Archive of Our Own

Geralt of Rivia once mistook a monster for a certain Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz, known to all as Jaskier, the wandering bard. That’s how distracting, how completely irritating, he finds the man.

It's his own fault of course. Vesemir would be deeply ashamed. His first clue should have been that the aforementioned bard was no longer running his everlasting mouth off in an ungodly manner. Jaskier simply entered the cave quietly, moving at a fast pace that was quite eerie when Geralt had already told him to bloody well wait outside. But that was nothing new. Jaskier not listening to him. One moment Geralt was alone in the cave, sword drawn, body tense, the next Jaskier was by his side.

He hadn’t heard him approach, or inhaled his familiar summery scent which should have been a sign.

Geralt was hesitant to scold him, not wanting to make any sounds that would draw attention to their presence. He merely fixed Jaskier with with his standard death glare even though the bard was somewhat immune to its effect. Jaskier merely calmly gazed back at him in response with piercing blue eyes - not speaking at all. It was enough to chill the blood.

His second clue was that his unshakable companion was suddenly, inexplicably intent on seducing the hell out of him, rather aggressively, even by his standards.

It was all very distracting.

A beast was rumoured to be terrorising these parts. The locals had scrounged together enough coin to hire Geralt’s services (at a reduced price). Bodies had began to pile up, townsfolk with their heart’s removed. Geralt had suspected a sleindenhag given the proximity of the cave and aforementioned heart removal. But the lack of bones and unfamiliar scent of the creature had raised doubts in his mind. This was something else.

And as for Jaskier…

The bard was all over him. The shock of such a sudden attack was the only reason he let out a most undignified noise such as: “mmmffff!” He had launched himself at Geralt with the same uncharacteristic speed and gracefulness as before. Jaskier’s body was suddenly a warm line pressed against his. His hands were in Geralt’s hair holding him close. His mouth was an insistent, damp pressure against his lips, moving sinuously in a way that wasn’t entirely unappealing.

If it wasn’t for the local heart removing monster in the vicinity this would have definitely been something worth exploring. As it were, Geralt was forced to give him a hard shove backwards to extract his face (and mouth) from Jaskier’s grasp.

“What the fuck are you doing, Jaskier?” He growled, gripping his sword tightly in reflex as though that could fend off his own unexpected desires.

This wasn’t something they did. Maybe it was something Jaskier did but not with him. Never with him. Geralt has lost count of how many times he’s had to watch Jaskier sidle off for a quick tumble with the local strumpet/barmaid/barman/teacher/florist/singer/elder woman/healer/stableboy…He’s an equal opportunist. But never with a Witcher.

Until now apparently. When they’re in mortal peril.

Instead of answering, Jaskier merely gave Geralt a heavy lidded look and smiled slowly as he took a step closer. It was his mischievous smile. The one he used just before swiping the last pastry or when he’s about to approach a conquest who should be off limits. And Geralt will be damned if it doesn’t send a bolt of pure lust straight through his body.

That’s new too…

Not that he hasn’t idly thought about it from time to time. He has eyes after all. Jaskier is gorgeous. Surprisingly ripped under those garish outfits and actually not terrible company. But therein lies the problem. For all his complaining about Jaskier’s singing, Jaskier’s non stop talking and Jaskier in general, he actually rather likes having the bard around. He makes him smile, secretly, when no one is looking. Jaskier has never looked at him in fear or horror, but always with warmth, fondness and acceptance and that is… Well, that is everything. Certainly not worth risking their dynamic with messy sexual politics. Look how well that worked out with Yen.

But this was something else.

The bard stalked closer. At some point he had apparently managed to lose his doublet and his white shirt was open at the neck leaving just the right amount of tempting skin on show, a teasing hint of the firm planes of his chest. His hair was rumpled, cheeks flushed and eyes shining in the darkness. He looked just like what he’s always been: trouble. And in that moment, Geralt couldn’t want him any more.

