Maybe it shouldn’t be surprising, but Jaskier finds himself surprised all the same. Eskel guides him across the dancefloor, smiling easily to the bard’s stunned expression.
“Didn’t think I had it in me?” Eskel teases, his grip around Jaskier’s hand tightening.
“Didn’t realize witchers had dance training.” Jaskier replies as he is being spun and then caught in Eskel’s arms again.
“Plenty of that back in the days.” Eskel says. ‘Before the scar’ he doesn’t say, but Jaskier hears it anyway. His crooked smile falters, and Jaskier can’t help but to reach out.
“Plenty of that from now on too.”
(written for @thepassifloradiscord drabble challenge)
Happy belated birthday @lesbianspritzee! I know you love Eskel, so I hope you enjoy your fic :) This is also a submission for the @softtummysupport Soft Tummy Season, for the Library prompt. Enjoy!
CW: Body Image Issues and Eskel's shit self-esteem
Beta'd by @sulkyshengshou
Summary: It's winter in Kaer Morhen and the three men are reunited for the first time after falling into each other's beds the previous winter. Eskel has a self-worth crisis and the boys cuddle him by the fire
Eskel sighed as he settled back into the ancient armchair, opened his book, and tried to lose himself in the story. It was one he had read several times in his long life; the book’s worn pages were a testament to the amount of times he had flipped through its pages. He’d taken it out, hoping that it’s familiar weight and words would distract him.
He’d been wrong.
Geralt and Jaskier hadn’t arrived yet.
With a growl, Eskel placed the book roughly on the table beside him and massaged his temples. His two lovers usually showed up at the keep earlier in the season, with Jaskier’s infectious smile and Geralt’s relaxation warming the space more than its many fireplaces.
This year was proving to be different.
As the snow raged outside, Eskel resigned himself to a lonely winter with only Vesemir as his company. Lambert had also not shown up, presumably to spend time with Aiden. It was fine. He’d make it through.
At that moment, Eskel heard the large, heavy wooden doors of the keep blast open. With one last look around the library, he stood up and headed to the Great Hall, presuming that the wind had blown open the doors again. Just another chore added to his endless list of duties to keep their crumbling home liveable.
But as he walked closer to the entrance, Eskel began to hear chatter and smell the familiar scents of onion and chamomile.
They were home.
Picking up his pace, Eskel slid into the room and took in his surroundings. Sure enough, two frost-covered figures stood in the middle of the hall —the much leaner one was shivering terribly and leaning against the other. Even obscured by a thick layer of ice he would recognize them anywhere.
“E-e-eskel,” Jaskier said, teeth chattering, “s-sorry we’re late. The st-storm caught us off guard.”
Eskel rolled his eyes and made his way over to his two lovers. “We need to get these clothes off you.”
“T-that excited to see me?” the bard shot back, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. It would’ve been a lovely and convincing sight if not for the slight blue tint to his lips.
“Jaskier,” Geralt scolded, as he tried to peel his own layers onto the floor. Although witchers were far more resistant to cold, Eskel knew that it could still be very uncomfortable..
“Can you blame me, Geralt?” Jaskier asked as Eskel started to unwrap him of his many layers. “I haven’t seen our beautiful lover in months! I’m a simple man!”
Eskel blushed, letting Geralt’s response of, “Simple?” and Jaskier’s gasp of outrage slip to the back of his consciousness. At least he knew the warmth was already helping the bard, if the verbal tear Geralt was receiving was anything to go by.
Beautiful. He’d never been called beautiful before.
This…thing between the three of them was new. It had only started the previous winter after a night of far too much White Gull. Before that, he and Geralt had slept with one another for years without putting any label on it. It was comforting, knowing that someone in the world knew him and cared for him, but it couldn’t be anything more than that. Eskel knew Geralt deserved better, and after his scars —well, it became even clearer that he could do better as well.
Then five winters past, Geralt had brought Jaskier to The Keep.
Jaskier was…he was amazing. A breath of fresh air for the ancient witcher’s of Kaer Morhen, the bard had waltzed into their lives and showed them care and loyalty. Not to mention that Eskel was convinced that Jaskier was one of the prettiest men to have walked the Continent. He and Geralt made a fine match, and Eskel had grown used to his bed growing cold as Jaskier and Geralt fell together time and time again.
Though the three of them had fallen together a few times since that drunken night, and Eskel privately called them his lovers, they had never truly defined things. The bard had run fingers through his hair and praised his love making abilities —something at which he excelled, but did not always enjoy— and Geralt had snuggled close late at night, but it couldn’t be more than wanting to add spice to the bedroom.
Eskel knew who he was. He wasn’t courageous and brave like Geralt. He was a coward when it truly came down to it. Too afraid to say what needed to be said for fear of breaking apart the little happiness he’d gained.
He also knew that he was not a looker.
Geralt and Jaskier were beautiful. Geralt commanded a room with his fine features and flowing hair, the broadness of his shoulders emphasizing the trim, but sturdy line of his waist. Even as a witcher, young people would look at him with lust, wishing to see what the great White Wolf had to offer.
Jaskier was a walking dream —big blue eyes and a sweet smile that hid a sharp tongue and even sharper wit. The bard had several lovers spread throughout the kingdoms —nobility and peasants, the bard was not one to discriminate— and his fair looks garnered looks of appreciation from everyone he passed. He knew it too, spending hours preening over his hair to make it fall just right.
Eskel, well, he wasn’t any of those things. Even disregarding the scars, his features were too broad to be considered beautiful. His body lacked the leanness that Geralt’s did, and though he was strong a stubborn pouch remained over his abdomen. How someone like Jaskier could think that he was beautiful baffled him, because it was a lie. He’d never been beautiful.
“Eskel?”
