how about "lost" for Geraskier (bonus points if Geralt is the mer) 💜💜
ALEX YESSSSS, look, this was finished two days ago, and then it was finished again yesterday, and now again this morning. Did I add 1k to the story just to add a kiss? Maybe.
Please enjoy <3
Send me a pairing and a word and I will make you some words? ❤️
On Ao3 here
Bardic inspiration be damned, Jaskier decides, slipping once again on the pebbled ground as he climbs the rocky coast line of Skellige.
He had wanted to see the whales, but did not listen to the advice given by the locals to go to one of the cliffs beyond the village. No, Jaskier really thought it would be better to experience it up close and all that.
He didn’t even see a fucking whale.
Maybe whale watching is done better from up high, but Jaskier had seen this perfect spot down by the rocks and now he is full of sweaty regrets.
Because he can’t find the path he took to get down here and the high tide is sweeping in, making his path treacherous and slippery.
Swearing profusely, Jaskier manages to at least get above the waterline. His shoes are wet, as are his breeches to the knee, but at least his leather satchel is fine.
Good thing he didn’t bring the lute.
Jaskier settles down to wait it out. It’s a fine day after all, even if the sun is slowly setting, and the sea is as calm as it can be around here.
Despite being so frustrated with himself, Jaskier finds himself relaxing. The sun shimmers on the surface of the sea, and gulls cry above, accompanied by the lapping of waves.
There are some rock formations further out, some of them almost shaped like giant, crooked pillars.
This view is why he was drawn to Skellige after all, so far away from his homelands. The stone he sits on is hard, yes, but warmed from sitting in the sun all day.
Out of the corner of his eye, to the left, Jaskier notices movement.
When he turns his head, there is nothing there.
Strange.
He knows Skellige is not the safest of places. The coast is riddled with harpies and sirens, the latter especially dangerous this close to the water.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.
Then he spots something again, but this time straight ahead. It is directly in the bright reflection, so Jaskier has to squint but isn’t that… it looks like…?
The back of a whale!
Jaskier scrambles up to his feet, trying to shield his eyes to get a better look. Yes, that really is a whale out there! A big one, looks like, and far out!
He can only see the top of it, and the strange huffing sound travels across the surface when it blows water high, high up into the air.
The droplets are glistening like diamonds, like rain on a sunny day, as they fall back down.
The whale stays there for another minute or two, breathing deeply, and then the surface ripples as she dives.
Her tail comes up, rivulets of water falling down her fin, and then gives a giant splash as she pushes herself further down.
Jaskier realizes his mouth is hanging open.
He truly didn’t expect to see one, and not this close to the shore. Alright, it was not that close to the shore, but still visible to the naked eye, and he is thrilled.
He scans the surface once more, hungry for another sighting, but once the water has calmed there is nothing else.
Immediately, Jaskier starts going through his satchel to bring out the precious paper and pencil to write this down. When he finds it, he plops back down on the rock, legs crossed, and everything else forgotten.
The words come easily, filling the page with poetry and observation.
So lost in it, he doesn’t even notice he isn’t alone anymore until there is a soft splash right in front of him.
Jaskier startles, a long black line scratching across the page.
He could swear there is the upper half of a face sticking up out of the water, just a few feet away from him.
Pale skin, yellow eyes, even paler hair slicked back over what seems to be a surprisingly human-shaped head.
Jaskier’s heart is beating so hard he can feel it in his throat. Is this a siren? No, he would be dead by now, wouldn’t he?
Is it a dead person? No, the eyes are watching him very intently, blinking slowly, so it couldn’t be. It could be a drowner, though, but aren't they blue?
When nothing happens, Jaskier forces himself to relax his posture. His entire body is fighting him, that knee-jerk fight or flight response trying to decide which is best to do, but Jaskier decides on neither.
“Hello?” he ventures, and the eyes look back at him. “Who might you be?”
