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Geralt’s head is pounding so hard he can hardly see, and his arms and legs are so sore he thinks they’re on the brink of falling off, and Geralt can’t remember a time he’s felt this horrid.
Jaskier is blessedly quiet walking next to him, but the worried looks he keeps throwing him are almost worse than his insistent rambling.
Geralt eventually finds a satisfactory enough place to stop and sleep for the night, if he can even manage to fall asleep with the nonstop pulsing he can feel in his skull. Apparently getting thrown around and hit enough times in the head by monsters eventually took a toll on you, who would've guessed .
He ties Roach to a tree and pets her snout, and turns to start the beginnings of a fire. Every sound is grating to his ears, from the sound of animals scurrying in the woods to the sound of the wind, everything too loud on his over sensitive ears. Even smells are starting to make his head hurt worse, and Geralt has to keep blinking to clear his vision of the black that keeps trying to take over.
He finally starts the fire after a few curses and failed attempts and he falls backward onto a log, too tired and too hurting to care about anything else. He almost forgets Jaskier is even there until he settles down next to him, and he’s so uncharacteristically quiet that Geralt almost wishes that he would jump into a conversation and prattle on about nothing if only to stop the nervous feeling Geralt gets in his chest when the bard is silent.
“Are you okay?” Jaskier asks eventually, and his voice is soft and gentle and kind, like he actually cares about his well being.
Geralt grits his teeth and says, “I’m fine.”
“You know, you’re not the best liar.” Jaskier says, and when Geralt looks at him Jaskier tries for a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I’ll be fine soon then.” Geralt amends, and he turns away and closes his eyes, even the small light coming from the fire seeming too much at the moment.
Jaskier huffs what sounds like an exasperated sigh, like Geralt’s the one being ridiculous, like he’s the one caring about a Witcher of all people.
“Is it a headache?” Jaskier asks, does not even let Geralt answer before he’s continuing, “I bet it’s worse with all your weird witchy senses, isn’t it?” Jaskier’s voice is still soft and quiet and Geralt really doesn’t hate it, and finds that his head doesn’t throb after every word Jaskier says.
Geralt hums, but he doesn’t bother to open his eyes. So, when Jaskier reaches out and touches his temple he jerks away so hard he swears that he can feel his brain rattle from where it resides inside his skull.
“What the hell–” Geralt hisses, involuntarily flinches at the sound of his own voice and feels another painful rattle in his head.
“Sorry.” Jaskier whispers, his big blue eyes looking genuinely upset and Geralt sighs and wishes Jaskier would stop doing that, looking all soft and innocent and sad.
“It’s fine.” He grumbles, and Jaskier smiles just a bit and Geralt remembers just how weak he is for his bard.
Jaskier holds his hands out again, “Okay, I’m going to touch you now so please don’t violently move away this time.”
Geralt looks at him in suspicion, narrows his eyes until Jaskier laughs breathily.
“I am trying to help, so if you’d like to stop being all broody I can try to ease the pain.”
Geralt watches him for a moment longer, tries to work out why Jaskier could possibly want to help him , and eventually chalks it up to a Jaskier wanting to make sure the person that’s keeping him from getting his ass eaten by a monster is in good enough health to properly protect him.
Geralt leans slightly forward and says, “Fine.”
Jaskier smiles and Geralt absolutely does not feel a flutter in his chest because of it. Jaskier reaches out again, and he places his fingers on Geralt’s temples and his thumbs on his cheekbones. Jaskier simply begins to rub and massage there, and his hands are cold and soft and Geralt’s eyes slip closed because it feels good . It feels unreasonably good and Geralt leans even farther forward, as if it could get Jaskier to touch him more.
“My mother used to do this for me, when I got headaches.” Jaskier murmurs, his voice quiet and soft, “I was a bit clumsy as a child, still am now I’m sure you’d say.” Jaskier chuckles and Geralt can feel the puff of his breath against his face, “I hit my head a lot, and this would make me feel better. Not sure how well it works on Witchers but–”
“Works just fine.” Geralt mumbles, and his head splitting headache has dulled to a barely there throb under Jaskier’s fingers.
“You’re much softer like this.” Jaskier says after a moment, and Geralt can hear the smile in his voice even though can’t see it, “You’re hardly as scary as everyone says you are.”
“I am scary.” Geralt mumbles, a half hearted protest.
“Of course, you’re very frightening right now, I’m shaking in my boots, Geralt.” Jaskier laughs again, and he slides his hands down to cup Geralt’s jaw. His thumbs rub soothingly over his cheeks and Geralt rumbles deep in his chest, a pleased noise that slips out accidentally.
“I take it you feel better, then?” Jaskier says, and he sounds far too proud of himself.
Geralt hums and leans into Jaskier’s hand, cold against his heated skin. Geralt unconsciously turns his nose into Jaskier’s palm and sniffs, and although it’s not the first time he’s ever smelled Jaskier, he’s never smelled Jaskier’s skin so close. Jaskier always smells soft and warm, like a forest after rain, and fresh pine. Jaskier always smells nice, especially under all the perfume and lotion, just his skin, his own natural scent.
Geralt feels Jaskier’s finger twitch against his face before Jaskier exclaims, “Did you just smell me?”
Geralt opens his eyes and pulls out of Jaskier’s hand a bit even if he doesn’t really want to, “No.” He lies, and it’s an obvious one, but Geralt isn’t going to outright admit to it.
“You did!” And Geralt halfway expects him to pull away in disgust, because Geralt isn’t exactly well versed in human etiquette but he does believe that scenting each other isn’t exactly normal to them.
Instead, Jaskier smiles and he looks terribly amused by the whole thing, “How do I smell?” He asks, and of course Jaskier’s first reaction is to immediately fish for a compliment.
Like fresh pine and rain and soft earth and warm, is what he thinks, but what he does say is, “You smell like shit and cheap perfume.”
Jaskier scoffs, “Of course you’d say that, how presumptuous of me to think you’d actually be nice .” Jaskier pouts, but he rubs absentminded circles against Geralt’s cheeks and it’s all rather distracting.
“Are you done touching me?” Geralt grumbles, because he doesn’t know how to say I’d like you to never stop touching me like this, like no one else ever has.
Jaskier seems to startle and he pulls his hands away, “Ah, yes, now that you feel better.” Jaskier clears his throat, fiddles with his finger in a rare gesture of nervousness.
Jaskier almost looks sad, disappointed maybe, and Geralt must be going soft because he grabs hold of Jaskier’s arms and tugs him forward. Jaskier is light enough that Geralt can easily pull him into his lap without any struggle.
“Geralt–” Jaskier squeaks, grabs hold of Geralt’s shoulders and sucks in a surprised breath.
“Shut up.” Geralt says, already quite embarrassed and nowhere near ready to have a conversation about feelings right now, so he tucks his face into Jaskier’s collarbone to avoid looking at him.
Jaskier’s hands find Geralt’s hair and they gently card through the grey strands and Jaskier whispers, “Okay.”
Jaskier presses a soft kiss to the top of Geralt’s head, gentle and everything Geralt doesn’t deserve, but in this moment he’s just enough and Jaskier’s warm against him and he’s soft and he smells like something close to what he can call home.
They eventually roll over into a sleeping position and Geralt does not let go of Jaskier and Jaskier does not push him away.
When they wake in the morning Jaskier smiles at him and Geralt knows that there will never be a day that he does not love him.