Share a Pint with Me
Geralt x Jaskier One shot
⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆
Summary:
Jaskier declined another cup of ale from a particularly eager drunkard. The same man clapped his shoulder roughly in praise, making the younger man stumble forward. All the while his smile never faltered. Geralt's grip tightened and he took a swig of his ale.
Or, where Geralt and Jaskier debate literary interpretations on the basis of the witcher's self-imposed solitude, and Geralt just wishes that Jaskier's attention was his alone.
Tags: Pining, Sharing a Bed, Jealousy, Jealous Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Pre-Slash, Character Study, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Chapter: 1/1 Word Count: 1,981
AO3
Heavy boots beat into the muddy earth as the witcher's path transformed from a peat forest floor to the overturned muddy road of a small village. The soggy ground tries to cling to his every step. Ahead of him, the light and merriment of the hamlet's single tavern flooded into the street, a mirage in a desert of muddy squalor.
The armored man carried no proof of his labors other than the grime on his boots, and a few less potion bottles in his bag.
He entered the tavern alone and unnoticed as he moved through the jovial crowd towards an empty seat on the room's perimeter. A smiling barmaid offered him an ale in return for his coin. It's sweet on his tongue after the acrid potions.
Across the room, a different woman offers her pint to a shining man, and asks for nothing in return. He takes the pint with one hand, the other slung around a well worn but cared for lute. After a long swig he returned the pint. He left the woman with only that barley kiss, and gave his voice to the rest of the room.
The witcher sips from his own pint.
The bard was singing lyrics that Geralt has heard already from across a campfire. He's singing about some forest nymph and a young hunter, an overdone narrative, but the excitement of the crowd would have you believing otherwise. The witcher humored himself at the thought.
He had said so to the bard earlier, when he paused his playing, "How many songs have been written about men discovering women in the forest?"
The bard had smiled at the not-so-subtle jab to his creativity and hummed to himself as he pondered the statement. He watched Geralt for a moment, the witcher was patiently stitching a patch onto one of Roach's worn saddlebags.
"Perhaps that is simply a reflection of the nature and the wants of men?" Jaskier smirked, plucking absently at strings.
Geralt huffed, "More likely to run into a leshy before a beautiful woman that may or may not want anything to do with a fresh idiot in the woods."
Jaskier paused his strumming and held a finger to his lip, "I think it's about transgressions. Two individuals from two different spheres collide: men and women, civilized and wild, innate and learned behavior, constraints and freedom, and so on. The result is unpredictable, a form of chaos. Say, Geralt, have you ever seen a real nymph?" He broke out of his pedantic mood.
"No. And if I did I certainly wouldn't emulate your lyrics."
"Well of course not, you're the nymph." The bard retorted with a grin.
"What?"
Jaskier didn't pause for Geralt's sake, "Your nymph can't be in the forest, because you're already here."
Only Jaskier would argue about such literary metaphors with a witcher. He watched the witcher comprehend his layered words, glaring at the scholar across the fire.
"It's not simply about women in the woods, Geralt! It's about stepping out of the boundaries of one's life, and discovering what lies outside of your experience. That's why the hunter dies, or the nymph flees, or sometimes they fall in love. Transgressing that boundary can be freeing or destructive." The bard spoke as if he were trying to condense pages of scholarly labor for Geralt's sake.
"So I haven't discovered a nymph because I'm already here?" He gestured to the tree canopy around them.
"You haven't found your nymph because you haven't tried to."
"I'm not looking for a naked woman in the woods."
"The nymph is a literary stand-in, Geralt!" The bard was exasperated now, "She's countless things: fate, death, love, coming of age, change, chaos, so on."
Geralt smirked his rudest, most witcher-y smile that Jaskier was too busy lecturing to notice.
"Of course, there is the simpler reading that everything outside of the measure of civilization is inherently chaotic, and that chaotic potential is manifest in the traipsing of the naive young hunter through the woods. So really it's all just a boring affirmation that the woods are dangerous." He spoke in a single breath.
"Of course." Geralt huffed in a quiet mocking.
Jaskier whirled his head back towards Geralt, realizing his feigned ignorance, "You know what I'm getting at!"
Geralt looked back down at his neglected handiwork and smiled.
Jaskier had turned up his nose in dramatic offense, "That's why you won't find your nymph." His hands returned to his lute strings, and Geralt returned to his work with a chuckle.
The audience around the man right now certainly weren't inquiring about the latent themes of his verses.
The bard reached the end of his song with a flourish. There wasn't a moment of silence before the cheers and whoops of the crowd replaced his voice. He was smiling wide and Geralt could see his chest rising with heavy breaths.
There was no stage platform in this tavern, it was too modest of a venue for much performance space at all. The happy drunks closest to the bard shook him by the shoulder and more offered their pints. Jaskier sipped from several drinks before declining any more. His face was rosy from the performance and the ale.
Geralt's pint felt weighty in his hand. He wondered if the bard would make his way towards the witcher's subdued alcove. He might have a few more songs for this crowd, but Geralt could see that he had been entertaining them for quite some time.
Jaskier declined another cup of ale from a particularly eager drunkard. The same man clapped his shoulder roughly in praise, making the younger man stumble forward. All the while his smile never faltered. Geralt's grip tightened and he took a swig of his ale.
