Pairing: Scully x Mulder
Warning(s): n/a
Rating: teen (language)
Length: 2.2k
Summary: What Mulder did tonight was not safe. But it was deniable.
After the events of Millennium, Scully reflects on the events of her evening.
Time passes simultaneously too quickly and too slowly as Scully drives Mulder back to his apartment. It's late, and despite lights still being on all around town, the roads are empty. It's quiet; made even more so by the fact that Scully can't keep from rolling back the last half hour in her head. Or maybe it only feels too quiet because of it. But Mulder isn't saying anything either.
When they reach Mulder's apartment building, Scully pulls to a stop along the curb, second-guessing everything she does and overanalyzing everything she doesn't do. She's never felt like this around Mulder before; right from the first day, she found him easy to be around, if not a bit quirky. But something has fundamentally changed tonight. He gets out of the car and leans back in through the open door.
"Goodnight, Scully. Happy new year."
Happy fucking new year.
"Goodnight Mulder. Take it easy on the arm."
He smiles as he straightens up and shuts the door. Scully watches him walk away until he steps into the elevator and is gone from her sight. She shifts her hands on the wheel and inhales deeply before dropping her head between her hands and shutting her eyes. She shouldn't be driving like this, barely able to think straight; if she had been thinking clearly, she would have caught a cab home and just dropped Mulder off on the way. But she's not thinking clearly, she's barely been thinking since Mulder kissed her.
The steering wheel is cold where it touches her skin, but she doesn't move.
He had made it seem like such a simple thing. The world didn't end. Like it wasn't the culmination of years of... whatever it is they've been doing. Some part of her has been expecting it, anticipating it, but not like this. Before, when she was going to leave, when they were being split up, it had felt different. Real. But Mulder had never mentioned it again, and after nearly dying, Scully had had more pressing matters to attend to. They were busy, things came up.
But she hasn't stopped thinking about that either. Every times he looks at her that way, so soft and sincere, like nothing else matters but them. When he told her he loved her.
When he told her she was his constant, even in a dream life.
She had faltered then, unable to resist the urge to brush her fingers over his lips. She had hoped he would kiss her then, but it wasn't the time. Mulder had been through a lot; he'd lost a friend. She'd kissed his forehead because that was safe, because it held this carefully cultivated something together.
What Mulder did tonight was not safe. But it was deniable.
People kiss at midnight on New Year's all of the time. Friends, lovers, strangers. She's kissed friends before. Hell, they're probably not the first coworkers to kiss at midnight. And maybe it only felt so much different with Mulder because of their history, because of, well, everything. She and Mulder don't exactly have a conventional working relationship – at least not for the FBI. He's so much more than just a partner to her. He's her best friend, her confidante, a shoulder to cry on, someone to share the highs and lows with - of which they have had plenty - and so, so much more than she could ever put into words. You find someone who means what Mulder does to her once in a lifetime, and when you do, you don't take chances to risk fucking that up. And yet here she still is, sitting in her car outside his apartment building and not driving away.
Scully drops her head to the steering wheel with a groan and wonders what would happen if she just went up there and- she doesn't know what. What would she do? Confront him about earlier? Kiss him again? She doesn't know and maybe that means it's best she stays down here. Still, it doesn't stop her from playing through the idea in her mind a few more times before she decides better of it.
Really, she should just go home and stop thinking about it altogether. It's one in the morning and despite the celebrations going on, she's the only one sitting out in her car on a dark street. It looks suspicious as hell, and someone is bound to call the cops on her, which would just be awkward and uncomfortable for all involved - especially if Mulder ended up getting involved. She's half-expecting them to show up any minute.
What she's not expecting is a knock on her window that isn't preceded by sirens.
She jumps and turns to find Mulder looking in at her from the passenger side window. With a settling breath, she leans over and rolls down the window.
"What's wrong?" Mulder asks.
"Nothing, you just startled me."
"I mean why are you still sitting in your car? Engine trouble?"
"No," Scully shakes her head, "everything's fine."
Mulder gives her a look that tells her he doesn't believe a word of it. "Look," he says, "it's late. Why don't you come up and spend the night. I even have a bed you can sleep in now."
Scully gives a soft laugh and shakes her head.
"Don't worry, I'll take the couch."
She doesn't know what to say, but when she opens her mouth, Mulder interrupts her with one of those classic dopey smiles and she relents. If she really wanted to protest, she could say she wouldn't want to kick him out of his own bed, but they both know he wouldn't be sleeping there either way.
Scully rolls the window back up, silently reprimanding herself. That stupid smile of his has gotten her into more messes than she cares to recall, but spending the night at his apartment is definitely a new one. It's times like this that she wishes she carried an extra set of comfortable clothes with her and she makes a mental note to consider it for next time.
Mulder waits patiently for her, hands in his pockets, as she locks the car and circles around to his side. As she starts toward the building, he falls into step next to her, one hand coming up to rest on her lower back. It's the kind of thing men do that drives her crazy, but for some reason she lets Mulder do it all the time, and worse: it doesn't bother her when it's him. There are a lot of things, she realizes, that she lets Mulder get away with, that no one else would be able to.
"What were you doing out here anyway?" he asks, "It's below freezing."
"Yeah, I- I don't know," she admits. "I just didn't want to go home alone, I guess."
It's the truth, but it feels like dropping a bomb on Mulder right now. They reach the front door and Mulder puts in his code and holds the door open for her. She steps in with a quick smile in thanks. She is definitely grateful for the warmth of the lobby.
"You could have said something," Mulder replies at last, coming back up behind her.
"I would have been fine."
"Unless you froze to death in your car."
Scully rolls her eyes and jabs the up button on the elevator. She's thinking about being alone in an elevator with Mulder and all the romance movies she ever seen, and still: that kiss from earlier. A part of her hopes he tries to kiss her again, but she knows better than that. Mulder wouldn't put her in a situation like that if there was any chance of it making her uncomfortable. Telling someone she was obsessed with aliens, yes. Making her uncomfortable about something that mattered? Never.
When they get up to his apartment, Mulder finds her one of his shirts to wear and a pair of sweatpants that are nearly a foot too long for her. She pulls the shirt over her head and sits on the bed, feeling a little like a kid sleeping over at a new friend's house for the first time. Only this friend kissed her earlier and she's a grown adult who could be doing something about it, but has decided only to sit here and think about doing something instead.
Mulder gives a knock on the open door before walking in. "I'd offer you a drink, but after today I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted."
"Me too. You can make me coffee in the morning." It's a joke and Mulder laughs, but it sounds nice, actually, the idea of waking up and sitting around a table having breakfast with him.
"Do you need anything else before then?"
"No, I'm good. Thanks, Mulder."
"Goodnight, Scully."
"Goodnight."
Mulder switches off the light as he leaves and Scully listens to him pad back into the living room. She can vaguely hear the TV in the background and instead of keeping her awake, she finds it comforting like a reminder that she's not alone here. She slides under the covers and shuts her eyes, but she's overwhelmed by Mulder's scent. It's comforting, but mostly distracting, and when she closes her eyes, she feels his lips on hers again, soft and slow, feels the brush of his thumb over her cheek, the warmth of his breath on her skin.
She groans and presses her face into the pillow, but that only makes it worse. It's an odd sort of sensation, feeling all at once closer to him than before, and yet still further than she wants to be. Something changed tonight, some crack in the wall, whether Mulder meant for it to or not, and she's not sure she can hold back the stones tumbling down. She's not sure she even wants to.
Scully sits up in bed, barely breathing to try and hear over the beating of her own heart if the TV is still on. She's relieved to catch the tail end of a commercial about some gospel CD. Quietly, she slides out of bed and wanders toward the living room. Mulder is lying on the couch with a blanket over him, but he props himself up when he sees her.
"Something wrong?" he asks.
"No, just can't sleep." She crosses the room and Mulder has shifted back to make space for her before she reaches the couch.
"Still thinking about the case?" he asks.
"No," Scully admits, not looking at him.
Mulder reaches out, sliding his fingers between hers and squeezing gently. "You can talk to me about anything, you know that."
For the first time in a long time, Scully is lost for words. She lays her free hand on top of Mulder’s and squeezes back. She never doesn't know what to say to Mulder and it's abundantly clear that something has changed tonight, if only for her. But she has to say something soon or she's going to lose her nerve.
"Mulder," she turns to face him, bringing her knee up on the couch.
