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The sun beats down on a weary Witcher and his chattering bard as they ride over the grassy highlands of the Continent. At least, Geralt is riding; Jaskier is walking as usual, idly strumming on his lute and humming as they reach the summit of a particularly tall hill.
“Geralt, look! Finally! We’re saved!”, Jaskier exclaims with far more hand waving than is strictly necessary. Geralt hums briefly in reply, examining the distant town that had come into view with a critical eye. Lute now stashed safely on his back, Jaskier continues rambling, spirits lifted by the thought of civilisation. “Oh it's been ages since I had a proper bath, and there’ll be shops! And people! I need new shoes, and hell, maybe you’ll find a contract here so we can stay, wouldn’t that be great!?”
He keeps talking, speculating about the shops, and the women, and literally everything else, but Geralt lets the voice fade into the background, content to just watch the bard as he walks ahead. The sun spills golden highlights onto the soft brown hair as he suddenly looks back to flash a grin at the Witcher. “Hurry up old man, I’m hungry!”
“Piss off”, Geralt retorts, but nevertheless encourages Roach to pick up the pace, a soft smile hovering on the edges of his lips.
They reach the town in the early afternoon, and although not particularly large, the town square is bustling with people gossiping, shopping, selling, and shouting. Geralt sighs as Jaskier dives right on in, his body swiftly disappearing in between the masses. Not in the mood to deal with such a crowd himself, Geralt wanders around the outskirts until he finds a small stable, unimpressive but clean, so he settles Roach in and starts to give her a brush down. The owner of the stable is a stout fellow, decent enough to stay and talk to the Witcher even after accepting his coin for the board. “Oh yes, it’s a lov’ly town, lov’ly, I’ve been ‘ere 50 years, met my wife ‘ere, and we’ve nev’r had any trouble before, it’s a damn shame all this business.” Geralt stops, interest piqued.
“What business would that be?” He inquires.
“Ah yes. That. Aye, well I suppose it’s something you oughta know, bein’ a Witcher ‘n all, but I’ll wager I’m not the best to be tellin ya ‘bout it. Maybe you can ‘elp us, might even be some coin in it for ya if ya go talk to the mayor.”
“And how would I find him?”
The man winces good-naturedly and laughs. “I think you mean her . Aw don’t worry ‘bout it, Mayor Elysse will prob’ly be wand’rin ‘round the market this time o’ day, ‘n it’s her job to know what’s goin’ on so she’ll be able to tell ya all about it.”
Geralt thanks the man, gives Roach a pat goodbye, and sets off. Wandering slowly through the crowd as it parts around him, he hears snatches of fearful whispers, but not about him for once. Despite this, he doesn’t hear enough for him to decipher what kind of monster could be plaguing this town, and so far no evidence of the usual culprits has shown itself. When he hears Jaskier’s laugh from a few feet away, he follows the sound to where the bard is flirting shamelessly with the woman who appears to be the mayor.
“Ah, Geralt, there you are! Let me introduce you to this wonderful lady: Miss Elysse, the mayor of this gorgeous town! Ma’am this is my dear friend Geralt, we travel together.”
The mayor smiles bemusedly at Jaskier, but her face falls when she looks over and sees the Witcher medallion hanging from Geralt’s neck.
Geralt gets right to the point, “I believe you have a contract for me?”
Jaskier gives him a confused side glance, but the mayor just sighs and indicates that they should follow her. She leads them to her home, where they can talk in private, and offers them a seat. Jaskier flops onto a cushy chair opposite Elysse, but Geralt stays standing, leaning against the doorframe.
She glances at both of them, before beginning her tale. “A few weeks back, people started to go missing. It happens occasionally of course, but this time it was different, too many in a short time to be a coincidence. But we are a small town, we have no fighters here. So we waited, praying that they would come back. They didn’t. One of the lads was out working in the fields last week, he was the first to find a body.” She sighs, looking down at her hands. “Unfortunately, he wasn’t the last. Everyone who went missing so far has turned up dead. Now here’s the part that will interest you , Witcher”, she says, looking up at him. “Every single one of them was clearly killed in a most painful manner, judging from their expressions, and yet, there were no wounds. The bodies were completely intact, and no one has any plausible theories as to what killed them. We even paid a passing sorcerer to diagnose what happened, with no luck. Now, I don’t know what kind of thing can do something like that, but I’d like it dead. Now. My people are terrified, and they don’t even know what of.”
