#geskel

[inexplicifics]

Deerly Beloved, a modern AU ficlet in which Eskel meets a white deer!

[kingthunder]

a kiss on the shoulder.

a kiss on the palm.

a kiss on the space between eyebrows.

eskel x geralt, 1037 words, rated T

Once, when Kaer Morhen was not yet a tomb and Geralt’s hair was not yet white, Eskel woke him with a hand over his mouth. They stole from the keep in the predawn gloom and raced the sun up the mountain. Even then Geralt was the more fleet of foot, always just ahead of Eskel, close enough to touch but never to catch up to.

They spent the morning frolicking in the river until their lips were blue and the bottoms of their feet scraped raw. Geralt caught a fish for their lunch and Eskel cooked it. They ate naked and dripping, teeth snapping through fire-crackled skin to the tender white flesh underneath. 

When their bellies were full, they dressed. There was a scarp by their makeshift campsite that looked made for climbing.

“What do you think?” Eskel said, gauging the height of it and how much it would cost to fall.

“I’ll beat you again.”

“Fat chance—”

Geralt beat him again.

“You’re lighter,” Eskel complained, heaving himself over the top.

He put his hands on his hips and caught his breath. All of Kaedwen fell away below them. Forests and rolling fields, green and cloud-dappled, with spiky human-made villages nestled into dips in the land.

“Do you think they’ll hate us?” Eskel said. “When it’s our turn to walk the Path.”

He didn’t realize how close Geralt had gotten until his voice rumbled in Eskel’s ear, “No one could ever hate you.”

Eskel made a disparaging noise. They stood like that for a moment, surveying the land that would come to fear and distrust both of them, though they would do nothing but try to keep its inhabitants safer. Then the sun broke through a cloud, momentarily too bright and too warm. Geralt dropped his head onto Eskel’s shoulder in a fall of auburn curls. Then, as he pulled back—

Eskel whirled around.

“Did you just kiss my shoulder?” Eskel said, astonished.

Geralt was holding both hands up like an apology. There was something in his eyes that made Eskel want to grab him and shake him, force every word he kept locked inside himself out.

“I meant nothing by it,” Geralt said. “I only…” He trailed off and looked down.

“It’s fine. I was just surprised. Don’t…”

Geralt looked so uncomfortable. Eskel hated it.

“Just don’t let it change anything,” Eskel said. He couldn’t bear if it changed anything. He loved Geralt the way he loved his lungs; he’d die without them.

Geralt said, “I won’t.”

Eskel felt the warmth of Geralt’s lips on him the entire way back to Kaer Morhen and knew that they were both wrong—that something was beginning, which meant that something else had to end. He hoped it was worth it.

*

It was Lambert who carried Eskel back to Kaer Morhen when his face got ruined, but it was Geralt who unwound the sloppy bandages and took the first look at him. Geralt didn’t flinch when he saw. Geralt would never flinch from him.

“This is going to hurt,” Geralt said. He held up a needle and a flask of vodka. “Hold still for me.”

Eskel chugged the vodka and held still.

With his eyes closed, the gut strings tugging at his skin felt foreign and obnoxious, like he wanted to break the wrist of whoever was doing that to him. He fisted his hands in the fabric of his trousers and didn’t realize he was crying until Geralt dried his cheeks.

Geralt left his hand on Eskel’s face, the good side of it, and Eskel turned into that touch.

“I’m sorry,” Eskel slurred with his torn mouth. “‘M all ugly now.”

“You were ugly before,” Geralt said. “Never bothered me any.”

Eskel wheezed trying not to laugh. He took Geralt’s hand away from his face but held onto it, unwilling to give up the contact. Geralt rubbed circles into his palm. Then he brought Eskel’s hand to his own face, turned into it the way Eskel had done to him, and kissed his palm. Eskel closed his hand into a fist, feeling unable to breathe for the tenderness that welled in him.

