#descaradawrites

Thank You Lambert

Geralt stomps into Kaer Morhen, setting off a tired and irritated Lambert. Eskel comes to visit him shortly after. Can he convince Geralt to accept the affection and comfort on offer in his and Dandelion’s room?

This is an update to Keep Me Forever,also on AO3.

Geralt

Geralt barely registered Lambert as a blur as he stomped past him. His head ached. The bones in the moat gleamed in his mind’s eye. Dandelion’s earnest face, welling with concern, bored into his godsdamn soul. It was like his skin was peeling back from an infected wound. His chest was tight and the urge to scream was building in him.

“Oh,thank youLambert.Thank you for waiting up for me and opening the gates, Lambert,” the younger witcher called sarcastically after him. “Thank you for leaving food and water out for my horse and keeping the torches lit, Lambert.”

Geralt made the effort to grunt, but he kept going at his same pace. He heard footsteps catching up to him.

“What crawled up your ass and died?” said Lambert, hurrying to keep pace.

“Nothing,” barked Geralt. “Leave it. None of your business.”

Geralt walked through the last bit of open space before the castle, eyes trained on the door handle ahead. Lambert hustled in front of him and blocked the door. Geralt finally looked at him. Lambert’s hair was ruffled and there was a red imprint of something on his cheek. It looked like he’d fallen asleep on the table. He was in a soft tunic and breeches for sleeping.

“Get the fuck out of the way Lambert, quit playing, I’m tired.”

“The hell I will,” he said. “I stay up to be the welcome party, and you just stomp past me like I don’t exist? Fuck you. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” said Geralt. “And don’t act like Vesemir didn’t make you do it. Isn’t like you volunteered.”

He grasped Lambert’s shoulder and shoved him out of the way. Lambert teetered on one leg, then righted himself. Geralt pulled open the door and passed through to the cavernous entryway.

Lambert was behind him again, crowding him.

“Is he here? Did he actually come? Dandelion?”

“Yeah,” said Geralt. “He’s here, you were wrong.” All he could think about was his bed. His muscles ached from the ride. He was even more exhausted by the irritating emotions that had ambushed him on the drawbridge. Ramming them back took energy.

Lambert scoffed and slapped Geralt on the arm. “I was wrong? I was wrong? How about WE were wrong. You didn’t think he’d come either.”

“Well he’s here,” said Geralt. He took a sharp right down a hall. Every step took him closer to his room and away from Lambert’s jabbering.

“That why you’re so bitchy?” needled Lambert. “Jealous, are you then? Eskel has his Dandelion here? He’s not mooning over you anymore, that it?”

“That’s not it,” growled Geralt. Eskel didn’t moon over him.

Their shuffling, stomping footsteps echoed down the hall.

“Well I blame this on you anyway.”

“Blame what on me?”

“Our little visitor. If you hadn’t have dumped Eskel–”

Geralt stopped on a dime. He whirled on Lambert. He stopped so fast that Lambert hurdled several paces ahead. He turned to face Geralt with hands on hips.

“Dumped him??” demanded Geralt. “What do you mean, dumped him? Like we were…no we weren’t. How do you–” he realized he was stammering and shut his mouth with a click. He drew his lips tight.

Lambert cackled. Geralt wanted to punch him. It wasn’t worth it.

“Oh, right,” said Lambert. “Like there are any secrets in this crumbling drafty fuckin place. You think I never scented? Or heard? You think I don’t know when I’m a third wheel?”

Geralt’s jaw fell open. He probably looked like an especially incompetent fish. Lambert took the opportunity to pounce yet again.

“The way I see it, if you didn’t break the big idiot’s heart back then, we wouldn’t be here today. HE wouldn’t be here.”

“I didn’t break anything,” hissed Geralt. His voice was undeniably defensive. That was never a good sign. Sometimes Geralt didn’t know what he felt, until he said it out loud. Then, he judged the truth of it by how it sounded. If it sounded true, it was probably how he felt. But this sounded like a lie, even to his own ears. But he had committed to this line of argument so he persisted. “We were just–””

“Just fucking?” Snorted Lambert. “Yeah, alright then. Sure. Just fucking. That’s why you look at each other like puppies. Looked, I guess. Because that’s not coming back. Now that his little flower is here-”

Geralt felt something else join the mass of already frustrating emotions in his chest. It was a flash of new anger. On Dandelion’s behalf. That was. Odd.

“Leave him alone,” said Geralt.

“You don’t need to lecture me,” said Lambert, jabbing his thumb in his own chest. “I’m not the one that left him alone out there. How many people you think were lined up to take your place now that he has all those scars?”

“Shut the fuck up,” said Geralt. He instinctively moved towards Lambert.

Lambert didn’t twitch. His chin lifted just a hair. Geralt sighed. This was moronic. Letting Lambert provoke him. They were both tired.

“Nothing. I didn’t even mean him.” Geralt turned and continued towards his room and the peace and quiet he craved.

“Oooooo,” laughed Lambert. “Do you mean the flower?”

Geralt didn’t say anything. He just thumped up the stairs, his bag hitting his thighs and his swords clanking. Lambert kept time behind him while he chuckled.

“A couple days with him, and you’re his protection squad too?”

Geralt rumbled an irritated groan. “Just don’t be a dick to him,” said Geralt. “Think you can handle that?”

“Please, Geralt. Please don’t tell me you’re sprung on him too. Already.”

Geralt wasn’t looking at Lambert as they trudged along, but he could feel the incredulous smile spreading out on Lambert’s face the longer he remained silent.

“You are! Fuck me, you are. So you dump Eskel, now you want to steal his flower too??”

Geralt growled this time. “Shut up. That’s not what I want.”

He didn’t know what to say and his chest was pulling even tighter. His skin felt like a drum. He had never been more relieved to reach the door of his room. He opened it, ducked in, and slammed it shut.

He heard Lambert’s fed up voice on the other side.

“Sprung on him already. How many days did you spend with him? Three? The fuck. Does his cock taste of roast pork? Does he cum gravy?”

Geralt yanked the door open again.

“I don’t…know..what his cock tastes like. And gravy? You’re disgusting.”

Lambert cackled. “But you want to.”

Geralt slammed the door again.

He heard Lambert mutter one last riposte.

“What, do you want them both?” He giggled, then lobbed one last shout at the door. “You’re welcome again!”

And finally, thanks be to the merciful gods, he was gone.

——-

Geralt moved around the room, putting his things away. He had unloaded most of his clothes into the wastebasket before he realized what he was doing.

He cursed under his breath and fished them out. There was a soft knock at the door. He’d been so deep in his own head that hadn’t heard anyone approach.

He opened the door and heaved an exaggerated sigh of relief when he saw Eskel filling the doorway with his broad shoulders.

“Thank fuck,” he said.

“Lambert being less than charming?” asked Eskel.

Geralt shrugged. “The usual.”

“Yeah, we passed him in the hall. He wouldn’t say hi to Dandy. Said he was too tired. But he did give him finger guns and a ‘good luck with all that’. Whatever that meant.”

“He’s a moron,” said Geralt. Though he knew that wasn’t true. Lambert seemed to know his feelings better than he did. Which perhaps was a lower bar than one might think. But still.

He continued roaming around the room putting his things away. Eskel hovered at the foot of his bed. Geralt saw out of the corner of an eye that he was fidgeting.

“What?” said Geralt. “What’s up?” He tucked his trousers in a drawer and slid his boots under the bed.

“Geralt, what’s wrong?” Eskel said.

Geralt sighed. “Just tired.” He didn’t meet Eskel’s eyes.

“Geralt.”

He sounded pained that time, and when Eskel sounded in pain, alarm bells went off in Geralt’s mind. Geralt stopped what he was doing. He turned and looked.

“Yes?”

“Please. Sit. Can we talk?” Eskel’s shoulders looked bunched up and his hands were jammed in his pockets.

