#I don't know if i should take this as gerlion or geraskier

[stressedspidergirlsfandomblog]

Day 3: Cursed

Title: Cursed

Ship: Geralt x Dandelion

Prompt Day: 3

Medium: Books / Netflix Mashup

Warnings: Self-hatred, references to past abuse Geralt has canonically suffered. Non-graphic sex.

Summary: “You think you’re different. You flaunt your otherness, what you consider abnormal. You aggressively impose that abnormality on others, not understanding that for people who think clear-headedly you’re the most normal man under the sun, and they all wish that everyone was so normal. What of it that you have quicker reflexes than most and vertical pupils in sunlight? That you can see in the dark like a cat? That you know a few spells?” -Andrzej Sapkowski, Sword of Destiny

Dandelion is cursed to read minds and finds out just how wrong his past words have been.

Read me on Ao3 instead

Word Count: 8651

Author’s Note: This exchange always bothered me in the books. Dandelion dismissing the obvious pain and humiliation and suffering Geralt endures because he’s a witcher. Arguably in some ways he probably thinks he’s helping but it doesn’t make things any better for Geralt in general. I wanted a less verbose Geralt to give a reason for the curse, So I’m tossing in some Netflix canon.

Dandelion had always wondered what Geralt was thinking. His companion was usually taciturn, and at turns rude. He spoke at length on monsters, and not much else. Not to mention some of Geralt’s other bedpartners hadn’t seemed to be… on the up and up. Coral had left Dandelion with so many questions, and Geralt hadn’t seemed to know why he was bedding the witch either. At least with Yennefer he knew. Even if he was an idiot about it.

Triss hadn’t seemed right, either, he had never known Geralt to have any interest in her, and then he’d found himself in her bed. Needless to say, the bard was occasionally left wondering if Geralt truly wanted to be in his bed, or was just grateful for any company at all. He believed himself too other to find an easily willing bedpartner, and frequently fucked women who saw him as a curiosity to satisfy rather than a man. Or at least he had. Now, he was rubbing himself against the bard several times a week. While Geralt had given no indication he wanted to stray, or wasn’t enjoying himself, Dandelion still wondered. He had never known Geralt to bed a man before, but he supposed the witcher’s keep only housed men, and perhaps that’s how he’d started his ‘career’ as it were. The poet had never been brave enough to ask.

So when he found himself in town waiting for Geralt to come back from a contract, he went browsing local shops and markets to kill time. He hadn’t intended to go into a magic shop, it wasn’t as if he needed philters or potions to enhance their lovemaking. Nor much of anything else that he would find there. Geralt was free of disease, as was he, so he didn’t need cures.

Dandelion did, however, debate on some healing salves and bruise balms for his companion. Geralt wouldn’t outwardly appreciate it but would allow the poet to apply them to his hurts. A book caught his eye as he browsed, the shopkeeper busy with another set of patrons off in the corner of the shop. Having spent enough time around witchers and sorcerers, Dandelion knew this shop was the real deal. The book was likely to be a real spell book of sorts. To amuse himself, he began to flip through it.

There was a ‘curse’ of some kind, to be able to read a person’s mind. The parts he skimmed were the opening parts about prying, lesson learned, curse, deepest secrets, and so forth. What he committed to memory were the ingredients and other steps. Some herbs he already had, something of Geralt’s, or something that held his essence…well he shed that white hair all over and Dandelion was sure he’d find some on their pillow or in their bags somewhere. If not, there would be something else of his that should do. Then he had to speak some words in Elder and that should be enough. Dandelion could not tap into the Source, but the spell didn’t seem to require it if the person you were ‘cursing’ to have their thoughts read could. Or perhaps the curse was the person who would then be able to read minds? The spell would end when it ended, he didn’t bother to read anything about that, either.

A harmless little gimmick. It probably wouldn’t work, and if it did, he would get his question answered and the spell would fade away.

He purchased some extra bandaging, a little more healing salve, and then went back to the attic they were staying in. The only entrance was external, so he wouldn’t have to pass through the house. A sort of friend of Geralt’s had been happy to give them a place to stay. There was a small table and chair, both rickety, and a paillasse to sleep on with a few candles here and there in small dishes around the room. Dandelion set up the healing supplies on the table, in case they were needed. Geralt didn’t always get hurt, or sometimes the most he got was a bruise or two. And other times… other times he came back a mess.

Bored after a while, he had explored the town quite thoroughly and had found nothing all that interesting to do. Ordinarily he might have gone to a brothel, but he was quite content with Geralt who did not especially enjoy when his partners left his bed. Throughout the years he and Yennefer had worked out an arrangement where they only slept with others when they weren’t together. Dandelion privately wondered if Yennefer maintained this promise, but Geralt had enhanced senses and should know. Or at least guess. And if he didn’t want to, that was his choice.

If nothing else, Dandelion had stayed faithful, and would continue to do so. Fingers drumming against his leg as he paced about, he recalled the ‘curse’. Deciding since he had no magical talent and Geralt had very little, perhaps he could try it, he set about gathering up the ingredients. Since it wasn’t going to work, there was no harm in playing pretend was there? Even if part of him hoped it would. The insight would be invaluable. Especially since Geralt was so awful at giving him details for the ballads.

