Jaskier sounds absolutely scandalized when Geralt takes more than the most dainty of sips from his glass; he even has the gall to demonstrate proper wine-drinking technique to him, like he's some kind of fucking sommelier or something. It's wine and grading wines is all bullshit anyway, and Geralt usually drinks beer.
He licks his lips when he's done, as though chasing the flavor of the wine. Geralt watches, his face blank, and carefully does not think about Jaskier's mouth.
The whole soul-lacking comment was meant more as a joke than anything, a reference to the fact that most people looked at Geralt and saw nothing more than a big thug at best, and for those that knew his background? A monster at worst. One day, Jaskier was going to find out about his whole felony thing, either because he'd get curious and Google a little too deep or he'd just ask the right people the right questions, then maybe he'd get the comment.
Interested in poetry, he asks, and Geralt takes his glass of wine and drains the rest of its contents in one go.
"No."
Geralt wouldn't know good poetry if it bit him in the ass. He barely finished high school, nevertheless went to some fancy university to learn about rhyming schemes and classic literature and whatever the fuck else a modern liberal arts education means these days. Yen did, because she was smart enough to know that Geralt was dead weight and that she could do so much better, and Ciri will. Thank the gods that Geralt doesn't believe in that she got all her brains from her mother and not from him-- hell, that she seems to have gotten nothing from him but her hair color.
But the question about his bookshelf is... well, he has bookshelves, and they're full of books, and he actually quite likes to read. But either no one believes him if he says that, or they do what Lambert does and make fun of him relentlessly.
Jaskier sighs, looking quite disappointed at the lack of the possible connection they could've made, before drinking some more wine. Anyone that knows him knows he's capable of carrying one-sided conversations for hours, but man, Geralt surely is capable of testing his conversational skills to the fullest. Maybe he shouldn't have texted his sister before coming, that's why he's thinking so hard about it.
Are you sure he is worth the hassle, Jas?
It's not like he can blame her for worrying. This wouldn't be the first time he fucked someone much older than him or even a parent. But this has been nothing like picking up a guy or chick at a bar that he shall never see again, or maybe he will but just for another fuck. It's been more... personal. Well, as personal as it can with Mr Grunt-for-an-answer.
Lizzie thinks he's infatuated with the mystery of a man that probably is just an old guy that likes horses, nothing more nothing less; and the more Jaskier drags this on, the more he'll be hurt by disappointment when the infatuation disappears after a good orgasm. Which is, quite frankly, too hopeful of her - Jaskier doesn't think he's getting that orgasm any time soon. So he'll stick to this mystery, this puzzle wrapped in golden eyes and big muscles, thank you very much.
"Then tell me, Geralt," he continues after finishing his first sandwich. "What do you do in your free time? That isn't horse related?"
Jaskier looks disappointed in that answer, and Geralt just... doesn't get why he's here at all, why he even wanted to say yes when he'd mentioned this thing to him. It's one thing to want to go up the mountain because Jaskier liked trail rides and paid Geralt to perform a service, it's another to agree to come up the mountain to be his second pair of hands performing manual labor for the promise of food and his dubious company.
What was it that his therapist would say at a time like this? Probably to quit being an asshole and carry his half of the conversation with his... acquaintance-friend. Customer-friend-acquaintance. Whatever.
He chews through the sandwich. Jaskier is waiting for some kind of answer to his question, and the afternoon sunlight turns his hair into a gold halo around his head and makes his eyes look almost impossibly blue, and Geralt doesn't know why the fuck he's noticing these things at all.
"I fix things," he says after a few long moments. "Motorcycles, mostly. Sometimes cars."
There's a simplicity to mechanical things that Geralt likes-- they go together a certain way, and when you have all their parts in order, they work. Easy. No surprises.
"Ranch keeps me busy most days, though. Horses need a lot and I've had a lot more business the last few weeks."
More to do, and just one ranch dad to do it all. It's probably partly because of the social media presence and the power of Jaskier's fanbase-- word travels fast when there are a few thousand teenage fangirls twittering about it or whatever it is they do.
Ah, silence. Jaskier's greatest enemy (well, after Valdo Marx, and his father, and-- ahem). He munches on another sandwich as he waits, trying to keep his mouth busy and his mind distracted. Impatience can get the best of him sometimes, and if he pushes too much, Geralt may get sick of him and tell him to fuck off.
But where should he draw the line? With introverts like this guy, some pushing is absolutely necessary. They wouldn't even be here in the first place if Jaskier hadn't put so much work in texting and chatting with him whenever he visited the ranch! Maybe he needs to--
Oh. An answer! A real one! Plus an update on his work life! SUCCESS!
"Motorcycles? You ride bikes? That's wicked!" And incredibly sexy as well - Jaskier wants to demand a ride already. He can already picture both of them on the boke, wind on their faces and Jaskier's arms around those very, very hard abs... Oh god, is he staring? He's staring. Jaskier clears his voice and tries again, leaning is as he starts shooting question after question, absolutely excited at this bit of news. "Do you own one or more bikes? What's the fastest you've gone? Have you taken Cirilla with you? Do the horses get scared of the noises?"
Gosh, he can picture that as well, a greasy Geralt, looking like a badass mechanic-biker, still being soft as he hushes his beloved animals... how is this bloke even real. It makes so much sense as well - he prefers to work on things, be animals or machines, because he doesn't have to interact with people then. It suits Geralt's loner personality. And oh, Jaskier remembers now which were the longest texts he's gotten from him: the ones that guided him through putting up a bird feeder on his balcony. Fuck. Next time he needs something crafty, he should make Geralt come over, he'll pay for the fucking Uber if necessary.
When he hears about the extra business, Jaskier instantly beams.
"Told you! The power of social media, my friend!" He grabs his glass and lightly taps it against Geralt's, as if toasting to that. "Congratulations on your newfound success! If you don't have time for yourself, however- have you considered hiring some help?"
Jaskier perks up almost immediately when Geralt mentions his motorcycle, then gets a sort of dreamy, far-away look on his face while he thinks about it. Geralt doesn't even want to try to guess at what weird, fantastical things are going through his head right now, and doesn't. It's just easier to let it go and answer his rapid-fire questions. Jaskier's mind is a strange and probably terrifying place, and Geralt does not want to venture any further into it than he has to.
"One that I ride and one that I'm fixing up, I don't know, no, and yes, that's why I keep them in my garage at the house."
How does this guy even manage to get through that many thoughts all at the same time, nevertheless get them out of his mouth, too? It would be impressive if it wasn't also a bit difficult to follow. Like his brain is continually firing on all cylinders. And then he jumps right to talking about the business, which is fine except that Geralt still knows almost nothing about social media.
Jaskier's glass pings off of Geralt's, makes a crystalline little noise. He doesn't exactly think it's something to celebrate, at least not like this-- now Geralt's just understaffed, overworked, and extremely confused by his own social media.
"I get a lot of weird comments on that account," he says, taking out his phone to pull up some of the aforementioned comments on Instagram. "The fuck is three eggplants, raindrops, and a taco emoji supposed to mean?"
Since Jaskier is so well-versed in what the Kids are into, he should know, right? And he would know why this mysterious string of emojis is showing up on a picture of him lugging around a bale of hay for his horses on a hot day, his shirt slung over the rail of a fence. Are the people on Instagram confused? Do they think that he's some kind of farmer, and that's why they're posting vegetable emojis? Someone had a similarly confusing string that involved eggplants and peaches, too. And why do so many of them fixate on eggplants? They wouldn't even grow well in this area.