But there was something off. All Geralt could smell was the dampness of the cave, the metallic, earthy scent of the unseen creature he had been tracking. Jaskier’s breathing was steady even as his heart beat an erratic rhythm that was nothing like his usual relaxed pace, even when being chased by a monster and -

“See with your heart.” Jaskier said softly and it was definitely Jaskier. What had he been thinking? Of course it was Jaskier. With his smiles, talented hands and open expressions. Geralt felt his shoulders relax sightly. He knew there was something he was meant to be doing but right now nothing felt more important than Jaskier’s eyes, Jaskier’s body.

His speed was uncanny as he slid back into Geralt’s orbit, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist and drawing closer.

“Jaskier -”

“Ssssh…”

And being shushed by the bard was such parallel world levels of weird that his mind actually went blank for a moment. Certainly long enough for Jaskier to exploit the situation and land a kiss on his lips again, this time with tongue. And it was so unexpected, the slide of heat, the taste of Jaskier, that his carefully built walls of resistance crumpled in an instant. His sword hit the floor with a clang, and he wrapped his arms around the smaller man and pressed him back against the cave wall with a growl, briefly lifting him off his feet in the process.

He felt Jaskier’s pleased hum rather than heard it and it made his temperature soar, situation forgotten in a moment. He cursed his armour for getting in the way. He needed to feel skin on skin…

“Jaskier…” He breathed like a prayer, sliding his hands under his shirt and clenching him tighter.

A small part of his mind knew that this was wrong. But that part was being stamped out in a blaze of desire. Finally, he had the bard in his arms. He was so warm, skin smooth and perfect, unmarred unlike his own. He wanted to protect him. He wanted him naked on the floor in the next ten seconds or he’d lose his mind.

Fortunately, he did not get ten seconds because Jaskier, the real Jaskier, was crying out in shock at the cave’s entrance.

“Melitele’s ever loving arse! What in the name of gods are you doing?”

Geralt pulled back just in time to catch an eyeful of the true creature that most certainly was not Jaskier. This imposter had fangs for starters, rotting flesh and claws like talons that were currently trying to rip through his armour and tear out his heart.

Well, shit.

And the slime…

It was easy after that. With the spell broken he shoved the creature away and rolled for his sword. All the while Jaskier, the real Jaskier, kept up a steady stream of commentary that was decidedly most unhelpful.

“To your left! Ooh, duck Geralt! That’s right, I think you got it! Take that you hideous beastie. That’ll teach you to slime all over my best friend!”

“Jaskier. Be quiet!”

“Ooh sorry.”

It was the shame that hurt the most.

He made short work of the monster, pride driving him on, spurring his rage. He had never been tricked like that. Never felt so vulnerable. Once the beast was decapitated (fortunately no longer wearing Jaskier’s face, that would be a bit awkward) and Geralt was covered in green blood, he hobbled out of the cave and into Jaskier’s care.

The bard put his arm around Geralt despite it being completely unnecessary as the only thing wounded was Geralt’s pride. He decided to allow it, leaning into the comforting warmth of his friend. It had been a long day after all.

He should know better. Wanting Jaskier nearly cost him dearly.

“Are you injured?”

Geralt grunted in response. He tried to keep his steps natural as they made their way across the clearing, towards the forrest where a tethered Roach was waiting.

“You were absolutely brilliant, that goes without saying and yet I feel I must say it. Or sing it…The White Wolf swings his mighty sword, the heathen slimes upon the world! What was that thing anyway? And are we ever going to talk about that very awkward little moment I happened to witness back there?”

Geralt froze.

“Geralt. You know you can tell me absolutely anything and I would never judge you.” Jaskier withdrew, pulling away slightly so he could look Geralt in the eyes. He placed his hands gently on his shoulders as if afraid of getting sucker punched should he move too quickly. It had happened before so Geralt couldn’t blame him for that. Geralt couldn’t feel his touch through his armour, and cursed himself for wishing he could.