Bored after, he fell asleep waiting for Geralt.

Hooves clattering and steps on the stairs leading up to the attic woke him and he was surprised to find Geralt stripped of his armor and clean already. Geralt must have gone and turned over proof of his kill and gotten paid, then gone to bathe. He always hid his money away and never shared where he put it and Dandelion didn’t much care. Better he didn’t know in case someone tried to get it.

“You’re back!” Dandelion smiled, then started oddly and frowned. Of course I’m back. He hadn’t seen Geralt’s mouth move and honestly he hadn’t expected the spell to work. Why would you think I wasn’t coming back? It was just a measly little dracolizard. “I’m just happy to see you, and clean before I get to you, to boot.”

“Hmm.” I can wash myself. I don’t always need you to do it. Even if it sometimes feels nice. I was washing myself my whole life until you showed up and kept taking over. Without asking.

“I suppose that’s that, here, let me look you over, alright? Did you get hurt?”

“No,” Geralt answers the second question but then begins tugging his shirt off to prove to the bard he isn’t lying. Not going to believe me anyway. Never take me at my word when it comes to injuries. Smelled the bruise balm from outside it’s so strong. Don’t fuss over me, just kiss me.

Able to see the hunger in Geralt’s face even under the annoyance of his thoughts, Dandelion quickly packed away the medical supplies in a bag and hoped that would lessen the smell of the salve. Then turned to Geralt who was stripping out of his pants, ostensibly to prove he was uninjured. But with the ability to read minds the poet knew Geralt wanted a lot more than a few kisses. And even without the ability, his half hard cock hanging between his legs was another good indicator of his hopes.

Don’t talk at me, just love me. Or tell me you aren’t going to and I’ll get dressed again.

“Don’t you look a sight?” The bard smiled, and felt his smile falter a little.

“Hmm.” I know I’m hideous. I’ve seen myself in the doppler. I don’t own a mirror for that reason. I don’t see why you insist on reminding me.

“Oh love,” Dandelion breathed out miserably. “Come to me, help me out of these clothes, they’re far fussier than yours.”

“Hurry up, then,” Geralt stepped in to assist him. If you drag this out the elixirs will stop any of it from happening. And after the day I’ve had, I need something good. I need to feel good. You’ve told me that matters to you, prove it. Prove it before the elixirs wear out entirely. Yennefer isn’t here with her little spell.

“I’m hurrying,” Dandelion agreed, soon naked and willing. “I love you so much,” he carefully began stroking Geralt, pushing him back towards the bed. He had seen what the witcher wanted, and he was determined to give it to him. It was a lovely image, and incredibly appealing. Soon, he was unable to speak, kissing Geralt as he pushed him down into the bed. Things rather devolved from there.

Easy, easy, my skin is more sensitive than yours. Quiet, quiet, not too loud, oh, oh yes more of that, please don’t stop, oh, oh. Push against me, I want all of you, be closer. Like that, just like that, Gentle, gentle, please, yes, treat me like that.

I can bear it, I can bear the pain if you want to be rough. Whatever it takes.

The poet had gone from stroking him off to bringing their bodies in close to rub himself against Geralt, and the thoughts running through the witcher’s head caught him off guard. He hadn’t thought once he had ever hurt his partner in bed, never known how sensitive he was to the touch especially while aroused. Perhaps the elixirs were the cause this time, he wasn’t sure, he always made sure Geralt came, and surely he wouldn’t if he wasn’t pleased? He always came back seeking more… had Dandelion been doing him some kind of disservice this whole time?

He slipped down Geralt’s body, as good as moving together had felt, he wanted to do something special. Something they didn’t indulge in often. As he brought his mouth to Geralt’s cock, he half wondered if the spell wore off because Geralt stopped thinking entirely for a few minutes.

Then, his thoughts resumed.

Geralt groaned softly, back arching and body trembling. So good at that, yes, like that. Oh, you’ve never been that gentle before, it’s good. So good. Always do it like this. Fuck. Fuck. I’m going to come early. Being wound up tight as a spring, I can feel it. Oh. Oh, please do this again. Do that. Do that… yes… I don’t want it to be over so soon.

Dandelion smiled when Geralt cried out quietly, muffling his voice with a hand over his mouth. The witcher reached out for him, determined to bring him to his own climax, to let him share in how good he felt, only to find the bard already satisfied. “Pleasing you pleases me,” Dandelion told him shortly, kissing him softly. He was now realizing that while sometimes Geralt’s hands were frantic, gripping and seeking, it was fear that drove him to reach like that. To try and cover what he could before he thought he would lose it. But his kisses, the witcher always kissed like he was kissing someone precious and fragile. Now Dandelion understood it. He gently kissed Geralt’s palms and the tips of his calloused fingers, holding one against his cheek.

“Need to sleep some,” Geralt informed him. Damned elixirs. I’d rather just go another round. Wanted more of you. Want all of you. Stay with me. I hate sleeping alone.