There is no response, which, fair, nose and mouth both seem to be submerged. But the being comes just a little bit closer, and Jaskier fights to keep his breathing even.
Just to be safe, Jaskier puts his papers to the side, pinned in place by the satchel. It wouldn’t do for them to become wet, even if this is where he meets his end. Maybe the skalds can sing about him, were they to find his notes. The bard who got too close, or whatever.
Fear is great inspiration, it would seem.
With a soft sound, the top of a head becomes an entire head, a neck, shoulders, and arms. Pale, glistening, well muscled, and surprisingly human looking, were it not for the gills on his neck, the long fins along the outside of the under arms, and smatterings of scales.
The white hair is longer than he thought, slightly curly now that it is out of the water, and sticking to the sides of the person’s face.
Jaskier blinks hard, taking it all in.
“Are you a mer?” Jaskier asks breathlessly, as the person pulls themself up on a rock. The lower half of the body is still hidden, but he can see hints of scales on their sides and down over the hips. Pale grey, like pale silver, he thinks.
The person, who looks very much like a man, tilts his head, and seems to scent the air.
“Afraid?” The person asks, his voice raspy and low. Yeah, it absolutely sounds like a he, but Jaskier is not very well versed in Mer anatomy.
“You surprised me,” Jaskier says carefully. “I thought I was alone.”
“You are never alone in the sea,” the mer says between sharp teeth.
As if that wasn’t a terrifying statement.
But the Mer speaks the language of Skellige, and Jaskier desperately wants to know more.
“Who are you?” Jaskier asks. “Do you live here?”
“This is my territory,” the Mer says, straightening up a little, revealing just a hint of a powerful tail below the surface. “Mine to keep.”
Jaskier smiles at the little display, finding it a little endearing despite the hint of aggression. Like a hissy kitten, trying out its claws.
“Then I am your guest. Forgive me, but I am lost, and I can’t find my way back.”
The mer watches, expression giving nothing away. Then again, expressions just might be different for Mer, Jaskier muses.
“Forgive? Do you need forgiveness for being lost?”
“Maybe not, but for imposing on your territory. I did not know it was yours. I only wanted to see a whale.”
The mer looks over his shoulder when Jaskier motions with his hand out to the open sea. His profile in the fading light is stunning, and Jaskier feels like he is in some kind of fairy tale.
“And did you see her?” The Mer turns back towards Jaskier.
“I did. She was beautiful.”
The Mer seems satisfied with this answer, and does an odd little hum. It rumbles along his sides, and Jaskier notices another set of thin fins along his ribs. He also notices scars, some new and some old.
“You may call me Geralt,” The Mer suddenly decides, pulling Jaskier out of a daydream where he considers what else is out there.
“Geralt,” Jaskier repeats. Not what he expected a Mer to be named, but again, who is he to tell? “You may call me Jaskier.”
“Jaskier.” Geralt says it like he is tasting the name, and with a slight lisp. “Is this land your territory?”
“I am but a guest here as well. I am a wanderer.” Jaskier smiles again, and Geralt’s eyes dip down to it, as if he doesn’t understand.
“So no territory?” Geralt asks, seemingly confused about the prospect.
“None. Well, none but this one.” And Jaskier pats his satchel. “It holds my treasures, and the stories I collect.”
“How does one collect stories?” Geralt asks, sinking into the water again and swimming closer, eyes all the while trained on Jaskier.
He stops when he is about an arm’s length away from the rock where Jaskier is sitting, making Jaskier’s adrenaline run again.
“Afraid?” Geralt asks again with a frown, tilting his head back as if he is smelling the air. Huh.
“A little,” Jaskier admits, seeing no point in lying. “I have never met your kind before, and I don’t know if you would wish to drown me.”
“If I had wanted that, you’d already be dead,” Geralt says with a cold expression, probably meant as a reassurance, but it doesn’t feel like one.
