Chapter Text
The kikimora was being a pain in the ass - as per usual.
It didn’t help that he had to attack it at night and the Cat potion can only help him see so much - he shifted the silver sword in his hands, eyes scanning for movement in the water.
Three things happened at once very quickly - the kikimora burst up from the water in front of him, Geralt swung his sword, and something moved.
Geralt flinched at the shriek that filled the swamp up, making his ears ring. The kikimora in front of him collapsed into the water in a jumble of limbs, eyes rolling up into its head. The figure standing astride its back stomped a foot against one of the legs and used it to cross to drier ground - still damp, but not in the water at least.
The sound of a throat clearing (with a poorly disguised gag) as Geralt stood with his sword hanging dumbly by his side because the kikimora’s thundering heart was very silent, while the new arrival’s heart pattered quickly in their chest.
Geralt squinted a little, the Cat potion already fading - he hadn’t had enough ingredients to make a stronger dosage which had been part of the problem in the first place, really.
Two reflective eyes were pinpoints of light in the dim moonlight of the night, and they tipped quite suddenly to the side - in a way that was distinctly not human. Geralt’s hand squeezed around the hilt of his sword--
“Witcher.” The musical voice carries easily across the swamp - it had always held so much emotion, but now --
Geralt might not be the best with social cues, but he knew warmth and anger when he heard them and together it was just odd . He wasn’t sure what to do with it.
Geralt hummed a low noise and took a step closer to--
“Jaskier?” A rasp, his senses still overwhelmed by the potions he had taken. And it that couldn’t be right - Jaskier’s eyes didn’t do that, and they certainly weren’t that high.
“Geralt.” The voice amended and quite quickly - three steps perhaps - Jaskier had closed the space between them. Geralt blinked because he had to tip his head just a bit back to look up to Jaskier’s glowing eyes.
That’s-- Geralt lifted his sword a little, finding his hand hovering by his side, unsure of himself. Because yes, that was the same sweet-rot smell that followed Jaskier like a ghost, the same smokey orange blossom-- the same fear scent (albeit muted) that Jaskier had never been able to rid himself of.
“Jaskier.” Geralt repeated, a breath, the tip of the silver sword resting against the ground. “What--?”
Jaskier hummed a pretty note and grinned - the flash of teeth revealed a set of four sharp canines (two upper ones on either side of his mouth) that Geralt didn’t remember, not very long, but clearly formidable. “Turns out repressing it like I did kept me from growing.”
Geralt stared, uncertain what to do with this new development. This was bard he had remembered as a fair few inches shorter than him and certainly not formidable in a fight - it had been endearing in some ways, the fumbling and the idle prattle--
Now, though--
Geralt’s eyes took a moment to adjust to moonlight without the help of the Cat potion and Jaskier was indeed taller than him - only perhaps by a couple of inches, but his limbs were long and graceful. Unlike the other banshees he had not hidden them under flowing silks - they were displayed in his usual style of outfit, if without the puffy sleeves. Where he had once been stumbling, he was graceful and Geralt--
“Hm.” The witcher manages, eyes tracing the open collar of his doublet up to his throat, lingering at the curve of his jaw. He had always been distracting, but this was quietly unfair Geralt decided.
“Geralt?” Jaskier asked, interrupting his wandering mind. “Are you hurt…?”
“No.” The witcher shook himself from his mind, stepping forward to slice the kikimora’s head clear of its body. He sheathed the silver sword and took to wrapping the head in rope, hefting it into his hand, speaking as he worked. “That was--”
“Impressive?” Jaskier asked, and braced his hands on his hips, head cocked again. He looked immensely proud of himself and his face was nearly entirely the same which made all the rest fade into the background a bit. “Because I certainly think so. The whole targeting thing is terribly useful, though it’s not so much like aiming. It’s more like intention. It’s kind of like magic, you know? Even though it’s still gross.” Definitely still Jaskier and Geralt’s heart felt like it beat properly for the first time in ages.
