Chapter Text
Lambert surged through the crowd to find his place at the foot of the stage. “‘Scuse me, bachelor party coming through,” he explained as he went, Geralt and Eskel trailing in his wake.
Geralt cast a glance at the ‘Bad Bard’ as they approached - gods, what a name, but better than ‘Troubadong,’ he supposed. The Bard was looking back at him, and when those bright blue eyes locked onto his, he was struck.
Struck to the very bone - a slap in the face, a punch in the gut, his breath gone, his insides rearranged. “Fuck,” he breathed, then he walked straight into Lambert.
“Ow!” Lambert turned to glare at him, rubbing at his shoulder. “Hello, did you not see me?” Then he realized that no, Geralt had not seen him, and in fact had barely even noticed the collision at all.
“What the fuck?” Lambert turned back to the stage to see what Geralt was staring at. Had the stripper grown another head? Not yet, anyway, his pants were still on. Lambert chuckled at his own joke. No, it seemed Geralt was just drooling over the stripper himself.
The Bard was on his knees at the edge of the stage, gyrating his hips as he peeled his doublet back from his shoulders. There was nothing underneath, thick chest hair on full display.
The thing was, Lambert noticed, that the man was staring right back at Geralt, a lazy smile spreading across his handsome face as he tossed the jacket.
Lambert nudged Eskel. “Are you seeing this?”
Eskel was already looking back and forth between the two. “I sure am.”
Lambert thrust a dollar bill at Geralt. “Here, go stick this in his pants.”
Geralt tore his eyes away from the Manly Minstrel. “What?” He blinked at Lambert, then noticed the money he was holding out. “What?! Fuck no.”
Lambert laughed. “Dude. I don’t know shit about shit, but I do know you gotta put this dollar bill in that man’s pants right fucking now.”
Geralt looked frantically at Eskel for support, but Eskel nodded. “Yeah, you do.”
Lambert crumpled the bill into Geralt’s hand and shoved him towards the stage.
Geralt stumbled a step and then straightened up, inches from the Python Poet’s crotch. He froze, staring up at the man. The Bard grinned and ran a finger along Geralt’s shoulder and down his arm, plucking the bill from Geralt’s hand. He winked, and sprang to his feet, still holding Geralt’s gaze as he slid a hand into his pants, carefully tucking the dollar away. Then he spun away, working his way down the side of the stage.
Geralt turned and stumbled back to his brothers who were shaking with laughter.
“Fuck off,” Geralt muttered at them, but it was hard to take him too seriously with a bright red face.
“Aw, shit,” Lambert howled. “Aw, shit. Here we go.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Geralt, the whole bar knows what I’m talking about”
“I don’t-”
“You two just eye-fucked.”
“We didn’t-”
“Oh, Geralt.” Eskel patted his arm. “You did.”
A whoop from the crowd drew their attention back to the stage. The Bard had turned around and was slowly inching his pants down, revealing a glorious, tight, round ass. Geralt licked his lips, resisting the urge to fan his face.
Then with one fluid motion, the Bard ripped his pants off, tossing them high in the air. He spun back around, now clad only in a red g-string. The Python Poet indeed. Geralt felt his own python stirring when he got a look at that bulge.
When the Bard was in front of them again, Lambert went up and stuffed a whole handful of bills into his g-string. He leaned over and said something, and the Bard replied with a smile.
“What did you say?” Geralt demanded when Lambert ambled back.
“I told him to come see us after.”
Geralt made a strangled noise, but then it was only a short pause before he had to ask. “What did he say?”
“He said ‘Just try and stop me.'”
Geralt scowled to try and hide a smile.
“Look at you,” Lambert chortled. “You’re ready to have his babies.”
“Shut up,” Geralt said through gritted teeth. But then his face softened as the Bard caught his eye again.
Eskel looked at Lambert and grinned. “Never a dull moment with Pretty Boy around.”
“Let’s hear it again for the Bad Bard!” the DJ finally shouted when his performance drew to a close. The crowd roared. The man took a bow, biting his lip and giving Geralt one more long, lingering glance before he left the stage. Another man dressed like a knight bounded on. Geralt noticed the cheers for him weren’t quite as enthusiastic.
They headed back to their booth where Geralt sipped his rum, leg jittering, trying to pretend he was not staring at the backstage door.
Lambert opened his mouth to further rag on his big brother, when a blur of white fell into his lap.
