Wedding Night Blues
A curse against sex on a wedding night. Jaskier copes, and Geralt helps. (Ace!Geralt, 1.3k ☆ AO3)
“Rude! So rude!” Jaskier pushes open the door to their bedroom, banging it against the wall. “On my wedding, no less. My wedding!”
Geralt follows right behind, steadying the door and closing it gently. He sighs, pausing as Jaskier paces across the room several times, his cheeks flushed with anger.
“It was our wedding, Jask.”
With that, Jaskier stops in his tracks, looking up at Geralt. Frantic energy simmers behind his eyes, mixed with frustration.
“Yes,” he answers, crossing the room to take Geralt’s hands. “It’s our wedding day. Ours. We are supposed to be utterly consumed by marital bliss, and nothing else. It’s our day.” At that, Jaskier softens ever so slightly, before letting out a disgusted noise. “Urgh, and now it’s all ruined by that old, joyless wizard. Who would crash someone’s wedding party and cast a curse against sex? Seriously, what kind of a rude bastard does that?”
Jaskier mumbles a few more curses, completely overcome with annoyance at the unexpected guest near the end of the ceremony. Geralt simply holds his hands, waiting patiently for the rant to finish.
The medallion hums faintly against Geralt’s chest, reminding him of the magic cast upon them. He nearly didn’t recognize it at first, being the opposite of another common curse—forced sex with the threat of death. That one would have been a much more heinous deal, a complete disregard of the subject’s will, and forbidden in nearly all of the courts.
This curse, however, only means they cannot have sex tonight.
And tonight just so happens to be their wedding night.
Perhaps, it is indeed a bit inconvenient, Gerealt reckons.
“Cockblocked on my wedding night! With that sick spell of his and those evil laughs. They were not even good laughs! We’ve met villains with much better laughs.” Jaskier goes on, and on. “That was so rude. At least, he should’ve had the courtesy to practice that laugh a little before coming here. And, Geralt, did I mention how rude it was?”
Jaskier’s cheeks are bloated red. Smoke could be coming out of his ears.
Geralt resists the urge to tease. “You did.”
A glare lands on him nonetheless. Jaskier lets go of Geralt’s hands, crossing his arms. “Why must you make enemies with the rude ones?”
Blinking, Geralt realizes he’s become the target of Jaskier’s ire too.
“It’s better than the deadly ones?” Not sure what to do, he sighs. “I didn’t do anything.”
It must be the gentle tone that relaxes Jaskier, because his shoulders drop a little. If anything, Geralt knows how to calm his bard when he’s spiraling—his husband, now.
So he closes the distance between them slowly, placing a hand behind Jaskier’s back, guiding him towards the bed. It’s a big, luxurious thing, mounted with blankets and soft pillows. They sink into the mattress at the edge.
“No, it wasn’t your fault. I’m angry with that sad, pathetic mage who has never known love and acts out on jealousy.” Jaskier takes a deep breath, and then another. “He just couldn’t stand how happy we are.”
“We are.” Geralt pulls Jaskier close, so his body is slumped against his. “I am. So incredibly happy.”
Jaskier runs a hand through his hair, crumpling the small daisies nestled in his braids. “I’m not mad at you, just frustrated,” he says. “It’s our wedding night. I was expecting to get lucky, is all.”
“Hmm, and what if I didn’t want to?” Geralt asks softly, picking out the crushed petals one after another. “What if it’s one of those days?”
He only asks half-heartedly as a comfort for Jaskier, but the hypothesis is not without truth underneath it.
On some days, all Geralt wants is to fall asleep holding Jaskier. On some days, sex seems like an insurmountable task. He’s different, from Jaskier at least, who always looks at him with desire burning behind those blue eyes.
On other days, the want grows within his ribcage. When there’s sunlight on Jaskier’s smile and patience in his voice, Geralt is consumed by all the love that whispers Jaskier’s name with every slow beat of his witcher heart. On those days, he shows all the love with touch, with the gentle press of lips, with the intimacy in the act of sex, and he knows Jaskier sees him.