Geralt stands in silence for a minute, processing. Even with the new information, it’s like nothing he’s ever heard of before, which means it could be one of two things: a cruel trick by an angry sorcerer (easily dealt with), or an actual rare monster (really really dangerous). As usual, Jaskier takes over the questioning once he sees Geralt isn’t going to say anything. “You’ve really no idea what it could be? Surely there must be rumours, something we can work with?”
The Mayor raises her eyebrows at his use of ‘we’, but answers without comment. “There is a rumour, but it’s so ridiculous that it’s not worth knowing really, they’re just trying to scare each other, it-“
“Tell us.” Geralt interrupts impatiently, before realising that was rude and grimacing. Jaskier shoots him an exasperated look and puts his head in his hands.
Elysse sighs. “I suppose if you must know, the townsfolk believe it to be an ‘Ykzienir’. A mythical creature from folklore around these parts. According to legend, the Ykzienir is a sort of vampire, but rather than feeding on the blood of its victims, it feeds on their emotions. It supposedly is able to give its victim a vision of their true love dying, in order to stir up the richest emotions. But it is a myth , made up to scare children at night! No, surely this must have a reasonable explanation?”
But Geralt isn’t so sure. “It is possible”, he muses. “It certainly wouldn’t be the first time I’ve killed something that doesn’t exist.”
The Mayor frowns, but allows this to pass. “In that case, you could kill it for us? You must be immune to it surely, Witcher’s don’t have emotions!” She doesn’t wait for confirmation of this of course, which is probably wise as Jaskier instantly squares the fuck up. She continues, imploring, “Yes, that could work, I’ll pay you of course, however much you need. Will you do it? Please?”
Geralt nods and walks out, sensing Jaskiers imminent outburst. Sure enough, the bard scrambles after him, mouth working even before any words come out. “What, no! Geralt you can’t take the contract, you won’t be immune! You have emotions you dumbass!! And you’ve never even fought one before, what if it’s like a fucking god or something! Nope this is an awful idea we should leave now, just get on Roach and fucking GO.”
“Jaskier, I’m not going to leave all these people to die. Besides, it’s probably some petty sorcerer scaremongering using the myth, it’s nothing to worry about.”
“NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT?!? Oh yeah sure, just a fucking MYTHICAL EMOTION VAMPIRE, yeah, great, easy as pie!”
“Glad you agree” Geralt interrupts, then stalks off, leaving Jaskier mid-rant.
Later in the afternoon, the two men wander about town, Jaskier occasionally harassing a local for more details for the contract. He decided to help Geralt, as he always does, despite making it known very loudly that he still thinks it’s a bad idea. He is just suggesting they find a room at the inn, waxing poetic about sleeping in a real goddamn bed for once, when Geralt abruptly shushes him. About to protest, he looks over and sees Geralt listening intently to something too far away for his human ears to detect. The Witcher follows the sound, and the bard follows the Witcher. It turns out the sound Geralt heard was a crying woman, who throws herself at Geralt as they approach. “Please- you have to- it has her-“, she breaks down sobbing, becoming unintelligible.
Jaskier crouches beside her, both to comfort her and to get her to keep talking. “Has who? What does? The Ykzienir?” The woman sobs harder, nodding.
“My sister!”, she wails, “she’s been gone for too long, it took her, please, please help her!” Jaskier pats her shoulder awkwardly and looks up at Geralt.
“I’ll find her”, Geralt promises, although he doesn’t know if it’s a promise he can keep. “Take her somewhere safe”, he addresses Jaskier, “and I’ll get my gear from Roach. It’ll be easier to hunt down while the trail is reasonably fresh.”
Jaskier squints suspiciously at Geralt, but agrees. “You’d better come and get me before you leave, there’s no way I’m letting you take this one on alone.” Geralt hums in response and leaves Jaskier with the hysterical woman to take care of.
Alone in the stable, Geralt shoulders his swords, and swallows a couple of potions for easier tracking. Roach snuffles at his armour, and he gently strokes her neck. “Take care of Jaskier for me”, he asks her. He takes one last stock of his gear, checking everything is in order, and once satisfied, he sets off to find the Ykzienir.