“I wouldn’t mind a bit of a nap myself.” Dandelion surprised them both by wrapping himself around Geralt for a change. He buried his face in the nape of the witcher’s neck, breathing in the scent of him. Soap had given way to sweat and sex, and the bard found he didn’t care. He kissed the back of Geralt’s neck gently and held him closer.

Eskel used to do this. It brought him comfort to hold me. As much as it did me. No one’s held me like this since I was a snot-nosed brat back at the keep. Feels nice. I’m so tired. So tired of hunting down these monsters that by all rights didn’t do much wrong. No more so than a human. And then getting treated like shit on a boot for it. Fucking bastards tried to underpay me , again. If a local barrister hadn’t overheard us shouting about the contract I might not have got paid at all.

Sometimes I half hope the monsters will kill me, but then I come back and you’re here, and it’s less bad. You aren’t afraid to touch me, to hold me, and I feel a little less alone. Of course if you knew you’d lord it over me, my weakness. I can see the little caper you’d cut, mocking me for hiding my feelings. I wish I could tell you. I’m just so sick and tired of being hurt.

Dandelion found himself stroking Geralt’s hair until the witcher fell asleep, utterly exhausted. The poet now felt he understood why the spell was listed as a curse. He had thought perhaps it wasn’t so bad, learning more about Geralt’s preferences in their bed. Even if it cut him to the bone to know the witcher wouldn’t speak up. Of course, sharing his thoughts also made Dandelion aware of just how strong Geralt’s enhanced senses were and how much he filtered out. The bard had no such training and had found every noise and smell Geralt was aware of rather distracting. It had pleased him, however, to know the witcher liked the smell of him.

Dandelion fell asleep again, one arm wrapped snugly around Geralt’s middle.

Please, I don’t want to. It hurt. I don’t understand. No, no, no stop. Don’t hurt them. Don’t hurt them. Do what you want to me. Cut me open, take out my eyes, castrate me, all the things you’ve threatened, just don’t hurt them. I’ll beg. I’ll beg for you to hurt me if that will stop you. Please no, leave him alone, don’t make me watch. No, not her, how can I choose? Take me. Hurt me. Cut me into pieces but don’t ask me to choose.

Dandelion woke up in the room, darkness preventing him from seeing much of anything. Geralt was still asleep in his arms and it took him several minutes to realize that one, the pain was fake, and two Geralt was still dreaming. The witcher wasn’t doing anything to indicate his distress, and the bard smoothed a hand over him in an attempt to calm him. The muscles under his palm were rigid, and nothing he did helped. Geralt was well and truly trapped in the nightmare. No wonder he didn’t like sleeping alone. Dandelion pulled himself out of the bed and found some matches to light some of the candles around the room. Then he tugged on his smallclothes and a pair of pants before attempting to wake Geralt again.

Shaking his shoulder and springing away to avoid a blow worked. “Geralt, Geralt wake up, I’m here.”

Blind, blind and going to die, oh, there’s fire. I hate being burned. “Dandelion?” his voice was thick with sleep, throat tight from refusing to scream.

“Here, drink some water,” the bard passed over a cup. The water wasn’t much cooler than the room, but it was something and Geralt slaked his thirst with little ceremony. “Are you alright?”

“Of course. Why did you wake me?” Thank the gods you did. How did you know? Did I cry out? I had thought they beat that out of me long ago. I thought I had learned to be quiet. Am I slipping?

“You just felt tense, that’s all. I woke up and made to gather you back up into my arms and you were stiff as a rock,” Dandelion felt his heart squeeze. Oh, this was awful. Knowing all of this was awful. He could see the scene in his mind’s eye, as Geralt remembered it. The nightmares, an older man with lambent eyes dragging him from his bed to belt him for disturbing the night. Eyes stinging, Dandelion held Geralt as close as the witcher allowed.

“Are you alright?”

“A bad dream of my own,” he lied, heart pounding against his ribs. Who would hit a child for having a nightmare? No one with a heart, at the very least. “You know I love you?”

“Yes, Dandelion, so you’ve said.” To thousands of women and men I’m sure. And I’m sure you always think you mean it. Well, I know you don’t. I know you didn’t care much about Veverka or Akeretta. Or a great deal of the others you just wanted to dip your cock in someone else. If it isn’t wet you seem to think it’ll dry up and die like a plant in the desert. I don’t want to be one of your Veverkas. I don’t think I can much decide if what I feel for you is the same as what you feel for me until I know what you mean when you say ‘I love you’. You’ve said it to so many and for so little reason who can blame me for thinking it insincere? Much like “my little dog doesn’t bite” is always insincere. “My son is a good boy; it was that hussy that made him do it.” I wish I believed you. I want to. But it will hurt less when you turn to your next conquest if I don’t let myself believe you now.

“I mean it, Geralt. I mean it,” Dandelion told him raggedly, pained at what he heard in his lover’s mind. “Yours is the last bed I mean to share.”

“So you’ve said.” He probably believes it too, poor bastard. He might even feel guilty when it turns out not to be true. I won’t blame him. It won’t be his fault. It’s his very nature. Part of being part of his guild, even. I knew this before I got involved with him in this way. I wish he meant it. I wish he meant it like I would mean it if I could bear to say it.