“Rest now,” Geralt said.

*

Geralt came home that winter battered in body and spirit, looking like he’d aged a decade.

Eskel bullied him into eating and then bullied him down to the hot springs.

“Jaskier always tries to wash my hair for me too,” Geralt said. “Am I really that bad at it?”

“No comment,” Eskel said, soaping Geralt’s hair up. He tugged at it, pulling Geralt’s head to the side and earning a slap on the arm. “You might want to name all your pet fleas, though.”

“Hah hah,” Geralt said, but as Eskel’s touch turned gentle he relaxed into it, the tense lines of his muscles softening.

Some time later, after Geralt was as clean and pliant as Eskel could get him, and they were sprawled side by side in the pool, Eskel said, “The Path was lonely this year.”

Geralt grunted. “It’s always lonely.”

“Lonelier.”

“Maybe it was,” Geralt allowed after a moment.

Eskel let his head fall sideways onto Geralt’s shoulder. He rubbed his lips against the naked wet skin. Geralt reached up to flick his nose, but Eskel caught his wrist and kissed his palm instead.

Geralt was always ahead, but Eskel always caught up eventually. 

“Thought you didn’t want that,” Geralt murmured.

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. I do now.”

Geralt pushed Eskel’s wet hair back from his face and searched his eyes. Eskel searched back, not knowing what he was looking for, just that it felt like he’d found it. There were no thoughts in his head when Geralt tugged his face down, just Geralt’s lips pressed to his forehead, soft but sure. Eskel returned that kiss too, and then Geralt’s mouth was on his, and his tongue was on Eskel’s tongue, and they both sighed into it.

“Wanted you my whole life,” Geralt said.

How had Eskel ever wondered if it would be worth it? His life was more bad than good, but Geralt was responsible for every good part and always had been. 

The boy Eskel was and the man he’d become said, “You’ll always have me.”

read on ao3

[hailhailsatan]

Eskel/Geralt ~ ~ hurt/comfort ~ ~ Geralt feels depressed at night, every night, and his partner Eskel comforts him and they try distraction cockwarming.

I wanted to write something self indulgent and quick for fun, really just for me haha :)

“Hello, Geralt.” Eskel opened his bedroom door quietly so’s not to wake the rest of the keep, gesturing for the other witcher to walk through. Geralt shuffled through, barely looking at him. “What brings you to my door at this hour then?” Eskel asked, not expecting an answer. He rarely got one before asking a few times, but he knew Geralt liked to hear his voice.

“Hey, look at me. You came all this way, are you sure there's nothing you want to talk about?” He smiled, knowing the walk from one bedroom to another was maybe 30 seconds. He took Geralt's face in his hands, helping the smaller man with eye contact. Geralt shook his head and pressed his face into Eskel’s palm.

“Is this to do with what we spoke about last night?” Geralt nodded again, this time shutting his eyes and pressing his face into Eskels chest. Eskel responded by wrapping his arms around him and rubbing large, firm circles into his back.

The night before, they had been cuddling by the fireplace after being intimate. Very intimate. But last night it was much more frantic, bodies tangled together as both men had tried to take pleasure in each other as quickly as they could. They wanted it to be quick. Needed it. But after everything was over, Geralt had seemed distant. Eskel had worried at first that he should have been more careful with him before Geralt panicked, telling him that no, Eskel had been perfect. Everything he needed. But, when the sun sets, he gets sad. He always gets sad. There’s something that comes with the night that brings a feeling of hopelessness that he couldn’t shift until morning, but sometimes, the sleep wouldn’t come.

Hours of Eskel holding him by the fire, listening to Geralt talk about stuff that he’d clearly been holding back and now that the wall had broken down, the bricks were hard to put back for the night. 

And now, Geralt was in his room, the bricks put back but not as strong as they had once been. And the only person who knew what was behind it was Eskel.

