i am thinking i am having thoughts. i am thinking about jaskier writing the old witch sleep and the good man grace.
x
it's two months after the mountain and jaskier is finding salvation at the bottom of a bottle. he's playing jigs in taverns for his daily bread but it doesn't have quite the same flavor as it used to. the cheers and jeers don't have the same appeal when there's no quiet night waiting for him afterward, spent in a shared room with a kind, lonely man who guards his heart by pretending it doesn't exist.
but the ale is there like an old friend (and isn't that a sad irony). he greets Mead and Vodka and Whiskey with a warm embrace and a smile.
and one night he's sitting in his dingy little inn room with its scratchy, threadbare sheets and empty hearth and he feels a fire burning inside him.
and that's the spark he needed. that's the way forward, when it's obvious there's no turning back to how things used to be.
and he writes. and he bleeds and he aches and he grieves and he shouts, and oh, he writes.
and he didn't intend to stay in this shitty backwater town another night, but it's pouring out of him. the last twenty-odd years are coming out in an endless stream and he worries that when he's done there will be nothing left.
but even so, by gods someone will witness him the way he was forced to witness his undoing on that mountain so many neverending days ago.
and the next night he takes the stage. he doesn't sing a jig, but he also doesn't drink. and when someone calls for toss a coin, he smiles.
on a mountain with a dragon and a witch and a witcher, his heart broke. and in a half-empty room full of drunkards and delinquents, he will sing his redemption.
and the room is silent as he strums his lute, half-mad with the injustice of it all, and
shining in your light (a knight, my love, a knight)
Summary: Jaskier's days as a single man are numbered. With family obligations knocking at the door and no escape in sight, he knows he will soon be forced to marry.
Things are further complicated when he meets a beautiful, brown-haired witcher by chance in a tavern one night.
Jaskier/Eskel | Rated: M | WC: 3k+ | CW: coarse language, implied sex
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A (very) belated Witcher Writers Winter Gift Exchange 2022 (@witcherficwriters) fill for @matrixfairy! I hope you enjoy, friendo, and sorry it's so late!
Also on AO3! I anticipate at least two more chapters, if not three, to finish everything up.
--
When he was younger, Jaskier imagined life to be a fairytale.
Grand adventures, beasts to be slain, and knights in shining armor.
“Yeeugh,” the man groaned out from the tavern floor where he’d stumbled before him, covered in mud and smelling of horse dung.
Real life never was quite like he imagined it would be.
“I’m so sorry, are you alright?” Jaskier’s hands fluttered uselessly in front of him, wanting to help but not quite sure if the other man was injured. He hastily put aside his tankard of ale and lute.
“Sir? Can I help you with anything?” He called when he received no reply. It took a moment, but the man finally raised his head, turning surprisingly keen, golden eyes on Jaskier. He’d thought he was dealing with a drunkard.
He knew he should feel exposed, perhaps intimidated, under such a sharp gaze. Jaskier had never been prone to the reactions of normal people, however, so he felt nothing of the sort.
Surprisingly, he only felt warm, heat pricking his collar.
Warmer still, as he took notice of the strong jaw, full lips, and long lashes cradling those honeyed irises. His eyes scanned over a set of broad shoulders, topping off a barrel chest, and what he was sure were delectable abs underneath a ruby-colored gambeson.
Covered in mud he may be, but a pig he was not.
“You talkin’ to me, pretty thing?” The rumbling, rich baritone shook him out of his stupor. Jaskier planted a charming grin on his face, casually running his hand over his chin in a thoughtful pose to check for drool. Gods above.
“Ah, but the man does speak! Are you sure you’re alright?”
The other man sat up, leaning against the wall. “Just peachy,” he grunted, leaning his elbows on his knees. “No need to worry, pretty thing. My kind are made for a bit of wear and tear.”
Shit. And a smile meant to break a man’s heart, to boot.
Well. Jaskier had never been one to resist a pretty face.
“Can I help you? Buy you an ale, maybe?”
The grin turned devilish, topaz eyes shimmering with mischief. “Aye, and a bowl of stew if you’re going to bed me,” he winked. “Probably need the energy. You seem like a wild one.”
Jaskier flushed, shocked and pleased all in one. He returned the wink with a provocative smile of his own. “A gentleman never tells, my dear.”
He held out a hand. A little flirtation did not an acquaintance make. Jaskier was no fool, either.
Two swords on his back. Heavy traveling cloak, worn at the hem and tattered. Scarring on his face and forearms - from some beast or other, no doubt.
A witcher. Very interesting indeed.
Those discerning eyes stared him down, assessing, before seeming to make a decision. A strong hand clasped Jaskier’s own.
He pulled the other man up with only a little effort and noted the surprise on the witcher’s face. He felt no small amount of pride. He didn’t have a witcher’s bulk, but he wasn’t a small man by any means.
Now that he was standing, Jaskier took full stock of the other man’s form. His new friend had about three inches on him and at least a hundred pounds. Jaskier felt a pleasant tingle run down his spine. It was rare he met a delicious man like this on accident.
“Jaskier,” he announced in his most imperious voice with a courtly, sweeping bow. “At your service.”
The other man quirked his lips, amused. “Eskel.”
Jaskier felt giddy. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Eskel. I believe I promised you an ale?”
That lovely half-smile doubled in size. “Aye. I believe you did.”
###
There wasn’t much talking after they went upstairs. Jaskier’s rented room was small, the bed smaller, but it would do the job.
“Darling,” Jaskier purred once the door was shut, “That armor is quite dashing, but I have to say you’re a tad overdressed.”
Eskel’s warm body pressed against his with a mouthwatering pressure. With the wall at his back and the absolute boulder of a man at his front, he’d never felt happier about being cornered. A rough hand grasped his jaw, calloused thumb brushing against his bottom lip.
“Pretty words from a pretty mouth,” Eskel rumbled in his deep baritone. Golden eyes bored into Jaskier’s own, pinning him with their intensity. “D’you sing just as sweetly?”
Jaskier smirked wolfishly, wrapping his arms firmly around Eskel’s neck. “I’m sure you’ll find out.”
A husky chuckle, followed by a throaty moan. And then the night was silent.
###
Jaskier’s eyes fluttered open, moonlight filtering through the tiny inn window.
He quietly took stock of the pleasant soreness in his limbs, aches in places which meant he’d had a very good night indeed. It took a few moments for him to become aware of the hard chest beneath his ear, carpeted with smattering of dark hair.
He came fully into awareness, remembering his night with Eskel and feeling a goofy smile bloom across his face. He was almost too comfortable using the witcher as a pillow. He would be perfectly content to lounge around until Eskel woke up. Maybe convince him to go for another round… But loathe as he was to move, he knew he needed to get back home.
As quietly as possible, he disentangled himself from the body below him. He dressed in silence, distinctly aware of every swish and rustle of fabric making their way to sharp witcher ears. He put on just enough clothing to be decent for the trek back, not wanting to delay any further.
Jaskier looked back at the man on the bed. He truly had the body of a god, looked absolutely delectable with a sheet just barely covering his exquisite cock. Blessedly, he’d had the skills in bed to match, which Jaskier was quite thankful for.
He looked oddly vulnerable, soft brown curls falling into his eyes and face lax with sleep. The moon’s rays danced across his striking features and made his tanned skin glow. He was the picture of inviting.
He was beautiful. It was a shame this was only for a night.
“May our paths cross again, Eskel,” he spoke softly.
Jaskier slipped out the door, unaware of the witcher watching him leave.
###
His nightly outings were becoming more common the closer he got to his impending doom. Since he’d passed his twenty-first birthday, Jaskier knew he was living on borrowed time. He knew his father would make things as unpleasant as possible.
Men of the Pankratz family were honor-bound to marry by the end of their twenty-first year. If they had not made a match by this time, a match would be arranged for them by the head of the household. The legend (or so he was told, although it all sounded like horse shit) went that were this rule not met, a curse would befall their house and lands, blighting all who lived within them.
Or something. He’d never really paid attention during his governess’s lessons, dreadfully boring woman that she was.
But he was damned sure everyone in his house believed in the legend. Without a doubt, he’d be turned out on his ass for the first respectable gentleperson that came calling for him. He was under no illusions that his father had his best interests at heart–far from it, in fact. The sooner they’d be rid of him, the better.
Nothing like a parent’s love, eh?
He bitterly chuckled to himself as he stepped into the shadowed gardens below his quarters. Right turn at the archway. Left at the lavender bushes. Two steps and a hop across the charming little pond with the frogs he’d played with as a child. Now just a shimmy up the trellis to his open window and he’d be home free.
He should really look into doing this professionally. He’d make an excellent spy.
Jaskier crested the windowsill, feet on the warmed stone floors. The embers of the fire were still hot in the hearth, no doubt stoked by his diligent valet. let out a yawn, feeling his eyes start to droop.
“I imagine I’d be tired too, after an acrobatics routine like that.”
He jumped about a foot in the air. He did not shriek, thank you very much.
“Jana, you witch!” He hissed, blue eyes blazing. “Perhaps I should put a bell on you!”
She smirked, green eyes glinting maliciously. “And where would be the fun in that?”
She was the devil incarnate. Evil in the flesh. He loved her to pieces.
“Sister dear,” he hummed, stepping towards his wardrobe. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Just checking on my dearest Julek. Thought you might be tossing and turning tonight, is all.”
Jaskier squinted at her before turning back to his clothes. He grabbed a nightshirt and stepped behind the changing screen. “And why ever would I be restless?”
He didn’t need to see her face to know she was laughing at him. “Just a… feeling I had.”
He quickly stepped out from behind the screen, more comfortable now in his loose night clothes. He stepped towards the basin to wash his face. Jana was sitting primly on the bench, legs crossed daintily, looking serene as ever.
Something was definitely wrong.
“Oh?” He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of true curiosity. She was unbearably smug about this little talent of hers.
She got like this, sometimes. Jana was prone to feelings—no one in their family called them premonitions, per se, but it was hard to find a different word to describe them. Sometimes it was small things, like an unexpected change in the weather, but there were other times, too–like when she’d gotten a bad feeling about Aunt Margot’s cold, and she’d passed within a fortnight.
Jana hummed, noncommittal, and tossed her long, chocolate locks over her shoulder. “Something is going to happen tomorrow. Something big. And it concerns you, brother dearest.”
Jaskier didn’t respond, mind racing. He schooled his features, maintaining the indifferent mask he’d learned as a son of the peerage. The tournament tomorrow was for the benefit of the Pankratz House. It didn’t, however, directly impact Jaskier in any notable way–not more than it would impact them all.
“We shall see, I suppose. Now, if you don’t mind,” he pointedly shuffled towards his bed, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he passed. “I need my beauty rest.”
He’d turned down the covers and was just about to snuff the light when Jana approached him, ruffling his hair. He huffed. She turned away toward the door with a smile.
“Indeed we shall, little brother. Tomorrow.”
###
The morning dawned bright, trumpets and birdsong intermingling with the fresh dew. The sunlight was dappled through the trees in the clearing and the air smelled of late spring blossoms.
It was far too fine a day for such nonsense.
“Hark! Hear ye, hear ye! On this day commences the Tournament of Koselig, attended only by the most honorable of knights and lords!”
The opening speeches were always dull as watching paint dry. The Pankratz family was seated in the box with the best view of the action at the head of the field. He was expected to smile and nod as the competitors passed their box, acknowledging the brave souls fighting and potentially losing life and limb. All for the sake of their entertainment–and today, the dubious honor of ruling the shittiest parcel in the province.
It made him sick, to be honest.
“You don’t suppose we could slip out after the announcements, do you? I’m sure Vincent could be convinced to cover for us with the right motivation.” He winked at Jana, earning a giggle in return.
“You know we can’t, Julek. Besides–I really do have a good feeling about today. Something important is going to happen, I just know it.”
Her feelings were not to be dismissed. It was sure to be an eventful day, for one reason or another. He just hoped it wasn’t at his expense.
“Jana, Julian, do be quiet. Where are your manners?” His mother tutted, one elegant brow arched. She was the spitting image of his sister, with a few more lines around her eyes and streaks of gray through her hair.
“Apologies, mother. I seem to have forgotten my patience today,” Jaskier smiled sweetly. “Must these things be so terribly tedious?”
“It would do you well to watch your tongue, Julian. Comes with the territory. A Viscount is expected to behave and attend events such as this.”
“Only a Viscount in name, father. Don’t you worry–you’ll never have to bless me with more responsibility than that with our dear Jana here.”
The tension between father and son was palpable. Jana discretely squeezed his hand in support.
Jaskier’s relationship with his father had never been the greatest, but they had reached an all-time low recently. He felt like he was on a tightrope, closer and closer to falling to the brink as each day passed. Who–or what–his father had in store for him was a great source of anxiety. And two of them weren’t exactly the types to have heart-to-heart chats, so his fate would inevitably be a surprise. Joy of joys.
In other circumstances, he’d be filling the gaping pit of anxiety with a glass of wine and a warm body, but alas. Duty called, as his father liked to remind him.
“We have the honor of being hosted today by the esteemed Pankratz family: the Earl Alfred Pankratz of Lettenhove, Lady Maria Pankratz of Lettenhove, Lady Jana Pankratz of Lettenhove, and Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz of Lettenhove,” the herald carried on. “The knights and lords present will compete today for the honor of overseeing one of his Lordship’s properties in Hygge, a parcel of land which…”
Jaskier found his attention drifting beyond the stands, the announcements a tiresome buzzing in the background. From the looks of it, every person in the city of Koselig had turned out for the event, and probably the neighboring cities too. They were practically giving away a prize today, wrapped up in a neat, entertaining package and decorated with a ball. It was no wonder it looked like the entirety of coastal Redania had arrived on their front lawn.
