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Geralt tries not to look.
Jaskier is making a lot of noise, just like he always did, and Geralt feels something warm settle inside of him hearing it. It‘s not only Jaskier‘s voice, it‘s the sounds of him moving and breathing, filled with so much energy and life, always solid and present. And his heartbeat, familiar and soothing. It’s a little elevated at the moment, ever since he tossed Geralt his cloak and took off his chemise.
Geralt tries not to look.
At all the bared skin, getting splashed with water as Jaskier washes himself, droplets of it glistening in his chest hair. The way his muscles move, as he wrings out his clothes and gestures around, calling Geralt‘s attention to him.
Geralt tries not to look.
He should have known he wouldn’t get away with it.
“Hey, why don’t you look at me?“ Jaskier cries suddenly, sounding nearer than before. “I am speaking to you and here you are, once more, ignoring my existence. What must I do? Tell me, Geralt? For you to acknowledge my-“
“Jaskier,“ Geralt interrupts him, his voice sounding gruff to his own ears. Sometimes he hates it, that there always seems to be a threat looming in the low growl of his voice. But he‘s had practice lately in his conversations with Ciri to deliberately soften his tone, despite the mutations that made it so rough.
Jaskier has stopped moving and Geralt finally dares to let his eyes linger upon him. He‘s standing there, only about five feet from Geralt, the water lapping at his ankles and his wet trousers clinging to his legs. There’s rivulets of water trailing down his chest and goosebumps on his skin from the chilly air. On instinct, Geralt holds out his cloak to him, handing it back so that Jaskier can get warmer.
But when he finally meets Jaskier‘s eyes, he realizes that he‘s made a mistake. That his behavior once again looks more like a dismissal rather than care. It frustrates him, especially around Jaskier, how his actions are so easily misinterpreted and how he can’t seem to figure out how to act around the other man. But he desperately wants to try to get it right this time.
Before Jaskier can take the cloak back, Geralt moves. He feels the cold of the water lapping at his legs as he steps forward, but his attention is fixed on the way Jaskier‘s eyes widen a little bit at his approach and the way his heartbeat speeds up. There was a time when Geralt would’ve thought Jaskier is afraid of him and doesn’t want him too close. It was a misconception quickly cleared up the first time Jaskier insisted on washing his hair while he bathed all those years ago. He wants to believe that it hasn’t changed.
“Jaskier,“ he says again, softer. He moves slowly, still - or rather newly - afraid to initiate touch. When Jaskier doesn’t flinch back, he gently drapes the cloak around Jaskier‘s naked form, trying not to focus too much on how his fingers brush against skin. “You are freezing.“
Jaskier chuckles, a nervous sound. “Are you going to warm me up?“ he asks, obviously not expecting a response.
Geralt doesn’t hesitate to answer truthfully however. “I want to.“
“You- I‘m sorry, what?“ Jaskier stammers, taken aback.
His wide-eyed, disbelieving stare cuts into Geralt‘s heart and makes him grip Jaskier‘s arms tighter. With one more step he crosses the last bit of distance between them. There is no turning back. The words which have been on his mind ever since he reached the bottom of that cursed mountain alone, can‘t be shaken anymore.
“You are what pleases me.“
The confession passes his lips more easily than he thought it would.
Weeks and months of trying not to dwell too much on how stupid he‘s been, pushing away the only person who‘s ever voluntarily chosen him, over and over again. Who offered him kindness and friendship when Geralt hadn’t believed he deserved any of it.
Jaskier‘s expression changes instantly, the last of his hurt and anger crumbling and a glassy shine appearing in his eyes. “Geralt,“ he whispers, sounding awed and vulnerable.
His breath tickles Geralt‘s face and he can’t hold himself back anymore. He reaches up with one hand, tenderly touching Jaskier‘s chin, and traces the stubble growing there. Jaskier is trembling slightly, though Geralt isn’t sure if it’s from the cold or something more.
He starts to lean in, a silent question in his eyes, searching Jaskier‘s for any kind of refusal. Jaskier notices his hesitation and in a heady repeat of their reunion a few hours ago, he breathes a low “fuck it“, and grabs Geralt‘s neck to pull him closer.
Their lips meet rather harshly at first from the sudden pull. Jaskier makes a desperate sound at the contact and only presses closer still. Geralt lets himself be moved backwards until they reach the edge of the lake, where Jaskier pushes at his shoulders, making him sink to the ground. Two seconds later he has a lapful of bard, their mouths barely separating during their descent. Geralt strokes one hand down the side of Jaskier’s neck, trying to calm him, and quickly notices that Jaskier‘s cloak must have fallen off when he meets the bare skin of his shoulder.
He feels overwhelmed for a moment by all the new sensations. Jaskier‘s lips and tongue, his taste, his smell, and the wonderful sounds he keeps making as he starts tugging at Geralt‘s armor. They keep kissing rather frantically until Jaskier‘s noises turn more frustrated, his hands blindly groping at Geralt‘s chest, trying to find out how to unbuckle it.
Finally, Jaskier pulls back with an outraged gasp and throws his hands up. “For fuck‘s sake, Geralt! I appreciate the new look, but I‘d like to see some real abs this century!“ he exclaims, his voice echoing in the grotto.
Geralt takes in his appearance, from the way his chest is slightly heaving, to the outraged expression on his face like the armor has personally offended him, to his disheveled hair, and back down to his damp trousers soaking up the dirt from the ground.
A laugh escapes from his mouth before he can stop it. Jaskier‘s expression turns flabbergasted immediately, while Geralt continues to chuckle helplessly.
“Are you laughing at me, you big oaf?“ Jaskier demands, incredulous.
“I‘m sorry,“ Geralt says, trying to stop.
“Ohhh, let us mark this day in the history books where Geralt of Rivia apologized to me, not only once, but twice!“ Jaskier replies, though with a teasing glint in his eyes as well.
Geralt is still grinning, feeling lighter and happier than he ever remembers being. It seems ridiculous now that they never took this step, never kissed, never held each other the way they both wanted to. And now that they‘re here, they couldn’t even take a minute until they reached dry ground and peeled him out of his armor first.
A soft smile plays around Jaskier‘s lips now too. And there‘s that open adoration in his eyes, which Geralt has missed so much while simultaneously trying to tell himself that he‘ll never get to see it again. He‘s always been afraid to wonder why Jaskier would look at him like that, but he thinks he‘s ready to hear the reason now.
“What?“ he simply asks, the gentle note in his voice coming naturally in that moment, as Jaskier keeps looking at him.
“I‘ve never seen you laugh like this before,“ Jaskier answers. He reaches out with his right hand and touches the upturned corner of Geralt‘s mouth. Geralt wants to kiss his fingertips, but resists the urge and lets Jaskier trace the small dimples created by his smile.
“I really did miss you,“ Jaskier confesses, yearning dripping from his voice, even now that they're finally here, together. “By Melitele, I tried not to. But it felt like you took my heart with you that day.“
Geralt swallows, his smile dimming. He grips Jaskier‘s thighs, trying to steady himself, even though he‘s the one safely seated on the ground. “I didn‘t mean any of it, and I am sorry,“ he pleads, desperately wishing to ease the pain he caused.
The fingers still touching his face lay themselves over his lips. “Shush, that‘s enough apologies,“ Jaskier soothes him. “I believe you, dear heart.“
Geralt sighs and takes Jaskier‘s hand, pulling it away from his mouth so that he can kiss him again. It‘s careful and slow this time, the way their lips meet and explore each other. Geralt sinks into it, warmed despite the cold.
It feels like coming home.