He wondered how he could have ever mistaken the cave siren for Jaskier. He carried with him the scent of summer, of a fresh breeze and cut grass, with a dash of sweet cider and the natural warmth of a clean, male body. His doublet was a shade of sky blue that only made his eyes look brighter. Jaskier’s expression was kinder, filled with concern as he took a deep breath as though bracing himself for a terrible truth. He always could read the bard like a book.

“Were you, or were you not, making out with the slime monster?”

Geralt blinked a few times before breathing a sigh of relief. He tried not to smile at the way it made Jaskier fidget all indignantly.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He barked out. So he hadn’t seen the illusion! A small mercy.

“Now far be it for me to pass judgement on the romantic conquests of my fellow man. And of course, I know very little of the amorous intent of Witchers. I only have Yennefer to go on so the slime monster could actually be an improvement for all I know -”

“Jaskier. Get to the point or stop talking.”

Jaskier mimed locking his lips shut with an invisible key. Which lasted all of five seconds of course.

“Then what exactly were you doing with the monster? Because you looked pretty snuggly wuggly, and again, no judgement on my part.” He held his hands up.

“Jealous?” Geralt muttered before increasing his pace, leaving Jaskier gawping with an undignified expression.

The bard soon caught up and began circling him like an annoying child, practically clapping with glee. “My dear Geralt, did the Continent crack open? Is this truly the end? Did you happen to make a joke? Catch me, I feel faint!” And to his horror, Jaskier did indeed fake a swoon causing Geralt to steady him on instinct. It may have had the unfortunate side effect of causing the bagged head to make contact with Jaskier’s side, but the bard was clearly far too used to such treatment to make a fuss about it.

It was too soon after his encounter with fake-Jaskier. He remembered how good the other man felt pressed against him in the dark. He stared at him a beat too long, taking in his rosy complexion, the sweep of his lashes, the curve of his lips as he threw back his head and laughed, exposing the soft skin of his throat.

Not real.

He steered the other man firmly away by the shoulders, much to his wide eyed confusion.

“Okaaaay…” Jaskier said as Geralt stormed towards Roach. “So you really were cosying up to it? Seriously?”

“I was dispatching it.”

“Hmm…” Jaskier’s thoughtful silences were much more disturbing than his endless prattling.

“Jaskier, drop it. I’m tired.”

“You could certainly do with a nap. And a bath first.”

Geralt sighed. “I want what I am owed.” In short, the other half of his paltry payment.

He heard Jaskier’s resigned sigh. “Where the Witcher goes, so goes my nation. Lead on, slime covered one. To the alderman’s chambers where your reward awaits.”

He decided that since Jaskier clearly didn’t actually need another participant to keep a conversation going, he could walk back to town.

____

Geralt could admit it. He does get some satisfaction out of throwing down the odd severed head onto a desk or two. Especially when the desk dweller who hired him had previously looked at him like he was something stuck on the bottom of his shoe.

The alderman nearly jumped out of his seat then promptly went a delicate shade of green. There was also comfort in knowing that someday, Jaskier would probably write something unflattering about the man in song form. Probably just a throwaway line. It was satisfying although he would never let Jaskier know it.

“My coin.” Geralt growled. The head dripped.

The alderman didn’t so much as toss a coin, more like hurled a bag at him with unnecessary force from a shaky hand. Geralt plucked it out of the air with ease. “Please - take it! Take it.”

“Hm.” Geralt didn’t bother to count the amount. He shoved the bag into his pocket.

“One moment…sir.” The rotund, sweaty man added after catching the force of Geralt’s glare. “Won’t you be taking the head with you?”

“You bought it.” He turned away.

“But… What even is it?” The man squeaked.

That was the question wasn’t it? He’d never seen anything quite like it. It looked like a hag, with the magics of a siren yet chose to dwell in a cave instead of a large body of water favoured by such creatures. The Continent truly was changing.

“Something new.” Geralt answered before sweeping from the room.