Geralt got rid of the clothes in his hands. The rest of the things in his bags belonged to Dandelion. He dropped onto the bed and rubbed his face. Eskel stood in front of him, brow knit with worry.

Geralt patted the bed next to him.

Eskel sat. Their legs were close enough so their knees touched. Geralt leaned forward and propped himself up with his elbow on his knees. His hair fell down in curtains on either side of his face.

He felt Eskel’s fingers slide his hair behind his ear. It prickled softly at his skin. His eyes fluttered closed. He absently inhaled Eskel’s leather and pine scent.

“Can you tell me what’s bothering you?” Eskel repeated. “Please?” His voice was saturated with concern, and Geralt couldn’t understand how anyone was ever frightened by that voice. It had the opposite effect on Geralt. It soothed his frayed nerves.

Geralt shook his head. “It’s nothing. I don’t know what my problem is.”

Eskel waited patiently.

Lambert was right. Eskel was so good to him. And what he gave back was woefully, sadly inadequate sometimes. So he took a breath and dug deeper.

“I’ve walked by those bones a thousand times. I forgot they were there.”

Eskel’s hands were folded in his lap again. Geralt found himself staring at them. Remembering when Eskel’s fingers threaded through his, in secret. He supposed that it wasn’t such a secret after all.

Turns out that just because you don’t talk about a thing doesn’t make it a secret. It doesn’t make it disappear, either.

“You get used to it,” said Eskel.

“Yeah,” said Geralt.

They sat silent for a moment. The silence was comfortable. It was always comfortable with Eskel.

“Then someone looks at you like they feel bad for you. And then you remember,” Eskel murmured. He looked tentatively at Geralt. They had never spoken of this and it felt like a tender spot.

Geralt nodded. “You remember it’s fucked up. You remember you lost almost everyone you ever cared about.”

Grief welled up in him like a tide. That’s what had been bursting out of his chest. Grief. Something in Dandelion had reached into him and given his grief permission to show itself.

“And we never really grieved did we? We never really—” His throat closed.

Eskel scooted up against him and drew him into his strong arms.

And a sob tore from his throat. A rebellious, mutinous sob. Then another.

Eskel squeezed him tighter, like he was catching him as he fell. It made more tears chase the ones already sliding down his face.

“This is…so…stupid,” he gasped. Eskel kissed his head and said,

“No. No it isn’t.” He said it with such calm conviction, such quiet ferocity, that it caught Geralt off guard.

Snot started down his upper lip and he drew his sleeve across it.

Eskel got up and the bed sprung back up next to him. While Eskel rooted around for a handkerchief, Geralt remained sitting in the bed, silent tears rolling down his face. He felt…not embarrassed, necessarily. Eskel could make him feel normal in almost any circumstance. But he felt raw. Self conscious.

Eskel knelt in front of him with a handkerchief. He took it and blew.

“It happened so long ago,” Geralt said.

“Doesn’t matter,” Eskel said. “Doesn’t matter.”

“I’m fine. Sorry. I didn’t mean to be a dick. Out on the drawbridge.” He hiccuped.

“You weren’t,” said Eskel. He put his hands on Geralt’s knees and looked up at him gently. “You were just fine.”

“He just looked so…I don’t know. Like he felt sad. For me. For us.”

“It is sad. What happened.”

“I know.” Geralt wiped one eye then the other with a sleeve. “I know.”

“He cares,” said Eskel.

“I know.”

Geralt breathed in and out slowly while Eskel patted his knees and watched him with soft eyes.

“You’re so good with him,” Geralt said. The words came out in a whisper. He pulled in a ragged breath. “It’s nice. How do you do it?”

“It all comes so naturally to him,” said Eskel. “To love, and be loved. Affection. Words. It’s so easy for him that, that I…” Eskel scratched his head, “…just come out and say things I struggle with most other times. Things I’d usually keep inside.”

“He’s easy to love,” said Geralt quietly. He didn’t say the rest. Unlike me. The tragic, closed off witcher who pushed you away.

But Eskel read it on his face. He squeezed his knees and Geralt looked back into the depths of love and amber eyes.

“You are too.” Said Eskel. “You are too. I would’ve-“ He stopped and looked at the floor for a moment. “I would’ve given you the same if you would’ve let me.” He looked up. “I would’ve. You always acted like I was doin you a favor but that wasn’t it. It wasn’t like that. I just. I was afraid to tell you. You’re so beautiful. You could have anyone. And you’d found somebody else.”

Eskel’s voice broke off. Geralt reached out and slid his hand down Eskel’s face, cupping his cheek. He looked into Eskel’s eyes and there was nothing and no one else he could remember wanting more.

“I was an idiot,” Geralt said.

“It’s not too late,” said Eskel.

Geralt huffed a chuckle. “Three’s a crowd, isn’t it?”

“No,” said Eskel. “It’s just right. I care about you Geralt. And Dandy, he cares about you already too. I don’t know how to explain it. But he does. It’s like he loved me already. I just had to find him. And it’ll be the same with you. Besides.” Eskel caught his breath. “He said that you’re part of me. And he doesn’t think that love should cut off a part of me that I need.”

“Fuck,” said Geralt. “He’s something else.”

“Yeah,” said Eskel. “He is. You should come to our room tonight. Please. Come sleep with us. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“I’m fine,” said Geralt. “I don’t need—“

“Don’t you fuckin dare say pity,” said Eskel. “Don’t you dare.”

Geralt ran his hands up and down his own thighs. He wanted to say yes. But fuck. He was still wrestling with some tangle of feelings that he was beginning to recognize as fear. Also, what if they laid in bed and Dandelion or Eskel wanted sex? The thought would normally be thrilling. But he felt drained and raw.

“Thanks. I’m gonna stay in here though. I’m not feeling…sociable.”

“Geralt,” said Eskel. “You don’t have to be sociable. You don’t have to be anything. You can just be.”

Geralt shook his head. “Thanks. Really. But I’m good I’m here.”

 Eskel

Eskel closed the door behind him.

“How is he?” Asked Dandelion. He sat cross legged on the bed in one on Eskel’s tunics. His lovely blue eyes were drawn with exhaustion. He massaged his bare thighs with his thumbs in circles. He was pressing hard and cringing as he did.

Seeing Dandelion, in Kaer Morhen, in his room was like the completion of a circle. Eskel hadn’t fully grasped the joy that would bring him.

“He’s mostly better now,” said Eskel. “What’s going on? You alright?” The loose garment Dandelion wore was soft and rumbled and it made Eskel yearn to draw him in his arms.

“My thighs, my ass, are killing me. I didn’t realize until I sat down.”

Eskel walked over to the side table. “Ah, yeah Angel. You aren’t used to riding at all. Much less for days. Let me get some balm or you’re not gonna be able to stand in the morning.”

He rummaged through a drawer.

“He didn’t want to come join us?” Asked Dandelion the whites of his knuckles kneading into his thighs.

“No.” Eskel shook his head. He climbed onto the bed with a gray tin of balm in his hand. “Here, sit against the bed board.”

Dandelion obeyed. Eskel sat beside him, facing him. He drew one of Dandelion’s legs into his lap and opened the jar. Dandelion sneezed.

Eskel chuckled. “It’s a little strong but it works.” He slathered some on both hands and then laid both hands on Dandelion’s thigh. It felt so smooth and warm on his palms.

“This’ll tingle a little.” He slid his hands in a circle and Dandelion blew out a breath.

“You ok?”

Dandelion nodded.

“I have to press a little hard. You ready?”

Dandelion nodded. Eskel pressed a little harder with both hands, watching the flesh ripple in his fingers.

Dandelion hissed.

“This alright?”

Dandelion nodded again. “Don’t stop.”

“I invited him,” Eskel said. “I tried.”

“He knows he’s welcome, right?” asked Dandelion. “That I want him here too?” Eskel smiled to himself. Dandelion fussing over Geralt felt like reinforcements. His love cared about what he cared about. He’d never even known to dream of a partnership like that.