His eyes flick up to meet hers and she just looks at him for a long moment. Her eyes drop to his lips and leans forward slowly, pulling one hand away to brace herself. When she can feel Mulder's breath, she hesitates for a split second, but he leans into the space between them, pressing his lips to hers and stealing the breath from her lungs.
He's not pushy, if anything he almost seems a little hesitant himself. This is not the same as when he kissed her earlier; there are no celebrations, no countdown, no relief that the world didn't end. This is just them and the knowledge that the world didn't end, that they continue on and that that knowledge can apply to more than one situation.
Scully smiles despite herself and Mulder draws back to look at her, mirroring the relief in her expression.
"The world didn't end," she whispers. She feels gleeful, like something that has been holding her down has finally been shed and she can breathe again. And maybe something has; it's been a long time since she's felt this free, and that has nothing to do with zombies or the end of the world.
"No," Mulder agrees, pressing his forehead to hers. "Why don't you sleep out here tonight?"
Scully gives a little nod, and Mulder shifts to lie on his right side, his bad arm propped up on a cushion. Scully lies next to him, spreading the blanket over their legs as she presses back against Mulder's chest. There's no fanfare; they've spent nights like this before on cases in the back seat of a car or a cabin in the woods. But this is different than that and they both know it. There's something special about sleeping on the couch when there's a bed ten feet away, something about intentionally squeezing into this space to be as close as possible, and Scully has no intention of suggesting anything different.
"What are we watching?"
Mulder's arm slips over her waist, pulling her into him, "just some Christmas movie."
Scully hums, rolling her head back and pressing up to press a kiss to Mulder's lips before settling in and shutting her eyes. She can feel the warmth of his breath in her hair, feel the rise and fall of his chest against her back, and she knows this is how it's supposed to be. Outside, the snow begins to fall, but Scully is warm and comfortable with the sounds of the TV playing in the background.
Content warning: The following content contains major spoilers for Jujutsu Kaisen (JJK) manga
Asexual!reader who is obsessed with Gojo. Everything that Gojo does, is awe-inspiring in your eyes. Him being the strongest, being goofy, acting like a hyperactive toddler high off of sugar, all of it was endearing for you.
Asexual!reader who thinks Gojo can do no wrong, who always supports Gojo no matter what. Gojo is righteous in your mind, and you always see his actions as appropriate and necessary.
Asexual!reader who attended Jujutsu high with Gojo, Geto, and Shoko. And you only grew closer with them. Your cursed technique wasn't strong, but with some creative thinking, you began to use it for unique purposes, making you quite useful in field missions.
Asexual!reader who has become close with Gojo and they became good friends. Especially after Geto's departure. When Geto left, Gojo started spending more time with you, which only deepened your feelings for him.
Asexual!reader who, a few years into adulthood realises that there is a chance Gojo might like you back too, getting excited at the prospect of dating THE Gojo Satoru. Being boyfriends, going on dates, holding hands, sharing kisses, and having... sex ?
Asexual!reader who is disgusted at the idea of sexual intimacy, even with Gojo, your life long crush. Your realisation of liking Gojo is swiftly followed by your realisation that you are asexual.
Asexual!reader who is crushed and loses all hope of sharing any kind of romantic future with Gojo upon the realisation that you are asexual because you can't imagine anyone being okay with a partner who isn't sexually attracted to them.
Asexual!reader who starts avoiding Gojo as much as possible. Turning down any hangouts, taking longer to respond to messages, ignoring his calls. Gojo, to his credit, of course notices this sudden change in behaviour and believes that he did something wrong to push you away. He believes he is the reason that you are acting this way.
Asexual!reader who Gojo tries to reach out to, to fix whatever he did wrong, to smooth things over. And seeing Gojo's attempts, you agree to meet him and talk. Upon meeting him, you try to explain to him that you are asexual, but you can't find the courage or the words to do so.
Asexual!reader who cannot bring up the topic of your sexuality- or sexuality in general- naturally with an opening in the conversation during the hour that you spend catching up with Gojo. And Gojo, who cannot find the courage the ask you directly what is bothering you, and if it has anything to do with him.
Asexual!reader who feels dissatisfied as the hangout with Gojo ends, and returns home just as frustrated as before if not more. You had planned to come out to him, or at least discuss asexuality with him, but alas, you were able to do neither.
Asexual!reader who afterwards, starts hanging out with Gojo again, interacting with him normally, and things return to normal just as they used to be. But things are still awkward and off between you both, and neither of you wishes to address this sudden change in your friendship dynamic, so it's brushed under the rug, left to rot and fester.
Asexual!reader who Gojo has feelings for, and after a tense couple weeks, decides to confess to. And so, Gojo calls you to one of his favourite cafe's, once he is done with a mission. At first you feel nervous and wary of accepting his invite, but against your better judgement, your fondness for the six eyes user wins, and you give in.
Asexual!reader who meets Gojo at the cafe, who is already sitting by a window table, having ordered an assortment of sweets and cakes for both himself and you. Gojo, who seems nervous, which is unusual for a man of his nature. You try not to let it distract you, hoping that it's just something bothering him, and not the weird atmosphere that you have both been stewing in for a while now.
Asexual!reader who Gojo confesses to, in the cafe, and you are shocked to your core. You had mentally prepared yourself to finally having to explain your weird behaviour and continued avoidance of the man himself to Gojo, but this wasn't what you had expected or even imagined.
Asexual!reader who feels conflicted and confused, one part of you wants to accept Gojo's confession, giddy at the prospect of finally being with him and doing all the things you had only dreamt of so far. But another part of you cannot help but worry how things will take a turn once Gojo learns about your sexuality. Would he accept you? Would he be angry? Would your relationship end because of your sexuality? Would you even be able to remain friends if your relationship ends badly? And your worries are so overwhelming that you cannot take that risk, you can't let yourself fall deeper into love with Gojo Satoru, only for it all to inevitably come crashing down once you come out to him.
Asexual!reader who rejects Gojo's confession and leaves the cafe, your fears overpowering your desire and feelings for him. Once you return home you can't help the sobs that escape you. You spend the next few days moping around, pitiful and pathetic. You know you made the right decision, but it is little consolation to a broken heart.
Asexual!reader who runs into Gojo while visiting Jujutsu High for a mission, and you both end up having a painful and awkward discussion about the events of the day Gojo confessed to you. Gojo tries to pry for the reason that you rejected him, he had thought that you shared in his feelings, had he been wrong? But instead of giving him a concrete reason, you simply tell him that it would be better for you both to be friends. And thus, ends a painful chapter of your life, your romantic life ends before it even gets a chance to truly begin.
Asexual!reader and Gojo who decide to continue to remain good friends, but things are unavoidably awkward now. Your interactions are far and few in between, where Gojo used to annoy you via text numerous times a day, now your screen barely lit up from any messages, let alone from Gojo. Everytime you saw each other, the atmosphere was shrouded in misery.
Asexual!reader whose relationship with Gojo becomes strained over time, and your estrangement only continues to grow as the years pass by. Gojo goes from constant messages and calls to few messages and even fewer calls. You avoid even running into him by accident. When you had turned him down you truly had hoped that you both could continue to remain good friends but in no scenario had you thought that your worst fears would come true, where you and Gojo would be no better than strangers to each other.
Asexual!reader who after years of awkwardness and estrangement, is now standing here, in Shinjuku. And your eyes refuse to move away from where they are fixated, on the sight in front of you. On the ground in front of you lies Gojo, rather his corpse. After his fight with Sukuna, his body is cut in half, his upper torso lying cut on the ground, blood surrounding him, blood spluttering out of his mouth as his once brilliant blue eyes dulled into a lifeless blue, while his lower body still remains upright.
Asexual!reader who while staring at Gojo's body cannot process what is happening. And only one thought runs through your head, "it's over", everything and anything that was left between you both is now gone. And you cannot help but wonder. Wonder how things would have been had you accepted Gojo's confession back then? Wonder if you had come out to him, would you have still dated? Or maybe atleast you wouldn't have drifted apart as you had done. Even as your eyes welled over with tears, you couldn't help but wonder what could have been had you had courage to accept Gojo's feelings for you, and moreover, if you had had the courage to accept yourself. But it was all of no use now, it was over. The man you loved was gone. And you knew you could never move on, you could never love another, because your heart belonged to Gojo Satoru who used to be the strongest sorcerer.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Rating: General Audiences
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: Gen
Fandoms: Project Hail Mary (2026), Project Hail Mary - Andy Weir, Andy Weir's Project Hail Mary - All Media Types
Relationship: Ryland Grace & Ryland Grace's San Francisco Students
Characters: Ryland Grace, Ryland Grace's San Francisco Students
Additional Tags: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Drabble, Inspired by Music, Songfic, Memorials, Ryland Grace Haunts the Narrative, do you ever think how his students loved him?, Implied/Referenced Character Death, but he's not actually dead but the school thinks he is, no beta we die like dubois and shaprio and li jie and ilyukhina, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Lowercase
flow sweetly, hang heavy (you suddenly complete me) —
Afterwards, it's quiet. Jayce and Viktor find themselves out of time, and find shelter and warmth with each other.