He stabled Roach and then headed back to the local tavern, where hopefully a plate of food, a tankard of ale and a hot bath would be waiting for him in his room. If Jaskier had done as he’d promised whilst Geralt had collected the coin. It wasn’t unheard of for Jaskier to get distracted, especially when there was attention to bask in and coin to gather. Even in a backwater town such as this, any audience, any sliver of appreciation was good enough for Jaskier. He flushed with happiness when he had a doting audience. He thrived upon it. He loved them and they him.

He was the complete opposite of Geralt. The Witcher often wondered why he stuck around for so long.

To his surprise and delight, the tavern was quiet. Geralt had half expected the patrons to have been whipped into a frenzy of singing. The air filled with songs of the White Wolf’s victorious battles, as Jaskier often put it. It made walking into a room quite awkward, although it was an improvement from having objects hurled at you. But only just.

The silence that fell on the locals as he walked in was not the usual mixture of fear and loathing. He could sense the change in the air. Could see the odd respectful nod, and awed stare. Clearly Jaskier had already worked this room, though he was nowhere in sight. Perhaps he had already gone off with someone’s wife? It was a bit early for him but not outside the realms of possibility.

Geralt made his way over to the staircase that would lead him to his room. He quite fancied an ale but sensed this room full of customers would want to become his audience and that would mean talking which was to be avoided at all costs.

“Room’s all ready for ya, Mr Witcher, sir. A nice, hot bath and everything.” The barman called out, wringing his hands together nervously.

Geralt gave him an appreciative nod, a little spooked by the respect in his tone.

________

Food and ale on his bedside table and a steaming bath tub. Jaskier had been as good as his word and he could kiss him. Again. Sort of.

He spared a thought for his absence before pouncing on the plate, devouring what was likely to be an entire roast chicken whilst perched of the edge of the world’s sorriest excuse for a bed. It looked like either Jaskier had found his own accommodation (an unlikely extra expense) or gone home with someone for the night. Perhaps the space would do them good. His lute was propped against the wall, a strangely reassuring sight.

Geralt didn’t bother with the tankard, merely drained the flagon of ale in hasty gulps, spilling some down his throat in a way that would leave Jaskier wrinkling his cute nose in disgust. He wiped his face on his sleeve and shrugged off the mental image.

Next he stripped hastily, drooping his armour and clothes to the floor before sinking into the still steaming tub of water.

Pure bliss…

He stretched out and sighed in pleasure before submerging all the way under, scraping off residual blood and slime, hearing his pulse beat slowly in his head. He broke the water’s surface and took a deep breath before propping himself into a sitting position as he pushed his hair away from his face.

See with your heart…

The creature’s words disturbed him greatly. It could have appeared to him as anything, as anyone. Yet it had chosen Jaskier’s image. Was that because of his proximity? Or was it something else? What had this monster seen when it had taken a look at him? The thought left him feeling horribly exposed.

He had never encountered such a creature on dry land before. The world was changing so fast. It was all wrong. How long would he last if he couldn’t change with it?

The door opened. He never bothered bolting it. Who would be crazy enough to break into a Witcher’s rooms?

“Jaskier.” Geralt answered his own question.

The bard looked rather merry. Skin flushed, and eyes shining in a familiar way. So he had gone for a fumble, and in record time too. Geralt wanted to submerge himself again so he wouldn’t have to hear about it, or smell the alien scent of flowers curling off his skin.

“Ah! There you are.” Jaskier said delightedly, as if he’d have any trouble locating a wet, naked, six foot tall Witcher in the centre of the room. He sounded as if Geralt was the best thing he’d ever seen. The boy could be ridiculous sometimes. Not a boy but still so naive. “I just ran into the friendliest ever washerwoman, who wanted to show me the sights and wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

How did he manage to make ‘sights’ sound filthy? Jaskier shrugged off his doublet and rolled up his sleeves as he entered the room. Geralt hummed and closed his eyes.

“But as you can see, I am all yours tonight. You truly deserve -”

“Some peace and quiet?”