He wasn’t surprised. His parents were well-liked for their fair ruling of the lands they controlled, but they were equally liked for the lavish parties they liked to throw. It wasn’t all a front, but every event, gift, and act of service was part of a carefully calculated plan to keep the populace happy and maintain appearances.
His mother, for all that she was kind, was incredibly shrewd and good with people. She knew what would keep them happiest (and what would shut them up). His father was a strict man, committed to the principles of duty and obedience. At the same time, he wouldn’t hesitate to manipulate a situation in his favor. Jaskier loved them, but he didn’t always like them.
Hygge was a sizeable estate just shy of a week’s ride north of Jaskier’s home in Koselig. Its accompanying village was full of fishermen and farmers alike, with the coast nearby and plenty of fertile land to till. The former Lord who’d ruled over the property for the last twenty years had died two months prior. Rather unfortunately for everyone, he passed without an heir. Even more unfortunately, he had done a poor job managing things in the last five years. Much work would need to be done by the new proprietor.
His parents needed someone to manage the property and township. Jana, as heir to their family estate, had been assisting with the property in the months since the former Lord’s passing. This obviously wasn’t a long-term solution as she would take over in Koselig one day.
They had decided to select a new proprietor, ideally a knight looking to settle down or a lower member of the peerage without many responsibilities. And because his mother had a flair for dramatics, what better way to find someone willing than a tournament?
It was great marketing, he had to hand it to her. Undoubtedly, they would find someone today.
“Gentlemen! Please present yourself to the venerable Pankratz family!”
Jaskier put on his most polite and courtly smile for the introductions. One by one, the assembled lords and knights stepped up to the box. There was a Lord Valdo from Cidaris who seemed utterly obnoxious–-gods, he hoped he didn’t win. A knight from Roggeveen with a peculiar mustache. Another Lord So-and-So from Denesle who sounded absolutely drunk off his ass—that would make for a good show.
He almost fell out of his chair when he spotted a familiar red gambeson and mop of brown hair. Flashes of last night sent a rush of blood to a very unfortunate place as he locked gazes with a familiar pair of golden eyes.
Their bodies meeting in an intimate embrace. Eskel’s calloused hands gripping his hips tightly. Deep, rumbling groans as Jaskier rode him. The insatiable desire for more. And afterward, those same work-worn hands stroking soothingly down his back. Sweaty bangs tenderly brushed off his forehead. A gentle hand cleaning him up with a rough-hewn cloth. A handsome face, enhanced by scars, relaxed and sated in sleep.
Fuck. Fuck fuckity fuck fuck.
Eskel dipped into a formal bow. “Sir Eskel, Witcher of the Wolf School.”
“Ha!” His father burst out, with great amusement. “A witcher, competing in my tournament! Surely you can’t be serious.”
“Deadly so, my Lord,” Eskel’s lips were pressed into a thin line, his eyes cool. Despite this, he gave no outward signs of annoyance, his posture remaining relaxed and easy.
“Oh?” His father raised an imperious brow. “And do you meet the entry requirements? One must be an established member of the peerage or a knight to compete. This isn’t a tournament for just anyone.”
“How fortunate, then,” Eskel drawled, “that I am knighted. His Royal Highness, Windhalm of Attre, knighted me four summers ago. Dealt with a rotfiend problem he was having, nasty business.”
Alfred did not say a word, but one look at his face said enough about his frustration. Eskel paid no mind.
“Convenient as well that he granted me the title Baronet of Attre, as a personal honor for my services. Still a peasant at heart and in title, but the words are pretty, yeah?”
Eskel rubbed a hand over the back of his neck in a seemingly bashful gesture. “Aye, a shame I turned the land down at the time. After all, a witcher? A proprietor? Can’t be serious.” He gave a deep belly laugh at the thought, throwing his head back. “Changed my mind, though. I’ve rather come to like the idea of settling down.”
The tension could be cut with a knife. Jaskier, his sister, his mother–hell, even the herald–all waited, staring at Alfred in suspense.
“Well then, my Lord? Do I pass the test?” The witcher gave a winning smile, the epitome of mannerly but possessing an air of cold detachment Jaskier knew his father detested. It was the same persona his father used at court.
Color crept up Alfred’s collar. Jaskier could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. He hid a smile behind his hand, biting his lip. Entertainment, indeed.
Alfred cleared his throat. “Well, Sir Eskel of the Wolf School, Baronet de Attre, it certainly seems you do. We look forward to seeing you… compete.” Alfred gave a stiff and reluctant nod, dismissing him. The moment was over.
Or, well, Jaskier thought it was.
Eskel gave his family another formal bow. His eyes met Jaskier’s with intention as he rose back to his full height. Jaskier felt his breath catch in his throat as gold met blue.
There was something there, in his gaze. A heat–not the burning kind, no, but something pleasant. Like hot cider on a winter’s night. Like a fire to warm cold bones--or an aching heart. Jaskier felt a shiver down his spine.
He felt trapped in that stare, unable to look away. He gave a coquettish smile, unable to resist his natural flirtation even for a moment, particularly with the witcher. Eskel gave a charming, boyish grin back, inclining his head deeply before turning away.
And oh, what a lovely sight he made. Although his trousers really did look better off…
“What the hell was that?” Jana hissed into his ear, breaking the spell Jaskier had fallen under.
“What was what?” Jaskier asked in his best attempt at innocence, rubbing sweaty palms against his knees.
“You know what. Do you know him?”
“We may have met before - hard to say, I meet a lot of people.”
Jana scoffed, pushing against his shoulder with her own at his non-answer. Jaskier laughed, fondly, and turned his attention back to the field.
Neither of them noticed Alfred’s piercing stare as he eyed them with suspicion.
sugar baby geralt is a twenty-something college drop-out single dad trying to figure out how to get ciri to eat her vegetables and keep the lights on. he's got his trusty piece of shit car (affectionately named roach) that desperately needs a new set of tires and volunteers part-time at his dad's dog rescue, the wolf pack.
he's got a lot of responsibilities and not a lot of money and he is just. so tired.
jaskier is a well-to-do thirty-something self-made indie musician/part-time influencer with money to spare. he's been his own man since his early twenties when he finally told his parents to fuck off after college. he's got a business degree (forced upon him but used out of spite) and a chip on his shoulder and is determined to do Whatever The Fuck He Wants at this stage in his life.
they're both trying to escape their problems.
he and geralt meet by chance. geralt's old flame-turned-friend yennefer dragged him out for a night of fun. ("all you do is work, geralt, and ciri will be fine with triss for a night.") jaskier is out essi and priss. the club is loud and hot and too much but when they see each other across the dance floor, everything else fades away.
it's like gravity (or destiny or fate, if you believed in that kind of thing) draws them together. they share a dance, then a kiss, then suddenly they're making out in an uber on the way to jaskier's place. they spend the night together--and what a night it is.
but when geralt wakes up in the morning, he notices... jaskier's place is nice. like rich person nice. and he feels self conscious as he looks around at the lofty ceilings and nice furniture and expensive looking instruments placed everywhere. there's a recording studio. who the fuck is this guy.
so he's getting dressed and is about to make his exit posthaste when jaskier catches him.
"leaving so soon?"
and geralt is still embarrassed but he likes jaskier. he's attracted to him. and he figures he can let himself play into the fantasy just a little bit longer after he checks his phone and sees that yen and triss and ciri are alright.
so they eat scrambled eggs and toast and talk. it's... nice. and geralt finds himself telling jaskier about his daughter, about his life. he doesn't explicitly say anything about money, but jaskier can read between the lines.
jaskier makes a suggestion.
"we could keep meeting, you know. i enjoy your company, geralt, even if the sex never happens again. and in exchange... why don't you bring your car next time? a friend of mine is a mechanic, and owes me a favor."
and geralt's pissed at the implication, because who the fuck does jaskier think he is. he's not a charity case, he's not going to take his money just because jaskier had him on his back last night.
and he tells him so, but jaskier repeats the offer, with nothing but sincerity in his eyes.
"geralt. i want to help you. and you don't have to do anything to deserve it--i think knowing you will be payment all on its own."
and geralt knows he could use the help. jaskier seems nice enough and he doesn't have any other options coming his way right now, really. the universe has never been kind to him.
so he agrees. "alright."
they keep meeting up, with jaskier doing little favors for him here and there--fixing his car, buying groceries. he never accepts jaskier's money straight out.
and eventually, they truly are friends. geralt lets jaskier meet ciri. and the presents start to overtly include her too--paying for them to go to the amusement park, just to see ciri shriek with glee. paying for the karate and piano lessons ciri has always wanted but geralt has never been able to afford.
and things inevitably get messy when geralt starts to feel something more.
like cardiac arrest (high voltage when we kiss) - chapter 2
Summary: Jaskier needs a date, fast. Problem is, dating is harder than it used to be. Luckily, Eskel’s willing to help him out.
Or: Two idiots in love think it’s a great idea to pretend to date each other. No one is fooled.
Jaskier/Eskel | Rated: M | WC: 4k+ | CW: coarse language, sexual thoughts
---
Prompt fill for lovely Kei! Read Chapter 1 on AO3 or here on Tumblr.
---
The weekend came, and with it, the arrival of Lambert and Aiden’s monthly cookout. Even though it was November and practically snowing, Lambert didn’t cancel his cookouts for anything, everyone else’s feelings about that fact aside. (“Rain or fucking shine, Jaskier, I don’t give a fuck about something as trivial as the weather,” he’d sneered when Jaskier had bothered to ask, one day. He’d never questioned it again.) Jaskier and Eskel were going, as they always did, with the new development of needing to look like a couple. They’d decided today would be as good a test run as any in seeing if their relationship would pass as genuine. After all, who would be a better judge than their friends and family?
It was a reasonable, terrible idea. Jaskier was absolutely shitting himself as he heard the knock on his door.
Eskel thought he should pick him up, thought they should drive there together. It did seem more natural, Jaskier supposed, but it really just meant he had no time at all to prepare himself for being a couple with Eskel and what that meant for his sanity.
He took a deep breath, which caught in his throat only a second later.
Eskel looked… Wow. The other man was stunning in a red button-up, top two buttons undone and bloated biceps on full display. His top was paired with well-fitting black jeans, which showed off his plump backside rather nicely. He had a sherpa-lined leather jacket and soft-looking scarf hanging over one arm, Blundstone-booted feet tying it all together.
Jaskier idly cursed good genes and the color red and the time when he’d told Eskel he looked dashing in it, so very long ago. It was awful that Eskel had taken him at his word, really, because now he was left dealing with the unfortunate reality of his good taste. He was practically salivating, unable to help his staring with so much to look at.
Jaskier was very much not ready for today, Melitele help him.
“Hi.” He sounded breathless even to his own ears, but Eskel either didn’t notice or was too kind to comment on it.
“Hi yourself. You ready to go?”
Eskel stepped fully into Jaskier’s apartment, perfectly at ease, and bent to scratch Mattie, Jaskier’s cat, as she gave him a mrow in greeting.
“Yeah, just about. Let me just grab my coat.”
Jaskier moved to the bedroom and was back in a flash, slipping his arms into the sleeves of his own double-breasted peacoat and wrapping a scarf around his neck. He’d dressed for luck today, wearing all of his favorite things in the hopes that this wouldn’t all blow up his face as spectacularly as he expected it would.
A button-up of his own, in a pretty cream color with light lace detailing around the buttons, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to show off his hands and wrists. His lovely thrifted waistcoat covered in floral embroidery (which some might call gaudy, but really, that was due to their inability to appreciate art, thank you very much). His favorite pair of black jeans, which fit his ass and thighs like a glove. His well-loved Chelsea boots, warm and practical but stylish and rustic. The pearl earring he’d crafted from one of his mother’s old necklaces in one ear and his many, ever-present rings adorning his fingers. Your clothes are your armor, Jaskier, and gods know you’ll need it today.
He came back to stand in front of Eskel with a smile and a prayer.
“Well, we look quite the pair, don’t we?” He hoped his usual charm was enough to mask his nerves. “You clean up rather nicely, Esk, though I don’t think that’s a surprise to anyone.”
He brushed a casual hand over Eskel’s shoulder without much thought, missing the flare of heat in the other man’s eyes.
“You too, Jask. In fact…” Eskel took that moment to step closer, crowding into Jaskier’s personal space. He placed a careful hand at Jaskier’s waist, used the other to guide Jaskier’s fallen hand back to his own shoulder. The look in his eyes was inscrutable, his touch as familiar as it was strange in this charade they found themselves in.
Jaskier was stunned for the second time in as many days. He blinked, mouth falling slightly open. “Esk? Bit early for this, yeah? We don’t even have an audience, unless you count Mattie,” he chuckled nervously, heart pounding like a drum.
The hand was a warm, bracing heat where it rested over the linen of his shirt. Jaskier felt the touch like a brand, sparks flying from the points where they made contact.
“Hm,” Eskel rumbled, bringing his other hand around Jaskier’s lower back and somehow stepping even closer. “Figured this would be as good a time as any to practice.”
Eskel’s thumb was rubbing small, distracting little circles at the base of his spine. Jaskier was finding it harder to string together a coherent thought by the second. “P-Practice…?”
The other man’s eyes crinkled at the corners, his mouth quirking into a becoming smile. Jaskier wanted to see what it would taste like, pressed to his lips.
