(Geralt and Jaskier get high - prompt fill for @passing-as-normal)
-tw marijuana...of course-
“Oh hell yeah,” the bard suddenly whoops, flying from the path and out into the field it borders. “Geralt, wait a moment, won’t you? Let me gather some of this and then we can hurry on our way.”
“What is it?” the Witcher inquires. It smells familiar; he’s caught whiffs of this plant on Jaskier’s clothes before. Or in his hair. Sometimes it’ll sweeten his breath; on those nights he tends to be particularly talkative and affectionate. And handsy.
Geralt associates this smell with pleasant, happy evenings being petted at and cooed over by his little bard.
“It’s the most wonderful herb in the world,” the younger man beams up at him, already stuffing the leaves into his pack one fistful after another. “And we, my dear Witcher, are going to have a lovely night at camp. Make sure to pick somewhere totally safe and monster free to sleep tonight. We’re going let ourselves go a bit and we are going to vibe.”
---
Whatever Jaskier had meant by going to vibe, Geralt was absolutely sure they’d reached that point. They’d burned through three pipe-fulls of the strange plant as they sat beside the fire and the Witcher felt good. He felt better than good. He felt so relaxed.
“What is this stuff?” he asked. The bard giggled and pressed himself along the length of Geralt’s right side. The Witcher’s arm found its way around Jaskier’s waist before he could stop it and the bard snuggled even closer. “I feel drowsy and very...distant. My hand is attached to my arm but I’m not sure that it belogns there, you know?”
“That’s a good way to describe being high,” Jaskier giggled. His smile was wide and dopey. Geralt liked the easiness of it; all of the bard’s feelings were out in the open when he smiled like that. “I feel floaty and soft and very, very tactile.”
“Tactile?” the Witcher snickered. For some reason, one that he didn’t care to think about or bother with, he couldn’t stop laughing. Everything was extremely amusing.
“I feel everything more when I’m high, you know?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Like this,” Jaskier demonstrates, sweeping his hand through Geralt’s loose white hair. They both watch in quiet fascination as the strands fall back towards his shoulder and settle there. He does it again and Geralt releases a happy sigh. “See? It feels better when you’re stoned.”
“It does.”
“May I touch you some more?” the bard asks innocently. Geralt startles and glances sideways. “Just your face and hair. I promise it’ll feel good.”
“Hmm.”
Jaskier was already straddling his lap, running gentle, calloused fingertips over his nose and cheeks. His eyes flutter closed and the bard caresses his lids softly with the pads of his pointer fingers. He feels the younger man’s breath against his skin a mere moment before he feels yielding lips pressing to the corner of his mouth. He seeks out the touch again, eyes still closed, chasing after Jaskier like it’s a game of tag.
“Again,” he murmurs, bewitched by the overwhelming presence of Jaskier sitting against him, touching him all over and smelling so incredibly good. “Kiss me again, my bard.”
