happy pride!! geraskier? 🏳️🌈
Yennefer doesn't think anything of the silver ring on Geralt's left hand. He's a witcher, for fuck's sake.
She keeps not thinking of it until she stumbles on him at a pub, which wouldn't be too strange except there's a semi-talented bard belting out a tune, jaunty and uplifting enough that the whole place is rowdy with it.
"I didn't know you liked music," she says, sliding into the chair next to him with a goblet full of mead.
He doesn't seem surprised at her presence, but he never does. He almost smiles at her, the closest he gets when they're still clothed. "I don't really have a choice."
She's still trying to puzzle that out when the bard careens towards their table and plops himself in Geralt's lap, continuing to play and sing from his new position.
Yennefer freezes, waiting for Geralt to shove him aside or start yelling or even draw his sword. Instead he smirks, pointedly turning his head away to drink his beer. The bard goes so far to lean back into his chest, his head falling over Geralt's shoulder and singing directly into his ear.
The volume can't be comfortable if nothing else, but Geralt doesn't so much as flinch. Neither do the other patrons, laughing and shouting and no one screaming obscenities' or going green at the sight of a witcher.
For a moment, Yennefer almost thinks that she's not speaking to Geralt at all, but she dismisses the thought just as quickly. Her magic would sense if he were a doppler or under a glamour.
The bard only stands once he's finished, bowing to all the clapping patrons and accepting several beers when he refuses an encore - or a second encore, based on what several people are yelling.
People eventually dissipate and the bard drops into the seat next to Geralt. "Who's the pretty lady?" he asks, taking Geralt's beer instead of any of the full ones littering the table.
"She could eat you," he says but the bard just laughs.
She notices a familiar silver ring on his left finger and her eyes drop to Geralt's hand. They're identical.
"Sorry that he's so rude," the bard says, holding out his hand. "I'm Jaskier. You're gorgeous."
She doesn't take his hand, instead slowly moving her gaze between them. "How do you two know each other?"
"Carnally," he says, "physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually, metaphysically-"
"Do you even know what that means?" Geralt asks.
"Alchemically," Jaskier continues, "holistically-"
"I'm going to divorce you," he says, which at least answers that question.
Jaskier shrugs. "You can try. How did you two meet?"
Yennefer stills. She's not pleased with being the other women, but she's not about to get in the middle of anyone's marital business, even Geralt's, so she'll just agree with with whatever lie Geralt tells.
"She put a curse on me and now we sleep together," he says.
Jaskier looks her over, but less like a jealous lover and how she's used to men looking at her. "Nice."
He holds his hand up for a hand five which Geralt ignores. Jaskier pouts.
A very pretty barmaid comes over, holding a cup of the same mead Yennefer is drinking. "Hello, Jaskier," she says shyly, the lines around her eyes taking nothing away from the lush curves of breast and thigh. "You have such a lovely voice. I'd love to hear more of it, later, if you're free."
Jaskier looks to Geralt with a raised eyebrow. Geralt shrugs.
"No time like the present, my lady," he says, bouncing to his feet. He takes the mead in one hand and settles the other on her hip, leading her toward the stairs.
Yennefer stares. "You're just going to let him do that?"
He shrugs again. "You can sleep with him too if you want. He's the one that taught me the thing with my tongue that you like so much."
Interesting, but not currently her focus. "Why didn't you tell me you were married?"
How the hell is a witcher married? To a bard, of all people?
"You didn't ask," he answers, and then says nothing else.
Okay, just for that she is going to sleep with his husband.
