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Geralt stared at the bed in front of him. He blinked a couple of times to make sure he hadn’t slipped into a nightmare, but sure enough the single narrow bed remained in the room.
“Great.” He muttered and dumped his swords by the rickety bedside table.
The room stank of sweat and sex, if he focussed his senses he was sure he’d be able to see the stains on the bumpy mattress. They’d paid enough coin for two beds and this sorry excuse for a room was barely worth the feather in Dandelion’s hat. The poet in question was still finishing up his performance downstairs but Geralt had been tired from his hunt and the potions he’d been forced to drink to stay alive, so he’d made his excuses and slipped upstairs.
It was better that way.
He wouldn’t frighten away Dandelion’s audience with his black eyes and painfully pale skin. He barely had the energy to pull off his armour and trousers before falling into the bed; too tired to worry about anything other than the pull of sleep at his consciousness. If there was a problem then he’d deal with it in the morning.
Dandelion was merry with good wine and the thrill of performance by the time he stumbled up the stairs, his lute in one hand and his hat in the other. He’d noticed Geralt make his way upstairs earlier on in the evening. He’d very nearly stopped singing to go check on his friend but he had learnt that Geralt needed space first thing after a hunt. So he’d finished his set in a spectacular fashion before scurrying up the stairs. It was dark in their room but the single rectangular shape of the bed was unmistakable. Dandelion’s eyes flashed around the room until he spotted Geralt’s swords. He was in the right room.
But there was only one bed.
One bed where the witcher was currently sleeping.
“Oh dear.” Dandelion hummed and gripped his hat tighter in his hands. “Well, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”
He undressed enough so he would be comfortable before standing at the edge of the bed with his hands on his hips. He didn’t have Geralt’s witcher vision and struggled to see in the dark but even to his eyes it was obvious that Geralt was taking up almost the entire bed. He glanced behind him at the floor with a grimace. The floor looked terribly uncomfortable but he didn’t want to upset Geralt. It had been a long time since he’d had a friend like Geralt. He really didn’t want to lose him.
“Oh stop being such a coward, Dandelion.” He muttered and ran his hands through his hair. “You’ve shared bedrolls for warmth. This is no different.”
Geralt grunted in the bed and he shuffled over to make space for him. “Stop complaining and get in.”
Dandelion’s flicked out to lick his lips, a nervous habit he struggled to break. He swallowed and he knew Geralt must have been able to pick up on the spike in his heartbeat. “Oh, well.” He replied as nonchalantly as he could manage. “If you insist, Geralt.”
“I do.”
Dandelion beamed and slid under the covers next to Geralt. The witcher was now lying on his side facing the wall away from him. Dandelion fidgeted as he got comfortable. He struggled to work out what he should be doing with his arms. There really wasn’t enough space for the two of them on the bed and the only way he wasn’t going to fall out was if he pressed up against Geralt’s back. He’d laid with lovers like this before, and frequently but never Geralt. Still, he thought, needs must. He sighed dramatically before wrapping his arm around Geralt’s waist. Geralt didn’t complain and Dandelion just hoped his friend was already asleep. He couldn’t lose him, not now.