Because his own shirt got stained and he refuses to wear it, so he bullies Geralt to borrow one of his. to wear under his doublet or whatever.
Every now and then, when he moves in a certain way, air puffs out from inside his shirt, only, this time it smells like Geralt instead of himself.
And Geralt can't wrap his head around why the bard is so quiet.
When it's time for sleep, they are in a small inn, Geralt sees Jaskier wearing his shirt in the dim candle light. Geralt is usually quiet, so he gets away with being a little tongue tied, but slowly he is figuring it out.
Jaskier ends up sleeping in it while his own tunic is being washed, and Geralt finally gets his tunic back, just before sleep the day after, Jaskier having worn it for two days.
When the shirt is returned, Geralt decides that, well, it's as good as any other, and wears it for sleep.
Only, it smells like Jaskier now.
The bard is also a bit flustered, because holy shit, Geralt just undressed to put on the shirt he just took off.
They go to sleep back to back, because they refuse to stay in one of the sleeping halls but are too cheap to rent one with two beds.
And they have regrets.
But also not.
After that it just becomes habit. Jaskier stains his shirt, Geralt hands his over, Jaskier wears it or a few days, Geralt takes over it
Until one day, Jaskier returns in someone else's shirt, his own drenched thrown over his arm
and Geralt can't, no he won't accept that.
So he drags him in close, grabbing the offending tunic just over his waist, putting his nose to that almost bare shoulder.
"Someone threw water out a window." Jaskier tries to explain, but his voice is all breathy and faint.
Geralt doesn't reply, just tugs off that unknown shirt, throws it the fuck away, turning to find one of his own to give him.
Technically, Jaskier has a spare, and they both know it.
"I don't like you in their clothes." Geralt mutters when he buttons it up for Jaskier.
"But you like me in yours?" Jaskier whispers, and they both pause for a long moment, looking at Geralt’s hands on Jaskier’s chest.
Then they are kissing. There is no hesitation, no thoughts, no nothing
They meld together, the back of Jaskier's knees somehow meets the bed, and then Geralt is above him, shoving the shirt up to let his hands roam.
From that night on they sleep together, Geralt has his arms wrapped around that waist, lips resting against his bard's sleep warm skin.
No, men like Jaskier love pretty girls whose lips taste of honey and helplessness.
Not men who taste of ash and sorrow.
That’s why when Jaskier tips him a wink as he performs his latest composition, something about supple thighs and languid sighs, Geralt ignores the tug in his chest and the ache that follows. Indigestion, nothing more.
Because men like Jaskier don’t want men like Geralt.
Men like Jaskier want vibrant young ladies, who look like sunshine and smell sweet as a meadow in Spring.
Not men who slip into shadows and emerge covered in entrails, death, and all manner of horror.
That’s why when Jaskier is close, so close that he can feel the heat radiating from his lithe body, Geralt pushes down any ridiculous fluttering in his stomach. He really does need to start eating better, after all.
No, men like Jaskier just don’t need men like Geralt.
Men like Jaskier need women who dance the whole night through, drunk on fruity wine and thoughts of pleasures to come.
Not men who cling to the walls and sit alone, knuckles turned white around a tankard of stale, lukewarm ale.
That’s why when Jaskier silently drops to his knees, a lopsided, drunken smile on his lips and a glint of something in his big, blue eyes that Geralt just can’t place, he mumbles “Sorry.” and moves away. He doesn't need his pity, and of course, that was all this was. Fucking pity.
Because men like Jaskier don’t crave men like Geralt.
Men like Jaskier crave beautiful maidens with ample bosoms and soft, smooth skin who will sing his name to the rafters with every wave of luscious ecstasy. Over, and over, and over again.
Not men who lay awake night after night in darkened rooms, with some kind of emptiness gnawing away at their insides. A void that can never be filled.
That’s why when Jaskier’s sex-strained voice, both raspy and melodious, breathless and beautiful, gasps out Geralt’s name while some lavish belle bounces on his cock on the other side of the torturously thin wall, Geralt gathers together his belongings and leaves before the sunrise. They had spent too much time together. Names familiar to each others lips, that was all.
Geraskier fandom takes EPIC PINING to the MAX. I’ve never read so many “we’re literally fucking right now and I’m still pining for you” fics in my life.
i dont know if youre still taking requests, but, 11 or 16 from the handholding prompts for geralt and jaskier? ❤❤
11. not wanting to lose each other in a big crowd
16. only linkin pinkies together, not ready to let go completely
This ask did have to wait way too long, and I'm sorry about that! I am pretty sure it comes from This list, which I adore, but took me a while to find again x)
So anyway, here, have a healthy does of pining! idiot boys in love. I may or may not have taken inspiration from that wedding quest in witcher 3. Just might have. You have no proof.
Please enjoy 2k of pining idiots on a wedding feast <3
On Ao3 here
It takes Jaskier exactly one hour and three minutes to wear Geralt down.
Wear him down, as in making him agree to join him for a wedding feast.
For once, Jaskier won’t be performing, for once he will just be enjoying himself, and for once Geralt finds himself agreeing without (much) fuss.
There has something crackling between them these past few weeks. Something that Geralt has tried for so long to not see, to ignore, but today he… can’t.
“You don’t get to pick my clothing,” is how Geralt finally agrees, and Jaskier’s entire face lights up.
“Of course I don’t,” Jaskier agrees, smiling and clasping his shoulder, but both of them absolutely know that he will.
That crackling sensation roars to life where Jaskier’s hand is touching him, so Geralt shrugs, stands up, and runs the fuck away.
They settle on a compromise, so Geralt gets to pick his own shoes.
And if Geralt lets him get away with it just a little too easily, it is no one's business. Not at all related to how Jaskier’s eyes heat up when Geralt puts on the tunic he chose. Completely unrelated.
The wedding is a beautiful thing, clad in all the colours of fall, red and gold and brown.
If Geralt watches Jaskier more during the ceremony than the couple, no one needs to know. He aches with it, how he wishes to belong to Jaskier. How he wishes to lean in close and whisper ‘mine’.
Jaskier turns his head and catches Geralt looking. He smiles warmly and bumps their shoulders together.
“Lay off of it, I won’t cry this time,” Jaskier says over the noise of the crowd, and Geralt can only huff in amusement.
“I give you five minutes,” Geralt bets.
“Pff. Tell you what. If I cry, I’ll buy you a bottle of wine.”
“And if you don’t?”
Jaskier looks slyly at him, and Geralt’s heart skips a beat.
“Then you will have to dance with me.”
They both know Jaskier will cry. He has cried at the last three weddings.
“Good thing I brought the knife.” Geralt had to open every bottle by cutting the top off at the last three weddings.
“Heathen,” Jaskier retorts, Geralt’s eyes dip to his lips when that blasted smirk appears again. Crackling, always crackling…
But the ceremony begins and Jaskier’s attention is pulled away.
