you’ll look at me ways that I’ve never looked at you
title from Cosmo Jarvis’ “Love This”
just pure fluff before my 8 hour Thanksgiving shift.
comments would be much appreciated; they will get your local Bouncey through the next few days
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Jaskier makes a soft, happy sound that gets muffled rather adorably by the dark material of Geralt’s shirt and the Witcher smiles to himself. There’s a light layer of fog hanging over their campsite that probably originated from the nearby pond and it gives the pale morning sunshine a magical quality. The mist flows and ebbs in little whorls with every one of the Witcher’s gentle exhalations.
Geralt is happy. He’s content.
He nuzzles down into the bard’s sweetly scented brown hair and rumbles out a magnificent purr. If only he could drag this moment out forever. He would gladly sell his soul to bottle up this warm, glorious feeling and have it with him every day and every night for the rest of his days.
Geralt, the Butcher of Blaviken, the White Wolf, the fearsome Witcher with an exhausted moral compass and a heart of gold, has never known a happiness quite like this before. Not in his many decades on the Path has he ever fallen asleep grinning and woken up the same way.
He blames the man sleeping peacefully in the protective snare of his arms for the change.
Jaskier is everything. He took one look at Geralt from a cross a half-empty tavern at the tender age of eighteen and decided to stay loyal for twenty years of his life; that’s far more than even Yennefer could manage. She wasn’t even able pick between two eager lovers while Jaskier... Jaskier chose to stay at his Witcher’s side without a second thought.
The bard wakes up every day and greets Geralt and the morning sun with equal enthusiasm, his eyes bright and already searching for adventure. For music. For more.
More than Geralt thought he was capable of giving.
But that was then, and this is now. And right now, Jaskier is making sweet little snuffling noises and pawing frantically at the black linen separating him from the warmth of Geralt’s chest. There’s nothing that calms his bard faster than skin-on-skin contact and the Witcher is more than happy to oblige. With as little jostling as possible, Geralt manages to wiggle out of his shirt and restore Jaskier to his previous position in their sleepy embrace.
The bard’s erratic breathing evens back out once his cheek is smushed up against the firm muscles of Geralt’s left pectoral. A tired smile flashes up in the Witcher’s direction and a sloppy kiss is pressed beneath Geralt’s collarbone; he shivers pleasantly at the sensation of Jaskier’s warm, damp lips against his cool skin.
A few minutes later, as Geralt begins to drift back to sleep himself, he realizes that Jaskier’s breathing pattern now matches the rhythm of his too-slow heart.
I am lucky that Destiny delivered you into my life and my hands, Geralt thinks. Jaskier murmurs a sweet nothing into his skin and he grins like a dope. Very lucky indeed.