That's two! Two bikes! So cool! And how come he doesn't know how fast he's gone? Does that mean he's never gone too fast or that he's gone so fast he couldn't keep an eye on it? Not taking Cirilla with him though, now that's a crime, Jaskier can't imagine a teenager is happy with that decision. At least it doesn't seem like she's borrowing (read: stealing) his keys to take her own rides.
Jaskier has a thousand more of these rapid-fire questions, especially when he notices Geralt avoids the subject of hiring help (a sign of stubbornness or a bigger issue?) but those questioning thoughts are dropped when he takes out his phone to show him the comments on the picture he posted earlier that morning.
And god, what a picture it is. Jaskier hasn't wanked to it yet only because of lack of time, but boy does it make his blood boil. Weird comments though? Has Geralt gotten a creep as a follower? (Jaskier doesn't count, shut up.) Maybe he needs to teach Geralt how to block unwanted attention that comes in the form of harassment or--
...emojis?
Oh.
Ooooh.
Jaskier snickers. "You must have some idea! That's why you're asking me and not your very young daughter."
Geralt's face tells him he's 100% serious and Jaskier just loses it then. He even has to put his glass down not to accidentally drop it instead, that's how hard he's laughing now. He's not trying to be mean, this is simply adorable, and honestly kind of impressive. How do you stay so... well, innocent is probably not the word, but that's the idea. Geralt can be quite antisocial, but still. Jaskier hopes this is just a part of his personality quirks -taking things too literally and being disconnected from the modern world- and not a red flag on their age difference.
"Geralt, my friend, you don't think those are actual eggplants, do you?" It's hard to talk and laugh at the same time, but somehow he manages. "It's code - almost a metaphor, we could say. A way to express what they think about you without using sexual-" he waggles his eyebrows then "-language that minors could see or the bots could delete. Don't think about vegetables, think about what they represent. An extremely handsome man posts a quite flattering -to say the least- picture of himself and makes the public's imagination run wild. Can't you tell what they want you to do to them, Geralt? Think about it for a second. See the shapes and put two and two together. I believe in you."
Actually, Geralt's asking Jaskier and not Ciri because when he asked Ciri, she had laughed in his face. He should probably have disciplined her for that, but he was too busy being extremely confused about the nuances of social media and why it was showing him phallic purple vegetables.
He is absolutely not going to tell Jaskier that.
Geralt shoots Jaskier a stern look, one that he maintains throughout the musician's entire spiel; the furrows in his forehead deepen when Jaskier's eyebrows waggle at him suggestively. His mouth twists into an annoyed expression when he starts going on about being handsome and taking flattering pictures and that kind of bullshit. Lying to his face, that's a new one. He didn't think Jaskier was the type to spout baseless falsehoods.
"Jaskier, the girl that posted this is..." he checks her profile and does a little mental math when he finds her birthdate in the description. "Nineteen. I'm old enough to be her father, she shouldn't be sending anything to me. And not-- vegetable cocks."
What the fuck is his life? What is his life that he's getting sex emojis from teenagers on Instagram?
"I should take these pictures down." The back of his neck feels warm. He'll blame it on sunburn, even though he's already put sunscreen on to prevent that. "People are getting the wrong idea."
He knew he should've stuck to just horse pictures and not listened when Ciri told him to post pictures of himself, too.
Geralt's mouth twists and Jaskier feels a bit bad for him, not guessing he's not believing his words and thinking his reaction comes from understanding finally sinking in. No matter how bad he feels, though, he can't help chuckling again when Geralt says vegetable cocks.
"Nineteen is a young adult, Geralt. And she isn't actually sending you anything. Trust me, I know what fans sending you things looks like." And boy, has he gotten things since his channel started - he has to drink to that. "It's just a playful, sexier yet not rule-breaking way of saying you're hotter than global warming."
Smooth, Jaskier. Really smooth.
Do age differences bother him? Or is it just because this is too young? It's not like Geralt can be Jaskier's father. Maybe it's just because this hits too close to home, considering Cirilla and all. For one millisecond there (one Lizzie would be proud of), Jaskier wonders if he shouldn't change his approach, maybe drop it completely. Is he even doing the right thing here, hanging out with a man ten years older than him that obviously doesn't enjoy sexual innuendo?
That little insightful thought is instantly dropped when his dick takes over his thinking again, Geralt's threat pushing him to lean in and grab the man's arm with both his hands, as if that could stop him from doing anything.
"NO!" He realizes what he's doing a little too late - Jaskier looks into golden eyes, reminds himself for the hundredth time why he can't just go for it and smooch the hell out this DILF, and slowly pulls back after clearing his voice.
(His fingers still feel warm where they touched Geralt though.)
"I mean... I get it. If it makes you uncomfortable, then I get it. Your comfort comes first, and I don't want you to give that up for the sake of the ranch. That isn't -or shouldn't- be what social media is about."
A pauses - should he? Well, he's already embarrassed himself enough, he supposes, may as well go all the way. But he doesn't meet Geralt's eyes when he asks, "if you do take them down, would you at least send them to me? I like seeing you more often than these visits to the ranch."
Which isn't a lie, but also, he doesn't want to lose his wanking material. Sue him.
For a moment, Geralt almost considers asking him what things his fans send him that are so bad, but then he realizes that this is both a very invasive question and also a very unwise question, because Jaskier might actually answer it. And if it's bad enough to make Jaskier, a man who has possibly negative amounts of shame, have to drink when he thinks about it, Geralt doesn't want to know. He will live a happier and more fulfilled life blissfully ignorant of the weird shit that people Snapchat at him or whatever.
For some reason, the prospect of Geralt taking his pictures down from the Instagram account is terribly distressing to Jaskier, and he's actually a little startled by his outburst-- it'd be hard to tell, Geralt's surprise mostly consists of staring at him with a furrowed brow, but it seems odd that he'd be so invested in the pictures on Geralt's account. It's not as though his photos reflect on Jaskier's reputation or anything. That's not how social media works, or at least he doesn't think it does. So why would he be so upset about Geralt taking down a few pictures?
Pictures, specifically, of him that a number of other people seem to find very attractive.
That thought kicks around in his head for a minute or so while he frowns at his phone. If these comments had come from anyone else, Geralt might have thought that they shared those sentiments. But Jaskier wouldn't, there's no way that a young, objectively attractive man looking to start a music career would be interested in a middle-aged father who spent most of his time around horses and smelled like it, too. He would be interested in pretty young people like himself, or someone wealthy who liked to pay for pretty young things. Geralt is none of those things.
And he also isn't interested in men, that's important to remember, too.
"Why would you want pictures of me?"
Geralt doesn't even want pictures of himself. Why would anyone else?
Jaskier looks up at him then, eyes wide and shock written all over his face, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. Has he heard correctly? There's no way Geralt doesn't know.
Is it?
"Because... friends..."
His mouth is running out of habit - Geralt asked a question and he doesn't like silence. But he soon closes it, realizing there's no way to salvage this without actually saying I like you. And after that question? The mere thought makes something in his chest hurt.
He soon realizes what it is: he feels like a fucking creep.
Is Geralt truly that oblivious? Is it because of his age, not understanding modern flirting? Because he's straight? Maybe he is queer, but simply not into Jaskier, and the idea of a younger man who values freedom over family life being into him isn't even an option. Or maybe he's asking on purpose to put Jaskier on the spot, considering the context of the thirsty comments they just discussed.