The afternoon sun glints off twin swords as the Witcher prowls over the valleys surrounding the village. He tries to settle into the calm of the hunt, but the guilt at leaving Jaskier behind keeps sneaking up on him anyway. “ It’s too dangerous, he could get killed ”, he reasons with himself, but it’s not the leaving him behind that’s the problem. He had left the bard in a safe warm inn on many a hunt, but this, this was different. He knew from the fierceness in his eyes and the set of his jaw that Jaskier wouldn’t be deterred this time. So Geralt had given him a task to distract him, and left, alone. He shakes his head as if to dislodge the shame, and again focuses on the task at hand. Eventually, he picks up a distinctly non-human scent, and follows it.
From the crest of a hill, Geralt watches as a horrifyingly gangly creature shambles across the ruins of a church in the middle of fucking nowhere. “Definitely not a sorcerer then…”, he mutters to himself, and unsheathes his silver sword. The Ykzienir is slow as it moves, and inelegant, not a particularly terrifying sight, but as Geralt creeps closer, he sees a fresh female corpse lying at its feet. “Fuck” he sighs, remembering who he left Jaskier with. The corpse was presumably her sister, but unfortunately, it seems he was too late. The Ykzienir leans over the body, and Geralt takes his chance to surprise it.
Silver slices through thick skin and the creature shrieks in pain, stumbling back. Geralt advances, slashing as it stumbles backwards, bleeding. It hisses and throws itself at him in a surprisingly powerful lunge, enough to stagger him. A pause as Geralt rights himself, and when he looks at it again, they lock eyes. An unfamiliar jolt of fear grips him. The hunger and insanity in its gaze is tempered by a sharp intelligence as it watches him, judging his next move. He shifts and prepares to charge again, but in the corner of his eye there is a blur of movement and he turns just in time to see Jaskier run at the Ykzienir with a dagger.
“No!”, he roars, but too late, they go crashing to the ground, and Jaskier is pinned under it. His mind shuts down, reverting to instincts, senses in overdrive, frantically processing.
The Ykzienir’s hand as it lifts.
The sharp scent of fear from Jaskier.
The heavy weight of silver in his hand.
Jaskier’s wide eyes on his.
Red.
Staining Jaskier’s shirt, his hands, his neck, everything.
A burst of pain as his knees hit the ground.
Blue.
Jaskier’s eyes, unseeing.
A light extinguished.
Red.
So much red.
Silence.
The absence of a voice, of laughter, of music.
A hand, reaching for him, so near but so very, very far.
His hand clenches, aching to reach out in return, to close the gap, to hold. It doesn’t move.
His legs tremble, poised to run, run to the only thing that matters. They don’t move.
The image of blue, blue eyes blurs in his mind. No. Not in his mind. Tears fill his eyes, obscuring all sight. He wasn’t aware he still had the ability to cry. This is not how he wanted to find out.
Drops slip down his colourless face, falling onto his empty, empty hands.
Empty.
Empty? Why are his hands empty? Where is his sword? The submerged part of his subconsciousness is screaming at him, to move, to fight, there’s a monster out there, don’t you remember? But he doesn’t. Every thought is drowned out by the silence consuming his soul. The memory of Jaskier’s lifeless gaze.
His body lists to the side, succumbing to the heaviness. Every breath is a battle, his limbs weighted yet floating, as if underwater.
There is a scuffling sound behind him, and his instincts scream at him to move, but he is frozen in place. The scuffling stops, replaced by a wet thud, and before he can even begin to recognise it, the body in front of him disappears. Gone.
“No -“ he chokes out, reaching forwards, and he finds that he can finally move, but he doesn’t need to, because there, impossibly, is Jaskier, walking out in front of him and holding the Witcher’s own bloodied silver sword.
“Geralt?”
He stares up at the bard without seeing him, tears still falling.
“Oh fuck Geralt I told you you shouldn’t have taken this damned fucking contract what happened, are you hurt? There’s no blood I don’t see any injuries Geralt please talk to me tell me what happened - wait, fucking hell are you crying? oh wow you’re crying ok that’s new that’s definitely new ok ok fuck -“ The bard drops to his knees in front of Geralt’s already kneeling form, words still spilling out his mouth like blood out of an open wound. Cold damp hands reach up and cup the Witcher’s face, thumbs gently brushing away the tears.
“-can you hear me? Geralt please look at me it’s ok the monster’s dead, you’re ok, you’re safe-“ the distressed voice drifts in and out of awareness as the waves of panic crashing through Geralt start to recede, leaving a ringing in his ears and an empty void in his chest.