The Mer props himself up on a rock hidden under water and Jaskier now sees the tail, sleek, strong and silver.
“I collect stories by writing them down, and sometimes singing them,” Jaskier explains, deciding he does not want to remain on the subject of drowning while stuck where he is. “Would you like to hear one?”
When Geralt nods his assent, Jaskier thinks about the skellige songs he knows. Most are bawdy tavern songs, to be honest, but he recalls a ballad of the Maid and the Moon.
He sings it with the lapping of the waves and the cry of gulls, slapping his hand to the rock to keep the beat. It sounds better with a drum, but it will do.
Geralt keeps watching him, keeps doing that weird blink of his. Jaskier starts another one, one of war and fire. And then another one about returning home, which aches just a little.
When the songs are done, Geralt doesn’t say anything, just dives beneath the waves.
The sun is getting really low, and Jaskier is a bit worried he will have to stay here all eve. He isn’t wearing much more than his white tunic and a thin pair of trousers, courtesy of the Skelligan summer heat, but the temperature is dropping along with the setting sun.
Geralt returns with less of a splash than Jaskier expects.
His hair sticks to his forehead, and this close Jaskier notices a scar over his left eye. It looks old, and deep, and Jaskier can’t help but wonder if Geralt’s skin would be cool to the touch, if he were to reach out.
With some strain, Geralt reaches up to the rock where Jaskier is sitting, and Jaskier shifts to accept what Geralt is offering. Their fingers touch, and Jaskier learns that no, Geralt is not cold. The ring that he is handed, however, is.
“Does this one have a story too?” the Mer asks, and Jaskier is immediately flattered for being trusted with Geralt’s treasure.
“I’m sure it does, but it seems it is not mine to tell. Is it yours?”
Jaskier attempts to give the ring back, but Geralt sinks further into the water, shaking his head.
“I do not know it. The ring is yours to keep, Jaskier, as a thanks for sharing your collection of stories with me.”
Jaskier senses this is goodbye, as the Mer swims backwards, back out towards the deep. Despite their short time together, the thought of parting stings. It feels unlikely they will meet again.
“Come back again, Jaskier the wanderer. It was good to have you as a guest. Your path to land is clear.”
Jaskier blinks in surprise, and then frowns at this statement. When he turns to look towards the rocks around and behind him, he realizes that the tide has pulled back enough for him to climb up towards the safety of land. When Jaskier looks back, Geralt is gone.
The waves lap against the stones as if nothing happened. Before the sun can disappear beyond the horizon, Jaskier gathers his things and carefully makes his way up.
When he’s ascended to safety, he turns once more, looking out over the ocean. The sky is a myriad of colors, birds a dark outline against its splendor, but not a hint of his new friend is to be seen.
-----
The day after brings a storm and Jaskier is unable to go back to the shore for another two days. It’s strange, but Jaskier feels an itch under his skin, he wants to go back, learn more, see Geralt again.
On the third day the sky clears, the clouds finally finishing with their weeping and the wind its howling.
Jaskier is better prepared this time. He sits down on the same rock as before, and he sings while he waits.
Geralt finds him again on that rock, this time swimming close without any hesitation.
“Lost again?” Geralt asks. There is a new set of gashes on his arm, looking like claw marks, too big to be anything Jaskier would ever want to meet.
“No. Looking for a friend.” Jaskier smiles. “If you will have me as a guest once more.”
Geralt smiles back at him then, stiff though it may be, but Jaskier sees it as the gift it is anyway.
“It would be my honor.”
------
Since Jaskier came to Skellige, he has seen at least three whales, climbed a number of beautiful and treacherous mountain passes, and tasted alcohol strong enough to give women chest hair. He has made friends with skalds and fishermen and errand boys and lords, and his time is coming to a close.
He will miss it. Them. This sharp country and its inhabitants, the living myths found hidden everywhere.
There is one he will miss a lot, Jaskier thinks, as he makes the now familiar climb down the rocky shore.