“He does, love.” He moved his hands higher on Dandelion’s thigh, closer to his groin. He spread the balm thoroughly over every bit of skin, making it shiny in the flickering torchlight.

“And did I offend him? Outside?”

“No, not at all. He just wants space right now.”

“I understand.” Said Dandelion.

“Give me the other one.”

Dandelion flipped one leg over Eskel, and positioned the other in his lap. Eskel spread more balm on his hands and started rubbing again.

“You know,” said Dandelion. “Geralt said something to me in the shop. I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Yeah, what’s that?” asked Eskel.

“He said something about your scars.”

“What’s that love?” he slid a hand up each side of Dandelion’s upper leg, watching the dark hair slide under his fingers.

“It wasn’t what he said, exactly,” said Dandelion. “It just made me think. I made a big fuss about you changing our face.”

“You did.”

“And I was so upset at the time, I don’t know how eloquent I was.”

“You got your point across.” Eskel worked and twisted his hands, feeling Dandelion’s muscle ease and loosen.

“I was only upset because you thought you needed to do it to make my life easier. And I would burn down this world before I let anyone make you feel you need to change for my benefit. Because I love you just the way you are. You got that right?”

Eskel grinned. “Yeah. I got that.”

“Because what you do with your face or your body for any other reason is entirely up to you. Your body belongs to you.”

“I understood that.”

“Good. Then you understand that I would love you no matter what your outside looked like. I love you for your beautiful spirit.”

“I do.”

Dandelion caught his wrists, and Eskel’s eyes flicked up to meet his. His balm slicked palms hovered over Dandelion’s leg. Blue eyes regarded him emphatically.

“If you changed yourself to a merman, I would follow you into the ocean.“

Eskel couldn’t help the involuntary grin that sprung to his face. He pictured himself as a mighty merman with a ferocious tail and Dandelion wading out into the water to greet him.

“You can’t breathe underwater.” Eskel said, chuckling. "You’d die.”

“I’d die as I lived. Pining for Eskel of Kaer Morhen.”

Eskel laid his hands on Dandelion’s hips and leaned in. He kissed him slow and sweet, the smells of balm, Kaer Morhen, and honeysuckle wine and the soft lips of his love pressed against him.

“Jester,” he said.

“It’s true though. And if you changed yourself to a dragon I’d learn to fly.”

Now Eskel pictured himself as a dragon. He would make a ridiculous looking dragon. But he’d be fine with Dandelion perched atop him.

“You don’t have to fly,” said Eskel. “You could ride me.”

“I could.” Dandelion wiggles his eyebrows. “I could ride you as a witcher, too.”

“I trundled right into that one didn’t I?” laughed Eskel.

“You did. Though I’m likely exaggerating. I couldn’t ride anything in my current condition.”

“Ok, lay down. I need to get this on your ass too,” said Eskel.

Dandelion made a face. “Please do, it’s excruciating, I’ll admit.” He settled himself flat on his stomach, and Eskel straddled his legs. He pulled down his underclothes.

“Darling, don’t be offended if I don’t get hard. I’m in extreme pain.”

“I never would,” said Eskel. He rubbed the balm on Dandelion’s ass and he admired the perfect round cheeks on his love as he did. Then he massaged into his flesh, as Dandelion made little groans that were a cross between relief and pain.

“You alright?”

“Yes, it hurts but I need it. Keep going.”

After thoroughly coating every sore part of Dandelion with the balm, Eskel washed up and extinguished the lanterns. He crawled under the covers with Dandelion and drew him into his arms.

“Thank you for coming home with me,” whispered Eskel.

Before Dandelion could answer there was a knock at the door. It was so soft, that had either of them had been speaking, they might have missed it entirely.

Eskel knew a knock that soft couldn’t be Lambert. Hope bloomed in his chest as he carefully pulled his arms from beneath Dandelion’s neck.

“Think he changed his mind?” whispered Dandelion.

Eskel quickly padded over to the door.

The door opened and Geralt stood in the doorway looking uncertain. Most all of the lanterns were extinguished for the night, so he stood in the dark. His golden eyes caught the little bit of light that remained.

“Heard you had room for one more,” said Geralt.

Eskel took him by the hand and squeezed.

“We do.”

“Bring him here,” said Dandelion happily, from the bed. He was rubbing his eyes. He’d taken off the tunic and his fair skin set off the lush thick hair in his chest.

Eskel led him to the bedside. He thumbed the bottom hem of Geralt’s shirt. Geralt nodded and lifted his arms.

Eskel pulled Geralt’s shirt off then took his face in his hands.

“We’re glad you came.”

Then he slid his arms around Geralt’s warm bare skin and squeezed him tight. Geralt lay his head down on his shoulder and wrapped his arms around Eskel’s waist.

Eskel’s hands remembered this, as they slid down Geralt’s back, greeting the familiar scars.

“Come on,” he said.

Eske climbed into bed, into the warm spot heated by Dandelion’s body. Dandelion quickly snuggled up to his left side, molding himself around his body.

Eskel held out his right arm towards Geralt.

“Sure you want a tragic, morose witcher in your love nest?” asked Geralt as he climbed in next to Eskel, pulling the covers over the three of them.

He settled his head into the crook of Eskel’s arm, and found Dandelion closeby, cuddled up on Eskel’s other shoulder. He gazed at Geralt in the dimness, sleepy hooded eyes casting shadows with thick lashes.

“You aren’t tragic,” said Dandelion. He ghosted his hand on Geralt’s cheek. When Geralt leaned forward, he allowed his hand to settle there. “What happened was evil. And tragic. But you? You’re a survivor. A miracle.”

Eskel could feel Geralt melting into the affection. Seeing Dandelion show Geralt love was like receiving it himself. He craned down and felt Geralt lean forward, lips seeking his out. So Eskel kissed Geralt. It had been years. But it was as though no time had passed at all. Because it felt exactly as it should.

Geralt’s lips were like coming home.

Geralt leaned and pressed into him, breathing slower with each passing moment.

Then Eskel turned his head and he was kissing Dandelion. His lush lipped, eager, Angel. It was an unfathomable luxury, Geralt tucked against one shoulder and Dandelion against the other.

And then they were gazing at each other, Geralt and Dandelion.

Dandelion found Geralt’s hand and clasped it. Eskel’s heart warmed to see Geralt squeeze back.

“Go ahead,” said Eskel, bemusement obvious in his voice.

So Geralt and Dandelion, faces leaning against the other expanse of Eskel’s chest, kissed.

Eskel closed his eyes and listened to them sigh against one another’s lips.

They fell asleep like that, legs tangled together, hearts beating together, and if it was a dream, Eskel never wanted to wake.

—–

In this fic, Jaskier is a sex worker who goes by the name Dandelion.  Lambert will also be getting in on the love, he’s just a tougher nut to crack, so it’ll take a little more effort. However, it is effort that Jaskier is fully prepared to put in.

May I interest anyone in a little Geralt/Eskel? *waves at stall filled with childhood love, shared trauma, and unconditional acceptance.

3500 words ish. Eskel is hurt, and Geralt must help him undress. It leads them to reminisce on their first kiss.

EXPLICIT

Also on AO3

Geralt

Geralt tore through the gate of Kaer Morhen and bounded into the castle. His heart thudded loud and urgent in his ears. His boots slapped the stone at a frantic pace as he rounded the corners of the wide hallways.

 He skidded into the kitchens, almost crashing into the back of Lambert’s chair. The younger witcher had the chair pushed back from the table so his legs could stretch out long in front of him. He sat up and twisted around.

 “Hey, calm your tits,” said Lambert. “He’s fine.” He craned to look at Geralt’s splotchy, sweaty face. “You look like shit.”