The bride and groom kiss, the village rejoices, and the bard cries.
The villagers walk towards the feast, mingling and chatting with each other.
Geralt, standing slightly taller than most of them, has no trouble spotting Jaskier in the crowd. The bard however, looks a little lost, despite being near Geralt’s height.
Geralt allows himself a small smile and then pushes through the crowd towards him. As soon as Jaskier spots him, he moves towards him too and reaches for his hands.
Crackles, sparks, chaos under his skin when they touch.
“There are far too many people,” Jaskier mutters, very much not looking at him as he tightens his grip. “There won’t be anything left to feast on at this rate.”
Geralt lets himself be pulled behind the bard, led through the crush of bodies, the warm and slightly sweaty hand in his a guiding light.
They find the table, and despite Jaskier’s worry there is plenty of food left. As they stand in line, Jaskier chats to the couple in front of them. Still, he is holding Geralt’s hand, still very much not looking at him.
Not until they reach the table does Jaskier let go in favour of grabbing a plate. Geralt joins him, barely
paying any attention to what Jaskier puts on both of their plates. Not once does Jaskier stop talking, the subject now turning towards that bottle of wine he owes Geralt for crying for the fourth time.
“So I was thinking, I might get away cheap this time. No, don’t give me that look, witcher, I never said I would buy you one.”
“You did.”
“Oh hush, it was a figure of speech.”
Geralt rolls his eyes, putting a piece of sliced ham in his mouth. It is really good; they truly didn’t hold back on expenses for this night.
“My point is, you will have your bottle by the end of the night.”
“I still haven’t seen the last two bottles.”
“Swallow before you talk. Really, Geralt, we are at a wedding!”
Geralt swallows and then points at Jaskier with his fork.
“So, one bottle for crying today, what about the missing two?”
Jaskier looks at him for a long second, turning bright red, then looks away.
“I’ll think of something,” he mumbles.
The moment they are free of the plates, Jaskier wants to walk around and look at the entertainment.
Without thinking, Geralt grabs Jaskier’s hand, his fingers sliding across his palm, until he has a gentle grip. Jaskier draws in a soft breath but doesn’t mention it, once again leading Geralt around.
They watch maidens tie ribbons in tree branches, young men wrestle in a grassy field and couples walk through what they call the Arch of Loyalty.
Jaskier explains in detail why each of these things are romantic, waving with the hand that isn’t holding his.
Geralt slips away for a moment to relieve himself, but as he returns, he hears Jaskier talking to the old lady by the Arch.
“Oh no, we are… not like that, no no no, he wouldn’t want to-”
“But did you ask him? Lad, he looked well and properly smitten by you, I’m sure all you need is-”
“No no no, he wouldn’t, I- uh... Hm, no, he wouldn’t want to. Thank you, though.”
Geralt approaches, grabbing Jaskier by the hand again. He stands all too close, his heart in his throat and his blood crackling.
He doesn’t know where this burst of courage is coming from, but he leans in close to Jaskier, squeezing his hand.
“Do you want to?”
The lady smiles triumphantly, inviting them through the Arch with an open hand.
“Geralt, you know what this is supposed to symboli-”
“Do you want to?” Geralt repeats. He knows.
Jaskier studies his face for a long second.
“Loyalty takes many forms,” Geralt whispers, offering Jaskier an easy out, and avoiding his own feelings. Jaskier blinks a few times, seemingly making up his mind.
“I want to,” he whispers back, voice a little hoarse. Geralt can’t help but smile, and together they step through the arch and into the rose garden beyond it.
It is quieter here. Couples stroll about in there, arms linked or shoulders touching.
Some of them seem to be just friends, but like Geralt said, loyalty takes many forms.
If that is all Jaskier wants from him, he will give it. But he can see Jaskier’s pulse jumping at his throat, see him lick his lips and his ears go red. Geralt hopes.
As they walk, Geralt points out the different uses in the flowers they walk past. Jaskier counters with their cultural meaning, and when Jaskier laughs, Geralt can’t look away.
The lady is right, he is completely smitten.
Finally, they leave the garden and return to the festivities. From the barn, a fiddler and a drummer have taken the stage with a flutist sitting down on a barrel next to it.
People are dancing, in and out of order, wine is being poured in all the glasses. The newly wed wife and husband are in the middle of the floor, eyes only for each other.
A handsome woman comes up to them and offers Geralt her hand for the dance.
Her smile is cheeky, her cleavage cut deep, and before he knows it, he is dragged onto the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jaskier being grabbed as well by a girl with dark brown hair and a soft, inviting waist.
They twist and turn with stomps and claps and the changing of partners. Geralt’s dance partner winks at him, putting his hand on her waist and pushing in close.
He laughs with her, but is painfully aware of Jaskier just a few paces away.
As soon as the dance ends, Geralt thanks her and excuses himself.
Outside, he leans against the wall of the barn, taking a moment to collect himself. Around him, the night is falling fast, the stars peeking out through the clouds.
What is he doing?
Geralt drags a hand over his face and through his hair.
After a few minutes, Jaskier appears by his side, a bottle of wine under his arm.
“There you are! See, I told you I would get you one tonight!”
“You said you would buy me one.”
“Pah, this one is better than anything I can afford. If you would, my dear witcher.” Jaskier holds out the bottle and Geralt dutifully uncorks it with his knife. Despite the bottle being supposedly for Geralt, Jaskier is the first to take a deep swig of it.
Geralt watches his throat work and a drop escapes from the corner of his mouth.
There is no reason to grab Jaskier’s hand now. No excuses, nothing, except for how much he wants to.
The bottle is handed over to Geralt, and he too takes a swig, eyes never leaving Jaskier.
He has barely been drinking tonight, but he feels drunk in his presence. Jaskier watches him back, his hair backlit by the torches by the barn entrance.
“Thank you,” Jaskier says, when Geralt has wiped his mouth and they are staring up at the stars. “For joining me tonight.”
Geralt hums. Anything he would say right now would be too much.
“And for… walking through the Arch with me.”
It’s Geralt’s turn to look away, to hide his face. Was it a bad idea after all? Did he ruin everything?
But Jaskier’s fingers find his, one pinky hooking around his, holding on, lingering.
“Wine?” Geralt offers, his skin crackling where they touch. Actually, Geralt’s entire body is crackling.
The air in his lungs feels like they are vibrating, there is a nervous energy in his legs, his arms, and he wants to reach out.
Jaskier accepts the bottle and takes another sip.
“I was thinking…” Jaskier says carefully.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” Geralt teases, which earns him a light punch on the arm, the bottle sloshing dangerously.
“Oh, ha ha, very funny. No, I was thinking about those two bottles I owe you. I was thinking, maybe I could offer you something else?”Jaskier swallows, his grip on Geralt’s pinky slipping, so Geralt catches it again.