“Kissing, Jask. Would you prefer I planted one on you when you weren’t expecting it? I didn’t want you to be more surprised than everyone else is already going to be.”
Jaskier spluttered, cheeks turning red. “I– well, I mean– Maybe? Probably a good idea, all things considered, would seem– normal, since we’re dating and all. Not that I’m saying no right now, but–”
Eskel took pity on him, chuckling. “Noted. I’ll remember that for later.”
He still hadn’t stopped that damnable stroking of his back. Fuck.
Jaskier bit his lip, hand tightening unconsciously on Eskel’s shoulder. His other hand moved from his side to rest tentatively on the meat of Eskel’s pec. “It might be… smart. Practicing. Do you… um, now?”
Jaskier had never been less eloquent in his life, but Eskel didn’t need pretty words to understand what he meant.
Eskel’s hand traveled smoothly from Jaskier’s waist to grasp his chin. Jaskier wasn’t small by any means, standing at just under six feet tall, but Eskel made him feel downright dainty. Something about that fact made a primal part of his brain purr with pleasure.
They locked eyes, blue meeting hazel. Jaskier took a few moments to just… look. He didn’t see any hesitation or regret in Eskel’s gaze, just warmth. The tension in his shoulders loosened, his face tilting just that little bit more upward.
Eskel, intelligent man that he was, didn’t wait any longer.
The warm press of lips against Jaskier’s own sent a bolt of lightning down his spine. It was rather chaste, all things considered, but he’d never felt quite so many butterflies as he did now with anyone else, the warmth spreading from where they were connected all the way down to his toes.
Eskel’s arms curled firmly around Jaskier’s hips, but his kisses remained soft, almost tentative. Jaskier felt a hunger clawing its way up his throat and just barely smothered the desperate sound that tried to escape. He pressed himself closer, arms looping around Eskel’s neck as his lips parted, praying that the declaration sitting on his tongue remained inside.
By the gods, kissing Eskel was like the first sight of water in a desert. Like the first flowers sprouting through frost, like first love in the summer. Like the last love he hoped he’d ever have.
They’d been kissing for maybe a minute, probably less, but when they pulled apart, Jaskier was panting. He felt absolutely wrecked, heart threatening to claw its way out of his chest, every part of his being screaming about the minuscule distance between them.
Fuck, he was so fucking fucked.
“Um,” he licked his suddenly dry lips and blinked through the pleasant, dazed feeling that had taken over his brain. “Think we’ll pass the test?”
Eskel looked almost as starstruck as Jaskier was, breath coming in shallow little puffs and a faint flush at the tips of his ears, though he schooled his features quickly. Jaskier’s heart fluttered at having that effect on him, feeling the sticky ooze of pride in his gut, despite knowing it was just a physical reaction to a damned good kiss.
When Eskel spoke, his voice was rough. “I think we just might.”
—-
“Jask! Eskel!” Aiden’s voice carried warmly over to them as they arrived through the back gate.
The butterflies were fully present again and Jaskier wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans. Eskel’s hand was a comforting warmth on his lower back, guiding him through the gate where he waited, hesitating.
“Hey, you two! Glad you could make it!” Aiden came over and hugged both of them tightly, as if he hadn’t just seen them two weeks ago when they met with Geralt and Lambert for drinks.
Jaskier smiled despite himself. “Hey Aiden, everyone here already? We brought refreshments.” Eskel held up their offering at Jaskier’s queue.
Aiden grinned like the cat that got the cream. “Great! Afraid Lambert made his way through most of ours last night when Geralt came over. Poor fool’s hopeless at Gwent, gods help him.”
Eskel snorted. “Don’t worry, Aid. I like you, so I won’t tell him you said that.”
“And that’s what makes you my favorite brother-in-law!”
Eskel smiled, moving to press a casual kiss to Jaskier’s cheek before excusing himself. “Going to put these in the fridge real quick. Be right back.”
Jaskier froze, knowing his face was practically glowing at the easy display of affection, but tried to play it cool. Damn it, Eskel, you had to leave me to deal with this alone…
He supposed he should be grateful it was Aiden first. He sighed.
“So… You and Esk?”
He glanced over at Aiden, not sure what he was expecting to find, but huffed a small breath of relief at seeing only curiosity in his expression. “When did that happen?”
“A few weeks ago. Remember Yenn’s birthday?”
In truth, it wasn’t a hard story to sell. He and Eskel were frequently together (some might say attached at the hip), so it wasn’t surprising when they’d left together that night. Jaskier was a friendly drunk in general, even more so with his actual friends, and he knew he’d been all over Eskel. He privately remembered how hard it was to keep his mouth shut, with the cold air around them and the warmth of Eskel’s body as he’d practically carried him down the street. How close he’d been to blowing it when they’d stumbled home to Jaskier’s flat…
Aiden nodded, brows raised, and shook him out of his reverie. “So, was it you or him? Honestly Jask, I have to tell you, we’ve all talked about it over the years,” he chuckled.
Jaskier frowned, brows furrowing. Aiden didn’t seem to notice.
“We placed some bets, with interest, so I’d really love to know if I won the pot.”
“You all placed bets on when I’d finally confess? That’s hardly fair. Should’ve taken the secret to my grave just to spite you,” Jaskier grumbled.
He was more than a little indignant that they all seemed to know how absolutely gone he was over Eskel, particularly since he’d never mentioned it to any of them. Maybe it was just a testament to how well they knew him. The thought wasn’t comforting in the slightest.
Aiden smirked, saying nothing, before tugging Jaskier by the wrist towards the fire pit.
“Come on, it’s fucking cold.”
—-
For the fourth time in the last twenty minutes, he found his gaze traveling across the yard. Eskel was sipping at a beer and chatting with Geralt. No doubt it was about the kids Geralt kept catching stoned out of their minds in the park campgrounds every weekend. He knew it had been a thorn in his best friend’s side for weeks, reluctant as he was to do too much about it. Lambert, who had just joined the other two, suddenly roared with laughter at some bit of Geralt’s dry humor, Eskel and Geralt smirking along with him at the unheard joke. Jaskier found himself smiling fondly, watching them all together.
“Lucky in love at last, bard?”
Jaskier scoffed, caught staring, and turned to Yennefer. She was bouncing little three-year-old Ciri on her knee on the other side of the fire, looking every bit at home in Lambert’s backyard. The beer she was holding clashed with her tailored pantsuit but only added to the picture she made, and really, it was just unfair that she made that look work to her advantage. Even with the snot Ciri was surreptitiously wiping on her shoulder.
“What can I say, witch? The man’s got taste,” he retorted with a smirk, all confidence he didn’t quite feel.
The nicknames were stupid things they’d given each other back in college, back when they were rivals fighting over the attention of a certain white-haired man who wasn’t ready for any kind of relationship. They were almost pet names, now, many years and shared bottles of wine over Geralt’s stupidity later.
Triss smiled over at him from her place next to Yennefer, a knowing glint in her eye. She was chopping vegetables for kabobs, her skilled hands making quick work with the knife she was holding. Yennefer leaned over to her, rolling her eyes at Jaskier, and pressed a kiss to her shoulder. Triss let out a smitten giggle.
A lawyer and a doctor, both beautiful to boot. He'd be intimidated if he hadn’t known them for years.
He smiled despite himself, pleased to see his friends happy in love. It only hurt a little bit, this time, knowing he at least had Eskel’s temporary attention to comfort him.
“We’re happy for you, Jask, you know that, right?” Triss finally chimed in, pressing a kiss to his cheek as she passed him to take the finished kabobs to Lambert at the grill.
Jaskier felt his cheeks heating, longing and wistfulness twisting sickly in his gut, and nodded. He hoped his feelings didn’t show on his face.
The night carried on, drinks and laughter and stories about their weeks shared between them, before they finally settled at Lambert’s massive patio table to eat. It was still cold out, but the patio lamps were warm, and Jaskier couldn’t help but feel even warmer with the drink in his belly and good company around him.
Jaskier was sitting next to Eskel, Aiden on his right, and Geralt across from them both. It was a little awkward, feeling Geralt trying not to stare at them. He hadn’t said anything to his best friend about this, knows how that must look since they all believe he and Eskel are dating now, but really, there wasn’t anything to tell. He couldn’t exactly tell Geralt he was fake-dating his brother as a ploy to best his mortal enemy, now could he? Nevermind the fact that he’d never exactly told Geralt he was in love with the man. Seemed like that was for the best, as that would only make things worse than they were now.
There was a stilted silence in the air, everyone tucking into their meals except for Geralt, who continued to look at Jaskier and Eskel as if they were a great mystery he couldn’t quite parse. Finally, Geralt must decide he’s drunk enough to say something because he huffs.
“I just don’t get it. How are you two dating?”
Everyone pauses, looking between the four of them–Geralt, Jaskier, Eskel, and the elephant in the room.
Jaskier, surprisingly, found his hackles up. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
Geralt shrugs, looking only a little sorry. “It’s just, well… surprising, is all.”
And that just made it worse, Jaskier practically bristling like a cat whose tail has been stepped on. He starts spluttering, winding himself up into a rant about how Geralt doesn’t know fucking anything and how dare he say that in front of everyone, when Eskel’s hand lands on his thigh.
Jaskier pauses, then, looks over at Eskel. He is surprised by the warmth he sees in the other man’s eyes, compassion and tenderness and comfort all wrapped up in gold-flecked hazel. Eskel’s thumb is stroking over Jaskier’s knee, and he’s looking at him like that, and Jaskier suddenly can’t find it in him to be angry anymore.
“It’s okay, sweet thing,” Eskel murmurs. “I’ll do the explaining, yeah?”
He shifts his attention to everyone, walking them through their cover story–how they’d left their friends at the bar several weeks ago and fallen into each other’s arms. He keeps rubbing those damnable circles into the flesh on the inside of Jaskier’s knee, and Jaskier can’t quite stop himself from staring at Eskel’s mouth as he forms the words.
Particularly not when Eskel adds in a few things they hadn’t discussed.
“I know you’re all surprised, but this isn’t really new. Not for me. I’ve always loved Jaskier,” and he takes a moment to gaze straight into Jaskier’s eyes as he says that, before looking away like it’s nothing. Like he hasn’t just shattered Jaskier’s entire world.
He continues, clueless to the storm raging its way through Jaskier’s insides. “I just finally got my shit together enough to say something about it–and I was lucky that he felt the same way.”
Jaskier can’t look away from him, caught up in the way his eyes look at he says things like always loved and lucky about Jaskier, of all people. He feels a twinge of deja vu, thinking of the conversation with Yenn just over an hour ago.
Geralt’s hawk eyes keep darting back and forth between them–to the foolishly besotted look Jaskier is sure must be on his face right now, to the way he’s got his whole weight leaned against Eskel’s side like he’s the only thing keeping him upright. He’s not sure what Geralt makes of Eskel, but whatever he sees, it finally seems to satisfy him enough that he crosses his arms and nods.
“Happy for you both. I mean it,” he says gruffly, making sure to meet both of their eyes to show how serious he is. Jaskier feels a flutter of affection for his closest friend, any residual annoyance from his earlier comment fully faded away now.
Geralt pushes away from the table then, reaching to grab Ciri from her booster seat. He excuses himself, likely going to put Ciri down for her late afternoon nap. It’s just as likely he needs a second to rationalize the reality that his brother and best friend are together.
Jaskier turns back to the rest of the table at this point, still unsure what he’s going to see in the rest of their faces despite Geralt’s acceptance. He looks around at everyone, at Yennefer and Lambert and Vesemir, and feels something tight unfurl in his stomach as he sees the acceptance on all of their faces, something he hadn’t even known was there.
He lets himself smile, just for a second, and squeezes Eskel’s hand where it still rests on his knee under the table. He gets a fond squeeze back. This felt right. And although it wasn’t true, it felt good to know that everyone would be there to support them if it was.
—-
The rest of the evening is a quiet affair, and when the stars are well into the night sky, they finally say their goodbyes to everyone and make their way back to Eskel’s car. It’s only when he’s settled in the passenger seat with his seatbelt on that Jaskier goes limp with the weight of all of his feelings, pressing the heels of his hands firmly into his eyes.
“Jask? You okay?” It comes quietly, and although Eskel isn’t touching him, Jaskier breathes in his presence like the comfort that it always is.
He takes a moment and heaves a heavy breath out through his nose before he tries to speak. “Yeah. Just didn’t anticipate that being so… heavy. And I have to admit I didn’t think about how Geralt would react to the fact we hadn’t told him first when I proposed this idea.”
Jaskier rubs a nervous hand through his hair, sighing. He feels Eskel’s eyes on him, with that same quiet intensity he always has, before his hand is suddenly in Eskel’s.
“I’m sorry if I… overstepped, back there. Figured you’d really–want to sell it,” Eskel chuckles, weakly, and drums his fingers on the steering wheel.
Jaskier takes a moment to look at him more closely, taking in the tense set of his shoulders, the way he won’t quite meet his eyes.
“Hey,” he says, squeezing Eskel’s hand again, “What’s going through that big brain of yours?”
Eskel is still quiet, and it’s a little unsettling. Jaskier forces himself to be patient.
Eventually, he sighs, before turning to look at Jaskier. “We could still stop this, you know. Tell everyone it was all a big joke. I know I said it might be easier since we know each other, but I might have been wrong on that front.”