In the end, the real reason doesn't matter, the final conclusion is still obvious: everything Jaskier's done so far it's been 100% one-sided, and the tolerance he thought was there turns out to be in his head. He's no different from an internet anon creeping on him through his DMs, making Geralt feel uncomfortable and wanted only for being a hot piece of meat instead of appreciated for his work at the ranch.
Jaskier has no chances here. Lizzie will be happy to hear that later, he supposes.
There's one thing he hasn't been lying about though, and it's that he still likes this friendship. And if that's all he can get, well, he'll protect it. He looks down at his glass with a sigh, looking disappointed.
"I guess you're right, why would I want pictures from a friend?" He laughs, because the question sounds dumb in his head (he gets pictures from friends all the time and he sends his own to Geralt as well) but also to cover up any embarrassment that can go through in his expression - he still wants to salvage this, even if it has to be platonic. "Delete them, Geralt. I want you to have fun with your account, not to be harassed."
Do friends send each other pictures of themselves? Of other things, sure-- he'd sent Jaskier a picture or two of something that he'd thought the musician would enjoy, like the horses. His brothers would send him pictures of things sometimes, too, especially Lambert, most of the time if he found something funny or weird. Yen would send him pictures of Ciri, vacation photos from trips that he didn't go on. But none of them sent him pictures of themselves, and they certainly had never asked for him to do the same.
Is this what young people did now? Is this how he finds out for certain that he's gotten old?
There's a sudden sick twist in his gut, an uncomfortable possibility. He's not... he's not like one of those kinds of old men, going after people a whole decade younger than them because they're young and don't know what they want out of relationships yet. And sure, Jaskier's twenty-eight, not some barely-legal co-ed, but maybe it's overstepping some client boundaries to take him up the mountain alone for something that could, in the right context, look like a date-like activity. Though Jaskier couldn't have thought it was actually a date, he wouldn't have agreed to come if he'd thought that.
Still. He needs to be more careful. Like he'd said with the pictures-- someone could get the wrong idea.
"I'll take care of them later," he says. "Reception's shit up here."
The rest of their totally platonic picnic passes relatively easily-- Jaskier carries the majority of the conversation, being far better at small-talk and that kind of thing than Geralt's ever been. And Geralt tries to at least participate a little, even if he does have a tendency towards one-word answers. Evening's setting in by the time they pack everything up and head back down the mountain, the sunset painting the meadows in shades of red and gold.
The horses get put away for the night with their (lighter, since they'd been grazing all afternoon) dinners, seemingly content to be back in the barn after spending all day out doing... horse things. Mostly standing around and eating grass, but who knows what goes on inside the head of a horse during long summer afternoons.
This would be about the time that he would walk Jaskier up to where his ride would come to get him, then take the turn to head back to his own house. But Jaskier's very much a city boy, and Geralt's had enough city folk come down for trail rides to know that they aren't always aware of what needs to be done post-trail ride. Probably never had to deal with a tick in their lives. He imagines that Jaskier's probably much the same.
"You should tick check yourself before you go back home," he says. "You've probably got a few on you. Use my shower, if you want."
He's certain that Jaskier has at least one on him, because Geralt already picked one or two of them off of himself in the time since they'd come down off of the mountain. If he has them, the musician almost certainly does too-- ticks don't discriminate against prettyboys with guitars. Very egalitarian of them.
While this little turn of events ends up in heartbreak for him (what a surprise), Jaskier must admit something does improve in this relationship, and that's the conversation. It's not always easy to chat with Geralt when they're on different horses and the man can easily ignore him by making Roach go a little farther or faster. It's not like he's making that much conversation now either, but the fact he's participating at all (even if it's with one-word answers) is a huge deal. It's... well, nice. A nice platonic chat. It reminds Jaskier of why he puts up with his grumpy ass in the first place.
He tries to flirt a little less. He has to wonder if his mannerisms even make it possible.
The day is over a little too soon, although it's probably for the best. Jaskier takes a picture of the beautiful sunset and sings all the way back to the ranch, a calm and thoughtful song about the twists of destiny leaving his lips to match what he's been in his mind since that awfully awkward moment of realization.
After saying his good-byes to Pegasus, Jaskier takes out his phone to order a ride... and freezes when Geralt makes his comment, blue eyes widening.
"...what." That has come out a bit more like a squeal than he intends it to. "Bloody hell, Geralt! This isn't our first trail ride!" He's already putting the phone away and taking off his flannel shirt. "Why is it TODAY that you choose to warn fucking warn me about this?"
He's a little too busy freaking out at the idea of nasty bugs hanging on his body and untying his boots to realize that Geralt has invited him inside and also this was something done back at the Pankratz estate... but by the servants.
Jaskier's immediately upset by this information because-- as Geralt suspected-- he apparently had no idea that ticks are a thing. Despite the fact that it's common knowledge that ticks exist in woods and meadows and have no qualms with latching onto a human host and making a nice meal out of them. He's already starting to take off his clothes, even though Geralt hasn't even brought him back to the house yet and he's just standing out near the street.
"Don't strip right now, unless you want to walk barefoot to the house," he says, then starts to lead the musician back up the driveway towards his home. "Usually I don't get this many on me just from taking a trail ride, but we usually don't roll around in the underbrush either."
The house that Geralt built is, unsurprisingly to anyone who knows him, very much in a cabin style, a sturdy two-story thing with a semi-basement, made from wood and stone with a deck off of the main floor and a balcony off of the second. Geralt leads him up the stairs to the deck, then into the house that way; that entrance goes right into the living room, the closest one to the first-floor bathroom. A person might be surprised that the house actually seems like it's been decorated rather than just filled with whatever furniture would do, but any cohesiveness in the design is entirely Yen's input. Geralt would have been fine with a house with mis-matched furniture so long as each individual piece was serviceable, but she had taken one step into it and demanded that he run these decisions by her first. Something about not wanting her daughter to spend half of her time in a house full of flannel.
So the end result is cozy, a place that Ciri could be comfortable living in, too, with enough of Geralt's-- as Yen would put it-- bullshit mountain man aesthetic that he doesn't feel like a stranger in his own home. Maybe more soft fabrics and warm colors than he would've used, but Yen kept it muted, subtle. She'd always been better at this sort of thing than him, anyway, so leaving it to her had been a good decision.
She had also, for inexplicable reasons, shown considerable glee in putting a dense faux-fur rug in front of the large central fireplace, regardless of the looks Geralt gave her. He knows what she thinks it'll be used for, but he'd have to be dating someone to fuck them on the rug in front of his fireplace.
Anyway.
"Take off your shirt and jeans," he says. "I'll check you over. Bathroom's over there, you can check the rest when I'm done and rinse off."
It's not a big deal-- he'd done the same thing with his brothers after long days messing around in the woods as kids. Purely practical. There's nothing strange about putting his hands on Jaskier, getting his fingers through his hair.
"I'll toss your clothes in the dryer while you're in there. Heat'll kill anything we missed."
"...ah. Right." You'd think he'd try at least to look ashamed of how quickly he can undress, but he doesn't. He just picks his guitar, his bags and his shirt and clears his voice. "Lead the way!"
The fact Geralt is inviting him to his freaking house is finally sinking in, and that instantly gets rid of his indignation, replacing it with a grin instead. The bugs are worth it in exchange for this one more step in this re-... ah, friendship, he reminds himself. Right. Which is why he doesn't make an innuendo joke when Geralt mentions rolling around in the underbrush, no matter he's dying to.
Jaskier has seen the house from the outside every time he's visited, of course, and he's always thought it matches the mountain man motif Geralt has going on. So he expects the inside to match - imagine his surprise when it doesn't.