The witcher looked up to find both Jaskier and Geralt wearing significantly less clothing than before and staring at him with a worried gleam shared between them. Shit. He’d been brooding for longer than he’d thought.
“Darling, are you alright?” Jaskier asked, walking closer to place a slender hand upon his shoulder. Eskel shivered at the contact, idly trying to remember the last time someone had touched him like that. It might’ve been since he’d last seen Jaskier.
“I’m fine, Jask, I was just worried about you two.”
Jaskier nodded and leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. “I’m sorry, darling, we got caught up on a contract up the mountain. Geralt was too much of a sweetheart to say no.”
Geralt grumbled and Eskel caught a tint of pink rising on his pale cheeks. Whoever said witchers couldn’t blush was a liar.
“What kind of contract?” Eskel asked, pulling Jaskier closer to him. Although the bard was far more talkative now, he was still cold as ice.
Eskel felt Jaskier’s laugh rumble against his chest. “You want to tell him, Geralt?”
There was silence for a moment as Geralt looked at the floor. With a sigh, he looked up from the floor and pinned a chair with a glare. “A little girl said that a monster had stolen her doll. She asked me to look for it.”
Eskel felt laughter bubbling up in his throat, but held it back unlike Jaskier who was giggling as he pressed up against him. “And what was your payment?” Jaskier pressed, a smile dancing on his lips.
“...Two biscuits and a hug.”
Eskel felt his heart warm at the story, imagining a small child presenting Geralt with his payment. Geralt had always been the best of them.
“Eskel, you should’ve seen it! It was adorable,” Jaskier babbled, even as another deep shudder wracked his body. He needed to get closer to the fire.
With a jerk of his head, Eskel started leading Jaskier towards the library, hoping that Geralt would follow them. They would remove the clothes from the Great Hall once the bard had regained his warmth.
As they walked towards the library, Eskel let Jaskier’s melodious voice rush over him and smiled. The bard talked incessantly, but he loved it. Although some would find the constant noise grating, Eskel found it to be a balm against the loneliness that often plagued him.
Upon entering the room, Eskel let go of Jaskier, intending to find furs to place in front of the fire. Instead, he found a slight weight holding him back, clinging to his arm.
“Jask, I’m just going to find some blankets for us.” When all he received in response was a whine, he smiled and ran a hand through the bard’s wet hair. “Go to Geralt. He will keep you warm until I have everything set up.”
Another pitiful whine rose from the bard’s lips as he burrowed himself deeper into Eskel’s arms. “You’re warmer and far more comfortable,” he finally said, a pout visible on his lips.
Before he could answer, he heard Geralt chuckle behind him. “He is,” Geralt simply replied, before walking ahead and gathering the furs himself. Eskel watched, allowing himself to be grateful that his extra bulk could provide this comfort.
Soon enough, the furs were spread evenly on the floor, leaving more than enough room for the three of them to lay on them. Using the bard’s tight grip to his advantage, Eskel lifted up the bard without protest and gently lowered him onto the soft surface.
The moment the bard hit the floor, Jaskier’s arms lifted back towards Eskel. “Join us, Eskel. I’ve missed you terribly.”
How could he deny such a request?
Lowering himself to the floor, Eskel wrapped his body around Jaskier and soon felt the familiar weight of Geralt’s arms reaching out from behind. A part of him he didn’t realize existed relaxed, luxuriating in the feeling of the two people he cared for most surrounding him.
Minutes passed as they all fell silent, breathing slowly and taking in each other’s presence. Unsurprisingly, the calm was broken by Jaskier as he twisted around in Eskel’s arms to face him.
“I’m still cold,” the bard said, a cute pout reaching his pink lips.
“Hmmm, and what do you want me to do about that?” Eskel asked.
The bard’s tongue darted out as he sat there in deep thought. “Well, skin-to-skin contact is supposed to be the best way to warm up someone from the cold.”
Eskel froze as his doubts from earlier came rushing back. The weeks he had spent waiting for Geralt and Jaskier had been long and the stress had led to stress baking which had then led to stress eating. His stomach was much softer than usual, threatening to hang over his waistband with the next sweet he devoured. There was no way Jaskier —purveyor of all that was beautiful— would think that he was beautiful after seeing him now. Geralt would be too kind to say anything, but it wouldn’t be long before he started to question whether he was fit to be a witcher. Why would Geralt —the best of them all— want someone with such a lack of control?
His moment’s hesitation must have been too long, for Jaskier frowned and started to backtrack. “Of course, you don’t have to. I know it’s been a long year and if you’ve changed your mind—”
“No! No, nothing like that, Jask, it’s just…”
Eskel paused, weighing out the pros and cons. Perhaps Jaskier and Geralt hadn’t noticed. If he came up with another excuse, they could move past it!
But Eskel knew that would only prolong the inevitable. They would both eventually realize that Eskel was not good enough for either of them. It didn’t matter how soft he got or how hard he tried —in the end, they would leave him for something better.
Best to get it over with.
With a deep breath, Eskel fixed his gaze at the ceiling and began to speak. “I arrived weeks ago and I waited for you to arrive. With each passing day, I started to imagine the worst had happened. That a monster had finally bested you, or that you had gotten stuck on the mountain path….that you’d decided not to come after last year.”
A sharp gasp sounded from Jaskier’s direction, but Eskel ignored it and continued. “I started baking a lot to pass the time when I wasn’t rebuilding the keep or running drills. Unfortunately that had some consequences and…well, I know I’ve never been svelte like Geralt or the others, but…well, it’s not exactly pretty to look at and I know you like pretty things. That’s just something I can’t give you, so I’m sorry.”
Eskel swallowed and kept staring at the ceiling, wishing that the floor would just swallow him whole. It was for the best. This would give him the chance to heal and move on before he became too attached.