Jaskier’s heart is pounding, heart beating too hard at the direction this conversation might be turning. He doesn’t think Eskel is on to him, doesn’t think he’s noticed, but he will be if Jaskier asks what he wants to. Do you want to stop? Because I’ve never wanted anything less.
He swallows the question burning in his throat but is determined to do something about the furrow between Eskel’s brows, at the very least. No use in having the other man worried because of him.
“You did exactly what was asked of you, dear heart, no apology needed.”
Jaskier pauses, tap-dancing on the fine line between comforting honesty and revealing too much. “You know, when we decided to do this, I knew it would be a little messy,” he gave a rueful smile at that, hoping the little bit of truth in his words was enough for now. “But I can’t say there’s anyone I’d be happier doing this with than you.”
Eskel finally looks his way, a twitch at the corner of his mouth akin to a smile.
“Yeah?” And that confident light Jaskier loves so much is back in Eskel’s eyes as he says, “Not just because I’m a phenomenal kisser?”
The moment is broken, just like that. Jaskier shoves him playfully, laughing despite the resounding crack he feels in his heart. However this ends, they’ll be okay, even if he has to make peace with just being Eskel’s friend forever. Even if he knows now what Eskel looks like right after he’s been kissed, bright-eyed and breathless and beautiful. Even if his stupid heart guts him from the inside out by the time this is over.
Eskel turns the keys in the ignition and finally starts the drive to Jaskier’s flat. The streetlights outside flicker through the windows, turning Eskel’s olive skin a lovely golden brown. They’re quiet, except for the soft music playing on the radio, each digesting the developments of the last few days.
Jaskier can’t help himself, eyes drawn to Eskel’s face again. The other man looks mostly relaxed, still frowning slightly at whatever thoughts are going through his mind. Jaskier feels the ache acutely, then, wishing more than anything that he had the courage to fess up.
Instead, he reaches over and gently takes the hand resting on Eskel’s thigh in his own, smoothing a thumb over his knuckles. He hopes it’s a comfort, however small. He misses the eyes that flick over to him as he does so, the overwhelming fondness that takes over the other man’s expression as if he can’t help it any longer.
They sit like that, clasped hands resting on Jaskier’s knee and earnestly stealing glances at each other, for the rest of the drive.
Eventually, they pull up in front of Jaskier’s building, and Eskel parks the car. Jaskier is gathering his things and doesn’t notice when Eskel gets out of the car, hurrying over to open the door for him.
Another wave of blistering warmth rushes through him, the longing so intense he can barely stand it, but he simply beams up at his friend, getting out of the car with a quiet thank you.
“Well… this is me.”
Jaskier can’t resist glancing down at his shoes, feeling bashful, all of a sudden. He’s not sure why the feeling comes to him only now when the other man had declared his undying love in front of their friends and family earlier, but it’s there all the same.
His breath is stolen from him when Eskel steps forward and wraps his strong arms tightly around his frame, squeezing him in a hug so tight he lifts him off the ground. Jaskier is flustered, blushing at the fact that Eskel lifted him like he weighed absolutely nothing, but hugs him back just as tightly.
Eskel finally sets him back on the ground, arms still lightly wrapped around his sides. That inscrutable look is back in his eyes as he stares down at him, a soft smile on his face. Jaskier feels his insides go all squirmy.
“Goodnight, Jaskier.”
“I’ll text you, okay?” He smiles in response. Before he can stop himself, he leans up to press a soft kiss to Eskel’s scarred cheek. He gives him another quick hug before scurrying inside.
He stops to catch his breath only when he’s safely inside his apartment, leaning heavily against his locked door. Mattie comes up to him and rubs affectionately against his leg, but he can’t pay her any mind. Groaning, he slides to the floor, head in his hands.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Summary: Jaskier sets out on the open road after a bad break-up, looking for purpose and hoping to find himself again. He doesn't intend to fall for a stunning cafe owner in a sleepy mountain town.
Jaskier/Eskel | Rated: T | WC: 2k+ | CW: none, this is just fluff tbh
------
It was getting embarrassing, really.
There were only so many lattes and pastries he could order before it became very obvious he was dawdling.
Yes, today he had brought his notebook, so he didn’t look too conspicuous. He took a quick glance around the shop, noticing the many other patrons filling the tables. A woman was typing furiously on a laptop in the corner, a group of college students had their noses buried deep in their textbooks, and many others were settled around, chatting and sipping their drinks.
He took a deep breath, drumming his fingers on the table and humming an absent tune. He lifted the still-steaming cup of caffeinated deliciousness to his lips before casting a glance toward the front counter. The reason for his stalling stood there, all six-foot-three inches of decadent, mountainous man. As he watched, Eskel broke into a grin, eyes crinkling at the corners, as he conversed with the customer in front of him. Jaskier felt his heart give a particularly earnest thud and sighed.
Gods, get a grip, Jaskier, you desperate pillock.
It started a few weeks ago. Jaskier was a transplant to Ard Carraigh, having moved recently in search of a change of pace. After a bad break-up six months ago, he came to realize that somewhere along the way in the last few years, he’d lost his purpose. He sold the meager belongings in his apartment, taking only his instruments and a duffel bag full of necessities, and packed his car. He stopped long enough to say goodbye to his friends on his way out of town and that was it. The second he’d hit the road, he felt lighter than he had in years, despite not having a destination in mind.
Eventually, he wound up here, in Ard Carraigh. The town was smaller than Oxenfurt. It was a sleepy little village, nestled high in the mountains. The streets were lined with cobblestone and weathered-looking brick buildings that seemed like they’d been standing for centuries. There were chimneys billowing smoke into the overcast, gray sky and ambling sidewalks lined with ancient trees, although they were barren given the time of year. He felt like he’d wandered into some sort of storybook with how picturesque the whole thing was.
He’d stumbled into town and parked his car along what seemed to be the main thoroughfare, desperately in search of caffeine. It was nighttime then, and he’d been drawn to the warm light filtering out of the large windows of a cute little brownstone. The sign above it read The Wolves’ Den–a cafe of sorts, it seemed to be. Just what he needed.
He’d opened the door, the tinkling of a bell announcing his arrival, and walked up to the counter, a little delirious from driving all day.
“Please, please tell me you serve coffee here. I’d give you my firstborn child and my favorite guitar for some espresso right now.”
A deep, resonant chuckle met his almost-begging, causing Jaskier to look up and promptly freeze.
“We do, indeed, sell coffee. Among other beverages, but given this place turns into a bar after nine, I don’t think it’s the most appropriate for children.”
Melitele, help me, Jaskier thought. I am but a mortal man in the presence of a god.
The man standing before him was truly stunning. His skin was a golden, sun-kissed tan, eyes a beautiful hazel Jaskier could get lost in for hours. His chocolate brown locks were pulled back in a half-bun, a few strands falling loose to frame a chiseled jaw and the longest strands brushing sturdy shoulders. There were scars trailing his face on the right side from above his brow bone down past his jaw; Jaskier thought they only served to enhance his rugged beauty. As his eyes refocused, Jaskier noticed a slight smirk gracing the man’s full lips and an eyebrow raising in question. The expression suited him, pulling attractively at his scars and making him look like a dashing rogue. Jaskier wanted to climb the man like a tree.
A throat was politely cleared and Jaskier swallowed around his suddenly desert-dry tongue, snapping out of the haze he’d fallen into. He realized, belatedly, the man was still waiting for a response. And probably his order. Fuck.
“Well, it’s a good thing it’s just me then,” Jaskier chuckled, putting on his most charming grin and aiming for hapless-but-cute. It usually worked for him. “Large Americano with an extra shot, if you please…” He paused with intention, hoping the other man offered a name to match his gorgeous face.
The other man’s smirk softened into a friendly smile and he offered a hand over the counter.
“Eskel. I’m one of the owners of The Wolves’ Den, along with my brothers, Geralt and Lambert. You’ll likely meet them if you stick around long enough. Given I haven’t seen you around before, I’m guessing you’re new in town?”
Jaskier barely remembered to take the man’s–Eskel’s–hand, having a temporary internal crisis over beefy forearms and long, thick fingers.
“Ah, yes, you’d be correct. Jaskier, musician and temporary vagabond, at your service,” he said with a mock bow, earning another throaty chuckle for his troubles. “I’m hoping to be around for a while yet, the road is getting a bit tiresome of late. How much do I owe you, Eskel?”
Eskel was already shaking his head as he grabbed a clean mug from the rack beside the register.
“It’s on the house. Welcome to Ard Carraigh. Hope to see you again, Jaskier,” Eskel finished with a little wink and a crooked grin and Jaskier was absolutely done for, gods help him.
He murmured a hoarse thank you and bustled off to find a seat, settling in a worn, overstuffed armchair in the not-too-crowded dining area. When his name was called, there was a warm muffin with his coffee, and he literally felt himself swoon, needing to fuss with napkins and cream and sugar long enough to get his legs under him again before he made his way back to his seat. It would be very unfortunate if he literally became a lovesick puddle in this man’s place of business, they hadn’t even gone on a date yet.
He managed to leave with little fanfare, waving to Eskel with a warm smile on his lips on his way out that night. It seemed only natural to stop by again the next day for his morning fix, looking for tips to guide his search for more permanent lodging. Eskel had greeted him with a smile then, too, seeming genuinely pleased to see him again and only too happy to help. Jaskier was an absolute goner.
It had become a daily routine after that, although he didn’t always come in at the same time. Somehow, Eskel was always there, though, the sight of him causing a warm flutter in Jaskier’s belly every time. Jaskier didn’t bother fooling himself into thinking he had reasons for coming every day that went beyond not-so-polite ogling and a few minutes of chatting with the handsome, charming man. Eskel’s warm personality was like the sun on a cold winter day and Jaskier reveled in it. He wanted more.
Which brought him to today. He’d brought his notebook as both an attempt to get some work done for his new album and as a cover for his hopefully-not-obvious pining. Off to a piss-poor start, you are, Jaskier.
With that fresh failure in mind, he made a concentrated effort to pull his attention away from the counter and Eskel’s crooked grin, his thoughts finally catching up to him. It was snowing outside currently, the chill coming in every time the door opened. It was always snowing in Ard Carraigh, it seemed. Jaskier wondered if he’d ever get used to the cold. He was glad he’d picked a table near the blessedly roaring fireplace and gratefully wrapped both hands more securely around his mug.
His newfound freedom was going well, all things considered. He found a place to stay easily enough, a walk-up studio above the florist’s shop advertised on flyers posted along the main street. It was only a few blocks away, and he’d started to take great pleasure in his morning walk to the little cafe-bar known as The Wolves’ Den. Over the last few weeks, he’d developed a routine, coming to the shop at least once a day for a few hours, usually spending the rest of his time wandering the streets for inspiration or holed up writing at home when it got too cold. The beautiful winter scenery in the mountains truly took his breath away some days, and he found himself writing more than he had in months. He missed his friends, but he was truly happy he left.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Jaskier looked up, startled out of the trance he’d fallen into, and saw warm hazel eyes gazing down at him. He smiled, immediately relaxing in Eskel’s comforting presence.
“Oh, nothing much worth a penny. Just the musings of a humble bard–very cliche, I must say,” he aimed a rueful grin up at his friend. “How are you today, Eskel?”
The other man smiled, gesturing with his head at the seat opposite Jaskier, hands occupied with a steaming mug and a plate of scones.
“Well, thank you. Taking a short break since the rush is over. Mind if I sit?”
Jaskier positively beamed, absolutely chuffed despite himself. “Please do. I enjoy your company.”
They’d chatted several times in the last few weeks, so this wasn’t too out of the ordinary. Usually, for a few minutes during Jaskier’s daily visits, Eskel would pepper him with questions–he’d ask how Jaskier’d been settling in, if he needed recommendations for things to see around town, if he needed any help with anything. He was truly sweet, with a heart as big as his bloated biceps. It was damned intolerable.
Eskel settled in across from him, taking a deep drink and sitting back into his chair with a content sigh. He pushed the plate of scones between them, a clear offer for Jaskier to take the second one. He glanced out the window where Jaskier’s gaze had been drawn a few moments before, offering a smirk to the musician.
“Got some bad news for you, I’m afraid. The winters here only get worse. When the cold really sets in, you won’t be able to see more than a few feet in front of you, with the snow and all. Absolutely dreadful, no way around it. Still have time to leave before the roads ice up.”
Jaskier shakes his head at that, huffing mock-indignantly. “Wouldn’t dream of it! Other than freezing my balls off every day and night, I honestly feel better than I have in ages.” He’s struck again for a moment by how true that statement is.
“Oh?” Eskel raises a brow, “You never did mention what brought you here. Our town isn’t exactly a homing beacon for tourists.”
“Oh, you know, the usual. Shitty break-up, quarter-life crisis… seems like I lost something of myself, somewhere in the last few years. It seemed like a good time to try somewhere new,” Jaskier traces a finger around the rim of his mug, humming thoughtfully.
Eskel is watching him with interest, taking a bite out of a cinnamon streusel scone. “Hm. Can’t say I didn’t go through the same thing myself, so I get it,” he returns Jaskier’s rueful grin with one of his own before taking a sip of his coffee.
“That’s a story I’d love to hear some time… It’s funny, though, Eskel. I stopped in countless towns on my way out of Oxenfurt, and I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something about here felt right. I’ve been writing more than I have in months; I didn’t realize I was quite so stuck before. Something about this town, the scenery… the people. I’m realizing now I never got a chance to thank you.”
The other man’s brow furrows, his head tilting slightly like an adorably oversized puppy. Jaskier resists the urge to pet his soft-looking hair, but only barely.