Alright, that's not completely fair. It does match in theme, it's just... well. It's actually well done! Jaskier wouldn't mind spending time here and even take pictures he wouldn't be ashamed of sharing. There even are a fur rug and a fireplace! Geralt only needs to open a few shirt buttons and it'll be the perfect romance novel cover. Has the rug ever been baptized, he wonders.
...he shouldn't be thinking like that. Friends, friends!
"You have a very nice place here, Geralt. I didn't expect you to have an eye for decoration." He keeps turning on his spot in the middle of the room, taking every detail, wanting to learn more about this mystery of a man - and that's why he's distracted when Geralt speaks, so his mouth works on automatic. "Oh gee, buy a bloke dinner first, you scamp."
His turning stops as soon as he finishes saying that. Everything happens in an instant: first the freezing and the wide eyes, a second later the raising of his hands to gesture, which he can't do because they're busy. His flannel shirt falls to the floor and Jaskier curses under his breath as he drops his bags and his guitar case on the couch.
"Sorrysorrysorry I didn't mean-- I mean--" Fuck. Triplefuck. He is being a creep after all, holy shit. He hasn't been this much of a bisexual disaster in a while. "A shower after a warm day sounds lovely, thank you, my friend."
Yeah, friend. There we go. Smooth as fuck (except he isn't).
Jaskier clears his voice and starts undressing as Geralt requested, at more normal speed this time. Partly because he wants to stick to this whole better-not-come-off-as-flirting deal, partly because he needs a moment for his brain to stop panicking at the fact he's undressing for bloody Geralt. This isn't how he imagined it would happen, honestly. And it's not like Jaskier hasn't been in locker rooms before, but this is definitely different. Geralt will be touching him and inspecting him closely in the privacy of his home and--
Bollocks he mumbles under his breath again as he drops his I'm a luxury you can't afford t-shirt on the floor next to his shirt, and now his lovely (blue and yellow) tattoo and all that freaking body hair are in display. His jeans go off next, and he decides to search the room for a topic of conversation to try to distract himself from the fact Geralt is now seeing him in his underwear.
There's one sock left to take off when he sees it. He frowns, confused and already getting a little annoyed if he's understanding this correctly.
"...Geralt. Have you been lying to me or your daughter just happens to have a huge collection of high fantasy?"
Jaskier seems to approve of his house, which... shouldn't mean anything but kind of does, for some reason. Geralt just mentally brushes it off; no one would like it if someone thought that their house looked awful. It's nothing strange. And it doesn't matter much anyway, it's not as though Jaskier's going to be spending much time in Geralt's house. What would he be here for?
In response to his dinner comment, Geralt just gives him a single raised eyebrow-- he doesn't take it personally, it's the kind of horseshit that people say in this kind of situation. A way to break the weird tension of having to strip down in front of someone you don't know very well. Jaskier seems oddly flustered by the whole thing afterward, though. He still does what Geralt asked and takes off his shirt and jeans, tossing them into a pile, but he seems keen on inspecting his surroundings more than paying attention to his host. Geralt doesn't stop him; he has to get out of his own shirt so that Jaskier can check his hair and back as well, and to briefly go into the kitchen to fetch a paper towel. Needs to have something to squash the ticks in once he finds them, after all.
He asks about the bookshelves, which are, as he noticed, packed full-- fantasy, horror, classic gothic novels, a few shelves dedicated to those popular young adult novels that Ciri likes. Quite a few of the paperbacks are well-loved, with bent pages and cracked spines. Geralt steps behind him, reaching out with one hand to brush aside some of the hair at the nape of his neck so that he could look at his hairline. Start pushing his fingers through his thick, dark hair, feeling for any ticks that might be hiding there.
"Ciri is a very prolific reader," he says. "But I didn't lie to you. I don't read, I don't have time to anymore."
He used to read, a hobby that he'd really picked up while he'd been in prison. Not much else to do while he was there but exercise, read, and try not to get into any more trouble. Be a model prisoner and try to look nice for the parole board hearings.
"Hold still." There's a suspicious little bump in the hair just behind Jaskier's right ear. Geralt grabs it between thumb and forefinger and pulls, and-- yeah, there's one. First tick of the afternoon. Geralt deposits it on the paper towel and squashes it with a thumb.
Indeed, Jaskier is busying himself by inspecting his surroundings, which means he completely misses on Geralt taking off some clothes as well. Probably for the best, he's already having enough of a hard time.
So Geralt had been lying, the bastard! Jaskier wants to huff... but a gasp escapes his lip instead when that a strong yet kind hand touches the nape of his neck. When did Geralt get behind him? How can a man this big be so sneaky? Fuck, his fingers are long and gentle and they're pushing through his hair now - Jaskier swears he could bloody swoon right now.
And if he pushes his head back against that hand, well. Totally an accident. Really.
"Y-you arse." Ah, his voice has come out a little too squeaky, hasn't it? Good lord, this is almost pathetic. He takes a deep breath and tries again, ignoring how fast his heart is beating and how it echoes in his own ears. "Don't play innocent with me, this is the second time you answer with a technicality just to avoid my questions. If you don't want to call it lying then call it bloody cheating."
He knows because he's a word-spinner and he used to pull the same shit on his parents. Not so fun when someone else pulls it on you, mmh, Jaskier?
One would think holding still should be a hard task for Jaskier - and usually it is, ball of energy and all. But it isn't so difficult this time, because he can feel Geralt's fingers on his ear and his body can only freeze as a shiver runs down his spine. His eyes are shut tight and Jaskier tries to think about not erotic things to distract himself from Geralt's hand on him and Geralt's warm breath on the back of his head and Geralt's body being so close and--
Fuck. Valdo Marx in a thong. Sundays spent in church. Spoiled milk. Nasty bugs, like the one Geralt is---
Oh for fuck's sake. This isn't working! It's the silence, it's gotta be. He hates silence, and it makes this moment worse by making it an Actual Moment (TM). He needs a topic of conversation asap. Where were they? Ah, yes. Literature.
"Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter," he recites Oscar Wilde as he realizes his chest is flushed now. Dammit, hopefully Geralt doesn't notice. "Is that lovely gothic section yours or your daughter's?"
Do they have books in common? Now that would be as unexpected as the excellent decoration.
"Hm," he says when Jaskier accuses him of cheating, giving away absolutely nothing. It is cheating, a little, because he knows that he's skirting around the question on a technicality. At first it had been because Jaskier was nosy and pushy, but now... it's fun, almost, to tease him. Just a little.
Jaskier holds very still while Geralt takes the tick off of him, presumably because he's taking a gross insect out of his hair. He keeps searching for more as the musician stays silent, focusing entirely on his task. He doesn't want to miss one, after all, and have it bite him. He could get sick from that, if he's particularly unlucky, and he doesn't need Lyme disease or something while he's trying to get his music career off the ground.
He breaks the silence with an Oscar Wilde quote as Geralt's finishing up with his scalp, pushing his ear forward a little and finding a little black dot hiding back there. Apparently the musician's ears are very attractive to ticks, and it takes Geralt a few moments to figure out how to grab the thing and remove it from its awkward location. Thankfully, it's too soon after their trip for the bugs to have bitten yet, so it comes off easily enough once he can grab it.
"Not a whole lot of fourteen year old girls reading Wilde," he says, moving on from Jaskier's hair to the nape of his neck, then down his back. His skin is soft and smooth, clearly well taken care of, and there is surprising strength in the muscles of his back. A splash of color marks his side where the tattoo runs. "They're mine."
