The snuggly bastard
“Just five more minutes.”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No. I said no! Let go of me!”
“I don’t want to.”
Geralt is drunk. Drunk drunk drunk and Jaskier is frustrated, annoyed, struggling to keep this mountain of a man off of him. It had been a nice night, they were invited to the local blacksmith to drink for the evening. Another big man, with lots of big jugs with extraordinarily strong drinks. Jaskier got one whiff of it and felt nauseous. Geralt, however, finished two bottles himself and spent the night laughing too loudly at everything the blacksmith said.
When Jaskier somewhat successfully managed to drag Geralt back to the inn, the next uh… challenge appeared. Jaskier wants to go to his own room and Geralt wants him to stay. He fell for the trap of tucking the witcher in, and now Geralt has his arms wrapped around his middle and pushing his face to his chest, as close as he can.
The snuggly bastard.
Jaskier sighs, drags a hand through his now not-so-artfully-tousled hair. There is no success in shoving, pinching, worming his way out of this grip. There are two ways for this to end, and two ways only. Either he resigns and lets himself be cuddled so that Geralt can be awkward about it in the morning, or he can do or say something hurtful that Geralt won’t remember in the morning but will pout about for days anyway.
Jaskier sighs again, looks around and hopes for a solution to just manifest around him. It doesn’t, of course, and Geralt is making a content sigh and he snuggles closer against Jaskier, halfway out of the bed to keep Jaskier in place.
It’s unbelievably heavy. Jaskier looks down at him and feels his resolution to go back to his room crumble. He is frustrated and annoyed yes, but only because Geralt would never do this sober. He wishes he would.
A third heavy sigh and this time he sits down on the bed. Geralt makes a happy sound, shifting so that he can keep his arms around Jaskier and rest his head against his hip. Jaskier smiles weakly and pats Geralt’s head. His hair is coarse and a little dirty as usual.
“Please don’t be mad at me in the morning.” Jaskier whispers, and Geralt cracks an eye open and looks up at him.
“I don’t get mad at you.” Geralt takes a breath, turns his head back and mumbles into Jaskiers trousers. “Is just, I wanna hold you forever and I know I can’t.”
Now that’s just not fair.
Somehow during the night, Jaskier finds himself lying down, trapped inside Geralt's arms.
And when morning comes, he feels the tell-tale signs that Geralt is waking up and as per usual, regrets it.
Geralt's arms start to pull away and Jaskier is not having it.
“No. You wanted this, and I swear everything holy that I will dig you a shallow grave if you let go of me now.”
Who knew threats would get you cuddles.