Dandelion resolved then and there to go back to the shop once it was open and reread how exactly to end the spell. This is wrong. He’ll tell Geralt, he should probably tell him now, but he doesn’t mean to keep it up. He’s done them both a disservice. And in some ways, done them both a service, but this is enough. He can’t sleep and spends the rest of the night holding Geralt and stroking his hair. The witcher doesn’t dream again until near daybreak. A faceless woman with hair that shifted between red and chestnut straddled him, and he felt helpless.

Dandelion shook him awake gently, he knew what that dream meant, even if Geralt didn’t. The witcher woke hopelessly confused about his own distress. But the poet understood the confusion was deliberate. In his dream he could taste the cold tang of magic and knew exactly what was happening. It didn’t benefit him to admit any of that to himself, however, and so he didn’t. Dandelion would not be the one to make him, not when Geralt had so many other pressing horrors to face. It would be wrong to add more. At least he knew that much.

“Let’s go get us some food,” the bard suggested. “The bakeries have already got stalls in the market for people setting up. My treat, I sang in a few taverns the past two days while you were off hunting. My purse is full.” And no one had cheated him anything. Not to mention his food and drink had been paid. “And no, Geralt, I didn’t fuck anyone while you were gone. I waited for you. As I have for the past few years now.”

He isn’t lying. His heart didn’t so much as stutter. Although perhaps it was in the phrasing. Make love. Maybe he made love to someone and he’s just fucking me. Either way it won’t do to dwell on it.

“I did not have sex of any kind with anyone. I was celibate in your absence. I missed you desperately.”

He believes that, too. Perhaps he was faithful. Perhaps he has been as he says. I wonder for how long? I don’t want to go out to the market. I don’t want to see people notice what I am. They won’t feed me anyway. Dandelion won’t listen. What did he tell me all those years ago? There was nothing special about me? I was one of the most ordinary men other than my eyes and senses? I can’t remember his exact turn of phrase. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to be hated everywhere he goes. No point in arguing. I don’t want to stay here alone. I’ll just hang back, let him do the haggling. Even if it means I’ll have to watch him flirt with every stall owner in town as we go.

They left the room after dressing and cleaning up, Dandelion insisting on gently wiping Geralt down first. He knew the witcher enjoyed it and found the gentle intimacy just as pleasurable as the sex they’d had earlier. So few people were willing to touch him with genuine kindness that it always pleased him. It hurt a little, to Dandelion, that Geralt felt more loved in those little moments then he did at almost any other time. But now he knew. Now he would go out of his way to have more small moments like this between them.

The agony of what he’d done cut him to the bone, knowing he had betrayed Geralt’s trust. He had become another person who would take advantage and hurt him. He would use this experience, this mistake, to change how he treated the witcher. He would treat him more like a lover. When Geralt would allow it, at least.

He slipped his arm through Geralt’s, smiling as he spoke to him at length about the gossip of the town, determined to pretend all was well. Geralt’s internal commentary about the vagaries of man and their general idiocy almost made him laugh and he realized Geralt enjoyed these talks as much as he did. He just felt like his opinion or comments would be unwelcome or extraneous. Dandelion wasn’t sure how to draw them out of him, but it was good to know they were there. In spite of his feigned irritation.

“Here, this stall has a kind of pastry you like,” Dandelion smiled, squeezing Geralt’s arm gently. “The one next to it has juice, I’ll get us some. It seems a touch nicer than water. Or watery ale so early. The sun’s hardly up. Would you like to look for a place we could rest and eat?” There, that should allow Geralt to stay hidden.

He could hear Geralt’s vague but constant internal fear people would notice him and what they would do when they did. Not everyone got ugly, but so many did. The barrage of memories of being stoned, struck, whipped, slapped, beaten, and forced out threatened to choke the poet, and he took a deep breath. It got easier when Geralt was a little further away.

Stooped on purpose, to act more like his hair was from age than a ‘harmless’ side effect of the experiments, he wanted to draw up the hood of his cloak, but no one else had and so he would still stand out like a sore thumb. His headband was in his pocket, where it couldn’t stop his hair from hiding his face. He knew in the sunlight his pupils were as slits, preventing him from being blinded by the sun. He kept his eyes cast downwards, less chance of anyone seeing him.

Don’t look at me. I’m not here. I am simply part of the scenery. I won’t hurt you. I was so stupid to think that Vesemir was wrong. I was so stupid to think that I would be seen as anything other than what I am: a monster and a mutant. What else do I do but what monsters do? Kill, fuck, eat, sleep…

Cats know us for what we are, that’s why they hiss and run. Just once, though, I might like to touch one. I’ve heard them purr from a distance, but I can’t imagine what it feels like to touch one while it’s purring. Not that I like them, but I can’t hate them, either. They perform a task. They kill vermin. Perhaps that’s another reason they hate us. How many of them died to allow their genes to be mutated to ours? Hundreds? Thousands? I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t want eyes like a cat. I didn’t even want to be a witcher, I don’t think. I can’t recall anymore. Now, all I want is to be left in peace. A kind touch, food in my belly, and a contract to make sure none of that changes.

“Here, love, did you find us a place?”

“It’s a short walk.”

“That’s fine by me, I think I remembered all your favorites.”

