(NSFW warning but no actual sex, warning for brief smoking. 1.4K)
It takes longer than usual for Geralt to catch his breath, the thick weight of Jaskier on his lap pulling him back down into reality. He huffs like a fighter but he feels more relaxed than he has in weeks right now. His limbs are as languid as his mind and as he inhales the scent of the past hour, Jaskier takes the liberty of rearranging Geralt’s body to his liking.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Jaskier says, sounding not at all as breathless as Geralt which is unfair. He slots himself into the space between Geralt’s trembling thighs and nuzzles against his neck. “Although I hardly minded the distraction at all.”
Geralt couldn’t think of the question if Jaskier had a sabre to his throat. His chest heaves, breath finally slowing as his racing heart settles and he softens. A late spring breeze wafts over them but neither man shivers, each warmed by the other’s presence. Geralt strains to remember whatever it was they’d been talking about before he pulled Jaskier in— and in, and in, and out, and in. “Ask it again.”
“I asked what you wanted.” Jaskier doesn’t lift his head so Geralt can’t see the affectionate twinkle in his eye but he can hear it lingering in his voice, and feel it in the press of his lips and fingertips and body heat. A thrush calls for attention somewhere. Jaskier kisses his neck so softly it can barely be felt, encouraging him to speak with candour. “Surely you must have some fantasies.”
Oh, now Geralt remembers. They ran into a strange young woman who had taken quite a liking to Geralt, much to his dismay and Jaskier’s delight. Then both witcher and bard had been horrified to hear her wax about the great carnal prowess of witchers, possessive sex demons that they were. At first Geralt had had to fight the urge to laugh in her face. He struggles not to chuckle thinking about her creative imagination now. “I’m sure you have fantasies enough for the both of us.”
“Well, yes, obviously,” scoffs Jaskier. “But I want to please you too, Geralt! Is there anything you’ve always dreamt of? Any familiar fantasy that floods your mind on lonely nights?”
Geralt snorts. “You first.”
“Fine,” Jaskier sniffs, pulling out the syllable into a long word. Geralt affectionately sweeps a hand over his back and the man relaxes into his embrace. “Well, if you must know, I too have thought of you being… possessive. I don’t mean to imply that you’re a monster or anything like that, so don’t you dare go spiralling into self-hatred, but… uh, often I fantasize of you… claiming me. In front of another witcher.”
This last part is nearly whispered, and Jaskier very rarely shows his shame so Geralt pays close attention and tries not to laugh at the thought. All the witchers that come to mind are ridiculously poor choices. “So when we’ve gone to Kaer Morhen… that’s been on your mind?”
Jaskier nods silently. Geralt rubs his back softly as he contemplates the idea. It’s not the public intimacy that scares him, it’s that he can’t possibly think about having sex in front of his family— even though Lambert flagrantly flaunts his sexuality without a care for the other Wolves at all.
“Couldn't be Eskel,” Geralt finally says. “If that’s who you were thinking of. He’s my brother, it would be too weird.”
“I know, love,” Jaskier quickly replies, curling closer. “Don’t worry about it, truly— it’s just a fantasy, that’s all! But, uh, I told you mine; your turn now, Geralt.”
Geralt hums as he earnestly tries to recall one. But Jaskier’s bare leg is still between his, taking up more brain space than it deserves, and the man’s broad hand is curled around the side of Geralt’s abdomen. Geralt wonders if Jaskier knows exactly how few people have held him like this over the course of his long life, or if he knows that he’s the only one who has been a constant. Needs and wants always come in to muck things up, whether their morals contradict or their destinies force them apart or one of them always wants to spice things up with stuffed unicorns and the like. But lying in Jaskier’s arms— and residing in his heart— has always been easy.
“The only thing I’ve ever fantasized about was this,” Geralt mutters, a little embarrassed. Jaskier raises himself up from the witcher’s throat, his big blue eyes wide and his sharp smile pleased. He kisses away the sweat on Geralt’s jaw, then the sheepish grimace on his lips. Very soon, Geralt struggles to catch his breath again.
-
Geralt doesn’t think about the conversation for days afterward. Then while riding through a collection of hovels too paltry to even deserve the status of a village, he sees a familiar set of shoulders hunched outside the herbalist’s shop, freeing her of her monkshood. Geralt spurs Roach forward without warning and then practically vaults out of her saddle, his heart soaring as he approaches the crouching man. “Now what are you doing in a shithole like this? Not a king in sight!”
The hulking stranger smiles before he even turns, and by the time Letho rises to his full stature he’s grinning like a fool. The joy oddly suits him, transforming his usually serious countenance into a nearly handsome look. “Well, look at that. Like the beginning of a bad joke. Two witchers walk into the same town…”
“I haven’t heard that one,” Geralt laughs, shifting between his feet. He wants to embrace Letho in a tight hug but he isn’t sure if the Viper would welcome it or take off as fast as he could. So he sets his hands on his hips and tries to steady himself— then his fluttering nerves remind him of the flutteriest person Geralt knows. Fuck. He doubles back to sheepishly glance at his companion. “Don’t think the two of you have met yet.”
