Chapter Text
Jaskier made a face as he tugged at his shirt collar, too tight around his neck. When he’d first seen Geralt in his kilt at Kaer Morhen he’d almost melted on the spot. Luckily for him they’d already had awkward love confessions at Oxenfurt the previous year so he hadn’t felt quite so bad about jumping Geralt and completely messing up his outfit before dinner. Geralt hadn’t asked Jaskier to wear a kilt last year, the bard’s silken doublets were deemed formal enough to attend the first dinner of the year with all the remaining witchers, but he’d felt like the outsider he was so this year he’d asked Geralt if he could join the tradition.
That didn’t mean he liked the shirt collar around his neck. It was too constricting and reminded him of Lettenhove.
“Stop fiddling,” Geralt growled as he crossed the room, taking the loose fabric around Jaskier’s neck and expertly tying it into a bow. “You asked for this.”
Jaskier pouted at his witcher with wide eyes. “Only because you looked so hot. I just look like a mess! I do like this… what did you call it again?”
“Sporran.”
Jaskier snapped his fingers “Sporran! That’s it, perfect to hide a flask of vodka, don’t you think?” He asked with a tilt of his head, blowing his fringe from his eyes.
Geralt rolled his eyes, a fond smile dancing on his lips. “Hmm.”
“Oh shush, hmm all you like. You know I figured all that out years ago, darling,” Jaskier leaned forward to kiss Geralt’s cheek. “I must say I do like the kilt though, it’s very airy.”
He winked at Geralt, flicking up the ends of the kilt, fingers brushing against the small dagger pin at the hem of the pretty woollen fabric. Geralt’s eyes darkened as they roamed Jaskier’s body. He smirked, spinning around to show off his calves, which looked absolutely stunning in his long white socks, tartan flashes pinned neatly at the top. “Not bad for a bard?”
Geralt growled and pulled him into a kiss, hands groping Jaskier’s arse. Jaskier laughed into the kiss, gripping at the lapels of Geralt’s jacket to pull him closer. Geralt nipped at his bottom lip as they broke apart for air, nosing along Jaskier’s jaw, pressing kisses to his neck. Jaskier giggled, hands threading into Geralt’s hair; one day they wouldn’t be late for dinner.
Today was not that day.