(or, Jayce is emotional and gets very sappy (and very horny) about Viktor's new, cosmic-sized Herald body).
Viktor/Jayce Talis
Explicit | Complete | 5,753 words
Post-Canon (SPOILERS) | Fantasy Elements | Identity Issues | Time Travel/Fish out of Temporal Water Trope | Historical Inaccuracies | Lack of Communication | Reciprocated Feelings | First Time | sub Jayce | T4T Jayvik | Comic Size Difference | Frottage | Face-Sitting | Masturbation | Vaginal Fingering | Coming Untouched | Soft & Freaky | gratuitous description of muscles and bones
[ READ ON AO3 ]
— — — — —
It's quiet, after.
The moment of joining—when Jayce had clasped Viktor's fist in his hands, when Viktor had finally met his gaze and the fact that he was not in this alone dawned upon him, when their arms looped around one another brought them together—was a crescendo of every voice in Piltover, in Zaun, under the Herald's control. The panicked and overwhelmingly bright harmony of screaming was the scenery behind Jayce's declaration of devotion, and Viktor met him in the middle.
And when it was over, every sound and sensation melted away. Except for Viktor's thumb, running soothingly, up, down, up, down Jayce's arm where it looped around his partner's neck.
I love you, Jayce had thought in the moment, and still thinks like a tape on loop, as if Viktor could hear it vibrate through his bones from where their skulls meet.
If he presses close enough, Jayce can hear it back. I love you.
They remain tangled together, bodies of light pressed so close they were nearly one whole, steadied by Viktor's thumb. Until Jayce feels something soft kiss his cheek, feels the other side of his face lean into frigid ground, the skin of his face going numb. He shivers.
The fist within his hand pulses, "Jayce..."
His tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth, Jayce feels his throat rapidly going dry. The numb side of his face seems to be getting increasingly wet at a concerning rate. He shivers again, barely able to crack his chapped lips open, "Cold, Vik—"
"I have you," the arms around him immediately shift to cradle Jayce closer, lurching them up into a seating position, "I have you." Jayce trusts him, and slowly his senses start to come back. He is draped with something soft, warm, and being clutched closer to the other body—Viktor—but no heat comes from it. He feels himself lifted up, off the ground, and he hears—"I have you, stay with me," coming distorted. Metallic.
Jayce pries his eyes open.
The snow is a blinding white, he feels the muscles behind his eyes twinge at the light flooding in. The flurry is gentle but the sky beyond it is grey and heavy with the promise of a storm. He hears the steady, crunching march of steps in the snow below him (much below him, how is he so high up?) followed by the drag and stab of the gnarled staff, and he feels the tickle of the blanket wrapped around him at his chin. Navy fibers with frayed red visible underneath, Jayce trembles into it again. And then he looks up.
It is meant to strike fear, Jayce knows this, as he feels his heart stutter when he sees the planes of unearthly metal glint against the sky above him. It is human nature to be afraid.
The Machine Herald holds him tightly yet gently to his chest, pushing through knee deep snow, and stares unblinkingly ahead.
"I can feel your pulse," the mouth split on either side of the Herald's faceplate remains unmoving. The voice echoes within Jayce's head unnaturally, as he continues, "I. Understand your apprehension towards this form. Especially after everything. But I will remind you, Jayce, that my original body has been long dead and this is what I have left. And I must get you to shelter. We may discuss what I am once you are safe."
Jayce... doesn't feel afraid. He shudders closer, and lets his eyes fall shut. You're alive. I love you. You're alive.
*****
He rouses to the sound of Viktor saying his name. It always sounded so right in his voice, like it was given to Jayce just to sit on his partner's tongue. He loves the inflection of it, giving it a meaning he feels like he lacked before Viktor gave it to him.
"Jayce!" Too-strong hands shake him awake fully, "You must stay awake for me. Please."
"Mmmhhh," Jayce says, coherently. He blinks snowflakes out of his lashes. He finds himself sat on the snow-covered ground, leaning back on a low stone wall. In front of him, the Herald is crouched down awkwardly, gangly knees reaching past his shoulders in this position. Jayce's eyes widen, he clutches the blanket around him, "You’re really—Are we...?"
Viktor raises his head to scan the view behind the wall, "We are perhaps about a kilometer out from a village. Rural, small, but there is smoke from some buildings. We may be able to find warmth for you there."
"And you." Jayce adds, almost bashfully. "For you, too." Viktor peers down through the Herald's glowing eyes cautiously, and Jayce reaches for his hand where it rests in the snow, where it's poised like a wolf's.
Viktor flexes his hand in Jayce's—it’s so large now that Jayce needs both hands to cup them together. "I will scare away the villagers in this form. They will not see to you, then."
"You’re beautiful," Jayce says simply.
"You seem to be alone in thinking so. I was either a weapon or a monster to everyone else."
"Why does it matter what anyone else thinks?" Jayce retorts somewhat petulantly. He grasps Viktor's hands tighter, feeling the way the newly metallic sinew of his hand shift under the pressure. "You're beautiful."
There is a pulse of purple under the surface of the Herald's skin at the words. He hums, so deep Jayce can feel it reverberate in his ribcage, and leans in, and in, slowly. He rests his forehead on Jayce's once again, Jayce's hands unconsciously find purchase on the horns of the Herald's gold crown, fingers brushing into the limp hair behind it. Viktor speaks, "To aid you, I will attempt something."
Viktor gently removes Jayce's hands from his head, and bristles like a cat. With a shake and a shiver down his spine, he glows purple and his body... seems to close inward, like two panels of fabric being sewn taut together. Jayce blinks and Viktor, the Viktor he lost, is before him for a split second, before his form splits red down the centre. Jayce flinches at the glare.
"There," Viktor sighs, voice still dissonant with a metallic tinge. "Human... passing." The illusion of his Hexcore-tainted human body appears nearly as he was when he was killed at Jayce's hands, save for being completely bare and for the violent red scar that cracks down the center of Viktor's face.
A sob wrenches itself from Jayce's throat, pushing himself off the wall to barrel Viktor into a hug. Viktor's arms come around him, and under the glamour, Jayce can feel the Herald's true and rangy limbs where they meet his body. He shudders into the crook of Viktor's neck again, "Hahh... Tell me you're going to be okay."
Viktor doesn't speak immediately, just runs his fingers through the length of Jayce's hair. "We will be once we get to the village."
The chill of the snow reaches them again at the words. Jayce sits up, shrugging off the blanket to drape it over Viktor's shoulders again, like this is exactly what the blanket was made for, like this is exactly what Jayce meant to do. It's only then Jayce notices that he's still wearing the tatters of his white coat, some of the leather buckles half ripped off and a massive chunk taken out of the gold of his pauldron. With a pained grunt, he rips off one of the loose buckles of the pauldron and uses it to fasten the blanket at Viktor's neck, "There."
Viktor's smiles were always faint, just the slightest quirk of his lips, but now it seemed as blazing as the sun. He shifts his staff to stand and holds an arm out to Jayce, "We will be okay."
*****
The innkeep's wife welcomes them with open arms in the inn that sits in the center of the village, most likely based on their appearance of being two worn-out men (one at least half-passed out) without proper clothing for the weather. Translation of Viktor's weak request for a room takes a while, only his vigorous nodding when she asks, "Lot? Pryue chaumbre?" seems to get the point across. The inn itself is cozy, with plenty of rooms available due to no one coming through the village during the season (as inferred based on the woman's gesticulation).
They get the inn's best private chamber, in which Viktor deposits Jayce directly onto the bed once the innkeep's wife shuts the door behind her. Jayce whimpers, reaching to paw at his braced leg.
Viktor immediately swaddles his upper body with the bed's worn coverles, "Let me look at your brace, Jayce. What happened?" He kneels, hovering his fingers over the rough form of the brace around his thigh.