“I heard a witcher,” he panted, leaning on his knees, “was turned to stone.  It was in Gwenllech and Eskel had a…”

 “Contract there, we know. He’s back, he’s fine I said.”

 Vesemir sat across from Lambert at the oak table. They liked to eat in the kitchens sometimes. It stayed warmer and they didn’t use all the space in the dining hall. The remnants of a simple dinner was crumbled on their plates. Both witchers, the older and the younger one, were in comfortable clothes for the evening, both wearing untied tunics, and soft breeches. Vesemir stood up and laid a hand on each of Geralt’s shoulders.

“He’s fine,” said Vesemir. “Breathe.” His craggy face showed concern.

 Geralt nodded jerky and frantic. But he closed his eyes and his nostrils flared with the effort of a purifying inhalation.

 “So, not stone I take it,” said Geralt.

 “Just his arm,” said Lambert. He scooted his chair around to see Geralt better. Then he lifted his stein and guzzled it.

 “What the fuck?” said Geralt. “His arm is…stone?”

 Vesemir squeezed his shoulders tighter. “Look at me, Geralt.”

 Geralt eyes flicked back to Vesemir’s calm face and his panic abated somewhat.

 “It’s just an enchantment. So we took him to a mage healer, and she did what she could. They said it’ll be back to normal in the morning.”

 “Who the fuck did this,” spat Geralt. He looked wildly around the kitchen as though he would find the culprit there.

 “Geralt,” said Vesemir. He leveled a stern gaze at Geralt. “An accident. A young, inexperienced mage tried to help with the bruxa and messed it up.  He’s going to be fine. Everything is fine.” He patted Geralt’s shoulder.

 “His arm is stone!??” said Geralt, bristling. “And he’s fine? Where is he?”

 Vesemir returned to the table and lowered himself back into his chair.  He sopped up the last bits of gravy with the last bits of his bread.

 “He’s in your room, Geralt.” He popped a bite into his mouth.

 “That’s halfway across the castle. What if he needs help!”

 “He doesn’t want our help,” shrugged Lambert.

 “We took him to the healer, then made him comfortable, Geralt,” said Vesemir.  “Now he only wants you.”

 Hearing the words ‘he wants you’ regarding Eskel, pulled a lever in his mind. He quickly turned to leave.

 “But stop running in the halls,” groused Vesemir. “You’re going to trip and break your head and I’ll have two pups laid up.”

 “Yeah,” said Lambert. “Get a grip.” Geralt turned back around long enough to flip him off. 

Vesemir grimaced. “That’s  not  what I meant, Lambert.” He looked back to Geralt. “Just be careful.”

 Geralt nodded. “Alright. Thanks, Vesemir.”

 Lambert snorted, “I’m the one that lugged your hunk of love up the stairs.”

 But Geralt couldn’t be bothered with a comeback. He was already on his way to Eskel.

 He moved through the castle swiftly, leaping up the stairs two at a time. When he reached their door, he stopped short and pulled himself together. It wouldn’t do to burst in like a bull if Eskel were sleeping.

 Geralt gingerly cracked the door open first.

 Eskel’s amber eyes met his and lit up.

 All of these years and it still made Geralt feel like the most important man in creation when Eskel’s eyes lit up at the sight of him.

 And it still happened every time.

 “I knew it was you. I’d know your gait anywhere, even with the panicked stomping,” said Eskel warmly.

 Eskel was fully dressed, laying  on their large four poster bed on top of the colorful patched blanket, pillows propping him up.  He smiled a soft fuzzy smile.

 “Got here as quick as I could,” said Geralt. He let himself in and closed the door behind him softly.

 “I’m fine, Geralt. A bit worried when my arm first clunked to the ground and brought me tumbling with it…”

 Geralt rushed to the bedside, assessing Eskel’s body methodically with his eyes. Everything looked in order.  His strong, handsome love all in one piece. When his gaze fell on the gray stone hand poking from Eskel’s right sleeve, he whistled. He ghosted his fingers across it. It was cold.

 “Does it hurt?”

 “Do I get a kiss hello?”

 Geralt nudged a wisp of Eskel’s hair away from his eyes.

 “Hello,” he murmured. He leaned in and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to Eskel’s forehead. He noted that Eskel’s forehead wasn’t clammy or hot.

 “Are you checkin me for fever?” chuckled Eskel. “I’m fine, Geralt. It’s just. Weird.”

 “It doesn’t hurt?” Geralt reached to probe the arm up to the shoulder, examining as he went.

 “It tugged a little,” said Eskel, “but they gave me magical painkillers. I’m a little loopy but no pain.”

 Geralt took Eskel’s chin and examined his pupils. They were a touch wider than normal, but nothing notable. Eskel eased in his hand and leaned his head closer to Geralt.

 “I should thrash the guy that–”

 “He felt bad enough,” said Eskel. “Believe me, he was wailin. Never been called sir witcher so many times in one night. And I’ll be back to normal in a few hours. My shoulder was stone too and that’s already flesh again.”

 Geralt nodded, and examined Eskel’s shoulder. It was warm and firm and very much made of Eskel. Then he looked up and down Eskel’s body.

“Why are you still dressed?” he asked. 

 “I can’t do it. I’ll just sleep like this.” said Eskel.

 “No,” said Geralt “You need to sleep comfortably.”

 “I don’t know if that’s gonna happen anyway.”

 “We’re gonna try,” said Geralt. He stripped off his own armor and jacket. Then he slipped off his boots and knelt at the end of the bed.

 Eskel absently touched the stone arm with his good one. “Alright. Do your worst.”

 Geralt took one of Eskel’s booted feet in his hand.

 “Hey,” Eskel continued. “Remember when I helped you dress for a whole  week? That time you broke your hand in training?”

 Geralt pulled the laces free from Eskel’s boot and slid it off.

 “How could I forget,” said Geralt. “In fact, wanna know a secret about that?” he asked. “It’ll cheer you up.”

 “What?” asked Eskel. He wiggled his freed toes. 

 Geralt slid off the other boot, gently holding Eskel’s leg in place as he did.

 “It was only a sprain. My hand.”

 “No, it was a break, I remember,” said Eskel.

 Geralt climbed up the bed and knelt next to Eskel.

 He looked into Eskel’s eyes as he pulled the laces on his trousers.

 “That’s because I  told  you it was a break,” he said. He patted Eskel’s hips. “Lift.”

 Eskel tilted his hips up and Geralt dragged down his trousers, shuffling down the bed on his knees as he pulled.

 “Why would you lie about that?” asked Eskel.

 “Pull out your feet,” said Geralt. Eskel obediently lifted one foot, then the other.

 “Because handsome, kind Eskel had been assigned to help me undress. And instead of one night with his full attentions, I got five.”

 “You lied,” said Eskel, hand clutched to his chest in mock offense. “I’m telling Vesemir.”

 “Exaggerated slightly,” corrected Geralt with pursed lips. He folded the trousers and set them aside. His mind noticed the thick thighs and long legs dusted in black hair.  But he stayed on track. 

 “And you counted. Five days was it?” Eskel’s eyes sparkled with teasing mirth.

 “Of course I did. That’s how long it took you to kiss me. There in the dark, with the other boys sleeping.”

 Geralt would never forget the thrill of it, though the thrill was the least important part. Having safe, happy memories in Kaer Morhen at that age, it was like a talisman that got him through his worst moments for years to come. He had clung hard to them in the darkest of times.

 “We didn’t have any idea of what to do with each other then,” said Eskel, huffing softly.

 “Ah but we made up for it with enthusiasm,” said Geralt.

 Geralt crawled back onto the bed and knelt, facing Eskel. His fingers worked deftly, undoing his jacket. He was close enough to Eskel now to feel his eyes on him as he worked. Eskel absently stroked his arm and gazed at him.

 “I have a confession too,” said Eskel.

 “Sit forward,” said Geralt.

 Eskel obediently tried to sit forward but his range of motion was hampered by the arm.