“-Geralt I swear to all the gods I will replace all of your potions with piss if you don’t come back to me right this second-“
His gaze flickers back to the the empty spot where he watched Jaskier bleed out, the pressure in his head building again, but a soft hand on his jaw encourages him to look up, and this time he sees the man in front of him, lively blue eyes searching his own yellow ones for a sign of recognition. Eyes of soft ice, the colour as familiar to Geralt as swinging a sword, ground him and pull his lost thoughts back from sea. Finally realising that perhaps not all is what it seems, he manages a slightly inquisitorial grunt that Jaskier correctly interprets as the “What in the goddamned motherfucking hell?” that it was meant to be.
“Oh thank fuck Geralt, I thought it had addled your brain, I followed you after I realised you’d left, I knew you couldn’t take it on alone you fool you know full well that you have emotions it could feed on, you could have died-” He takes in a quick breath. “-ok not helping right now, I’ll shout at you about it later, anyway the important bit is that I followed you and figured you were in trouble because you’d dropped your sword and it was looming over you - very creepy by the way - so I sneaked over and used your sword to chop its head off, lucky it was too distracted by you to notice, well not lucky but-”
“Jaskier.” He tries to halt the stream of words overwhelming him.
“Uh yeah that’s me - uhm - I mean you know that obviously so-”
More exasperated this time, “Jaskier!”
“Right. Sorry.”
In the sudden silence, Geralt works to converge the conflicting narratives in his mind, one where he saw Jaskier die, and one where Jaskier is fine and talking and right there in front of him. Obviously any tale he hears from the bard is usually at least 80% pure bollocks, but even if every word he just heard was false, that does nothing to change the fact that Jaskier is quite clearly NOT dead. In fact, said bard is beginning to fidget due to the silence, but he keeps his thoughts to himself for once, giving Geralt some space. Mentally that is - physically, Geralt is practically in his lap, with Jaskiers hands having fallen from their place on Geralt's cheeks to cup softly around the back of his neck.
“But, you died?” he grinds out, hoping to finally get some goddamn clarity. The Ykzienir really did a number on him, there’s a pounding in his head and thoughts disappear before he can even finish thinking them.
Jaskier frowns, now as confused as his Witcher, but guides the man’s head down to rest on his left shoulder, above his heart. “I’m fine Geralt, see? Listen to my heart, I’m alive, I don’t know what you saw, but it wasn’t me” he murmurs. As they sit there, Geralt slowly brings his hands up to carefully lay in the bard’s lap, focusing on the steady beating of Jaskier’s heart. He slowly allows himself to relax into the other, his awareness narrowing until his whole world becomes one heartbeat. Then the next. And the next. And the next.
Jaskier works it out first.
“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh”, he breathes out. “Oh oh oh. Oh wow.” He swallows, for once in his life struggling to find the right words.
“Geralt…?”
Geralt frowns, hearing the rapid acceleration of Jaskier’s heartbeat, but having no discernable reason for such a reaction from the man. “Hm?”, he warily answers.
“Do you remember what type of monster you were hunting?”
“...an Ykzienir?”
“Yeah good right ok, and what do they do to their victims again?”
Geralt is now thoroughly confused - again. Of course it isn’t unusual for Jaskier to ask about the hunt, but this really isn’t the time, something Jaskier is usually well aware of. But then Jaskier prompts him with a gentle “please?”, and, well, Geralt never was very good at resisting him anyway.
“...they feed on emotion.”
“Yeah but how? C’mon Geralt you can do it, don’t make me spell it out for you.”
What the fuck is that supposed to mean?? He’s completely lost now, but he still answers with a sigh. “They show their victims a vision of the one they love dying, as a way to generate the richest emotions for them to feed on.”
“Mmmhhhmmm. Yep. Yeah that’s what I thought.”
They fall back into silence. Jaskier waits, this time sure he’s right but needing to hear some kind of confirmation from Geralt. The moment stretches. His heart flutters in his ribcage, and he lets out a long, soft, wavering breath. Then, from the head pressed against his chest, Jaskier hears a quiet but heartfelt, “f u c k.” He breaks into a grin that could light up the entire world for decades.
“Sooooooooo... that means you’re in love with me, yeah?” He prods Geralt in the ribs for dramatic effect. There is another long pause before Geralt finally answers.
“................I guess.”
“Seriously? ‘I guess?’ Is that all you have to say about it???” He sighs like a spurned damsel, but the effect is slightly ruined by the mischievous grin that will not stop appearing on his lips. However Geralt hasn’t moved from his spot, and so unfortunately can’t see this occurring.