Jaskier always sees him. Jaskier is always safe.
“Oh.” Upon hearing the question, Jaskier looks up. His expression changes completely, all annoyance gone in an instant. “That’s fine, then. It’s alright if you don’t want to, darling, you know this. It wasn’t meant as—well, I didn’t mean to pressure you. I just thought you did want to, tonight.” He watches Geralt closely. “Did you? Because it’s okay. I won’t mention it again if you don’t.”
Something in Geralt aches.
“I did,” he answers. “I wanted to. It’s our night. I want to make you happy.”
A small, understanding smile tugs at Jaskier’s lips. He waits for Geralt’s answer patiently, sitting on their wedding bed, dressed in a midnight blue doublet, embroidered with a subtle pattern of wolves at the hem.
“Yeah?”
Geralt takes Jaskier’s hand and presses a kiss to his palm. “Yeah.”
Jaskier’s lips purse into a small pout. “It’s all pointless now. We are trapped in this sexless hell.”
“Only for a day. We are still here tomorrow.”
The ribbon that bound their hands and the rings marking their fingers make sure of it.
“It’s still unfair. It seems so much harder for me than it is for you. Pun fully intended,” Jaskier whines. “I want you, darling. I had plans to take care of you tonight. Please tell me it’s just as hard for you.”
Geralt smiles at his ridiculous bard. “It’s just as hard for me.”
“Thank you,” Jaskier sighs, “for lying.”
“Not lying. Want you so much.” Geralt hums, resting his forehead against Jaskier’s, eyes closed. “Love you,” he whispers the secret.
“Oh,” Jaskier’s breath hitches. “I love you too.”
They exhale in unison, letting the weight of the day fade away.
We don’t need sex to be close, Jaskier once promised him. I just need you to be here, and be okay.
He’s always okay when it’s Jaskier’s hands touching him, Jaskier’s heart loving him.
Geralt breathes through all the love that wraps around him in safety, overwhelming him, drowning him in utter bliss. He cups Jaskier’s cheek and takes in the beautiful sight of his bard, his small smile. He can’t help leaning in for a kiss.
“What are you doing?” A finger stops him by the lips, but Jaskier’s smile grows. “Curse, remember?”
“Hmm, we can still kiss,” Geralt coaxes. “Just one kiss.”
Jaskier groans. “It’s never just one kiss if it’s you. You know your effect on me. I’ll get all hot and bothered and it’s going to be a danger to our lives.”
“We’ll risk it.”
Despite the playfulness, Geralt kisses Jaskier carefully. He catches Jaskier’s soft lips into a chaste kiss, and another, and another. He keeps it feather-light, never pushing for more, only to let Jaskier melt under his attention. The small, peppering kisses continue until they are both humming with quiet contentment.
Geralt pulls away, opening his eyes to find Jaskier with a dreamy look on his face.
“Hey, husband.”
“Hey,” Jaskier breathes. “I misspoke. Perhaps, I did get lucky today.”
“Did you?”
Jaskier’s grin stretches so wide it takes over his whole face. There’s so much joy when he looks at Geralt, growing as the seconds go by. It’s hard to imagine him being angry just a few minutes ago, troubled by something that seems distantly inconsequential now.
“Mm-hmm. I really lucked out with this one right here.” He pinches Geralt’s cheek gently. “I have a best friend and a husband in the same person, and I got to marry him today.”
That, Geralt can relate to.
“Hmm. Very lucky indeed. What will you do with him, now that you have him?”
Jaskier winks mischievously, bringing Geralt into his arms. The faint smell of daisies lingers in the air, and Geralt burrows right into it. He holds his best friend and husband, and never wants to leave their little pocket of happiness.
“I believe,” Jaskier answers, smiling as he kisses Geralt’s forehead, “more cuddling is in order. It’s our wedding night, after all.”