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Geralt hummed as he ran his fingers through Dandelion’s hair, creating a rather lovely tugging sensation against Dandelion’s scalp, helping to ease the tension from the poet’s body. Not that there was much tension these days. After many long and arduous years on the path, fighting monsters and men, Dandelion had finally managed to convince his life-long friend and new husband to settle down. It wasn’t as if he’d ever anticipated settling down himself, but Geralt’s knee had never quite recovered from its injury, and the fight to recover Ciri had aged the witcher faster than either of them had expected.
He was getting slower.
And the last thing Dandelion wanted was to lose his very dearest friend. So he’d begged Geralt to stop taking on the bigger contracts, to find another way to work, to survive. He’d done his time protecting humanity, and now the witcher had a chance to rest.
Dandelion had been delighted when Geralt actually agreed, and it hadn’t taken him long to access his old trust fund, courtesy of dear old dad, and acquire them a lovely little cottage by the coast.
The sea air had done wonders for both of them, and the long lazy days spent together were some of the most precious moments of Dandelion’s life, and even though they were stuck in one place, the days were never boring. They reminisced about their youth, read the books they’d never had time to read, and spent the mornings lounging in bed together, exchanging tender kisses and just enjoying each other’s company.
It was something like domestic bliss, but Dandelion really couldn’t be sure, he’d never experienced that before. He decided he rather liked it, sighing as he matched his breathing to the slow and steady beat of Geralt’s heart. Every beat was a beautiful reminder that they had survived everything that life had thrown at them, that they were here together at the end of one adventure, or perhaps the beginning of the next.
He sighed again, trailing his fingers over Geralt’s chest, the soft curve of his stomach, no longer half-starved from their life on the path. He smiled and shifted down to press a kiss to the skin just above Geralt’s naval.
“I love you, darling,” he murmured, gazing up at his husband through a mess of long blond curls.
Geralt hummed again, cracking one gorgeous golden eye open as he smiled warmly down at Dandelion. “I love you too, Dandelion.”
Dandelion let out a melodic laugh and settled back down against Geralt’s chest. He was sure that even if he heard it a hundred times a day, he would never tire of hearing those words, and, because he was a poet, he sighed once again, counting every beat of Geralt’s heart until he was lulled back into a peaceful slumber.