At least there isn’t a trace of jealousy or discontent on his bard’s face; only curiosity that will not easily be sated. Before Jaskier can do his usual pompous Viscount monologue, Letho steps around Geralt to face him head-on. “No, but I’m familiar with the songs. I’m Letho of Gulet, and you must be Geralt’s extra saddlebags, right?”
Jaskier’s eyes flash, but he laughs without any bitterness. “You’re not wrong. Is there a place around here that we could treat you to a drink, Letho? I think I’d like to hear the end of the joke.”
From then on, the two get on like a house on fire, heading to darken the door of the nearest ‘establishment’ that technically sells alcohol and other amusements. At first it feels a bit like watching a panther play with a peacock, but Jaskier seems to piece together everything Geralt never told him about Letho fairly quickly.
For the Viper’s part he is surprisingly forthcoming, sharing his pipe with the bard along with a host of stories. Jaskier eagerly attends both, linking the soft curve of his arm with Letho’s thick muscly one and hanging onto every word the witcher provides. Geralt hangs back and watches the smoke and warmth flow from them both, his mind racing as his stomach flips.
Then Letho rises from the table to buy the next round, acting more noble than ever. Like he’s putting on a bit of a show. Jaskier is not a small man but as the Viper stands he lifts the bard with him for just a moment. Geralt gulps back dry air, transfixed. Letho smiles at him, not meanly but with unexpected convivial heat— as though they share a secret.
The toe of Jaskier’s boot brushes against Geralt’s calf under the table and he looks sharply at his companion, face burning. If Jaskier can sense Geralt’s fast pulse he politely doesn’t address it, leaning in to murmur softly without accusation, “You’ve been quieter than usual since we got here. All good, darling?”
Geralt forces himself to nod and Jaskier retreats, appeased for the moment. That could be the end of it. By rights, that should be the end of it. But his blood is still boiling in an entirely pleasant way, and so he clears his throat quietly. As casually as he can, he tells Jaskier, “You know, he’s from another school. Letho isn't my brother.”
“Oh,” Jaskier hums, and then in an entirely different tone when Geralt’s meaning lands, as his gaze darkens, “Oh.”
Lmao you know how there are fics of the wolf witchers being cursed into literal wolves?? What if the viper witchers got turned into snakes.
Enter Jaskier.
Jaskier is the kid who loved every animal and insect regardless of how ugly it looked or how dangerous it was. He purposefully sought out lizards and snakes to play with as a child and absolutely adores them. He coos over snakes the way someone would find puppies cute.
So, Jaskier ends up finding Letho, who was cursed to be a snake. (I'm thinking Vipera berus, the common European adder).
At first Jaskier doesn't realize that Letho is cursed, he only recognizes the markings as that belonging to a common venomous snake he would find all the time on the grounds surrounding the manor. (Jaskier has non human blood and never suffered from the bites he sustained). The snake doesn't seem aggressive, so Jaskier easily scoops Letho up in his hands and coos over him.
Letho is instantly enraged.
Imagine a cute little snake hissing angrily, but his bite isn't doing anything and he is essentially harmless. Jaskier can't get over how cute he looks.
Eventually Jaskier figures out that the snake is a cursed witcher, and finds Letho's gear.
Jaskier can't figure out Letho's real name, so he calls the witcher "his little viper" based on the witcher amulet he found, which depicted a viper.
Don't tell Jaskier but Letho secretly likes the endearment.
Just imagine Jaskier fawning over this larger than average adder, and calling it "his baby boy" and "his little viper." Other humans are terrified of this monster of a snake - unusually big and with giant fangs.
During the colder months Jaskier tucks Letho around his neck and under his shirt to help keep him warm. Jaskier shows Letho unconditional love.
When they run into Geralt, the wolf witcher is not happy.
For the tag game: The risk i took was calculated but MAN am i bad at math
Standing there above them is the biggest man Jaskier has ever seen; his shoulders are so wide that a normal-sized human could easily use him as a bed, and his arms and thighs and muscular calves and even his hands all measure up too. Hanging around his neck is a medallion that matches the one dangling from Geralt’s, and his eyes glow in the dull daylight. Jaskier swallows, his mouth suddenly dry.
“Didn’t expect to find you round these parts, Geralt,” says the other witcher. He steps closer to the edge of the riverbank to hold out a hand, and Geralt quickly crosses the stream to accept. The strong witcher pulls him up with ease. Jaskier watches, beyond curious about the nature of this friendship. Is this a brother? A rival?
But before either witcher can hug or punch the other, Geralt shakes out his wet hair and steps onto the path, out of Jaskier’s line of sight. He asks, his brief amusement apparently over, “Are you on a contract right now?”
The giant witcher hesitates before answering, glancing over at Jaskier. Even though they’re at a slight distance, the air between them feels unnaturally charged for a moment. Jaskier doesn’t move, still lying on the uncomfortable shore and holding his lute. The witcher doesn’t say a word, but his bright eyes flash with… something.
this one is kind of like a 5 times jaskier met letho, with lethskier revenge friends with benefits except they aren't friends. basically "i'm definitely just in this for the sex so help me get over geralt no strings attached"... except of course the idiot lutist develops some serious strings. and then it ends with jaskier/letho/geralt because i'm a sucker for a good ot3!! yay