Who was he kidding? That time had come and passed ages ago.
He was brought back to the present when a lightly calloused hand placed itself on his cheek and gently maneuvered it to the side. “Eskel, please look at me.”
Eskel clenched his jaw, but did as he was asked. Although he’d only known Jaskier for a few years, he found himself unable to ignore his words, no matter how much his self-preservation begged him to.
He stiffly turned to look at the bard.
Jaskier looked at him with wet eyes full of compassion. Great, he’d made Jaskier cry. This was the worst break up ever.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, using one of his rough hands to brush away a stray tear.
“You’re sorry?” Jaskier asked incredulously. “You have nothing to apologize for, Eskel. In fact, I think Geralt and I owe you an apology.”
An affirmative hum rang through his other ear as Geralt’s arms tightened around him.
“I don’t understand,” Eskel replied, confusion muddling his thoughts. What could they have to apologize for? They’ve done nothing wrong.
“Let me try to make you understand, okay?” Eskel nodded, leaving the space for the bard to plead his case.
“I’m sorry, because I apparently haven’t been clear. What we have between us isn’t just a fling, or me wanting something pretty —although you do fulfill that requirement darling. No, I speak for myself, and I believe Geralt as well, when I say that we are here because we want you because we think you are marvelous.”
Eskel gasped at the soft words, letting them rush over him like a stream soothing away the rough exterior of a rock. “You can’t mean that,” he muttered, forcing his eyes away from the earnest look on Jaskier’s face. He couldn’t.
“I do,” he replied simply, “I do, because you are perfect for us. I love every part of you, Eskel, and I’m sorry if that wasn’t made clear last winter, but I am lost on you. I-if you feel differently, that’s okay. I wouldn’t force you to be with us if you didn’t want to. Hell, if you decided one day that you want only Geralt, that’s okay too, but I need you to know that I want you because you are perfect for me.”
Geralt hummed into his ear and murmured, “I wish I could make a speech as nice as that one, but I can’t. Just know that what Jaskier says also rings true for me. You’re my first love, Eskel.”
Eskel stayed silent, letting the words run through his mind as he tried to make sense of them. They loved him. Him. No matter his deficiencies, they loved him. Despite the amount of times he let the words repeat, Eskel couldn’t believe them.
“Also,” the bard said, interrupting his thought process, “I love your body. I like your softness. You’re one of the strongest men I know, but you make for a much better pillow than Geralt. Cuddling with you was something I lamented missing all year.”
“Truly?” Eskel asked, a small flame of hope burning in his chest.
“Yes, he complained I was too bony to cuddle and would wax poetic about your stomach and arms for hours,” Geralt replied, his eye roll evident from his tone of voice.
“Yes, it was quite tragic, Eskel. I was cold and wanted a cuddle and you weren’t there. It was wanton cruelty at Destiny’s hands!”
Eskel snorted at the bard’s theatrics, but his humor soon melted away as Jaskier gently placed his hands at the edge of his shirt.
“I understand if you want to keep your shirt on, darling, but know that I would never be disgusted by you. Ever. Are we clear?”
Eskel nodded slowly, clenching his jaw as he gathered the courage to sit up, take off his shirt, and lay back down between his two lovers.
He waited silently for a response, but for once the bard did not speak. Instead, Eskel felt cold fingers brush along the softness of his stomach. Looking up, he found the bard smiling with contentment and he snuggled closer to him. “See?” he asked, sleep already tinging his voice.
“Yes, I see,” he responded as Geralt lowered himself onto Eskel’s stomach, utilizing it as a makeshift pillow.
Perhaps he had been wrong. Although he wasn’t beautiful to most of the world, the two men curled up beside him thought differently.
He could live with that.
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No one dared to spit those insults at Eskel openly – not yet. For now, the people of the town contented themselves with shooting him dirty looks, whispering behind his back and turning away when they caught sight of his face.
It was only a matter of time before the whispers would turn into shouts when fear became cruelty.
He had seen it happen often enough to know it was inevitable.
And yet, he had hoped that just this once it could be different. It had been different, when he had met Jaskier. It could be different again.
But these people weren’t Jaskier. They would rather claw Eskel’s eyes out than let him see their smiles or bite off their tongues before they let themselves utter a single kind word to him.
So Eskel kept his head low as he walked through the cobblestone street towards the inn, hoping they would tolerate him, at least for one night, if he didn’t attract too much attention. He ignored the whispers, the stares, the stench of disdain.
He barely flinched when something it him on the shoulder. He had known that sooner or later, stones would fly. He just had hoped it wouldn’t happen that soon.
With a sigh, he hunched his shoulders and ducked his head, making himself seem smaller, like less of a threat as he threw a glance over his shoulder to see if any more stones would be hurled his way.
What he saw instead, made him falter. What had hit him wasn’t a stone. It was a ball wrapped in leather, not dissimilar to the one he used to play with as a child before he had been brought to a place where boys learned how to fight and kill instead of playing.
Eskel crouched down to pick up the ball and take a closer look, but before he could stand back up again, he saw, or rather heard, the one who had thrown it at him.
“You found my ball!” The excited voice of a little girl cut through the disapproving murmurs of the adults like the sun pushing his way through clouds during a thunder storm. “I’m sorry for hitting you, mister.”
“Don’t worry,” Eskel said as softly as he could. “No harm done.”
He held out the toy for the girl who took it with a toothy grin.
“Thank you!”
Something warm and soft spread through Eskel’s chest. It had been too long since anyone had smiled at him, longer yet since he had spoken to a child that wasn’t destined for the cruelty of the trials.
Eskel couldn’t stop himself. For just a moment he forgot himself, too distracted by that soft glimmer of happiness in his chest. One moment of carelessness was all it took.
His lips twitched into a smile.
