a moment of peace
for my darling braincell bae @thecomfortofoldstorries and her love of purring witchers
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Geralt was definitely purring. There was no other word to describe the sound rumbling out from the center of the Beast’s broad chest as he laid with his head on Jaskier’s lap. The deep and happy vibrations grew even louder when Jaskier carded his fingers into Geralt’s silvery hair and began to pull them through in gentle, careful tugs.
He started singing softly, running his hands through the Beast’s soft hair over and over as he did. Geralt nuzzled his face into the crook of Jaskier’s hip and gave a happy hum between purrs.
“How cold the rain does blow, sweetheart
And gently falls the rain.
I never had but one true love,
And in Greenwood he lies slain.”
“Jaskier,” the Beast mumbled, nuzzling again. “Your voice is lovely.”
“Thank you.”
“You really are a little bird.”
“Hmm,” the young man nodded. “And you are my soft and gentle Beast.”