Chapter Text
“I didn’t hear you correctly.” Geralt said.
“Do you have swamp shit in your ears still?” Jaskier taunted. “I know the promise of food, women, and wine has some unsavory history between us, but I’ve erm… come into a problematic situation.”
“Who is it this time?”
“Oh, no, that doesn’t matter at all!”
“Hm.” Geralt assessed Jaskier’s body language and hitched a brow at him. “How many attendees are you on the run from?”
Jaskier looked as if he’d bitten the bitter bug of blight.
“My money is on four.” Geralt rolled his eyes. “Must you attend?”
“I… well…” Jaskier couldn’t tell Geralt why he needed the money he would get for performing there. “Trust me when I say I can make this worth your while.”
Geralt could not have pulled a worse face at the phrase.
“It’s a lot of money, Geralt. It’s worth the extra hassle, I promise.”
Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose. “What is your plan? You do have one, right? Or will I be pulling the ox excuse out again?”
Jaskier hummed and stepped away to look through his bag for something. Just to keep his hands busy, to stave off answering for a bit. “I might have already added you as my plus one.”
That said absolutely nothing. Geralt didn’t get the point.
Jaskier continued staring into the abyss of his bag, as if willing his courage to emerge from it. “My prospective employer knows my reputation. He didn’t want to hire me because of it… so I had to find something that would allow him to feel like I wouldn’t shag every available hole in the building.”
“So I’m…?” Geralt still didn’t get it but he didn’t like the redness that started at Jaskier’s chest, exposed from his unlaced shirt, spreading ever higher. Jaskier seldom blushed unless he was absolutely smashed. As he was currently sober, this was worrisome.
“Everyone on the face of the Continent knows I travel with you exclusively, Geralt. For years, I’ve written about you. So… when given a hint that my hands were full…”
“You didn’t.”
Jaskier groaned. “I did. I let him believe I had devoted myself mind and body to you.”
“Jaskier. We could get hanged for that.” Geralt said urgently.
“That’s the hangup?” He tried to joke.
“I’m used to saving you from being killed at this point, but this is a new depth of foolishness.”
“He seemed relieved…” Jaskier said brightly. “I was under the impression that his heir had some encounters of the queer kind, so it wasn’t quite as bad as it would be for most other nobles.”
“That was a calculated risk, and you’re a horrible mathematician.”
“That was a clever play on words. I’ve been a good influence on you.”
“You’re not taking this seriously at all, are you?”
“Should I? We make money and all you have to do is pretend to fawn over me. It shouldn’t be hard, you’ve seen so many others do it.”
Geralt scoffed. “As if I’d react like other people. It would be an obvious fakery.”
“Nonsense. I’ll write your lines.”
“I won’t memorize them.”
“Agh, Geralt! Put some effort in for the money! Don’t make this harder than it has to be. I’m not saying we have to fuck in the middle of the ballroom, I’m just saying you could be my arm candy and smile at me and call me darling or something.”
Geralt grimaced. “I would never call someone that.”
Jaskier looked thoughtful. “Right. That would be a bit weird. I’m trying to imagine you saying it, and it’s just. Making me uncomfortable.”
Geralt looked at him, and his face began twitching. With great effort, sound emerged, “D...darling.”
Jaskier bit his lip and tried not to laugh. “Why are you snarling?”
Geralt’s lip pulled up in some parody of a smile. “My l… love…”
Jaskier tried to breathe while simultaneously trying not to laugh. This resulted in a barely restrained snort. “Please, stop.”
This was the closest to smiling Jaskier had ever seen Geralt. His voice was cold and monotonous, like something from a grave, no inflection to be found. “Sweet heart.”
Jaskier couldn’t breathe, on the verge of weeping from the effort of trying not to laugh. “You win! You win! Please stop!” He managed to say.
And then Geralt laughed. It was a soft, timid sound. Something Jaskier wouldn’t have expected from him. It sounded so wrong, so otherworldly. It was almost boyish and innocent. His eyes crinkled with his mirth, and he turned away almost immediately to hide his face.
Silence stretched.
“I’ll do it.” Geralt said. “But don’t think I’ll make it easy.”