“Yeah?” Geralt asks. He has only felt this nervous, this full of anticipation a handful of times in his long, long life.
“Yes, I…” Jaskier bends down and puts the bottle on the ground, and then turns to face Geralt.
Their pinkies are awkwardly hooked now, so they change the grip, palm against palm, fingers carefully entwining.
“A kiss…” Jaskier says, trailing off as his eyes dip to Geralt’s lips.
Fuck.
Geralt feels himself gravitating closer, their breaths mingling, so close their noses are almost touching.
“Tell me if I’m overstepping,” Jaskier whispers against his lips, and then he closes the distance, gripping Geralt’s arm for support.
Geralt can’t breathe. He has forgotten how.
Jaskier pulls back, just an inch, and Geralt’s hand comes up to Jaskier’s hip, keeping him close.
“I recall you owing me two bottles,” he mumbles, their lips touching as he forms the words.
Jaskier smiles, pressing their chests together and tilting his chin up.
“Really? I recall no such thing.”
But he closes the distance again, Geralt meeting him half way. Jaskier’s hand travels up his arm, over his shoulder and then cups the nape of Geralt’s neck.
Geralt shudders, sighing into the kiss. The crackling inside him makes his toes curl in his boots.
One kiss turns into two, three, and they deepen as Geralt finds himself pushing Jaskier against the barn wall.
They distangle their fingers in favour of tangling them in each other's clothes and hair, holding each other close.
“Jaskier,” Geralt sighs, finally resting his forehead against the wooden wall behind Jaskier, nosing at his soft, brown hair.
The grain of the wood is rough, and the feeling of it anchors him to reality.
This is real.
Jaskier is here, in his arms, holding on for dear life. Geralt shifts, and he feels the bottle of wine connect with his boot, falling over.
He doesn’t even try to save it, just listening to it empty itself with a gurgle.
“Seems like I owe you a bottle of wine,” he murmurs, dragging his nose across Jaskier’s cheek, because he is allowed to now.
“I have a better idea,” Jaskier murmurs back, two fingers slotting under Geralt’s chin and guiding their lips together again.
🥺👉👈 hug prompts 32 + geraskier? Hope you feel better soon love <3
32. hugging a pillow because you wish it were someone else
Thank you for your prompt, Cherry darling! I had good fun with this one, and I am feeling a little better. Life threw me a hard one, and this is gonna suck for a little while, but hugs make things better right?
As always, beta'd by my wonderful @kuripon , go look at their work, it is absolutely lovely!
And please enjoy some very VERY pining Geralt <3
Send me a hug prompt?
On Ao3 Hug collection here
“.... What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“....Is that my pillow?”
“No.”
“Geralt, I’m going to need my pillow.”
“..... It’s not your pillow.”
“No? Then whose pillow have you stolen, and where is mine?”
“.........”
“Geralt, I want to sleep. Give me my pillow back.”
Geralt grumbles and gives Jaskier the pillow back, rolling over and stealing Jaskier’s backpack instead.
“Wha… You.. I don’t understand you,” Jaskier says, sounding amused. “Will you at least let me grab my sleeping tunic?”
No, Geralt does not want him to get the sleeping tunic, but how much of a choice does he have?
He rolls on his back, still holding the backpack in a tight grip, huffing.
“You big oaf,” Jaskier huffs good naturedly, stepping close and bending down to rummage in the backpack that Geralt simply refuses to let go of.
“Silly witcher,” Jaskier says, smirking and booping Geralt’s nose, his finger warm and smelling faintly of the dinner they just shared.
Geralt just wants to let go of the damn backpack and pull Jaskier on top of him, but Jaskier is already standing up with his prize and walking over to his own bedroll.
As he walks he pulls the chemise over his head, revealing a muscled, hairy back and dimples in his lower back.
Fuck, Geralt just wants to trace them, drag his hands over all that skin, hold him, bury his nose behind his ear, just--
Geralt holds the backpack tighter, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply.
Some nights are like this. He has no idea why, but some nights he can’t push it down. Those nights, he steals Jaskier’s pillow, his backpack, his terribly expensive doublet, and holds it instead.
It isn’t Jaskier’s fault he is feeling like this, so he won’t make him take responsibility for it. He can deal with it when he must.
“Wait. I think this might be your shirt. Ah damn. Do you mind?”
Geralt is startled out of the pity party he was throwing himself, head snapping towards Jaskier.
The shirt is huge on him, and Geralt has to force himself to relax, lest he rip holes in the backpack. He would never hear the end of it.
“No.”
“No, what?” Jaskier asks, turning to look at him, and fuck.
“No, I don’t mind,” Geralt rumbles, rolling over again to turn his back to Jaskier, turning his back towards his weakness and temptation.
So he completely misses how Jaskier blushes slightly and lifts up the neckline of the shirt and inhales.
@bananapeel5127 asked:
For the hug prompts. Could you please do 36 with geraskier? 💚💚💚
36. I thought you were dead hug. And I’m sorry, this is the third time I’m trying to post this, Tumbl keeps eating them?!
Yes I absolutely can! I know I have done this prompt before but I do like the challenge of looking at it another way. Thank you as always @kuripon for betareading, you are a right darling!
Please enjoy!
Send me a hug prompt?
On Ao3 Hug collection here
Some nights are a little weirder than others.
That is something Jaskier learned rather early in his travels with the witcher. Part of the fun, he tells his friends and colleagues in Oxenfurt as he retells a story about that time Geralt had a contract on a giant duck.
This night is not...strange per se. It just so happens that Geralt has had a bit more to drink than he usually allows himself, and Jaskier has the honor of depositing him back to his room. Again, not all that strange, were it not for the way Geralt had been clinging to him all night.
“Alright big guy, time to get you upstairs.”
“You know something? I’ll tell, I’ll tell you something. You remind me of a bard, you know?”
“Do I really?” Jaskier asks, smirking as he tries to get Geralt on his feet. The witcher isn’t being all too helpful, leaning on him heavily instead of getting off the blasted chair.
“You really do! But you couldn't be him, you know?”
“Why couldn’t I?” Fuck, Geralt is heavy, but Jaskier realizes that if he allows the hug and just slowly backs up, Geralt will follow. Success.
“‘Cuz I can’t touch him, you know?”
Jaskier stops.
Looks up at the witcher, who looks down at him, his arms slung over Jaskier’s shoulders. Drunkards and their confessions.
“You can’t?” Jaskier asks, a heavy feeling settling in his gut.
“Nope!” Geralt says, popping the 'p' and gifting Jaskier’s face with hot breath that smells like cheap beer and white gull. Ugh.
“Why?” Jaskier prods but Geralt shakes his head violently.
“Secret! A witcher never tells!”
Jaskier huffs goodnaturedly and Geralt clings to him a little closer. Upstairs it is.
“You know something?” Geralt says again as they climb the stairs towards their rooms.