The witcher had not realized how much he had missed the sound of Jaskier’s voice - and he would never admit that out loud. Geralt rolled his eyes and grunted a soft sound in the back of his throat, rolling his shoulders as he turned on his heel.
“Geralt?” Jaskier asked, an undercurrent of panic in it.
Geralt paused, looking over his shoulder and lifting a brow.
Jaskier blinked, before he lurched forward to follow. They walked side by side back towards Roach, Jaskier keeping pace with Geralt quite easily. If Geralt tried to run, he thinks that Jaskier might be able to catch him and that shouldn’t be tempting .
+++
Geralt dropped the kikimora’s head on the desk of the alderman, watching without sympathy as the man grimaced and looked away, swallowing thickly in an effort to combat his turning stomach.
Beside him, Jaskier rocked back onto the heels of his boots, looking irrationally pleased with himself.
“Coin.” Geralt demanded, plainly, and the alderman tossed the bag at him without looking.
“Take that out of here--” The man started -
“I think not. If you demanded proof, you ought to clean it up yourself.” Jaskier said, truly drawing the man’s attention to him. He took up nearly as much space as Geralt now, though in a different way.
He-- well, Geralt didn’t think there was a better word than loomed .
Geralt grunted, gesturing towards the half-banshee bard before turning to make a beeline for the inn - stopping only to secure Roach a spot in the stable and grab a saddlebag. He wanted a bath and to sleep in a real bed - it had been a while.
“You know,” Jaskier began, his voice following Geralt as he handed over the coin to pay for their room, hardly even thinking about it as he did so. “I’m angry with you.”
Geralt made a soft noise - tipping his head just a bit to the side to indicate that he was listening.
“Truly, I am. I cannot believe you just left me there. Granted, it wasn’t the worst place to be, but--”
“It was the best place for you to be.” Geralt rumbled, interrupting the bard and watching as a woman came to fill the bath with hot water. He started working on the buckles on his armor as she did so.
Blessed silence for a moment - it didn’t last very long. “Okay, let’s rephrase it, then.” Geralt’s eyes rolled towards the ceiling and he hated that even though Jaskier was annoying Geralt wanted him there . “Maybe I didn’t want to be there. Alone, at least.” Jaskier said it quietly, more serious than his chattering before. Geralt paused, frowned, and then turned his gaze on the bard.
“Why not?” Geralt found himself truly puzzled over such a statement. His hands paused in their work to strip himself down.
He let his gaze wander over Jaskier’s expression as the bard turned his gaze to the far wall, staring a hole through it for a moment. “Did it occur to you that I didn’t know them? What if they’d changed since you met them?”
Geralt pursed his lips - “It had not been that long for a banshee. They are good, I told you--”
“ You’re good.” Jaskier said, surprise briefly flashing across his face as if he himself hadn’t expected to say it aloud. Interesting, Geralt thought, and then unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it aside. “Why didn’t you stay for a while?” There - that’s the anger he’d heard earlier. Maybe hurt burrowed into it, too.
Geralt stripped completely and stepped into the steaming tub, sliding down to sit as he thought his words over. “You didn’t need me.” He settled on - and Jaskier certainly didn’t need him now, though he supposed perhaps he’d come looking for more stories.
Jaskier frowned, his arms crossed across his chest as he watched Geralt soak.
And then he started pacing.
It reminded Geralt of the wolf he’d seen caged at a lord’s manor once - no one save for a young servant girl knew that he was the one that turned it loose. If Jaskier were more irritated, he might gnash his teeth in the same way.
Also interesting.
“Yes, well, what if I wanted you there?” Jaskier demanded, quite suddenly, stopping mid step and turning to face the tub. Geralt-- didn’t quite know what to do with that, either. It seemed that Jaskier was determined to confound him.