His back looks clear, but there's technically one more spot for him to check. Ticks like to hide in dark, warm places, and one of their favorite spots is just underneath waistbands in trousers or, in this case, undergarments.
"Waistband," he says as a warning, then hooks his thumbs over the edge of it and pulls it back. Not much, just enough to see a half an inch or so of extra skin, and it's just as creamy-pale and smooth as the rest of him. Geralt's mouth feels oddly dry; maybe he's a little dehydrated because of the wine.
"You're good," he takes his hands off of Jaskier, and his fingertips feel like they're tingling just a little. "You'll still need to look over the rest of you. I'd appreciate it if you could check through my hair first."
One of the downsides of having his hair long-- it's a lot to check through. But the color of it means that ticks don't blend in at all, so that's one very minor benefit to his premature gray.
"You just insulted a whole new generation of bookworms," he replies, laughing and grateful for the distraction, because Geralt's fingers are on his freaking back now. God. Every spot he touches tingles, he swears. He needs to keep conversation up, to convince his brain to hold onto the blood instead of sending it south - and he's about to say something about his surprise over them having authors in common when Geralt gives his warning. Jaskier doesn't have time to react, he can only say-
"What?"
-before Geralt is hooking his thumbs over the waistband of his fucking underwear. Jaskier catches his breath and before he can stop himself, he's raising his hand to cover his mouth because he's sure a very embarrassing noise almost escapes him. Geralt is looking at his ass. Geralt is looking at his ass. GERALT IS LOOKING AT HIS ASS! Or maybe he isn't. Is he? He doesn't know what to think, he doesn't know what he wants the answer to be.
Geralt isn't interested in him, he reminds himself. He wanted to be treated like a friend, right? Well, this is it. Dudes being dudes.
Then why does his heart keep on screaming about mixed signals? (His heart has never been good at giving advice, Lizzie would say.)
It's a quick moment that's over soon, but Jaskier feels like it lasts a fucking eternity. It's not helped by the fact Geralt asks him to check through his hair, something Jaskier has wanted to do since he first met him: to run his finger through white locks and let his nails tease the nape of his neck and-- stop.
"S-sure." He gulps before he starts turning around. "If you have a comb I could also help you with--"
Words get stuck in his -suddenly very dry- throat when Jaskier finishes turning and finds himself face to face with the two biggest tits he's ever seen in his fucking life.
That embarrassing squeaky sound from before? Yeah, he can't stop it this time.
Geralt was born chiseled by Michelangelo himself. Every muscle is bulging: his six-pack could be used to wash fucking leather on, those arms are thicker than some of the tree trunks in the forest, and the chest... good lord, that chest. What a mighty chest. Jaskier wants to bury his face in it, to take naps on it, to suck on those perky nipples - PIERCED nipples. Geralt has piercings. On his nipples.
Also a fucking wolf tattoo.
Did they drink all the wine? He needs more wine.
Jaskier realizes he's raising his hand and quickly takes it back - so much for not being a creep. And his voice? The traitor comes out in a high pitch when he speaks.
"...you are a wolf."
His brain is not working right, so that thought is the only thing he manages to say. He isn't talking about the actual animal - Geralt is a wolf in the same way he is an otter. How could he not see it before?
An interesting noise comes out of Jaskier's mouth when he turns around, this sort of weird, strangled sound that probably is very similar to what a mouse would make if you stepped on it. He also appears to be staring directly at Geralt's chest, and perhaps that's because he's standing a little too close to him? People get a bit uncomfortable if he crowds or looms, because of the sheer size of him; Geralt steps back a bit, to give him space.
He calls him a wolf, and Geralt is briefly confused before he follows Jaskier's gaze to the tattoo on his chest. Then he huffs a laugh; really, Jaskier doesn't have a leg to stand on when it comes to tattoos, he's got that giant musical one on his side that's a bit on the nose, too.
He's not aware of the usage of the word wolf outside of the vanilla-- the double meaning goes right over his head.
"I got it with my brothers," he says, which is... something of an explanation, anyway. Doesn't really explain why it's a wolf or why they wanted to get it, but now Jaskier knows that there are brothers involved somewhere. Progress? "Stay here."
He goes to the bathroom to fetch a comb from one of the drawers, then returns with it and hands it over to Jaskier. He takes a seat on the ottoman that's in front of the living room couch, since doing so would put his head at a more convenient height for this sort of thing.
The sheer size of him is, indeed, having an effect on Jaskier, but not because of the reasons Geralt is thinking. He's barely a few inches shorter, how can he feel so small anyway? Geralt's body is freaking massive and hard (his hands remember from their previous "underbush rolling") and Jaskier wishes he could be under it right there on the rug.
That huffed laugh brings Jaskier back to reality - a sound he doesn't hear often and it makes him happy when he gets to. Not only that, Geralt is also offering information about himself without Jaskier having to pry for it. How is this fair? How is it that Geralt is finally behaving like a true friend after Jasker arrived to such heartbreaking conclussions? Destiny is one fucking bitch.
He nods when Geralt tells him to wait, watching that lovely bottom leave the room and- ugh, even his back is wide and strong and Jaskier wants to dig his nails on it as he's pounded on the rug-- fuck. Cursing under his breath, Jaskier picks his t-shirt from the floor, makes a ball out of it and presses it against his face so he can scream into it.
Once a drama queen, forever a drama queen. But boy, does it feel good to get that off his chest.
The t-shirt is soon back on the floor and Jaskier quickly regrets it: he may need to scream again after all. How can he not when Geralt is just sitting there waiting for him to take care of his hair? This isn't some anti bug bullshit deal, this is true friendship. He may not know Geralt that well, but he's pretty sure not just anyone gets him like this.
"So, uh. Brothers, huh? Are you the oldest one?"
Conversation is good, it helps him stay focused - besides, he wants to know for real anyway. Two birds one stone and all that jazz. Jaskier picks the comb and the paper towel and moves to stand behind Geralt, but he doesn't quite use his tools yet. First he undoes the hair tie, letting it fall on the floor with his clothes (don't they look good together on the pile, as if they were- no) and quickly runs his fingers through the long locks to take care of the main mess. It's his fault after all! (Yes, that's the excuse he's going with.)
"What does the wolf mean anyway?"
Because obviously it's not what Jaskier thought of. He grabs the comb then and starts brushing, stopping with he finds a tick to grab with the towel. Geralt may know this is happening because of the pause in the combing, but also because there's an ewww mumbled every time.
And if Geralt cares to notice, well - it doesn't seem to be Jaskier's first time combing through someone's long hair.
Jaskier gets to work behind him, tugging the tie loose from his hair and running quick fingers through it to finger-comb a little. It's... nice, the gentle touch against his scalp, the casual intimacy. Nice enough that it makes a little thrill run down his spine, and he has to get a grip on himself so that this situation doesn't turn into something embarrassing for the both of them. And really solidifies the fact that his decision to go out and trawl a few bars with Lambert and Eskel really is necessary-- it's been long enough that his body could easily misconstrue a platonic touch with that of a lover's. He can solve that, though, with one night with a pretty woman that he'll never see again.
The musician asks him a question and he's already offered up a little information about his strange and dysfunctional family. He might as well give a little more.
"No," he says. "Middle. Eskel's a few months older than me."
He'll leave Jaskier to figure out how that works-- for siblings to be only a few months apart instead of at least a full nine. None of them are related.