It was then that Geralt noticed the basket the bard is carrying. There were a few small skins of juice, and several cloth wrapped items. He sniffs appreciatively, nostrils flaring when he caught the scents of cinnamon, rhubarb, and apple. There was more, like strawberry, and something he didn’t recognize that smelled sweet. His mouth watered and Dandelion kissed his cheek.

“No one had anything with meat, and I didn’t want to get any pierogis to put in and have the onion taint the sweets. We can go back later if you’re still hungry. I know how you like pierogis,” Dandelion smiled.

Geralt smiled fondly back, oddly relaxed. His body language eased, and he forgot  to hunch in on himself for a while. His sharp hearing picked up the unkind words about his appearance some people shared behind his back, guessing him to be a witcher. He hunched back down, trying to hide behind Dandelion’s peacocked clothing. Sometimes it worked. He’d left his swords in Roach’s care, knowing she would stomp anyone half to death for trying to take them. He had a dagger in his belt, and a few other knives. He wasn’t defenseless. Not that he needed a weapon to protect himself.

Dandelion felt himself wilt. Nothing he did was good enough to stop the world from hurting his lover. How did Geralt bear it? he wondered, heartsick. No wonder he and Yennefer couldn’t last if she could read his mind like that at all times. The misery would be enough to make anyone despair. And it was nothing Geralt did, it was everything around him. The minute he let himself forget someone did or said something. He had to constantly be aware of himself. He gently rubbed a hand up and down Geralt’s back while they waited for a cart to pass.

Feels nice. It’s almost like he knew I needed it. It was good to walk arm and arm, before. As friends. I know he sticks up for me, I know he cares about me. It’s good to be reminded of it in the simple things, too.

Geralt lead them to a soft patch of grass under a tree he’d noticed on their way into town. It was far enough away from the main path to avoid notice, without being inconveniently far from the town. He had anticipated needing a place to be that would shelter him from the people and had scoped out several likely spots that would allow him to resupply without putting him in danger. Dandelion felt another piece of his heart break off and shatter.

They would eat, he would go back to town with Geralt, and take him to the shop. He would admit what he did and read the spell again and find out how to end it, and he would grovel. He would apologize, he would do whatever it took to fix things between them and let Geralt know he hadn’t truly even thought it would work. He had been bored, and foolish, and selfish. Geralt often forgave him, even when he shouldn’t. He would even offer to let Geralt spell him, instead. Let him see how remorseful he was, how much he realized what he had done was horrible and wrong. Then from there, Geralt could decide to forgive him or not. If nothing else, hopefully Geralt would see that he meant it when he confessed his love. Every time. And even if the witcher chose to leave, at least he could know that much.

They ate breakfast together, Geralt humming in pleasure to see cinnamon and sugar dusted sweet rolls. These had small streaks of cinnamon and sugar also baked into the dough and he ate them carefully, doing his best not to lose a single grain of sugar to the grass beneath them.

“I should have gotten more of those. I’ll go back first thing tomorrow. Get you an even half dozen or more if they have it,” Dandelion promised. He had gotten enough for both of them to share but hadn’t said anything about it. He realized now Geralt often went hungry or didn’t eat enough in general, trying to make sure Dandelion had enough. His own appetite diminished, he slowly ate one of the apricot tarts he’d gotten, knowing Geralt wasn’t overly fond of them. When the witcher offered him one of the sweet rolls he shook his head, pained to know the offer was genuine. Geralt wanted to share with him. “Oh, please, love, eat them all. I know how much you love them. We can get more.”

Geralt then picked out some of the rhubarb tarts, surprised that Dandelion was willing to indulge him on these. It was Yennefer who had introduced him to rhubarb in general, initially in the form of various jams. Some of which had been thrown rather than served with food. Some were mixed with other fruits, and each time he offered to share he was gently denied and so he ate them. They wouldn’t keep without getting horribly soggy. The flaky pastry with the warm fruit was a comfort. It had been ages since they’d eaten like this. When the bard wasn’t the one doing the purchasing half the time they gave Geralt the worst food.

Of course, I can eat it, what does it matter if it’s burned? Or perhaps a bit turned? It won’t make me sick. I can survive just about anything, including a little mold. Can’t count how many times I’ve been given awful supplies. Didn’t have any choice but to eat them. What was I going to do, go hungry? Some places don’t have enough hunting I could turn down moldy bread and cheese. This is so much better. Warm and fresh, the berries mixed in still sweet and tart… I don’t see why he follows me about when he could eat like this always. He’s a fucking viscount. And what have I got to offer him? Jerked meat or rabbit stew if that. I can’t feed him rotten supplies. Just like the tavern last week gave me the leavings from the stew, hardly any meat. Mostly just lumps of fat and gristle, but I was hungry. They didn’t even want to give me that much. I’m just glad their bad will stops with me, and doesn’t extend to him, he doesn’t deserve it. I’m not human, I can digest almost anything, poison or food.

