farmer geralt and lil punk jaskier, my love?
So, only because I love you and I’m delighted at writing a bit of this au (finally), I made it extra sweet and put it in established relationship land :D
Hope you enjoy your trans farmer Geralt and his lover Puck!Jaskier <3
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The trees are starting to bear their first fruits, of the year, cherries ripening over the days. Today is unnaturally warm, and Geralt is working in his own private garden rather than in the fields. He’ll go water everything as the sun dies down on the horizon. It’s useless to go work in that heat, anyway.
His shirt has long been discarded, and there is a large straw hat covering his hair, the rim of it large enough to keep his shoulder in the shade, even as he bends low to remove the stones and weeds from the garden. He is trying to keep it all healthy and without any pesticide, just like with his fields.
He doesn’t have a big farm, after all, but it’s his, and he built it from the ground up. He loves it, loves living there, despite the sometimes pestering presence from the nearby woods. Sometimes, he loves it more /because/ of the pestering presence in the woods. But that, he keeps to himself.
He walks to the greenhouse and checks on the vegetables growing there. The tomatoes are doing well, and he will be sure to check on them later on in the evening, to check whether they’ll need water, but he is quite sure that he’ll have to water them regardless. The sweet potatoes and melons are looking well, and he feels some pride at seeing them like this. Last year, the melons had failed completely, and he had had to root them out all over.
He hears a soft giggle, and the door to the greenhouse locks. He rolls his eyes and walks to the one on the other end, glad to see it still unlocked, and steps back out in the sunlight.
Soft hands caress his torso, and cold lips touch his neck. He shivers and looks at blue eyes staring into his own.
“Jaskier,” he sighs, but can’t help the small smile spreading over his face.
“Hi, my love,” Jaskier grins, his pointed ears twitching. “You’re looking quite delightful today.”
“You say that everyday,” Geralt points out to the fae, but allows himself to be drawn into a kiss, cool and tender. “You went for a swim before coming here.”
“Yes I did! You should have come, the water was wonderful, so cold and nice!”
Jaskier shakes his head, droplet of water flying off everywhere from his midlength hair. His crown of flowers is golden and pink today, contentment and pride all over his face. He is beautiful, Geralt admits to himself, and each time he sees Jaskier he thinks that very same thought all over again.
“Catch me?” The fae grins and steals Geralt’s belts, nimble fingers working too fast for Geralt to interrupt. He leaves in a whirlwind, the wind carrying him atop the barn that stands fifty or so meters away.
“Jaskier, damn it, come back here!” Geralt runs after him. “Give that back, you little devil!”
The bright laughter of the fae carries all over their surroundings. It’s a bit like bells, a bit like someone’s humming under their breath for their child’s sake. It’s a laughter full of warmth and love, full of mischief and amusement. It’s Jaskier’s laughter, after all. One couldn’t be the spirit of the forest without being a trickster.
“You have to catch me!” Jaskier throws himself in the air, petals blooming around him and falling softly around Geralt as Jaskier passes by him. “Where would the fun be, if I just gave up like this?”
“The fun would be in that I keep my pants,” Geralt grumbles as he runs after his lover.
“But I quite like you naked,” Jaskier giggles from the tree he has settled on, his sharp teeth bright in the sunlight.
There is not much that Geralt can answer to that. Jaskier has shown him countless of times his appreciation for his naked body, from long strokes to the two scars that adorn his chest, to biting kisses on his hips, to tender whispers of adoration as the moon rose above them. Jaskier has helped him feel proud of his body, in a way that Geralt hadn’t felt in years.
Before the farm, before Jaskier, before all of this, Geralt had been completely lost. Now, he has a home, a lover, and a family close. Ciri comes home as often as she can, and Jaskier adores her. Now, he is himself.
Jaskier drops in front of him as he reaches the tree, and he grins again.
“I thought I was supposed to catch you?”
The fae shrugs, wraps his arms around Geralt’s waist and lets the belt drop to the ground. “Maybe I got bored. I do like being close to you. And all those talk of you naked…”
Geralt captures his lips in his own and presses him against the bark of the tree. “Good to know you have your weaknesses.”
“You’ll always be my best weakness,” Jaskier pants out as he caresses the muscle of his lover. “Although, I wouldn’t categorize you as such.”
Their lips meet again and again, and Geralt is distracted from his garden by exploring hands and tender words whispered in his ear.