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He’d dressed up for the occasion.
Geralt had given him quite the side-eye, seeing how they were currently alone in the woods, but elected to let it go. Besides, Eskel’s idea of dressing up involved a clean pair of jeans and a comfortable flannel, so it’s not like he was out of place.
And as he only planned on doing this once, Eskel wanted to look good. So far, everything was exactly as he’d imagined it. Two days of riding through the backcountry and they’d found the perfect spot (to camp, obviously): a slow-moving river in the lee of the mountain, water crystal-clear. There was plenty of room to picket the horses, and more than enough grass to keep them fed. Dragonflies fluttered through the cattails, and they had awoken that morning to a red-winged blackbird singing his song. There were fish in the river and wild berries on the bushes and at night, a carpet of stars in the sky.
That afternoon, after they’d had a gloriously-bare swim, Eskel had put on his new flannel, a red and gold thing that Jaskier had promised him brought out his eyes and slipped on the clean jeans that had been waiting, hidden at the bottom of his pack. And then checked for the hundredth time that the tiny box was still in the pocket.
Vesemir had sighed something about tradition when Eskel had shown him the ring but agreed that it suited Geralt more anyway.
(Besides, Eskel had said, if you want to worry about tradition, best start figuring out how you’re going to walk both of us down the aisle. Or who are you giving away to whom?
Lambert had gotten himself whacked with a newspaper for trying to act out their foster father walking one of them down and then jogging back like he’d forgotten something to get the other.)
After visualizing things every way possible, Eskel had settled on waiting until the sun set and the stars came out. Geralt was beautiful, but there was something about when he was lit up by a campfire that just…Eskel sighed.
The waiting turned out to be the worst part. He’d almost blurted the words out ten times that day; when he’d woken to Geralt speaking softly to the horses, when he’d turned and found him sun-washed in the river, when they’d –
“Eskel?”
“Hm?” He snapped out of his day-dreaming and looked up to find Geralt proffering a plate full of fish and wild greens.
He smiled, softly. “Where did you wander off to?”
“Nowhere in particular,” Eskel said. “Just…today’s been a really great day, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Geralt said, a bit bemused. “Shouldn’t have to ask, you were there for all of it.”
“I know, I just…” Wait you fool. He took a bite of the fish. Not while you’re both covered in grease and fish guts.
“Just what?” Geralt asked, laughing at him in that silent way of his.
“…the fish is really good.”
“Uh huh,” Geralt said, taking a bite. “Sure.”
He wouldn’t let it go either, watching Eskel over his plate for the rest of their meal. And as they buried the scraps and washed the dishes and themselves and returned back to the fire, sitting pressed up against each other as they leaned back to watch for shooting stars.
Geralt turned his head, speaking softly into Eskel’s ear, lips brushing the curve of it in a way that never failed to make him shiver, “Gonna tell me what’s been eating you all day, ‘Kel?”
And just like that, the words that had been on the tip of his tongue all day vanished. A desperate, strangled sound forced its way between his lips, causing Geralt to lean back and look at him, concerned.
“Eskel?”
“Geralt.” And fuck, Eskel had a whole speech planned out, poetry included, painstakingly memorized. But in that moment, with the love of his life staring at him like he’s nuts, the only thing Eskel could do is tip forward and kiss him.
It settled something in him, that familiar press of lips on lips. Geralt hummed inquisitively but didn’t pull away. Eskel kissed him until his chest was tight with it, heart overflowing. He reached into his pocket.
“Geralt?” He said softly against his mouth. “Can I ask you something?”
“’Course,” Geralt said, kiss rough.
Eskel leaned back, just enough to catch Geralt’s eyes. He opened his hand, holding the little black box out. “Marry me?”
Geralt’s eyes widened, and Eskel took a breath, poetry on his lips, when Geralt started laughing.
He was fucking laughing.
Eskel…felt nothing. The whole situation was so bizarre, so absolutely unexpected, and he had no idea how to react. He started to pull away, to get up, but Geralt grabbed him, swallowing down his cackles.
“No, no, oh gods Eskel, I’m not – just hold on!” Without letting go of Eskel, Geralt reached behind him, and then he was pressing something into Eskel’s free hand.
Pressing a small, velvet box into Eskel’s hand.
“Is this…?”
“Eskel, can I ask you something?”
“’Course,” he choked.
“Marry me?”
“I asked you first!” Eskel laughed, pulling Geralt close. He’s crying, they both were, but they were happy, laughing tears.
“Fair,” Geralt said, pecking him on the lips. “Yes.”
Eskel pulled away, playfully pushing at his best friend (his fiancé!). “Yes? That’s it? You put me through the emotional wringer and all you can say is yes?”
Geralt tackled him, tipping both of them backwards until he’s perched just over Eskel. “You,” he said, tapping Eskel on the nose, “are avoiding my question.”
“Hmm.” Eskel pretended to think. “You know, I don’t know…”
Geralt growled, and Eskel reached up to cuff him gently on the side of the head. It turned into him stroking his hair once, then he used that hand to pull Geralt down. “Yes, I’ll marry you, you big proposal-stealer.”
They kissed for a while, before remembering the ring-boxes clutched in their hands. Geralt tipped himself to the side, so that he was cuddled up to Eskel, head resting on his bicep. He opened the box and held it up, tilting it so that the firelight reflected off the ring nestled inside.
“Is this…” he touched it with a finger and laughed delightedly when the inner band spun. Geralt curled to the side, pressing his face into Eskel’s neck. “Oh gods, how I love you. You wonderful – beautiful – thoughtful” – he punctuated each word with a kiss – “amazing man. I want to marry you a hundred times over.” He grabbed Eskel’s hand, the one curled around his box, and coaxed his fingers flat. Eskel took the hint and opened the box.
His ring was simpler, elegant silver with an inner band of wood. Eskel brought it to his lips, overwhelmed, but Geralt pulled his hand down, and tilted it so that Eskel could see the inner band. He had to hold it close, but the firelight was just enough to read the words inscribed around the band, in what looked to be Geralt’s messy handwriting:
“It’s a love story…” Eskel murmured, and then the tune clicked in his head. “Are you proposing to me with Taylor Swift lyrics?”
“So, baby just say yes.” Geralt talk-sang, softly.
And then it was Eskel who couldn’t control his laughter, even as Geralt grabbed his shaking arm and put the ring onto his finger and rolled back into Eskel’s embrace. “I love you so much,” he said, gasping around his laughs, “so, so much you ridiculous man. I can’t wait to marry you.”
Geralt cuddled closer and tucked his words into Eskel’s neck. “I love you too, fiancé.”