Is there a follow up to Din's semi drop when he gets hit on in front of his alphas again when he's wearing Garsa's clothes? I know Fennec guided him out, but did the other two eventually come to comfort him as well? Were Fennec's reassurances enough?
Through the miracle of mutual accountability, a shared braincell and purpose, and having finally learned something about actual diplomacy, Boba and Paz usher that transgressive Alpha out of the palace well-placated, charmed even, not a single fibre on his body harassed.
It takes a lot out of them and they're not happy to do it but they know they can't just damage every person who walks through that arch with genuine business and an appreciative eye. This is the path Boba has chosen for them. He needs to restore the city's-- the planet's-- faith in his integrity.
Even when it sends their beloved mate from the room, all but running, shoulders hunched small.
Paz glares after the departed visitor. "He doesn't deserve the head on his shoulders."
Boba stands from the throne, removing his helmet. "You might still remove it. Be patient." He exhales long and heavy, helmet tucked beneath his arm.
Paz recognises the body language. "Brothers!" The Gamorreans straighten to attention by the threshold. "Close the gate. There'll be no more business today."
Boba hesitates when Paz moves for the stair. He wants with every fibre of his being to follow. Paz turns back, expectant.
"Maybe it was too soon," Boba says, hoarse, so quiet Paz almost doesn't hear him.
Had he been careless again? Was... Din alright?
Paz's boots clank, slow and heavy, crossing the Rancor's grate to close the distance. Boba stares at the hand he offers. "Then we best tend to him."
Boba is terrified of what they'll find but he doesn't have it in himself to deny how his inner alpha is clawing to get to Din's side and soothe his hurt, in any way he can. He allowed this to happen in his own court again how was he going--
Paz pulls him down by his wrist, catching him in his arms when Boba's eyes fly wide, stumbling from the high step. "All of us. Together. Remember?"
Ah. A smart play.
He's glad he listens. When the door to the nest slides open, the climate-controlled temperature is unexpectedly cold. Fennec and Din are barely visible beneath the protective sea of furs, silks and cotton. It is a good sign neither of them startle or look up when Boba and Paz lock the door behind them, armour and flight suits methodically and quietly divested.
There is no rush. They have all the time in the world.
Wrapped around Din with her back to the door, Fennec only raises her head when Boba pulls the layers back, sliding in at Din's front. One hand lifts from Din's shoulder, a finger to her lips.
Din, miraculously, is asleep.
Paz moulds himself against Fennec's back, reaching past her to check Din's temperature as Boba pushes his messy fringe back. It's getting long.
The adrenal drop must have been bad if Din doesn't even react to them, so deep in his healing sleep. His temperature is almost feverish. A terrible shudder travels through his body.
Boba looks at Fennec in alarm. She shakes her head, fingers curling round his shoulder as though to keep him from bolting.
"It'll pass," she murmurs, soundlessly as Paz draws their blankets high, blocking out the artificial cold. "Relax."
Her fingers brush her lips again. Rest.
Boba looks into Din's sleeping face, the smallest frown pinching his brow, and it drives a fresh dagger through his heart. How's he supposed to rest when....
Fennec hums contentedly for the kiss Paz presses to her shoulder. He reaches past her and Boba is grateful for his big, dumb hands and their span when they rest on his lower ribs, enfolding them all in a hug. Some of the tension seeps from Boba's limbs. He follows their cue: slumping against the pillows, Din carefully gathered in his arms.
15 w Jaskier, Geralt, Lambert and Eskel if you're still open to requests? 🙏
cuddles only with Jaskier, Geralt, Lambert, and Eskel, with brief Jask whump!
The door to the inner keep banged open. Geralt, Lambert, and Eskel’s heads flicked to the opening, where they saw Vesemir, cloak off, carrying a heap of rags inside.
Except it wasn’t a heap of rags-- as they drew closer, they could see it was Jaskier, huddled and shivering. Geralt’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as he raced to his side.
“I found him out in the cold,” Vesemir explained. “I think he’s still unconscious-- quickly-- get him to the fire.”
“Fuck. This is my doing,” Geralt told him.
“There’ll be time for that later. Eskel, put the kettle on. Lambert, more furs. Let’s get him out of these frozen things.”
The three wolves worked in a frenzy; Geralt helped Vesemir strip Jaskier of his frozen clothes by the fireside. In moments, Jaskier was covered in furs, clutching a skin filled with warm water to his chest. But his own skin was still faintly blue, and his teeth chattered.
Geralt felt the side away from the fire.
“He’s still freezing!” He quickly stripped to his linen and trousers and nestled in behind Jaskier, pulling him close. “Eskel, Lambert, get in.”
They followed suit, snuggling in close to Jaskier, Eskel tucking himself close to Jaskier’s side, Lambert laying his head on Jaskier’s broad chest, careful to support his weight to keep from crushing him.
“His pulse is growing stronger,” Lambert said, ear to his chest.
“Very good,” murmured Vesemir, keeping a close watch.
“Hmm.” Geralt nuzzled closer to Jaskier’s neck. He did seem warmer; his skin had a more natural pink flush to it. His breathing was deeper, more regular.
“Mmmmmmm,” Jaskier sighed, and brought his hand around to hold Geralt’s shoulders, hugging him into him. Geralt looked across and saw he’d done the same to Eskel; their eyes met. Eskel looked flushed but questioning, and Geralt found himself grinning contentedly. He watched Eskel snuggle in closer to Jaskier.
Lambert stroked his fingers across Jaskier’s lovely hairy chest, letting out a contented sigh.
Geralt wiggled out of Jaskier’s grip-- and heard a pouting sound from the bard-- then nudged his way behind him, bringing Jaskier’s head to his own chest, so he could thread his fingers through his hair, stroking him softly. He earned a soft, peaceful sigh-- he noticed Jaskier leaned into his touch. Half unconscious but still telling him just where to scratch. Geralt laughed softly, then snuggled in closer, stroking Jaskier’s cheek.
Slowly, very slowly, he watched Jaskier’s eyelashes flutter; he opened his eyes and looked into Geralt’s, and smiled. Geralt softly kissed his brow, then drew him in close again, tucking the furs up around Lambert, rubbing his legs against Jaskier’s to make sure they were warm, too.
Geralt felt a soft touch on his arm and noticed it was Lambert, contentedly drawing his thumb up and down in a gentle, pleasing sensation. He glanced over and saw Eskel was rubbing and scratching Lambert’s scalp-- Lambert pressed back against the touch, enjoying it. And Jaskier’s other hand gently caressed Eskel’s bare back, softly pressing and massaging him.
Geralt heard a soft snore; from his chair by the fire, Vesemir had fallen asleep.
Geralt closed his eyes and snuggled his hips in closer to Jaskier’s, still softly playing with his hair, and enjoyed the feeling of Lambert’s touch on his arms. Just as he drifted off to sleep, he could feel Jaskier’s lips press a gentle kiss to his collarbone, could hear him whisper: “It’s not your fault, it’s not your fault.” As he slept, he let himself dream it were true.