“Geralt please , I know you don’t like talking at all really, but you’ve got to give me something to work with ok? Come on, give me something, anything! When did you know? Were you even going to tell me? Does this mean I can ride Roach now?”
A sigh. “I didn’t.”
Wait - what? The bard stops, momentarily taken aback. That certainly wasn’t in the dramatic and romantic script he had been quickly composing in his head. He absent-mindedly rubs his hands over Geralt's shoulders, wondering how to respond.
“Ummm, what do you mean, you didn’t what ?????”
Geralt's shoulders are so tense they’re like rocks under the musicians hands, this is clearly not a conversation he is excited to be having. Geralt takes in a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm down, drawing on all his training to keep from panicking. The idea that the warmth he feels when he so much as thinks about Jaskier comes from actual, real love, is ridiculous. There’s absolutely no way that he’s in love. It’s obvious that the Ykzienir did something to his feelings, merely playing on the exasperated fondness that rises when he thinks about Jaskier’s smile, or his singing… or his gentle hands… his feral tendencies... his insatiable curiosity... his easy kindness... his… oh fuck. Fuck. Seriously, fuck . He’s in love with the fucking bard. Of all the times to realise, it had to be now, when he’s literally in Jaskier’s lap, halfway through a conversation about love, and miles from civilisation. There’s no way he’s getting out of this one, and besides, Jaskier already figured it out! Yeah, definitely not an ideal situation for him.
He is pulled out of his spiralling by Jaskier’s voice. “Geralt? You didn’t…?”
He considers not answering, or trying to back-pedal, but the truth is, Jaskier knows him well enough to see right through it, especially in the state he’s in. And isn’t that just a terrifying thought. But Jaskier hasn’t left yet, waiting patiently even as Geralt struggles to come to terms with his emotions, so he braces himself to try, to let Jaskier see him, even just a little.
“Didn’t know.” He softly sighs out.
Jaskier blinks.
“Wait, you mean you didn’t realise that you are in love with me until literally right now? Is that what you mean?”
Geralt nods slightly against his chest.
Jaskier slides a hand up to run his fingers through Geralt's hair, re-thinking the situation. Naturally, he had been well prepared to make some good lighthearted fun at Geralt's expense, after all he himself had been in love with the other man for almost a decade with no sign of reciprocation, so he figured it was only fair. However Geralt quite clearly doesn’t know that this is the case, he didn’t manage to work out his own feelings for fucks sake, how would he have noticed Jaskier’s? And the poor man is already pretty shit at dealing with having emotions, so it would be cruel to poke at him while he’s down.
The long silence from the bard is unusual, and Geralt starts to panic, wondering if this is the last straw, the thing that will finally send him running for the hills, running away from him like everyone eventually learns to. He starts to pull back, mentally preparing to see the inevitable disgust on Jaskier’s face, to leave first before he can be left. But Jaskier has other plans.
“No no no no no you’re not going anywhere darling, I’ve got you, don’t worry.” Jaskier pulls him back down and strokes through Geralt's hair again, attempting to calm the small tremors now running through the Witcher’s body. “Damn, it really isn’t your day, is it?”, he sighs, before dropping a small kiss onto the white locks below. Geralt makes a small sound in the back of his throat and brings his hands up to clutch at Jaskier’s doublet, face still hidden where his head is buried into the bard’s shoulder.
Jaskier smiles gently.
They sit as the sun slips closer and closer to the horizon, shadows lengthening around them. Jaskier started humming at some point, a soft lullaby he composed on the spot. He strokes the tender skin on the back of Geralt’s neck, recognising how lax the Witcher has become under his soft touches, and how privileged he is to get to see Geralt this way. Unfortunately, they can’t stay there forever, no matter how nice it is to be receiving an almost-hug from the emotionally repressed love of his life. So, he starts outlining a plan, wanting to get them both to a point where they can actually have a conversation, and maybe even a nap.
“Ok Geralt, we’re going to have to move now, it’s getting dark and I think we’d both be more comfortable in a warm room than out here. So we’re going to get up, pick up the Ykzienir’s head so we can collect the coin, rent a room at that nice cozy inn I saw earlier, and get you into bed, ok?”
Geralt nods slightly, then reluctantly sits back on his heels, looking everywhere but at Jaskier. He gets up to retrieve his sword while Jaskier hunts for the head among the fallen stones, exclaiming triumphantly when he finds it. When he looks back up, Geralt is stood motionless, staring at a seemingly empty stretch of ground. “Uhh Geralt?”, he inquires, gently taking the man's hand. Geralt startles, then seems to come back to himself, letting Jaskier guide him away, away from the memories and away to safety.