 Geralt tried a different tact, pulling from the sleeve. 

 “Oh yeah, what’s that?” he said.

 “I wasn’t assigned to care for you,” said Eskel. “Another boy was. I traded him my breakfast for a week if he’d get lost.”

 Geralt pulled Eskel’s left arm free. 

 “You did not,” said Geralt. 

 ”I did,” said Eskel.

 ”How did I get so lucky?” Asked Geralt.

 Eskel just shrugged and smiled. “I was in a bad way, even then.”

 ”And you lied too, you minx,” said Geralt. “You know what shocks me most about that?”

 He reached for the stone arm.

 “I’m gonna just move this forward a bit” he said. Eskel nodded.

 “What? Me going against my natural honesty?”

 “No. That you fooled me. You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met in my life.”

 Eskel chuckled. “I didn’t claim to be assigned, exactly. I let you assume it.”

 Geralt tsked. “A misleading lie is still a lie. Now who’s telling Vesemir?”

 Geralt worried his lower lip as he slipped the last bit of the second sleeve off of the stone arm. He could still feel Eskel staring at him, but he didn’t allow himself to return the gaze until the jacket was free. 

 Then he turned to meet Eskel’s shameless stare.

 “You’re so good to me, Wolf,” he whispered, and the notes of awe squeezed at Geralt’s heartstrings.

 “You’re easy to be good to, beloved,” he said. 

 “C’mere. Eskel caught him with his free arm, gently by the neck.

 He slung his leg over Eskel, and straddled him. He sat back on Eskel’s thighs, and he kissed him. There was nothing like it in the world, kissing his Eskel. There was no better home to find at the end of a day. No other place he could be so seen or known. Not like this.

 And he released the anxiety he had felt running up to the keep in one ragged breath.

 “I was terrified,” said Geralt. “Fuck I almost had a heart attack.” He slung his arms around Eskel’s neck.

 “I’m here, Geralt. I’m here. And only a little worse for wear.” 

 His hand was cradling Geralt’s face like it was precious.

 “If anything were to happen to you–” he began.

 “It didn’t. It didn’t,” said Eskel firmly. He pulled Geralt’s cheek to his own. The press of his face and the familiar scarring made him calmer still.  Every last part of Eskel grounded him.

 Mutinous tears well in Geralt’s eyes. The wetness of them fell onto Eskel’s face from his. 

 Eskel pulled back and gently dragged his thumb down Geralt’s cheek.

 “Hey, look at me,” he said. “Look at me. I’m safe. I’m here.”

 Eskel pulled his face in close again. He placed a tender kiss on the corner of one eye. Then the other. Geralt’s lids fluttered closed and his breath stuttered.

 “I love you, wolf,” said Eskel softly, eyes brimming with gratitude.

 “I love you too,” said Geralt.

 Several languid kisses drained the rest of the anxiety from Geralt’s body. All that was left was Eskel’s hand gripping his neck. Eskel’s tongue parting his lips. His hot breath close, his body pressed to his.

 Eskel’s cock thickening underneath him.

 “You didn’t tell me that moron turned your cock to stone too,” he murmured into Eskel’s open lips.

 “Hilarious,” Eskel drawled out. “What a jester. I can’t help what my cock does when you straddle me.”

 “Maybe you should tell your prick you’re in no state for play,” said Geralt smirking.

 I’m in plenty good state for it,” insisted Eskel.

 “Is that so?” Geralt quirked an eyebrow. 

 “Just can’t…move. But I’m at your mercy.” 

Did Eskel…bat his eyelashes?

 “I don’t wanna hurt you,” said Geralt.

 “Nothing can harm me with my white wolf near,” said Eskel.

 “Oooo very nice,” said Geralt. “Very nice. But if you think sweet talk will win you a cock sucking from your beloved, then you are absolutely correct.”

 Eskel grinned wide and triumphant.

 Geralt looked at his arm dubiously. He thumbed the cloth of Eskel’s tunic. “Let’s get rid of this, then we’ll see.”

 The tunic was more difficult to remove than the jacket.

 Just as Eskel rolled his hip up, pressing his half hard cock into Geralt’s ass, the garment, which was halfway over his face, caught on his nose. 

 Geralt burst into laughter. 

“Tell your cock to wait,” said Geralt. “You can’t seduce me with your nose stuck in a tunic.”

 Eskel laughed harder, but was muffled by the fabric.

 “I can’t help it.” He said into the cloth. “I haven’t seen you in weeks, and now you’re straddling me.”  Every other word was slurred as the cloth of the tunic caught in his mouth.

 Geralt finally pulled the tunic free. He let it drop next to them on the bed.

 “Ok, you may continue,” he chuckled.

 His lips sunk into Eskel’s and he ran his fingers over his warm broad shoulders. Now they were bare and lovely and even though Geralt had every freckle memorized, his fingers never tired of exploring them anyway. Greeting them as though his fingers and Eskel’s freckles were reunited loves.

 “Hmmm,” said Eskel. He nudged the fingers of his free hand under Geralt’s tunic and it hitched up, the cool air of the room hitting Geralt’s skin. Eskel had a whisper of a callus on the palm and it drew the neediest sigh from Geralt’s lips.

 Geralt rocked his hips back and the motion tore a low groan from Eskel.

 “Just, sit still,” said Geralt. “Don’t move or do anything that could hurt you.”

 Eskel smiled as innocently as a century old scarred monster hunter can. Which, as it turns out, was surprisingly innocent. “I can do that.”

 Geralt slid down Eskel’s body, letting his fingers trail behind him. His mouth already watered in anticipation of the taste of Eskel between his lips.

 Eskel hissed and rolled his hips when Geralt’s tongue touched his cock.

 Geralt looked up at him sternly. “Careful, don’t yank your arm.”

 “Fuck, I didn’t. I didn’t. Promise. You just, feel so good.

 Geralt smiled and dipped his head again for a second taste. The familiar warmth and musk of Eskel, spread comfort through his body, even as his own cock responded eagerly.

 Eskel’s hips jerked again.

 “I’ll hold you down,” warned Geralt.

 “Go ahead,” said Eskel. 

 Geralt pinned Eskel’s hips as he drew his half hard cock into his mouth. He savored it. Rolling it on his tongue as it grew thicker, slicker, and more difficult to manage without the help of his hands.

 He let go of one of Eskel’s hips, while keeping the other pinned. Eskel settled his large hand to rest on Geralt’s head. 

 The feeling of Eskel’s hand heavy on his head as he bobbed filled him with the most content pleasure. It was a gesture of love. It’s not as though Eskel needed to guide his movements or show him what he liked.

 Geralt was an eager pupil in their youth. He’d learned fast. And as they grew together and actually learned what to do with each other, sexually and emotionally, their bond grew with each passing day.

 He knew every ridge, every dimple of Eskel’s body. Eskel’s cock was as familiar to him as his own, though it brought him considerably more pleasure than his own.

 He also knew what brought Eskel pleasure as surely as he knew his favorite songs.

 He knew the exact pressure to apply when he first wrapped his fingers around his shaft. 

 He knew how soft to make the tiny flicks of his tongue at his slit.

 He knew that when Eskel’s sweet huffs of pleasures turned to whines, that his beloved wanted more.

 He knew that swirling and slurping at Eskel’s head as he slid his hand at the base, made him harder still.

 He knew that when Eskel’s fingers tightened in his hair, that his own moaning on his cock would assure Eskel he was delicious, savored, and it would release him to even greater heights of bliss.

 And when he tasted precum and knew Eskel was reaching frantic arousal, he knew that catching Eskel’s eyes while he sucked reverently made his eyes blow wide. 

 Geralt worked every touch and trick he knew.  Eskel responded passionately and Geralt had to actually use a considerable amount of strength to keep him pinned to the bed, so he didn’t jostle his arm.

 Eskel’s hand flew to the sheets and gripped them as he keened and squirmed.