Grunting, Jayce sits up, "You saw my memories, and your older self. You know."
Viktor's lovely mouth purses. "I did. Tell me anyway?"
"My hammer, it smashed my leg as I fell into the chasm part of elder you's trial." Jayce says, "I was... well, I remembered how I'd help you in repairing your own brace, and after a while—infection and general misuse—I dismantled the hammer to build a brace for myself. So I could climb out of the chasm. After I was sent to your commune..." Jayce grimaces, and Viktor draws a gentle finger up along his cheekbone to wipe at tear tracks he hadn't even noticed. "Well. After I returned to Piltover, I had some time to visit the lab. Repair the brace. It's crude, I know. I didn't have time to check what exactly I broke, all I was thinking about was..." He looks at Viktor mournfully under his lashes. "In your new body—is the Hexcore...?"
"Severed," Viktor says, "Still present but seemingly unable to influence my actions, I swear it. It is... angry with us."
Jayce laughs wetly. "So, where are we then?"
Viktor rises, turning to the window frame where the snow has picked up and the clouds grow darker and darker by the minute. He pulls the thin curtain over the open window, "I would guess, still Piltover."
"Really?"
"Geographically, yes. Same cliffs, same sea. But based on the village, the language," Viktor seats himself next to Jayce on the bed, "I would place us maybe six or so centuries before our time."
Viktor shushes him gently, holding Jayce's head close to his glamoured chest. Jayce isn't even sure what he's upset about. The events of the past few months rush up to him, noises caught in his throat and barely able to wheeze out my mother, Cait, Vi, Mel, oh gods, Heimer and Ekko? Did we even do it—?
At the end of it, Jayce brings his quaking hands up to frame Viktor's face, fingers and eyes tracing the length of the violently red scar down the centre of Viktor's disguised face. "Show yourself, Viktor? I need to see you, plu-ease, need to see you're okay, Vi-hik, ah," he hiccups.
Jayce doesn't take it personally that Viktor doesn't hesitate to tear the glamour away, the scar splitting down the middle and tearing away to allow the Herald to rise to his true height around Jayce. He sighs and shuffles himself ungracefully into Viktor's narrow lap, "I missed you, I mi-hissed you." He brings his hands back up to trace the contours of Viktor's faceplate, up the crown-horns, looking up at him with teary eyes, "Thank you. For coming back to me."
Viktor leans down, ribs pulsing purple light and humming something deep and rolling. "Thank you, for staying with me. For seeing me."
"I should have listened to you," Jayce whispers, tucking himself into Viktor's neck. He watches his own tears drop onto the smooth surface of Viktor's skin and track down into the hollow of his clavicle. Jayce's buckle didn't hold the blanket in place around his body through the transformation, now the buckle sits snapped off on the floor somewhere and the red and navy blanket pools around Viktor's hips. "Should’ve not gotten involved in the politics. I don't know. I don't know."
Viktor combs his fingers through Jayce's hair, palm big enough to cradle his whole skull.
"But now you know," Jayce pulls back suddenly, drawing his hands around Viktor's slight waist. "That I—how I feel about you."
The rumbling in Viktor's chest seems to get louder, "I. Feel the same, Jayce. Have felt so for you for quite a while. To be cared for at such a level in return, I, eh, could not have imagined." He seems to fumble over his thoughts for a second, “Though, I guess I didn’t need to imagine. Your affection was always there. I just never truly… saw.” Jayce feels a twinge in the back of his head, thinking of how easily the Hexcore seemed to have seen this.
Jayce laughs, one he hopes doesn't sound as self-deprecating as it feels to himself, "I wonder how different things would be now if I had been less anxious to tell you then." He draws his hand up Viktor's side to trace the golden remnants of his brace, "Plus, look at you. You're incredible. You're alive."
He shudders when he feels Viktor's hands alight high up on his shoulders, thumbs tracing his jawline. "You flatter me too much, Jayce," Viktor hums, "Look at you, hm? I told you a beard would suit you."
His thumbs trace, up, down, up, down, along Jayce's jaw and Jayce feels his mouth part unwittingly. "Viktor, I, ah," He pants, oh gods, why is he panting? He has so much left to say to his partner, so much yet to figure out about the time they've been thrown into, but all of it becomes secondary when he feels Viktor's fingers at his neck—"Please, Vik, I wish I could kiss you."
Viktor leans in, and in, and over him until Jayce is flat on the bed, the swaddle of coverles now open beneath him. His breath comes short, and he's extremely aware of how sweaty he is as Viktor peers at him with unblinking yellow eye-lights. "Is that," Jayce swallows, fingers still following the golden tracery at his chest, "okay?"
The bed creaks under them as Viktor shifts his weight. "It is impossible to count how many things I have wanted to do to you," He rasps, "Impulses I forced myself to not act upon because I knew how anxious you would be if you did not ask me yourself first." The flat plane of the Herald's face is warm from body heat where it tucks to the side of Jayce's head, but Jayce shivers with it anyway. Viktor reaches over each of his arms in tandem, unbuckling the fastens of his coat and pauldrons as he moves. "It is more than okay, Jayce. In fact, I may, eh, encourage those thoughts."
With a thunk, the pauldrons fall to the ground off the side of the bed and Viktor pulls Jayce up to get the coat off of Jayce's shoulders. Viktor hums, "But let us get you warm first. I will not have you die of hypothermia after I just got you back."
Jayce wipes the dried tear tracks with a sniffle, "That's funny, second time you've done that for me."
Viktor laughs, a low, resounding hum. He peels off the snow-wet layers of all of Jayce's clothes, and steps off the bed to remove his boots. He kneels, saying, "You must tell me if anything I do pains you." Jayce nods, and Viktor begins taking apart the haphazard brace from his leg.
There's a split second thought where Jayce nearly believes Viktor was going to attempt to heal his leg, where Jayce would have interjected and asked him to stop, but the moment never comes.
It's reverent, the silence that Viktor allows the space for as he works his hands down the mechanism of Jayce's leg. The brace comes off, Viktor pulls off Jayce's boots one by one and holds his feet at the arch gently. Viktor takes off Jayce's trousers, then his pants, and places them to the side to dry.
Now fully stripped bare, Jayce doesn't even have a second to shiver before Viktor is kneeling into the bed behind him and pulling up the navy and red blanket around the both of them, under the coverles. Jayce sighs. It's comfortable, Viktor's spindly arms coming around him.
The metal musculature behind him grows warm, and despite Viktor's slight form, Jayce feels enveloped. Held so wholly that he imagines, briefly, that nothing else exists outside of Viktor's body. Nothing else needs to.
Jayce wonders if, in the astral plane, he could curl up under Viktor's celestial sternum and be kept there. The Herald is certainly big enough for him to do so if he asked, surely Viktor and he could find a way to accommodate together.
Viktor draws his fingers through the new hairs coming through on Jayce's stomach (up, down, up, down). He doesn't say anything, but Jayce can feel, from where his vertebrae meet Viktor's faux-ribs, that he's concerned about how much weight has fallen off of Jayce's form, how prominent his bony protuberances are now. He interlocks his fingers with Viktor in response.
Instead, Viktor says, "The hair is a wonderful surprise. I like it."
Jayce chuckles, "Well, I think I missed a waxing appointment or two thanks to your glorious plans. So you only have yourself to thank."
"Hmm, thank you, past Viktor," He says, cuddling closer. "Are you comfortable?" His hands keep roaming across Jayce's body, causing him to shiver further into Viktor's form. Jayce hums an affirmative in response. "Good," Viktor massages his hands at the prominence of Jayce's hip bones, "Now, rest. I have you."
Jayce feels himself fade away to the low rumble emanating from Viktor's chest.
*****
There are hands framing Jayce's face when he feels his consciousness link into the astral plane. It seems like a place that should be free from the confines of temperature, of sensory description, but all Jayce feels is warm. And loved.
The hands shift, and Jayce feels something light along his forehead. Lips, and a laugh. "You squirm when you're feigning sleep. I know this well enough by now, thanks to our late lab nights," Viktor's voice comes to him, echoing but true, real.
"Viktor," Jayce whispers, hands automatically coming up to him as he opens his eyes. There he is, smiling and eyes golden, skin brilliant between where his hair and his torso blend into the negative space around them. Jayce feels immediately overwhelmed—he has his partner back. Jayce runs his knuckles over Viktor's cheek, pausing to caress the mole there, "Viktor."