His thoughts were interrupted by a new kind of fruit tart he hadn’t had before, and he didn’t think of anything else while he ate it, enjoying the tangy sweet flavor of the yellow fruit cut into rings and set on top of a lightly flavored jam. At his insistence, Dandelion took a bite and promised to procure more before they left. He was aware of Dandelion’s general reek of misery, but he wasn’t sure what was causing it. It left him at times, and then came back at others and Geralt just felt lost. He didn’t think he was the cause of it, or at least he hoped not.

“You’ve got some preserve on your cheek,” Dandelion smiled, gently wiping it away and licking it off his finger. He leaned over to kiss the spot, lightly licking Geralt’s skin to clear away the stickiness. The witcher squirmed slightly at the attention, both pleased and embarrassed. The bard grinned widely, “Not as sweet as you, of course, but not bad.” He hated how Geralt dismissed the compliment out of hand before briefly wondering if his seed was sweet and he’d never noticed. The bard almost choked on his own spit at that last part. “Oh love, you’re so much more than you can ever believe yourself to be,” he said sadly.

Geralt looked at him sharply, slowing down on his decimation of their breakfast supplies for a moment before shrugging it off. It didn’t matter. Kind words hide bastard truths. He was much worse than he thought, usually, and if he let himself forget even for a moment people reminded him in spades.

Content to finish up the last of the apple tarts, he had noticed Dandelion not eating much, but several prompts to eat as much as he wanted were met with no resistance. He was starving after the contract. The meal he’d managed to get before returning to Dandelion had been mediocre at best. Thankfully not half rotten, but nothing filling. Some watery soup and stringy meat with almost no vegetables had done nothing but take the worst of the edge off his hunger. Mostly full, he picks idly at the last roll in the basket, enjoying the peace and quiet.

“Would you like me to get more?”

“No,” Geralt told him quietly. He cracked open one of the skins and sipped slowly, pleased to taste a mix of fruits in the juice. He passed the skin to the bard who drank deeply before passing it back.

They did this with the others before Dandelion took a few deep breaths.

“What’s wrong?”

“You are always so much more perceptive than I give you credit for. I did something foolish, but it won’t… I suppose it only affects us, and even then, not as much as it could. Not as negatively as it could. Or perhaps badly. Geralt I don’t know how to… can we just sit a few moments and enjoy the peace before I ruin it?”

“Us?”

“Not physically. You won’t be harmed, I won’t be harmed. All…I know what you’re thinking.”

“I very much doubt that.”

“No, Geralt, I can literally read… you’re upset I’ve hidden something from you. Perhaps lied. You’re wondering if the food was a bribe. It wasn’t. I genuinely wanted to please you. You’re as welcome to be as angry as you’d like for as long as you’d like, but I didn’t make this mistake with the intention to hurt you. I wanted… I wanted to please you. And yes, I did remember the foods you liked, I didn’t need to see into your mind to do that. You weren’t even thinking of them when I bought breakfast, you were worried about how if you’d gone to get it you’d get bread full of weevils and rot and wouldn’t know how to hide it from me and still find me food to eat.”

Geralt’s eyes widened in alarm. “How?”

“I did it, I cocked it up, it wasn’t you. It wasn’t even done to me. I was at the healer’s shop looking for things in case you were injured. I saw a spell to allow one to read another person’s mind… and I tried it. I never thought it would work. I hope you know that. I know how you have trouble believing me when I’m sincere. I can’t blame you. I simply… I simply wanted to be… the truth of it, since you can’t hide anything from me and none of this is right, the truth is I was worried you had fallen into my bed not by choice. And I wanted the truth of it. And I truly, truly did not for even a moment think the spell would work. Not a moment. I thought it would fail and I would laugh at myself and move on. But you came back and I could hear you.” He fidgeted with his hands miserably, knowing what he did was despicable. Geralt’s thoughts were mostly confused, not angry. That was worse, somehow.

“I should have asked you, I know. But I did. And I got an answer but I couldn’t quite believe it. After all, you remember Triss rather fondly when you shouldn’t. Coral, too. I didn’t want us to be like that. I wanted to make sure you were as willing as you said. But I didn’t… I didn’t think it would work. And then I found out I hadn’t been pleasing you in bed as well as I thought -don’t protest, it’s true. I didn’t realize half the time I was hurting you a little. I had no idea how sensitive… how enhanced your sense of touch was. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I truly didn’t. That’s another thing I should have asked, but I didn’t… I knew about your hearing and sight, and sense of smell, but I had no idea it had changed even how you felt. No wonder you hate certain shirts of mine or won’t change what you wear. Oh, Geralt. I’m so sorry. I was planning on going straight to the shop with you right after to see how to end it. I should never have done this. I didn’t think it would work. I didn’t even go looking for it.”

Geralt’s thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and fear. He had no idea what he’d exposed of himself that he hadn’t meant to, and he felt small and hurt. The anger Dandelion was waiting for never came. Even if it should have.

“I don’t need you to forgive me, or at least. I don’t deserve it, so I’m not asking, but let’s… let’s go to the shop, please. Let me undo this. Or you can cast it on me, if you’d rather. But, Geralt, it hasn’t… none of this has changed how I feel about you. I see I have made so many errors and misjudged you in other ways, but I don’t… I can’t stop it. I can’t stop it and I can see how ashamed you are. I’m the one who did the wrong thing, Geralt, not you. Please… please don’t use this as another reason to hate yourself. Hate me, if you must hate anyone. I did this without telling you, without thinking for a moment of the consequences. I didn’t think it was real. I didn’t… I didn’t think at all. That was wrong of me. I was wrong. Not you. Oh, love, I am so sorry. What I did was so unbearably wrong.”

