Work Text:
Thick Skinned
The first snowstorm of the season has successfully trapped the wolves in their winter den over night. Kaer Morhen and the surrounding lands are covered in a thick layer of fresh snow. It fills the courtyard, blocking the doors and some of the low leveled windows and piles up on every exposed surface; the roofs and balconies, the walkways and the crenelation.
Already having expected the storm, the wolves brought the animals into the great hall days ago. They have more horses than usual this year, both Lambert and Remus – who aren't the biggest fans of riding, although for two completely different reasons – have acquired a horse 'on accident'. Together with the three yearlings and the sheep that Vesemir hasn't sold yet, the makeshift stables are more cramped than usual but it's also a lot warmer inside the keep.
Unlike other mornings, not a single witcher can be spotted with the sleepy animals, though. No one is in the smaller common room, the kitchen or in any of the hallways. They all have simultaneously decided to stay in bed.
Even with the many chores they have to do, winter has always been a season for resting. The wolves hide inside their dens - sleep off the past year on the Path - spend their days hidden under blankets and pillows, curled up in each others arms and rest.
During this time of he year, the hearths in the rooms always need to be lit or the keadweni winter cold will be unbearable. To safe firewood and share body heat, the wolves mostly bunk together. There is a reason their beds are big enough to make a den for up to five grown witchers.
Geralt and Eskel, who never stopped sharing a room at all, have welcomed Noud and Lambert into their bed last night. The two smallest wolves have made themselves right at home, snuggling up to the older witchers before quickly falling asleep in what could only be called puppy pile.
When Eskel eventually wakes up, he is greeted with the soft up and down of the wide chest he lies on and the quiet snoring of a wolf sleeping next to him. It takes a moment for him to regain his senses, something that only happens in the safety of his home. He's draped over Geralt's body – the only wolf besides Remus that can still make him feel small – his itching face is pressed into the white wolf's soft sleep shirt and he can feel Noud spooning him from behind, strong arms tightly wrapped around his waist. On Geralt's other side sleeps Lambert in a cocoon of soft blankets, drooling onto a pillow while soft snores escape his open mouth every second or third breath. It really shouldn't be as adorable as it is to Eskel, but he still smiles at the sight of the pup.
He notices his mistakes immediately when a sharp sting runs through the right side of his face. It's a pain he's very familiar with but it catches him off guard every time, resulting in him hissing through clenched teeth.
Alarmed by the sound, Noud twitches awake, whining and pawing at Eskel in concern. With their nose pressed into his hackle, they can easily smell his discomfort. The older witcher shushes them quietly, turning around to nuzzle at the sleepy wolf's temple, but despite his best efforts he can already feel Geralt stirring behind them. “'skel?” He yawns out quietly, pulling Lambert closer to his chest while blindly reaching for his two pack mates.
Eskel whispers a faint apology into Noud's black hair that is both directed at them and Geralt. He only mutters the words, in an attempt not to open his mouth too much, knowing that the motion will pull at his scars. He doesn't want to worry the other wolves. The cold and dry mountain air troubles most of them. Broken bones and thick scars ache easily in the winter, it is nothing his den mates should lose sleep over.
But if there is one person that knows Eskel better than he knows himself, it's Geralt. He sits up in bed and shakes out his white hair, squinting at Eskel. It only takes the wolf one look through tired eyes before he nudges the pup in his arms up and to the side, so that Lambert falls into Noud's waiting arms, both immediately snuggling up under the blankets. For all they care, the old wolves can handle the situation.
Eskel starts protesting as soon as he sees Geralt is leaving the bed, but his litter mate makes a hushing noise and presses a soft kiss against his forehead, while gently pushing him back on the bed. Socked feet make their way across the room without a sound as Geralt walks towards the hearth and places two new logs into the flames. The wood cracks and pops as the fire eats at it and the smell of burning logs and ash thickens in the room.
Eskel watches silently how Geralt opens and closes a couple of drawers before he finds what he's looking for. It's a glass jar that smells faintly of calendula and rosemary, two plants Eskel would have never thought to mix together. Geralt sends him a gentle smile as he kneels on the floor between Eskel's open legs. The white wolf carefully takes hold of his chin and nudges it to the side so he can see the torn side of Eskel's face. Without really thinking, the older witcher bows his head so his sleep-tussled hair falls into his face and hides his scars from Geralt's keen eyes.
The moment he does it, he knows how ridiculous it is. It is Geralt that is in front of him. Geralt. The wolf he has known for decades, the one he grew up with side by side, the one that knows all his secrets, all his thoughts, everything. The one that loves him despite it all. Geralt. Geralt who he will love until the ground splits apart and the sun burns out.
A soft sigh, a sad one, reaches his ears and gentle fingers ghost over his marred cheek. Geralt brushes his hair back and tucks it behind his ear as if he's something precious. Their eyes meet and gold melts into gold, washes away Eskel's sorrows and insecurities.
“Don't hide from me,” he mumbles in a voice so soft and fragile it almost sounds like a last plea. “You're okay, Kelly. You don't have to hide, please don't. We love you, nothing could change that.” Eskel shudders and gives him a small nod, not trusting his own voice right now and not wanting to worsen the stinging of his scars. There's a tiny smile on Geralt's lips as he uncorks the jar and coats two of his fingers with the thick healing salve. The smell, now a lot stronger, isn't exactly kind to their sensitive noses, but neither witcher pulls a face.
Geralt is awfully careful as he massages the salve into Eskel's dry and torn skin. It hurts where the mixture meets the tiny cuts, but almost immediately the itchiness goes away and with it most of his discomfort does too.
Eskel can't help himself. As soon as the other wolf is finished, he darts forward and catches Geralt's lips with his own, grinning into the kiss when he realizes that moving doesn't hurt anymore. The white wolf lets out a pleased rumble and kisses right back, their lips moving against each other in a familiar rhythm. “Love you,” Eskel whispers between kisses when they gasp for air like drowning men just to get back to kissing moments later. “Love you too, Kelly. So fucking much.”
Eskel's heart jumps with joy and even though he will deny to this day that he giggles whenever Geralt says 'I love you' to him, the white wolf mimics the sound easily. Eskel's laughter has always been contagious.