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Geralt stares at his hands, silver matching rings shining through the darkness in the room. They’re plain, with no engravings, and not thick by any means. Just two simple bands, and yet they feel heavy, heavier than anything Geralt has supported with his hands, and not because of their literal weight but more because of what they could mean if Jaskier allows it.
He closes his fist, pressing hard as to not lose the courage that comes with the act he’s about to perform.
He turns, facing Jaskier -- who’s sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard, reading a poetry book, looking beautiful as ever -- and sits on the bed as well.
Geralt keeps quiet for a while, fist still closed. He hasn’t practiced this or thought of it for more than a few minutes. He’s not an impulsive person, yet Jaskier brings out that part of him in the best way possible.
Earlier that day, when he commissioned the Jeweler for the rings, he wasn't even aware he knew Jaskier's ring size. But he did, and that made him realize this was probably a long time coming, his subconscious romantic self already hoping for it ever since Jaskier stepped a foot into his miserable life.
Geralt takes a deep breath, silver cold on his skin.
Maybe he should have bought a matching case for the rings, or found a better time to offer them to Jaskier. He feels ridiculous right now, head down, clenched fist feeling more uncomfortable by the minute, words failing him.
"Is everything ok, dear?" Jaskier says right next to him, his voice settling any anxiety that crept into Geralt's chest.
“Mmm.. yes. I have something for you.” Ever so mechanically, the words force themselves out.
Jaskier lifts his eyebrows and tilts his head a bit. Geralt recognizes that as curiosity but also doubt.
Fuck
“You do? Oh.” Jaskier puts the book down, straightens up, and focuses all of his attention on Geralt. “What’s the occasion?”
Geralt gets comfortable, shifting closer to Jaskier on the bed. He’s still clothed, contrary to Jaskier who has his sleep clothes. Jaskier’s warmth grows on him, and he steals a quick kiss from him. For courage. Jaskier leans into it like he always does.
“No occasion.”
With his hands resting on his lap, Jaskier stares expectantly.
“It’s something for us, actually.”
No speculation from Jaskier’s part is needed when Geralt finally opens his fist and reveals the two unadorned, unassuming rings, one bigger than the other, right on his palm, looking inconsequential as ever.
“One for each of us, if you’d like,” Geralt adds.
A few seconds of silence, then-
“Matching rings?” Jaskier is gaping at Geralt’s palm.
The witcher clears his throat, “Matching rings.”
Jaskier finally lifts his head, gazing at Geralt. “Geralt, that’s silver.”
“I know,” Geralt says as he places his other hand on Jaskier’s thighs over the cotton sheet. He can’t help but smile, leaning into Jaskier and placing a kiss right under his ear, breathing in Jaskier’s scent, lazing on the present moment.
He can’t remember why he was nervous in the first place.
“Want to try them?”
Jaskier is still gaping at the rings, eyes wide and cheeks red. “Do I- Of course, I-”
Geralt takes Jaskier’s left hand, brings it to lips for a second, and kisses it. Jaskier scoffs at him, eyes glistening.
He watches as the ring slides into Jaskier’s ring finger. As it settles, heavy and bright grey, Geralt sees no inconsequential feature about it. It might be simple and plain, yes, but that ring carries a promise Geralt has never made before to anyone, and will never make again in his lifetime.
“My turn,” Jaskier murmurs, and takes the bigger, matching ring, and carefully places it into Geralt’s finger. “There.” He kisses Geralt’s hands, just like he did with him. “Not that I’m complaining but... do you want to tell me what this is about?”
Crossing his legs, Jaskier allows himself to lift his hand, looking at the ring in the low light of their room, getting a feel of it. Geralt feels the ring's solid presence on his left hand and fights the will to look at it just the same.
“I want to be with you.”
“You are with me.”
“I don’t want to hide it-- and I know we don’t hide, but I want people to know,” Geralt swallows. “I wanted to make you a promise.”
“Then,” Jaskier says, and slides even closer to Geralt, putting his hands on Geralt’s arms, sliding them up to his neck, “make me a promise, Geralt of Rivia.”
Geralt kisses him first, deeper and more daring than the previous kisses. Jaskier responds to it, and before they know it, he’s on Geralt’s lap, his legs wrapped around his middle, crossed on the ankles.
They’re getting carried away, heavy breathing, restless in their position, hands eager for more. The bed creaks. Geralt moans. Jaskier buries his hands in Geralt’s hair, leans back, pushing Geralt back with him.
“Forever ain’t half the time I wanna spend with you, Jaskier,” Geralt whispers into Jaskier’s lips.“But if that’s all I have, I’ll cherish you every single minute of it.”
Jaskier cradles Geralt’s face, caressings his cheekbones. The urgent energy between them fades into something much more vulnerable, fragile. Jaskier is tearing up. The tears fall shyly from his cornflower blue eyes, landing on the pillow instead.
“Spend forever with me?” Geralt asks, the question slipping from the deepest corners of his heart.
“I thought you’d never ask, dear witcher,” Jaskier answers, and kisses his forever once more, silver bands linked as they hold each other's hands.