A snarl. A grimace. A twisting of his face into something hideous and fearsome.
The reaction was almost immediate. The girl blanched and reeled back, before she could even touch the ball.
“You’re the bad man!” She cried. If there had been any passers-by that hadn’t stared at Eskel before, they were now all fixing him with suspicious glares.
Eskel swallowed against the rapidly forming lump in his throat and dropped his smile. Perhaps that had been a mistake too. It was unnatural for people to be able to lose their smiles that quickly. It was inhuman.
“I’m not,” Eskel said soothingly. “I am not going to hurt you.”
“My ma told me that you’re bad!” The girl accused and pointed a finger at him before taking it back quickly and holding her hand against her chest in the same way people protected their hands when they were afraid a feral dog would bite them. “She said to stay away from the man with the ugly scars. She said you will take me away and eat me.”
Eskel flinched.
“I’m not –“
“I think it would be better if you left,” a low voice interrupted him.
When Eskel looked up from where he was still crouched, he saw three men walking towards him with stormy expressions.
Slowly, so as not to startle them, he put the ball to the ground and gave it a small nudge to roll towards the girl. She jumped back as if her toy was suddenly dangerous.
The men’s frowns deepened. Eskel held up his now empty palms in surrender as he stood back up ever so slowly.
One of the man took a threatening step towards him, his fists already raised and Eskel all but fled.
He tried not to listen to the angry and boasting shouts that followed him. It was in vain.
No matter how much he pretended, he wasn’t like his brothers. Geralt might be able to go on after Blaviken, saying that he didn’t need anyone and Lambert might be able to counter every insult with an even more cutting one of his own, but Eskel wasn’t like them. He was desperate and foolish and still clinging to the hope that he could be someone who wouldn’t be scorned and detested.
Another could-have-been. One that gnawed at him like a stray dog gnawed on a bone, tearing off the small bits and pieces that could still be something wanted.
Eskel had no delusions about how the rest of the day would go. He would find no place to sleep here, no hot meal and no contract that would be paid for. The longer he stayed, the bigger got the chances of pitchforks and kitchen knives being directed at him.
But his legs were so tired. It had been too long since he had eaten a healthy amount and ever since he had to give Scorpion away, he wasn’t able to carry his tent with him anymore.
He just wanted to rest. He just wanted to lay down for a while, knowing that he wouldn’t wake to a mob.
But the chances were slim. The best he could do was hide away in a dark alley to rest, hoping that no one would stumble upon him there.
He let himself lean back against the wall of a house, sliding down until he sat on the dirty floor. What more was some dirt, when his shirt already had holes in it? No one would bother to notice anyway, not when they had his face to stare at in fear.
His insides clenched and not purely because of the memory of the child’s laughter turning into cries at his sight.
He was hungry. So painfully hungry.
His jaw twitched as he rummaged through his bag for something edible, knowing full well that there was nothing to find.
Instead, his fingers found something else. Something, he had bought on a whim and quickly shoved to the bottom of his bag. Something he hadn’t been able to get rid of, even as it meant losing precious space in his bags.
Carefully, so as not to tear it, he pulled out the cheap paper, quill and inkwell he had bought months ago. For a long moment he only stared at them, overcome with the painful urge to smash the inkwell against the wall.
He wasn’t a poet, never would be. He was ugly and frightening and no one could even look at him without seeing all the things he couldn’t be written plainly across his face.
Yet he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
The memory of blue eyes flashed before him. Memories, of a blissful couple of days when it had seemed that maybe he could have, could be, something more. Jaskier had listened to what he had to say about poetry, as if his opinion was no less important than that of any scholar. He had explained the intricacies of word choice to him as if Eskel was worth talking to. As if he wasn’t too oafish, too big and too far removed from everything he could have become.
What had Jaskier told him back then? That poetry was a means to give meaning. That by creating something out of your pain, you refused to let it have power over you.
It wouldn’t work. Eskel knew that. No amount of words could ever distract from the life he hadn’t chosen. But perhaps…perhaps Eskel could make something beautiful.
It was a foolish thought, a desperate dream, but one that lodged itself into his heart, refusing to budge.
Eskel didn’t know how to write beautiful words and craft them into something more. All his knowledge about poetry came from the little he had gathered from reading the old poems. It wasn’t enough.
But it was all he had.
Before he could stop himself, he dipped the tip of the quill into the ink and put it on the paper. He hesitated, watched as the ink flew onto the paper like blood dripping off a sword and created ugly splotches.
Immediately, Eskel pulled the quill off the paper again.
He stared at that spot, that blemish, that failure.
The walls seemed to close in on him, suffocating him, crushing him. Though the sun was still up in the sky, his vision became darker, splotchy. Like the ink on the paper. Like bloodstains on his clothes.
He wasn’t good enough. This wouldn’t work. He hadn’t even written a single word yet and already he had ruined this.
He squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of voices, of doubts, of knowing he would fail.
It was no use. His heart sped up and he felt his breathing becoming shallow. He should be able to control this. A witcher shouldn’t let himself succumb to his own mind.
But Eskel couldn’t do it. He couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t let his mind drift off for mediation, couldn’t fucking breathe.
With the strength of a hundred men, Eskel managed to scrap together some semblance of calm, just long enough for his mind to stop spiralling for a second and to latch on to one thing only.
Poetry.
Eskel clung to it with all his might, forcing himself to think of lines and verses he had memorised until his mouth moved and formed the words. They were barely more than a whisper, but Eskel had spoken them before, time and time again. His body knew the correct intonation, the right way to inhale enough to have his breath last for the entirety of a line.
The words fell from his lips in a soothing rhythm, the familiarity of them battling against the fear and the strain to remember the lines left no room for any other, unkind, thoughts.
