#descarda writes gerlion

[fangirleaconmigo]

Geralt x Dandelion. They discuss Geralt’s age, tease each other, and flirt in a way unseemly for men of a certain age.

(I used Dandelion instead of Jaskier because I was possessed by the voice of book boy, but you can imagine whichever one you like)

Geralt gazed out over the valley. “It used to be marshland here. All swamps.” He pointed to the western horizon. “They didn’t build that temple until they ran out of space in the city center.”

Dandelion snorted.

“What?” Geralt cut his eyes at him, suspicious.

The poet squinted at the temple on the horizon. “Nothing. You just really are a little old man, aren’t you? A real grandpa, seeing everything around him as it used to be.”

Geralt smirked. “I am. I am very old, poet. Does that disturb you?”

Dandelion knew what he was thinking, but was too polite to say.

It didn’t seem to disturb you last night.

Dandelion figured he may as well say it for the both of them. He winked at Geralt, causing the witcher to roll his eyes. “Oh, here we go.”

The troubadour was not dissuaded. “Certainly, your advanced age did not disturb me last night when I was choking on your cock.”

Geralt hummed, smothering a smile. “You are appalling.”

“I merely spoke what you were thinking, witcher.” Dandelion let his hand come to rest comfortably on Geralt’s backside and gave it a squeeze.

Geralt would not yet honor him with a look. He maintained his gaze into the distance. “Would you still be pawing at me if I looked my age, Master Dandelion?”

“Oh, Geralt.” Dandelion draped himself over Geralt’s back, sighing in contentment as his chin came to rest on the big man’s shoulder. “You are gorgeous, I won’t deny it.” He kissed Geralt’s neck. Geralt pretended he did not notice it, but he hoped Dandelion would continue.

“But I am afraid,” Dandelion continued, as he snaked his arms around Geralt’s waist, “your noble character and sour brooding would have seduced me no matter your outer appearance.” He nipped at Geralt’s ear. This time Geralt sighed and let his head fall backwards, leaning comfortably onto his lover’s blonde tresses.

“Is that so?”

“Indeed it is. In fact, it is a good thing you look young, or I would have already been arrested and thrown in the stocks for grandpa fucking.”

It was Geralt’s turn to snort contemptuously.

“You would not.”

“I would. I would suck the freckles off your sagging, wrinkled-“

“No I mean,” Geralt laughed. “That’s not illegal. To fuck a grandpa.”

“It is so. I’d be on notices.” Dandelion swept his arm expansively to present an imaginary notice. “Master Dandelion. Wanted for disturbing the tranquility of the golden years of our local Witcher elder.”

Geralt reached back, lazily playing with Dandelion’s hair.

“You speak as though you are a young thing, yet I have heard that the students are calling you father Dandelion in private these days. You are a wise mentor figure to them.”

Dandelion scoffed. “They want me to be their papas alright.”

Geralt grimaced. “You are disgusting.”

“My darling,” teased Dandelion, “of the two of us, you are the father, if only because you behave as a priest would. Oh forgive me father, for my profanities.”

“I’ll forgive you your dirty mouth if you can put it to better use.”

Dandelion pulled away, turning Geralt to face him. Eyes glinting in amusement and face filled with fondness, he cradled Geralt’s face. Then he pushed up onto his toes and kissed him.

“Here?” Murmured Geralt into his lips. “There are people down in that valley.”

Dandelion reached for the ties of Geralt’s trousers. “Just close your eyes and pretend it’s swampland.”

[fangirleaconmigo]

Book!Geralt x Dandelion ficlet rated teen

——

Dandelion can hear the shouting through the wall.

It is always like this. Passionate fiery implosions. Even more passionate reunions. And in between, there is this. Geralt calling her name when his lover is decidedly not her.

That is why, when Geralt impulsively reaches for him on a quiet dreamy night, Dandelion denies him.

“Not a good idea, Geralt.”

He can not be the placeholder, the blank space on which someone else’s face is projected. He would not survive it. He would not survive being cast aside by Geralt of Rivia, the man he loves so much he is certain it will burst his chest.

But time rolls on and the flesh is weak and Dandelion has regrets. Yes, it would have killed him, but what a way to go.

He is terrifyingly reckless on a drunken night, and he reaches for Geralt. But Geralt denies him.

“Not a good idea, Dandelion.”

Geralt sees how Dandelion falls for a pretty face, and then forgets it, all in the space of a heartbeat. Geralt would not survive being cast aside by the man that he now understands that he loves to his marrow.

But time rolls on and the war is over and their account are settled. No one can remember whose idea it was this time. Their lips are simply crushed together, their limbs wrapped around one another.

And time rolls on.

And when they sit, hand in hand in their vineyard, and someone asks them whether they regret all the years they wasted apart, they laugh.

They were never apart. And nothing was wasted.

Every bandaged injury was love. Every silent embrace was love. Every tart word on Geralt’s behalf was love. Every slain bandit bleeding at Geralt’s feet for Dandelion, was love. It was all love. Always love.

It had taken many forms and had been tossed on brutal choppy seas. But it could not be destroyed, only rearranged.

This is it’s final form, and they welcome it with joy. But not a moment they spent in one another’s company was wasted. It was simply living together in devotion. And that is all that love is.