Saying goodbye is a part of being a wanderer, but it doesn’t make it any easier. His mother always liked to remind him, a goodbye is not a farewell, but still, Jaskier doesn’t have much hope for that.
Geralt is already there waiting for him, and Jaskier plops down on a rock further down so he can dip his feet into the water.
The Mer had expressed great interest in the concept of shoes, struggling with understanding their function. That first time Jaskier had joined him for a swim, Geralt had made one of his unreadable faces when Jaskier took off everything but his underclothes before getting in.
Technically the cove not a safe place to swim as the currents are strong and had threatened to pull Jaskier under more than once, but Geralt was always there to catch him.
Now, Geralt is sunbathing, propped up in a way to let his bare chest soak up as much sunlight as possible, his tail lazily moving side to side in the shallow water.
He is achingly beautiful, and Jaskier is suddenly struck by melancholy.
Jaskier doesn’t say anything when he sits, only removes his shoes and socks to dip his toes in water that doesn’t get warm, even in summer.
The Mer opens his eyes, gazing directly at him, eyes as bright as rays of sunlight.
“Sad?” Geralt asks in that direct way of his.
“Yes,” Jaskier admits, splashing his feet and scaring off the shrimp that were brave enough to approach him.
Geralt sits up enough to lean back on his elbow and watches Jaskier intently.
“Why?”
“I am leaving soon, my friend. A ship arrives within the week to take me home. To my territory.”
Geralt opens and closes his mouth, then looks out over the sea.
“Hm,” he says, confirming that he understood but doesn’t know how to reply.
Were Geralt a human, Jaskier would have asked him to come with, but he is not. Geralt’s territory is here, his life is here, and even with a boat, the travel across the seas is dangerous.
He will not ask it.
They sit in silence for a long while, Jaskier humming under his breath when a story, this story, starts to take form.
When it is time to leave, Geralt swims close, gently taking hold around Jaskier’s calves to stay afloat.
“You have been a good friend,” Geralt says, deep in thought.
“As have you,” Jaskier says, aching with the sadness of parting, of leaving Geralt behind.
To soothe himself, he reaches out a hand and cups Geralt’s cheek. Something he has not done before, something he did not think welcome, but Geralt leans into it.
“I will miss you,” Jaskier says quietly, and the Mer looks up at him through thick lashes.
Then he pushes himself out of the water, heaving himself up on the rock and leaning over Jaskier, into his personal space.
There is water everywhere, soaking Jaskier’s breeches and shirt, but Geralt has leaned forward, and Jaskier meets him halfway.
The kiss tastes like salt and sunlight. Geralt is careful not to hurt him, his teeth hidden behind gentle lips.
“I will miss you, too,” Geralt murmurs against his lips, and then he sinks back down into the water and is gone.
----
Lettenhove in spring is beautiful. The trees are full of buds ready to bloom any day now, bumblebees waking up and doing their confused dance around the flowers in the courtyard.
It is now late enough in the year that summer threatens to overtake the land, waking a wanderer from his slumber.
Jaskier makes his way down past the docks, to the rocky parts where the river meets the ocean.
It’s a habit he can’t shake, and he dips his feet in the cold water, just like he did last summer. He sits there for a good long while, thinking of a kiss and a ring.
There is a ripple in the water to his left, and for a moment, Jaskier thinks he only imagines the familiar face peeking up just over the surface.
But their eyes lock, and half a face becomes a full head and shoulders, as Geralt swims closer.
It is impossible, or, well, improbable. Jaskier feels a giant smile form on his lips and something heavy that’s been on his heart finally lifts.
“Are you lost, wanderer?” he asks, when Geralt swims ever closer, reaching for Jaskier’s calf to hold himself steady.
“No, I'm here to see a friend.” Geralt returns the smile tentatively. “I crossed the sea to find you.”