It was only when Eskel’s heart had slowed down enough that the sound of its beating didn’t drown out his whispers, that Eskel realised whose poetry he was reciting.
It was Jaskier’s.
Lines about eyes flashing bright like lightning, comparable to a force of nature that disappeared before one had time to marvel at it but leaving a mark in the life of whoever had gotten the chance to see it.
Lightning. That’s what Jaskier described Eskel as and it was the first word that Eskel put down on the paper once his hands had stopped shaking too badly.
He looked at the word for a long time. It felt strangely right. Like it belonged there. Like Eskel had been meant to put it – a part of himself – out there.
His throat bobbed and his brows twitched at the thought, but before he had time to doubt himself any more, he let the quill scratch over the paper once more, leaving words in its wake. A mixture of Jaskier’s words and the rhythm of the ancient elves.
Lightning across lips cuts bright.
A lowly flash, no more. Leaving flesh forever sore.
Scorching like flame. Scowling for fright.
Marring a mangled man, mutilating a mutant more.
Eskel stared at the words. The poem wasn’t long nor was it particularly good. But it was Eskel’s. Eskel had written something, gave meaning to the meaningless with his quill.
His eyes darted to the splotch at the bottom of the paper, right where the last line ended. Another imperfection.
His brows knitted together and his hand moved again.
It might have been childish - Lambert would have definitely made fun of him for it - but as Eskel drew legs, a head and horns onto the blemish, he found himself almost smiling again.
The almost-smile stayed on his lips, even as he forced himself to stand up once more, carefully putting his writing tools back where they belonged. The paper with his poem he kept in his hand.
He should have just left right away, trying to go unnoticed. That had been his plan as he moved through the alleyways now, but when he passed the notice board at the corner of one street, he paused, staring. A thought formed in his mind, before he even understood why he had stopped.
He didn’t know what possessed him to do it. Perhaps a glimmer of bravery or folly. Perhaps a hint of the man he had wanted to became shone through for a split second.
A man who was loved. A man who made beautiful things and didn’t have to hide away in shame what he had created.
And Eskel had created. He had written a poem. He had become, even if only for one moment, what he had always dreamed he could be one day.
With one swift motion, Eskel pinned his poem to the notice board. Not somewhere half-hidden between notes about nosy neighbours or the price of eggs, but right in the middle where anyone who passed by would be able to see it. The words on the page were spidery and nowhere close to artful, but they screamed I am imperfect, but I am here. I exist despite your spite.
Eskel took a step back, just far enough that he wouldn’t be able to reach the board and tear the poem down again in a fit of doubt. Admiring his own work was vain, but for the first time since Eskel could remember, he had something to admire, something to be proud of.
He must have stood there for too long. Around him, people started gathering, noticing him. One man shoved him. Another yelled at him to get away, that there were no contracts here for the likes of him.
Eskel turned and fled, just as the first stone hit him, right where the girl’s ball had met his shoulder before.
With every shout, every insult, every truth, the mob tore down part of the meaning Eskel had been able to find for himself.
He could only hope that they didn’t realise that the new addition to the notice board came from him. He could only hope that no one would tear off the poem, as they tore at Eskel’s heart with their shouts.
He hoped that maybe, however slim the chance was, someone would find his poem and smile.
It was a foolish hope, born out of pain and despair not unlike the poem itself had been, but it was the only thing keeping him warm that night as he huddled beneath a tree, cold and lonely and dreaming of something he had come so close to having.
Love is a fickle thing, it can burst into life within minutes or it can take months to fully bloom. The one thing Jaskier and Eskel can always agree on is that it's more than worth the time it takes...
A/N: continues on from to be found but also works as a standalone, written for aro week <3
-
Their first date had gone well, all things considered.
Eskel had been a little sleep deprived on account of working until late and worrying until even later but Jaskier hadn’t seemed to mind at all, bursting with enough enthusiasm for the both of them.
He’d been waiting outside the bakery at six, scrolling through his phone and looking up just as Eskel was debating whether he should just sneak back inside. Jaskier had grinned widely and Eskel had immediately known it was going to be a good evening.
“You look like you have a lemon stuck in your mouth,” Lambert tells him as he walks into work a week later.
“And how would you know what that looks like?” Eskel grumbles.
To be honest, he’s felt like he has a lemon stuck in his mouth since last weekend because Jaskier had promptly disappeared off the face of the earth. He wants to think it’s just a coincidence but he can’t help feeling as though it’s another case of the whole Eskel isn't good at first dates so of course it wouldn’t work out thing again.
Lambert raises his hands in surrender and gestures to the kitchens, where everyone is allowed to work in peace when they’re not in the right mindset for actual interaction. He zones out immediately, only looking up when Coen pokes his head in the doorframe.
“We might need your help with this guy,” he says, and Eskel sighs, already expecting a problematic customer or something.
What he’s not expecting is Jaskier tapping his foot on the floor and biting his lip. He freezes when he sees Eskel, opening his mouth to say something, but Eskel holds up a hand. “Can you come through to the back? I don’t want to have this conversation here.”
In the few minutes it takes for them to reach the office, he’s decided he’s more than ready for Jaskier to admit his spontaneous flirting was just a whim and he's not interested in anything else. Only, Jaskier does nothing of the sort.
“Eskel, I am so sorry about disappearing! I didn’t mean to, I swear! It’s just that Shani’s place flooded so she broke her ankle and I had to drive her to the hospital but we were arguing on the way and this guy at a red light decided I’d hurt her as if I wouldn’t rather die but we ended up fighting and I ended up with a concussion again and we both had to stay for observation or something and I- I’m really sorry for leaving you hanging,” Jaskier blurts.
Eskel blinks.
“Is she okay?” he asks, not really sure what he’s meant to be focusing on.
