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“Geralt!” Dandelion’s scream had him on high alert. Geralt sat up sharply, turning to scan the room, looking for any potential danger and processing where the nearest weapons were. All he saw was the singer, perched on the end of the bed, his blue eyes gleaming. “It’s Christmas!”
A glance at the clock revealed that it was, in fact, 12:01 on Christmas morning.
Geralt was going to kill him.
He shoved himself out of bed, grabbed the singer, and deftly turned him over, delivering several harsh smacks to his backside.
“Ow!” Dandelion struggled against him, but he was no match for a pissed off Witcher.
Not wanting him to be in too much pain - because god forbid, Geralt didn’t want him awake sniffling and whining all night - Geralt stopped after only a few short blows, tossing him back into bed.
“If your ass leaves that bed before 8 am I’ll tan it with belt and snap a cock ring on you.”
Dandelion whined pathetically.
Geralt snorted and dropped into bed beside him, wrapping his arms tightly around him. “Go to sleep,” he said softly.