“Probably not, go ahead and tell me.”
“You are really cute.”
Jaskier snorts, catching Geralt as he stumbles on a step.
“Is that what you wanted to tell me?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I see.”
Silly witcher. Jaskier manhandles him the rest of the way, leaning him against the wall as he fumbles with the key. Geralt has gotten to the stage of hiccuping, and if Jaskier’s experience of drunk witcher is anything to go by, they are closing in on the emotional state, which is closely followed by the blackout.
With some effort, Jaskier manages to get Geralt to sit on the bed and instructs him to take his boots off. That should distract him long enough, so that Jaskier can go fetch some water for the morning,
find his doublet again, and mend his fractured heart.
Hearing your best friend and secret love interest say they can’t touch you because you are you, well. It’s not all that fun.
“You know something?” Geralt asks again from the bed, struggling with clasps and leather cords and who knows what else.
“What?” Jaskier smiles at his drunk witcher, waiting with a hand on the handle for Geralt to say what’s on his mind.
“You really are very cute, and were it not for my bard, I would bed you.”
The sound that Jaskier makes is not a word. It is literally a sound, garbled and strangled and all kinds of flustered and confused.
“Water,” he croaks, and then straight up flees.
What. What? What???
In a haze, Jaskier walks down the stairs, picks up his forgotten doublet, asks for water, and then stops outside the door to Geralt’s room. From inside, he can hear muffled shuffling, and then something falling to the floor heavily. Probably one of the boots.
And then a small, broken sound, and no matter how confused Jaskier is, he can’t let Geralt make those noises, especially not alone.
The door swings open, revealing Geralt staring forlornly at the one boot he managed to get off, his tunic discarded on the floor. Jaskier just about manages to put the pitcher of water down before Geralt notices him, and pounces.
“Jaskier!” he says, voice a bit breathy and upset. On his way forward, he stumbles over the discarded clothes and he catches himself on his knees and then flings himself the rest of the way towards Jaskier.
Arms outstretched, he manages to grab Jaskier’s waist but as he pulls him closer, Jaskier loses his balance and they fall over each other to the floor.
“Jaskier!” Geralt repeats, and this time it almost sounds like a sniffle. Ah, here comes the emotional part. “I thought you were dead!”
Smushed under a half naked witcher, Jaskier wheezes for breath.
“Why would you think I’m dead?” he asks, pushing against Geralt’s bare arms to get his breath back.
“You disappeared! Gone! I was alone with this really kind man, he looked, he looked a lot like you. But you smell better. And he wanted to bed me, but I said no!”
As Geralt rambles, he climbs over Jaskier, completely covering him, and by the time he says ‘no!”, he emphasizes it by putting his open hand right in front of Jaskier’s nose.
“There is only one I want!” Geralt continues, all serious. “Even when I thought you were dead.”
Geralt is now leaning over him, his white hair a little messy and falling over his shoulder. He looks rather out of it and absolutely stunning. Jaskier’s heart is beating like crazy, and he really has to restrain himself not to do something stupid.
Geralt is drunk. He doesn’t know what he is saying. Or doing, apparently, because next he knows Geralt is touching his cheek, his thumb touching his lower lip.
Fuck. Fuck.
“I love the sound of your heart,” Geralt mumbles, his eyes getting droopy.
Oh no, they are closing in on the blackout stage. Fuck! If Geralt falls asleep now, Jaskier will be trapped on the floor for the rest of the night. And that sucks.
“Do you want to listen to it?” Jaskier offers, and hoping that that means relocating to the bed.
“I do. All the time,” Geralt whispers, his head falling towards Jaskier’s shoulder. Nononono, as cute and creepy as that is, Jaskier can’t focus on that right now.
“Bed, Geralt,” Jaskier says loudly, pulling at Geralt’s hair. That gets his attention. Geralt gets up on all fours over Jaskier with a sound that reminds Jaskier of a snore, and then scoops him up like he weighs fucking nothing. Jaskier yelps, and then he is thrown on the bed, with a witcher following shortly thereafter.
Jaskier finds himself properly cuddled with no chance of escape. Geralt is resting his head on Jaskier’s chest, snuggling in and rearranging his limbs so that Jaskier is hugging him back. And in all honesty, Jaskier doesn’t mind. He loves those few precious moments he is allowed near, allowed to care, allowed to show it.
But he has a feeling that things will be a bit different from now on. At least, because he is going to make hungover Geralt say all the things drunk Geralt did.
31. The cold sharp smell of snow, dealers choice for characters?
Ahaha, ahaha sorry, I meant for this to be short! 1343 words later ahaha. I also meant for it to be either fluffy and angsty, but look, we got some of both!
Thank you so very much for this prompt, it absolutely made my day so much brighter, hope you enjoy!
Send me a prompt?
On Ao3 here <3
Things are coming to an end. Again.
Geralt hates hates hates it, the way that the leaves turn rust and gold and the wind start to show its fangs.
Not because they are heading towards darker times. Not because it is getting colder, not even because how his elbow aches from that one time it broke badly.
He hates it because he knows what he must leave.
During the summer his path often crosses with his friends. He meets Triss as he takes a break at whatever court she is at at the time. He meets his brothers sometimes, coming together to fight a royal griffin or just make a local tavern a great deal richer. He meets Yennefer all the times, their paths entwined that is both pain and pleasure.
But the one he looks forward to the most, is the one accompanied with a lute.
Jaskier spends a few weeks at the time with Geralt every year. Most of the year actually, if circumstance allows it. And as soon as the leaves fall, so does Jaskiers smiles.
They both know it is time to part.
Geralt has spent many a winter adrift, but never together with his friend. Probably more than a friend, if he is honest, and Geralt prides himself with lying to no one but himself.
This year is particularly hard. Because Geralt is finally realizing that he actually is lying to himself about how he feels for the bard.
Lying to yourself is one thing, but lying to your friend is completely another.
But Jaskier never asks, because there is nothing to ask about is there? But he wants him to ask, oh how he wants him to. It drives Geralt up the wall, to see their parting coming but doing nothing about it.
So he watches Jaskiers smiles falter, and dreams about making it stay.
He feels the ache right into his core, even before they part.
The emptiness that comes when he leaves the bard behind.
~
Jaskier watches his witcher.
There is something about the fall that makes Geralt sad, and Jaskier is not sure how to help. His brow furrows, his sighs are deeper, drawing further and further away.
Something small, dark and terrible in the back of Jaskiers head tells him Geralt is tiring of him. That he is too much, that he is driving the witcher away. Because away the witcher goes, every year without a fail. After the leaves fall, before the snow comes, Geralt leaves him behind.
It is that time of the year again, and Jaskier makes a decision. Rip off the band aid, let it bleed for a while.
“I'm leaving tomorrow.” He tells Geralt. The witcher looks stunned, opening and closing his mouth before choosing his words.