They stood in silence, Jaskier getting increasingly agitated. His old habit of picking at his fingers had not full fled, then, and he shifted from foot to foot.
Changed, yes, and still the same.
Geralt thought that the warmness in his chest might be called fondness .
“Then I suppose I owe you an apology.” Geralt muttered, lifting a brow at the bard as Jaskier blinked at him owlishly. “I hadn’t realized.” And he hadn’t, really. He was a witcher, if anything he thought his presence would have made Jaskier more uncomfortable and distracted him from his mentors. Geralt didn’t belong in a place like that - beautiful. Peaceful. Not necessarily quiet, but not loud like his life was.
“I-- Are you really - saying sorry?” Jaskier stumbled over the words, approaching the tub to crouch down beside it. He leaned up against the side of it, reaching a hand out to run fingertips over the water’s surface.
Geralt’s attention was momentarily taken - Jaskier always had nice hands, but they nearly looked delicate now with long fingers and slim wrists. Geralt wanted to wrap his hand around one of them. He hummed a low noise.
“Not going to repeat it, huh? You’re lucky I forgive easily.” Jaskier huffed, splashing a bit of water at Geralt’s face that made the witcher glare at him, the drops sliding off his cheek into the rest of the bath.
“I am.” Geralt finally muttered, but it sounded like someone had threatened to pull his teeth to make him do so.
+++
In the sunlight Jaskier looked less predatory than he did in the dark.
Sure, he was still different, but he looked more willowy in the light than anything else. Still elegant, but less… not-quite-right . No glowing eyes, teeth just barely peeking out in smiles. They didn’t catch the light in the same way.
He was taller, though, and Geralt couldn’t decide how he felt about it. It made it easier to cuff him upside the head while he rode on Roach, though, which Geralt took advantage of a few times over the course of the next couple of weeks.
And if any of those touches lingered just a second too long - well, neither of them spoke of it.
It really had only been little things, little changes - slow and creeping. Geralt hadn’t realized how comfortable he had become in Jaskier’s presence, not until Jaskier would lean his body against Geralt’s.
Shoulder to shoulder, back to back, back to shoulder as they sat by the fire - he invaded Geralt’s space night after night as if he was afraid that Geralt would change his mind.
The witcher wasn’t sure how to put those fears to rest, but on a particularly cold night he could hear Jaskier shifting around on his own bedroll.
Geralt let out a heavy sigh, staring out at the black sky as he contemplated. Finally, he rolled onto his side to face the dark forest. “Come here.” Muttered as he closed his eyes.
A pause, Jaskier’s breathing stopping for a second as he held it, heart skipping before rocketing into an even quicker beat than before. “What?” Whispered just as low as he’d kept his own voice.
“Come. Here.” Geralt repeated, slowly.
The only sound was the whisper of the wind through the leaves and some distant growling so far away that it was nearly nonexistent to his own ears. They’d gotten lucky with this camp.
Shuffling as Jaskier tugged himself from his bedroll, shuffling over. “Are you okay?” It made Geralt’s heart ache . Why was it that Jaskier was always concerned about him like that? With that little soft waver?
“I’m fine.” Geralt muttered, reaching for the bard blindly and tugging him to lay on the same bedroll. “Get under the furs.” He pulled his hand back and thought that would be that, but found himself surprised as Jaskier plastered his body up against the witcher’s back. Shit , he had been cold. Geralt shuddered and wrinkled his nose. “Should have said something. Did you plan to freeze to death?” He muttered, startling a little when an arm wrapped around his waist from behind.
People did not hold Geralt.
To be quite fair - Geralt was on the bulkier side and was a witcher.
It was-- odd.
Not bad .
Odd.
Geralt moved a hand cautiously to press it over the arm around his waist, finding it sliding down to Jaskier’s thin wrist to wrap around it and give a gentle squeeze.