There is no up or down here, but Viktor leans down over Jayce's supine body. And with Jayce so caught in how beautiful his partner is, he's startled out of his reverie at Viktor's lips meeting his.
Jayce feels himself open up under Viktor instinctively. The wet heat of Viktor's mouth has him moaning, the part of his mind wondering how he can even feel these sensations being pushed away for the time being.
Viktor's hand slides down to cup the underside of his jaw, thumb dancing over his neck, "Hm, Jayce, I think perhaps you were made for me like this."
"Yeah?" Jayce barely responds before Viktor grabs under his jaw, fingers pressing hard on his masseter muscles on one side and his thumb on the other, mouth opening with no resistance. Jayce groans as Viktor invades his mouth again strategically. Heat rolls through his body, pooling low in his stomach.
It's heady, the feeling of Viktor laying himself over Jayce, who can only whine with how Viktor's other hand skates over his torso.
"Szczeniaczku, tell me what you want," Viktor says, biting the shell of Jayce's ear, "or I'll put your mouth to other uses."
Jayce whimpers, hands threading in the cloud of Viktor's hair, to press their foreheads together, "Hahh, I want—I—"
Empty, Jayce feels so, so empty, and he was to be closer, as close as he possibly can to Viktor, wants to be filled, and fucked, and wants Viktor to be pleased with him, and pleasured. By Jayce, only Jayce, and with Jayce.
But, simmering at the surface above all of that, Jayce feels an urgent need to move, a wet, grasping need to rut and cry, with Viktor. Always for Viktor.
An image of the Machine Herald appears unbidden in Jayce's mind, and he can feel himself clench instinctively.
"I see," Viktor says, with only a hint of deviousness in his voice. Jayce sees his golden eyes twinkle with a plan, can practically hear his partner's mind calculating behind them. Viktor hums, dragging his fingers to trace along Jayce's iliac crest, the bone deep within the swirling negative space of their bodies. "You know, I quite like the look of my fingerprints here."
Jayce swears he can feel his pulse in his cock when he sees the glowing fingerprints Viktor means at his hips—from where he's being held in the mortal plane, by the Herald's hands. He whines, feeling his legs part at the thought—Viktor, behind him—
"You do, too, don't you?" Viktor laughs. Not cruelly, no, never. With delight, at the discovery that the two of them have even more shared interests than expected. "But that is for a different time. For now, I know what you need."
When Viktor's kisses start moving lower and lower down Jayce's torso, and his hands comb through where the thatch of hair would be low on his stomach, Jayce feels the cosmos around him shift. He gasps, and gravity pulls him down—
Jayce feels himself fall, pulled forward by his stronger leg and pushed back suddenly, onto a soft surface. He sits up to catch his breath, chest already heaving. Briefly he wonders if his penchant for, uh, being manhandled had been this easily noticeable before this, before Jayce remembers: they're in each other’s heads. They've been in there, made their homes there now. And it's a potent feeling, Jayce can feel the rush to his head and the dampness between his legs acutely.
He blinks as he shifts up. The kaleidoscope of space swirls through his vision, Viktor seemingly nowhere to be seen.
Then, the clouds of stars part, and the Machine Herald looms over him. Looms, truly.
If Jayce, breath caught in his throat, could form any coherent thought in the moment, it would be that Viktor's faceplate by itself was just taller than his entire body. Jayce quivers with it.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hello, Jayce,” The Herald is no longer as Jayce last saw it, Hexcore-controlled with a face drenched in red and body a swirling abyss that seemed to be cut away from the light surrounding it. Now, Viktor is somehow even more radiant than before—he’s watercolor, teals bleeding into lavenders, a warm undertone beneath the silver that casts him in a stark chiaroscuro. The harsh lines of the Herald’s form draw Jayce’s eyes to his, still golden, and across the halved features beside the faceplate. Viktor’s vestigial lips seem to smile down at him. “You seem to be enjoying this. All this flattery will go straight to my head, you know.”
Every logical, normal response to your partner teasing you have completely abandoned Jayce in the moment. He swallows, “Hi.” Viktor laughs lightly. With the movement, Jayce can feel the surface under him shake. Startled, he looks down with wide eyes. Its twisted and tangled violet sinew and ligament line the surface, muscle turned metal, dotted with small wedges of gold. He’s on Viktor’s hand.
There’s barely enough space on his palm for Jayce’s seated figure, with Viktor’s fingers curled up behind him, Jayce realises he’s just short of their height too. He looks back up at Viktor in awe, and has the fleeting thought that this, too, once might have been meant to strike fear.
Viktor strokes the pads of his fingers down Jayce's cheek to his chest delicately, so gently, as if he was a butterfly's wing under inspection. Each distal phalange must be as tall as Jayce’s head, he thinks in waves of shock and arousal. The cold, metal fingertips catch on Jayce's nipples in turn, he writhes at the touch. His hands slip over the surface of Viktor's palm for something to grasp onto, landing in the shallow spaces between the metallic tendon, where the remnants of Viktor's lumbrical muscles remain.
Jayce fists the tendons as he pants, and Viktor chuckles. He slowly traces one finger down, down, where Jayce's uninjured leg meets his torso, then up to his knee, spreading him further. Then, again, with his injured leg. Tenderly, Viktor parts Jayce's legs.
"There, look at you," Viktor breathes, leaning closer. He brings up his knuckle to run it down Jayce's thigh, pausing at the tendinous hollow before reaching the pelvic bone. Jayce throbs.
"Look at you," Viktor says again, almost to himself. "You're soaked for me already."
His knuckle runs along Jayce's lips, and he's right, Jayce hadn't even realised how wet he already was in anticipation. He has to fight to keep still, clutching at the tendons and allowing a high pitched moan to escape him, when Viktor pushes forward, past his lips.
Then Viktor drags his knuckle up and Jayce yells, full throated, with a full body quiver, as it catches on his cock. Pleasure lances through him, "Fuck! Fuck, Viktor—"
Viktor moves his hand away, "Show me."
Jayce whimpers.
"Show me what I know you need," Viktor orders. "You're so wound up, Jayce. Take what you need."
Immediately, Jayce scrambles forward, afraid to look away from Viktor's face, the severe contours of it as captivating as the first time. Viktor has always been beautiful. Jayce has always thought so, but there is something about the Herald's body that makes Jayce feel base. Makes him feel singular. Small, but not trivial. Small, like a cog. A ticking, moving part of a whole. A part of Viktor.
Jayce finds purchase on his hands and knees, facing up towards Viktor. He's splayed out, almost supplicant. Viktor tilts his head, and Jayce allows his hips to stutter forward. The seam of his cunt meets with the line of Viktor's tendons, and Jayce throws his head back. If he grinds forward just so, his cock gets the pressure it needs to send sparks down his spine.
He rocks hard, harder, on Viktor's palm, never looking away from Viktor's eyes. The metal grows wet, blood-warm beneath his thighs, and Jayce swears he can feel a pulse meeting his somewhere underneath him.
Jayce ruts, letting his jaw drop, clenching and unclenching his hands around Viktor's sinew. He wonders what's underneath it. Beyond the metal. Is there still flesh to Viktor? Or is it all preternatural alloy and residual Hexcore scraps in place of viscera? Does a heart still beat on its own? Or does the mannequin simply echo what its unwilling creator feels towards it?
He moans, long and breathy. "Viktor, Viktor, I'm, I‐hahh," Jayce can't think of anything else. Just: Viktor, Viktor, Viktor, I love you, I love you, can you hear me?
Viktor makes a choked noise. Jayce frots, tendons drenched under him, dragging along his cunt until it starts to ache, and his cock pulses from the lack of any direct attention. He gazes blearily at Viktor’s face hovering over him, leaning so close it takes up his entire field of vision. (Jayce wonders if the Herald needs to breathe.) Closer—
“Closer,” Jayce shakes like a leaf, hips slowing jerkily, “V, I want to be closer—AH—”
Viktor pushes his finger against Jayce’s cock, and Jayce spasms, moaning. So close, but not quite enough. In his daze, he feels Viktor shift his body—there is no direction but he is moved down, down, down, until Jayce feels his knees meet a flat surface.
“Let me feel you,” Viktor’s voice booms, rattling through Jayce’s bones and making his cock throb. Jayce looks down. The flat of Viktor’s face is so smooth, almost silky, underneath his body. When he shifts, Jayce feels his feet slip off the raised edge of Viktor’s face, his partner’s hands coming up to help him balance as a precaution. Jayce feels dizzy looking into Viktor’s eyes, their harsh light clearing his mind of any thought at all.
