#holiday angst

Geraskier modern au holiday angst fic, as threatenedpromised!

Geralt and Jaskier were fuck buddies for 3 years, but now haven’t spoken for another 3. Until…
Set at a New Years party, featuring Yennefer friendships and, well, angst, with happy ending. 3,891 words

Thanks to @soundslikepenance for spitballing with me and helping sort it out! <3 

Songs:
You’re So Vain by Carly Simon
Winter Song by Sara Bareilles & Ingrid Michaelson 

-

Geralt followed Yennefer through the doors into the gala. He’d never enjoyed parties, let alone grand events like this, unlike–well, he hadn’t been to a party in years.

Yennefer attended the prestigious New Years Eve gala every year for work, and Geralt had unwillingly been roped into being her date this year. As they entered, the noise hit him like a wall. People laughing and chatting, glasses clinking. The room was filled with well-dressed, wealthy, attractive people, and Geralt felt wildly out of place and uncomfortable. He tugged at the bottom of his suit jacket, then reached to tug at his tie before Yennefer caught his arm.

“Stop that, would you? You look very handsome.”

“I look like a monkey stuffed into a suit. How do people wear these every day? This is hell.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes, emerald eyeshadow shining in the light. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t bring you if you didn’t look good on my arm, and I wouldn’t dress you in anything that didn’t make you shine.”

Geralt shifted uncomfortably on his feet. His beard had been neatly trimmed, his hair pulled back in a tidy ponytail, showcasing his undercut. His hair felt too tight, he could already feel a headache coming on, and his tie was choking him. The suit jacket that Yennefer had had tailored for him seemed to pull across his shoulders. He chewed at his lips and fisted his hands, resisting the urge to tear it all off. 

“I don’t know why I have to be here,” he grumbled. 

“I needed a date, and you had nothing better to do. And you make good arm candy, if you’d stop shuffling around and grimacing.”

“Whyme, Yen. You know I hate things like this. Why not Triss, or Eskel, or—” 

“Stop complaining. Here, have a drink.” Yennefer grabbed two champagne flutes off a tray as a server passed them by, handing one to Geralt.

He followed behind Yennefer as she schmoozed with clients and co-workers, standing obediently beside her, politely nodding and smiling when it seemed to be required. About half an hour after they had arrived, the entertainment was announced.

“Beautiful people and wretched dogs, please put your hands together for tonight’s entertainment, the Continent’s heartthrob, Dandelion the Bard!”

Whoops and cheers erupted from the crowd as dread fell over Geralt like a bucket of ice water. Jaskier. Jaskier was going to be singing tonight. Jaskier, whom he hadn’t seen since the holiday season three years ago, when Geralt had possibly ruined the best thing he had in his life, before he had the sense to realize it. 

The backup band took the stage.

“Yen, what the fuck?”

“What?” she asked, turning wide purple eyes on him, feigning innocence. 

“Did you know he would be playing tonight? Is this why I’m here?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’ve been able to tell when you’re lying for years now, Yen. And it’s like you’re not even trying to be convincing right now.”

“Fine. I suggested Jaskier as the entertainment.”

Geralt scowled at her. “What are you trying to accomplish with this?”

“He’s a great performer, and it pays exceedingly well. I was doing him a favour.” She shrugged.

“And that’s it?”

“Should there be more?”

Jaskier had taken the stage to applause and cat-calls, and before Geralt could come up with a retort, the first song started, one of Dandelion the Bard’s most popular hits on the radio that year. His eyes caught on Geralt partway into the song, and an expression flitted across his face that Geralt couldn’t quite parse before it was gone again and his performance mask was firmly back in place. When the first song was over, Jaskier murmured to the musicians for a moment before the next started.

“Son of a gun. You walked into the party like you were walking onto a yacht,” Jaskier sang accusingly, staring straight at Geralt. Staring straight into his soul, Geralt felt. He rubbed at the back of his neck.

They had been sleeping together for three years, before that went to shit, and they hadn’t seen each-other for the three years since. Geralt had been convinced it didn’t matter, at first. He’d hardly even considered Jaskier a friend. The man was loud, restless, and flighty. They’d had sex when they were drunk or bored; they’d had a lot of sex, but it hadn’t meant anything. Or so he’d thought, at the time.