“Fine.” is all he gets, then Geralt walks out into the woods.
He is gone for hours, and it hurts. But it is better this way. Better to not wear out his welcome.
Because something is different this year. Geralt looks at him for long moments at the time when he thinks Jaskier isn’t paying attention.
Jaskier always pays attention.
Geralt has started touching him more. Not anything big, but a hand on the shoulder here, a pat on the back there. It sends him into flutters every time, it’s hard not to fall straight into that sweet trap his mind is snaring him into. That maybe Geralt cares. Maybe Geralt wants him around.
But fall comes, like it does every year, and Geralt prepares to leave. Draws back.
So it is time to protect himself.
The next morning he sets out, leaving Geralt back at the camp, Pegasus reluctantly taking him towards the nearest inn.
~
Geralt is half a day away when it happens.
He breaks. His heart beats violently, his hands start to shake and his breaths is coming fast.
Jaskier left him.
No.
He can’t take it.
Not this time. Not ever again, if he can help it.
When he turns Roach around she is eagerly taking them back from where they came. Geralt's elbow aches, his heart aches, he feels so lonely it hurts.
He hates hates hates this.
~
Jaskier rents a room above the tavern. He will stay for a week and preform, earning some coin for the road.
He unpacks some of his doublets, going through them to see what needs mending.
Just one, he notices.
The others have Geralt's precise stitches on them, and fuck, what is he doing?
Why? Why did he leave?
What if Geralt never comes back for him?
He takes the stitched up doublet and presses it against his chest, as if he could bring Geralt closer. Bring him back.
There is a commotion downstairs, but there always is in places like this, so he pays it no mind. He focus on the sharp sting in his eyes, the tightness in his throat.
Then someone is at his door, pounding hard.
Through the wood he can hear protests, the barkeep very much disliking whoever it is.
“Master witcher, this is most irregular!” He shouts and oh.
Jaskeir throws the door open, doublet still clutched to his chest, and there is Geralt.
They stare at each other, both breathing hard.
There are red blotches on Geralt's cheeks, his fists clenched at his sides. He seems unharmed, but his eyes looks like someone tore out his heart.
“Geralt.” Jaskier breathes, and the spell is broken.
Geralt lunges forward, hugging Jaskier close, kicking the door in the barkeeps face. He is stil complaining but Jaskier can’t care about it for a moment, because his heart is doing kickflips in his chest, his throat so tight it hurts.
His arms are stuck between them, Geralt pressing him close with an arm around his back and one hand on the back of his head.
His nose is cold when he burrows it into the side of Jaskiers neck, and Jaskier draws a jagged breath.
Wriggles to free his arms and the doublet fall at their feet when they come free and he hugs him right back.
“Come with me.” Geralt says to his neck. “Come home with me.”
Jaskier breaks.
His heart beats violently, his hands start to shake and his breaths are coming fast.
“I’ll go anywhere if it’s with you.” He sobs, he feels his chin wrinkle and his can’t see through the tears, but Geralt makes a sobbing sound too, a wet chuckle, and oh.
They stay the night at the tavern.
Geralt only leaves to make sure Roach is stabled next to Pegasus. And in the morning, they leave together.
Towards the mountains.
~
The air is crisp up here. The sky clear, the sun bright.
They arrive early at the keep, it’s looming walls promising a safe haven of the darkness that is to come.
Jaskier can’t stop smiling, and it is the best decision Geralt ever made. Grabbing his hand, taking a jump.
He shows Jaskier around, all the dizzying paths and empty halls.
They stop on top of a tower, looking down at the land below. There are no leaves up here, only pine needles. Rolling green hills up and down the mountainside. Jaskiers teeth are clattering, the wind running straight through his clothes despite the cloak Geralt draped over him.
So Geralt stands behind him and hugs him close.
With Jaskier leaning against his chest, far above the world, the cold, sharp smell of snow reaches him. The clouds are forming up in the distance, dark and angry. The cold pinches his cheeks, his breath fog.
He kisses the back of Jaskiers head, the bard humming in response and gripping his hands.
“I always hated fall.” Geralt confesses. “I hated having to leave.”
“I always hated watching you go.” Jaskier replies, snuggling closer into the embrace. It is very cold up here, and it is only going to get worse.
“Next time, I’ll follow you. Wherever it might be.”
Jaskier presses Geralt's gloved hand to his lips, and despite the cold, Geralt is burning like a thousand suns.
Paaaaaanda, for the prompts lisssst, can you combine 9 with 14 for your beloved ella-la, bleeease? ❤️❤️😂
9. There’s only one bed and we sleep as far away as possible from each other but wake up cuddling
14. We’re roommates but we’re falling for each other
Oohoh my dear darling Ella-la, you can bet your sweet butt I can! And as per usual, it ran away from me. And I strayed from falling-for-each-other to falling-for-each-other-again….. I hope you like it!
Ao3
Rating: M
Wordcount: 4481
Promptlist here!
Geralt opens the door. Outside stands a sheepish Jaskier with three big bags and a guitar case in the rain.
“Hi Geralt.” Jaskier is drenched. All his clothes are hanging off him and dripping water on the floor. “May I come in?”
As it turns out, Jaskiers apartment building had a giant water leak and his entire side of the building had to be evacuated as they repair and renovate it.
“I'm sorry I didn’t call, I know it’s late. My battery died.” Jaskier apologizes. “Thank you for letting me stay. I really appreciate it.”
“It’s fine. Go take a shower, you are dripping all over my floor.”
“Shit, yes, of course, sorry!” Jaskier hurries away and Geralt only shakes his head and smiles.
Geralt's apartment isn’t big. His living room coexists with his kitchen separated only by a table island. The walls are soft grey and are dominated by his big bookshelves and a big oil painting of a stormy sea.
His ex Yennefer bought it for him. Said it matched his “gloomy, brooding” mood. Even if she bought it as a joke he still likes it. Next to it is the door to his bedroom, and on the opposite side of the room is the bathroom where Jaskier currently is showering.
As Geralt sits down on his couch he realizes two things. The first is that his couch is small. Way too small for someone to sleep on. The second is that that means that they have to share a bed. Because he never bought an air mattress. And he never had anybody over that couldn’t sleep in his bed with him.
The time they shared at college was comfortable, sure. But it was also hell. Geralt spent all that time nursing a crushing on his room mate. And Jaskier spent all that time bedding anything with two legs. One memorable time two someones with one leg each.
That is a funny story and all, but it felt like he was the only one not given a chance. And Geralt knew it wasn’t a gender thing.
And then he found Yen and finally he felt like he could put that behind him. And Jaskier spent a lot of time flitting between a dude named Valdo and some chick Geralt kept referring to as the Countess. He never understood Jaskiers love for the two, but it’s put out of his mind with Yen around. It’s barely been two years since they shared that room.