They make it back to town in the late evening, Jaskier still gently leading Geralt by the hand, afraid to hold on any tighter lest the man realise that they’re just walking hand in hand, and pull away. He knocks on the mayor's door, and when it opens he drops the head at her feet and extends his hand out flat. “Coin, please.” He gives her a bitter smile, and the mayor steps back in shock, both at the head oozing onto her carpet and the sight of the Witcher slumped behind Jaskier’s shoulder.
“Oh!”, she squeaks, and hurries off to fetch their coin, not liking the hard edge she sees in the bard's eyes. He snatches the coin from her without a thanks, and waits until she shuts the door to tug Geralt behind him again, this time towards the inn.
He starts grumbling about the mayor under his breath, more to let out his own frustration than to actually talk to Geralt, who doesn’t respond anyway. “She just sent you out with no regard for your safety and now look what happened…”. Luckily they reach the inn before he can start properly ranting.
“Welcome travelers, what do you need?” The innkeeper gives them a genuine smile despite their scowling faces.
“A room with two beds”, Jaskier requests, “and some food bringing up please.”
The innkeeper checks his book. “Ah, sorry, but it looks like there’s only one room left, and it’s only a single bed. But I can certainly get you some food.”
Jaskier glances back at his silent Witcher, and pulls out the coin. “We’ll take the room.”
They walk into the room, and Jaskier makes himself comfortable straight away, slinging their bags down and removing his shoes before collapsing dramatically onto the bed. Geralt seems to be at a loss, standing uncertainly in the middle of the room. Looking up, Jaskier takes pity on him and suggests he kindles a fire to warm up the room. He does so without comment. A lovely maid brings them some stew and bread, and Jaskier gently bullies Geralt until he sits and eats some. When they’re done, Jaskier settles on the bed and pulls out his notebook, humming to himself and scribbling down lyrics as inspiration hits. Every so often he glances over at Geralt, who is slowly cleaning and putting away his gear. Geralt is unusually quiet, even for him. Not even a sound of protest as Jaskier had pushed and pulled him around. If he wasn't so concerned, Jaskier might even have gone so far as to say he was being docile. Of course he often became more resigned to Jaskier’s determined instructions after a fight, but docile? Never. It usually took Jaskier ages of coaxing to get Geralt to comply, and he only settled after a lot of grumbling. But here they are, and Geralt is doing everything Jaskier directs him to without complaint or comment. He knows that most of it is just exhaustion from the fight, but the enormity of the trust Geralt has for him suddenly comes into perspective, and his chest tightens. Geralt looks over, concerned at hearing the hitch in his breath, but Jaskier waves him off with a small huff of a laugh, and the grip of tension releases.
Once he’s finished messing with his stuff, Geralt has nothing left to do, but he stays where he is, passing a hand through the pack occasionally so Jaskier doesn’t notice that he’s done. Quite rightly, he assumes that Jaskier is going to try and talk about their “situation”, but right now, he really doesn’t fucking want to. Not ever, if he’s being honest. His hands curl into fists automatically, but this is not a problem he can fight his way out of. His mind races, frantically trying to come up with a scenario that doesn’t end with their friendship in shreds. Because love is not something he knows a lot about, but one thing he does know for sure is that he wants Jaskier to stay. He’s not expecting it, hell, he doesn’t even know why he stayed this long anyway, he figured the bard would be trying to get away from him as soon as possible after that. But of course he wouldn’t do that, Geralt suddenly realises. No, Jaskier isn’t cruel. He’s clever. Clever enough to find a way to leave that could be passed off as a regular goodbye, only to have their paths never cross again. Geralt doesn’t realise he is shaking until a steady hand lands on his wrist and gently squeezes. He tries to pull back, genuinely considering jumping out the window, but Jaskier holds firm, and gently tuts, “none of that now. Come and sit with me.” He tugs on Geralt’s wrist, and he can do nothing but follow as the bard pushes him to sit on the bed.
Jaskier sits next to him, and pulls Geralt’s hand into his own lap. “I want to make something perfectly clear”, he begins softly. “I love you too. Have done for a long time. I know you’re still working through it, but it’s important to me that you know I love you.”