They’d fucked in bathroom stalls after Jaskier’s shows in shitty bars where no-one cared he was playing, on Geralt’s couch with their sweats on like horny teenagers, on the beach (only once, that was a mistake - sand for days). They’d fucked daily the weeks that Geralt’s gym was closed for renos, in Jaskier’s bed when he had crumpled a notebook’s-worth of pages trying to write a song, once in the hallway outside of Jaskier’s apartment, against the wall. Angry sex when Yennefer started dating Istredd, soft sex when Essi moved away for college. Waking up in each-other’s arms or beds had been as natural as not, after three years.

He’d known he was just one of many hookups to Jaskier, and that had been fine. He hadn’t had as many as Jaskier, but there had been a few others. A couple of late, drunken nights with Triss. One memorable night with Yennefer, which was perhaps the crux of the whole thing.

Jaskier sang a few more upbeat songs, and then seemed to deflate. The band left the stage, and Jaskier sat down at the piano, starting a quiet, melancholy tune, then joining it with his voice. Geralt stood transfixed, the rest of the room and chatter dying away until all he saw, all he heard was Jaskier and the piano. 

“They say that things just cannot grow, beneath the winter snow, or so I have been told,” Jaskier sang, full of feeling. “Is love alive? Is love alive?”

Geralt took in a shuddering breath, goosebumps running down his arms. He gave himself a shake. Get a hold of yourself, he urged himself. It had been three years. If all the emotion Jaskier was channeling was for someone, it surely wasn’t for him. They hadn’t even been dating. He’d told the man they weren’t even friends. His stomach clenched at the memory.

“This is my winter song. December never felt so wrong, ‘cause you’re not where you belong; inside my arms.”

Geralt’s ears were ringing faintly.

* two and a half years ago *

Geralt sat on his couch, brooding. He’d been doing a deep clean of his apartment, and that had come to a screeching halt when he had started to take the couch cushions off to vacuum it all and had found a pink guitar pick. He’d picked it up, stared at it for a good few minutes, replaced the couch cushion, and dropped back onto the couch, still staring at the piece of pink plastic. He flipped it over and over in his hand, as if it would reveal something to him, then picked up his phone. He scrolled through his contacts to the J’s, paused, then scrolled further down to the bottom.

“Geralt,” Yennefer said by way of greeting.

“Yen, I think I fucked up.”

“Pray, be more specific.”

“I was deep cleaning my apartment–”

“Geralt, you know I don’t do cleaning. If you want the name of the company I use–”

“No, Yen, I was cleaning the couch, and I found a guitar pick.” He could hear the sound of Yennefer’s nails tapping irritably against something on the other end of the line. “I, um, I think I… miss him.”

A long-suffering sigh came over the line. “Geralt, you are an idiot.”

“Thanks, Yen, glad we could have this chat–”

“Alright, alright. I’m listening.”

“I just, uh. It’s been really…quiet.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I thought it was. But I…I miss the chatter. The humming as he ran his fingers through my hair, the singing in the shower.”

“This is literally the beginning of the list of annoying behaviour you dictated to me a year ago, Geralt.”

Silence buzzed along the line.

“I think you’re right,” he mumbled.

“I’m always right.”

“I’m an idiot.”

“It’s part of your charm.”

“Hmm.”

“Maybe you just need to get laid. When was the last time you–”

“With you.”

Stunned silence. “But that was– Geralt, honestly, how…”

“I haven’t been interested in anyone else.”

“Geralt, really, I thought I was clear–”

“I didn’t mean you.”

Another sigh. “Why don’t you call him, then?”

“I can’t, Yen.”

“I don’t see why not. You just called me.”

“After that fight… he doesn’t want to hear from me, Yen.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m fairly confident.”

“I don’t know why you called me when you aren’t going to listen to me. I have things to do, Geralt.”

Geralt sighed. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Alright. Goodbye, Geralt.”

-

“Yennefer.”

“Jaskier.”

“To what do I owe the dubious pleasure of this phone call?”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Are you?”

“No offence, Yennefer, but I have no interest in that flavour of–”

“I don’t either, poptart, not in a thousand years.”

“Then why are you asking?”

