Chapter Text
The room is dark. The fire, previously burning, is now amber and ashes. The moonlight is gently making itself known across the wood floor and the white sheets. With the light it casts, Jaskier puts together bits and pieces of his surroundings: a burnt candle on the bedside table, accompanied by two empty pints of ale; near the fireplace, Geralt’s armor is hung out on a chair; by the door, Jaskier doublet on the floor, bright blue contrasting with the dull brown of the hardwood.
Jaskier sees it all with hazy double vision, his mind not quite putting the pieces together, brain not processing what is in front of him. He woke up in what appears to be the middle of the night. He feels comfortable and cozy, warm and fuzzy. As he tries to stretch and turn to the side to resume his sleep, he understands why.
Both he and Geralt are completely naked in the bed. Geralt’s head is on Jaskier’s chest, and his arms are surrounding his waist. The sheets are up to their hips and under them, their legs are intertwined. Jaskier can feel Geralt’s skin on his arms, scars and all. Even with the dim lighting, he can make out the line of Geralt’s eyebrows, his nose, his lips. He notices the rise and fall of this chest against his ribs. He can smell Geralt’s soap on his beautiful hair.
In the second Jaskier processes all of this, the memories from earlier in the evening come back to him in one big flash.
Shared breaths and warm bodies. Sweet kisses and love bites. Whispers of “Are you sure?” and “Tell me what you want”. Geralt’s voice as Jaskier has never heard it, desperate and pleading, his body giving up defences to feel completely. Jaskier remembers sliding his hands over Geralt’s broad and muscular chest, gently capturing his lips and then planting one kiss right where jaw meets neck. He remembers it all, how it was slow and sweet and loving. He remembers how, in the end, Geralt pulled him into a tight hug, spooning him and sighing, with Jaskier also falling asleep as quickly as the sun sets.
He’s now wide awake. The feelings come crashing down like waves on a rough sea and it dawns on him he probably won’t feel this way ever again. He looks at Geralt once again, hand hovering over his cheek, allowing himself to simply take in this view–Geralt, on top of him. The man stirs a bit in his arms, sighs, but doesn’t wake up.
Jaskier feels his eyelids getting heavier and heavier as the seconds pass by. He lets sleep take him as easily as it left him earlier, softly and hazily, body feeling lighter and lighter until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore
In the morning, Jaskier wakes up to an empty and cold bed, and a fully dressed Geralt going about in the room, acting like nothing happened. Jaskier is left only to wonder if what happened the night before was truly real, or just a product of his wildest dreams.
Unlike everyone must think, Jaskier has bad days, and quite a few of them. He’s better than most at hiding it, Jaskier supposes. He’s always been good at making a happy face when in reality all he wants to do is tell everyone to fuck off. He’s a happier person most of time, yes, but when days such as this come, they come with full force and threaten to bomb off what sanity Jaskier has left.
He’s tired and upset. It’s been days since he’s had proper rest and today’s crowd - at the first inn he and Geralt found earlier in the evening - isn’t the most lovely. He wants to go to bed and leave this day behind.
Then there’s Geralt. Oh, Geralt. Jaskier already feels himself falling head over heels for the man. At this point there’s really nothing he can do, is there? It’s too late to even try and avoid such a thing. To stop following him now would be foolish, considering what just one good song did to his reputation (and pockets). He can’t let Geralt go, and fighting these feelings isn’t an option either. With all the love and heartache Jaskier’s been through, he knows it to be impossible. Once you realize you have feelings for another person, nothing will give you the peace of forgetting them. It either ends in love, or heartache. Or at the very least, disappointment. Jaskier had been doing a pretty good job of ignoring his feelings… until he hadn’t.
