Not A Hallmark Christmas Movie

A Cold Shower, Porn, And Campstove Pizza

AnD ThERe WaS ONly oNE BeD

Warning: This chapter contains some mentions of homophobia as well as the word "queer" used as a slur.

Share. A bed. With Geralt.

Jaskier swallows thickly, staring at the bed in question and clutches his pillow to his chest. They decided to sleep in Geralt's bed since its larger, though not by much-- Lambert's is a single, Geralt's is a double. It is almost certain that they will have to touch each other at least slightly in order to make this work. Jaskier knows that this is strictly a business transaction; sharing heat and nothing more, yet the thought gives him that same fluttery feeling in his stomach as when he experienced his first real crush at fourteen. In other words, he is panicked and horny.

"Well," Geralt says, staring at him as if waiting for Jaskier to make the first move, "get in then."

"It is your bed. You should get first choice."

"Fine." Geralt climbs into the bed, lying down on his side propped up on one elbow. He holds the sheets up for Jaskier, giving him an expectant look.

Welp. Here goes nothing.

Jaskier slides into the sheets, heart pounding in his chest. They're cold, which was expected, but still leagues warmer than nothing. He lets out a long, slow breath, willing himself to calm down.

Geralt immediately turns on his side, his back to Jaskier, and shuffles a little further to the edge of the mattress. "I'll try to stay on my side," he grunts, "you stay on yours."

"Yes," Jaskier squeaks. "Yes, of course." No matter how much the warmth emanating from the other man's body makes him want nothing more than to press himself against that muscled back and bury his nose in silver locks. But Geralt wouldn't want that, of course, so he resists the urge.

"Night, Jaskier."

"Good night, Geralt."

And then Jaskier is alone with his thoughts in the dark and silence of Geralt's room, thoughts that so desperately wish to betray him. He's sure that Geralt is asleep, he can just barely make out the soft rise and fall of his chest in the darkness.

It's just for warmth, he reminds himself over and over. They're not actually sharing a bed because they want to. (Well, Jaskier wants to-- there are a great many things that he wants to do with Geralt, but that's besides the point.) Yet no matter how harshly he tells the traitorous part of his brain to be silent, the stray thoughts keep him awake. What if he starts cuddling Geralt in his sleep? Jaskier usually hugs a pillow, but his warmth loving subconscious would surely abandon it if a warm and inviting body is right there next to him--

No. He won't do that. Because he's going to be careful and not mess this up.

Jaskier turns on his side, facing away from the other man, and clutches the pillow tighter.

Oh gods, the sheets even smell like him.

He squirms, trying to get comfortable without waking his bedmate. How is he ever going to be able to fall asleep like-- his back presses ever so slightly against Geralt's-- oh. Oh. Geralt is warm.

This is nice. This is...this is...

Jaskier falls asleep.

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