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Talking In My Sleep Again

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Jaskier was a constant source of buzzing energy, movement, and noise.

Geralt shouldn’t be surprised that the man wasn’t quiet, even in his sleep.

“Darling.” Jaskier sighed into his makeshift pillow, arms folded underneath his ridiculous doublet. He slept on his stomach, sprawled out as though the hard ground were the most comfortable feather bed.

Geralt raised an eyebrow at the sound and glanced over. Jaskier’s eyes were tightly shut, his breathing steady and even, heart rate slow. All signs of the man fast asleep.

Except for his mouth, apparently.

“Darling, dear heart, I need you, please-” Jaskier sighed again, and Geralt rolled his eyes inwardly and got up to stretch and feed the fire. Seducing pretty milkmaids and tavern wenches and nobles’ daughters, even in his sleep. Typical. Geralt settled down on his bedroll again across the fire. Jaskier’s mumbling had dropped down to soft murmurs and quiet sounds. He was nearly asleep himself. If he was lucky, maybe he’d have equally pleasant dreams.

Gods, don’t make me beg for your cock-” Geralt heard the clear shift-drag-shift of Jaskier’s hips against the bedroll, and then a soft, filthy groan.  


Well, at least humans tended to be quick about these things. Geralt rolled onto his side, tugged the blankets over himself, and waited for Jaskier to finish. His dream to finish.

Geralt felt a trickle of sweat down his spine as he heard (not listened , he certainly wasn’t listening) the bard grind against the rough blankets. A sharp, almost pained inhale of breath. The tang of not-quite seawater, sweat, damp fabric, musk. Jaskier let out a soft, sated sigh, and snuggled in closer to his pillow.

After a few minutes, Jaskier began to snore softly. Because of course he snored.

Geralt covered his eyes with his forearm, took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. Ignored the scent of Jaskier’s cooling sweat and release, closed his eyes, and slept.

The next morning, Jaskier awoke in a truly chipper mood.

“Gods, I woke up sticky.” He said with a warm laugh as he returned from the river, smelling of clean skin and soap and river water. “Had to wash my smallclothes twice.”

“Hm.” Geralt grunted as the bard draped the offending piece of clothing over a log near the fire to dry.

“Don’t hm at me. Perfectly natural thing that happens when you’re healthy. I’m sure you’ve had those mornings.” Jaskier began whistling like a robin, without shame or embarrassment.

“Must have been quite the dream. To put you in this mood.” Geralt stated with a half smile.

“I wouldn’t know, I never remember my dreams.” Jaskier’s heartbeat and breath were steady. There was no trace of evasion or tension in his body. Not only was he not lying, he wasn’t embarrassed in the slightest. “But I’m sorry if I woke you with my mumblings. I know you’re a light sleeper. I’ll go to the river for an extra wash and a quick tug before we lay down tonight.” Jaskier stretched, lazy and pleased like a cat in the sunshine, then patted Geralt’s shoulder fondly. “We’ll camp somewhere by the river again, yes?”

“” Geralt agreed.

That was fine by him. It wasn’t like he’d savored the sound of his friend taking his pleasure across the fire. He certainly hadn’t listened eagerly for the dream’s conclusion.

It would be fine.