Geralt flinched away from his touch, hunching down miserably in the grass. “Do you need me to go to the shop and see the book? Am I necessary for you to cast anything or uncast it?”

“Please…. I don’t know. I don’t know how well distance will even work. You’re right to be leery of me. Oh, Geralt, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s just… who you are.” He truly believed that. Nosy, insatiable for gossip and rumors and things to make songs of. He should have known something like this might eventually happen. He was too broken and not trustworthy enough to be just asked outright. He would have answered. Maybe not every time, or not in excruciating detail. But he would have answered. Maybe not years ago, but now? Since they had first bedded each other? He would have. It was only fair. “I suppose some good might come of it,” he tried to smile. Instead he felt sick to death inside and couldn’t understand why.

“Oh, Geralt. I… what I did, I know you don’t… I can’t not see it, so let’s use that good you spoke of. You feel betrayed. What I did was a betrayal. Rather than tell you the minute I knew the spell had worked I let it go. Knowing how to please you better in bed seemed wonderful. Sharing your nightmares and being able to wake you and comfort you was one of the best and worst nights of my life. I hate you went through any of that.” He swallowed hard, knowing the icy feeling in the pit of his belly was Geralt’s, not his own. “I’ve seen the scars all over your body Geralt, I knew some of them came from human hands. Especially the ones that looked like a belt or switch. Your backside and well over half your back are covered in them. That was never hidden from me. Not even under all the other scars from monsters. It was good that you let me be there for you. But you didn’t know…

“Geralt, if you don’t choose to walk away, which I would understand, I want you to promise me you’ll wake me, next time. Don’t let yourself suffer alone needlessly. Provided you ever want to share my bed again.”

Geralt’s chest ached, he didn’t want to lose any of what they’d had. It was too soon. He wasn’t ready. His own hurt hardly mattered, he had upset his friend. He was upsetting his friend. His mouth was dry and he had no words, perhaps it wasn’t so awful Dandelion could see his thoughts to know he didn’t want to push the bard away. Not because of this. He had so few friends, how could he afford to lose another? Especially over something that was so trivial. Any sorcerer could just look into his mind, rip apart his thoughts without a moment’s notice or care. At least Dandelion hadn’t entirely meant to do it. It hadn’t been meant to hurt him either.

It still made his insides twist and ache, and he didn’t know what to think about it. Just that didn’t want to lose the bard.  This felt different from their other disagreements and it terrified him. “Don’t leave me,” he said in a small voice before he could stop himself. He would do whatever it took to make Dandelion feel like things were alright between them even if they weren’t.

“Oh, Geralt, I won’t, but it isn’t… oh this is terrible. I never realized. I never realized how you saw yourself. Oh, Geralt, I’m so sorry. No, I won’t go. You can be as angry as you want for as long as you want, as hurt and confused, please don’t pretend it’s alright. I know once I break this I won’t be able to tell anymore, but please. Please let yourself feel. I don’t need you to mollycoddle me, I’m the one who did something wrong Geralt. Me, I am the one in the wrong, as I’ve said. I don’t know why you can’t believe that. You’ve been mad at me before. And you were right to be. Why can’t you see this the same way? I don’t understand. I’m so sorry,” tears filled his eyes. “I’ve never felt this bad in my entire life. I’m sorry. But this isn’t about me. I need you… I don’t need you to do anything, I suppose.” He hadn’t realized how much of Geralt’s world revolved around suppressing himself.

“You said you did it to help.”

“No, I did it because I’m an asshole and a blockhead. I did it because I didn’t take you at your word. And I also didn’t think anything would happen or I don’t think I would have done it. Or at least I hope I wouldn’t have done it. Please come with me so we can fix this. It’s not your job to do it, but please, so I can make it stop sooner rather than later. I have no right to this much of you. I’m sorry. I can’t stop saying it, Geralt, so if that’s what’s going to make you angry then have at it. Yell at me. Explode. Scream. Whatever you need to do.”

The witcher twisted in on himself further. Did Dandelion truly expect Geralt to do any of those things? He never had, not really. Sometimes he shouted a bit, but he had never lashed out like that, not the way he felt the bard was expecting. A monster. Nothing he did changed the fact he was a monster and would always be seen that way.

“You are not a monster!” Dandelion shrieked, his voice shrill and strained. “You are not!” He wrapped his arms around Geralt tightly, squeezing the other man against him. “I don’t know how to stop putting my foot wrong. I had no idea I did it so often. Let’s start with the basics, and don’t you dare twist them. One, I love you. I love you deeply. Two, you are not a monster. You’re a man who is more, but that doesn’t make you bad. Three, even if you were a monster, I would still love you. Four, I never expected you to hurt me. I just felt that you might react somehow to what I did because it was awful. Five, I am sorry. I am sorry that you hurt like this all the time and I have brushed it off in the past because I don’t see you that way. I forget that the world is often cruel in ways I can’t anticipate.