“Well, Geralt, what did I tell you then, hmm? I’m here. Always. You don’t have to lie there alone in that room, waiting for sunlight. I’m here, my wolf.”

Geralt still didn’t speak. Eskel could feel the worry pouring from his brain, knowing the other man was concerned he’d “overshare” like last night. Talk too much and feel guilty for “burdening” him as he’d put it before they drifted off. But this was not the case. Eskel wanted to protect him. To let him say what needed to come out.

“I wasn’t ready for sleep yet, do you want to sit by the fire while I read?” “Yes.” Geralt’s eyes lit up. Distraction. He needed distraction. 

Last night, they had whispered to each other, things that they could do together to help Geralt’s brain from overthinking. Leg’s tangled and foreheads pressed against each other, they smiled about their ideas.

One of the things Geralt had suggested was using his mouth on Eskel, lightly, while Eskel did something else. Something mundane. He wasn’t sure how to explain it, but though it was inherently sexual, and he wouldn’t do this with a friend, it felt more like care to him, rather than sex. He wanted to feel Eskel in his mouth, heavy, enough that his thoughts would drift away and he knew Eskel was with him. As close as he could be. Eskel had pressed a finger into Geralt’s mouth, gently letting his jaw slide open while whispering; I’ll take care of you wolf. Always. You leave it to me, I know what you need.

Eskel sat on his chair, by the fire, and Geralt nestled himself in between the larger man's legs. Eskel pulled his soft cock out of his trousers, then used the back of his finger to gently open Geralt’s jaw.

“You ready, wolf? You gonna sit nice and let me make you floaty like we talked about?” Geralt nodded, eyes hooded ready to just sit, with no expectations of him, feeling his lover as close as can be.

Eskel helped get Geralt into a comfortable position, his head resting on Eskel’s inner thigh. Though the warmth of Geralt’s mouth combined with the glorious vision of him between his legs made his cock stir, the overpowering feeling of what this was about made the whole thing so much deeper and personal. Eskel stroked through Geralt’s long white hair, fingers twirling through his loose curls as he read silently from his book. Geralt sat peacefully then, the scent changing in the room to be more sweet now as he kept Eskel’s half hard cock in his mouth. Every so often, Eskel felt Geralt hum around him as he relaxed more, and he would gift him little scritches to his head and praise.

“Well done Wolf, just like that, sitting so nice for me, aren’t you?” as per usual if you want any more I'm always happy to write and speak about these wee stories ~~~

[parkranger-monster-fucker]

Please someone help me find a fic

Jaskier is fae I'm p sure and goes to kaer morhen with Geralt.

Geralt and Eskel ask him to help make gifts for each other, and Jaskier's dying inside bc he loves them and wants them to be happy.

Jaskier goes and makes them a picnic but goes into heat and gets found by a rotfiend I'm p sure, and Lambert tells them to get their heads out of their asses

[dadralt]

#just two boys happy to see each other after so long #nothing bad happens to them EVER

[hbfengxi]

and you’ll save all your dirtiest jokes for me // and at every table, i’ll save you a seat // lover

[churchofpossum]

“And your finger brushes mine…” And the second postcard design, Geralt and Eskel wintering in Kaer Morhen.

[julek]

Julek, hi! #59 on the kissing prompts for Gerskel, if it takes your fancy.

#59. kissing your lover's wounds after having bandaged them up read on ao3

The sun is dipping low, melting into the hills that shimmer gold against the pale pink sky. The vineyard stretches across the fields like a soft blanket, embroidered in dark greens and rich browns, covering the earth with ease. A gentle breeze rolls in, a sign of the impending autumn days that will follow, ruffling the old willow and its leaves, fighting to hold on a little longer. 

Geralt watches it all from his chair on the porch, much like he does every afternoon. 

