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Dandelion whined as he peeled off his doublet. It had been a rather lovely plum colour but was now stained red with rotten tomato juice. He’d thought his performance had been pretty good but the audience had not been in agreement. To make matters worse, his top two lute strings had both snapped under his fingers and sliced through his finger tips. The lacy cuff on his shirt was spotted with blood and he was about three seconds away from crying.
He could feel the sting in his eyes and the lump in his throat as he threw down his hat. He pulled off his shirt and flopped onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. It was days like this when he wondered whether any of it was worth it. He could just go back to Lettenhove and finally claim his inheritance. He could do as his mother always wanted and hang up his lute.
But that would mean giving up Geralt. How could he possibly leave this life with Geralt behind?
“Dandelion?”
Dandelion moaned into the pillow but didn’t move. He felt the bed shift beside him as Geralt sat down. He thought about tossing the spare pillow at the witcher so he could sulk in peace but in all honesty, he didn’t want to be alone.
“Dandelion, you’re bleeding,” Geralt hummed and there was a hand rubbing circles down Dandelion’s spine.
He sighed again and flung his injured hand out in Geralt’s direction. “Lute strings bloody snapped,” he mumbled haughtily into the pillow.
Geralt’s hands grasped his. His felt a gentle wave of magic, his long hair tickling his cheeks as it fluttered in the breeze. His fingers stopped stinging almost immediately. He lifted his head slightly to peer at Geralt, his curiosity getting the better of him. “What did you do?”
“Quen,” Geralt said with a tilt of his head. “Stopped the bleeding.”
“Oh, well… thank you, my dear.” He rolled onto his side and curled up as he looked up at Geralt with a pout. “Don’t suppose you can magic my clothes as well?”
Geralt chuckled and brushed Dandelion’s hair from off his cheek. Dandelion leant into Geralt’s touch with a happy hum. Geralt stroked a thumb along his cheek. “Can’t help with the clothes, sorry.”
Dandelion sighed and held Geralt’s hand in his, brushing his lips against Geralt’s wrist. “I forgive you, my darling. Will you lie with me?”
Geralt leaned down to kiss his hair. “Of course, Dandelion,” he whispered in Dandelion’s ear.
Geralt quickly undressed and then lied down on the bed next to Dandelion, his back pressed up and Dandelion’s chest. Dandelion wrapped his arm around Geralt’s waist and buried his face in Geralt’s hair. “Thank you, love.”
“I enjoyed your performance,” Geralt mumbled in a soft whisper. “You have the most beautiful voice.”
Dandelion scoffed. “Tell that to the audience.”
He felt the rumble of Geralt’s laughter against his chest. “Oh I already did. I doubt we’ll be welcome back here after tonight.”
“Geralt!” Dandelion admonished but he couldn’t help laugh. “You didn’t need to defend me, my love.”
“I wanted to.”
“My daft old witcher,” Dandelion sighed as he kissed the nape of Geralt’s neck. “Whatever shall I do with you?”
“Hold me tonight, then ask me again tomorrow?” Geralt suggested.
Dandelion let out a peal of laughter. “Of course, my darling, of course.”