“Geralt misses you.”

Jaskier scoffed. “I really don’t think so. Apparently we weren’t even friends. Three years spent loving someone to be dismissed as a fuck buddy and told to fuck off… Shit. Fuck. I didn’t say that. You didn’t hear that. Anyways, he has you now, so I really don’t see what need I could be fulfilling that’s now missing. Plenty of dick in the city if that’s what he’s after.”

Yennefer made a noise of exasperation. “Jaskier–”

“Lovely chatting with you darling, but I must be off.”

“Jaskier, please–”

“Got to go, left my cat on the stove. Ciao, darling.”

* the gala *

“My love a beacon in the night. My words will be your light, to carry you to me. Is love alive?”

From the way he was singing, someone had broken Jaskier’s heart. Geralt felt a wave of jealousy and anger at the thought. As if he had any right. That didn’t stop his heart from wishing the words were for him. 

The song ended, drawn out and haunting, the last note played fading into the quiet room. Jaskier looked morose. When the note had faded out, he stood slowly, giving the audience a half-hearted smile. 

“Thank you so much, you’ve been lovely. I’ll see you in half an hour for the second set,” he said before walking off-stage.

“Wonder who that was for,” Geralt murmured to Yennefer. She stared at him with narrowed eyes. 

“He hasn’t been with anyone,” she said.

“What?”

“He hasn’t been with anyone seriously since, well, you.”

“He was never withme.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean, Geralt.”

“But then, that song, the way he sang it…”

Yennefer arched a brow.

“There’s no way,” he said.

“And how would you know? Have you spoken with him, in all this time?”

“No,” he muttered, staring at his shoes.

“Maybe it’s time you did.”

“He won’t want to, Yen.”

She let out a noise of exasperation. “You won’t know until you try! Worst case scenario, you’re right. You come back here, drink more champagne, eat more appetizers, then I take you home, and nothing has changed.”

Geralt worried his lower lip. The idea of approaching Jaskier after all this time, after what they had last said to each-other… it was terrifying. But it didn’t look like Yennefer was going to let this go. And when he thought of how Jaskier had looked as he sang the song, and as he left the stage… it made him ache. Not that he felt there was anything he could do about it. His musings were interrupted by Yennefer. 

“He slipped out onto the back balcony. Take this,” she swiped another glass of champagne from a nearby tray and handed it to him, “and go find him.”

“Yen, I really don’t think–”

“I didn’t ask you to think. I told you to go.” She gave him a firm shove in the direction she had indicated. Geralt sighed and started making his way through the crowd.

He pushed out the door onto the balcony to find Jaskier leaning against the railing, a half-full glass of champagne in one hand. Jaskier turned when the door opened and raised an eyebrow. He looked tired. He offered no greeting, but he also didn’t immediately tell Geralt to get lost, so that was… something. Geralt walked over and leaned against the railing a few feet away.

“Good set,” Geralt offered.

“What are you doing here, Geralt?”

Geralt cleared his throat and looked out at the view. “Yen made me come. What are youdoing here?”

“Yenna asked me to. And it pays well. Verywell.”

“Good for you.”

“Quite. So, enjoying living the high life with your girlfriend? I always thought you hated parties, but maybe it was just that you hated going to them with me.”

“Ido hate parties. I—”

“So it was me, then. You’ll put up with them for her,” Jaskier said bitterly. “Even one like this, where you have to dress in a suit, which I know you hate, and it’s full of rich, snobby assholes, and—”

“Jask—”

“Geralt,don’t.” Jaskier wasn’t even sure what he was asking, only knew that he didn’t feel prepared for whatever conversation this might turn out to be.

“It isn’t like that.”

“Likewhat,exactly?”

“I’m here as her date, as company, but that’s all. She’s not my girlfriend. We aren’t together.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

“Yen and I… we were never anything. I mean, we’re friends. Good friends. But nothing more. It was only the one time.”

“Geralt, honestly, I don’t care.”

“I just thought… you should know.”

“What difference does it make?”

Geralt shrugged miserably. He knew he was doing a shit job of this, but he was at a loss as to what he should say or do. He stared out at the scenery again, before stealing a glance back at Jaskier. The singer had come straight outside from the stage, and was dressed only in his high-waisted pants and a white silk blouse, frills at the neckline (which was unbuttoned, so that hadn’t changed) and the wrists. He shivered as a winter breeze blew through, and Geralt straightened up, putting his champagne down on the railing.