“Then you are welcome as my guest, friend,” Jaskier says warmly, reaching down to touch Geralt’s cheek, just like the last time they saw each other.
And just like last time, when Jaskier leans forward and down to meet him, their kiss tastes like salt and sunlight.
They did MerGerlat and drew the background and I did CatGeralt and coloured the background! Go over to their page to see more CatGeralt and more amazing art!
Gift exchange piece for the lovely Lia! Eskel deserves nice things, like getting gently.... snuggled ... by Mer!Geralt and Mer!Letho
Full piece is on Pillowfort - Link in pinned post
My brain is very empty but it is Mermay and I had to! Because somfte!
Please enjoy!
Oh, and Kuri I love you, thank you for Beta reading, you are a gem!
On Ao3 here For the @thepassifloradiscord Merweek
Normally, Geralt would roam in the Kelp Forests of old. He enjoyed the sunlight filtering down from the surface, the broken off rays of light shimmering between the kelp's thick leaves.
It is not without its dangers, but that is why he is there, to guard their little reef. His folk rely on him to keep the dangers at bay, and he does so to the best of his ability. His body wears the scars to prove it; bitemarks, and sometimes even claw marks from surface creatures.
Usually, it is not so bad. It heals up fast enough when he is allowed to rest back home. But one of his side-fins took a bad beating a few years back, and every now and then it pains him. It is healed, as well as it can be with being torn into pieces, but sometimes when he makes a sharp turn, or when he gives chase after some pest trying to eat his family, he feels it for a long time after.
The Kelp Forest is calm. Their stems sway in that soothing way of theirs. Dancing, Jaskier called it once, and Geralt thinks that, yes, maybe they are. At least when Jaskier sings to them, they do.
That is how they met actually.
Geralt was patrolling the outer edges of the Kelp Forest, when a voice reached his ears. Distance was tricky sometimes, but it sounded close. Geralt had followed it, only to find Jaskier singing to himself as he sat on the edge of a big rock formation, his scales glittering in the sunlight.
At the time, Geralt had been pissed about it because the singing had attracted a rather large shoal of Razers, a small but sharp toothed fish that were too nosy (and hungry) for their own good.
Jaskier, the idiot, apparently did not yet know what it meant to be out in the open like that. While singing in itself is an innocent activity, and usually a good strategy for placating whales or even sharks, it can be a bitch when his folk were unable to read their surroundings and attract attention such as that.
They were not in mortal danger, but would have been had Geralt not stepped in and not only shut Jaskier up, but pulled him into the relative safety of the kelp.
After that near-death experience, he took to following Geralt, watching his every move, *singing* until Geralt finally relented and admitted they were friends.
It took even more time for Jaskier to nestle himself into the reef, but no time at all to make sure that there was a place for him in Geralt's home.
Living together came surprisingly easily; his family took to Jaskier like algae to a bone.
And since then, they have been living like that for years. The cave system Geralt had chosen was perfect for inhabitants more than himself. Maybe he had hoped one day to fill those rooms with life, despite the aching loneliness when he originally chose it. Maybe Jaskier had already known, and that is why it was so easy to slip into Geralt's life, once he found the door.
This time, he is making the rounds on his own. It is a longer route this time because his brother, who would usually meet up with him halfway, had to stay home.
Eskel mentioned something about a 'hatchling' that needed his help in the message sent earlier, but Geralt knows full well it's because said 'hatchling' is in fact a full grown mer who had been courting Eskel for a full year already.
If he had the guts to do it, Geralt would probably attempt courting too. Sometimes when he is on patrol, he would spot something Jaskier would like. A pretty shell, smooth sea glass, sometimes even a pearl.
He has a little pouch of things he has found. He has only once ever given Jaskier something from those treasures.
The smile Jaskier gave him stayed with him for days.
A few days later, he would be the one who let someone else take patrol.
Geralt had made up his mind just the night before. Yes, he and Jaskier live together, do pretty much everything together, but there is one thing he is missing.