There's something about life in the countryside that makes him feel grounded; waking up with the sun every day and going on about his routine feels different than it did when he walked the Path, somehow. There's no sense of extreme urgency, no feeling of dread as he reaches the larger cities, not a shadow of doubt or question as to whether he'll find refuge before winter swallows the roads, winding and tiresome as they grow. None of that, no — here he feels safe, knowing there'll be food on his table every morning and a warm bed every evening, there to greet him, to feed him, to shelter him. He feels connected, both to the earth and to himself, his own life, his own body. His very soul, if Dandelion was right about any of that. 

He wonders if it's what he was supposed to feel like, all those years; if, by chance, retirement meant reaching what his mentors had taught him would only ever be found in the throes of duty. 

The irony of it makes him smile. 

"Deep in thought, Wolf?" 

Geralt turns, even though he heard him coming from a mile away. Eskel stands at his side with a small smile, all broad lines and soft features, and Geralt allows himself to take him in for a little while.

Eskel makes him feel grounded, too. Standing there in his work clothes (so different from his armor, which he hung up some time ago, and only comes out every few months), worn and well-loved, his brow shining with sweat. His hair falling in his eyes as he looks down at Geralt, because he'll never let go of his juvenile hairstyle, no matter how much Geralt teases him for it. His skin glowing golden brown in the dying sunlight, tanned from weeks of working the fields, sunrise to sundown. His scars, glowing light pink like ridges drawn on the land right after the harvest, healed and forgiven.

"I am," Geralt replies, leaning down to grab the small wooden box where they keep their healing supplies. "Come here and show me your arm." 

Eskel clicks his tongue in protest but goes anyway, pulling a chair next to him. He injured himself working on the fields a day before, a too-sharp sickle and a thoughtless movement resulting in a big gash on his forearm, which Geralt lovingly and long-sufferingly stitched up and bandaged, after, of course, lecturing his lover on his carelessness. 

“It’s fine,” he says, even as he extends his arm so Geralt can unwrap the bandage, dirty and damp with sweat. “It’s healing normal.”

“Hmm.”

The wound is, as Eskel put it, healing correctly. After all, Geralt would be embarrassed to call his needlework sloppy, and Eskel, being the Witcher that he is, withstood the stitching with calm and grace. There’s a little blood dotting the cut, and Geralt dabs it away gently with a cloth, cleaning the wound thoroughly. 

Part of him knows he’s, perhaps, overreacting. It is a small wound, after all, clean-cut and simple, and Eskel could care for it on his own. But there’s no need for it, now, he thinks as he dips the cloth in antiseptic. He can be gentle, can wash away the pain with his hands now, can bring relief and comfort to the one he loves. 

Even if there are no more gaping wounds from a kikimora, no more deep gashes from a griffin’s talons, no more arachas bites to be endured. 

Even if it is just a scratch to the skin, he wants to tend to it. 

He can take his time.

Eskel is quiet beside him as he works. He must know, indulging Geralt like this. Perhaps he has the same thoughts, every once in a while. Perhaps he, too, thinks life is precious every time he holds it in his hands. 

Geralt lets the injured arm rest on his lap for a moment, reaching down to grab some spare bandages and a small pair of scissors. Slowly, he starts wrapping Eskel’s forearm with the clean linen, making sure it’s not too tight nor too loose, covering the wound until no red skin can peek out and risk an infection. 

He looks up at Eskel when he’s done, and without a word, brings his hand to his lips, pressing a small kiss into his skin. 

“All done,” he murmurs, Eskel’s eyes warm like honey on his. “You may return to your tomfoolery now, old man.”

“Thank you kindly.” A grin, toothy and wide. “However could I repay you?”

The sun is almost gone all the way now, the last of sunlight flickering through the trees. 

Geralt looks at their joined hands, and squeezes. 

“Sit with me a while.”

And it’s easy, like nothing’s ever been. Like he believed nothing should ever be. 

“That,” Eskel says, moving his chair a little closer with an old-man groan Geralt will tease him about later, “I can do.”

It's easy.