Jaskier made a muffled desperate sound before tucking himself up against Geralt’s back, nose buried in the witcher’s hair. He was cold, but it was-- nice. Geralt understood, for once, the appeal in having someone wrap themselves around you. He blinked his eyes open to stare out at the forest for a few moments. And then a leg pressed between his own and he rumbled, finding that he relaxed back against Jaskier’s body far easier and far quicker than he would like to admit - though he couldn’t hide it from the half banshee now.
Jaskier pressed a smile into his shoulder that made Geralt’s chest go warm once more.
+++
Jaskier started hunting for him.
It had started out small - Geralt doubted that the bard even realized what he was doing. It was something they needed anyways - rabbits, usually.
Then Jaskier started coming back with deer, back legs clutched in his hands as he tugged it along after him, face twisted in a grimace at the taste of death. He tried to explain it to Geralt once, looking green - Geralt thought he had a loose understanding of what it was like.
After that came the occasional smaller monster, usually killed before Geralt could get his sword out entirely. He couldn’t decide if he was frustrated because he wasn’t getting to do his job, or if he was frustrated because it was-- appealing.
This was a Jaskier that Geralt couldn’t break.
This Jaskier was stronger, could hold his own in a battle - and that--
Geralt had encountered one too many dreams of Jaskier not being able to hold his own.
Still--
He was proved just how capable he was when Geralt was taking on a royal wyvern. The frustrating shit kept dodging his Aard sign, snapping at him. It caught the edge of his armor, ripping through leather to his arm - which made him clench his jaw.
Somehow Jaskier knew - Jaskier always knew.
It took less than moments for Jaskier to be there, yelling at the wyvern until it got close enough - which was far too close for comfort. A talon caught the edge of his arm, lighting it up in pain as he screamed and down the beast. It hadn’t died, shaking its head dizzily - not that Jaskier needed to kill it.
Geralt was there only a second later, hacking at the wyvern’s head until it was free of its body, heaving his breaths and looking at Jaskier with wide eyes.
“Idiot.” Geralt rasped, and Jaskier turned to retch on the side of the path.
He still hadn’t gotten used to the taste it seemed - though perhaps it was paired with the end of the wyvern.
The witcher was not known for his tenderness, but he still stood beside Jaskier after he’d sheathed his sword. He pulled off dirty gloves to rub at the bard’s back until he was done.
It was a testament to his adoration that he could probably bring himself to kiss Jaskier as soon as he raised his red-rimmed eyes towards him, despite the sweet-rot scent.
+++
Their first kiss didn’t happen that way.
Instead Geralt woke with Jaskier pressed along his back - it was warm despite the cold air he could feel nipping his nose. He wrinkled it in distaste. It wasn’t often that he found himself willing to stay in bed longer, but it was warm and for once he felt comfortable.
Jaskier stirred behind him slowly, nuzzling at the back of Geralt’s neck and blowing a breath there that made goosebumps break out on Geralt’s skin despite the gathered heat beneath the furs and between their bodies.
Geralt could roll away from Jaskier, could move their day forward.
He didn’t.
He wasn’t sure what possessed him to roll slightly into the half banshee’s hold, but he did, still somewhat sleep slow.
“Good morning.” Jaskier rasped, pressing a slightly chilled nose against his neck, slowly getting brave enough to nuzzle against his jaw.
“Jaskier.” Geralt’s voice was practically a wagon wheel over rocky road, scraping and bumping out of his throat. Sleep wasn’t kind to it.
Jaskier made a low noise that could rival Geralt’s rumbles.
They stayed that way for a moment, Jaskier finally lifting his head up enough that he could kiss Geralt -
And Geralt lifted his hand to cup his cheek clumsily, until Jaskier moved and suddenly Jaskier wasn’t behind him anymore but rather over him. He blinked up at him slowly, surprisingly content with the turn of events.
“Okay?” Jaskier murmured.
“Mm.” Geralt agreed and decided that perhaps, for once, they could stay under their furs for just a little while longer.