The door in the bathroom clicks open and Geralt turns his head to look at Jaskier. His hair is still dripping but now his cheeks are flushed with warmth and steam is flowing out the door with him as he exits.
Ah there it is. The old flutter from the past. His heart did that thing again, where it thumped too hard but also kind of stopped. It makes him ache and it is such a familiar feeling that he clenches his fists to make it go away. He is fine. It was long ago.
“Sorry, I borrowed your soap, I forgot mine in the bags.”
“It’s fine. I put your stuff in my room. We uh… we are gonna have to share my bed if you don’t want to sleep on the floor.” Geralt says as Jaskier approaches the couch. He has a towel draped over his shoulders that he dries his hair with. Jaskier plops down next to Geralt, folding his legs under him, knees bumping into Geralt. The couch really is too small. Great for snogging however.
“I don’t have a problem with it. Really, thank you Geralt.” Jaskier smiles warmly at Geralt, rubbing the towel behind his ear. “I know it’s kinda late but, did you eat yet?”
Speak of the devil, Jaskier tummy makes a loud, complaining sound. Geralt smirks.
“No, I didn’t.” he says, lifting an eyebrow.
“Excellent. Let me treat you for takeout? You really are my hero, you know.”
They eat their take outs and talk like old times. It’s frightening how quickly they click back into old routines. Jaskier do the dishes while Geralt picks out an extra blanket for bed. Going to bed is less awkward than eiter of them expected. Geralt takes his usual side on the right and Jaskier slips under the blanket on the left. Turning out the lights and exchanging goodnights and sleep-wells.
And then morning comes. Sunlight filters through the blinds on the window. A few droplets still cling to the glass. The alarm goes off and Geralt can hear a muffled protest under his chin. Soft hair tickles his nose and a leg moves against his. It’s warm, it’s comfortable, it feels nice.
Wait.
Geralt opens his eyes and finds his arms flung around Jaskier, holding him close. The alarm blares on, but Geralt ignores it. His heart is racing, his muscles tense.
Jaskier smells of his soap. In his bed. He burrows his head into Geralt's collarbone and frowns.
“Ugh. Fucking alarm.” Jaskier complaints. He leans backwards and distangles himself somewhat from Geralt. Stretching his arms upwards and yawning big, legs still touching.
“Can you pleeaasee turn that off? Or I might have to murder your phone.” Jaskier threatens, voice gravely with sleep.
Silently Geralt twists back to shut up his phone, trying to calm down his nerves. He sits up and gets out of bed, mind racing. Jaskier really doesn’t seem to think this was a big deal. Should Geralt say something? Or are they going to pretend they didn’t just wake up fucking cuddling each other?!
“Are you making coffee?” Jaskier calls after him as Geralt walks over to the kitchen. “Can I have some?” Geralt only grunts as a reply, but Jaskier correctly assumes it is affirmative and he gives a thumbs up from the bed and throws his arm over his eyes.
“What time is it anyway? It feels very much like I should not be awake yet.”
“It’s 6.30.” Geralt starts the coffee maker and enjoys the smells coming from it.
“Unholy.” Jaskier sighs dramatically. “Pray tell, why are we, I, awake at this horrid hour?”
“Because I have somewhere to be in 45 minutes.”
Geralt gets back in the bedroom and opens a closet. He picks out the things he needs, a warm shirt and jeans and a wind jacket.
“Ugh. Ok. I smell you are still doing the horse thing.” Jaskier wrinkles his nose and Geralt chuckles.
“Yup.”
“Ok, so you have a reason to be awake. Why am I awake?”
“You can always go to sleep again.” Geralt shrugs and pulls off his sleeping T-shirt. Behind him he can hear Jaskier sit up.
“Yes but I did also ask for coffee. Might as well drink it.” The cool air hits Geralt's back and a shudder falls down his spine. He tries to hurry to get his shirt on but the arms just won’t cooperate and it is so cold.
“Still working out too, I see.” Jaskier remarks. Geralt turns his head to look at him, only to find Jaskier leaning on his elbow, studying Geralt's back.
“Uh.. Yeah.” Geralt replies and turns back to his evil sleeves. Finally he can untwist in and pull it over his head in a big rush, hiding from both cold and looks.
A gurgle and a beep from the kitchen announces the coffee is done and finally Jaskier gets out of bed.
They drink in comfortable silence, and then Geralt is on his way.
“See you tonight!” He calls, entirely forgetting that Jaskier doesn’t have a key yet. He only remembers as he hands out the last buckets to impatient horses and has to call him.
It’s fine. It’s a saturday.
Geralt thinks about buying an air mattress. He thinks that is a reasonable thing actually, so that they don’t need to share a bed. But he doesn’t.
And again that night they go to bed facing away from each other. Geralt is pretty sure they could fit a third person in between them, that’s how far apart they are.
And again, as morning comes, he finds himself plastered against Jaskiers back. His head rests between his shoulder blades, the rest of him curled around his friend's form.
Slowly, carefully Geralt pulls back. An arm, a leg. He scoots back to his side of the bed. When did he become a cuddler?
He stares at his closet doors as the alarm goes off again. Behind him Jaskier groans.
“Again?!”
Geralt is so fucked.
Jaskier is given the spare key and when monday comes they go off to their respective duties. Geralt has his art classes at the local highschool and Jaskier his… whatever it is. It sounds like he is working in a bookstore with the occasional gig at some bar. The pattern doesn’t change however. They fall asleep looking away, and they wake up in a pile of limbs and they don’t talk about it.
The worst one yet is friday morning. When Geralt wakes up to find what torture the night brought him, Jaskier is already watching him. They lie face to face, forehead close together. Geralt scrunch up his forehead as he tries to make his eyes focus on those blue blue eyes. For once they are not touching, but Jaskier is watching him. Eyes roaming his face with open fascination.
“You said my name.” Jaskier tells him quietly. Geralt feels his face heat up.
“Did I?” Jaskier nods. “I think I dreamt you were a horse.” He says, trying to hide his embarrassment and Jaskier snorts a laugh.
“Yes, exactly like that.” Geralt teases, and Jaskier boxes him in the chest.
“You ass.” He says fondly.
“What time is it?” He asks, looking out the window. The sun is barely up, the outside world not yet awake.
“Too early. You are rubbing off on me, I would never voluntarily wake up before noon.”
Rub off on. Ah. Geralt hasn't had this problem in a while. He turns on his back and pulls up his knees as he stretches to hide his... problem.
“Good. Your time to make coffee then.” Jaskier looks at him for another heartbeat, eyes roaming up and down his arms. And then he actually gets up! Second surprise of today.
“Are you going to the stables tomorrow too?” Jaskier asks from the kitchen. Geralt looks at him as he moves around the kitchen, as comfortable as he is the one living in here. Comfortable in Geralt’s space.
“In the afternoon. Gonna take Roach for a ride down by the water.”