Jayce’s hips rock forwards in the empty air instinctively, a sob escaping him. “Viktor, you’re too flat for me to—,” Jayce huffs a laugh, still trying to grind forward anyway.
“Oh, is Jayce Talis, innovator extraordinaire, about to say he can’t do something?” Viktor laughs, vibration shaking through Jayce who first moans as it pulses through his cock, then laughs too.
“Fine, fine,” He smiles with a lighthearted eye roll, leaning over properly. Spreading his knees apart, Jayce reaches under him to finally stroke his cock between two fingers. The relief is immediate and has him sighing. Jayce circles his fingers again, again, leaning down to press his face against Viktor’s faceplate. His breath fogs the metal under him in swirls, he distantly wonders how much Viktor can feel through their real-world mental link. If he slips his fingers lower to trace around the edge of himself, would Viktor feel it like it was his own hand? Suddenly Jayce is overcome with the slightly cruel urge to continue to tease, leaving himself wound up and hanging at the edge just to see what Viktor would do.
What Viktor does do is growl in warning, “Jayce, you seem to exist just to push me.”
Jayce rocks into the heel of his hand particularly harshly, “Would you like me to, hahh, pull you instead?”
There’s no verbal response—Jayce feels two fingers curl under his bad knee and feels Viktor’s other hand rub along his cunt from the back. Jayce whines as Viktor pushes against his cock with one finger (down, up, down, up) with enough space for him to grind back to meet Viktor’s motions. The shudder down Jayce’s spine is intense when he feels Viktor drag his finger through his cunt to collect his wetness to smooth the way when giving his attentions to Jayce’s cock. Viktor pushes, faster, harder, and Jayce is panting, with nothing to grasp onto on Viktor’s face, “V, please, please, Viktor, I wa-ah-nt to come—”
“Then, come for me, szczeniaczku,” Viktor says with a finalizing stroke, and Jayce howls against the metal, feeling the wet rush roll through him violently.
Jayce wakes, shaking through the aftershocks of his orgasm, to Viktor shushing him softly, Viktor’s fingers smoothing down his body under the huddle of blankets. Jayce rocks desperately back into Viktor’s lean hips, “I need you, now, V, please.”
Viktor’s arms are immediately around him, one around his chest and other snaking between his thighs. The relief of feeling Viktor’s bed-warm, normal-big hands on his body is immediate, Jayce sighs into the sensation of Viktor rubbing his cock with urgency. “In me, Vik,” Jayce manages to groan, “Inside.”
He doesn’t need to say anything else, Viktor slips two slim fingers into his cunt with no resistance. In the stillness of the inn bedroom, Jayce is hyper aware of each broken noise escaping him with every thrust of Viktor’s fingers, every tight circle of his own hips. He’s already close again, he can feel it like there's light trying to claw out from under his sternum. Viktor’s arm tightens around his chest, and Jayce can feel him add another finger, pushing deep, deeper, within him.
Then, Viktor curls his fingers within him and rubs his thumb over his cock and Jayce is gone. Gasping and quivering, Jayce feels hot ice shoot through his body where Viktor’s fingers reach into him, like he’s grabbing Jayce’s very heart in his chest. Jayce comes with his thighs quaking and ribs so full of something bright and blinding that it drowns out all of his other senses. If he screams, he can’t hear it.
It takes a moment for Jayce to register his senses coming back. He feels Viktor’s metal thumb, running soothingly, up, down, up, down Jayce's arm where they’re both looped low around his waist. There’s a slight twinge just below his knee on his bad leg, and his momentary squirming causes Viktor to lean over his shoulder. “Alright, Jayce?”
“Mhm, just sticky,” Jayce grins softly. He turns around in the circle of their arms, hoping to disguise his wince at his leg with a chuckle. He runs his knuckles down the flat planes of Viktor’s abdomen, “Let me take care of you too, please, V?”
Viktor rumbles again, deep within his golden ribs, and laces his fingers with Jayce’s. “You’ll find no need to,” He says, bringing their joined hands lower, running along the metallic adductor muscles of his inner thigh. He lets Jayce’s fingers trace the seam of an almost imperceptible slit just above there, and Jayce’s fingers come away sticky. He holds his fingers up to the light of the room—the slick is almost iridescent, shimmering as it drips down his hand.
“You really—?”
“After all that, do you really still doubt my feelings for you?” Viktor hums.
Jayce shrugs. Curiosity gets the best of him, Jayce licks his fingertips, not allowing himself to meet Viktor’s golden stare. Viktor’s come is oddly sweet but makes his tongue feel a bit numb, like what Jayce imagines chewing a Hexgem would do to the inside of your mouth. He must make a face at the taste because Viktor huffs another one of his sweet, mechanical laughs and hugs them tighter together.
It's quiet, after. A heavy quietness that Jayce can’t quite place the feeling of just yet.
Viktor’s hand comes up to cradle the back of Jayce’s head, holding his skull like it’s made of something delicate. Like pressing his faux-carpals alone Jayce’s occipital bone will allow their thoughts to flow from bone to bone. Jayce swirls the thought in his mind anyway, I do love you. I think I could love you if you let me.
But that’s alright, he thinks as he watches the snow accumulate on the window frame over Viktor’s narrow shoulder, if anything at all, they have time to figure it out. Six hundred years’ worth, if they do it right. So, Jayce lets it be quiet, if only for a moment.
— — — — —
Thank you to @valeriianz and @3-inch-sam for the edits!! And shoutout to my two irl friends who cheered on my insane thought process as I wrote this lmao. I have some more ideas about what J/V get up to in this vaguely 1400s-inspired Piltover, so maybe stick around (aka subscribe to the series this fic is part of on ao3!) in the off chance I get time to write it!! Thanks for reading!! :]
I think -personally- that Obi Wan and Cody need to realize they aren't sneaky. I JUST walked in on them cuddling and Cody had the AUDACITY to claim they were "Cold" in the dead heat of summer on the hottest planet in this side of the Star system. Sure your cold. Cold dead liars.
Pairing: geralt x jaskier
Warning(s): character injury
Rating: explicit
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier are sleeping together because it’s convenient and for no other reason. But when Jaskier is injured and Geralt becomes his primary caretaker, he begins to wonder if there isn't more to it.
For @a-kind-of-merry-war, I know you’ve read it already but I hope you like it! ❤ ❤ ❤
Geralt has always been told you can't sleep with someone without developing feelings for them, but he's never believed it. He and Jaskier have been sleeping together for months now and their friendship has only gotten better, but it's just that - a friendship. So when Jaskier doesn't show up for a scheduled meeting, Geralt isn't too worried about him. Jaskier can be a little scatterbrained at times and something probably came up. It's more than likely he just forgot to call. Geralt tries to contact him but that's only because he wants to make sure Jaskier didn't make other plans - he doesn't want to wait around for him all night if he's not coming.
He texts first, then when that doesn't get a response, he calls, but there's no answer. He hangs up when Jaskier's voicemail kicks in, but after another ten minutes of waiting, he leaves a voicemail, too. He's not worried. He just… wants to get on with his night. He wanted to get laid, but evidently, that is not happening tonight, so moving on with his night is the next best option - maybe he'll go out and find someone else to spend the night with. But Jaskier has never been this late before and Geralt may not have feelings for him, but they are friends.
But there's still no response and Geralt finds himself wondering if she should call one of Jaskier's other friends to see if he's with them.
Fuck. Maybe he is a little worried.
Two more calls get him nowhere so he calls both Jaskier's best friends and neither Pri nor Essie has seen or heard from him, either. Panic creeps through him like ice in his veins and he doesn't think before looking up the numbers for local hospitals and calling the first one. It takes three calls, but he gets through to a friendly receptionist who confirms they do, in fact, have a patient by the name of Julian Pankratz. Geralt could cry with relief because whatever condition Jaskier's in at the hospital, he is at least still alive, which is better than the fifty-odd situations Geralt's mind supplied to him in the last half hour.
He's not relieved enough that he doesn't immediately jump back in his car and turn back onto the highway.
The drive to the hospital is far longer than Geralt remembers it, and when he arrives he's first told he can't see him. He presses but the nurse only tells him he's in bad shape and Geralt's stomach flips over itself at the thought of him alone and in pain. Jaskier isn't close to his family and none of his close friends know he's here. While he's worrying himself over it, the nurse comes back again.
