Try, Please Try For Me

Butterflies

Geralt awakes to a warm body pressed against his own. He shifts, cracking an eye open, to find himself in a large bedroom, with sunlight streaming in through the open window.

Jaskier's room, he thinks as the past days events come rushing back to him.

Jaskier is plastered up the front of Geralt's chest, limbs wrapped around him like an octopus. He makes a sleepy sound of protest when Geralt shifts further, the noise muffled as he snuggles closer and tucks his face into the crook of the witcher's neck.

The arm around his middle tightens. "Mmmm, stop moving. M'comfy."

Geralt huffs a sigh and surrenders, reaching his uninhibited arm out to brush Jaskier's hair out of his eyes, then presses a light kiss to his temple. He looks peaceful like this, comfortable and breathing softly. Good. The bard deserves some fucking peace after the day he had yesterday.

Geralt is just glad all this is over, and today he can return to the path. Like Eskel had said, he's already waited far too long. His body itches for it, he needs to be outdoors, to move, to fight. Even just staying in bed like this is abnormal for him-- he should get up, he wants to-- but he just doesn't have the heart to ruin it for Jaskier.

The tip of Jaskier's pointed ear is visible from where it peeks through his dark hair and Geralt traces a finger down the outer helix. In his sleep, Jaskier shivers lightly and he quickly retreats the finger, not wanting to wake him, and instead moves to gently card his fingers through the bard's hair, humming in contentment.

Eventually Jaskier wakes on his own, slowly shifting against Geralt as he's pulled from his post sleep haze, leaning into the touch of Geralt's fingers. Blue eyes flick open, and take in the sight of the witcher. "Hi," Jaskier says softly.

Geralt smiles. "Hi."

"We made it."

"We did. How do you feel?"

Jaskier closes his eyes and sighs. "Kinda tired. Sad. Happy that it's over." He unlatches himself from Geralt and winces as he rolls over, then adds, "sore."

"Sorry."

"Don't be," Jaskier says, pecking the corner of his mouth. "You were perfectly lovely. It's just been a while, ya know?" He swings his legs over the mattress, then pads across the room to get dressed. "If you don't mind," he says, pulling on a bright turquoise doublet with puffed sleeves, "now that we're free to do as we please, I'd like to get the fuck out of this house as soon as possible."

Geralt "hmmms" in agreement, collects his clothing from the floor and grimaces when he unfurls his, frankly, disgusting shirt.

"Told you, you'd regret it," Jaskier says, smirking. He strides over to Geralt, and draws a finger across his collar bone. "What's it gonna be, traipse back to your room shirtless, or risk running into someone wearing that? I'd offer you one of my shirts but I doubt they'd fit."

Geralt makes a face and Jaskier chuckles as he turns the shirt inside out, then pulls it over his head. "I've been covered in worse," he grumbles.

"I have a few things I have to attend to before we leave," Jaskier says, slipping away from him and tugging on a pair of dark brown boots. "And I suspect you'll need to pack up your things. Meet you out front in an hour or so?"

"Sure."

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Jaskier makes quick work of tying up things for his and Geralt's departure. He packs a bag of comfortable clothes for the road, some food, and a few of his more important possessions. And of course he takes his new lute-- it pains him to part with the old one, but two lutes on the road is impractical.