“For what?”
“For welcoming me. For being so kind. If I hadn’t spent time around you these last few weeks, I’d be flattered that a handsome man such as yourself was paying me such attention, but I realize you’re like this with everyone,” he gave a wistful chuckle. “Either way, thank you. You’re a good man and a good friend, Eskel.”
Jaskier is too caught up in his little speech to notice the very slight pink the other man has turned at the word handsome and the compliments that followed, the way his tongue unconsciously flicks over his lower lip before he bites at it nervously.
“No thanks needed, really. It’s been nice to see a new face, to get to know you…” Eskel hesitates, rubbing at the back of his neck in a self-conscious gesture Jaskier has come to recognize. “Actually–”
Before Eskel can finish his sentence, though, the redheaded brother Jaskier vaguely knows as Lambert comes storming out of the back. The other man typically works behind the scenes, creating some of the delicious confections filling the shop’s bakery case. Eskel’s mentioned in passing his personality isn’t exactly helpful for keeping a loyal customer base, and, you know, fair.
“Oi, Esk! These pastries aren’t going to ice themselves! Stop gawking at Pretty Boy and get back to work.”
Eskel, the dear man, flushes a delightful shade of strawberry and begins to stand. He clears his throat. “Well, duty calls. I’ll, uh, see you later, Jaskier.”
Eskel goes to turn away, empty mug in hand, and before he can help himself Jaskier finds himself catching the other man’s sleeve. “Wait!”
Eskel turns back to face him, and Jaskier turns a matching shade of cherry, quickly releasing him and moving his hand to instead tap a restless rhythm against his thigh. “Were you… going to ask me something?”
“Oh. Uh…” And the hesitance is back with a vengeance, Eskel rubbing now at his scars as they stand together. His bashfulness is very becoming, Jaskier thinks, Eskel’s usual calm confidence nowhere to be seen. Eskel’s maroon sweater is pulled taut across his broad chest, he is looking a bit timidly at Jaskier with those hazel eyes flecked with gold and green, and the flutter in Jaskier’s stomach starts to ache.
Oh, fuck it. Carpe diem, and all that.
“You know…” Jaskier starts, a little more shy than he’d like, but hopefully with at least a smidgen of his usual flirtatiousness, “I’m not sure if you’d be free–honestly, you’re always here, come to think of it, you really should take a day off–but I would love getting a more personal tour of Ard Carraigh. I’m sure there’s plenty I’ve been missing… could really use an insider perspective, I think. Would you be… available?”
The tables are turned, Jaskier anxiously rubbing his fingers together as Eskel sort of gawks at him, looking startled. Jaskier almost perishes from the sheer embarrassment of it all and just about tells him to forget the whole thing, before Eskel snaps out of it and takes a teeny-tiny step toward him. Jaskier feels the step or two between them like a gaping chasm but forces himself to be patient. Eskel takes a fortifying breath and squares his shoulders, seeming to steel himself.
“Only if I can take you out properly, maybe take you to dinner afterward. I’d, um, really like to get to know you better.”
And praise be to the gods, maybe there really was something to seizing the moment. Jaskier finds himself smiling radiantly up at the other man, pleased as punch. “It’s a date, then.”
Sweet, kind, lovable Eskel sighs in what appears to be relief of all things and Jaskier can’t understand how anyone would not jump at the chance to know him. Jaskier sees the confident light come back into Eskel’s eyes, and, oh, he doesn’t quite know what to do now that he knows the other man is actually interested in him. Eskel, thankfully, doesn’t need telling twice, and closes the remaining distance between them easily. He bends his head to press a chaste kiss to Jaskier’s cheekbone, the featherlight press of lips there and gone before he can blink.
“Looking forward to it, sweetheart. Meet me here tomorrow around noon? Dress warmly.” And Jaskier, for all of his bravado and posturing, can only nod faintly in stunned shock, lifting a hand to press against his cheek. If only his friends could see him now, silent for the first time since he emerged from the womb. It would make headlines, surely.
Eskel, the absolute devil, winks at him like the night they met–a broad, beautiful, crooked grin spreading across his face as he gives a little wave and saunters towards the kitchen after Lambert. Presumably to ice those godsdamned pastries. Jaskier stares after him, eyes lingering wistfully on a plump behind and strong, tree-trunk-thick thighs.
Huh. Maybe I really do have a chance of climbing him.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Summary: Jaskier is convinced his feelings for Eskel are unrequited-that they're just good friends and roommates. It takes a week of courting for this to change.
Jaskier/Eskel | Rated: T | WC: 4k | CW: implied sex
For my new friend @firefly-party--thanks for being so sweet!!
------
It had been a very confusing week, to say the least.
It wasn’t that Eskel seemed… upset with him, per se. The other man was acting his normal self, mostly. They still went for Sunday brunch with Yen, Geralt, Lambert, Aiden, and Triss, like they did every week. When he got home late from one of his weekly gigs, there were still leftovers waiting for him in the fridge, just like always. He and his roommate-slash-friend still hung out whenever they could, staying up late sitting on the couch next to each other, chatting long into the night with matching mugs of tea. It was nice, peaceful, just like it’d always been.
So things were the same, really. Well. Except for a few new developments in their relationship lately.
It had started after brunch on Sunday. He and Eskel were walking the few blocks home to their shared apartment, talking and laughing, when the other man had stopped him with a gentle hand on his wrist.
“Eskel? What is it?”
The other man had looked at him, intense hazel eyes focused on Jaskier’s face. His full lips were set into a soft smile, rugged scars pulling slightly at his upper lip, and his slightly-too-long chocolate locks ruffling in the gentle breeze. He looked dashing in his red flannel today, Jaskier thought, the two buttons undone at the top showing off a light dusting of chest hair across well-defined pecs. He was stunning, as always.
Eskel slowly raised one scarred hand towards Jaskier’s face, pausing before gently brushing his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. Unwittingly, Jaskier felt his heart start to pound, a delicate flush coming to his cheeks. What…?
“Esk…?”
Eskel’s soft smile turned into a small grin and he dropped his hand unceremoniously. “Sorry. Had something in your hair.”
Without further ado, he turned forward to keep walking, leaving Jaskier flabbergasted in his wake. Jaskier stared after him, eyebrows furrowing, trying to puzzle together the reason behind the casual affection.
“You coming, songbird?” Eskel looked back at him over his shoulder, waiting once he realized Jaskier wasn’t following.
With a start, Jaskier rushed after him, and let the moment pass as a fluke as soon as Eskel picked up the previous train of their conversation. He didn’t give it much further thought, although if had more spring in his step the rest of the day, that was his business alone.
—-
On Monday, Jaskier woke up after a particularly bad night of sleep. His battle with insomnia was never ending, made even worse by a midnight visit from his muse. He wrote and wrote, the words pouring out of him, and before he realized, it was 3am. He finally stumbled into bed, tossing and turning for a couple more hours, before falling into a fitful sleep. A too-short while later, he woke to the grating sound of his alarm at 9am, needing to get going to his day job.
Groggy and groaning, he had staggered out of his bedroom, having barely gotten dressed properly. He didn’t have the energy to make anything to eat despite his stomach rumbling. Sighing and checking the time, he prepared to skip breakfast and coffee that day, before he spotted something on the kitchen counter.
A neatly packed lunch sack and thermos sat there, which he knew couldn’t belong to Eskel as he’d needed to leave early this morning for a project on the other side of the city. Which meant…
Stepping closer, Jaskier picked up the note sitting atop the lunch sack, his jaw falling slack as he read.
“Heard you awake late last night and figured you might be tired this morning. Hope this helps. Have a good day. -E.”
To say the least, his morning was considerably brighter after that. He practically skipped all the way to the train.
—-
On Tuesday, they were both home, perusing the fridge as they brainstormed what to make for dinner. Eskel popped out of the fridge with a triumphant aha!, having found enough ingredients to make a serviceable pasta.
Jaskier was washing his hands in the sink when Eskel sidled over to him, coming close enough for their shoulders to brush.
“Can you chop these, Jask?” Eskel’s deep voice felt close, very close, in Jaskier’s ear, although to an outward observer he was still a polite enough distance away. Jaskier felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention, every pore of his being focusing on the man behind him.
“Uh- sure, yes, of course.” Eskel smiled, giving his tricep a fond squeeze, before he moved away to find the noodles in the cupboard. Jaskier walked almost in a daze toward the cabinet where they kept the cutting boards, stopping to grab a knife from the block before he began chopping.
Their galley-style kitchen was tight, so they kept brushing up against each other as they worked quietly on their meal together. The radio played faintly in the background, and Jaskier smiled as he heard Eskel humming along. His voice was slightly off-key and the kitchen was cozy and Jaskier felt a strong sense of home. It was… nice.
Eskel had just set the water boiling on the stove for the pasta when he came back over to Jaskier.
“Can I take those?” And again, he was close, so close, his hand resting lightly on the small of Jaskier’s back. Jaskier’s skin felt like it was on fire where Eskel touched him, a shiver running lightly up his spine, despite the fabric between their skin.
Wordlessly, Jaskier nodded and handed the cut vegetables over, and moved to pour them each a glass of wine. They prepared the rest of the meal in companionable silence.
Sipping at his glass of red and leaning against the counter, Jaskier watched Eskel as he finished cooking their meal. Jaskier wasn’t sure what to make of it all, really. He and Eskel had always been–-affectionate, yes, exchanging casual touches without much thought, but these–these felt different, somehow. The energy around them in the last few days felt charged, the tension between them rising as the days passed. And it wasn’t unpleasant, he wasn’t uncomfortable (on the contrary, really), but he just… didn’t understand what was going on.
He and Eskel had known each other for a few years now–it was inevitable, really, what with Jaskier being Geralt’s best friend and Eskel being Geralt’s brother. They’d just been friends at first, seeing each other occasionally when their mutual friend group met up, up until a year ago when Eskel’s former roommate moved out. He’d found himself needing a new one right when Jaskier had been going through a break-up with his ex, and the timing had really just worked out perfectly. The last year of Jaskier’s home life had been easier than ever, Eskel being easy to live with and good company to boot. They got to know each other more and more, finding themselves drawn together at first due to proximity and then instead choosing to spend their free evenings together by choice.
But the other man had never expressed interest in more. Jaskier had hinted, in the beginning, at his attraction. He wasn’t blind, for fuck’s sake. The other man was gorgeous, kind and smart and talented and caring and selfless and just so, so good–these facts only became more apparent the longer they’d known each other. There was no way anyone wouldn’t be attracted to dear, sweet Eskel. However, Eskel had either been oblivious to Jaskier’s subtle flirtatiousness or totally uninterested, and having found the perfect roommate-best friend scenario, Jaskier had been loathe to fuck it up by pressing the issue of his feelings. So he put a cork in it, and that was that.
But now…
“Songbird? Are you alright?” Eskel was looking at him with mild concern in his eyes, had placed a hand on his shoulder.
Jaskier startled, realizing he’d fallen too deeply into his thoughts. He shook himself out of it, deciding to let sleeping wolves lie. If it became apparent that Eskel was interested in more, if this all meant something more, Jaskier would be only too happy to oblige. But he wouldn’t push, would never push, having learned that lesson too well in the past.
“Yeah, Esk. I’m fine. Let’s go eat, yeah? I want to watch another episode of that shitty sitcom,” Jaskier grinned, picking up his plate and heading toward their ratty old couch.
—-
On Wednesday, Jaskier had been in the middle of a too-long shift at the music store with customers who didn’t know a guitar from a bass, and he was tired. The day was dragging on and on, and he still had four hours left before he could hop on the first train home. All he could think about was getting out of his itchy work uniform and rolling himself into a blanket burrito so tight the world couldn’t find its way in. He was caught up in those rather pleasant thoughts when his phone chimed with a ping in his pocket.
Glancing around to make sure the lobby was free of customers, Jaskier slipped his phone out and unlocked it. His heart fluttered when he saw it was a message from Eskel.
“Hey. You coming home after work?”
Jaskier quickly text back, “hi! yeah, i’m honestly beat. can’t wait to crawl into bed... 😩”
A few minutes went by without a response from Eskel, and soon enough, a teenaged girl and her snotty-looking mother came in, distracting him from his phone.
A few hours later, Jaskier trudged up the steps to their apartment, ready to shut his brain down. Upon making his way inside, he looked around, expecting Eskel’s presence in the kitchen or the living room like normal. He was nowhere to be seen.
“Eskel? You here?” Jaskier called out as he hopped around on one foot, trying to take off his boots.
He heard a small crash from the direction of the bathroom, and a minute later, Eskel emerged, looking slightly flustered.
“Hi,” he said, sounding almost breathless. “Um, how was work?”
Jaskier blinked, distracted by the pretty pink settled high on Eskel’s cheeks, but took the bait easily enough and charged headfirst into a rant about functional music theory and the annoyances of dealing with middle schoolers parents.
Eskel had been nodding along distractedly, but eventually cleared his throat, rubbing at the scars on his face in a nervous gesture.
“Jask, I, uh… I drew you a bath.”
Jaskier blinked owlishly again, feeling equal measures confused and intrigued by the shy, bashful Eskel he was presented with today. “You what?”
“I figured you’d want to relax after work. I know you like taking baths,” Eskel grinned sheepishly, “I used some of those fancy salts you like. Come on.”
Eskel came closer, taking Jaskier’s satchel from him and placing it on the table by the door. He ushered him towards the bathroom with a gentle hand on his shoulder, Jaskier easily letting himself be led. When they got there, Jaskier gasped.