“Nooooo…” Jaskier answered with great patience. His voice now coming from somewhere behind Geralt’s head. “Some pampering, you crotchety, old grouch.”

And Geralt was at a loss to explain how Jaskier dumping a bucket of hot water over his head counts as ‘pampering,’ or where he found it. Yet somehow it does feel really good, but Geralt growled anyway, keeping up the pretence.

“Now, now… Don’t grumble. You still had some monster guts in your hair.” His voice was very close to Geralt’s head but he didn’t flinch. Not even when those hands, those talented, clever hands found their way into his hair.

Geralt stiffened at first then soon sank back against the wall of the tub, letting Jaskier run his fingers through his hair, teasing out the tangles and chunks of stuff he’d rather not dwell on. Jaskier’s hands were warm and slippery with some kind of oil that smelt faintly of lavender.

“Washerwoman gave me a good deal on this stuff so don’t complain. Or growl.”

“Hmph.” His grunt came out more like a purr and he didn’t even care. His toes curled under water as Jaskier combed his fingers through his hair like it was the most natural thing in the world.

How could he complain when he was completely boneless?

Jaskier has applied balms and ointments to many of Geralt’s injuries. He’s helped hose him down after messy jobs and they’ve shared baths for practical reasons. But this casual intimacy, this tenderness, felt different. Jaskier’s fingers scratched lightly against his scalp and he chased the sensation, leaning back into his touch with a shiver.

The siren was nothing compared to the real thing. How could he have forgotten that?

“There you are.” Sighed Jaskier, right near his ear. “I knew you were a big softie really.”

And his voice was so gentle, so uncharacteristically quiet, that Geralt was instantly reminded of the other Jaskier. The monster. But that was impossible, it was gone, it was dead.

He flinched out of Jaskier’s touch, grabbed the man in an iron grip by the shoulders and dragged him to his knees, pulling him close. He cried out as he fell and Geralt had the briefest moment to catch the shocked look on his face, the first traces of hurt - still no fear, never fear - before he buried his face in the other man’s throat and took a deep breath.

Sunshine, grass, sweet cider, warmth…

It really was Jaskier.

He breathed hard and fast against the other man’s skin just to make sure, leaving the skin damp and hot to the touch. He rubbed his thumb over his pulse, pressing firmly. He could feel it spike against his lips, his breath stutter in shock. Jaskier’s hands scrabbled against his wet shoulders, struggling to find purchase.

“You unmitigated ass!” Jaskier cried out and Geralt reluctantly released him, holding his hands up in apology. “What is wrong with you? These are new trousers - suede! They’re all damp and scragged up! You’re getting me a new pair.”

Jaskier didn’t move away too far. His face was flushed and his baffled expression would have made Geralt laugh if he hadn’t felt so lost.

“I apologise. Forgive me.” Geralt said quietly.

Jaskier stayed crouching, remaining at eye level. His eyes narrowed as he studied Geralt, puzzling him out. “I know the finer rules of society are completely wasted on you. And you know I usually find your rustic manners rather charming. But generally one doesn’t pant against their friend’s neck like a slathering dog with a piece of steak. What is going on with you?”

Jaskier’s cheeks were flushed a lovely shade of pink. There were drops of water in his hair and he licked his bottom lip nervously. He was mesmerising. Geralt scoffed at such a thought. He wasn’t one of Jaskier’s adoring groupies. He really wished he wasn’t naked right now. Or rather they both should be. That would be equal.

“Come on, Geralt. Talk to me.” Jaskier leaned on the tub and rested his head on his folded arms. Still unafraid. This had the unfortunate effect of bringing him even closer.

Geralt edged away slightly. “You talk enough for the both of us.”

His eyes widened in outrage but it seemed that Jaskier would not be so easily distracted this time.

“Geralt, please? Tell me what’s wrong.” The simplicity of the request, the concern in those beautiful eyes was hard to refuse. For once Geralt decided to tell the truth. Reluctantly. With a pained sigh.

