Work Text:
Someone bangs against the door of his apartment, and Jaskier very nearly spills fun-sized candy bars all over his kitchen.
“Son of a cunt,” he exclaims as he sets the bowl down safely onto the counter. Then he rushes— not to check the door, but to check his phone. He doesn’t remember any plans with anyone this morning. Had his work scheduled him for a last-minute shift today? He specifically booked Halloween off months ago; if they expect him to come in and man the storefront, they’re out of their minds.
He doesn’t have any notifications either, but then the visitor knocks once more. How archaic. Jaskier yells, “Hang on, I’m coming!” and tries to brush his bangs down into something presentable. There really isn’t any point, not when he’s wearing a red bathrobe loosely tied over his briefs and nothing else. He wasn’t expecting guests until later, so… fuck it, the mystery visitor is just going to have to deal with him like this.
Jaskier opens the door before the person can knock a third time, and then startles backwards so badly that he’s glad he put the candy down. Standing in his doorway is a vampire, with dark bags under his eyes and blood dripping down his neck and chin from his pointy mouth. He’s wearing the traditional vampire garb: the cloak draped over his back has a collar higher than his ears, and his platform boots are fancy enough to probably have cost a fortune. Jaskier sees the slicked-back white hair and then, with a gasp, realizes that he knows this bloodsucking fiend of the night. “Oh!”
“Sorry,” grimaces the vampire, also known as Jaskier’s irresponsibly attractive downstairs neighbour, Geralt. Over the course of the few months they’ve known each other, every single conversation has begun with Geralt grimacing. The large fangs just accentuate it. “I need to borrow a knife.”
“You do?” Jaskier replies, stupidly. Then, even more stupidly: “Can’t you just use your teeth?”
“Ha-ha.” His neighbour snorts, and the tiny amount of mirth that shines through the creases by his eyes makes Jaskier’s heart sing. He would make a thousand stupid jokes if it meant getting the smallest fragment of laughter from this beautiful man. He would also totally let Geralt suck on his neck, blood or no blood. “My daughter and I are carving pumpkins today, and all the knives in our house seem to have gone mysteriously missing.” A vein in Geralt’s forehead twitches.
“I see,” Jaskier hums, although he doesn’t, really. Geralt doesn’t seem the type to use a pick-up line like this, but Jaskier is absolutely game. “Well, you’re welcome to any of mine! I think I have a paring knife that would be small enough for… Ciri’s her name, right?” Geralt nods. The gesture is stiff, but his gaze is warm, and it emboldens Jaskier. “Why don’t you come in and take a look at what I’ve got?”
The vampire hesitates for a moment, but finally he accepts the invitation and crosses over the threshold. Jaskier handles this extremely normally, leading Geralt into the kitchen quickly— it isn’t that large an apartment. At least it’s clean right now. He glances over his shoulder and sees his neighbour glancing around curiously, taking the place in. Before Jaskier can start rambling about any of his many possessions, he makes a beeline for the knife block.
“You can take as many as you need,” Jaskier blurts out, holding the carving knife to Geralt, handle first. The man crosses the room, accepting that one and the paring knife from him. “I mean, seriously, I don’t care. Bring them back whenever. I’m not doing real pumpkins, just the…” He gestures towards the door, flushing when he realizes that Geralt must have already seen the silly decorations pinned to his door and the LED spiders strung up around the apartment. “I don’t know, the rest.”
Half of Geralt’s mouth quirks up in a smile, and he sets the knives down on the counter next to the precarious bowl of candy. “I only need two blades.”
“Just you and Ciri, then?” Geralt nods. “Are you taking her trick-or-treating later?”
“She’s going with her mother.” Jaskier is sure his face reveals the astonishment he feels at hearing that, when he’s been wondering for so long about the situation with Geralt’s daughter. But asking would have been extremely rude. All he knows is that Ciri only spends about half her time with her dad, and for the rest of the time she must have… other arrangements. Geralt’s apartment is always much quieter when his daughter’s away, but Jaskier finds he doesn’t mind the noise. It’s better than wondering if his neighbour is lonely.
Meeting Geralt’s gaze, Jaskier carefully keeps his voice casual. Really, it’s none of his business. “That’s nice.”