Jaskier stared at Geralt’s back and found himself thinking this was a mistake.
Despite the lightness of the conversation, Jaskier was legitimately worrying over this. He was, himself, a horrible liar. He had a habit of being a bit too over-the-top when he wasn’t entirely truthful. Sometimes, even when he wasn’t lying, it still seemed like it because his entire stage persona was based on the lie that he was confident in himself.
So when he, the one person whose tells as a liar were so widely known that he’d considered getting a witch to help him somehow (Geralt hadn’t approved this, so it hadn’t happened yet), was made to name one person to whom he could be faithful… Well, he’d been emphatic enough to be believed.
He hadn’t really thought about it much. Not on the surface, really. He’d had weird dreams about Geralt, but he chalked that up to sleeping near him and his subconscious running with it. He felt weird when he saw Geralt in certain ways, while he practiced his forms or was fresh from the bath, or that deeper than usual burr in his voice when they’d just woken up, but he chalked this all up to a manageable level of envy.
Jaskier just wanted to be like Geralt, perhaps. He was wisened by the years, mysterious, capable… but stunted in his ability to emote and accept kindness in a way that Jaskier found unfair, like a dare to defy his expectations.
It wasn’t until he so readily offered up Geralt of Rivia as his one true love that it occurred to him that maybe the only person he had been able to fool had been himself.
Geralt wasn’t just his muse and traveling partner. He had quickly become Jaskier’s best friend. Over the five or six years they’d worked together thus far, he’d learned a lot from Geralt, but the most important thing he’d learned was how to work as a unit.
They would help each other when setting up camp. If Geralt hunted and cleaned game, Jaskier would cook it. Each would scour their respective libraries over the winter for things to share with the other. This year, Jaskier had brought Geralt notes on ancient bushcraft, imploring him to make a stick house with him eventually.
Geralt had brought a nearly illegible written copy of some old poetry that Jaskier had mentioned once or twice the previous year. It was nearly impossible to find in its original context, as most copies were translated with heavy bias. Aside from Geralt's horrid handwriting, Jaskier noted that Geralt and at least one other party had written notes on what certain pieces meant when first fabricated. Apparently Geralt had consulted his brother Eskel, who was more in tune with the bookish sorts.
Jaskier would have to pay someone to decipher the writing, but he didn't want to share such a thoughtful gift yet. Geralt refused to read it aloud. After a few attempts to prod him into doing so, Jaskier realized Geralt couldn't always read his writing confidently either. Apparently he didn't write often enough to merit being organized about it.
It was strangely endearing. So were the casual touches that took years to become normal. So was Geralt's show of being aggravated when Jaskier would lapse into his stage persona and ramble or sing on the road.
So was that little laugh he couldn't stop thinking about.
Had anyone else heard him like that? Maybe his brothers, maybe Yennefer… Jaskier had no way of knowing. All he knew was that his heart felt so weirdly full.
Jaskier wouldn't have to struggle to convey his love. He was just worried it would change things. Though with how famously dense Geralt could be, he shouldn't worry. After all, he obviously didn't see how Jaskier really felt, so there was little chance of him realizing. It would take an act of Destiny to make him catch on.
This was a good thing, Jaskier reminded himself.
"I thought you said you would be performing." Geralt said.
"They'll give me a break for a dance. It'll sell our story, too."
"I don't dance."
"Nonsense. I've watched you do drills, just. Memorize it like one of those. I can teach you."
Geralt rolled his eyes but let Jaskier manhandle him. "You're bigger than me so it makes sense you would lead. I'm not used to not leading, so we both need practice."
"Why are your hands so sweaty?"
Jaskier ignored him. "Imagine there is music. Others are dancing around us. Just imagine I'm Yen or something."
Geralt cringed.
Jaskier walked him through learning how to waltz. It went from awkward to fun, somehow. And then Jaskier made the mistake of thinking.
He'd been laughing, and suddenly Jaskier remembered that even if Geralt figured out how he felt, there was essentially no chance he'd feel the same.
"Your hands are sweaty again." Geralt grumbled.
"The lie makes me nervous." Jaskier said, just enough truth to it to save him. "I'm worried no one will believe me."