And that’s the thing with Geralt. He always seems to surprise Jaskier. For all the talks about not wanting to get involved and not caring, Geralt is genuinely a good person, one that–deep down–seeks out to fight injustice and almost all that’s wrong in the world. He can’t stand liars and dishonest people and even though he would deny it if you’d ask him, Jaskier knows he tries every day to be a better person, and that all he longs for is acceptance, respect and love, if Jaskier dares to say. He surprises him daily with how caring he can be after only knowing Jaskier for a few years, how joyful he is in the early mornings, and how much he loves a good conversation. On the other hand, Geralt also surprises him with how cold he can be out of nowhere, how his sporadic will to be alone overpowers any and all senses of regard for the other person, how terrible he can make Jaskier feel with just a few words.
He surprises Jaskier with having been the one to initiate something intimate - and quite amazing - between the two, and then on the other hand, acting like nothing ever happened the next day.
Getting to know Geralt has been one of the most bright and joyous things to ever happen to Jaskier. Yes, he’s fairly young and easily impressionable, but Jaskier is also very perceptive and enlightened. He knows opportunities and people such as this can be scarce in one’s life. He knows how much it means to have come to know Geralt the way he does. So much that he must stop himself from feeling overly important sometimes. With the many years Geralt has lived, he probably has met a lot of people like Jaskier and made even longer lasting and deeper friendships. What Jaskier is sure of though, is that in this precise moment in time, he’s probably the closest friend Geralt has. That warms his heart to no end. It also gives him a sense of possessiveness, if he is honest with himself, and that’s definitely not good.
Last night hadn’t helped at all. Jaskier can still feel the heat of Geralt’s hands on his skin, the marks on his hips and neck. Even now Jaskier is still pondering if it was all a fever dream, a hallucination, but you can’t fake sensations like that. You can’t fake love bites and purple marks on your skin.
Jaskier knows the fleeting yet tender moment they shared the night before wasn’t purely carnal. There were so many feelings there, things unsaid, silent love confessions. After all, it didn’t come out of nowhere. Jaskier has noticed all the times Geralt looks at him a certain way, the way he smiles when Jaskier is the first thing he sees in the mornings. Somewhere along the way, a certain intimacy was created between them. One that couldn’t be mistaken for comradeship or friendship. Not only that, at least.
It kills Jaskier to witness Geralt ignoring it all. It kills him even more to realize he didn’t have the guts to confront him this morning. There’s no easy solution, but Jaskier can’t bear the idea of ignoring what exists between them much longer.
He’s gently putting down his lute in its case, after giving up on the bad crowd. All he wants is a nice bed and some good sleep. Yet he can’t seem to keep Geralt out of his mind. Even as he glances towards him at the bar, his heart flutters a bit when he realizes the witcher is looking at him too. He now knows him differently. He knows how Geralt’s skin tastes like and what makes him gasp and whimper, and that’s frankly not fair. Not when he’s not allowed to know him like that again.
Walking towards Geralt, through the crowded bar and fairly drunk and obnoxious people, Jaskier tries and fails to put on a happy face.
“I’m going to bed. Not really in the mood to be here, if I’m quite honest.” The pleased yet subtle look on Geralt’s face fades away as Jaskier’s words come out of his mouth.
“Is everything alright?” Geralt’s voice sounds neutral, however his expressions betray him, showing how much he cares. Furrowed eyebrows, thin lips, caring eyes.
“I can’t say they are, dear witcher. Nothing a good night’s sleep can’t fix… I hope,” Jaskier lies. He knows sleep can’t fix whatever this is.
Before Geralt can say anything, Jaskier’s gone from his sight. Once in the room, he strips from his clothes and lays down on the bed, finally getting that sense of rest the body awfully needs. Guilt comes rushing over him over not saying anything, over having believed that last night meant that Geralt could actually act on his feelings, and that something more could grow out of it all.
Sometime later, Geralt comes into the room. Jaskier is half asleep by the time it happens, but he can feel Geralt’s warmth on the opposite side of the bed when he lays down. Ridiculous as it is, Geralt’s presence makes him feel safer and lighter. Sweet nothingness takes over his mind, lulling him to deep sleep. The last breath he remembers taking before succumbing to sleep was when he felt Geralt’s legs intertwine with his own.