 Geralt pinned him tighter to the bed and bobbed faster. He knew his spittle and Eskel’s precum was slathered on his face by now.

 Wallowing in Eskel was the best use of his time on earth, as far as he was concerned.

 And when Eskel grew rigid and squeaked airy squeals from his mouth and released into him, salty and warm, Geralt felt as though he were fulfilling his highest purpose.

 “Geralt. Fuck. Geralt.”

 He slurped and licked his way off of Eskel’s cock, swallowing everything he could get his tongue on.

 Then he gently kissed the tip and sat back to meet Eskel’s hazy adoring gaze. He petted Eskel’s thighs. 

 “Better, love?” He asked with a teasing lilt.

 Eskel’s broad chest rose and fell with heavy, blissful breaths.

 “Much,” he said with a grin. “Now come here and let me finish you.”

 “No, no, no,” said Geralt. He could feel the heaviness of his cock tenting his trousers. But it wasn’t going to kill him. He was a grown man, not a desperate adolescent.

 Eskel whined. “Please. One handed may not be my fanciest work, but I just want to see your face screwed up and panting for me. I need it. The healer said that positive thinking will make me heal faster. And I’d positively like to see that.”

 Geralt laughed and unlaced his trousers. “I don’t think that’s what they meant. But fine, you’ve convinced me.”

 He shoved his trousers and underclothes off and peeled away his tunic. He crawled up to kneel in front of Eskel, nude.

 Eskel also knew his body like a song. He gripped Geralt’s cock and he struggled not to bend over in shocked pleasure. He held himself up by cupping and fondling Eskel’s pecs which clenched and bounced with the effort of his movements. 

 What he could do with one hand was magnificent actually.

 “Touch yourself too,” said Eskel.

 So Geralt caressed Eskel with one hand and cupped his own balls with the other, sliding his hands around to magnify the pleasure Eskel was wringing from him.

 “Fuck. Eskel.”

 “Go ahead,” said Eskel. “Cum for me. Wanna see it.”

 Geralt lost control of his voice. He keened softly but wildly to the rhythm of Eskel’s strokes. 

 He clenched his fists and face and cried out when he released into Eskel’s hand. He reveled in the waves of pleasure that crested and drained gently from his body. Eskel gripped and stroked him until he shivered from overstimulation. 

 Geralt sat back with a giant sigh, rolling his neck.

 “Fuck. You’re good at that.”

 Eskel grinned his shit eating grin.  “Had the best teacher.”

 Geralt winked at him then climbed off to find water and a rag. He cleaned them both up gingerly. Then he put away their clothes and snuffed out the lanterns.

 Eskel’s eyes followed him lazily in fucked out tranquility.

 “You have the best ass. Never put on your clothes again.”

 Geralt just shook his head, but didn’t hesitate to say, “and it’s all yours.”

 Geralt climbed back into bed, and tugged the covers out from under Eskel and helped him move down so he could lay flat.  Since Eskel couldn’t move much, Geralt molded himself around his body. He tucked himself under Eskel’s arm and nuzzled into his neck.

 “Good night, beloved.”

 “Good night, dearheart.

 And they fell into the softest rest.

 And during the night, when Eskel’s arm returned to its natural state, he flopped over and drew Geralt fully into his arms.

 “Thank you,” he whispered. For taking care of me.”

 “Always will.” Murmured Geralt. “Always will.”

———

This piece was for @vvitchering and anyone else who has fallen in love with these two.

Want some Sunday reading? I have updated Posada Remix, my Book!Geralt/Jaskier Into the Witcher-verse fic.

Book!Geralt spends a few days in Oxenfurt with Jaskier. They give each other some things they both desperately need.

Book!Geralt also finds out that Netflix!Geralt hit Jaskier the day they met. He takes it about as well as you might expect.

3800 ish words

OnAO3 and below.

———————

Jaskier

Geralt and Jaskier had enjoyed ten years of friendship thus far, yet the witcher continued to downplay his affection for the bard in public. It might have hurt Jaskier, if Geralt weren’t so thoroughly unsuccessful in his efforts.

At the banquet in Cintra, the witcher told everyone that he was merely there to help the idiot bard. But his actions shouted louder than his bluster. Everyone knew.

Why would Geralt be by his side, traveling the continent together if he hated him? Certainly Jaskier didn’t have the power to compel the witcher to do anything. And Geralt moved heaven and earth if Jaskier were injured or hurt. He stepped in when he was threatened.

He could grunt all he wanted. People knew.

They were friends. The very best.

In fact, Jaskier had been with Geralt long enough to be widely and permanently associated with him. Jaskier puffed up like a crested lark when he heard himself referred to as Geralt’s bard.

He practically swaggered into taverns and festivals walking at Geralt’s side, the witcher with his swords and him with his lute case.

The witcher and his bard.

But sometimes, in the shadowed corners of his heart, he wished for more.

For Geralt to shout, “That is my friend”.

And sometimes, in the still further reaches of his soul, he wished for even more.

For people to say:

There goes Jaskier. He is not only the keeper of Geralt’s legend, but also of his heart.

But Geralt had gone with Yen. And Jaskier had come back to Oxenfurt and fallen apart.

Until he was delivered by a man he thought he would never see again.

And now he had several days with this man. Days. He wished it were more, but he would take what the universe provided and he would cherish it. 

And now this Geralt, the sinewy one who wore his feelings much closer to his skin, stepped out into the street with Jaskier.

They were outside together for the first time in the bright day. The residents of Oxenfurt streamed by, their features sharp and clear in the late morning sun. Students chattered and flirted. Mothers herded their children away from hooves and wheels.

The people parted around Geralt and Jaskier, then dove ahead, keeping time with the demands of their lives. But not before many of them spared a glance at the witcher and the bard.

Jaskier had only enjoyed two visits from this Geralt. So his urge to lean down and catch Geralt’s hand caught on doubt. These people would see. Would think of them as a pair.

This Geralt lived untold dimensions away. He couldn’t be rightly thought of in this way. They weren’t like the teenaged sweethearts proudly clutching hands, on their way to the first of many dances. They weren’t like the elderly couple, slowly picking their way to the park, clasping each other comfortably.

But then Jaskier remembered.

What do you want to do with your precious moment?

So Jaskier made a choice. A seemingly insignificant choice. Just a dip of his arm. But a choice nonetheless.

He reached for Geralt’s hand.

Geralt looked ahead intently as they walked, weaving in and out of the crowd. When Jaskier took his hand he twitched. Then he smiled. It was a small thing too, the smile. But it reached up to crinkle the corners of his eyes. He glanced at Jaskier ever so fleetingly and winked.

Then he threaded his fingers through Jaskier’s and pulled them tight.

As they walked, their arms swung gently together. Geralt used the leverage to tug Jaskier out of the way of potholes and merchants carrying goods.

When people saw them, they thought: the witcher loves him.

Jaskier felt like his.

And he preened. He couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried.

It was market day and wooden stalls lined the busy streets and alleys. Smells inundated the air, of burnt wood, new leather goods, and a hundred different kinds of food and drink.

“Ooooo, let’s go look over there,” said Jaskier. He pointed to a wooden stall with a tiny older woman behind it. She was slight and draped with colorful shawls. In front of her, practically at her eye level, were phalluses of leather and polished wood lined up like soldiers. There were beads of many different arrangements and apparent uses. There were tassels and whips. Vials and pots of slick in different scents and flavors.

Geralt’s footsteps stuttered.

“Ohhhhh come on now,” said Jaskier, laughing gleefully. He was the one tugging this time. They stood in front of the stall, and Jaskier eagerly perused the merchandise.

“Hello gentlemen,” said the woman, in a thick northern accent, her gray hair falling down in ringlets. “I’m Violet. If you have any questions, let me know.”

She noticed Jaskier’s eyes fall upon a tray filled with crystal beads strung on long winding strings. He couldn’t tell what they were for. Like any good saleswoman, she seized upon his interest.