The one thing yesterday had given him a taste of.
Jasker had fallen asleep while clinging to his arm, his lips pressed against Geralt's shoulder. And Geralt would do anything to get that again.
So this morning he sent Roach with a message, the little sea horse speeding off to Eskel's home. Payback for flirting instead of working, he thought, as he collected another armful of seagrass.
Jaskier won't be back for a while yet, so he should at least have an hour or two to finish up the first step of his plan. When he decides he has enough seagrass, he settles into a nook in the cave wall, weaving the grass together so it becomes thick and soft.
Perfect to nest on.
It takes some time, some swearing, and some more gathering of sea grass when he butchers a few too many to keep going, but when he is done, he has new, bigger bedding for his nest.
There is just about enough time to put it into place when Jaskier returns, calling down the halls to announce his arrival. It makes Geralt's blood pump with nervous energy, and before he can change his mind, he rummages through his hidden bag of courting gifts, and picks out a shark tooth.
As per usual, Jaskier bursts into the room, telling Geralt about his day, arms waving and fins swirling with expression. Sometimes, Geralt feels like he could watch him speak forever.
"What's that?" Jaskier interrupts himself, mid story, finally picking up on what Geralt is hiding in his hands.
Geralt feels his face heat up, and he offers up the little treasure to Jaskier with an open palm.
"Found this when patrolling," Geralt mumbles. "Thought you might like it."
Jaskier's smile is blinding. He picks it up, the very tips of his fingers brushing against Geralt's palm. There is no reason for that to send a shiver through him, down to his tail fin, but it does.
Jaskier studies the tooth this way and that, holding it up in the light as he asks what kind of animal it came from, if you can tell the creature's age from it, what this spot right here means, would this be better as a knife or as a necklace, and so on.
Geralt answers all of his questions, and when he quietly offers it to Jaskier as a keepsake, he is rewarded with a kiss on the cheek.
As much as he had decided that today would be the day asked Jaskier to be his, he can't fight off the nervous grumble at that.
Jaskier just smiles and swims back to his own nest to place the gift somewhere safe until he has decided its fate.
As soon as the other mer is gone, Geralt finds his little bag of treasures again. This time, he chooses three very small pearls he found. Rolls them between his fingers, feeling their smooth surface, letting them ground him.
He wonders if he can give them to him just like that? Or maybe he should save them, give the pretty rock instead, the one that glitters when turned.
Before he can make up his mind, Jaskier returns, words exploding out of his mouth again with ideas for the tooth. It has Geralt smiling, glowing inside with how his gift was so well received and with so much enthusiasm.
He doesn't notice himself floating closer until Jaskier turns silent, looking up at him with quiet wonder.
"Geralt?" he asks, quietly for once, eyes big and questioning.
"If I told you I picked you dozens of courting gifts, but lacked the courage to give them to you..." Geralt starts, but trails off. The naked hope on Jaskier's face, it catches him off guard somehow.
"Yes?" Jaskier whispers, inching closer too.
He blushes, even his gills turning a pretty pink, and Geralt just wants to reach out and touch him.
"If I collected them to give them to you... would you accept them?" Geralt braves, and when Jaskier's smile wavers, when his chin wrinkles and his brow furrows, Geralt thinks for a moment he read it all wrong.
"Can I show you something?" Jaskier whispers, and when Geralt nods, Jaskier reaches for his hand.
He is guided out of his own room and down the hall, to where Jaskier has his nest.
He should be used to Jaskier's tactile nature, but he still isn't. It always surprises him when Jaskier reaches out, when he offers reassurance or seeks comfort.
As soon as they are inside, Jaskier lets go and swims up to one of the upper shelves. His nest has always been a mess, full of things that Jaskier finds interesting and beautiful, his ornaments and instruments strewn about the room, mixed with the little corals growing here and there.