Jaskier nods, his shoulders dropping as he lets out a slow exhale. “She went to medical school, she knew exactly what they were going to do before we even got in the car.”
“That’s useful,” Eskel replies, but then shakes his head. “Wait, are you okay? Someone gave you a concussion?”
He’d been amused last time Jaskier had downplayed concussions but now he’s seriously wondering if he should be concerned about how the other man can be so unfazed by so much - it’s not like you can develop an immunity to head trauma.
Jaskier just nods again. “Of course, I’m fine. I hope I didn’t give you the wrong impression?”
“Not at all,” Eskel lies.
There are arms around him before he can try and figure out whether Jaskier had seen through his lie. He stumbles slightly but allows the embrace to happen, oddly comforted by the fact that Jaskier is just as relieved to have explained the truth as Eskel is; maybe this time things truly can work out, he thinks.
.
“You really don’t have to go tonight,” Jaskier says for the fourth time that day.
Eskel sighs, throwing a cushion at him. “It’s been three months since we met, I think it’s about time I see you perform.”
Jaskier hums before flopping onto the small sofa, resting his head on Eskel’s lap with the rest of his body draped lengthwise, his feet dangling off the armrest at the end. “But I know you don’t like loud or crowded spaces and we aim to have exactly that,” he pouts.
There’s a long moment in which Eskel just appreciates that he’s not being forced to go despite how bizarre it is to experience the exact opposite situation. He smiles down at Jaskier and very truthfully says, “It won’t matter because I like you.”
He places a finger on Jaskier’s lips when he tries to argue again, chuckling. “And before you ask me again if I’m sure, don’t.”
Jaskier’s eyes practically sparkle for a moment before he twists his head and bites Eskel’s finger, nowhere near hard enough to hurt but firmly enough for it to be a shock.
Rolling his eyes, Eskel laughs. “What, my baking isn’t enough for you anymore?”
Starting to reply only to realise that he can’t form actual words whilst biting down on an index finger, Jaskier pulls Eskel’s hand away and grins. “Dessert is fine, darling, but you’re a five-course meal and I wouldn’t trade all the oven goodies in the world for you.”
Eskel has no idea how to reply to that.
It’s far more romantic than anything he’s used to and he’s never been good at flirting so the last thing he wants to do is say something that ruins whatever they have going on. After a long moment of panic, he settles on shrugging. “We have a pretty good oven.”
Jaskier hums in reply and thankfully doesn’t press on his hesitation, sitting upright with a small sigh. “I suppose I should go get dressed. Are you driving?”
“I don’t trust you with my car,” Eskel says, only half joking.
“I’ll be wearing those heeled boots then,” Jaskier grins, taking absolutely no offence as he springs to his feet and blows a kiss before heading to Eskel’s bathroom, where he’d dumped his change of clothes when arriving earlier and declared it was his domain for the rest of the day.
If anyone had told the Eskel of a few years ago that he’d willingly allow someone so chaotic to saunter around his home and genuinely flirt with him in every other conversation, he’d probably have rolled his eyes and assumed they’d somehow mistaken him for someone else; maybe changing his mindset has been for the better, he thinks.
.
The ocean has no right to be so elegant.
Eskel had never been a huge fan of beaches because the stubbornness of sand is quite frankly sinful but Jaskier absolutely adores everything about them and there’s only so many of his puppy dog eyes that can be refused.
“We’ll barely even touch the sand, I promise!” Jaskier had declared, and he’d made sure of it too.
Soon enough, they’re settled on the rocky side of the beach, propped up against a larger stone with their legs stretched out in front of them and their shoulders pressed together. Jaskier slips his fingers into Eskel’s and gently squeezes, which has quickly become one of Eskel’s favourite things ever.
“Aren’t the waves gorgeous?” Jaskier asks wistfully.
Eskel hums. “They can still kill you.”
Jaskier laughs, nudging him. “Ever the optimist, aren’t you? Nothing can kill me, darling, not today.”
Well, he can’t really argue with that because he feels the exact same way. It’s hard to think of anything morbid when celebrating six months together and he doesn’t particularly want to try so he just nods in agreement.
“Thank you,” Jaskier whispers after a while.
Eskel turns to him, tilting his head to one side. “No, you were right, it is soothing to watch the waves.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Jaskier lifts their connected hands and places a soft kiss on Eskel’s thumb before looking directly at him with an even softer smile. “Thank you for letting me stay for so long.”
He says that as if Eskel isn’t in disbelief about someone being willing to stay with him for so long, especially someone like Jaskier who could probably charm his way into the lives of anyone he pleases.
“I should be saying that to you,” Eskel admits, “I know I’m not exactly the best partner out there.”
Jaskier genuinely looks offended. He uses his free hand to poke Eskel’s stomach and glares at him. “Don’t say things like that, you are possibly the kindest and most patient person I know, not to mention the most handsome.”
Eskel’s face heats up at that and even though he knows he tries to be kind and patient, he can’t help wishing he could be more, that he could be charming and fun and worthy of the poetry Jaskier keeps texting to him whenever he’s drunk.
“Hey, look at me?” Jaskier asks.
Eskel’s head moves before he gives it permission but he has no regrets because Jaskier is smiling and he’s grown overly fond of that stupid smile and the way it manages to make him feel a little better every time it’s directed towards him.
“I love you,” Jaskier whispers.
Oh.
His expression must give his alarm away because Jaskier squeezes his hand again and shuffles so he’s leaning his head on Eskel’s shoulder, looking out at the ocean. “You don’t have to say it back but I couldn’t possibly have gone another day without telling you. And it doesn’t matter, you’re still the best.”
Jaskier falls in love with someone or something new every other day but they’ve both been hesitant to acknowledge his unwavering commitment to loving Eskel until now. Eskel exhales slowly, letting his head rest stop Jaskier’s and closing his eyes.
