Your prompt: Jaskier falls asleep in Geralt's lap and Geralt has a conversation with someone else while stroking Jaskier's hair. (I had fully intended to go spicy, but this prompt... it’s so soft....)
Eskel had been expecting Geralt to return for the winter. He had not been expecting the bard.
It wasn’t an altogether unpleasant surprise. They’d been subjected to Geralt’s unintentional rhapsodizing about his bard for years, and he’d hoped that actually having Jaskier amongst them in the keep might mean they’d be forced to listen to less of his rambling. Geralt wasn’t even aware he was doing it - Lambert had called him out on it last winter during training, and the argument had quickly dissolved into a scuffle.
Back then, Geralt had sworn at Lambert, and asked what the fuck he was implying. Lambert had only smirked at him, which had made it worse: he didn’t need to imply anything.
And now the bard was here, in all his apparent glory.
They’d been playing drinking games and singing increasingly lewd songs one cold evening a couple of weeks after Geralt and Jaskier had arrived at the keep. Jaskier was a good drinker, but even he couldn’t keep up with the gull-spiked vodka that Eskel and his brothers were knocking back.
He’d slumped against Geralt’s shoulder, snoozing drunkenly, his mouth hanging open. Geralt was clearly trying very hard not to disturb him, sitting in a stiff-backed, tense way that was only exacerbated by the drink. When Geralt had finally moved, reaching for a gwent card, the bard toppled fully into his lap, his head resting peacefully against Geralt’s thighs.
They’d continued to drink for a good two hours afterwards before finally calling it a night. Geralt had gently shaken Jaskier awake, who’d mumbled incoherently as he led him upstairs. Lambert folded his arms across his chest, leaning on the bench, watching them go.
“I thought the spare rooms were on the other side of the keep?” He said.
“They are,” Eskel replied, packing away his deck. “But he’s been staying in Geralt’s room since they got here. You didn’t realise?”
“They are definitely not.”
“Fuck.” Lambert snorted. “Did you see what he was doing?”
“What, playing with Jaskier’s hair for the past hour? Kinda hard to miss.”
“Pathetic, isn’t it? D’you think he even realised he was doing it?”
Eskel shook his head. “If he doesn’t work it out soon, I’m going to throw myself in the lake.” He paused. “Maybe throw him in the lake.”
Eskel tucked his cards into a pocket. “I’m listening.”
“Fifty crowns says they’ll be fucking before winter’s out.”
Eskel considered this. He considered how much of a fool his brother was - and how much Jaskier clearly didn’t want to lose him by pushing Geralt further than he was comfortable with. He stuck out his hand.