Lambert’s grunt turned into a whoop of excitement when he saw he had an armful of Aiden. “Babe! What are you doing here!” He pulled his fiancé in for a wet kiss.
“My love,” Aiden said, righting himself so he was sitting in Lambert’s lap. He was out of breath. “I just missed you so much.” He had a veil dangling precariously from his head and was wearing a white dress. A pink sash proclaimed ‘Bride’.
“We’re getting married in like 16 hours, you know that, right?”
“Mmhmm,” Aiden agreed as he kissed him again.
“Where are your girls?” Eskel asked.
Aiden waved a hand towards the bar. “They were going to go get a drink and check out the strippers, those thirsty bitches.”
Lambert ran a hand up Aiden’s thigh. “I don’t think we’re supposed to see each other tonight.”
“One little visit won’t hurt…” Aiden slid his fingers around the back of Lambert’s neck and nuzzled at him.
And then, there he was, standing in front of them, the Bad Bard himself. He was wearing very short jean cut-offs and a white crop top that said ‘Respect Doesn’t Make History’ in sparkling silver letters, a green duffel bag over his shoulder. He stopped with his hands on his hips, eyes only on Geralt. “Hello, gorgeous,” he purred.
Geralt sat up straight, not sure where to look first. The man was bigger than he was expecting now that he was standing right in front of them. Tall, broad shoulders, long, lean torso with a trail of dark hair leading down… but his eyes. Oh, those eyes.
“Hi,” Geralt managed to scratch out, ignoring his brothers’ smirks.
“May I join you?” The Bard dropped his bag and curled up on the cushion next to Geralt. “My name is Jaskier,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Geralt.” He took Jaskier’s hand, overwhelmed by the man’s closeness. He smelled fresh and citrusy, like he had just showered. Geralt broke out into a sweat.
“Geralt,” Jaskier repeated, the word falling heavily off his tongue. He adjusted his grip so they were no longer shaking, just holding hands.
“Well,” Aiden said loudly after a prolonged pause. He stood up and pulled Lambert to his feet. “Let’s go find my crew.” He took hold of Eskel’s arm too and hauled them away in the direction of the bar.
Geralt barely noticed. His heart was racing. His thumb drew circles on the back of Jaskier’s hand.
“Your first time catching the show, Geralt?” Jaskier propped an elbow on the back of the booth.
Geralt nodded, watching Jaskier’s lips. He had never experienced a pull like this before. Every cell in his body was screaming to be closer to this beautiful creature.
“You’re a man of few words.” Jaskier leaned forward to murmur into Geralt’s ear. “I like that.” His breath tickled on Geralt’s cheek. Before he could pull away, Geralt swayed towards him, slotting their lips together in a soft kiss.
Jaskier made a noise of surprised pleasure, but kissed him back.
Geralt leaned back a moment later, shocked at what he had just done. “Sorry.”
“Sorry? Darling, you’re making my dreams come true.” Jaskier wiggled onto Geralt’s lap.
Geralt's hands pressed to Jaskier’s back, smooth, hard muscle. He squeezed and took another deep, dizzying breath of the man’s scent.
Jaskier ran his nose along Geralt’s jaw, then took Geralt’s lower lip between his teeth and gave it a gentle tug.
Geralt felt a growl ripping from him as he claimed Jaskier’s mouth, pushing his tongue in. His hands slid down to Jaskier’s ass.
Jaskier rocked into Geralt, his tongue probing back just as deeply.
Then, as the blood drained from his head to another area of his body, Geralt suddenly remembered where they were. He glanced over Jaskier’s shoulder, and could see Lambert leaning against the bar with Aiden, shaking his head and laughing. “I told you so,” Lambert mouthed at him.
Geralt looked back at Jaskier, who was watching with hooded eyes and parted lips.
Geralt’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket to see a text from Lambert. You’d better be on my doorstep with breakfast at 10:00. Now go fuck his brains out.
“You wanna get out of here?” Geralt rumbled, his face flushing again.
“What took you so long?” Jaskier climbed off his lap and scooped up his bag. He took Geralt’s hand with a grin, tugging him to his feet, then he turned and pulled Geralt along behind him.
Geralt gave his brothers a sheepish shrug as he slipped an arm around Jaskier’s warm waist. Then he smiled at them. Guess I shook it off.