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It would be a simple hunt they'd said, but a chance for Ciri to be around the others at Kaer Morhen for a couple of days without Geralt nearby. And of course Jasker had followed him when he left, citing a need to remind himself of first hand action, rather than second hand tales from taciturn witchers.
But now Geralt's sprawled on his back, bleeding in more places than he'd like, both swords lost in the brush and with a basilisk still with a lot of fight left snarling at him. The only good thing that passes through his mind is that Ciri's not here to see this, and Jaskier's further back into the woods with the horses so he should have a chance to run.
The basilisk rears back, preparing to lunge at him, and Geralt gathers the last of his strength for one last sign; he’ll have to time his roll perfectly to avoid being hit.
Before he can start moving there’s a meaty thunk and the hilt of a dagger appears sprouting from one it’s eyes. He doesn't hesitate as it twists to one side, leaping up to yank the dagger out and slashing across it’s throat. He immediately throws himself backwards to avoid the thrashing limbs and darts behind the nearest tree until the sounds from the clearing stop.
He gives it a few moments, both to check for any further movement and to catch his breath and assess injuries. Jaskier steps through the brush to join him, taking in the gauges in his armour with a raised eyebrow.
“Thanks, and remind me to get you some silver daggers.”
Jaskier snorts and loops an arm round his waist, carefully helping him back towards the carcass so he can take some parts for ingredients and collect his swords. Stinging pain along his left side and back starts to make itself known as his adrenaline starts to fade. None of his wounds are overly deep, but there are several long ones that ended up in the dirt when he rolled.
“You’ll get blood on your shirt.”
“It's your shirt.”
"So that's fine then?"
Jaskier hums agreeably, but there's something to his voice and stance that puts Geralt on guard, in a way he hasn't felt around the bard in years. He makes sure Geralt is steady without speaking and then heads back in the direction he came from, reappearing a moment later leading Roach and his mare.
"Are you getting slow Geralt?" The slight edge to his voice when he breaks the silence is clearer now, but it takes Geralt a moment to recognise as concern rather than anger.
"No, I just trusted Lambert when he said it was a juvenile so I didn't bother with elixirs."
"Are they still in the same place?" He's already stepping away to search through Roach's saddlebags without waiting for an answer, returning after a moment with a vial of orange liquid.
Geralt doesn't take it immediately, instead setting his blades aside and straightening. Slowly he reaches to catch Jaskier's free hand, gently pulling him close and tucking him against his chest.
"I'll be fine."
Jaskier snorts, but Geralt can feel him relaxing. "I know. It's just… been a while since I've seen you fight, and longer since I've seen you so injured."
Jaskier pulls back to press the bottle into Geralt's hand with an expectant eyebrow, not moving until he drinks it. The sharp pain immediately fades to a familiar dull throbbing and Jaskier offers him a soft smile, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. "Come on, finish up here and we can head back to Kaer Morhen."
---
Jaskier pushes him down to sit on the edge of the chair when they eventually reach Geralt's room, Ciri trailing after them looking half disgusted and half intrigued. Vesemir follows a few moments later with a pail of warm water and some fabric strips, while Jaskier gently starts to work on Geralt's bloodsoaked clothes. The older witcher raises an eyebrow at the two of them but leaves without saying anything at Geralt's nod.
It doesn't take long for Jaskier to free his shirt enough to push it off his shoulders, letting it pool round his waist as he starts to wash off the blood drying around the wounds with careful hands. Ciri hovers nearby, handing Jaskier clean rags when he needs them and rinsing the bloodstained one off as much as she can.
After a deep breath, Jaskier starts talking to her quietly, instructing her about cleaning and bandaging wounds, and Geralt finally starts relaxing at the familiar rambling.
It doesn't take long, however, for tiredness to creep in and then, slower, irritation as Jaskier insists on checking small injuries and even newer scars that they both know don't need attention. The sound of his voice, the feel of his hands, comforting a few moments ago now suddenly feel overwhelming and he screws his eyes shut, flinching away as Jaskier reaches to check a mark on his throat.
"Geralt?"
And then all he can feel is the anger that lead to him driving Jaskier away last time, now layered with a heavy amount of guilt. "Why do you care so much?"
"It's because I'm…" he pauses, biting his lip, and brushes strands of hair out of Geralt's face, then offers a soft smile, "your friend."
And Geralt collapses forward at the simple words, a puppet with its strings cut, and wraps his arms round Jaskier's waist, head resting on his belly as fingers run through his hair, gently untangling it. The tight ball in his chest loosens slightly and he doesn't react to the soft sounds of Ciri slipping out of the room.
"I'm sorry. It's been a long time since someone…" he trails off as Jaskier tugs gently on the ends of his hair in a request for him to look up. "It was a lot."