"Not surprising. You couldn't treat me like your lovers."
"What?"
"Sneaking off to a corner and kissing? Looking at her like you could devour her?"
"At least I sneak off…"
Geralt shrugged. An admission of sorts. "So, how could we make it seem real? Without making it an exhibition."
Jaskier wasn't sure, and refused to humor the mental image the word “exhibition” brought to mind. Geralt kept his mouth shut. They continued to practice, and eventually found themselves mocking each other for their serious faces.
Geralt felt lighter around Jaskier. It had taken years but he finally felt safe around someone. It wasn't in the "they protect me" or "they can't kill me" way of feeling safe, either. It was in that he had so few connections to people who saw him as a person, treated him with respect.
He wasn't sure where his laugh had come from. Last time he could remember laughing, he had been off his head, half drowned in Lambert's boomshine. Lambert was pulling his Vesemir impression and saying more and more weird things.
Geralt had laughed with his brothers, a loud, carefree, braying sound that would have embarrassed him if anyone but his brothers had heard.
It wasn't the same as the laugh he'd shared with Jaskier. He hadn't really believed it came from him, didn't understand how he could have made the noise. That night he lay awake remembering how he'd laughed like that before the Trials, with Eskel. Getting up to hijinks, putting grey in Vesemir's hair prematurely.
How could he reconnect with a version of himself that had been unmade? It didn't seem possible.
Sometimes Jaskier seemed to make him forget what he was. Or maybe he made him feel like so much more.
Eskel had suffered his rambling over winter. Geralt didn't usually open up, but he found himself feeling inexplicably homesick while at home. Among a household of idiots with no emotional awareness, the least idiotic one was probably Eskel, as long as it wasn't about himself.
Eskel had listened patiently, and when Geralt asked him if anyone had ever made him forget he was a witcher for a moment, he shrugged. It wasn't something that sounded real. But Eskel was happy for him and so lent a hand during his expedition into the disorganized library.
He couldn't let Geralt know there was an explanation. He didn't feel like Geralt was ready for that. He didn't feel it was fair to get him thinking about it only to end up even more out of his head. Especially if things didn't work out, like with that sorceress.
Geralt was known for several things, but very few people knew him for his heart. Eskel didn't want to see it broken.
It was always easier to play around than be genuine. Jaskier would bounce from lover to lover, never taking anything too seriously. It wasn't the nicest move but Jaskier was less concerned with the morality of it all and more with feeling needed and wanted.
Likewise, with this new arrangement between him and Geralt, it was much easier to play it all off as a joke because to lay himself bare would be to beg Geralt to need him or want him. Geralt would never need him, and Jaskier could not imagine him even wanting him. Not in that way.
If he wasn't careful, Geralt would see the ugliest parts of Jaskier. The parts that ached for approval, pleaded for praise, and yearned for something more. His body would feel sated but he still felt empty, so his body would assume that meant more needed to be done.
Come to think of it, he wondered how much of this Geralt already knew. He knew that when Geralt took trips to the brothels, he was gone for much longer than any man should ever be gone. Since he didn’t want to imagine Geralt doing a sex, for his own sake, he instead imagined that Geralt knew that empty feeling, the lack of true desire.
The two of them were too awkward to be lovers. They would bicker and fuss at each other but casual intimacy was too high a hurdle to overcome so quickly.
Geralt could dance well enough. Jaskier had managed to herd him into a tailor's, and planned something for both of them that would share elements so it would hammer home that they were together.
Geralt suffered it, but only on the promise he could still at the very least wear black. Jaskier agreed. If it made Geralt more comfortable, it was worth it.
While Geralt was getting fitted, Jaskier excused himself and went down the road. The man behind the desk frowned at him when he walked into a quiet, otherwise empty building. Jaskier took part of his up-front payment, a hefty sum, and brandished it.
"You named your price, and I brought it." He tried not to sound smug and failed.
The man was disgruntled but motioned for the bag of money, intent on counting it.
"Show me the diagrams and I hand it over."
Grumbling. But he complied. Jaskier looked the documents over carefully while the man counted his coin. It was, indeed, the one he’d chosen. “Great doing business with you.” He remarked, bundling the diagrams up and bringing them with him. The man grunted, but didn’t respond otherwise.
