#silly drunk witcher

[dapandapod]

You know something?

@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!

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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.

And possibly kiss him.