He's distracted for a bit by the drag of the comb through his hair, the smooth rhythm of it and the indulgence of letting someone touch him this way. He must have had some practice in brushing out long hair-- perhaps because of that sister that Geralt had seen in his Instagram pictures-- because he's gentle when he runs into tangles and knows how to ease them out without tugging too hard. Geralt's not even that gentle with his own hair, he'll rip the comb through if the tangle's being too stubborn. He almost misses the question about his tattoo because he's so enthralled with it.
"Hm, it's nothing, really." Just something gotten when he and Eskel were in their early twenties and Lambert was still technically too young to get a tattoo at all, and they'd lied about his age to get the tattooist to do it. Something that's theirs, because they'd all gone through this same bullshit thing together when they were kids and even if Lambert's a prick and Eskel likes goats too much and Geralt was the surprise disappointment, they'll always be brothers. "A thing from books we all read. About a bunch of monster hunters."
He doesn't move his head to look, because that might dislodge Jaskier from his task, but he makes a little gesture with one hand towards the musician's side. "Ribs are pretty rough to get done."
The tattoo itself is pretty self-explanatory-- musical things for the musician-- but the placement isn't usual for a first-time piece. People usually go for an easier area for the first one, one that won't hurt quite so much or be in an awkward place to take care of.
To the surprise of nobody, Jaskier enjoys the hell out of being pampered. What does surprise people most of the time, though, is the fact Jaskier enjoys pampering others as well. The enjoyment comes from a mix of many things: he likes pretty things, including pretty people; he likes life's little pleasures, he likes intimacy even if it's not sexual and sharing moments with people, he likes to think dressing up is an art, too, and he's nothing but an artist. So sure, he's had practice thanks to his sister, but that's because he went to her and asked her to teach instead of just being a "side effect" of having a female sibling, as most people usually assume.
The intimacy side of grooming comes with certain vulnerability, too, it can be a little like exposing yourself. And after an afternoon spent being told they aren't really friends? Well, this means a lot to Jaskier. More than once he has to stop himself from letting his hands wander to those broad shoulders and the scars on Geralt's back. He's dying to know how he got them, and he'll sooner or later - they already have a topic to chat about, one Geralt doesn't seem to mind because he keeps offering information about himself without Jaskier having to push too much for it. He couldn't be more delighted.
"You're a middle child!" he exclaims with pleased surprise, his brain not quite catching on that little mathematical issue yet. "So am I! First the writers, now this - turns out we have more in common than we thought, mmh?"
Definitely rubbing this on Lizzie's face later - who is, by the way, the only sibling Jaskier has ever talked about, the only one that has shown up on his social media. He's so pleased by these little discoveries that his mouth is running a little more than usual, without him stopping to think what kind of questions Geralt may ask about it afterward.
The combing slows down and if you ask Jaskier, he'll say it's because he's being careful with all the knots. The truth is, he doesn't want this moment to end. He even considers pretending to struggle to catch the ticks, but he knows trying to touch more than necessary would cross the line into creep-o zone, and so he reminds himself to be thankful Geralt is the kind of manly bloke that isn't against long hair and he can make this grooming session as long as it is already.
"Aww, that's so sweet! Don't call it nothing, you grump. It has meaning for you and your brothers. That makes it important." He's about to ask about those books, but then Geralt makes a question of his own (indirectly, but still) and how can Jaskier not answer? He loves talking about himself, and Geralt actually making conversation is wonderful. "Do you like it?" he asks with a chuckle, his mouth still running without much thinking thanks to the coziness of the moment. "I got it as soon as I got to college. The ear piercings were easy to hide from my parents, but something like this? I had to wait. I consulted many tattoo artists and yeah, some of them were a bit unsure about my choice for a first tattoo. But I knew what I wanted and I wouldn't settle for less."
And that defines Jaskier's view of life for, well-- pretty much everything. For a kid that grew up supposedly having it all, it felt like everything he actually wanted was forbidden. There won't be any of that in his adult life - limits can go fuck themselves. It's Jaskier's way or the highway.
"To quote Beethoven - what I have in my heart and soul must find a way out, that's the reason for music. And one's soul deserves better than a little something on your shoulder, don't you agree?"
Geralt is somehow not surprised that when Jaskier got a taste of freedom, he ran with it and never looked back. Got tattoos and piercings, went out and did what he wanted. It's probably understandable-- the child of wealthy helicopter parents, who spent most of his life being shuttled from home to private school to approved after-school activities. A life rigidly structured and rigidly controlled, a diametric contrast to Geralt's childhood.
Neither one was better than the other, probably. Jaskier's overbearing proper upbringing or Geralt's latchkey freedom in a house of unwanted boys.
"Hm," he says, because this talk of the richness of souls and such is out of his depth. Too much poetry to it. Geralt has never been good that that kind of thing-- too much metaphor for him. Anything worth saying is worth saying plainly. "Wouldn't know."
He tips his head just a little, to look back at Jaskier out of the corner of his eye. "Finished up back there?"
As nice as it's been to have someone touch him gently, this has been purely for a practical purpose. There's nothing behind it, Jaskier's just been easy on his hair because he's had experience with combing similarly long hair in the past and knows that it can hurt if you yank at it. That's all. Everything is practical.
"I can finish checking myself. You should go wash up, in case there are any more on you."
"Whaaaat wouldn't you know?" Jaskier frowns at the white head in front of him as he reviews in his mind what he just said. ...wait. "Are you saying you wouldn't know anything about souls?" A snort. "I need only two seconds of watching you take care of your horses to know that's a huge pile of crap if I ever heard one. I bet bloody unicorns would come to you if they existed."
As grumpy and antisocial he can be, Geralt is still the very definition of a gentle soul. There's a reason why Jaskier is developing a (very inconvenient considering what he's learned today) crush on the guy, this goes beyond wanting a night on the hay under those mighty muscles. And speaking of inconvenient crushes, here's Geralt noticing Jaskier is taking his sweet, sweet time with the hair. Oops.
"A-ah, yeah! Yeah. I'm done." He jumps back, feeling caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "I'm just-- gonna take that shower now. Yeah, good idea. Be right back."
Good lord, this is new levels of pathetic. That shower will need to be ice cold.
This bathroom seems to be a guest one, Jaskier would guess for the lack of obvious daughter stuff. Which is a pity, because he has been hoping to learn a bit more about Geralt from it. No matter how creepy he thought he had been being earlier, Jaskier continues to be nosy, and that nose is stuck everywhere. Sadly there isn't much to put that nose on, just a bunch of lush products and...
One single bar of basic soap. Unbelievable.
Wait, no, scratch that, it's totally believable from Mr Mountain Man. Jaskier shakes his head at it, half exasperated half fond, and makes a mental note to buy Geralt a nice amenity basket. He gotta give the guy one thing though: the bathtub is damn nice. One could easily invite a date in here and have a bath toge-
Nooooo. Nope. Enough of those thoughts. Gotta wash up quickly, wanking in here is out of the question. So Jaskier starts with pure cold water to get his body under control before changing into something warmer to do the actual washing and checking of ticks in more private areas. What did Geralt think about some hours ago? That Jaskier probably has whole damn concerts in the shower with himself?
Yeeeeah.
"♪ Ooooh, I'm in love with your body. Every day discovering something brand new, I'm in love with the shape of you. ♪"
Look, so maybe (just maybe!) all the touching and uncovering of Geralt's body day has left him... inspired.
(The fact Shape of you ends up stuck in his head and becomes his next cover is a complete coincide, obviously. Not an indication of his crush. Clearly.)