The tub was filled and Jaskier could smell the delicate scents of chamomile and mint mingling in the air (his favorite). There was a glass of wine perched on the side of the tub along with the book he’d been reading recently. Eskel had also lit a few candles around the room, the dim lighting creating a welcoming, homey atmosphere. Jaskier instantly felt relaxed and immensely touched.
The thought that Eskel’d gone out of his way to do this for Jaskier brought a warm, giddy feeling to his chest. He couldn’t help himself as he wrapped his arms around the other man’s shoulders in a hug and kissed his cheek.
“Eskel, you darling man, this is so sweet. I… I’m almost at a loss for words. Thank you, dear heart.”
Eskel, for his part, blushed a beautiful cherry right up to his ears. But he was smiling while he did, smiling Jaskier’s smile, the one that made his eyes crinkle at the edges and his eyes smolder a warm shade of honey.
The room was too small, the air getting too hot, with Eskel looking at him like that. Jaskier needed space from this moment before he did something stupid and ruined what was between them.
“I should–I should get in there, before the water gets cold. Don’t want to waste all of your hard work,” Jaskier said with a rueful smile.
The moment broken successfully, Eskel took a step back toward the door, returning Jaskier’s rueful smile with one of his own.
“Enjoy yourself, and please relax. I’ll order some Thai from the place down the street for dinner. No rush.”
And with that, he was gone, leaving Jaskier to his thoughts and his anguished yearning.
—-
On Thursday, they both wound up having an unexpected day off. Jaskier had been booked to fill a last minute cancellation at an exclusive gig in town on Friday and he desperately needed something to wear. He begged Eskel to come shopping with him, and with nary a sigh, they both set out to browse the thrift stores in the arts district, picking up coffee on the way.
They looked around for a while, ambling from shop to shop, before Jaskier came upon a true object of beauty. It was perfect. A waist-length, cherry-red leather jacket in just his size, both sexy and understated. It was the perfect thing for his gig. He put it on, looking at himself in the mirror, and felt alluring and provocative and powerful. He did a spin, looking at himself from different angles, before turning to Eskel, wanting a second opinion.
“What do you think? How does it look?” He wasn’t fishing for compliments, but he wouldn’t turn them down, either.
Eskel was watching him from under his eyelashes, gazing at him with a look Jaskier couldn’t decipher. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think it was a mixture of hunger and longing and wistfulness. But that couldn’t be true, he must be projecting his own feelings onto the other man.
Eskel took slow, measured steps towards him and smoothed his big, strong, delicious hands down Jaskier’s shoulders. He fiddled with the jacket’s collar, straightening it, before finally looking back into Jaskier’s eyes.
“You look perfect, songbird,” he smiled, making no effort to remove his hands. “You should buy it.”
Jaskier positively beamed, bolstered by both the physical touch and the words, before glancing at the tag. He balked, seeing the price, thoughts flashing across his mind of the phone bill due soon and the groceries they’d just bought. He did some quick mental calculations and determined he couldn’t afford it, at least not right now.
He aimed a tight smile back up at Eskel, aiming for disinterested instead of disappointed. “Actually, I’ve just remembered. I think I have something just like this at home. No need to spend the coin.”
Eskel watched him worriedly as he hung the jacket up and put it back on the rack. With one last mournful glance, he strode out of the shop, Eskel in tow.
They walked around for a while longer, stopping to have a quick lunch, before Eskel suddenly checked his phone.
“Jask, I’ve just remembered I have an errand I need to run. The place closes in an hour so I need to get over there before then.”
Jaskier was already nodding, ready to go with him, but Eskel shook his head.
“No need, I’ll be home by dinner. You should head back early, you still have some prep to do for tomorrow, right?”
Eskel was right, of course. Jaskier still had to tweak his setlist and he wanted to run through everything a few more times before dinner. Still, he hesitated. “Okay, if you’re sure. Hurry along though, I want your opinion on my set before I finalize it! You’re my biggest supporter, after all, “ he winked.
Eskel smiled, nodding, “Of course. I’ll see you at dinner,” and he hurried off.
Two hours later, Jaskier was fiddling with his guitar in the living room when Eskel came through the door of their apartment. Jaskier looked up with a smile, before his attention was drawn to the package in Eskel’s hands. He immediately put his guitar aside.
“Oooh, get anything good? Where’d you go, anyway? You never said,” Jaskier strode towards him, making grabby hands at the package so he could see what was inside.
Eskel easily kept it away from him, guiding him with a gentle hand back towards the couch. When they were both sat down, Eskel placed the package in his lap.
“Open it and find out,” Eskel said encouragingly.
Jaskier looked at him with a brow raised, not sure what to expect, before gingerly opening the package. He was truly awestruck by what was inside.
The beautiful cherry red jacket from earlier today lay there, neatly folded. Jaskier brushed his fingers over it reverently, struck completely silent.
“...But–But why–” He suddenly looked over to Eskel, remembering why he hadn’t bought the jacket in the first place. “Eskel, this is too much! You have to return this tomorrow! You are the sweetest, kindest, most wonderful man–I absolutely don’t know how you haven’t been snatched up yet, honestly–but I cannot accept this.”
There was a moment where he couldn’t look Eskel in the eye, couldn’t risk the feelings he’d kept so tightly locked up coming through on his face, plain for Eskel to see. And then the moment passed, and there was a large, warm hand on his thigh.
“Jaskier,” that deep, rumbling voice touched all the gooey parts inside of him as Eskel’s other hand made its way to Jaskier’s jaw. “You daft man. Don’t you know?”
Jaskier’s heart was beating so loudly he could hear it in his ears, and he was sure Eskel could hear it too, could feel it where his fingers brushed his throat. His eyes met Eskel’s, darting back and forth as he searched for the answers he was aching to find there. “Know what?”
Eskel hesitated for a fraction of a moment, before he surged forward, pressing his lips to Jaskier’s in a light, but heartbreaking kiss. His lips were soft and eager, their featherlight caress present for only a second before Eskel pulled back, pressing his forehead to Jaskier’s. For the second time this evening, Jaskier was struck silent and dumb, mouth gaping as he stared into those beautiful caramel eyes so close to his own.
“That every day, I wake up to thoughts of you. That every night, I fall asleep itching to have you in my arms. That every moment we spend together, I fall more in love with you.”
The tears welling up in Jaskier’s eyes were involuntary but inevitable, his shaky hands reaching to cover the ones cradling his face.
“Is that why… this week? Things have been-- different?”
Eskel takes a shaky breath, stroking his thumbs over Jaskier’s cheekbones. “Honestly? I kind of wanted to… court you.” Eskel’s face heated, though he refused to break contact with Jaskier’s eyes. “It’s silly, I know. But I wanted you to know how much I care for you. Did it work?”
Jaskier couldn’t help the watery laughter bubbling up in his throat so suddenly that he was helpless but to let it spill out. He broke into a smile bright like the sunrise, rubbing his nose gently against Eskel’s.
“Eskel, you absolutely ridiculous man. Wasn’t it obvious? I’ve felt–I feel the same way,” he felt the tightness in his throat release as he finally said the words that had been held there for so long, “I love you, so much.”
Despite their closeness, Eskel again turned slightly shy. He went to duck his head before Jaskier caught his face in his own hands, so full of joy he could absolutely burst.
Jaskier couldn’t help the small kisses he began pressing to Eskel’s cheeks, his chin, his nose, his brow. Eskel, for his part, finally released a husky laugh, pulling Jaskier into his lap. The jacket fell to the floor, forgotten for all of its significance.
Eskel grinned up at him, his face the picture of happiness. “All this time?”
Jaskier’s smile turned soft, eyes crinkling around the edges, just like the smile Eskel reserved for him and only him. “All this time.”
And this time, Jaskier brought his face down to meet Eskel’s, their lips meeting urgently. It was a searching kiss, seeking affirmation and reassurance; it was a wanting kiss, tongues meeting desperately after years of pent-up emotion and restraint. Hands tangled in hair and rumpled clothing and soon sweetness turned bright and blazing hot, delight and delectation turning to desire.
“You know,” Jaskier laughed breathlessly into Eskel’s mouth, pausing to nip at his jawline, “This is great–we can finally turn my room into a home office.”
Eskel chuckled, standing with hands firmly under Jaskier’s thighs and Jaskier’s legs wrapped securely around his waist. Eskel started trailing blistering kissing down the long column of Jaskier’s neck, and, oh, that was lovely. Jaskier easily lost his train of thought after that.
—-
On Friday, Jaskier was floating on a cloud.
Their friends had all showed up to his gig, sitting front and center in a show of support. The house was packed and Jaskier was proud to say he recognized many of the audience members from other shows he’d played around town. He was wearing his new jacket–right over a shirt charmingly large on his frame, which may or may not have belonged to his new boyfriend. Right before he was set to start, he took a deep inhale of its scent, feeling comforted by the smell of sandalwood and woodsmoke and Eskel. He felt like he could conquer the world.
They called him on stage shortly after. He sang his heart out, having changed his set to include a suspiciously large amount of ballads, and aimed them without regret at a certain bear of a man in the audience. He delighted in the red-stained cheeks his songs earned him, hoping for a more intimate performance later that evening.
Their friends hooted and hollered when he finished, but none quite so loud as Eskel, his Eskel, and wasn’t it funny that he could say that now?
—-
On Saturday, Jaskier woke in a tangle of limbs in Eskel’s large, comfortable bed. He lay motionless for a second, listening closely to Eskel’s still deep breathing, the rise and fall of his chest against Jaskier’s back steady and even. Sunlight was just barely peeking through the blinds, and although he knew it was early yet, he wanted to take advantage of this precious new opportunity. He turned carefully in Eskel’s arms to look at his sweet, sleeping face.
Eskel was the most beautiful like this, Jaskier thought. In the moments before the world was upon them–the responsibilities of daily life along with the feelings and expectations of other people–Eskel just… was. His posture held none of the usual tension, the lines around his eyes and mouth lax in the peace his dreams brought. His hair was an absolute mess, and Jaskier reached with a gentle finger to brush it out of his eyes. He stroked that same finger gingerly down the lines of Eskel’s brow, his proud nose, his tempting mouth, his sharp jaw. When he finally brought his eyes back up, he noticed tired, hazel orbs watching him in turn.
“‘S early. G’back t’ bed.” Eskel tugged him closer, pressing their foreheads together as his eyes closed again.
Jaskier pressed a kiss to Eskel’s lips, tasting his smile, and basked in the moment–hopefully the first of many, many more to come.
👀 I'm here for leaving a prompt!
I'll obviously ask for Jaskel! 😬 And uhm... fake dating and mutual pining bc... ofc, they're idiots in love??
🥺
ask and you shall receive! up on ao3, too 🙂
part two coming in the next few days!
----
Title: like cardiac arrest (high voltage when we kiss)
----
Summary: Jaskier needs a date, fast. Problem is, dating is harder than it used to be. Luckily, Eskel's willing to help him out.
Or: Two idiots in love think it's a great idea to pretend to date each other. No one is fooled.
Jaskier/Eskel | Rated: M | WC: 2k+ | CW: coarse language, sexual thoughts
----
The idea was absolutely ridiculous. Jaskier had truly outdone himself this time, really.
It had all started with Valdo fucking Marx, because of course it had. The idiot, for all that Jaskier found him lacking, could throw a decent party, and his Yule parties were all the rage. They’d been at a bar together with Essi, Shani, and Priss one evening. During a lull when the ladies had excused themselves to get refills, Valdo had turned to him with a sly smirk on his smarmy face.
“Julian, dear, you are coming to my party this year, right?”
Jaskier had narrowed his eyes at his given name, mistrusting of the other man’s tone for all that the words seemed like an invitation.
“Of course, Valdo, wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he smiled, full of teeth, “Though I expect the caterer this year will actually have taste buds–honestly, Valdo, I don’t know what you were thinking last year. Cocktail wieners? The scandal.”
Valdo stood there fuming silently for a moment before that damned smirk covered his thin lips again.
“Nothing but the best for you, Julian. Though I expect you’ll be bringing a date this year? Your showing last year was so pitiful, really, and I’d hate for you to shame yourself publicly like that again.”
He was referring, of course, to Jaskier’s horrible (but inevitable) break-up with Tess de Stael, his on-again off-again for the last few years. They’d had a record-breaking blow-out the weekend before Valdo’s party, and he’d showed up, alone and bleary-eyed, and gotten drunk out of his damn mind. Tess had showed up fashionably late, a young, handsome reprobate in tow, and had proceeded to suck his face the entire night. Jaskier, in response, had taken an entire bottle of vodka from the bar and holed himself up in a corner, licking his wounds.
He had nothing to say for it now, of course, least of all to Valdo. Dating was… hard. He’d sort of missed the online dating wave while he was with Tess, and since then, every time he opened one of those sites–he became overwhelmed with the repetition and disconnectedness of it all. It was so… detached. He absolutely hated it, hated swiping left and right, being judge, jury, and executioner for the short bio that summarized all that a person was. So he’d stopped that rather quickly, figuring he’d try his luck the old-fashioned way.
It had worked, sort of. He’d met a few lovely people, spent a few lovely nights wrapped up in them (and over them and under them). It never went anywhere, though. He definitely hadn’t met anyone he liked enough to parade in front of his friends–he loved them, truly he did, but they could be a mindless pack of hyenas when they spotted prey. He didn’t want to subject a passing fancy to that.
