Work Text:
Gaetan, for all he'd thrown himself into working the fields and helping with repairs and building around the estate, took a while to settle in. There had been days near the beginning of his stay that Geralt had worried the Cat would work himself to the bone before admitting to even the slightest discomfort.
He'd fled to Toussaint when wanted posters went up around Novigrad bearing his description and declaring him a thief and murderer. Geralt had never asked if it was true, believing it none of his business what Gaetan had done in order to survive while the Wolves built a new home in the South.
Geralt had initially been surprised that Gaetan was willing to beg sanctuary from him, but watching the way he worked apart from the other field hands whenever possible, and shied toward whichever Wolf was closest when BB or any of the other staff came too close, Geralt began to understand. The Wolves had proven more merciful than humans, and Gaetan had had a few too many close encounters to trust that humans wouldn't turn on him the moment it became more convenient for them to be rid of him.
It wasn’t until the harvest had passed, and then well into the planting of the next year's crops, that Gaetan started to relax a little.
He started joining the Wolves in the drawing room for Gwent and drinks after dinner, left less space between himself and the other field hands while he worked, cringed away less often when someone passed too close with tools. Still, he avoided the stables, and always froze in place whenever he caught sight of a pitchfork. Geralt could certainly relate to that, and wouldn't hold his hesitance against him.
As he settled down and filled out, Geralt couldn’t help but admire the healthy glow to Gaetan’s skin, and the way his hollowed cheeks rounded out. Gaetan would never be built like any of the Wolves, not even Lambert, who was the leanest of them, but Geralt was proud to know that he had been able to provide enough for his brothers and Gaetan to lose their hungry edge. The Cat had looked half starved when he’d arrived, but now he looked to be in peak health.
There was an instinctual part of Geralt’s mind that preened, knowing he had done well by his pack, and was helping them to thrive. It was a ridiculous notion, given that truly any of them could have lucked into being in his position, but all the same it reared its head whenever he saw evidence that his pack was well cared for.
It was after the next harvest that things changed again.
There was a festival to celebrate the end of a successful harvest, and Geralt revelled in the joy that permeated the air. Even without White Gull, he could have gotten drunk off the atmosphere alone, and he wasn’t the only one.
Lambert had been accosted to dance with just about every youth in all of Toussaint, and seemed to actually be enjoying himself, whispering conspiratorially with several of them, and showing off his footwork. Geralt knew he wouldn't take any of them to bed, but he looked to be taking back some of the youth he'd skipped past in all the tragedy of his younger years, and Geralt was glad to see him having fun and encouraging flirtations between his various dance partners.
Eskel was dancing with a rotating cast of children, mothers, and widowed old ladies, showing each of them the same level of courtly ceremony. They all giggled over his ridiculousness, much as Geralt himself had done in years past, when the two of them had been young and ridiculous together.
Gaetan had surprised him, throwing himself into the preparations for the festival, and instead of retreating to his rooms when the revellers began to arrive, he helped to serve food and drinks. When the dancing had started, he'd allowed Marlene to pull him into the fray.
Geralt had known that Gaetan would be graceful, as a Cat, but he hadn’t expected the sheer joy on Gaetan’s face as he was spun from one partner to the next through the night. More than a few of the field hands took a spin with him, and a fair few of their wives and daughters did the same, some with lustful eyes, and some with giddy blushes, but all wearing smiles as Gaetan effortlessly spun them around the makeshift dancefloor.
Geralt wasn't allowed to watch for too long. Eskel dragged him onto the floor for a dance, and then he was passed back and forth between guests and staff and whoever else would have him, until even he was starting to run out of breath.
He had been dancing with one of the maids, who had been making eyes at the farrier's boy every time they twirled past, when all of a sudden the hand in his was switched for another, this one larger, and more calloused.
Gaetan was grinning, his cheeks flushed and a tiny bit of sweat beading on his brow.
"No courtly bows?" Gaetan teased. "Eskel’s showing you up. Might have to go dance with him again."
Geralt laughed, stepping back just enough to lift Gaetan’s hand to his face and press a kiss to his knuckles.
"How's that for courtly?" Geralt chuckled, watching the flush on Gaetan’s cheeks darken.
"S'pose it'll do," Gaetan said, letting Geralt draw him back into the dance.
The sun had set, and the floor was lit mostly by the bonfire that washed the scene in a warm orange glow. It gave Gaetan an almost impish look as he urged Geralt into ever more complicated footwork, grinning all the while.
When the musicians ended their set with a flourish, Geralt and Gaetan were both panting, giddy with adrenaline and near vibrating with the infectious glee of the festival.
Geralt could only watch as Gaetan, overcome with some sort of emotion, surged forward and planted a kiss on his cheek, dancing away and darting into the crowd before he had a chance to react.
The spot where Gaetan’s lips had touched his skin felt warm, and Geralt pressed the tips of his fingers to it, awestruck.
"You look like someone just brained you with one of Barmin's dusty old tomes," Lambert commented, pressing a cup of water into his hand.
"Gaetan kissed me," Geralt said, still staring into the spot where the Cat had melted into the crowd.
"You mad about it?" Lambert asked. He sounded... cautious.
Geralt shook his head.
"Then go steal a kiss back," Lambert suggested with a shrug.
Geralt nodded numbly, already moving. His feet felt clumsy and slow, and his heart was pounding, but the dancing crowd seemed to part before him, clearing his path.
Gaetan stood near the bonfire, haloed in its warm light. His eyes danced with mirth, but behind that Geralt could make out the anxiety.
"I won't take it back," Gaetan said, standing firm.
Geralt chuckled. "I don't want you to take it back," he said, cupping Gaetan’s cheeks to draw him closer. "I want you to take more."
Gaetan threw himself as heartily into his new task as he had with all others before it.