It's a pretty quick shower for Jaskier's standards - he's usually the kind of guy that uses most (if not all!) the hot water. But he doesn't have all his products here, and he's supposed to be behaving less creepily - Geralt already noticed him taking more time than necessary with his hair, no need to have a repeat of that.
He puts his underwear back on after making sure there are no bugs on it, and comes out of the bathroom while still drying his hair off with a towel.
"Geralt, we need to talk about your choice of bathroom products. Where did you get that soap, Hermits-r-us?"
Jaskier acts oddly jumpy when he's done with Geralt's hair, all but running off to the shower to get cleaned up. Maybe he's one of those types that are freaked out by bugs, and the whole tick removal process has made him uncomfortable. That's unfortunate, but it's a necessary evil-- hopefully he'll get over it by the time he's done washing up.
Geralt disposes of the squashed bugs and then picks up his and Jaskier's discarded clothes, tossing them into the dryer and turning it on to its hottest setting to kill anything that might still be clinging to the fabric. He tosses his own jeans in there, too, just for good measure, and heads upstairs to finish his own quick check and then change into a pair of loose sweats. As he comes back downstairs, he can hear the water running in the guest bathroom, indicating that Jaskier is actually doing as Geralt suggested and rinsing off.
He's only just opened the refrigerator to grab a beer when his phone starts ringing. The call's from Yen, and he answers it just a moment before he realizes that it's a FaceTime call, too. He props the camera up on the counter so that he's reasonably within frame, putting it on speaker so that he can talk to her normally.
"Hello, Geralt." She takes in his mostly undressed appearance with some amusement. "Trying a new look?"
"Just came back in from a trail ride," he says. "Tick check."
"Ah, yes. Another reason why I would never live on the side of a mountain. Well, as promised, I am calling to let you know that your daughter is alive and well despite not being under your endearingly overprotective watch. She's getting changed for dinner right now, otherwise I'd have her say hello."
"Madrid, today?" he remembers that the trip is a few days on mainland Spain before heading to Yen's preferred Ibiza resort. He just can't remember which city it is, or if they're even sticking to the schedule that Yen originally gave him.
"Barcelona. We'll catch the ferry tomorrow afternoon," she says, and her mouth is open to say something else when Jaskier interrupts, making his entrance behind Geralt while drying off his hair. And, because luck is never on Geralt's side, he walks right into the view of the camera, which can only capture him from the waist-up. Considering that he's bare chested at the moment-- with a truly surprising amount of slightly damp chest hair-- it looks like he's just walking around Geralt's house entirely nude.
"Is he still only using a single bar of soap?" Yen says, her focus shifting from Geralt to the musician behind him. "Really, Geralt, would it kill you not to use it on your hair, at least? And you could have warned me that you had company over, I don't want Ciri to see who you're bringing home from dive bars these days."
Geralt grabs for the phone, knocking it over before he manages to pick it up and angle it away from Jaskier. "He was just using the shower, Yen, that's it."
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He licks his lips when he's done, as though chasing the flavor of the wine. Geralt watches, his face blank, and carefully does not think about Jaskier's mouth.
The whole soul-lacking comment was meant more as a joke than anything, a reference to the fact that most people looked at Geralt and saw nothing more than a big thug at best, and for those that knew his background? A monster at worst. One day, Jaskier was going to find out about his whole felony thing, either because he'd get curious and Google a little too deep or he'd just ask the right people the right questions, then maybe he'd get the comment.
Interested in poetry, he asks, and Geralt takes his glass of wine and drains the rest of its contents in one go.
"No."
Geralt wouldn't know good poetry if it bit him in the ass. He barely finished high school, nevertheless went to some fancy university to learn about rhyming schemes and classic literature and whatever the fuck else a modern liberal arts education means these days. Yen did, because she was smart enough to know that Geralt was dead weight and that she could do so much better, and Ciri will. Thank the gods that Geralt doesn't believe in that she got all her brains from her mother and not from him-- hell, that she seems to have gotten nothing from him but her hair color.
But the question about his bookshelf is... well, he has bookshelves, and they're full of books, and he actually quite likes to read. But either no one believes him if he says that, or they do what Lambert does and make fun of him relentlessly.
"I don't read."
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Jaskier sighs, looking quite disappointed at the lack of the possible connection they could've made, before drinking some more wine. Anyone that knows him knows he's capable of carrying one-sided conversations for hours, but man, Geralt surely is capable of testing his conversational skills to the fullest. Maybe he shouldn't have texted his sister before coming, that's why he's thinking so hard about it.
Are you sure he is worth the hassle, Jas?
It's not like he can blame her for worrying. This wouldn't be the first time he fucked someone much older than him or even a parent. But this has been nothing like picking up a guy or chick at a bar that he shall never see again, or maybe he will but just for another fuck. It's been more... personal. Well, as personal as it can with Mr Grunt-for-an-answer.
Lizzie thinks he's infatuated with the mystery of a man that probably is just an old guy that likes horses, nothing more nothing less; and the more Jaskier drags this on, the more he'll be hurt by disappointment when the infatuation disappears after a good orgasm. Which is, quite frankly, too hopeful of her - Jaskier doesn't think he's getting that orgasm any time soon. So he'll stick to this mystery, this puzzle wrapped in golden eyes and big muscles, thank you very much.
"Then tell me, Geralt," he continues after finishing his first sandwich. "What do you do in your free time? That isn't horse related?"
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What was it that his therapist would say at a time like this? Probably to quit being an asshole and carry his half of the conversation with his... acquaintance-friend. Customer-friend-acquaintance. Whatever.
He chews through the sandwich. Jaskier is waiting for some kind of answer to his question, and the afternoon sunlight turns his hair into a gold halo around his head and makes his eyes look almost impossibly blue, and Geralt doesn't know why the fuck he's noticing these things at all.
"I fix things," he says after a few long moments. "Motorcycles, mostly. Sometimes cars."
There's a simplicity to mechanical things that Geralt likes-- they go together a certain way, and when you have all their parts in order, they work. Easy. No surprises.
"Ranch keeps me busy most days, though. Horses need a lot and I've had a lot more business the last few weeks."
More to do, and just one ranch dad to do it all. It's probably partly because of the social media presence and the power of Jaskier's fanbase-- word travels fast when there are a few thousand teenage fangirls twittering about it or whatever it is they do.
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But where should he draw the line? With introverts like this guy, some pushing is absolutely necessary. They wouldn't even be here in the first place if Jaskier hadn't put so much work in texting and chatting with him whenever he visited the ranch! Maybe he needs to--
Oh. An answer! A real one! Plus an update on his work life! SUCCESS!
"Motorcycles? You ride bikes? That's wicked!" And incredibly sexy as well - Jaskier wants to demand a ride already. He can already picture both of them on the boke, wind on their faces and Jaskier's arms around those very, very hard abs... Oh god, is he staring? He's staring. Jaskier clears his voice and tries again, leaning is as he starts shooting question after question, absolutely excited at this bit of news. "Do you own one or more bikes? What's the fastest you've gone? Have you taken Cirilla with you? Do the horses get scared of the noises?"
Gosh, he can picture that as well, a greasy Geralt, looking like a badass mechanic-biker, still being soft as he hushes his beloved animals... how is this bloke even real. It makes so much sense as well - he prefers to work on things, be animals or machines, because he doesn't have to interact with people then. It suits Geralt's loner personality. And oh, Jaskier remembers now which were the longest texts he's gotten from him: the ones that guided him through putting up a bird feeder on his balcony. Fuck. Next time he needs something crafty, he should make Geralt come over, he'll pay for the fucking Uber if necessary.