"Are you the boyfriend?" he asks and Geralt's heart sinks because he's not, but maybe Jaskier does have a boyfriend - someone he was with? But Geralt is rising out of his seat and nodding yes before he can think better of it. He just hopes Jaskier doesn't give him away when he sees him.
His fears go unfounded when he's led to the room. Jaskier's still in the emergency bay so he knows it can't be good, but he's smiling when the nurse pulls the curtain back and he doesn't stop smiling when he sees Geralt. So maybe the boyfriend thing was a ruse after all. Geralt looks him over, his heart beating a little quicker at the purpling skin around his eye and the leg held up in a sling, but Jaskier pulls his attention away with two simple words.
"Hey, baby."
Geralt's heart stops. Jaskier calls him that sometimes, calls him all sorts of things, but always in the heat of the moment and it takes him a second to adjust to the fondness in the new context. The nurse misreads the situation, laying a gentle hand on his forearm.
"He'll be alright," she says gently, "it looks worse than it really is." Geralt nods as she turns away and takes a couple of steps forward toward the bed.
"Hey," he chokes, "you're late."Jaskier laughs and almost immediately winces and Geralt reaches out instinctively, stopping short of actually touching him lest he hurt him more.
"Don't make me laugh," Jaskier grins, "hurts."
"Sorry. How are you doing?"
"Could be better, but you're here now so-" he grins up at him and Geralt rolls his eyes. "Broken leg," he explains, "fractured rib. Otherwise just bruised. They say I can leave tonight, but they have to release me to someone." He rolls his eyes like this is the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard and Geralt can't help the fondness that blooms in his chest.
"It's only so you can heal properly-"
"Sending me home to my family isn't doing anyone any good," Jaskier grouches. Geralt opens his mouth before he can stop himself.
"You could stay with me," he offers, "I have time off and I'm not going to use it for anything else and I have to be better than your family."
"You'd do that?" Jaskier asks, looking up with big hopeful eyes, and Geralt certainly isn't going to go back on it now.
"Of course. Unless you've had enough of me."
"Never," Jaskier says with all too much sincerity. Geralt tries not to think too much about it. He's only offering because they're friends, because Jaskier needs someone to look after him for a little while. Because it will be hard for him to do things on his own.
It's a couple more hours before Jaskier is ready to go. He's got a cast on his leg and bandages around his head that make him look much worse off than he is. The nurse helps him out to the car and then leaves them to it. Geralt suddenly feels very out of his depth.
He tries to keep Jaskier's mind off of it as he makes the familiar drive to his apartment, then parks out front to help Jaskier out. It's clear that he's in pain and frustrated with the crutches, so Geralt lifts him onto the hood of the car while he gathers the few things to bring inside with them. When he's ready, he circles back around to the front and lifts Jaskier into his arms bridal style and carries him up the front steps. Jaskier buries his face in his neck and sighs as they make their way up to his third-floor apartment.
Geralt gets him settled in his room with the painkillers he was prescribed and a glass of water before heading into the kitchen to find them something to eat. It's not until he's alone that he realizes he's shaking.
He braces himself on the counter, glad only that Jaskier won't come in and find him like this, suddenly overcome and overwhelmed. Because until tonight, he'd never considered the thought of losing Jaskier. He had always just assumed this would just go on until Jaskier found someone who wasn't okay with him sleeping with other people and they'd call it off and go on with their lives as friends. But now he's left floundering because the moment he realized something was wrong, he panicked, he… couldn't imagine going forward without Jaskier and that terrifies him.
Because this was supposed to be a mutually beneficial situation; Jaskier had been too busy to find casual hookups and Geralt has never been much good with people to begin with, so it worked. They are very good together and it's been good; he and Jaskier have become closer outside their increasing hookups, but now Geralt is wondering if maybe he's more attached than he should be.
He'd be upset to lose any of his friends, but thinking about losing Jaskier feels different than thinking about losing Zoltan or Roche. Maybe there is some truth to what they say about not fucking someone without developing feelings for them. But that in itself is terrifying. He doesn't want to have feelings for Jaskier, can't possibly face another one-sided relationship after Yen, but the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes he's shaped his life around Jaskier recently.
Thinking back, he can't even remember the last time he even looked at someone else, much less acted on an attraction.
Because Jaskier has always been there in the back of his mind, just a phone call away. Fuck.
A groan from the bedroom pulls him from his thoughts and Geralt allows himself another couple of seconds to dwell on this unsettling discovery before pushing himself up and digging through the cupboards to find something quick to make for supper. He settles on boxed mac and cheese because he's distracted and it's pretty hard to fuck up. He still manages to overcook the pasta.
When he takes the bowls into the bedroom, Jaskier has turned on the TV and propped himself up against the wall. Geralt smiles as he climbs up next to him, but it's clear by the look on Jaskier's face that he can tell something's up. He takes both bowls, setting them on the bedside table and holds a hand out to him, a gesture more than anything, but Geralt shifts a little closer.
"Hey," Jaskier says softly, "it's okay."
"Yeah," Geralt agrees, but he doesn't believe it. How can it be okay when Jaskier is the one in pain here and he's pacifying him.
"Do you have a preference?" Jaskier asks, gesturing toward the TV. "Or maybe just shark docs?" He grins hopefully and Geralt's heart thuds a little heavier in his chest. He ignores it, settling in next to Jaskier and turning up the volume.
Jaskier has to have seen every documentary there is about sharks and he never seems to tire of them. Geralt is reluctantly fond of them too, but he suspects that has more to do with the fact that they remind him of Jaskier now. They settle in and Geralt is glad to find Jaskier eats quickly and without much complaint about pain. He knows, realistically, that he wouldn't have been discharged if there was anything else to worry about, but he can't help but worry anyway.
By the end of the first episode, Jaskier is snoring softly against Geralt's shoulder and finally, after hours of worrying, Geralt feels like he can breathe again. He tips his head to rest against Jaskier's without putting any pressure on him, and shortly he follows him in sleep.
A couple of days pass and things stay much the same. Geralt's been approved for two weeks off of work and while he doesn't think that will be long enough, he's happy to have the time to look after Jaskier when he needs it most. He's all but moved in and Jaskier even - despite Geralt's assurance it wasn't worth hurting himself over - cleared out drawers in his fresser for him. It all feels terrifyingly domestic and Geralt is worried about what will happen when he eventually has to leave.
Jaskier has remained almost exclusively in his bed, getting up only to use the bathroom or when he can't stand staying still any longer, and Geralt will help him hobble around. But this morning he's antsy, complaining that he's gross and needs a shower. Geralt has been doing his best to bathe him, but in the summer heat, he can't blame Jaskier for wanting a proper shower. But he can't get his cast wet and getting in and out of the bath is nearly impossible without soaking it, so they've been putting it off. This morning, Jaskier is adamant.
"What if you come with me?" he asks, rolling onto his side to watch as Geralt dresses himself. "You could hold me up." Geralt casts a look over his shoulder to find Jaskier grinning at him, the look on his face far too enticing for his own good.
"If you're implying I fuck you in the shower so you don't get your cast wet that's not only not going to work, it's not going to happen."
"Geralt," he whines, "I'm sore and I'm gross and I'm horny and no one's going to fuck me until I'm clean."
"No one's going to fuck you at all when I'm sleeping in your bed every night."
Geralt turns toward the bed, tossing a shirt and shorts to Jaskier. He's been choosing his outfits for him lately and he thrills every time Jaskier tells him he's done a good job.
"You could fuck me," he says, lifting the floral tank top and holding it out in front of him. He's waiting, Geralt knows, hoping he'll give in and agree to fuck him so he doesn't have to get dressed yet.
"I'll have a bath with you," he concedes, "but I'm not fucking you, Jask. You've still got a broken leg if you hadn't forgotten." Jaskier just groans, long and low, but when Geralt threatens to rescind his offer of a bath, he becomes abruptly silent.
Geralt runs a bath, trying to eyeball the water level so they won't displace it all over the floor, and when he thinks it's full enough, he strips naked and returns to the bedroom for Jaskier. When he enters the room, Jaskier makes no attempt to hide the way he looks him up and down.
"Bath," Geralt reminds him and Jaskier pouts as he slides off the edge of the bed. Jaskier grumbles but hobbles over so Geralt can duck under his shoulder and help him to the bathroom.