“Please let me help. Please, please, don’t let this end here, if you choose to stay with me. Don’t let me not help you when I can. You shouldn’t be eating moldy food and lumps of gristle. Not if I can just get it for you and it will be fine. I won’t try and tell you it’s not as bad as you think, not ever again. And that man in your dreams who beat you? Keep me away from him if he’s still alive because I will give him a piece of my mind. The next time you have a nightmare, wake me, promise me you’ll wake me, let me comfort you. That’s what lovers do. Lovers, Geralt, as in ‘love.’ Not friends. Not whores, lovers. Let me love you. And the next time I do something awful that hurts you, be angry. Feel it. Don’t be afraid of me hating you for hurting. I don’t care who Vesemir is!” his voice soared in pitch again and Geralt winced. “I am me, and I think everything he’s said that I can pick out of your head is wrong and stupid and evil. You do deserve comfort when you hurt. Yes! Even if it’s emotional not physical!”

None of this made any sense and Geralt felt lost and like nothing he was doing was right. All the same he curled into Dandelion’s chest willingly, grateful to be comforted. Everything he did just upset the bard worse and made him feel worse in turn. He couldn’t help his thoughts. It wasn’t as if he was trying to upset his lover. Lover. Yes, that’s what they were. What Geralt wanted them to remain, in spite of all of this. Dandelion was far more upset than he was, he thought. It felt wrong, knowing he had no secrets and no privacy and couldn’t even work out what to feel without Dandelion there, knowing it all. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t.

Angry, finally, he was surprised the poet didn’t say a word, just held him. It was what he wanted, if he was being honest with himself, in spite of the anger. In spite of the hurt, no one else was there who could hold him. And it was so very rare anyone wanted to. The idea someone could know he was angry and still dare touch him, still want to touch him is a soothing balm over his heart. Hurt, he was hurt. He felt betrayed. Yes. He felt those things. He felt like it would be harder to trust Dandelion. Another person who had pushed into him in ways he hadn’t wanted or asked for. Someone he had hoped never would do something like that. But no, he didn’t want to lose Dandelion, either. He had been alone too long, and too many people feared him.

He let the anger course over and through him, burning itself out like a brush fire, hot and short. It left Geralt feeling empty and alone. Next the sadness pushed its way in. That was easier to ignore. He was used to feeling hurt by people. He ignored Dandelion crying into his hair. It sparked a bit of rage all over again, but beyond that he felt like he could ignore it. This wasn’t his fault, he should be the one upset, not Dandelion.

Geralt lost all track of time, sitting there under the tree, sitting against Dandelion’s chest.

At some point, to his horror, tears welled up in his eyes and he thinks he cried. Nothing like what Dandelion had done, no great gulps of air coupled with heaving sobs, but he knows the tears ran over his cheeks. Dandelion had stayed quiet the entire time, allowing him to grieve and process in his own way.  

When Geralt finally pulled away, Dandelion wordlessly wiped tears off his cheeks and kissed his forehead. “I forgive you,” Geralt informed him slowly. “You do stupid impulsive things, but you’re only human. And a poet and a bard at that. The worst kind of human,” he did his best to force a smile. “Let’s go to this shop of yours and break the spell. I don’t like the idea of it going on any longer than it has to.”

“It’s stopped.” Dandelion looked as shocked as Geralt felt. “It’s done. I suppose the time just ran out on it.” He kissed Geralt’s cheek. “Promise you’ll wake me. I can’t read your thoughts, so you can lie again, but…. I learned you rarely do. Promise me and I’ll believe you. I’ll take you at your word. I’m so sorry I hurt you so badly.”

“I promise,” Geralt said hoarsely. “It truly stopped?”

“Truly. Truly, we can go to the shop still and check. If that makes you more comfortable. Or you can cast it yourself, or we can find someone to perform a truth spell.”

“No, I believe you,” Geralt said slowly, with a pointed look.

Dandelion hung his head in response. He deserved that.

Geralt looked up at the sky and was shocked to see the sun had moved across the sky and was past high noon. How long had they sat there after eating? The sun had barely risen properly when things had started. He still felt oddly bereft, knowing Dandelion had done that to him and waited so long to say anything. He supposed the bard could have lied about how it happened or hidden it longer without ever saying a word. It would hurt for ages, he knew. He wished it wouldn’t. Logically, no harm had been done, but he felt like he’d been covered in filth that he couldn’t scrub off.

“I will make this up to you, somehow. I don’t know how, I don’t know if I can, but I won’t ever stop trying. Tell me what you need, when you know. Whenever you know, whenever it changes. I will do my best to listen and do whatever it is you ask of me.”

“Then stop bringing it up.” So what if he felt violated? Dwelling on it wouldn’t change that. He would move past it, like he always did.

At least this time the person who hurt him was sorry.

That had be to be good enough.

@geraltwhumpweek

#geralt whump week #geralt z rivii #geralt of rivia #I don't know if i should take this as gerlion or geraskier #because even tho i'm calling him dandelion #i mixed both characters #so fuck me i guess #geralt x dandelion #i didn't play the games #gerlion #witcher dandelion #jaskier