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Dandelion’s heating pad was probably going to start a fire. Geralt hated the stupid thing, it was old, the wire was fraying, and it looked only seconds from death. He’d tried to make it go ‘missing’ during Dandelion’s move (so he’d have an excuse to get him new one), but the singer had been extremely protective of it.
If it burns my house down, he thought irritably, watching as Dandelion fiddled with it, laying it out on the floor before stretching out on it. Geralt had woken up that morning, planning to work on the room they were trying to turn into a music room, sealing up the old dumbwaiter, but Dandelion had turned him down, saying his back hurt too much.
He had days like that, although they tended to be few and far between. Geralt didn’t ask about his pain, but he suspected it had something to do with the jagged scar on his lower back that he flinched if it was touched, even during sex.
The fact that Dandelion never mentioned the source of his scar or chronic pain told Geralt that it was something he found uncomfortable, given his tendency to ramble about everything else.
“I’ve got a better idea,” Geralt said. He knew better than to offer to rub Dandelion’s back, that too would be declined. But there was one thing Dandelion never turned down. “Let’s soak in a tub.”
Dandelion was more than amenable to that, and soon they sprawled together in the old clawfoot tub, with Dandelion perched on Geralt’s lap.
“I’m sorry, Geralt,” Dandelion said softly. “I know you meant to work on that old wall today-”
Geralt shrugged. “Can’t complain about this,” he admitted, nudging his face into Dandelion’s shoulder. The singer whined softly and leaned into his touch and soon they were both half asleep, simply enjoying the warm bath and one another’s company.