"I know, and I'm sorry too." He cups Geralt's face and strokes a thumb along his cheek, voice steady and sincere. At the witchers steady inhale and nod, Jaskier presses a kiss to his forehead, chucking. "Look at the state of us."
"Indeed."
---
Geralt steps out of the bath a few days later, deciding his wounds don’t need rewrapping, and dries off quickly before pulling on some old trousers to sleep in, tiredness slowing his movements. Jaskier’s still scribbling away at the desk; despite having his own room he has still been sleeping with Geralt since they arrived a few days ago. He comes up behind him, resting his hands on his shoulders and pressing a kiss to his neck before reaching down to remove his quill. “Come on, it's time to sleep. You can finish in the morning.”
Jaskier catches his hand before he moves away, linking their fingers as he turns, and allows Geralt to pull him to his feet. It doesn't take them long to settle into a comfortable silence, Jaskier's back pressed to his chest, hair tickling his nose, and he's almost asleep when Jaskier breaks it.
"I don't know if I've said it before but I appreciate the post Yennifer you."
Geralt blinks, surprised and suddenly fully awake. He starts to push himself up on his elbow so he can look over at Jasker, but the bard tucks their joined fingers into his chest and presses himself backwards to keep Geralt still, so he settles for a quizzical hum.
"This you. The one that sleeps with me instead of forcing yourself to the far side of the bed. The one that stopped trying to believe he didn't need to feel. I mean, I still don't like her but..." he tries to shrug.
Something settles in Geralt's throat and the next few words are a struggle to get out. "Yen had nothing to do with it." At Jaskier's disbelieving snort he gently but firmly disentangles them enough to tug the bard over to face him. "Jaskier, I watched you coughing up blood, choking on it, and I was powerless to help you. I could have lost you then."
And Jaskier’s eyes widen and he opens his mouth to speak, but when nothing comes out he just drives closer, burying his face in Geralt's neck. The witcher just tightens his arms, pressing his nose into his bard's hair and breathing in the scent of him until they fall asleep tangled together.
---
The following morning Geralt wakes to find Jaskier already back at the desk, chewing on the end of the quill as he appears to read over what he's written. The coolness of the sheets indicate he's been up a while but the sun's barely risen enough to shine through the window.
"Jaskier?" He jumps at Geralt's soft call, voice still sleep roughened. When he turns Geralt half sits up and holds out a hand in his direction in a silent request for him to return to bed.
He slowly rises to his feet to cross the room, and Geralt can't quite read the expression on his face. The last year wasn't the longest they've been apart, but he'd never felt like he'd had so much to relearn before.
His bard pauses by the side of the bed, and Geralt catches a flash of determination on his face the moment before he drops into Geralt’s lap facing him, fingers twisting together nervously in his lap.
"I was thinking about what you said last night."
Jaskier hesitantly lifts his hand to tangle in Geralt's hair and leans forward, stopping close enough that their breath mingles and Geralt does the only thing he can. He closes the gap.
He loses himself in the feel of Jaskier pressed against him and his fists tangled in his own shirt hanging off his bard's frame and the taste of his mouth and their mingled scents and the small noises he swallows and just the sense of rightness, of coming home.
Jaskier pulls back, gasping for breath through reddened lips, and Geralt shifts his arms to wrap round his waist to pull him closer, chasing the kiss.
"Yes?"
"Gods, yes."
He catches Jaskier's mouth again the instant the words are out, sliding his hands under his shirt, and feels more than hears the hitch in his breath. Without breaking the kiss he lets himself fall backwards, ending up with Jaskier now hovering on top of him, hands by Geralt's head.
There's a loud knocking and they freeze as Ciri's voice comes through the door.
Jaskier pushes himself upright to answer with a hand on his chest and Geralt follows. He can't resist trailing kisses along the hollow of his throat, skin already starting to redden from where he's dragged his stubble along it. Whatever his bard manages to say seems to satisfy Ciri, but the witcher barely hears it, too focused on the weight of Jaskier in his arms.
Geralt slides his hands down to Jaskier's thighs, pulling him closer still, and he arches up against the witcher in response. A hand one again tangles in his hair and after a moment he allows himself to be tugged back. Jaskier's panting, eyes dark, and he lifts his free hand to run his thumb along Geralt's lower lip.
He turns slightly to press a kiss to Jaskier's palm. "Good morning." Jaskier laughs, light and happy, and leans down to press another quick kiss to his lips before burying his face in Geralt’s shoulder.
A conversation will need to be had, yes, but right now all that matters is they’re safe and together, and for the first time since a mountain top and angry words he instantly regretted, Geralt lets go of everything and just allows himself to feel.