping me safe?” 

Geralt can see the unease in Jaskier’s eyes; it’s not so dark that he can’t make out the bard’s face with his Witchery enhancements. 

“I don’t want to get in your way.”

The Witcher curls around Jaskier entirely, building a nest with his arms and chest and some of the blankets. He nestles his darling against him and purrs even deeper, vibrating the bard with the force of the sound. “Very happy.”

“I love you, Geralt.”

Geralt kisses his way across Jaskier’s face, from his cheek to his nose to his other cheek. He marks a slow path to the bard’s lips and presses a final, soft kiss to his mouth. “I love you, Jaskier. Thank you.”

“Always and forever, my dear.”