Jaskier peeked into the tailor’s window to see a flash of Geralt’s silver hair in the back. He smiled to himself and hurried further down the road. The blacksmith was busy, but Jaskier managed to get his attention after damn-near making a fool of himself.
“I remember you.” He said as he picked Jaskier up off the floor from where he’d fallen over a rack.
“That’s usually not what I like to hear, but in this case, yes. This is good.” Jaskier was embarrassed, so he said stupid things. This was his primary personality trait, he mused to himself.
“Right. So, what have you?” The smith crossed his huge arms.
“Ah, right. You remember what I came in about last time, yes?”
“You used the word hypothetically more times than I’ve ever heard. Still not sure what it means.” The blacksmith actually smiled. He had a good sense of humor. Jaskier rather liked him.
“Well, I have the diagrams. Will you take a look and tell me if you can do it?”
“Hmm… I’m not sure.” The smith held his hand out for the papers. “What if I can’t read?”
He handed over the diagrams. “Darling, I know your arms aren’t the most impressive thing about you.”
A hitched eyebrow. Too late, Jaskier realized he was flirting. “Mm.” He grunted. "I may not be a smart man, but I know flattery when I hear it."
"I have utmost confidence in your ability. How long will it take you?" Jaskier tried and failed not to sound flirty. If he could kick his own ass, he would.
"For you?" He hummed, looking over the documents even harder for comedic effect. "Mm. Maybe I can get it done in the next two or three days."
"Oh, that's perfect! How much do I owe you?"
The man looked at him. "The agreed upon sum… and a kiss."
The man couldn't honestly expect Jaskier to agree to that… but if he was serious, and Jaskier refused, he might not get the deal.
Normally he would have probably taken it in stride and agreed, but his recent revelation of where his heart truly lay had shaken him. It felt different. Wrong to even think it.
The blacksmith hadn't assured him it was just a joke; Jaskier was fairly certain he was serious.
This shouldn't be this troublesome. The man was rather handsome. Jaskier's type, apparently. And it was only a kiss.
Jaskier knew he probably looked sick to his stomach.
"Hey, sorry. Maybe I misread your cues, hm?" The blacksmith sat against the counter, decreasing his ability to loom. "Forget about the kiss."
"I'm sorry…"
"Oh, no it's fine. You don't look the type to use what you're ordering… so it stands to reason it's for someone important to you."
"That's right." Jaskier sighed. "It's a gift."
"Mm. You sound proper miserable about it."
"It's a long story. I doubt I have time to get into all of it."
"What's the nearest issue, then? The gist of it."
Jaskier tried to think on his feet. Ultimately, the closest thing to the truth would probably be best. "Ah… well. Neither of us have had a relationship such as ours before. We're having trouble adjusting to the roles and showing affection outwardly."
"I see." He rubbed at his stubble audibly. "Am I right that this is a new and tentative venture?"
"Yes. Also, those are big words from someone who said they didn't understand the word 'hypothetically.'"
"That's the joke, isn't it? But if your relationship is so new, maybe you're putting too much pressure on it."
"We're participating in an event. The displays are required so that others won't misconstrue our availability."
"Oh. Well…" he chewed his lip in thought. "There is one sure way to accelerate the process."
Jaskier perked up. "What is it?"
"You could try snogging." He said bluntly.
Jaskier stared at the man, mouth agape.
"You're a bard, right? My sister is too. She told me when she was doing a stage production for her professor, she was paired up with this lady who was supposed to be her mirror image."
He smirked. "They were supposed to do this very intimate dance with one another. But Ney, my sister, was deathly ticklish every time the girl touched her. So they had a good shag and she stopped being ticklish. Must have been right nice, they're still working together, six years on."
Jaskier blinked stupidly at the man.
"Tried and true!" He grinned wickedly.
Jaskier took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Can't argue with results." He managed.
One thing was for sure: he knew Ney and her lovely girlfriend Wit. Knew them intimately well from the time they-- "Right. I should get going!" Jaskier said and hurried off. "Thank you for the advice, darling."
