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Jaskier had been the one to suggest the coast, and really he was incredibly excited. It was a chance to finally tell Geralt how he felt, no poetry, no hidden clues, just Jaskier and Geralt on a break from all the shit they had to deal with every other day of the fucking year, but as they got closer to Kerrack, walking along a beautiful coastal path, Jaskier felt more and more like he was going to scream. His skin felt too tight, and he was ready to turn tail, leaving Kerrack and the ghost of Lettenhove far behind him.
He tried to focus on the sun warm against his skin, a soft prickle of the golden rays tingling on his cheeks, and the freshy salty taste of the air, clearing out his lungs with every breath. Beside him, even Geralt seemed to be relaxed, not constantly looking out for monsters and men like he usually did. Sure, Jaskier was certain that the witcher still had an acute awareness of his surroundings, but there was a calmness to the way held himself, shoulder losing all their tension.
It was a good look on the witcher. Even better were the soft smiles that Geralt kept shooting his way, the kind that had made Jaskier fall in love with him in the first place.
Yes, this was finally the moment where Jaskier would share his feelings with Geralt, but he needed to tell him something else first, something that could shatter their relationship even more than confessions of the heart.
“You’re nervous,” Geralt murmured, his hand running through Roach’s mane as he leaned forward to scratch her behind the ears.
“Me or Roach?” Jaskier smirked as he glanced up at the witcher, tossing his fringe from his eyes.
“Roach is perfectly behaved. You, bard, look like you’re about to be sick.”
“Ah.”
“We don’t have to go,” Geralt suggested. “There’s a bardic competition in Toussaint next month. If we leave now we’ll still make it.”
Jaskier wanted to melt, he couldn’t stop the broad shining smile from spreading across his face, and he was sure that he was looking up at Geralt like he hung the fucking sun.
It was honestly a miracle from Melitele herself that Geralt hadn’t worked out how much Jaskier adored him yet, but even if he had, Geralt wouldn’t understand quite what that meant for them, for Jaskier.
Sirens mated for life, and Jaskier’s heart had decided many years ago that Geralt was his, even if it was unrequited.
“No, I want to go. There’s- There’s just something I need to tell you, dear heart.”
With a soft grunt Geralt pulled the reins, slowing Roach to a stop, and then dismounted. Before Jaskier could even work out what was happening, Geralt’s hands were cupping his face and he was being kissed with the utmost tenderness, surprise and overwhelming love knocking the air from his lungs.
“Oh,” Jaskier murmured against Geralt’s lips.
It was the most perfect first kiss, Geralt's hair blowing in the wind, the ocean glistening in the sun behind them, golden eyes like sweetest honey gazing at him with such raw emotion that Jaskier almost started crying.
It was perfect in every way.
But it wasn’t going to last.
He would shift into his monstrous form and then Geralt would leave him.
“Fuck, Geralt,” he whined, and lunged forwards to kiss him once more, a mess of tongues and teeth, a soft moan escaping his lips, heated, passionate… a goodbye.
The witcher returned the kiss with fervour, until they were both gasping for breath, lips swollen and faces flushed. Jaskier hung onto Geralt’s arms, their forehead pressed together before he finally tore himself away, running down the beach, shedding his clothes as he went. He’d meant to wait until they were nearer his family’s territory, but he couldn’t put it off any longer, not now Geralt had kissed him.
He could hear Geralt’s surprised shouts behind him, calling his name but he ignored it. Jaskier knew he would back out if he paused for even a second, and then finally the waves were lapping at his ankles, icy cold against his skin but he didn’t mind. He waded further into the ocean until it was deep enough to dive. The magic enveloped him, numbing the pain of the shift, and he gasped a breath under the water, his wings unfurling behind him. Then he burst from the waves, the scales of his tail glinting in the sun, he soared into the air and circled above Geralt.
But he didn’t even reach for his swords.
Jaskier shrieked, a warning for the witcher, but still Geralt didn’t move. So Jaskier dived, landing in Geralt’s waiting arms with another high pitched screech that should have had the witcher on his knees, but instead Geralt just chuckled. His fingers ran along Jaskier’s cheekbones, now sharper and inhuman, then to the tips of his pointed ears.
“You trusted me,” Geralt breathed, seemingly in awe of the monster in his arms that he should be trying to kill.
With one last attempt to make Geralt see sense, Jaskier began to sing this time, imbuing the melody with deadly magic, but the witcher just rolled his eyes and covered Jaskier’s lips with his own.
“This changes nothing,” Geralt murmured, silencing the siren’s song.
Jaskier gazed up at his witcher, his mate, wondering how he ever got so lucky.