“Oh, so you have discriminating taste, young man.” She picked up the beads. They were in two parts. “You would look lovely in these, and I think your gentleman would agree,” she smiled mischievously at Geralt.

Geralt averted his eyes hurriedly but he also drew closer and hung his finger in the waistband of Jaskier’s trousers.

“They are meant to be worn on an unclothed torso and around a bare waist. It makes you feel divine, like a worshipped, adorned thing while you are in the act of love.”

“We’ll take them,” said Geralt. He reached for a thin circlet lying next to it. “This too.”

Jaskier flushed with joy. They had just left the house and he was already picturing dragging Geralt back into it, and riding him, shoulders and hips lined with sparkling beads.  But they needed food. And also, an idle walk around the pier with his witcher sounded like heaven.

The vendor selling the turkey legs was a far less pleasant person. He pretended as though he could neither hear nor see Geralt. Jaskier quickly wiggled to the front, and would have made a scene if the man hadn’t recognized him and quickly served them apologetically. Then they walked down to the docks and sat with their legs over the edge, listening to the ocean waves and sucking the turkey bones dry.

Jaskier noticed that Geralt was brooding.

“I’ll happily go back and piss on that wanker’s stall,” he offered. He shaded his eyes with his hands and licked his teeth clean. Geralt smiled, squinting into the sunlight.

Geralt’s mood seemed easily punctured by those who skirted around him or avoided his gaze. But it rebounded quickly with a kind word.

So Jaskier resolved to remind him, as many times as it took, that he was accepted as he was. He resolved to ease this man’s way in his world. It was the least he could do.

When he asked Geralt whether they could go to the tavern to meet his friends, Geralt said yes again quickly.

But he still visibly eased when Jaskier reminded him that he bragged all year long that he was friends with the White Wolf. Anyone at Oxenfurt with a pulse knew who Geralt was, and knew that to insult him would call down the chaotic rage of Jaskier, which no one in their right mind would curse themselves with.

And Geralt, wiry and scarred from combat, relaxed his shoulders at his words. His face opened. He took to this kind of treatment quickly.

They played strip Gwent with Jaskier’s friends and Jaskier draped himself across Geralt to dramatically hide his nipples when he was losing. Geralt whispered in his ear:

“May I kiss you?” His thumbs slid along Jaskier’s neck.

Jaskier’s lips were already on his.

And later, when they were tipsy, and their stolen kisses had devolved into full sloppy making out, and Jaskier’s friends had taken to throwing bread at them, they decided it was time to go home.

They climbed up to the roof of Jaskier’s house and put down a blanket. They laid next to one another and watched the stars twinkle on.

Then Jaskier asked Geralt to take off his clothes and he placed the circlet on his witcher’s head. Then he stripped off his own clothes and draped himself in the beads and fucked Geralt until he trembled. Until tears fell from them both.

Then they went back inside, and slept in each other’s arms.

——–

Jaskier was first to wake the next morning. He savored the sound of Geralt’s heavy breathing. Jaskier let his fingertips dance along the white hair fanning out on the bed. He remembered that he had three more days to do this.

He threw his leg over Geralt and rubbed his calf against his.

“You awake?” he whispered, a little too loudly, at the back of Geralt’s head.

“Mmmmmm,” said Geralt.

“Oh, good,” said Jaskier. He grunted with effort as he reached for Geralt’s side, pulling him over so that he flopped onto his back. He raised Geralt’s arm and snuggled up under it.

Geralt chuckled. “I’m just a pillow and a pair of arms to you.”

“And?” asked Jaskier. “Is there something wrong with that? Speak, pillow.”

“Not a thing,” said Geralt groggily. “Not a thing, sweetness.” He tipped Jaskier’s head around and kissed him. His eyes were still closed and he hummed as he kissed him.

They rolled around in bed for hours, only getting up to piss and wash up, then to plop back into bed into each other’s arms. As the moments wore on, they talked at length about nothing at all. Every so often they would change position. Jaskier would lay on Geralt’s belly. Then Jaskier would sit up against the bed frame, and Geralt would lay in his lap.

They chatted about spring in Oxenfurt and Geralt told him stories of the academy past and future. It didn’t matter whether it was exactly the same here. Jaskier just liked listening to him.

They compared spices from dimensions, (“What do you roast your quail in?”) and debated whether the music would be the same (“Are string instruments used in three piece bands here?”). Also, “Is the ocean water cold or tepid?” And “Can your werewolves bite a man and make another werewolf?”

They both knew they could be asking questions that would make them insane. Like…“Did my Aunt die of typhoid there?” Or “Have you been to Kaer Morhen and how many wolves are left in the school?”

But they didn’t. They knew it would puncture what they had. And what they had was precious.

Jaskier did have one question. And after a few comfortable, delicious hours, he decided he needed to know.

“Why only five days?” Jaskier asked. “Why not two or ten? Or thirty?” Or forever.

Geralt was quiet for a moment. He pulled Jaskier closer, and kicked off the sheets, as the room was growing warmer.

“The way Ciri explained it was this. Every time we make a choice, a new dimension springs into existence where you made the other choice.”

“Any choice?”

“Well,” said Geralt, looking up at the ceiling in thought. “Not every choice. But any choice that affects other people.”

“Shit,” said Jaskier. “That’s still a lot of bloody dimensions.”

“Infinite,” said Geralt. “And that’s what makes it so hard to find one. There are just too damn many. After a few days, Ciri wasn’t sure she would be able to find me again. She has to get me out before the odds turn against us and I’m cut off permanently.”

“So no coming back?” asked Jaskier. His voice came out smaller than he intended. He ran the pad of his finger in circles around Geralt’s belly button.

“I don’t rightly know. To be honest, I don’t understand most of it. I do as my girls tell me to.”

Jaskier pursed his lips. “Sounds wise.”

“And they don’t know how coming here will affect me.”

“But you came anyway,” said Jaskier. It made him feel like the most important man in all of creation.

“I did.”

“How do you feel? Is it affecting your physiology?” Jaskier lay his hand flat now, and cupped Geralt’s nearest pec, playing with the white hair there, feeling his heartbeat.

“I feel fine,” said Geralt. “I don’t know how much that’s worth.”

“A lot,” said Jaskier. “It’s the most important thing.” Then he got a twinkle in his eye. “I know my physiology has changed with you being here.”

“Oh yeah?” asked Geralt. He turned his head and nipped at Jaskier’s ear.

“Yes,” Jaskier giggled and pushed his face away. “My prick is harder.”

Jokes aside, Geralt had changed him in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

“Meeting you even for that afternoon changed the choices I’ve made, I think,” said Jaskier after a moment.

“How is that?” asked Geralt. He turned to look straight at Jaskier, and his breath stuttered at the loveliness of his feline gaze.

“Well,” he said, recovering, “it changed how I reacted to him.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” said Geralt. He looked down. “Did you mistake him for me? Were you upset?”

“No. Of course there are the similarities. White hair. Witcher.”

“Is he handsomer?” asked Geralt, teasingly. He nudged Jaskier.

“This is a devious line of questioning,” said Jaskier. “And I won’t be drawn into your trap, you siren.”

“Fair enough,” said Geralt, chuckling softly.

“But I did feel it. I knew he was you, here. I can’t describe how.”

“Ciri says it’s like we have the same footprint on the universe.”

“Yes, that’s it,” said Jaskier emphatically. “I never thought I’d see you again, and I was grieving it. And to see someone who seemed so much like you…it was. A gift.”

“What did you say to him?” asked Geralt. Suddenly he sounded like he was stepping around glass. Jaskier nuzzled into him.

“I said the same things. It worked so well on you.”

“Makes sense,” said Geralt. “So you –”

“I complimented his brooding, bread pants, all of it.”

“The beauty of being a poet. And what did he do?” asked Geralt.