“The monster got inside my head.”

Jaskier immediately sat up straighter. “Alright… Are you okay?”

“Hm.”

“What did it do to you?”

“Made me see things.” At Jaskier’s confused expression he added: “To get close to me.”

“How?” Jaskier swallowed hard. “I mean, I imagine it would be a hard job to fool you. How exactly did it manage that?”

Geralt could hear Jaskier’s pulse racing. “By appearing as something I want."

Jaskier’s expressive eyebrows shot up in surprise before looking oddly resigned. “Ah. I see. You saw Yennefer.”

“No. I saw you.”

It was as satisfying as throwing a head on a table, more so, because Jaskier made a choking noise before falling back on his bottom. He immediately tried to scramble back into a sitting position in an overly casual manner.

The red flush went all the way to his neck now. Geralt wanted to taste it.

He knew he was being reckless but he owed Jaskier the truth. This was effecting both of them now and he needed his friend to understand. He could give him that much. Even if Jaskier did not feel the same.

“I needed to make sure you were yourself.”

“By smelling me?” It was very strangled. Geralt nodded. “What do you mean by ‘something you want’?” He could see the other man putting the pieces together and said nothing.

Again, Geralt isn’t an idiot and neither is Jaskier. He has seen the way Jaskier’s eyes run over his body when he bathes. The constant touches, the way his body instinctively curls against his in the night when they occasionally share a bedroll. Jaskier appreciates loyalty and beauty. Geralt can admit he is not unpleasing to most eyes, if they are willing to look past him being a Witcher. Jaskier has never turned away from him. Not once.

He could now.

He doesn’t.

“Geralt…” He groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You gorgeous, frustrating oaf of a man. You don’t just dump that revelation on someone then go non-verbal! What am I supposed to say to that?”

Geralt raised one eyebrow and tried to keep his face blank. “Are you at a loss for words?”

Jaskier gasped, mouth open in shock. “Are you actually laughing at me?” Jaskier’s voice had reached new octaves. It could do wonders for his singing.

“No…” Geralt answered before admitting. “It is a little amusing.”

“No. It. Isn’t!” Jaskier gritted out, before grabbing Geralt’s face and pulling him into a kiss.

It was different to the siren. It was messy for starters. Jaskier pretty much smashed his face into Geralt’s and the angle of his neck was all wrong. The Witcher had to correct their collision course with hasty kisses that traveled from the corner to the centre of Jaskier’s mouth.

Also Jaskier still wouldn’t shut up. It was kind of a relief. Especially when he punctuated each point with a kiss.

“You are so…damn…annoying!” The tub was a barrier between them but they managed quite well. Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier, dampening his shirt so it clung to his body. He kissed a line down his jaw to his throat and Jaskier shuddered against his lips. He dragged his teeth over his pulse, sucked lightly at the flesh before soothing it with a lingering kiss. There he remained, panting against his throat, steadying himself as Jaskier ran his hands through his hair, pulling lightly at the hairs of his nape in a manner he adored. How did he know that?

“What are we going to do?” Jaskier’s words buzzed against his mouth and he placed more damp kisses against his throat to get him to stop talking with little success. Though he was decidedly breathless. “We should really talk about this, right?”

And he was probably right but that still didn’t stop Geralt from growling his frustration and pulling Jaskier into the tub.

Since Jaskier’s only options were to go with it or fall over, Geralt ended up with a lapful of fuming bard.

“My trousers!” He moaned in despair.

“I’ll buy you a new pair.” And then Geralt was running his hands up and down Jaskier’s back, shirt nearly see through. He cupped his face with unusual tenderness and Jaskier’s expression went serious. His warm hands slid over Geralt’s chest, propping himself up. His thighs flexed around Geralt’s waist and it was all he could do not to buck up against him.

“We’re okay, aren’t we?” Jaskier whispered and Geralt had no answer to give him. He sensed Jaskier didn’t need one anyway. “Yeah. We’re good.”