His first instinct is to apologise but he’s almost certain Jaskier would throw him into the ocean if he did so he settles for squeezing Jaskier’s hand and shuffling even closer, focusing on the way they fit together so well, on the way everything they do together is comfortable, on the way he doesn’t feel pressured to pretend.
He’s always been a little scared of actually finding the love he usually only hears about through everyone else in fear of somehow failing at it but Jaskier has never demanded anything he wasn’t happy to give; maybe love isn’t so frightening with the right people, he thinks.
.
“Jaskier, where’s my hoodie?” Eskel asks, frowning at his wardrobe.
He knows Jaskier sometimes borrows his clothes but he’s not sure how to take that since he seems to do that with literally everyone he knows, whether that’s his bandmates, random people he meets at bars, or even Ciri on a few memorable, drunk occasions.
“Which one?” Jaskier calls back from the kitchen where he’d gone to find popcorn because he refuses to watch a film without some.
Eskel sighs. “The red one with the flowers.”
“Roses!” Jaskier corrects, and Eskel just knows he’s shaking his head in exasperation. “And I don’t know!”
After a moment of frustration, Eskel shrugs on the other red hoodie and makes his way to the kitchen, groaning when he sees Jaskier wearing the not so missing hoodie. Jaskier’s eyes widen at the sound and he spins on his heel to check the microwave as if having expected it to be exploding.
“I thought you said you didn’t know?” Eskel asks, raising an eyebrow.
Jaskier only frowns. “I don’t?”
It takes him a minute to catch on and finally glance down at himself, at which point he bites his lip and looks up again sheepishly. “I just grabbed a random one,” he mumbles eventually.
Eskel rolls his eyes because it’s not the first time they’ve had this type of conversation and makes his way over, using his thumb to gently pull Jaskier’s lip out from under his teeth before very softly kissing him. “Blue suits you better,” he whispers.
Jaskier nods, still wide-eyed and a little breathless as he lifts his arms and loops them around Eskel’s neck. “But red reminds me of you,” he whispers back, his gaze flickering between Eskel’s eyes and lips.
Well, there goes Eskel’s heart melting again.
The microwave beeps at them before he figures out how to reply, both of them jumping enough for their foreheads to crash together. Jaskier curses immediately, stepping back as he rubs his head and glares at the microwave as if it’d just stabbed him.
“Hope the popcorn is worth the pain,” Eskel says, laughing.
Jaskier sticks his tongue out before pulling the popcorn out, pouring it into a bowl and handing said bowl to Eskel as he has the steadier hand and is far less likely to spill it all before they even sit down, which they’d unfortunately had to learn from experience.
“Don’t doubt me, darling, you are going to love this film!” Jaskier declares just as he always does - he’s only right about half the time but Eskel has to credit him for the everlasting confidence at least.
It doesn’t take them long to settle, Jaskier leaning heavily on Eskel and their arms wrapped around each other, and although Eskel is about ninety percent certain he won’t like the film judging by the cover, he wouldn’t dare interrupt Jaskier’s mission to broaden his cinematic horizons or whatever.
“You are unfairly comfortable,” Jaskier mumbles, practically burrowing into his chest.
Eskel laughs, snuggling closer himself. “You have very strange standards.”
Jaskier hums quietly, choosing popcorn over replying to the accusation just as the film finally starts with a rather cliché shot of the view from a window. He was right in thinking he wouldn’t particularly like it but Jaskier’s constant commentary has both of them laughing and it’s worth the watch anyway; maybe being with someone else makes the boring things less boring, he thinks.
.
Weird how a year can feel like forever as well as no time at all.
Eskel wakes up on the morning after their first anniversary with a slow smile, taking in the way Jaskier is sprawled over him like some sort of misguided blanket.
Perhaps it’s just Jaskier’s poetic influence over the past year but he thinks it’s utterly fitting that sunlight just so happens to be falling over the two of them in a way that makes it seem as though they’re glowing even though it’s still winter.
It’s a good thing Jaskier sleeps like the dead when he actually manages to fall asleep for a normal human amount of time because it gives Eskel the chance to do things like bring them breakfast in bed. This one he’s been planning for a while so he doesn’t waste any time gazing and quickly slips out of bed, getting himself sorted and making his way to the kitchen.
He more or less makes the pancakes with muscle memory alone because there’s a part of him that can’t help worrying. He knows Jaskier loves him, he knows that better than he knows most things, but he’s never had a relationship this long and he doesn’t know the right etiquette to all of this.
“Eskel?”
Cursing inwardly, he grabs the tray - complete with a plate of four pancakes, two mugs of coffee, and one small envelope - and heads back to his bedroom, pausing in the doorway. “Right here,” he smiles.
Jaskier returns the smile, then yawns before raising his eyebrows at the sight of the tray. “We already had anniversary breakfast yesterday?”
“Are you saying you don’t want the pancakes?” Eskel asks, smirking when Jaskier sits up with a grin that makes his answer perfectly clear. “Thought so.”
“Mhm, you’re the best boyfriend in the galaxy,” Jaskier says as Eskel places the tray at the foot of the bed and settles beside him.
Eskel is more than aware his face has probably gone embarrassingly red but for once, Jaskier doesn’t point it out, instead getting distracted by and picking up the little envelope with a frown. “What’s this?”
Deep breath.
“Can I open it now?” Jaskier asks, thankfully able to guess that Eskel’s throat has gone a little too dry for him to explain.
When he nods, Jaskier offers him a smile and rips one side open, gasping when he sees what’s inside: a key. Or more specifically, a replica of Eskel’s house key.
“I love you,” Eskel says honestly.
It’d taken him a while to get things sorted in his head - not to mention several awkward conversations with his family and friends - but at this point, he’s absolutely certain he loves Jaskier and nothing can make him question his heart in the slightest.