The bard was looking towards him now, finally. He strolled by as cheerful hands applauded for him and clapped his shoulders and back. He thanked them, relishing in the praise even as he aimed to retire across the table from the witcher. Geralt turns his attention to his drink as the bard approached.
"How was the hunt? I see you've tracked in less gore than usual?" Jaskier beamed as he sat down across from him. His skin was glistening from the performance and his hair was a bit frizzy from the tavern atmosphere.
Geralt hummed, gloved hands pondering his mug.
Jaskier took a sip from his own cup, given to him by someone during his journey across the tavern floor.
"Just a few ghouls digging up shallow graves outside of town."
"You'd think everyone would learn that lesson by now. Maybe someone should write an instructive ballad." He tutted as he motioned with his cup.
"I think the crowd prefers naked people in the woods."
The bard's eyes lit up before he spoke, "That would be quite the subversion. The village gravedigger hasn't done his job. And now instead of a nymph, you're on a date with grave ghouls!"
Geralt nodded at Jaskier's almost empty cup, "Let's save the composing for tomorrow."
Jaskier barked a sufficiently intoxicated laugh before quieting. His eyes flitted from Geralt's face to the contents of his cup. Geralt raised his cup to drink and watched the bard over the rim.
"You could…" the voice which previously controlled the whole tavern floor was now barely a mumble, "…too. Y'know?"
Geralt swallowed his ale, "What?"
"You could sit with the rest sometime… where the music is." Jaskier's face was flush from the alcohol. He must be drunker than Geralt guessed.
Jaskier turned his head towards the roudy floor, Geralt followed his gaze.
"I'm always where the music is. The music won't let me alone." The witcher poked without any bitterness.
The bard laughed again before responding to Geralt's sarcastic remark.
"Hey, Bard! Give us one more song!" The clamor of the tavern infiltrated the witcher's secluded table. More voices joined the inebriated choir of requests. "And the witcher's back!"
"Give us one about your witcher!"
Jaskier belonged to the crowd once again, acknowledging their requests with a raise of his mug.
Geralt watched him scramble off of the bench, lute in hand. He looked back at the witcher and something unreadable flickered across his features. Whatever his hesitation was, he was snatched away by joyous hands towards the tavern floor.
Not willing to be the present subject of the ensuing ballad, Geralt saw it fit to retire early. He would leave while the music was lively and the people were still happy.
He moved through the crowd easily from his alcove towards the stairs. The bar's patrons at the edge of the floor smiled at the witcher as he passed them, a few saluted him with a brief, "aye, witcher", but the room belonged to the performing bard.
The sound of merriment dimmed as it followed him up worn down stairs, down a shabby hallway, and into a sparsely adorned room. The sound was replaced with his own melody of unfastened buckles and untied leather armor. He opted to retire onto the thin mattress, rather than meditate through the night on the wooden floor.
The linen sheets were scratchy and thin, not enough to bother the witcher, but he wondered if Jaskier would have any complaints. Looking up at the ceiling, he could feel drafts of air from thin walls.
Two fingers pinched away a lone flickering candle. Cat eyes adjusted to the dark space, and a restless mind wandered back downstairs to his and Jaskier's secluded table.
Eventually, Geralt closed his eyes to the wood grain of the ceiling, ready to welcome sleep.
Either seconds or hours later, the wooden door creaked open and a familiar scent piqued his senses. He didn't open his eyes yet, instead he listened to the sound of fabric shuffling and boots being tossed onto the floor. The bard must be tired if he's treating his cherished clothes as haphazardly as it sounds.
Before he can open his eyes to check, a familiar weight lands ungracefully and dramatically beside him on the small mattress, like diving into a lake.
Geralt exhales a laugh, "You smell like ale."
The bard hums in response as he makes himself more comfortable. Warmth spreads between them where the bard's side touches the witcher's.
Geralt lies like a statue while Jaskier twists and turns. He doesn't stay in one position long enough to register if it's comfortable enough for him before he twists some more.
"Would the floor be more to your liking?"
Geralt's eyes are still closed, but he knows the bard's smile when he hears him laughing. Finally he's stopped his ministrations, the only movement is his quiet laughter.
"No, I don't think so. I'm quite content." He slurred melodically.
Of course he was content, Jaskier was always that, content. He was content to share everything with Geralt, and also nothing at all. He was content to share pints with other tavern guests and to share music with the whole tavern floor.
"You left early," Jaskier grumbled into his elbow. The bard was going to be complaining about a headache tomorrow. Then shook with laughter again, muffling a statement in the crook of his arm.
"What's so funny now?" The witcher didn't move while the drunken man laughed against him.
"Just something about nymphs or what other," the bard waved a hand cheekily before adjusting with his back to Geralt's reclining form.
Geralt rolled his eyes behind closed eyelids, "Go to sleep, Jaskier."
He swore he could hear the bard's lips curl into an even more drunken smile.
"G'night, Geralt." The bard's voice was drifting further from their shared moment.
Geralt hummed. With cat eyes he glanced once at the sleeping man in the darkness. Tomorrow they would set out on the path again, there would be no rowdy taverns for a few days, no ale and no real bed either. The thought pleased him.