“Oh? Nothing to say to that, hmm? Don’t worry–I’ll make sure the reservation is for Julian Pankratz, party of one.” Valdo laughed and laughed at his own, shitty joke, and Jaskier was filled with an icy resolve to prove him wrong.
Jaskier straightened his spine and squared his shoulders. He smiled, sweet and demure and menacing, batting his eyelashes at Valdo. “No need, my dear, I have just the person in mind. I know your memory’s fading in your advanced age, so text your planner now and let them know I’ll be needing a plus one.”
Valdo scoffed, but couldn’t hide the intrigued glimmer in his eyes. “Alright then. Just make sure your mystery date actually shows up, and not with another date this time, hmm?”
Jaskier gave him the bird before heading off to the bathroom to panic.
Shit. Now he needed to figure out who the fuck he was bringing.
—-
It was going horribly. A disaster, really.
Jaskier had been to bar after bar, cafe after cafe, movie after restaurant after yoga class and more, all in search of the love of his life. He’d started browsing discount sites, picking up new hobbies in the hopes that he’d meet new people and seem fun and interesting in the process. He’d even gotten desperate enough to reopen his old dating profiles, searching for someone at least passable. For all that Jaskier was flirtatious and outgoing and gregarious, it was extremely hard to find someone he could connect with enough for it all to seem genuine.
It was fucking hard. He was running out of jokes, and get-to-know-you questions, and cute outfits. And patience. If he had to ask one more bland person what their hobbies were or what they would bring to a deserted island he was going to blow his fucking top.
He was running out of time. He only had a month until the party, the bitter November wind a reminder as it blew through the shoved-open door of his favorite local haunt. He was going to look so fucking pathetic if he failed.
He said as much to Eskel through his fingers, head in his hands.
Eskel, his longtime friend from college, had met him for drinks and was currently witness to him being an absolute mess. The other man, in his master’s program at the University of Oxenfurt, didn’t find time to make it out very much. When he did, it was usually with Jaskier or his brothers. Jaskier always tried not to let that get to his head, too prone to being love-drunk and floating on clouds in the other man’s presence as it was.
Eskel–smart, sweet, handsome Eskel–who had always been out of his reach. Eskel, his best friend’s older (“By only a month,” Geralt always eye-rollingly reminded him) brother, who he’d met in freshman year when Geralt had taken his pitiful roommate with a shitty home life back home with him for Thanksgiving. Eskel, who couldn’t seem to help himself from laughing at Jaskier’s jokes even when they weren’t that funny, who came out to Jaskier’s first big gig even when he had his thesis defense the next day, who always, always made time for him. Eskel, the honest-to-gods love of his life–who could never, ever know.
The man in his thoughts heaved a deep sigh, resting a comforting hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. “I don’t know why it even matters, Jask. You hate Valdo Marx. Since when does his opinion mean anything to you?”
Jaskier groaned, not wanting to explain the real reason, the dreary path his thoughts had taken. He dropped his head onto the bar in a true fit of pique, uncaring of the slightly-sticky surface leaving questionable residue on his cheek.
“It’s not that I care about Valdo-fucking-Marx, it’s–it’s the principle of the matter! Tess—” His voice came out more choked than he intended, and he cleared his throat, blinking hard. “Tess was–hard. To move past. I just keep thinking, what if…”
He trailed off, running a frazzled hand through his hair. “What if I can’t find anyone else? What if, as shitty as our relationship was… that’s all I deserve? What if I never find anyone else?”
His voice had gotten quiet, now, the last few words coming out in a whisper. He found he couldn’t look Eskel in the eye, finishing his speech in the rim of his empty cocktail glass. Gods, he really was pathetic.
“Jaskier.”
The voice was warm and smooth like the sweetest mead. He looked up into eyes equally as warm–the color of fresh honeycomb, or the sun on a clear, summer day. Despite his best efforts, his stomach clenched, heart giving an anxious flutter. His friend looked serious, a slight furrow to his brow, as he gazed at Jaskier. It didn’t seem fair, given the conversation they’d been having, that all of this single-minded focus was on him. Melitele, help me, he’s so gorgeous.
“You have to know that’s not true. You deserve the world, Jaskier. I know that… that someone out there sees that.” Eskel swallowed thickly and Jaskier found himself distracted by the bob of his Adam’s apple. Jaskier’s mouth suddenly felt dry, the room too hot. He floundered, just on the wrong side of tipsy, for the right thing to say in response to a confession as earnest as that.
“Well! I’m sure you’re right, Esk, I’m just being silly. And drunk. You know vodka makes me sad.” He laughed at himself, as he always did when he wanted smoke and mirrors, when he needed to disguise the truth. Don’t. Don’t come any closer, I won’t be able to control myself. I’ll say what I really feel for you, what I always have.
Eskel continued staring at him in that quiet, thoughtful way of his. When Jaskier stopped his babbling and returned his eyes to Eskel’s, he noticed the other man seemed to be searching for something in his expression. What, he didn’t know. He must have found it, because eventually, Eskel nodded, seemingly willing to let the subject drop for now.
“Let’s get you home, then. No need to waste your money when you won’t even enjoy it.”
Eskel stood and Jaskier followed him out into the cool, late-autumn night. The air was chilly and the street was wet from a recent rainfall. The streetlights shone brightly above them, making the cobblestones glimmer like jewels. They fell into step beside each other easily as they began the short walk home, Jaskier’s flat on the way to Eskel’s.
It was quiet enough for Jaskier’s drink-addled brain to wander, unavoidably returning to the subject of his date. It wasn’t due to a lack of trying. He’d tried everything he could think of, truly. Maybe… Maybe it wasn’t the right time for him to find someone he really liked, or he surely would have found them already (pesky hidden feelings for Eskel aside). That didn’t change his situation, though. If only there was a way for him to get a date without having to continue like this…
The idea came to him in a bid of drunken genius.
“That’s it!” He stopped in the middle of the street, grinning like a maniac. “Eskel, I’ve finally figured it out, you big, beautiful brute!”
He flew towards Eskel and threw his arms around his neck, pressing a sloppy kiss against his cheek. Eskel, without hesitating, caught him around the waist, a faint dusting of pink rising up his neck. Jaskier was too pleased with himself to notice.
“What, Jask? What did you figure out?”
Jaskier beamed from his place in Eskel’s arms. “I thought I needed to find someone to date seriously, because how else would Valdo and the others believe it was real? But–and hear me out–what if I hired someone instead?”
Eskel looked downright flabbergasted. “You want to hire a date to the party?”
Jaskier was nodding furiously, pacing away from Eskel as he thought. “Yes, I can see it now! I’ll put it on one of the local neighborhood message boards: CUTE SINGLE LUTE PLAYER SEEKS DATE TO TRUMP SWORN ENEMY.” He fanned his hands in front of him with a flourish. “Honestly, how could anyone not want to? The mystery! The intrigue! Me!”
Jaskier had stars in his eyes, thinking he’d finally found a plausible solution to his problem. Surely hiring someone would be much, much easier than finding someone to actually date. Because that was impossible–the closest he’d gotten in the years since he’d met Eskel being Tess. The truth, kept locked in a box deep within his heart, was something he didn’t like looking too closely at. His most closely guarded secret–that he didn’t think anyone would ever mean as much to him as Eskel. That’s why he’d never been able to really commit to another. That’s why he was alone, now, fleshing out this stupid plan. The man before him bested all others, and he didn’t even fucking know it. What an absolute crock.
He felt a hand catch his elbow, pulling him from his musings, and spun around to face his friend. Eskel was… blushing? Now that was unusual. Jaskier took a closer look at him, and, oh, he was definitely flushed, and he wouldn’t meet Jaskier’s eye.
“Esk? What is it?” Jaskier was overcome with immense concern, rarely seeing the other man like this. “Are you feeling okay? I always tell you that you work too hard, you don’t rest enough, you–”
“I could… be your date. If you want.”
Jaskier froze, as still as the dead. There was absolutely no way he’d heard that correctly. No possible fucking way.
Eventually, Jaskier found the strength to croak out, “What?”
Eskel, for his part, flushed even harder. “If you’re going to–hire someone, post it on a message board–it’s not safe, Jaskier. Gods only know what I’d do if anything ever happened to you. I’d rather you were safe. I can just as easily be that person for you–if you’re going to hire someone, anyway.”
Jaskier was struck dumb, mouth hanging open. He idly heard his mother’s voice in the back of his mind, telling him that was a sure way to catch flies.
Eskel continued in a murmur. “Besides, it would probably be easier than with a stranger, since we know each other so well.”
Eskel seemed to realize, belatedly, that Jaskier had yet to respond. He seemed nervous, his fingers twitching, before he moved to rub at his scars–old, worn, faded with time. Still so beautiful. “So, songbird? What do you say?”
Jaskier was stunned. There was no way around it, he was absolutely speechless. Valdo Marx would be cackling if he could see him now.
There was no way he could do this. Eskel made good points, of course he did, he was the smartest person Jaskier had ever fucking met, but Jaskier’s poor fool heart could never last if they did this. Not when faced with a mockery of what he’d always wanted.
And yet… His words from earlier returned, unbidden, to his head. What if... What if this was his only chance? He and Eskel could never be, not really. Eskel was light years away from him, untouchable as a shooting star. Jaskier would rather suck Valdo’s big toe than press his luck and ruin everything he and Eskel had. But if they were “dating”… This could be his one chance to see what being with Eskel would really be like.
He’d wanted him for so, so long. Gods only knew how much he’d wanted. He would be a fool–-to do it, not to do it.
He was trapped in his indecision, but sensing the rapidly rising tension in his friend made up his mind for him. He could never let Eskel think poorly of himself, that it was him, that he was the reason for Jaskier’s hesitation. Even if it was true, in a way, it was nothing like the way Eskel was probably thinking.
Jaskier let out a weary, bone-deep sigh. “...Okay. We’ll do it. But I think we need to come up with some terms. Ground rules.”
Eskel seemed to relax, looking a little lighter, but he still held tension in his shoulders, around his mouth. He looked like he was expecting a blow at any moment. “Okay. Like what?”
“Well… We’ll need this to be believable. You’re right–it’s good we’ve known each other so long, but that might actually make it harder to sell to everyone.” Jaskier rubbed his jaw in thought. “We need a story. For how we got together.”
“Hmmm. How about… after Yenn’s birthday?”
They’d all gone out together, the whole group of them, for Yenn’s thirtieth a few weeks ago. She wanted to greet the new decade with a bang and they’d all gone barhopping together, getting increasingly trashed as the night wore on.
“We could say we went off together. One thing led to another, we confessed our feelings…” He shrugged, like it was nothing, like he wasn’t tearing Jaskier apart with a few simple words. “Seems realistic enough to me.”
Jaskier, heart aching, nodded. “Okay. We’ll also need to–touch. More than we usually do, I think. I’m usually very… affectionate, in relationships, so it’s to be expected.” He cleared his throat, already regretting this, because he was an absolute idiot. “Would you be okay if I held your hand? Gave you a cuddle?”
“You already do those things, Jask, so that’s not even a stretch.”
“What about… if I kissed you?”
That stunning, cherry-red flush was back, high on Eskel’s cheeks, and this time, Jaskier noticed. He was enchanted, unable to look away. So godsdamned lovely.
Eskel seemed embarrassed as he nodded in agreement. “Assumed that would be part of it, anyway. ‘S fine.”
There wasn’t enough air in the world right now. His heart was pounding against his ribs, wanting to fly out of his chest and into the hands of the man before him. An offering on a silver platter–please, I love you, let me be yours.
Jaskier felt like he was dying inside. He smiled, extra bright.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Summary: Geralt just wants to do his job and go home. Jaskier has other plans.
Or: The monster-hunting AU no one asked for.
Jaskier/Geralt | Rated: T | WC: 3k | CW: mention of carcasses
------
Geralt was not having a very good time.
This godsforsaken trip had started with Vesemir giving him a tip. Apparently, there were rumors a leviathan had been spotted in the area (“I have it on very good authority, honestly, wolf,”) and Vesemir’s very-good-authority had traced the beast to the coastal city of Novigrad. Geralt wasn’t particularly thrilled to be sent out to do the dirty work that was bestiary expansion, but was reminded quite smugly of the favor he’d owed the old man (“Don’t think I’ve forgotten that time with the selkimore guts and Ciri’s prom dress, Geralt, I swear to god I’ll tell her that it wasn’t Lambert’s doing,”), and so here he was.
The perils of being a modern day witcher were many, not the least of which included this new wave of humans who seemed to think witchers were Fascinating™ and that monsters were something akin to animals in a zoo, harmless and cute. In truth, the creatures which previously skulked on the fringes of civilization had only become more dangerous over the years as they’d learned to camouflage themselves to survive. Humans, simultaneously, had become more bold and less afraid with the invention of smartphones and the internet; they often moved right into the metaphorical backyards of monsters in search of adventure and likes on their posts, or whatever the fuck. Which, ultimately, meant more danger for them as they proved the reason behind their short lifespans, but also more tolerance for the witchers who dealt with their almost entirely self-imposed problems.
Fortunately for Geralt, it meant he and his brothers had consistent business at Wolfe Brothers Extermination Co. He, Eskel, and Lambert were typically sent out to complete the contracts, although they all dabbled in one specialty or another in addition to doing the grunt work. Lambert, an expert alchemist and professional pain in the ass, brewed all of their potions. Eskel, with the strongest chaos of all of them, created sign-specific training to strengthen their magic. Geralt, for his part, was the best fighter, and designed grueling personal training routines to keep them fit. Vesemir, although semi-retired in his advanced age, was instrumental in keeping them sharp on the battlefield, forcing them to train with various weapons, along with usually being in charge of all field research. That being one of the reasons Geralt was so grumpy to be out here at all, as it was not his fucking job.
