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Something crashed downstairs.
Geralt froze, then called, “Dandelion?”
There was no response. Geralt set off at a run.
Dandelion was standing in Geralt’s potions room, the one room he wasn’t supposed to be in, surrounded by broken glass. Liquid, no doubt from whatever had broken, dripped from his fingers. He appeared to be in shock.
“Shit!” Geralt snapped into action, shouting, “Don’t move.”
“Geralt-”
“Shut up!” Mindful of the broken glass on the floor - and grateful they were both wearing shoes - he grabbed Dandelion and pulled him toward the sink, pausing only long enough to lick the tip of his finger, testing to see what had been spilled.
At the familiar taste of White Gull - something that was entirely safe on human skin - Geralt felt some of his panic dissipate. Unfortunately for Dandelion, who was still shaking, the panic was quickly replaced by anger.
He shoved the singer’s hands in the sink, turning the water on and letting it run over his skin. “Any cuts?” he asked sharply.
“No,” whispered Dandelion. “Geralt- I- What- am I-”
“White Gull, not toxic.”
Dandelion sagged in relief.
Geralt checked his hands anyway, feeling him over for injuries, searching for any tiny scrape Dandelion might not have noticed. Content the man was going to live, Geralt buried his nose in his hair, inhaling his familiar scent.
“Geralt-”
“Walk to the door, take off your shoes and leave them,” he said firmly.
“Geralt I-”
“Dandelion.” His tone left little room for argument, but Dandelion couldn’t move, half pinned to the sink by Geralt who still had his arms wrapped around him. “Then go to the living room, sit down, and wait for me.”
“You have to let go of me.”
Realizing he was still clinging to Dandelion’s hands he forced his fingers to uncurl and stepped back. “Go,” he said softly.
Dandelion scrambled to obey. He stopped at the door to pull off his shoes, then quietly asked, “Should I get a paddle?”
“Dandelion-”
“Or a whip.” His pale face was streaked with tears. Geralt wanted nothing more than to hold him, but he needed to clean the mess first.
“Just go sit in the living room.”
Once Dandelion was out of sight he leaned against the sink, taking several deep breaths. “Fucking idiot,” he moaned.
Cleaning the mess, focusing on sweeping up the broken glass and moping up the potion, gave him time to settle his frazzled nerves. He was still angry - Dandelion knew better than to enter the potion room - but he wasn’t quite as ready to skin him alive. In fact, all he wanted was to hold him.
Once everything was cleaned and tucked back in place, Geralt left the room, shutting it firmly behind him, and going in search of his lover. He stopped in the door to the living room, leaning on the frame. “What were you doing in there?”
Dandelion looked up, his face horribly pale and bathed in tears. “I- the door was open, the bowl was on the edge of the table- I thought it was going to fall- oh shit, oh fuck.” He doubled over, his head hanging between his legs as he gasped for breath. “I was just going to push it back, but when I touched it-”
Geralt crossed the room quickly, sitting on the couch beside him and rubbing his back. “Breathe, Dandelion.”
“I can’t do anything right,” the singer moaned, his shoulders shaking beneath Geralt’s hand. “I just wanted to help.”
“I-” Geralt sighed. One hand rested on Dandelion’s hair, the other continued to rub his back as the man struggled to breathe. “Dandelion, I appreciate what you were trying to do, but you should have told me instead of trying to do anything yourself.”
“Geralt-”
He didn’t want to scare him, but he knew he needed to make sure Dandelion never went in the room again. If scaring him was what it took, then that was what he would do. “The bowl beside the one you broke would have burned the skin off your hands. The red bottle would have knocked you out. The green one would have blinded you.”
Dandelion sobbed. “I’m sorry,” he wailed. “I’m so sorry. Please- Geralt, I don’t have anywhere to go-”
He sighed and shook his head. “I’m not going to throw you out.”
“Thank fuck-”
“I would never throw you out, you fool.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the back of the man’s neck. What the hell has happened to you in the past? he wondered.
“Will you- are you going to- gods I can’t- just please, get it over with-”
“I’m not going to punish you.”
“What?” Dandelion sat up so sharply that he banged his head on Geralt’s chin. “You’re not- Why-”
Geralt winced, rubbing his jaw, then wrapped his arms around Dandelion, pulling him to his chest. “Because you’re upset,” Geralt said. “And you wouldn’t tell me to stop if I pushed you too far.”
“But-”
“Shhhh.” Geralt stretched out on the couch, pulling Dandelion to sit in his lap. The singer laid out on his chest and buried his face in Geralt’s shoulder. “I just want to lay with you.”
He had to admit it was tempting to give Dandelion the whipping of his life, just to ensure he’d never be so foolish again. But the man was terrible about revoking consent normally, Geralt didn’t want to risk hurting him by accident. Not over a mistake. Not as long as it never happened again.
“Dandelion, look at me.”
The singer lifted his head, meeting Geralt’s eyes. “If I ever catch you in there again I’ll march you straight outside and beat you with my riding crop, am I clear?”
“Yes Geralt.”
He wrapped his arms more tightly around him, burying his face in Dandelion’s hair. “I love you. I don’t want you to be hurt, that’s all.”
“I know, Geralt. I know.”