They get into the tub without much trouble, splashing only a little bit of water onto the floor and Geralt arranges Jaskier between his legs so he can keep his cast on the edge of the tub and out of the water. Geralt washes his chest and arms as well as he can, leaving Jaskier to tend to the more sensitive places, but it doesn't seem to do any good, because as he brings his hand back up, accidentally brushing over a nipple, Jaskier lets out a soft gasp.
"Sorry," Geralt mumbles, but Jaskier just presses back against him, tipping his head back to nuzzle against his neck.
Geralt's eyes drop shut as Jaskier's lips press against his skin, soft and gentle. He shouldn't let this go any further than it has, he's already been considering calling off the whole thing once Jaskier is well again, but he's weak and he wants him. And despite the fact that Jaskier has never kissed him outside sex, for a moment, he can let himself believe this is more.
Jaskier's breath comes shallower and he squirms and Geralt is struggling to keep his composure, but with Jaskier grinding back against his cock it's difficult. He finds himself growing hard despite himself, holding Jaskier's hips to keep him from pressing too hard, but also to keep him from getting too far away.
Geralt knows he can't keep that promise, but he can't stop himself from sliding his hand down again, wrapping around the length of Jaskier's cock. And he knows he's hard already, but being able to feel it for himself sends a thrill through him and he presses his nose into Jaskier's hair. The response he gets is immediate. Jaskier presses back against him, sucking a mark into the skin over his throat and rocking lightly into Geralt's hand.
"Oh," he groans, "oh gods, yes. Fuck. Missed you," he mumbles and Geralt doesn't quite know how to respond to that. He's missed touching Jaskier, too, missed the nights they spent tangled together, but he doesn't think it's a good idea anymore.
But Jaskier doesn't stop babbling at him, how much he misses him, how much he loves Geralt's hands on him and Geralt isn't unaffected. His own cock aches with every word and the closer Jaskier gets, the more he grinds down on him and Geralt is struggling to keep from coming just like this. He should have better control, but he's wanted this for ages now, has started dreaming about Jaskier and it's getting to him, but he can't exactly deal with it when they're spending every moment together.
Then Jaskier is jerking in his hold, pressing his face into Geralt's neck and groaning as he comes, spilling over Geralt's hand and his stomach. Geralt doesn't have the control to stop himself and his own orgasm overtakes him as Jaskier grinds down against him.
He continues stroking him slowly until Jaskier slumps against him, painting and humming contentedly.
"Mm, that was very good," he mumbles, pressing soft kisses to Geralt's shoulder. "Are you gonna let me take care of you?"
"You're hurt, Jaskier."
"My hands are fine, my mouth is fine- I know how much you liked fucking my mouth that time, hm?" Jaskier's hand slips back between them before Geralt can think to stop him and then he's wrapping around Geralt's cock, shifting with surprise when he finds him soft.
"Geralt?" he asks coyly, "did you already come, darling?"
"Jask-"
"Oh, fuck you did- Geralt, when was the last time you got laid, hm? I have spent entire nights on your cock without you shooting off like that."
"'S been a while," Geralt confirms and Jaskier just scoffs.
"Why do you deprive yourself," he teases and Geralt isn't thinking clearly when he responds, his head still foggy from his unexpected orgasm.
"You were busy with the album and everything." It's a throwaway comment, and the truth, but Jaskier starts at it.
"Do you… are you not seeing anyone else?"
"...No."
Jaskier moves to turn in his arms and Geralt has to stop him from getting his cast in the water.
"What do you mean, no?"
"I mean," Geralt starts, choosing his words carefully, "that I don't need anyone else."
"Obviously you do-"
"Then I don't want anyone else." He means to say there's no one else he would want, but the mistake gives away more than intended.
"Just me?"
"Can we… not talk about this in a bathtub that's now full of come?" Geralt interrupts and when Jaskier turns to look up at him, Geralt can't tell if the look in his eyes is excited or terrified.
"Is there… something we should be talking about?"
Geralt just shuts his eyes and sighs. He can't lie to him, can't keep going on like this knowing he's more invested than Jaskier is, it isn't fair.
"Probably," he admits, "but back in bed, not here."
Jaskier falls silent while Geralt cleans them both up again and gets them out of the tub. He's not sure if that's a good sign or a bad one. But when they get to the room, Jaskier just pulls the tank top over his head and drops onto his side of the bed with one leg hanging off the side. Geralt pulls on a pair of shorts and hovers for a moment before sitting down on the opposite side of the bed.
"So," Jaskier starts, but neither of them jumps to speak.
"Right."
"Okay I'll go then, shall I? You.. haven't slept with anyone since-?"
"Uh, since we… since the first time."
"Since- Geralt! That was over a year ago."
"Haven't felt the need."
"Mm, I can tell, considering you just came in the bath without me even touching you."
"Jaskier-"
"Why haven't you seen anyone else, Geralt? I can't possibly be enough for you with my fucked up schedule and staying up at the studio all hours-"
"It's worth it," Geralt admits, "I'd rather wait for you than go out and find some stranger to fuck." Jaskier smiles softly at him and his shoulders slump.
"And to think all this time I've felt greedy, like I was hoarding you away and you didn't want anyone else anyway." Geralt smiles but doesn't know how to respond to that. He fidgets with the tie on his shorts and Jaskier catches his eyes again.
"Geralt?" he asks, "Is everything alright? You said there was something we should talk about." Geralt nods. He may as well get it over with than stretching it out.
"I haven't wanted anyone in months," he reiterates, "no one but you. But that night, when I couldn't get hold of you? I panicked, Jask. I was so scared I would never see you again and I-'' he looks up at him, at the wide blue eyes watching him and takes a deep breath. "This isn't just sex for me, anymore. I always said I'd be fine and that I could just fuck you without any of the feelings, but I- I look at you now and wonder how the fuck I could have been so stupid." Once he starts talking, he can't seem to stop, the words rolling off his tongue without his permission.
"I wake up next to you and wonder what you're dreaming about and when I leave, I'm already thinking about next time, about when I'll be able to hold you again, kiss you again. I want more, Jask, and I know I can't ask for it... so I think maybe it's better if we don't see each other again. Like this, I mean." Jaskier is silent for so long that Geralt wants to curl up and hide, to take back everything he said, but just as he opens his mouth, Jaskier interrupts.
"I think you're right, but not completely. I don't think we should see each other like this anymore, but only because when you leave-" he chokes on the words and bites the inside of his lip. "When you leave I count the minutes before I text you again because I don't want to seem too eager. I keep a copy of your work schedule so I know what days you're free so we don't just have time for a quick fuck and nothing else. I would give anything, Geralt, to be able to wake up in your arms every morning. And at risk of sounding like a fucking idiot, I love you."
Geralt's heart skips and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe completely but then he's crawling over to the other side of the bed and sliding a hand over Jaskier's cheek. Gentle arms wind around his neck and then he's being hauled down and rolled onto his side. Jaskier winces as he rolls onto his bad leg, but stops any attempt to move him so he might be more comfortable. He smiles at Geralt, tipping forward to kiss the tip of his nose and before he can pull back all the way, Geralt surges forward again, catching his lips in a soft kiss. Jaskier hums against him, holding him tighter and Geralt thinks absently that it's hard to fuck someone without becoming attached, but sometimes those feelings go both ways.
Jaskier is good at letting things slide. As an artist, he's come to realize that getting over things that are upsetting is not only a good skill but a necessary form of self-preservation. Two minutes is all it takes.
If he has a bad show he takes two minutes to reflect before collecting himself and moving on. If he strikes out with a prospective partner, that's fine; it wasn't meant to be, there will be others. If Geralt calls him whiny or annoying or tells him his singing is like a fillingless pie, he takes two minutes, assures himself the witcher knows nothing of the arts and carries on.
Two minutes is all he needs to realize sometimes his problem is not that bad. There are people living in the streets who can't afford to eat, people on fear for their very lives because they're different, people who die every day fighting for a monarch who wouldn't know them from the next faceless soldier.
No, Jaskier's problems are not that bad.
He has Geralt, he has his music. They eat well and even the nights they don't have a bed to sleep in are spent with a song and good company.
Two minutes is what it takes for him to remember this, even on their worst days.
Two minutes is also the time it takes for Jaskier's world to come crashing down around him.
He passes Yennefer on the way down the mountain and it's a testament to his heartbreak that she stops him to see if he's alright.
"I just need-" he starts, a reflex. Two minutes is not going to solve this. Two minutes won't bring Geralt back to him or change his mind. Two minutes is not enough time. This time, he doesn't know how he's going to cope.