Internally rolling his eyes, he returned his focus to his work. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could get the fuck out of here. He crouched to inspect the rocky shore beneath the cliff he was standing on, witcher-sharp eyes keen on his surroundings. Scanning the embankment, he found a promising clue below the bluffs of what looked to be the skeletal remains of a large sea creature. He was just about to climb down to investigate further when the damning sound of human voices drifted to his ears. Dammit all.
“---And these cliffs are the exact site a leviathan was recently spotted! Now, for those of you fine folk who don’t know, a leviathan is a sea serpent resembling a crocodile who lurks deep beneath the waves you see far below us.”
Geralt glanced up, put out at being distracted, at the animated voice of a man leading a group of starry-eyed humans closer to the cliffs. He was around Geralt’s height if he had to guess, with soft, chocolate brown locks falling just past his ears. He carried himself confidently, leading the fawning group around as he regaled them with tales Geralt would bet his best sword were entirely false. He was of a leaner build, although with a sturdy layer of muscle hiding underneath his foppish clothing. Clothing that, now that Geralt paid attention to it, resembled a peacock. A very handsome peacock. The unbidden thought was shoved down with the strength of the leviathan he was hunting. What the fuck.
The other man’s melodious voice filtered into his awareness again as several members of the tour group paused to snap pictures on their cell phones. “Leviathans are quite rare these days, most of them having been killed off centuries ago. Although, my dear friends, it’s possible we might encounter one on this very day! My colleague, Valdo, is the one who spotted the beast just the other day and–”
“You’re wrong, you know.”
Geralt hadn’t realized he’d spoken or walked a few paces closer to the group until a dozen pairs of eyes were staring right at him. Fuck. He usually kept far away from people unless it was for a contract, preferring the company of himself, his family, and his truck, Roach (lovingly named after his childhood pet fish, although he would never share that damning bit of information with a soul, so help him gods).
“Excuse me?” The singsong voice from earlier directed its singular fury at him, now all wound up in indignant righteousness. “I’ll have you know we’re the most reputable monster tour company this side of the Blue Mountains, so you can take your feedback and shove it, you--you–whoever you are!”
Geralt noticed, belatedly, that the man’s eyes were the same blue as the water crashing onto the shore below them, stormy like the Skelligan sea with annoyance. He wondered absently if they were the clear blue of a summer sky when the man was in better spirits. Shut the fuck up, Geralt, you absolute dumbass.
He cleared his throat. “Name’s Geralt. I’m, uh, I’m a witcher.”
The tour group erupted in a cacophony of gasps, the cameras of the dozen or so cell phones now aimed directly at him. They fired off questions rapidly about his job, the leviathan, hunting monsters, and a number of other things he couldn’t be bothered to parse from the general noise of it all.
“Oh? And Mr. Witcher, surely you’ve encountered a leviathan, then, and can tell these lovely people more about them than I can?” The other man looked affronted, crossing his arms petulantly.
“Uh. It’s just– leviathans weren’t all killed off, like you said. It’s more likely they went into hiding. They have natural thermal resistance and can adapt to a variety of environments. They’re also, uh, kind of immortal. So it’s more likely we’re all too stupid to find them than that they’re dead.”
There was dissatisfied murmuring amongst the other man’s group, one of the women in it turning her nose up at their tour guide as she remarked in a snotty voice, “Well, Jaskier, sounds like the witcher here might be a more useful tour guide. At least he has experience. Perhaps you should talk to your company about taking him on in your stead.” She tittered with laughter at her own insult.
And at that, the man spluttered, seemingly at a loss for words. Not wanting to lose the attention of the rest of his audience, however, he turned the charm back on like a lightswitch. “Now, my dear audience, although our good witcher here–Geralt, excuse me–most likely has plenty of experience, it doesn’t sound like he's had any luck spotting the leviathan today either. If I could reclaim your attention, I can show you exactly where a nest of drowners was slaughtered just last week. If we’re lucky, the bones will still be there!”
And like children flocking to a shiny, new toy, Geralt’s unwittingly captive audience began to wander off in the direction the other man–Jaskier–directed them. Jaskier, for his part, aimed one more fuming, aquamarine glare at Geralt before veritably stomping off after his group.
Geralt was left on the cliffs, feeling vaguely uncomfortable and slightly–guilty, was that the feeling?-- as he stared after the other man.
Well, shit.
—
It was a while later that Geralt meandered back towards his truck, slightly muddy from his stumbling trip down the cliffs to investigate the carcass he’d seen earlier, but no closer to validating the tip off Vesemir had given him. The bones had belonged to some sort of marine animal, yes, but it was impossible to tell if it was killed by a leviathan or simply a shark. So much for very good authority…
Geralt was still internally grumbling about the waste of time as he reached the car park. He startled in surprise when he heard the same musical voice from earlier and looked up to see Jaskier wrapping up for the day.
“Alright, lovely people, please remember to give us a good review if you liked the tour today! We at Oxenfurt Oddities would be happy to host you again anytime!”
That slightly-guilty feeling crept back up his throat at the sight of the other man, and Geralt felt like he should– say something. Apologize, maybe. He hadn’t meant to mess with the other man’s work, he’d just meant to–well, he wasn’t quite sure, honestly. But either way, apologizing was the right thing to do. At that thought, he straightened his spine and hung back a few paces from the group as he waited for them to disperse.
The moment the last person had shuffled off to their car, Jaskier’s shoulders slumped slightly and he let out a heavy sigh, moving to card a hand through his hair in a seemingly frustrated gesture.
Geralt stepped closer, not wanting to startle the other man, and gently cleared his throat.
Jaskier jumped anyway, turning to Geralt with wild eyes which soon narrowed when he recognized who was behind him.
“You! And just what, pray tell, can I do for you, oh witcher-who-can’t-mind-his-own-business? You almost ruined my tour today and my boss would have truly had my head if those people wanted a refund!”
“Uh… Sorry–about that, earlier. I didn’t mean to… mess things up for you. Was just trying to be, uh… factual, I guess?” Geralt cringed at his own stilted apology, not knowing what marbles he must have lost in deciding it was a good idea to approach Jaskier again.
There was silence as the other man stared at him, still with suspicion in his eyes, before he turned his nose up with a huff.
“Well. I appreciated the information, nevertheless. Will give me more material to work with in the future. But you, Geralt… owe me, I think.” Jaskier’s eyes twinkled with a mischievous light as he turned his face back towards Geralt.
Geralt realized with a not-quite-minuscule amount of relief that the unintentional slight must have been forgiven if the other man felt like teasing. He still wasn’t sure why it mattered to him.
In response, Geralt grunted, feeling he’d done his part and mostly ready to get away from this conversation and his confusing feelings. “Not much to pay you back with.”
Jaskier, eyes twinkling even brighter, now as midnight blue as the darkening sky above them and shining like stars plucked from within it, gave a pleased chuckle. “Do you like fries?”
Geralt felt the non-sequitur like a punch in the gut, his eyebrows furrowing. “Do I… like fries? Like… potatoes?”
At that, Jaskier gave a genuine belly laugh, throwing his head back in glee. Geralt swallowed thickly, enjoying the sight of the smile on the other man’s face more than he’d care to admit, feeling the pleasant flutter of butterflies in his belly. He gave himself a mental shake. What is wrong with me?
“Yes, Geralt, fries. There’s a diner about a half mile down the road, I am dying of hunger, and I think you can repay your debt to me with some more factual witcher stories,” he teased again, and with a grin on his lips, Jaskier started off, presumably in the direction of his vehicle. He turned back to look over his shoulder when he realized Geralt wasn’t following. “Are you coming or not?”
Geralt shrugged, wordlessly, before moving in the direction of his own truck. There were worse ways to spend an evening, he supposed.
—
The diner was empty, save for the waitress who kept staring at him–in either awe or terror, he couldn’t really tell. She hadn’t bothered them other than to take their orders, which Geralt supposed he should count as a blessing.
Jaskier sat across from him quite contently with a plate of fries as promised, along with a large chocolate milkshake. The other man was even prettier up close, with an aristocratic nose, strong jaw, and long-fingered, elegant hands. His apparent attraction to the other man was distracting, so Geralt unceremoniously turned his attention back to his burger.
“So,” Jaskier drawled, popping another ketchup-covered fry in his mouth, “Tell me everything.”
Geralt blinked, “About what, specifically?”
Jaskier rolled his eyes. “The leviathan, obviously. Or another monster, I don’t care. I need details, Geralt, and it seems like you’re teeming with them if your show earlier was any indication.”
Geralt rubbed his chin in a thoughtful gesture, thinking of what he could tell him. “Well. Leviathans are… big. Monstrous, even.”
“Yes, Geralt, I gathered that,” Jaskier again rolled his eyes.
“They can crush a man easily in their jaws and have prehensile tails. They can also communicate with other marine animals and bend them to their will.”
Jaskier’s eyes were wide across from him, his mouth gaping open at the new bit of information. He took out a battered-looking notebook from his bag, food forgotten, and began to scribble in it. “See, this is what I’m talking about! You don’t mind if I take notes, do you?”
Geralt wryly observed he was already writing. He gave a soft huff that might have been a chuckle, not feeling the need to respond.
“That’s about it, really. They’re big and powerful and you don’t want to fuck with them, should you ever come across one. Which I highly doubt you will as they are, indeed, quite rare.”
Jaskier stopped writing with a pout, putting his pen down. “Really, that’s all you can tell me? What do they look like, other than vaguely crocodile-ish? Are they intelligent? Do they really do Vulcan mind control on other sea creatures?”
Geralt took a thoughtful bite out of his burger, raising an eyebrow as something occurred to him. “I can answer your questions. But,” he trailed off, taking the time to finish his food. “This is a bit of a one-sided relationship, wouldn’t you say? I can’t give away all our secrets for free.”
Geralt wasn’t sure what had come over him, really, but found himself intrigued by the other man. Absurdly, he found himself wanting to spend more time in his company, not the least reason of which had to do with too blue eyes, a winsome smile, and a mischievous streak. If he gave everything away now, the other man would be gone just as quickly as he’d come. Just the idea of that bothered him.
“Oh!” Jaskier seemed genuinely surprised by his ultimatum. “But what could I offer you? I’m just a tour guide as a day job, really, I don’t have much to offer by way of money.” He tapped his fingers against his glass as he thought.
“I am a musician, so, I could–I could… write you a song? Maybe something about your… roguish good looks? Winning personality?” Jaskier gave a cheeky grin and a wink at that, the bastard.
The suggestion caused Geralt to smirk, thinking of the absolute fresh hell of teasing Lambert would unleash on him if that ever happened. “Melitele’s left tit, you will.”
Jaskier sucked noisily at his milkshake, still pondering, before he suddenly brightened. “Oh! I know! Geralt, how’s business lately?”
Jaskier’s trains of thought were like whiplash, a slap to the face every time. He wasn’t sure how he’d ever keep up. “Uh… fine?”
Jaskier was nodding as he gesticulated wildly, fry in hand, getting dollops of ketchup everywhere. The waitress glared balefully at him but he didn’t seem to notice. “Witchers are hired via contract, yes? Although you’re lovely to look at, I can’t imagine with your surly demeanor you’re any good at advertising–but I am! Imagine all the contracts!”
Geralt and the others did fine for themselves, really. The family business, started by Vesemir, was old school and was still run that way. They didn’t engage on social media or have followers or any of that absolute nonsense, had never seen the need. People knew what witchers were, what they could do–if they needed them, they would find them, right?
But… The shop did need a new roof and some other repairs which the old man had been putting off, stating he couldn’t justify the expenses. And Geralt would always take the opportunity to put away more money for Ciri’s college fund, if ever she decided to go.
Mulling it over but ultimately having already decided, he looked over at Jaskier, catching the other man’s hypnotizing eyes with his own. “What could you do, then? Make a… website for us?”
Jaskier, for his part, snorted quite inelegantly. “No, dear man, I won’t make a website–what you need is social media presence, you need content–you have to engage people and remind them that witchers are out there, ready to help with all their horrific, monster-related problems!” Jaskier was almost feral in his excitement at this point, carried away by the fantasy of it all. “I could easily run accounts for you–”
“It’s a family business.”
“Yes, of course, alright–for the family business. We’d post a little story about a contract, share some photos of you looking positively menacing (you do a very good job of that, by the way), direct them to the business, and voila! Customers!” Jaskier looked pleased as punch with himself, crossing his arms over his chest triumphantly. “All I ask in return are stories and maybe to tag along on some of your hunts.”
“So? What do you say, Geralt, the almighty witcher? Partners?” Jaskier held out one ring-adorned hand to shake.
Geralt looked down at the offered hand, considering. His family could always use the money, he knew, but that wasn’t really it, was it? Life was… not boring, not really, but routine. He woke up, he went to work, he took contracts, he went home. Ciri didn’t really need him, these days, the almost-adult she was. The monotony of it all was comforting, usually, but Geralt almost longed for the days when going out and hunting monsters felt like an adventure.
As he looked into the crystalline pools of the other man’s eyes, a hopeful smile curving Jaskier’s pretty lips, he thought to himself that this might just be the start of his next one.
He grasped Jaskier’s hand in a firm grip, a half-smile curving his own lips. “Alright. Partners.”