Geralt stares at their linked hands, heart racing, uncertain how to respond. But Jaskier doesn’t appear to be waiting for a response, as he reaches up one handed to untie Geralt’s hair. He sinks his hand into the unbound hair, and Geralt instantly relaxes into it with a small groan. Jaskier gives a small chuckle at that, then continues talking. “You should sleep. We can talk about this tomorrow.”
“We could not do that”, Geralt suggests cheekily. Jaskier responds with a mock angry pout, then rolls his eyes and stands up.
“No, we’re going to. Now get in bed you dumbass”, he sighs, fondly, and goes to get ready for bed himself. When he returns from the bathroom, Geralt is already in bed, feigning sleep.
Jaskier can see from the stiff slant to Geralt’s shoulders that he isn’t asleep yet, but he isn’t sure whether getting into bed with him is a good idea at this point. Of course they’ve shared beds before, and often, but it’s different now. Jaskier would love nothing more than to jump in behind his Witcher and hold him tight, but he doesn’t want to come on too strong while their relationship is at such an uncertain point. Geralt waits with bated breath, knowing Jaskier can tell he’s awake, but hoping for...well, he isn’t entirely sure what. He considers reaching out, or saying something, but his muscles lock at the thought, and not even a breath escapes him. The air is charged with tension, both of them painfully aware of the other, neither willing to make the first move.
Eventually Jaskier caves, and slips under the cover. In a moment of bravery, he swings an arm over Geralt, effectively spooning him. Geralt jumps under the touch, but doesn’t move away, and slowly, so slowly, he sinks into slumber.
Jaskier wakes up naturally for once, rather than being dragged out of bed by Geralt. He basks in the serenity and warmth for a few sleepy moments, before realising that most of the warmth is coming from the rather heavy Witcher on his chest. Geralt’s breath is slow and even, golden eyes hidden under closed eyelids. The gentle morning light creeping through the window illuminates his features, and Jaskier silently observes. It’s not often he gets to see Geralt in such a relaxed state, he must have been truly exhausted to out-sleep Jaskier, and Jaskier is grateful that he’s able to sleep it off properly. He’s also grateful for the fact that Geralt is absolutely stunningly gorgeous, a fact that is all too clear in the soft golden glow. It’s an almost religious experience to watch as Geralt slowly wakes, eyes blinking sleepily until he realises that he’s basically snuggling with Jaskier. He wakes up very quickly indeed after that. Jaskier tightens his arms around Geralt to dissuade him from jumping out of bed, and offers an extremely cheery, “Morning!”
“Uhhhnf”, replies Geralt, a groan meaning “ fucking hell Jaskier, it’s far too early for that much enthusiasm. ” Despite the grumbling, he doesn’t move from his spot, except to turn his face away. Waking up in Jaskier’s arms was an unfamiliar experience, but one he found he quite enjoyed. Staying in them afterwards is even more enjoyable, as he’s currently finding. He’s twitchy and tense, not sure what to do with himself, or what’s going to change between them, but he stays. Jaskier beams once he realises Geralt isn’t about to roll out of bed and pretend yesterday never happened, and moves on to the next phase of his plan. Which is basically to convince Geralt that they should be an actual couple. He starts stroking across Geralt’s back, half to calm and distract him, half because it really is a glorious back...ok, he’s distracting himself now. After gathering his thoughts (not an easy feat in a morning), he breaks the silence.
“So. We might be doing this slightly out of the usual order, but then, I suppose we aren’t a normal duo are we... anyway, my point is. My question is. Do you want this, us”, he gestures between them, “to be, well, more? As in, partners, in a relationship, boyfriends, lovers (if you like), romantically involved, I’m running out of synonyms here but I hope you get the point-” He cuts himself off. “What I mean to say is, I want that, if you want it. So do you?”
There is a silence. But, Geralt hasn’t tried to leave yet, so he takes that as a good sign. Unfortunately, silence never was Jaskier’s forte, and he breaks it yet again without really giving Geralt the time he probably needs to actually consider it.
“It doesn’t have to be a massive change you know, just maybe we could hold hands, kiss, stuff like that? Oh also! You have to let me ride Roach. I’m sorry this is a non-negotiable term”, he finishes firmly. He feels rather than hears Geralt’s laugh at that.
Geralt feels a peculiar sense of peace wash over him, and he cannot physically hold back a smile. The answer comes to him easily despite all yesterday’s panic: yeah he sure as fuck does. That’s not quite what he manages to articulate, but he does give a quietly decisive, “yes.” He hears Jaskier’s heart rate skyrocket under his ear, causing him to smile wider. Damn, all this smiling is starting to hurt his cheeks.
