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As a general rule, Geralt Rivia was not one for parties. He didn’t like to attend, and he certainly didn’t like to throw them himself. Geralt’s childhood, spent sequestered in Kaer Morhen Hall to the north with a widowed father and two rambunctious younger brothers, had been an insular one and parties seemed a useless thing. Why take the time to dress up and make frivolous small talk with people who had no interest in saying anything of substance? Not to mention all the dancing.
In the years since, Geralt’s opinion hadn’t wavered. His brothers, both of a more affable nature than he, had no problem blending into the crowd. Eskel had the unique ability to strike up a warm conversation with anyone, whether he knew them or not, and Lambert, while a tad prickly, could always be counted on to entertain. Even their father, Vesemir, remained politely sociable and was known for his gruff congeniality. Geralt, however, didn’t care much for the opinions of others. He often disregarded social convention and made himself scarce on the rare occasions he found himself in attendance at such a gathering.
Tonight, however, was different. Rather than tucking himself away in the smoking room or sneaking off to wander the back terrace, Geralt found himself slowly moving through the wide, crowded rooms of Lettenhove Park. To any watching, he would appear aimless, simply strolling amid the guests and enjoying the ball. In truth, Geralt was searching for someone, a particular young man he had not seen in nearly a month and who remained the entire reason he attended this party in the first place.
“Ah, Mr. Rivia! So wonderful to see you!”
Geralt bit back an annoyed sigh and put his search of the parlor on hold to face the woman who’d spoken. Mrs. Walsham was older in years, her husband a vague acquaintance of Geralt’s father. She was a notorious gossip and delighted in ensnaring unwary passersby under the guise of polite conversation. Geralt was always careful to avoid her when he could, but he’d been distracted and hadn’t noticed her sudden approach.
“You as well, Mrs. Walsham,” he replied after a moment, desperately hoping for an excuse out of this conversation. Mrs. Walsham stepped closer with a wide, anticipatory smile.
“How are you enjoying the ball?” the woman asked. “The Pankratz’s throw such lovely parties! You’ve been to Lettenhove before, surely?”
“Once or twice,” Geralt lied, thinking of all the times he’d crept through the sprawling gardens behind the great house, all the hidden side entrances he was aware of only because he’d used them in the dead of night, after the family and the servants had gone to bed. “The ball is quite something.”
“Indeed!” Mrs. Walsham exclaimed. “You are well acquainted with Mr. Julian Pankratz, are you not? I have heard this party is in his honor, to celebrate his return from overseas, though I could not say why he has been gone for so long.”
Geralt fought against the urge to roll his eyes at such a blatant attempt to cajole rumors from him.
“I believe it was just an artistic tour of the continent,” he said, keeping to the story Jaskier himself had come up with to hide his true reason for his time away. Geralt wouldn’t give up Jaskier’s secrets to anyone, and most certainly not to this woman. Rather than elaborating, as she so clearly desired him to do, he stole a glance back into the crowd. Before he could extricate himself from the woman’s clutches, he felt a hand clap his shoulder as someone else stepped in beside him.
“You’re looking quite lovely this evening, Mrs. Walsham!”
Geralt turned to stare at his youngest brother. Lambert never sounded so happy to see anyone, let alone the gossip hound of Redania County. Mrs. Walsham’s delighted titter was lost on him as he felt Lambert discreetly slide a small square of paper into his hand. Geralt knew better than to look; he simply pocketed the note, suddenly understanding his brother’s strange behavior.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Geralt cut in, “I’ve just remembered I’m engaged for the next dance.” Without waiting for a proper response, Geralt gave Mrs. Walsham a polite nod and left his brother with a look that promised recompense before striding away. In a quiet corner of the mostly empty entrance hall, Geralt pulled out the note and smiled down at the familiar looping script.
second music room, xx J
The second music room was secluded away on the house’s third floor, far from main wing. It wasn’t as ostentatious as the first-floor music room, which served its purpose in being mostly ornamental. The second music room was built more for function, though only one member of the house made frequent use of it.
Geralt entered the room with footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. The space was shrouded in darkness, the only light coming from the fireplace and the open windows. Staring out into the night was a man, dressed in his usual expensive finery. The wind carded gentle fingers through his short, dark hair and the soft light of the moon gave him an almost ethereal glow. The man turned at the sound of the door clicking shut and his face, lit by the crackling fire, broke into a bright smile.
“Geralt, beloved,” Jaskier said, and then laughed as Geralt purposefully strode across the room to gather his lover into his arms. Geralt buried his face into Jaskier’s neck and felt a warm hand cradle the back of his head.
“I’ve missed you,” Geralt murmured.
“It’s only been a month, dear heart,” Jaskier replied, just as soft. Geralt could hear the smile in his words, as if he weren’t as equally bereft at their time apart. After a few moments of contented silence, Geralt lifted his head to gaze at his love and found himself lost in the clear blue of Jaskier’s eyes. Even in the shadows of the darkened room, those eyes still seemed to shimmer like distant stars and Geralt’s heart stuttered at the sight.
A month was far too long to be apart. He had missed Jaskier like a physical ache in his chest. At his most lonesome, he would recall all the little details that made up Julian Alfred Pankratz, from the deliberate fall of hair across his forehead to his crooked, mischievous smile. Geralt thought of Jaskier’s clever fingers, just as skilled at teasing out pleasured sighs as they were at creating breathtaking melodies. Jaskier was quick with a joke and offered honeyed endearments with every other breath and Geralt was certain he would never love another as he did this man.
Jaskier’s smile softened, as if seeing Geralt’s thoughts reflected in his expression. He brushed his fingertips across Geralt’s jaw and gently cupped his face. Geralt let his eyes flutter shut as Jaskier pulled him into a kiss and it was as if some essential part of the world suddenly slid back into place. This truly was where he was meant to be, held in Jaskier’s arms as if the Earth existed just for them.
Lithe fingers deftly undid the ribbon holding back Geralt’s hair before tangling themselves in the soft waves. Leaning into the kiss, Geralt ran his hands down the trim sides of Jaskier's unbuttoned evening jacket before slipping inside, pressing his fingers into the colorful silk waistcoat underneath. He grasped Jaskier’s waist, pulling him closer, and felt Jaskier’s answering sigh muffled against his lips.
In the quiet of the room, distant music drifted in through the open window from the ballroom below. Geralt broke the kiss, smiling faintly as Jaskier let out a small noise in protest.
“Dance with me?”
Jaskier nodded, his expression nothing short of besotted. Geralt led him to the center of the room and positioned him for a traditional waltz; Jaskier’s left hand on his waist, his own left hand on Jaskier’s shoulder, and their free hands gently tangled together. There was no complaint from either when Jaskier stepped entirely too close than what could be considered respectable in a waltz and rested their clasped hands on Geralt’s chest.
The dance was slow, hardly a dance at all, but neither man minded. Geralt leaned in for another soft kiss, savoring everything about this moment and the man he shared it with. There were many things they could discuss. Jaskier surely had much to tell him about his trip overseas. Though not much had happened in his absence, Geralt certainly had some stories of his own to share. He knew that it would come later. But that could all wait. For now, they were content to exist in comfortable silence together.