For a beat he thinks that Geralt won’t reply at all, but then the man sighs, shoulders sinking. “It’s always nice to see her. But I didn’t expect her to come at all today, so… I don’t know, I’m trying to make plans. You know. Pumpkins.”
“Pumpkins,” Jaskier agrees. They stare for a moment too long, and then he awkwardly reaches into the bowl of candy, dropping a dozen miniature chocolate bars onto the counter beside Geralt. “Well, you can tell her these are from me! And if she wants to swing by later, I’m having a costume party with some friends. Very low-key, I expect we’ll just be playing board games and telling scary stories.” He shifts his weight between his feet, suddenly nervous. “And please tell her that if her vampire dad wants to come by too, I would love to have him there. Here. Wherever.”
Geralt’s gaze is sharp and calculating, and to some extent Jaskier feels as though he’s being measured. He sucks in a breath, still tense, and Geralt’s eyes dip down to glance at his chest, which the robe is doing little to cover. “Will you be wearing a more appropriate costume tonight?”
“Oh, god, no,” Jaskier laughs, balking at the idea. “I didn’t have anything, so I’m reusing an old outfit. I didn’t even think I’d fit— but, I mean, obviously if your kid is coming, I can keep it PG!”
Geralt’s tongue darts out to lick his lips, and some fake blood flakes away. Jaskier’s pulse thrums at the sight, especially when Geralt’s eyes snap back up to meet his. Dear fucking lord. Had Geralt been ogling him?
“Ciri’s dressing up as some… princess, warrior, warrior-princess, I dunno, she made it herself,” shrugs Geralt. He steps forward, edging into Jaskier’s space. “But like I said, she’s going trick-or-treating with her mum… But. I’m free.”
“Okay,” nods Jaskier, struggling to catch his breath.
“So don’t dress all proper for my sake,” Geralt murmurs. “I like… I like this.”
Jaskier might not make it to tonight. He nods, faltering for words for a moment. Even though it’s only the two of them alone in the apartment, and it’s only ten in the morning, and he’s sober, he feels completely exposed. Heat splintering through his veins like lightning, he leans in and whispers back, “Just wait until you see my actual costume.”
“Deal,” grins Geralt. His lips brush against Jaskier’s temple— so briefly that Jaskier isn’t sure that he didn’t imagine it— and then, just like that, he’s gone.
Jaskier doesn’t exhale until the door to his apartment closes, and then all the air leaves him in one breath. He practically floats to the bathroom, wanting his suspicions confirmed, and when he sees the cornstarch bloodstain on his forehead, he practically shrieks.
An odd shriek from upstairs nearly stops Geralt in his tracks as he heads back home, but considering how he’d heard Jaskier swearing about something earlier, he easily dismisses it. In the months that he’s lived underneath Jaskier, he’s become very accustomed to the strange noises from his strange neighbour. Today, his heart is pounding so loudly that he’s sure the entire street can hear it. The dull thudding surely won’t be silenced until tonight, and if tonight goes well, maybe not even after that.
He opens the doorknob with some effort, balancing his two knives in one hand and all the treats in the other. It’s all worth it when Ciri bounds up to him, ignoring the paring knife in favour of examining the candy. “Did he think you were a trick-or-treater?”
Geralt bites back that Jaskier must have thought he was a jackass for dressing up at ten in the morning. “He figured it out. Take the knives.”
“Oh, I found ours,” chirps Ciri, bright as ever despite the spark of mischief in her eyes. “They were just on the countertop!”
He snorts. “Of course they were.”
“Did you ask him if he wants to join us? He can split a pumpkin with you.”
“No.” Should he have asked? Fuck. “I’m sure I’ll see him around again soon.”
“Well, you have to take the knives back,” Ciri reminds him. Geralt is tempted to tell her about the party just to assuage her romantic heart, but she doesn’t need to get involved in his business like that. But then she rocks up onto her tiptoes and squints, and he knows he’s in trouble anyway. “… Did you smudge your blood?”
Double fuck. Geralt shakes his head, but it’s too late, judging from the delight all over his kid’s face. “I ate some chocolate!”
“You told me no chocolate before noon!”
“The rules are different for adults!”
“Like hell they are!”
“Don’t fucking swear!”