They met in the middle and the kiss was surprisingly gentle. No one ever kissed him like this, not even his beloved Yennefer. Like he is something precious, miraculous. It’s the same way he sees Jaskier. When he greets him with a smile in the morning. How he sneaks Roach an apple when he thinks Geralt isn’t looking. When he follows him into danger and turns his jobs into songs that make the world hate him a little less. When he has the simple comforts of a bath and sustenance waiting for him. When he cards his hands through Geralt’s hair and makes him feel like everything will be okay.

“Jaskier?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

Yes. It truly is.

__________

This Jaskier was real and unpredictable.

This Jaskier kissed the sensitive skin of his wrist whilst peering up at him through his lashes in a move that was anything but shy.

This Jaskier trailed his nails over Geralt’s chest, water soothing the way, and smiled when it made him shiver.

This Jaskier tugged lightly at the hairs of his nape, used this move to pull him closer and kiss him slow and sweet. Then fierce and desperate.

This Jaskier touched every part of him he could reach, taking special care with his scars, following with his mouth as though he could kiss away the pain of the past.

This Jaskier skilfully touched him in places that made his breath catch, encouraged Geralt to do likewise. They managed as best as they could with Jaskier’s ruined, waterlogged trousers between them, grinding against each other in the tub, taking their time whilst ignoring the growing edge of desperation.

A partner laughing in bed isn’t usually a compliment but Geralt couldn’t help but smile with him as the infernal trousers foiled their attempts to get closer. That was when they knew it was time to leave the water.

The shirt was long since removed and Geralt took great pleasure in tearing off the ruined trousers, finishing the job properly.

“You brute!” Jaskier scolded, before launching himself into Geralt’s arms before he was ready. He wrapped his legs around Geralt’s waist and kissed him with great enthusiasm, their damp bodies grinding together perfectly.

It didn’t feel like the first time with Jaskier and that was the strangest thing of all.

He laid Jaskier out on the bed with care, extracting himself so he could look for the first time since the bard hadn’t given him a chance to do so a moment ago.

He’d seen him naked before but never through the perspective of someone who is allowed to touch. His body was strong, sculptured and beautiful. There was nothing boyish about him anymore except for his smile.

Geralt would be his audience tonight.

“Beautiful…” He murmured, bringing the flush back to those full cheeks. He stretched out atop him and nuzzled his throat to hide a smirk. Jaskier really did love praise, the adoration. Geralt was not the most verbal creature but for him he would try.

"Mine..." He murmured before whispering praise into his ear whilst nipping the lobe. Jaskier squirmed against him in pleasure.

He wanted to take his time but enough time, years in fact, had been wasted between them. Jaskier was so fragile, so mortal. He was exactly how he imagined he’d be; laughing, breathless, talkative. And also delightfully unpredictable.

Jaskier kissed his palm then took Geralt’s fingers into his mouth for one, long breathless moment that left him aflame. Then guided his hand between them, between his legs and opened him up together. They found another use for the lavender oil, Geralt relishing the way it made Jaskier’s eyes flutter shut, his hips buck against his tight grip.

This Jaskier was an impatient brat, which was less surprising. He alternated between bossy, gasping out orders, to sweetly begging Geralt to go faster.

“You’re trying to drive me absolutely bonkers aren’t you? Is this revenge for the song where I imply you have an ass like a pair of grapefruits? It was supposed to be a compliment.”

This Jaskier can make him laugh in bed, even as he gives said ass a thorough pawing. It seemed that Jaskier really liked that part of his anatomy. And if the way he moaned when Geralt finally stopped teasing and pushed inside of him was any indication, it wasn’t the only part he appreciated.

_________

The bed really wasn’t big enough for both of them. At least it gave him an excuse to let Jaskier sprawl out over him, boneless in his arms.

He was blissfully quiet for all of five minutes. Geralt had been determined to drive all thoughts from his mind and had succeeded with Jaskier’s legs thrown over his shoulders, pushing into him as hard as he dared, aiming for that spot that made Jaskier unable to form multiple syllables.