“Here,” he said, shrugging out of his suit jacket and reaching out to drape it over Jaskier, before thinking better of it and pulling back a bit, offering it to Jaskier to take.

“I’m fine,” Jaskier protested unconvincingly.

“I don’t want to wear the damn thing anyways, and I know you’re freezing. Just wear it until you go inside.”

Jaskier hesitated, then took the jacket and slung it over his shoulders.

“Thanks,” he murmured.

“No problem.”

Geralt’s scent wafted up from the jacket and hit Jaskier’s nose like a punch. Suddenly he was thrown three years back.

* three years ago *

“You slept with Yennefer?!” Jaskier demanded incredulously. 

Geralt shrugged. “What of it? You sleep with someone new every week. We used protection.”

“That–that isn’t–I mean I should hope so, Geralt, but that isn’t the issue.”

Geralt scowled at him. “What exactly is the issue, Jaskier?”

“Theissue is–” Jaskier paused. The issue is that I’m in love with you. But he couldn’t say that. They were strictly friends with benefits, he had no claim on Geralt, no say in who else he slept with, as long as they were following the rules set out and communicating. “The issue is that you have a crush on her, and you’ve been spending all your free time with her lately, and, so, you can’t just sleep with her like it’s nothing!”

Geralt furrowed his brow further. “Why the hell not?”

“Aha! So you don’t deny it!”

“Why should I? And what does it matter to you?”

“Well, Geralt, as your best friend–”

“You’re not my best friend.”

Jaskier sputtered. “Oh! Really!”

“Really.” Geralt crossed his arms, feeling belligerent. 

“Well, do tell, Geralt, what are we, then?”

“Fuck buddies.”

“And, and that’s it, then? Just a quick shag when you’ve got an itch to scratch?”

“Yes?”

“Right, well, what a fool I’ve been, hmm? Bringing you soup when you’re sick, and helping with gum-in-hair emergencies–”

“It was yourgum,” Geralt interrupted.

Jaskier continued like he hadn’t heard him. “And coming over when you’re moping and depressed to watch horror movies, and gods, well, once a fool, always a fool, hmm?”

“Oh,fuck off, Jaskier.”

Jaskier reeled back as if he’d been hit. So this was it, then. Three years of pining and caring, some mind-blowing sex, and he was going to be left by the wayside for a gorgeous, purple-eyed witch. Three years of being in love with the man he counted as his best friend, and he didn’t even rank above fuck buddy. It seemed he hadn’t gotten any smarter with age, but he knew enough to cut his losses. He knew when he wasn’t wanted, knew better than to stay past that point. 

“Right! Well, maybe I will! Just a fuck buddy, no great loss! I hope you and Yennefer are very happy together.”

He didn’t, really. He hoped they tore each-other apart. He knew that was awful. He loved Geralt, and he had admired Yennefer. But he was miserable, and bitter, and he truly couldn’t stand the thought of them being happy together. 

“Maybe we will be,” Geralt spat back, arms crossed, looking disgusted and vicious. Well. That was that, then.

“See you around, Geralt.”

Jaskier had stormed out of Geralt’s apartment, down towards the street, then stopped and dropped down onto the front steps, wondering what the fuck he had just done. Sure, he was sleeping with plenty of people, but no-one else really meant anything. Geralt was the only constant, the only one that mattered. Or he had been. Jaskier considered going back up, but what would he say? No. He wasn’t that pathetic. Three years was enough. Time to cut his losses. He sighed and pulled himself up, trudging away towards the bus stop.

* the gala *

“I miss you,” Geralt whispered.

“What?” Jaskier asked, startled out of his reminiscing. 

Geralt wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I know I have no right, but I miss you. I fucked up. You… I didn’t realize what I had, how I felt for you, until you were gone. I still wake up sometimes, reaching for you…”

Jaskier stared at him, wide-eyed and stunned. 

Geralt cursed under his breath. “I know it’s too late. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I took you for granted.”