“He got up and left,” said Jaskier.

“Really? And asked you to follow?” asked Geralt.

“No. He expressly told me not to follow.”

Geralt scratched his head. “What? Why?”

“He just didn’t want company.” Jaskier shrugged.

“So what did you do?”

“I followed him,” said Jaskier.

At the time, there hadn’t seemed to be any other choice.

“I offered to be his barker,” he continued. “He kept saying I couldn’t come. But part of me just refused to believe we weren’t meant for each other in some capacity, so I followed. And I don’t know if I would’ve done that. It’s rude to ignore someone’s wishes and follow them even after they punch you…”

Geralt’s eyes bugged, and he fell alarmingly quiet. His arms slid from Jaskier’s shoulders and he sat up on the bed, twisting around to look at him.

Anyone who has ever been in a noisy tavern with a live band and has been screaming to an attractive person just to be heard over the din, and the music has stopped right as they’ve shouted “go round back and fuck” then they would know how Jaskier felt after he said “punched you.”

The words hung uneasily.

“After he what?” Each word coldly punctured the air.

“Eh. Um.” Said Jaskier. He replayed what he had said in his mind. But there was nothing inaccurate. He rearranged the pillow and sat back. “Punched? Me?”

“He fucking punched you?” said Geralt. His words had somehow grown colder. He turned around completely and sat cross legged, facing Jaskier.

“Um. Not as hard as he can punch of course. I was fine, Geralt. I only had to catch my breath.”

Geralt rubbed his face and slapped his hands back down on the mattress. He looked at Jaskier again with disbelieving eyes. He spoke again, slowly and carefully, counting his words out on his fingers.

“He punched an unarmed,” (one finger) “untrained,” (two fingers) “teenaged bard” (three fingers) “who looked at him as though he hung the moon and the stars?”

“Ahhhhh,” said Jaskier, nervously. “Yes? He didn’t know me yet. I wasn’t yet his friend, Geralt.”

“It doesn’t make a difference,” spit Geralt heatedly. “I would never do that. I’ll kill a man if he’s armed and poses a threat. But I would never–” his voice broke off with a whiff of disbelief. He shook his head slowly. “Are you sure that was me?”

Different, seemingly inconsistent feelings twisted together in Jaskier’s gut. He felt incredibly important that this man would be so protective of him. It healed something in him he hadn’t even known was cracked. But Geralt was his loyal friend. His very best friend. He felt the need to defend him.

But this was Geralt, so he didn’t feel the need as urgently as he would have with someone else. Fuck, dimensional travel was never going to be something he could wrap his mind around.

“He didn’t want me to get hurt,’ said Jaskier.

“So he hurt you,” Geralt deadpanned.

“I was fine, Geralt, fine.” Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck and looked closely into his eyes. “You’re too hard on him. We are all hardest on ourselves. You should have compassion for yourself.” He nodded. “Which is also him.”

Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose.

“It just. Makes no fuckin sense. We have increased strength. Fighting abilities. Shit, Dandelion lectures me for not punching people he thinks I should. But I won’t give anyone reason to think what they already do. That we’re violent, unfeeling animals.”

“Oh, darling,” said Jaskier. He kissed Geralt’s nose. He scrunched it. “It was nothing. I’ve had much worse. I’m a man who habitually puts his sausage in the wrong royal pantry. I’ve been punched much harder by men I’ve respected far less. Anyway, this was a decade ago. He wouldn’t do it now. I wouldn’t do it now.”

“You wouldn’t do what now?” asked Geralt. “What did you do wrong?”

Jaskier shrugged. “Ignored his wishes. I mean, sure, I ignore some of his wishes. Like if he wants to stink when he should bathe, or brood when he should come have a drink. But if he told me he didn’t want me now, I would leave. Not that he would tell me to leave. He loves me. As a friend at least. But everyone deserves to make their choices. So I would do it differently now.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just…do you have any idea–” Geralt’s voice broke off again with a disgruntled puff. Jaskier stroked his rough hand and waited.

“–how lonely I was when I met you?”

“No, I don’t. He doesn’t talk about it.”

Geralt nodded and stared down at his hands. They were clasped now in his lap. They were both wearing underclothes for sleeping, as they had both already gotten up for various things. The white of his linen braies set off his skin, which was more golden.

“Well. I had travelled for ages…ages by myself. Ciri wasn’t born yet. I hadn’t any friends other than my fellow wolves, and I only saw them in the winters. And people treated me worse then. Before your songs. All I had was loneliness, and hatred in people’s faces.”

Jaskier felt a lump rising in his throat. The thought of Geralt suffering so. So alone.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Dandelion teases me that I was desperate for company. And I’d never admit it but I was. Desperate. Even though I did go by and visit Nenneke from time to time, I still had to hunt. Be on the path.”

Jaskier tried to remember who Nenneke was. But he didn’t want to ask. Geralt was talking about something that made him vulnerable. So he clasped his hands and listened.

“Meeting him still changed everything for me. He accepted me. Got me out of my head. And where else is a witcher going to get poetry? Music? I haven’t let him go since. He’s my opposite and I need that. I need him.”

“I’m glad you have him,” said Jaskier.

“How can a lonely man who is given loyal friendship, reject it? And for him, how can a man who is reviled, see adoring, loving eyes and…punch them?”

“It was more a punch to the the stomach,” said Jaskier. Seeing Geralt’s eyes flare, he hurriedly continued. “I don’t know darling. I don’t know why you make such different choices. You’d have to talk to each other to know that. Exchange life stories. And you’d never be guaranteed to find it.”

“I suppose.”

Jaskier decided to try for a change of subject.

“May I ask you something, Geralt?”

“Of course.”

“How do you feel? When I talk about him? He is you. But he isn’t. Do you feel jealous? Or flattered?”

Geralt inhaled and exhaled slowly. His lean, toned chest rising and falling. “It’s right that you have feelings for him. Me.” He smiled. “Who else would you travel with? Be with?”

“Who else?” said Jakier, dramatically tapping his lips with his finger as though in deep thought. “Eskel is extremely attractive.”

“True,” said Geralt, grinning. Jaskier was glad to see him grinning again. “But what about Lambert?”

“Oooohooohooo,” said Jaskier, “the continent wouldn’t survive two mouthy divas with poor impulse control traveling together.”

“You’re right, I don’t think it would. Fires, explosion, chaos,” said Geralt.

“So you’re ok?” said Jaskier.

“I didn’t say that,” said Geralt. He turned and plopped back down next to Jaskier. “I’m still furious. He’s had you for ten years and hasn’t…taken you into his arms. Hasn’t told you he loves you. And that’s all I want to do and I—I barely get the chance. It just isn’t…”

“Fair?” Asked Jaskier.

“Yes. I guess that’s right,” said Geralt. “But I know life isn’t fair or unfair. I’m an old man, I know that. I’m just being a petulant child.”

“It’s ok. You’re allowed.” Said Jaskier. He kissed Geralt on the cheek. “You’re allowed to want more of me. And to notice that it’s not fair.”

“Thank you,” said Geralt, smiling crookedly.

Geralt craned his neck to kiss his lips. And then he held him, stroking his arm. His neck. Geralt seemed to want to touch him everywhere, and found his hands limiting.

“He fucking punched you. I would like to punch him. See how he likes it,” grumbled Geralt. “Asshole witcher.”

“Duly noted.” said Jaskier. “Then it’s a good thing you aren’t going to see him. You are coming to my graduation party.”

“I am.”

“After tonight, you’ll be sleeping with a master in the fine arts.” Jaskier flourished with his hands.

“I can hardly wait,” said Geralt.

Jaskier climbed onto Geralt’s lap and folded his legs around the witcher’s torso. He held his face in both of his hands and looked at him carefully. Gently. “You know I love you?” he asked. "Because I do.”

Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s waist, lay his head on his shoulder, and squeezed him tight.

"I love you too.”