Jaskier hurried back to a food cart and picked up a chicken sandwich for Geralt and a raisin tart for later. He couldn't think of eating but he was sure Geralt would feel nice with a treat.
Geralt was in the process of changing into his own clothes when Jaskier came in. Geralt stopped what he was doing, sniffed the air and growled in that way that he never meant to sound threatening. He was definitely hungry then.
Geralt didn't even lace up his shirt, his chest on display as he stalked closer to Jaskier as he made small talk with the tailor. Geralt's pupils were blown wide as he watched Jaskier. Those eyes were the same between witchers and cats, in that way too.
Jaskier brandished the sandwich at Geralt, who followed it with his eyes. Jaskier chuckled and considered moving it around to mess with him, but they had an audience and he didn't want to aggravate him when he needed favors.
While Geralt ate and returned to the task of making himself decent, Jaskier paid up on the tailor's fees. Then they headed to the tavern for a drink and to discuss what they would do after this little event concluded.
As it was edging up on a predictably harsh winter, Geralt mentioned he was intent on meeting his brother Eskel and heading up to their keep together. Jaskier talked about Oxenfurt, but he had little to look forward to, compared to other years. He tried not to seem disappointed in his lot, but as he was a spectacularly bad liar, he wouldn't have been surprised if Geralt called him out.
He didn't.
Geralt let Jaskier change the topic to a million inane things, didn't press or prod him at all. Just looked at him with those big gold eyes like they saw everything and nothing.
When they retreated to the inn and got their room, Jaskier busied himself with all the buttons on his doublet and kept talking, slipping into a proposition in the middle of a monologue, half convinced Geralt wouldn't have heard it.
"Is that taking the act too far?" Geralt asked.
"If you're not comfortable with it, that's fine. Forget I asked."
"Do you think it will really help?" Geralt seemed baffled by the thought.
"Well. I mean. I would have offered for us to exchange massages but that ship sailed ages ago."
Geralt was half undressed, and Jaskier could feel his heart trying to climb through his tongue.
"I'm willing to try if you truly think it will help." He didn't seem bothered. "It's just a kiss, right?"
"How far do you want it to go?" Jaskier asked. "Kissing can… be intense."
Geralt looked confused.
"Have you never just… sat and made out with someone before?"
Geralt hitched an eyebrow.
"Oh wow." Jaskier facepalmed. "Do you still want to try? You might not like it."
"Trust me. If you do something I'm not fine with, I can and will stop you." There was a note of finality in that statement.
~
How was he supposed to begin though?
Jaskier must have hesitated too long. Geralt got up from sitting on the bed and loomed over him. "Want me to start it?"
Jaskier had a full-body chill. "Um!" He was mesmerized by those eyes, blown wide again. "Yes. I'm nervous."
Geralt would never admit to being nervous. But-- "Me too." He whispered. Drawing closer. "But I trust you."
Geralt's lips barely brushed his, and Jaskier gasped. Geralt hesitated, giving time for Jaskier to withdraw, perhaps. Jaskier felt like he might faint--a ridiculous notion.
It was just as Jaskier suspected. Geralt wasn't a bad kisser, he was just woefully inexperienced. An injustice.
Even so, Jaskier was worried his heart would explode.
Geralt broke the kiss, leaning back and staring at Jaskier like he was trying to gain insight. Like he cared about Jaskier's reaction.
Of course he did. Two best friends kissing? Oh, what would become of their friendship?
Jaskier forced himself to breathe. He licked his lips without thinking and tried to look away from Geralt's intense gaze.
Geralt nodded to the bed and sat down. "I can count the number of people I've kissed on one hand." He admitted.
"It wasn't bad…"
"Good…"
Even without witcher hearing, Jaskier could have heard a pin drop.
Geralt took a breath. "How can I go from not bad to something better?"
Jaskier could have died. "Are you asking me to teach you…?"
"No, nevermind. Shouldn't have asked."
"I'm not upset, just surprised." Geralt still wouldn't meet his eyes. "But I do so love to teach, you know."
"I regret asking." Geralt said in his sarcastic tone. Jaskier still almost missed it and thought he was serious.
"You said you could and would stop me. I'll hold you to that."