Jaskier stared at him for another moment. “Is this because no-one brings you soup when you’re sick now?” He gave a wry smile, but his eyes stayed sad.

Geralt chuckled. “No.”

“Yenna do that for you now?”

“No.”

“Hmm.” Jaskier fiddled with a button on the jacket. “What if you weren’t too late?”

“What?”

“What if you weren’t too late? What would that mean? What would you be hoping for?”

“Another chance? To try again, to do it right.”

Jaskier mulled that over in silence for a minute. 

“It was about you. The song,” he murmured.

“I know.”

“They both were. Well, they all are, really. Pathetic, after three years.” Jaskier looked up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly.

“Not pathetic, but more than I deserve.” Geralt rolled his shoulders. “I think this is why I’m here. Why we’re both here, really. No offense. Yen does love your music, but–”

“No, you’re right. I was pretty sure it wasn’t just a gig. Can’t say I really expected this, though.”

“Is it? Too late, that is.”

Jaskier’s lips twitched upwards. “My love a beacon in the night. My words will be your light, to carry you to me,” he whispered softly.

“Is love alive?” Geralt asked quietly back.

“It might be, under all the snow.” Jaskier looked at him with shining eyes, then took a tentative step forwards, which Geralt matched. 

“Can I…?” Geralt asked, reaching his arms out slowly. Jaskier sucked in a shaky breath, then stepped into his embrace. Geralt pulled him in, holding him close, squeezing when the emotions overwhelmed him. Jaskier’s breath grew ragged and he buried his face in Geralt’s neck, damp lashes pressed against warm skin.

“Where have you been for three years?” Jaskier demanded fiercely, not removing his face from Geralt’s neck.

“Wallowing in my stupidity. I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.”

Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt, gripping his fingers into the back of his shirt.

“It was always only you, for me. You were the only one that mattered.”

“I didn’t know what I had until I lost it. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Jaskier.” Geralt buried his face in Jaskier’s hair, breathing in the still-familiar scent, grounding himself. 

“If we try again… If you hurt me again, I’ll… well, I’ll tell Yennefer, and she’ll do something terrible to you!”

Geralt chuckled into his hair. “I can agree to those terms.”

Jaskier started to pull back a touch when his phone buzzed in his pocket, jarring him back to reality. He pulled it out of his pocket and checked the screen.

“I have to be back out there in a few minutes,” he said, tapping off the alarm, pulling out of Geralt’s arms and wiping at his eyes. “Do you have plans at midnight?” he asked with a wobbly smile.

“I’m here and available,” Geralt rumbled.

“Lovely. Come up and find me at the end of my set?”

“It’s a date.”

“Isit?”

“If you like.”

Jaskier cocked his head. “Maybe I do. I’ll see you soon, Geralt.”

“Sure.” Geralt watched him walk to the doors, making no move to retrieve his jacket. He hoped not to get it back until Yen demanded it. “And Jask,” he called out as the other reached for the door.

“Yeah?” Jaskier asked as he turned back.

“I listened to all your songs. They’re good.”

“Thank you. I’d hoped you might.”

“It was…nice, to still hear your voice.”

Jaskier gave him a lopsided smile. “Stop making me soppy, I have to go perform.”

Geralt smirked. “My apologies. I’ll save the rest for later then.”

“There’s more?!”

Geralt shrugged with a smile, eyes gone soft.

“Til later then.”

“Til later.”

Further into the night, the countdown found them at the edge of the crowd, by the side of the stage. Jaskier’s face was flushed from performing, hair slightly sweaty, yet still managing to look artfully tousled. Geralt’s shirtsleeves were rolled up, his jacket stashed back with Jaskier’s things.

“Five!”

“I choose you, Jaskier. If you’ll have me.”

“Four!”

Jaskier cocked his head. “All of you?”

“Three!”

“All yours. I can’t promise perfection, but–”

“Two!”

“I’ll try to show how much you mean to me–”

“One!”

“Every day–”

Jaskier grabbed his collar and yanked him in, pressing a fierce kiss to his lips. It tasted like champagne, yearning, and hope.

Neither of them was aware of Yennefer, a ways behind them, smiling like the cat that got the cream.

-

Thanks to @lohrendrell&@veritasrose for beta’ing/helping me nitpick

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