Jaskier returns with a sheath, and inside it a whale bone, carved into a knife.
It is beautiful, if a little crooked, but wonderfully decorated with runes and carvings.
"Where did you find this?" Geralt asks with wonder.
"Lambert helped me make it. Or, well. He made it mostly, didn't let me near any of the sharp objects."
Geralt snorts and Jaskier smiles, coming closer and pointing out the finer details on the knife.
"Yennefer helped me with this bit. Said it would help keep you safe. And this one, Ciri put it there."
Geralt admires the handiwork, recognizing the runes and symbols. The one Ciri had put on it was a charm to lead him home.
"And this one?" Geralt asks, pointing to an inscription along the top blade.
"If I told you this is a courting gift, would you accept it?" Jaskier whispers, mirroring what Geralt had asked before.
Gently, Geralt sheathes the knife and puts it down. Then he reaches forward, cradling Jaskier's face in his hands, leaning forward.
"There would be no higher honor," Geralt whispers, and Jaskier's face crumbles again. He looks devastated, and Geralt doesn't understand it, but then the mer is throwing his arms around Geralt's shoulders, pressing close.
He tucks his head in under Geralt's chin, the hands that had been cradling him now holding him close instead, and Geralt finally, finally feels whole.
"Beloved," Geralt whispers, and Jaskier makes a pained sound and presses closer.
"I have had that knife for months," Jaskier admits into Geralt's collarbones, lips grazing the sensitive skin there.
"I have collected courting gifts for years."
They stand there for a long time, just holding each other. Then they hold each other while lying on Jaskier's nest, barely fitting together even with their tails curled around each other.
"I had another question for you," Geralt murmurs into Jaskier's hair eventually, and the mer looks up at him.
"I... uh....made my nest bigger...."
Maybe it is too soon to ask? It feels soon, but also oh so very late. But Jaskier is smiling at him, adjusting them so that he is looking down at Geralt, bracketing him in between his arms.
"Would you share it with me?"
Jaskier kisses him. Soft and lingering and warm and perfect, one of his fingers slowly dragging along Geralt's cheek bone.
When they part, Jaskier is giving him another of those blinding smiles.
"There would be no higher honor," Jaskier replies, leaning in for another kiss. Geralt melts into it, losing himself in Jaskier, in the sensations of finally, finally being close the way he has always wanted but never dared.
Too scarred or too broken to think someone like Jaskier would ever want him, but here they are.
It has barely reached midday, but it is hard to do anything other than hold each other close and trade kisses.
Eventually, Geralt's stomach growls, and they have to get up and get food. Now that it is allowed, Geralt can't stop touching him.
Brushing their fins together, resting a hand on Jaskier's lower back, thumbing away food from the corner of Jaskier's mouth... He can't stop.
They wrestle, which dissolves into cuddling, into kissing, and it is like all those years of waiting has led them up to this.
The first touch is tentative, hands exploring and kisses deepening.
When Jaskier presses closer, presses them together, Geralt can't help the low moan slipping out.
"I thought the courting came first," Geralt teases, but Jaskier won't have it. Not entirely, at least.
"I have spent years courting you in my head. I want this. Please."
Despite those years of mental courting, it is too early for the final step. Maybe this will all fall apart in time, maybe it will turn out they won't be able to stand each other within a few months.
Jaskier just laughs when he says it, and Geralt doesn't believe it either. But for Jaskier, he wants this to be done right.
Day by day passes as he empties his courting bag. Trinkets and gifts and findings are given, and Jaskier accepts each and every one.
Until Jaskier is gone for two full days, returning with a golden ring for Geralt.
The inscription matches the one on the knife, and what Geralt had called him that first night.
Beloved.
Geralt still makes his rounds in the Kelp Forest. He doesn't hesitate to pick up the treasures he finds now.
He brings them home to his husband, his mate, presenting each and every one as a gift.
Jaskier calls him a romantic.
Geralt calls him home.