Water pouring and the familiar gurgling from the coffee maker. Jaskier comes back into the room and lays down on the bed. On his back, looking over at Geralt.
“Sounds nice. I'm going out tonight but if you want to we can watch a movie tomorrow night?” Jaskiers blue eyes are trained on him again. He looks soft and very huggable and somehow Geralt is sad he didn’t get to touch today.
“Sure, what do you have in mind?”
As Saturday comes around it turns out Jaskier was in the mood for a horror movie. That never ended well before. The couch feels too cramped with the both of them so Geralt sits on the floor leaning back on the couch instead. That lets Jaskiers restless fingers make a million tiny braids in Geralt's shoulder long hair. It feels nice, familiar. But when there is a jumpscare (there always is at least one) Jaskier clenches his hand and tugs at his hair. It doesn’t hurt too bad, but heat flares up in the pit of his stomach. Fuck.
And Jaskier apologizes and smooths his hand over Geralt's hair and somehow touches his ears and Geralt is on fire.
When the monster is sneaking up on the collage girl (like it always does) Jaskier bends down and tries to hide behind Geralt. That puts his mouth very close to his neck.
Fuck indeed.
The rest of the movie is safe, but it’s too late. Geralt pretends like nothing, clamps down his feelings, his need to turn around and drag Jaskier into his lap already.
And this time when they sleep, Jaskier is curled around Geralt's back.
“Why do you always want to watch a scary movie when you can’t sleep like a normal person afterwards?” Geralt asks him in the darkness, acutely aware of Jaskiers arm over his ribs.
“It is perfectly normal to not be able to sleep after this kind of movie, Geralt.” Jaskier scoffs and cuddles closer.
There is nothing to it.
Barely a week in and Geralt is well and truly back in it.
Once again he is crushing on his roommate.
The week after, on a wednesday to be exact, Geralt gets a text on his lunch break.
Hello stranger it says, and he has to smile. It’s been ages since he heard from Renfri. They quickly decide to meet up after work and go take a coffee.
Like always when he meets her, it’s like they never were apart. They catch up quickly on the latest gossip and what’s going on in their respective lives.
And suddenly the topic of Jaskier appears and Renfris entire attitude changes. She never really liked Jaskier. Probably because she often was the one to pick Geralt's drunk ass up when Jaskier once again found his love in someone else.
“So you are living together again?”
“Yeah. He said it would take two months until he could move back in.”
“Wow, Geralt, that is kind of a long time. Is he staying during all that time?”
Geralt only grunts and nods, he knows where this is going.
“Did you get a spare bed since I was there last time?” Renfri asks pointedly over her mug. The silence speaks for itself and Renfri shakes her head.
“Really. You share a bed too?” They don’t say anything for almost a minute. Geralt knows what she thinks about it.
“Please be careful Geralt. I don’t want to see you like that again.” Renfri says quietly.
“I know. It’s not like that anymore. It’s fine. I'm over it.”
Renfri only lifts an eyebrow at him and sips at her latte.
This is not good. Not good at all. Jaskier has both arms wrapped around his waist, their bodies pressed tightly together. The puff of Jaskiers breath hits Geralt's neck and he shudders. He can’t help it, but he is hard. Helplessly hard. Jaskiers body against his own, the warmth, all the tension he felt these past weeks.
It’s still dark outside, it can’t possibly be more than three in the morning. Geralt tries to pull back, but Jaskier pulls him closer, grinds their hips together. A groan escapes his lips as he can feel Jaskiers own erection against his hip. Fuck.
There are three ways this can go. He can wake Jaskier up and do something about it. He can ignore it and hope it goes away. Or he can push out of bed at escape.
The last one wins and he frees himself abruptly from Jaskiers arms and flees into the bathroom for a sad and furious wank.
He never looks back to see if Jaskier woke up.
The morning after is as awkward as expected. There is a prickle of guilt when Jaskier comes out of the bedroom. Geralt never went to bed, how could he go back in there after that?
So he stayed up, sneaking around in the living room and kitchen, preparing the coming day. Jaskier comes out the bedroom door with a big yawn, hair sticking up in odd angles. It’s adorable and Geralt frowns and turns back to the dishes he is doing.
Jaskier pads right up to him and leans against his back.
“Mornin’” he gruffs out, chin pressed against Geralt's shoulder. “You’re up early.” His voice is gravely with sleep and a bit muffled against Geralt's shirt.
“I am.” He agrees, putting another plate in the stand next to the sink.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Jaskier asks, nuzzling closer and putting his arms around Geralt's middle. Jaskier always was affectionate. This also happened in their room when Geralt was folding clothes, sorting books, whatever. And now as then, it makes Geralt's heart ache.
“Something like that.” he says and digs in the sink for his next prey.
Jaskier yawns again.
“Do we have any coffee?”
“Not yet.” Jaskier nods against his shoulder and pushes away to give them that sweet sweet cup of fake energy. But instead of sitting down on one of the chairs he gets back and puts his arms around Geralt again.
“ ‘m cold.” Jaskier complains.
“Then maybe you should have put on some pants?” Geralt suggests and Jaskier makes a sound of disgust.
“Excuse me sir, we don’t sleep with pants in this house.” He sounds so insulted that Geralt has to laugh. Jaskiers arms tighten around him and there is peace. The gurgling of the coffee machine, the smell of dish soap and Jaskiers arms around him.
They are a month deep in the torture when Geralt finally gets enough. He is snappy and frustrated and irritated and he can barely stand it anymore.
So he turns to Tinder. Taking the first opportunity of a date as soon as it presents itself. When he tells Jaskier he won't be home that night, that he is going on a date, he just gets a long look. He puts on his jacket and flees out the door. Ignoring the churning feeling in his chest.
Her kisses are nice. Soft. Wet. Wrong. Her nails on his back should feel good. Her legs around his hips and her voice as they collide together against her bedroom wall should make him burn. Should.
Jaskier never shows any sign of going on dates. Never mention another person, never bring anybody home.
Home is a strong word for it. It’s not Jaskiers home, it’s Geralts. But somehow it feels right to have him there. But since that date something feels off.
And Geralt can’t put the finger on why.
Geralt slowly blinks awake. His nose is buried in Jaskiers shoulder, his friend pressing him closer. Geralt finds he has one arm pressed to Jaskiers hairy chest, the other leaning on his side. Rain is falling on the window, setting a soft mood. He really, really doesn't want to let go. Jaskiers hand finds his chin and his face is tilted upwards.
For a moment they just look at each other. There is a peace, a calm, a sort of safety you only find when you are this close to somebody else.
“Hi.” Geralt manages, and Jaskier gives him the softest smile.
“Hi.” Jaskier replies, tucking Geralt's head in his shoulder again and resting his chin on the top of Geralt's head. “Just five more minutes.”