Jaskier lets out a joyful laugh and a highly dramatic whoop of triumph at Geralt’s declaration, finally given permission to shower the man in his love, and holy fuck is there a lot of it. They lay together a while longer, Jaskier stroking everywhere within reach, though without any particular intent. Jaskier’s humming fills the air, and eventually, Geralt feels brave enough to reciprocate the touch, a tentative hand moving up to Jaskier’s neckline and exploring. His eyes follow the movement as he feels the strong pulse and voice vibrate under his fingers, awed at the fact that he can do this now, touch and be touched, hold and be held. He brings his arm down to curl around Jaskier’s body, squeezing gently before settling. Jaskier kisses the top of his head without missing a note. They lie together as the sun rises higher, Geralt falling back into a light doze despite years of training to get up at dawn.
Unfortunately, Jaskier then remembers that he actually had reason to be cross at Geralt, and though he doesn’t want to spoil the mood, it needs addressing. Geralt stiffens as soon as he hears Jaskier stop humming, on edge again. Jaskier pets through his hair to reassure him that it’s no reason to panic. “I forgot to bring it up when we got back yesterday, but I’m actually rather cross at you, you know”, he starts. Geralt lets out a confused whine, that sounds so pathetic that Jaskier can’t help but laugh, despite how hard he tries to stay serious. “Fuck’s sake, I’m trying to have a serious conversation here Geralt.” He ruffles the man's hair, before continuing. “You lied to me. You left me to console that poor woman to distract me, and you left. I told you I would come with you on this one! I shouldn’t have had to trail behind you like an abandoned puppy, I should have been with you! And you’re lucky I followed you, there’s no way you can deny that. ”
“You’re a stubborn bastard.”
“Yeah damn right I am!” He huffs, waiting for Geralt to defend himself, or apologise.
“Wanted to protect you”, Geralt states simply.
And Jaskier knows that’s not exactly a healthy reason to lie, but fuck, it makes him melt. They can work on improving communication later, and they will, but the intentions are pure, and although he tries to hide it, it’s clear that Geralt has a protective streak a mile wide. “Ok”, he sighs. “You still shouldn’t have lied, but I understand. Don’t do it again please, just talk to me ok? I can be surprisingly receptive if you try!” Geralt hums, amused, but concedes the point.
Eventually they get up, and pack to leave. When they’ve packed everything and are ready, Jaskier looks up, gazing at Geralt with the most ridiculously sappy tender look on his face, waiting until he turns around. He does, and rolls his eyes at Jaskiers expression, but his lips twitch as he struggles to keep his own face impassive. Jaskier tilts his head and simply asks, “can I kiss you?” Geralt nods, this time unable to keep the smile from appearing, and reaches a hand out to pull Jaskier to him, making Jaskier laugh. He’s still laughing when their lips meet. The kiss is soft and gentle, a tentative new beginning. It’s Geralt who deepens it, holding Jaskier against him, strong arms around his back, a promise to never let go. When they eventually part, they don’t go far, looking into each other’s eyes, sharing this moment of love. Geralt drops his face into Jaskier’s neck, breathing in his scent. A shout heard from outside makes Jaskier jump, and they pull away from each other, laughing. Jaskier pulls Geralt in again to kiss him on the forehead, then they make their way out of the inn. As they navigate their way through the town to get to Roach, Jaskier spots a stall selling blueberry pies, and turns to Geralt with a gasp.
“Geralt, look! Breakfast!!”
His eyes follow Jaskier’s pointing finger to the stack of pies, and he sighs, “Jaskier I don’t think-”
Jaskier turns to him with the most adorable look of hope and happiness, and Geralt’s traitorous heart does a series of flips that would kill a normal man. He closes his eyes briefly in exasperation, and by the time he’s opened them again, Jaskier has grabbed his hand and is dragging him in the direction of the pies.
They eat the pies on their way to the stable, Jaskier taking the final bite of his with an appreciative moan as they come to a halt in front of Roach. She doesn’t look impressed. Jaskier rambles while Geralt tacks up Roach, a familiar scene that has played out in many a trip, except this time, the soft glances between the two are not hidden but openly displayed.
As the town fades into the distance behind them, the sun beams down once again, on a Witcher and a bard, walking side by side alongside a chestnut horse. An outside observer may be surprised to see the stone cold Witcher holding hands with the boisterous musician, but, as none observe them, they are free to be themselves, together, where they know they belong.
~FIN~