It was a moment he would cherish and intended to repeat a great many times.

"I used to fantasise about this, you know?”

Geralt grunted to show he was listening and then sighed because it was far too soon for Jaskier to be able to form a coherent thought.

He trailed a hand up and down his spine, stopping teasingly short of the swell of his ass.

“You were in a tower dressed like a princess. It was a flowing silver gown and your hair was elaborately braided.”

“Do I want to know this?”

“I was on a horse-”

“Don’t drag Roach into this.”

“It wasn’t Roach, don’t worry! I would never sully your beloved mare so. And anyway, as I was saying. I sneak past your guards and disapproving parents. And give you a damn good seeing to right there and then.”

“That really is a fantasy.” Geralt teased.

“Hey!“ Jaskier hit him on the pectoral. “You happen to fall madly in love with me and beg me to take you away from everything.”

Telling Jaskier to shut up has never worked so far so Geralt trailed his hand lower, caressed a shapely cheek and it had the satisfying effect of making Jaskier’s voice go all squeaky.

“It was rather embarrassing really, you’re so clingy. So true to life, I'm sure you’ll agree. You really need to - oh fuck!”

He slipped his fingers just inside, as though checking his work, slipping in and out with ease. Jaskier began to wriggle against him in a way that was most promising, his breath coming out in pants.

“Geralt.” He gasped.

“Yes?”

“I need you to stop for a minute please. I can't think.”

That was rather the idea but the polite formality of the request made Geralt reluctantly withdraw. He rolled onto his side so they were lying face to face and lazily slung an arm around Jaskier’s middle. He tried to wipe the smug expression from his own face with limited success.

“I hope that’s not how you win all your arguments.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, waited.

“That siren…”

“We don’t need to talk about the siren.” Geralt interrupted. Really they should be thanking the damn thing. If he hadn’t cut its head off. “We don’t need to talk at all.”

“You know that never works on me.” Jaskier replied cheerfully though his eyes looked thoughtful. He stroked Geralt’s calf with the sole of his foot, a kind of easy intimacy that was unfamiliar but not unwelcome. He splayed his hand over Geralt’s heart, touch warm and dear to him already. “It appeared to you whilst looking like me.”

Geralt waited, letting him finish his thoughts.

“It means that you wanted me.”

Geralt wasn’t sure if that was a question. If it was then it was a stupid one.

“Yes Jaskier. I want you.” He said in a tone that implied Jaskier was being particularly slow.

He still looked uncharacteristically serious but then broke out into one of his sunshine smiles. “Was it a better kisser than me?”

Geralt had a feeling that wasn’t what he wanted to ask. He exhaled in exasperation which would have been a laugh from anyone else.

“Are you competing with yourself, Jaskier?”

“No, I’m completing with a slimy beastie.”

“Precisely.”

The shocked noise Jaskier made was one for the ages. “You are honestly a horrible, beastly Witcher and I have no idea why I continue to associate with you.”

“Nor I.” Geralt admitted, feeling honestly quite baffled by it himself.

“Were it not for your shapely and most enticing ass I fear I may have fled years ago.”

“Shut up, Jaskier.”

“I may even write a song about it. I feel it coming. Oh twin mounds of glory, the hottest buns of man - argh Geralt!”

He knows that letting him get any further would be a colossal mistake. So rolling him over and biting him on the ass until he is choking with laughter seemed like the thing to do. Especially when it lead to other delightful activities.

And when Jaskier was dozing in his arms and Geralt wasn’t far behind, that contemplative look on Jaskier’s face returned to his mind. When Jaskier was trying to work out why the siren took his form.

He pulled Jaskier a little closer, relishing his softness, his warmth, his comforting scent. He buried his face in his hair and inhaled slowly.

“The siren told me to see with my heart.” He admitted to the sleeping Jaskier.

He didn’t imagine the way Jaskier’s hand squeezed his a little tighter.