Thank you very much for the first prompt from my 200 followers prompt list!
I assume you meant dealer’s choice for the ship so we have Geraskier with a brief mention of Lambden. Enjoy!
"You don't have to come, we're not kidnapping you," Eskel rolled his eyes behind the cover of his palm, holding his head in his hands as he listened to Geralt sigh and groan for the thirty-seventh time in the past hour.
"But if you don't I'll steal your cat," Lambert shouted from deep inside Geralt's wardrobe, where he was searching desperately for something flattering to dress his brother in, anything both casual, fitting, and possibly not black, though that last one was becoming increasingly unlikely the deeper in the wardrobe he got.
"An hour, at most," Geralt bit out, every muscle in his face and neck were tense to the point Eskel was surprised they hadn't snapped yet, all because his brothers were trying to get him out of the house for more than a run to the shops, usually for the sake of his cat rather than himself.
"It's for your own good, if you stay inside any longer your skin will be the same colour as your hair, you need sun! booze! could probably benefit from a good har-"
Eskel swung the door shut from the outside, leaning his full weight against the door as Lambert banged on the wood from the inside, the shouts nearly unintelligible, but still loud enough Geralt could already feel a headache coming on. If the night continued like this he'd be surprised is he came home with anything less than a migraine and a future hangover.
"Geralt, we just want you to do something. You've been locked up inside for nearly two months. It'll be good for you, and if you don't like it you never have to tag along again, we'll... walk in the park instead next time, but you're not getting off the hook with a grumpy face," Eskel explained calmly, the perfect balance to Lambert's rather, unruly, matter of helping.
Speaking of, the youngest of the three had taken to ramming his shoulder into the closet, a steady "Bang, Bang, Bang" Coming from behind Eskel, Lambert trying to make his daring escape out of the closet.
Eskel smirked and waited until he'd timed the silence between attempts at taking the door off its hinges and moved away just in time for Lambert's full weight to hit the door as it began to open, sending him to the floor like a bag of brick.
"Bastard," He bit out, tossing a pair of crudely folded socks at Eskel, dusting off the black button-down he'd carried out with him as he regained his footing.
"What I get for trying to help,"
"Just put it on, you look like your having war flashbacks," Lambert threw a matching pair of black jeans at Geralt, one pant leg landing over his shoulder and the other square on his face and over his head.
Geralt snatched the fabric from Lambert, holding it out in front of him. This particular shirt was in the back of his closet for a reason, it was nearly two years old and was exclusively worn on dates when he still humoured himself and went on them.
It's both too formal, too small, and too many memories for the locally owned bar they're spending their evening at.
"It won't fit, I'll look like an overstuffed sausage,"
"Exactly," He winked with an exaggerated lick to his lips and eyebrow flick. Eskel mocked a silent gag behind him, making Geralt bite the inside of his cheek to stop from laughing and setting Lambert off again.
"If it cuts off my circulation and I need my arm amputated I'm taking yours," He digressed, removing the trousers from over his head, hanging them over his arm along with the shirt.
"You wish you had my arms,"
"I did have them," He smirked, shooing his brothers out of his room so he could change, "before I hit puberty,"
"Hey!"
--
Geralt shook his head, listening to the muffled sound of arguing and the shuffle of clothing as Lambert no doubt was trying to defend his arms.
Now that they were out of the room and the idea of an actual outing was less daunting, he could feel the familiarity of having both his brothers home, acting just like they did when they were children still all living together.
Maybe tonight wouldn't be such a disaster if he kept close to them and kept quiet. He'd drink, listen to some music, and go home. Nothing more.
The bar was just as he remembered it from the last time he'd been here, a few more people and a small mic set up in the corner were the only added features, that and the flyer on the door that said 'open mic,'
They arrived at the bar an hour later, Geralt shoved into the shirt that hugged his entire upper body like spandex, the top three buttons refusing to meet and the fourth just barely hanging on.
He and Lambert had settled on keeping the button-down if Geralt could wear a thin undershirt with it, enough coverage so he wasn't showing half his chest off to the general public.
"I think everyone would go running for the hills if we did," Eskel responded, shoving Lambert away from him, who mumbled 'buzz kill' under his breath.
"We should perform the one we did when we were kid," Lambert elbowed Eskel in the shoulder as he spoke, recalling the time they had, as teenagers (barring Lambert who hadn't reached 'teen' status at the time), choreographed a dance to perform for Vesemir, the boredom from being snowed inside the small farmhouse apparently getting to their brains before the rest of them.
It was awful, and Vesemire still holds the video footage of it over their heads, claiming he'll only play it for them if it's at one of their weddings.
Eskel used to joke that the subconscious threat was the reason none of them could keep a steady relationship. Used to, until Lambert met Aiden, now they're just counting the days for one of them to propose.
"What about you Ger-Bear, want to duet with me?" Lambert blew a kiss over his shoulder at Geralt, batting his eyelashes. If it weren't for the awful flirting Geralt would have thought the blinks were the first sign of a stroke.
"I'd rather eat the microphone,"
"You could go big with that, the mellow sound of digesting green juice, frozen pre-made meals and cat treats. Your first album would go platinum before you passed the mic"
Eskel laughed into his closed fist, covering the sound poorly with a cough, not wanting to encourage Lambert anymore than his inflated ego and lack of shame already had.