Geralt breathes in the scent of sleep and sweat and Jaskier and finds his arm snakes to Jaskiers back and pulls them just a little closer together. From above him he can feel Jaskiers exhale in his hair and a small content sound.
They stay like that for more than five minutes.
The next time he meets Renfri she takes one look at his face and sighs.
“So you’re in deep huh?”
They are spending a calm saturday afternoon together in town. They run some errands and Geralt stocks up on art supplies and they go visit the bookstore where Jaskier works. He apparently forgot his headphones, and when he goes to the backroom to fetch them Geralt looks around. He picks up a book at random and turns a few pages. Puts it back. Picks up another one.
Suddenly arms are snaking around his middle and he jumps. Jaskier laughs and leans his chin on Geralt's shoulder.
“Finding anything fun?” He asks and Geralt's heart is almost beating out of his chest. He hums in reply.
“Want me to point you to the erotica section?” Jaskier laughs when Geralt splutters.
“Look at you two lovebirds flirting.” Yennefer appears among the shelves of the bookshop.
“Wasn’t flirting.” Geralt murmurs self consciously and Jaskier slowly lets go of him. Geralt misses his touch immediately.
“Suuuure.” Yen says teasingly. “Hey, what are you boys up to tonight? Want to join me and the girls in the pub?”
That actually sounds really nice and they end up in a bar with a log theme with a small dancefloor and many dark corners. The whiskey burns as it makes its way down Geralt's throat, and he looks at Triss, Yen and Jaskier dancing in the throng of people. He stays with Yen's latest conquest by the bar, a lanky guy called Chi-. Hm. Chireadan. That’s not a name he will be able to say another drink in.
“Gorgeous” Chi-something remarks looking at the three of them on the dance floor. Geralt hums his agreement, only having eyes for Jaskier.
Chi-something drains his drink and nods towards the dancefloor. Fuck it.
Geralt finishes his whiskey too, making a face as it burns it’s way down, and gets up. Chi-something immediately puts his hands on Yen, dancing close and kissing her deeply. Triss seems to find her own prey, a pretty little redhead pulls her off to one of those dark corners.
Jaskier and Geralt face each other on the floor. Their eyes are fixed on each other as they move to the music. Drifting closer. The pulse of the beat resonates in Geralt's lungs like a second heartbeat.
Then somehow Geralt's hands are on Jaskiers hips and he is pulling him closer. Jaskier never takes his eyes from him, lets his arms come up to rest on his shoulders.
Geralt's chest flutters, stutters, fights for all that it’s worth. Jaskiers eyes flick down to Geralt's mouth and up again. Licks his lips. Fuck. He can’t do this.
Geralt takes a step back, lets go of Jaskier, but Jaskier won’t let him. He grabs his wrists and leads him away. Out, as it turns out.
They walk all the way home, inside the door without a word and then, finally inside the door Jaskier turns to him.
“Geralt.” He says and Geralt's chest aches. It longs and it wants and it needs and Jaskiers arms reach for him and his hands travel up his arms, his shoulders, his neck.
He looks wrecked already, fragile in Geralt's arms.
“Jaskier.” Geralt answers, and he is scared. So so so scared to have his heart broken. “Tell me this is not just tonight.” he begs. He bares himself like this he knows. But if he
“It’s not just tonight.” Jaskier replies and Geralt feels like a string someone plucked. Vibrating and resonating with his words. He leans in but still doesn’t dare to take that final step.
“Why did you go on that date?” Jaskier asks him and damnit.
“Because I want you. Because you don’t want me. You never wanted me.” He confesses, probably more thanks to the whiskey than anything else.
“Darling.” Jaskier breathes and press their foreheads together. “I always wanted you.” and then he snakes up a hand in Geralt's hair and pulls him into a kiss.
Slow, hot drag of lips. Geralt draws in a ragged breath. He has wanted this for so, so long. But insecurity gnaws at him. He draws back to look at Jaskier, his friend, the man he has fallen so helplessly in love with. There is no denying it.
He draws a breath.
“What about the others?” He has to ask. All these years, all these people.
“What others?” Jaskier asks, frowning. “Oh, you mean from when we shared a room?” A sad smile as he looks up at Geralt. “It is never a good idea to fall in love with your roommate.”
Ain’t that the truth.
“No it isn’t” Geralt agrees and Jaskier looks hurt. “It sucked so much to see you with them, Jaskier. That you never once looked at me.”
“I always looked at you.” Jaskier murmurs. “But they always left. And I was… I am… scared that you will leave too.”
Geralt smiles and leans in again.
“Where will I go, Jaskier? I live here.” They stand so close together, breath mingling in the darkness. Jaskier chuckles and pulls at his ear fondly.
“Idiot. I need you to know Geralt. I was only with them because I couldn’t have you.”
“But you could have had me.” Geralt whispers. “You only had to ask. Always I-” But he can’t say it. But he has to. It has been burning in his veins, in his fingers, burning in his lungs to come out. It needs to be said.
“Jaskier I.. for years, all I wanted was you. Not even Yen was enough. It was always you.”
Geralt gets pulled into a kiss again. A hard, desperate, longing kiss, imperfect and not near enough. They part again and Geralt lets his lips rest on Jaskiers forehead.
“We really are such idiots, huh?” Jaskier says quietly. “All this time we could have had this, if we only talked to each other.”
“Talking is overrated.” Geralt mutters, but he agrees.
Jaskier presses a kiss to Geralt's throat and lets his hands wander, finding their way under Geralt's t-shirt.
“Talking really isn’t what I want to do with you right now, no.” Jaskier says and presses himself against Geralt's body.
So the only talking they do is sweet nonsense, filthy whispers and quiet moans. Geralt finally gets to explore that body, kiss the sensitive skin on the inside of Jaskiers thigh, play with that happy trail under his navel. In turn, Jaskier drags his nails over Geralt's back when they rock together, he bites his shoulder and his toes curl when the angle is just right.
They fall asleep together in a tangle of limbs, all pretense of facing away finally thrown out the window. Geralt wakes up to Jaskiers soft snores in his ear and his hair in his mouth.
The jingling of keyes announce Jaskiers presence at the door. Geralt looks up with a smile, only to be greeted by a frown.
“What’s up?” he asks from the couch, feet on the armrest and laptop on his knees.
“My landlord called.” Jasker closes the door behind him and puts down his bag.
Geralt closes the lid on the laptop and makes room for Jaskier to lean on him on the couch. They settle into a comfortable embrace, Jaskier leaning back against Geralt's chest.
“Oh? What did he have to say?” Geralt asks him, cuddling closer. To be allowed this, to be the one to hold him Geralt is not sure he will ever get used to it.
“My apartment is done in a few days.”
“Oh.” Right. Fuck.
Jaskier draws in a breath. Hesitates. Tries again.
“I have this… uhm. Crazy idea.” Jaskier finally says.