Jaskier sniffles and throws his arms around Eskel before he can apologise for making him cry. And Eskel laughs, holding his boyfriend whom he truly genuinely loves because he is capable of that after all close until they’re both satisfied they’re not going to actually burst into tears or anything.
“I love you back, of course,” Jaskier says as he pulls back, rubbing his eyes.
Eskel grins, ignoring the way it almost physically hurts his face, and only grins further when Jaskier kisses him despite both of them being a little too smiley for it to really work.
“I can’t believe you made me cry before pancakes,” Jaskier grumbles eventually, elbowing him, but he’s still half-grinning and there’s a lot of mixed signals.
Laughing, Eskel brushes his thumbs under Jaskier’s eyes. “The pancakes aren’t going anywhere.”
Jaskier hums in acknowledgement and twirls the key between his fingers for a long moment, apparently thinking something over. “You are aware this means you’re never going to get a moment of peace again, right?” he asks.
“I’m willing to take that risk,” Eskel replies even though he’s never felt more at peace than when he’s with Jaskier.
“On your head be it, darling,” Jaskier laughs, shuffling so he can curl into Eskel’s arms again, “I love you so much.”
Eskel’s reply is swallowed by the lump in his throat but it’s okay because Jaskier knows and he knows Jaskier knows and that’s more than enough. Their breakfast will probably go cold before they get round to it but neither of them will mind because everything else is just so perfect; maybe love is just being patient with the differences, Eskel thinks.
-
ik this is fairly niche so it's unlikely many ppl will be reading but just in case: this fic was not meant to reflect aromanticism as a whole - sometimes you just don't aim for love and that's totally valid !! this was just a lil ventfic,,
ongoing masterlist for this au if you’re interested :)
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thanks for reading !! masterlist | witcher blog: @itsjaskier
Panda!! 🐼 Could I request Jaskier showing Eskel that he looks beautiful/sexy with his scars when he feels insecure, that he feels unloved, please? Thanks so much, dear heart!! 💜
Absolutely darling Alex! It went softer and just a hint sadder than I intended, but I hope you like it! <333 Also, this is my first Jaskel, please enjoy!
Thank you @wolf-and-bard for helping me beta read this <333
On Ao3 here! Part two Part three
When Eskel sleeps, he does so on his side. His scars hidden in his pillow, gone from the world. That way, when he lies next to Jaskier, he hopes he will stay.
It’s harder when they are awake. Harder to hide his ugliness, his mistakes, his cruelty. He carries it with him always, a weight he is used to and comfortable with. Eskel knows what he looks like. Has accepted it.
He misses smiling though. Jaskiers smile is catching, achingly bright.
Eskel finds it hard to believe that Jaskier really wants him. Really wants him. Wants to stay with him. Jaskier is a very free spirit, a kind and very loyal one. Eskel doesn’t doubt his loyalty, he just finds it very hard to believe Jaskier’s colorful words of love.
Because how can he be worthy of it? How could he possibly be enough? Ugly, scarred, and dangerous as he is. How could he possibly hold Jaskier back, because of this wonderful loyalty?
So he does everything in his might to keep him. To be worthy. He struggles, he fights his own insecurities, because even if he doubts his own worth, he has to trust Jaskier’s judgement.
“It is my love, Eskel, and I give it to who I want.” Jaskier once told him. That time, his love wasn’t directed towards Eskel. And now it is.
And it is just as heavy.
~
When Eskel sleeps, Jaskier notices he sleeps on his side, hiding his scars.
Jaskier tries not to make a big deal out of it, but when they wake up, he makes a point of kissing his scarred cheek, his broken lips.
The first time he did, Eskel flinched. Jaskier asked if it hurt, and Eskel stared at him for a long moment before he admitted, no, he just isn’t used to kisses on his scars.
Jaskier never pushes him, never mentions what he sees. He just pours as much love as he can into it. He heard of a technique once, from a land far, far away. You don’t throw out broken pieces, you meld them back together with gold, and make them even more precious.
Jaskier is not vain enough to think of his kisses as gold, but he does his best to mend, to see the beauty that Eskel won’t.
He has a plan. Jaskier knows Eskel likes to face him as they sleep. So he puts his trickster plan into motion one night in Kaer Morhen. Jaskier sneaks off to bed early, taking Eskel’s side of the bed.
“It smells like you,” he says by way of explanation, giving Eskel his softest smile. Eskel forgives him, like he always does.
This time however, Eskel doesn’t settle easily. Usually, he would lay on his side and watch, touch, kiss as Jaskier falls asleep. Tonight, he struggles. His scars are in plain view, and Jaskier can see how much he wants to hide them.
Eskel flinches when Jaskier reaches out a hand and cups his cheek. The skin under his fingers is warm, alive, and Jaskier is forever grateful that he is allowed to touch, to love.
“I love you,” Jaskier whispers. “Everything that makes up you. If you’d let me, I want to stay by your side always.”
It was never his plan to make Eskel crumble. But in front of his eyes, this big man falls into pieces. Jaskier pours all his golden kisses in the cracks, holds him close to fit the pieces back together.
They kiss, cry, and then Eskel pulls Jaskier on top of him. Warmth turns to heat, and Jaskier’s fingers stroke Eskel’s wide, hairy chest. He kisses his soft stomach, adores his thick thighs.
Jaskier loves everything that makes up Eskel, and when he finally sinks into him, he thinks Eskel might start to believe it too.
“I love you,” Jaskier tells him, over and over again. “I love you”.
~
Eskel sleeps on his side.
Behind his back, a bard with golden kisses holds him close. His scars are hidden in the pillow still, but one day, he might find the gold in the cracks, and trust it’ll hold.