"Sounds like the kind of thing you'd consider good music."
"You wouldn't know good music if it bit you in the ass!" Lamber shot back, waving down the bartender as he did so.
"I said music," The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could think of a better response, his hand raised as if he were a schoolboy answering the teacher. He dropped his hand, not letting the immediate regret show on his face, even as Lambert laughed out his best impression of a dying bird, slamming his fist down on the bar.
"I'm sorry did someone say music while also referencing one of your lovely bottoms?" The three of them turned away from the bar, eyes falling on a man whose shirt was unbuttoned more than Geralt's without the excuse of it being too tight.
He had a guitar swung over his shoulder and a shameless look in his eye as they flickered between meeting Geralt's gaze and staring at the seat of his black jeans.
"Perfect!" The man didn't falter at the awkward response, slipping his way between Lambert and Geralt. "Because I play good music, and I won't have to bite you in the ass to prove it," He winked, which until moments ago Geralt thought could never actually look properly flirtatious on anyone.
Geralt smiled, running through the dusty corners of his mind, trying to think of a way to respond and keep the banter going without fucking it up and scaring away the only person to actively choose him. He usually made the first move, when he was up for it, and now in the face of another actually flirting at him, he'd frozen completely, slack-jawed and buffering.
"His name is Geralt," Eskel spoke over Lambert's head, turning back to his pint after Jaskier smiled brightly at him, mouthing a thank you, the words hidden from Geralt and Lambert.
"It's a pleasure to meet you,"
"Jaskier," He held out his hand, this Geralt at least knew how to reciprocate, shake the hand like a normal, functioning man.
Only it turned out Jaskier is full of surprises already, taking Geralt's hand as he reached out, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss just below the knuckle of his index and middle finger, the way a prince would to woo a princess in fairytales.
Geralt's face afterwards was the only splash of colour he'd worn in years.
"You!" Geralt replied clumsily, biting his tongue in an attempt to rein it in before he spoke again, a single comment away from losing his dignity entirely.
Jaskier laughed, but Geralt felt in no way demeaned by him, his nerves beginning to finally settle. His laughter broke the awkward tension growing between them, turning his fumbling into indearing responses in his mind, mortification shrivelling away where it had been growing inside him.
"Are you playing the open mic?" Geralt managed, feeling newly relaxed in his skin.
"I am! I was just going to come in play and go, but now it's just a goddamn shame that you're not here with me, maybe I wouldn't have left quite so alone if you were."
"I can be," Watching Jaskier's eyes light up was like nothing he'd ever experienced upon first meeting, nearly enough for him to drop the whole thing and leave, go back to his flat and curl up with Roach. He's not one to admit fear so easily, but in the face of something that must be too good to be true, or set up by his brothers in their obvious pity, he feels safe in saying he's, on edge.
"I would love that, but, would you?" His trance was broken once Jaskier's tone changed, in a matter of seconds the exaggerating, flirting tone was gone, replaced with something slightly deeper, clearly Jaskier's natural, casual voice, eyes slightly squinted in concern.
"I know I can come off strong, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable Geralt,"
"No!" He shouted, spinning around as Jaskier began to walk off, now properly face to face Geralt backed up a step when he saw Jaskier was just as tall as him. He put that realization on the back burner, deciding to decipher why that was had made his stomach flutter later, once he's fixed this nearly ruined moment.
"You didn't, it's just been a while, for me." He explained, swallowing down his suddenly very dry throat.
"Oh?" Jaskier's eyes jumped up and down Geralt's body, eyebrows hidden behind the tousled brown fringe over his forehead.
"Wha-No, not like that! Well, yes like that, also, but, I-"
"You're not used to being approached?" Jaskier cut off his rambling, once again saving their conversation before Geralt could spiral.
"Among, other things, yes."
"Oh, well then why don't we restart? I play in a few minutes so you can think through where you want to go with this, and I'll meet you back here in an hour?" He offered, fingers rubbing subconsciously against each other as he waited for Geralt's response, what was at first a half-cocked proposition shifting into something more.
"Good, yes." He sighed, an hour was more than enough time for Eskel to talk his sense back and Lambert to overzealously encourage him. An hour is good.
"Thank you,"
"Pleasure's all mine Geralt," he smiled softly, turning on his heel in one swift movement and walking towards the mic and stool where he'd play.
Years later, Geralt sits with his head hidden in both hands while every one of his family and friends laugh at the home video Vesemir had brought to celebrate his and Jaskier's big day.
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Send me a prompt from this here prompt list or I’ll steal your cat. (I just realized I missed a great opportunity for cat-related jokes about Aiden)
So after the breakup, he leaves with his stuff and goes lives with a college friend over in the next town.
He starts playing at open mic nights in pubs doing some original music and song covers. He also does it on youtube and slowly starts growing a following
He got a new phone and number so nobody else can contact him back home. And only close friends and people he trusts have his number.
But he has to go back home when there is a family emergency and he begs and hopes not to bump into Geralt or anyone else, but you know not everything goes the way you want .
