#tender jaskier

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Geralt doesn’t like kissing... or so he thinks

I was saving this one and now I am going to do it

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Geralt has never really been a fan of kissing. It’s sloppy and gross and there’s spit and teeth everywhere and he’d rather just not deal with all of that mess. He’d rather get right down to business. 

Until he meets Jaskier.

Because Jaskier sweeps him off his feet. Literally. The bard dips him low in his arms, supporting the Witcher’s back with his bent knee, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist and shoulders, one hand in the perfect position to cradle the back of his head as he gazes intently into Geralt’s eyes. Those blue irises are mesmerizing and the Witcher’s throat goes dry and tight as Jaskier captures him entirely in his aura of easy affection. 

“You’re...beautiful,” Geralt whispers. 

“You’re magnificent, dear heart,” the bard replies, “And so courageous and kind.”

“Are you going to kiss me, Jaskier?”

“Yes, Geralt, I am.”

And the press of his lips, soft and yielding and warm against Geralt’s, send the Witcher tumbling head over heels into love. Love and affection and warmth. He gasps in a breath when Jaskier is finished with him. He tucks his burning face into the crook of the bard’s neck once they’re both upright again. 

Jaskier’s strong arms wrap around him again, reassuring him that he is loved. That he is so desperately wanted. 

“May I kiss you again?” Jaskier asks, looking up at him with that open, honest expression. He’s so earnest and eager; so willing and happy to please. Geralt is the luckiest man alive, much less the luckiest Witcher. 

“Please,” he replies. He repeats the word for emphasis, but it’s quickly swallowed into the bard’s tea-bitter mouth. Geralt melts into his lover’s tender embrace and smiles. 

Maybe...maybe he is a fan of kissing after all.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

I wanted to finish up the night with some fluff so @thecomfortofoldstorries came through with: Geralt is the one receiving affection (little spoon) 

so without further ado...

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Geralt’s head is resting on the bard’s chest and the rest of his body has found a way to tangle around Jaskier like a clinging vine. One of the bard’s arms is wrapped around the Witcher’s shoulders while the other moves in a steady, soothing rhythm against the Witcher’s scarred back. Up and down. Up and down. 

The same pattern of movements and breathing until the White Wolf is purring against his side. 

“Give me your butt,” Jaskier urges, pulling his arm free and shaking some of the feeling back into it. Geralt obliges, spinning onto his side so that he’s facing away from Jaskier. “Thank you, love.”

He scoots closer, pressing the planes of his slight and slender frame against the strong, taut lines of Geralt’s much firmer physique. 

“Would you like it it I were bigger?” Jaskier asks. “Stronger, I mean. Like you are.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I love you this way,” Geralt’s fingers intertwine with Jaskier’s where it rests atop the Witcher’s stomach. “I love you the way you’ve always been. Like a willow tree. Strong and adaptable; you bend so far before you’re ever tempted to break.”

Jaskier tears up and buries his face in the loose, silver hair hanging across the back of Geralt’s neck. “Oh, my love.”

“Shh,” the Witcher’s hand squeezes his again. “Go to sleep.”

“Sweet dreams,” Jaskier says. He presses a series of soft, damp kisses to the skin of Geralt’s neck and shoulders. The Witcher shudders and presses back, getting himself as close as possible to the bard’s comforting, natural warm. He is the embodiment of feeling at home. Geralt hopes never to part from it. “I love you, Geralt.”

“I love you too, Jask. Sweet dreams.”

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Beauty and the beast au: Geralt helping remove winter gloves from his hands and gently warms Jaskier's hands with his own (and perhaps a kiss)

Geralt gently pulled the wool mittens from Jaskier’s hands and deposited them on the mantlepiece. He cupped his consort’s frozen fingers in his own hands and breathed warm air onto them, rubbing each finger and palm gently to restore warmth and bloodflow.

Jaskier watched him with a tender, devoted gaze and Geralt did his best not to flinch away. He was always amazed at the level of trust his betrothed had for him. A Witcher. 

“Thank you, my love.”

“Hmm. Of course, my darling.”

“It’s nearly Candlemas,” the boy blushed. Geralt cupped his cold cheek with a warm palm and pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

“Very nearly.”

“And then we shall be married.”

Geralt’s thumb brushed over the finger that Jaskier’s wedding band would shortly occupy. “Yes. And I couldn’t be happier.”

The Beast’s confession filled the peasant’s heart with joy and he threw his arms around his darling’s solid shoulders. “I feel much the same!”