Geralt nodded slightly. "I will."
He was serious about this, then. What did this mean?
Jaskier bit his thoughts off and edged closer to Geralt on the bed. He cleared his throat. "Um. It'll be easier if we face each other a bit…"
Geralt folded his legs and turned himself on the bed, Jaskier sat on his knees. Jaskier took a deep breath. Teaching. He reminded himself. This is for education. Physical education. Heh…
Jaskier finally spoke up. "So. First off. Touching is nice. Like…" he propped his arms over Geralt's broad shoulders, leaning close and putting his forehead to Geralt's. "... Like this."
"I see." Geralt whispered. "What else?"
"Well. Um." His voice cracked a bit. "This?" He let his fingers curl in Geralt's hair, combing from the scalp down, like when he helped him clean viscera from it in the bath--except much less gross.
Geralt hummed at the feeling. "Um. And when you're kissing someone, you can hold them like this, to deepen the kiss."
"What do you mean?"
Jaskier bit his lip to keep from giggling like a fool. "Well… it's easier to show than tell. Just do what I do?"
Geralt grunted in affirmation.
Already so close, Jaskier felt drunk on Geralt's presence. He was so warm, so stable, so immense. He felt he could drown in him.
Geralt had criminally nice eyelashes. It was hard not to notice when he was close enough to count them. Those eyes were usually so sharp, so piercing. So aware. But now he was like melted honey, and unsure. Vulnerable in some small way.
He didn't have to act. When their lips met again, he surrendered to his desires, but slowly. Instead of something almost chaste, now he swiped a little bit of tongue at Geralt's plush bottom lip. Geralt immediately mimicked him and Jaskier felt a thrill of excitement, like a jolt.
Geralt was a very quick study. He didn't need prompting to cradle the back of Jaskier's head as they continued to explore. It got sloppy, and there was a laugh before they went back to it. There were no words. At some point, drunk on the moment, Jaskier ended up in Geralt's lap, with one of those big strong hands anchored to his hip.
Thoroughly explored, both men decided breathing was definitely a good idea.
~
"When you said it gets intense, I thought you were being dramatic." Geralt muttered.
Jaskier leaned back with a squawk. "Me? Dramatic? When have I ever!"
There it was again, that little chuckle. Geralt's face lit up, completely transformed in a genuine smile. Smacked speechless, Jaskier nearly didn't hear what Geralt said next. "You never change. I'm glad."
Geralt looked confused for a moment, as if he didn't understand what he just said. He went on quickly. "I never want it to change, how we are together." There was that confusion again.
Jaskier remembered his stint of flirting unintentionally with the smith. And then he remembered that Geralt was even worse with words than he was. "I think I understand what you mean, so stop looking so constipated."
Geralt grimaced.
Jaskier sat there in Geralt's lap for a moment. "Why were we doing this?"
"I…"
"Oh yeah. Um." Jaskier practically fell off his lap. "Rate my teaching. Three words or less."
Geralt just stared at him.
"Such glowing praise!" Jaskier cheered, and lay backwards on the bed. "So do you feel any different? About the act, I mean. Do you think it will be easier to play the role?"
"Do you?" Geralt deflected.
"I'm not sure. It was fun though. I do miss doing that sometimes."
"You don't do that with everyone?"
"Not really. The lipstain is hard to remove, my hair gets all ruffled, and I do still need to be presentable. Most of the women we see on the Path don't have the cleanest mouths, which makes me hesitate for sure."
"Hm." Geralt looked away. "It was different."
"If you're saying I'm better than Yennefer, that will make my week."
"Different."
"A good different?"
Geralt looked tense, still staring at the wall. "Yes."
"I can live with that, then."
Jaskier and Geralt somehow managed to fall into routine after all that. As per usual, they shared a bed. Jaskier must have tired himself out; he passed out almost the moment Geralt threw the blanket over them both.
Geralt lay awake again tonight. He touched his lips.
He understood too much. He was afraid things would change. He was afraid he'd ruin this by being selfish.
But he had never felt that way before. He didn't have a name for it. He didn't fully understand it. But he would kill to feel it again.
Kill, perhaps, but too afraid to just ask instead.