When he hears about the extra business, Jaskier instantly beams.
"Told you! The power of social media, my friend!" He grabs his glass and lightly taps it against Geralt's, as if toasting to that. "Congratulations on your newfound success! If you don't have time for yourself, however- have you considered hiring some help?"
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"One that I ride and one that I'm fixing up, I don't know, no, and yes, that's why I keep them in my garage at the house."
How does this guy even manage to get through that many thoughts all at the same time, nevertheless get them out of his mouth, too? It would be impressive if it wasn't also a bit difficult to follow. Like his brain is continually firing on all cylinders. And then he jumps right to talking about the business, which is fine except that Geralt still knows almost nothing about social media.
Jaskier's glass pings off of Geralt's, makes a crystalline little noise. He doesn't exactly think it's something to celebrate, at least not like this-- now Geralt's just understaffed, overworked, and extremely confused by his own social media.
"I get a lot of weird comments on that account," he says, taking out his phone to pull up some of the aforementioned comments on Instagram. "The fuck is three eggplants, raindrops, and a taco emoji supposed to mean?"
Since Jaskier is so well-versed in what the Kids are into, he should know, right? And he would know why this mysterious string of emojis is showing up on a picture of him lugging around a bale of hay for his horses on a hot day, his shirt slung over the rail of a fence. Are the people on Instagram confused? Do they think that he's some kind of farmer, and that's why they're posting vegetable emojis? Someone had a similarly confusing string that involved eggplants and peaches, too. And why do so many of them fixate on eggplants? They wouldn't even grow well in this area.
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Jaskier has a thousand more of these rapid-fire questions, especially when he notices Geralt avoids the subject of hiring help (a sign of stubbornness or a bigger issue?) but those questioning thoughts are dropped when he takes out his phone to show him the comments on the picture he posted earlier that morning.
And god, what a picture it is. Jaskier hasn't wanked to it yet only because of lack of time, but boy does it make his blood boil. Weird comments though? Has Geralt gotten a creep as a follower? (Jaskier doesn't count, shut up.) Maybe he needs to teach Geralt how to block unwanted attention that comes in the form of harassment or--
...emojis?
Oh.
Ooooh.
Jaskier snickers. "You must have some idea! That's why you're asking me and not your very young daughter."
Geralt's face tells him he's 100% serious and Jaskier just loses it then. He even has to put his glass down not to accidentally drop it instead, that's how hard he's laughing now. He's not trying to be mean, this is simply adorable, and honestly kind of impressive. How do you stay so... well, innocent is probably not the word, but that's the idea. Geralt can be quite antisocial, but still. Jaskier hopes this is just a part of his personality quirks -taking things too literally and being disconnected from the modern world- and not a red flag on their age difference.
"Geralt, my friend, you don't think those are actual eggplants, do you?" It's hard to talk and laugh at the same time, but somehow he manages. "It's code - almost a metaphor, we could say. A way to express what they think about you without using sexual-" he waggles his eyebrows then "-language that minors could see or the bots could delete. Don't think about vegetables, think about what they represent. An extremely handsome man posts a quite flattering -to say the least- picture of himself and makes the public's imagination run wild. Can't you tell what they want you to do to them, Geralt? Think about it for a second. See the shapes and put two and two together. I believe in you."
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He is absolutely not going to tell Jaskier that.
Geralt shoots Jaskier a stern look, one that he maintains throughout the musician's entire spiel; the furrows in his forehead deepen when Jaskier's eyebrows waggle at him suggestively. His mouth twists into an annoyed expression when he starts going on about being handsome and taking flattering pictures and that kind of bullshit. Lying to his face, that's a new one. He didn't think Jaskier was the type to spout baseless falsehoods.
"Jaskier, the girl that posted this is..." he checks her profile and does a little mental math when he finds her birthdate in the description. "Nineteen. I'm old enough to be her father, she shouldn't be sending anything to me. And not-- vegetable cocks."
What the fuck is his life? What is his life that he's getting sex emojis from teenagers on Instagram?
"I should take these pictures down." The back of his neck feels warm. He'll blame it on sunburn, even though he's already put sunscreen on to prevent that. "People are getting the wrong idea."
He knew he should've stuck to just horse pictures and not listened when Ciri told him to post pictures of himself, too.
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"Nineteen is a young adult, Geralt. And she isn't actually sending you anything. Trust me, I know what fans sending you things looks like." And boy, has he gotten things since his channel started - he has to drink to that. "It's just a playful, sexier yet not rule-breaking way of saying you're hotter than global warming."
Smooth, Jaskier. Really smooth.
Do age differences bother him? Or is it just because this is too young? It's not like Geralt can be Jaskier's father. Maybe it's just because this hits too close to home, considering Cirilla and all. For one millisecond there (one Lizzie would be proud of), Jaskier wonders if he shouldn't change his approach, maybe drop it completely. Is he even doing the right thing here, hanging out with a man ten years older than him that obviously doesn't enjoy sexual innuendo?
That little insightful thought is instantly dropped when his dick takes over his thinking again, Geralt's threat pushing him to lean in and grab the man's arm with both his hands, as if that could stop him from doing anything.
"NO!" He realizes what he's doing a little too late - Jaskier looks into golden eyes, reminds himself for the hundredth time why he can't just go for it and smooch the hell out this DILF, and slowly pulls back after clearing his voice.
(His fingers still feel warm where they touched Geralt though.)
"I mean... I get it. If it makes you uncomfortable, then I get it. Your comfort comes first, and I don't want you to give that up for the sake of the ranch. That isn't -or shouldn't- be what social media is about."
A pauses - should he? Well, he's already embarrassed himself enough, he supposes, may as well go all the way. But he doesn't meet Geralt's eyes when he asks, "if you do take them down, would you at least send them to me? I like seeing you more often than these visits to the ranch."
Which isn't a lie, but also, he doesn't want to lose his wanking material. Sue him.
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For some reason, the prospect of Geralt taking his pictures down from the Instagram account is terribly distressing to Jaskier, and he's actually a little startled by his outburst-- it'd be hard to tell, Geralt's surprise mostly consists of staring at him with a furrowed brow, but it seems odd that he'd be so invested in the pictures on Geralt's account. It's not as though his photos reflect on Jaskier's reputation or anything. That's not how social media works, or at least he doesn't think it does. So why would he be so upset about Geralt taking down a few pictures?
Pictures, specifically, of him that a number of other people seem to find very attractive.
That thought kicks around in his head for a minute or so while he frowns at his phone. If these comments had come from anyone else, Geralt might have thought that they shared those sentiments. But Jaskier wouldn't, there's no way that a young, objectively attractive man looking to start a music career would be interested in a middle-aged father who spent most of his time around horses and smelled like it, too. He would be interested in pretty young people like himself, or someone wealthy who liked to pay for pretty young things. Geralt is none of those things.
And he also isn't interested in men, that's important to remember, too.
"Why would you want pictures of me?"
Geralt doesn't even want pictures of himself. Why would anyone else?
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Is it?
"Because... friends..."
His mouth is running out of habit - Geralt asked a question and he doesn't like silence. But he soon closes it, realizing there's no way to salvage this without actually saying I like you. And after that question? The mere thought makes something in his chest hurt.
He soon realizes what it is: he feels like a fucking creep.
Is Geralt truly that oblivious? Is it because of his age, not understanding modern flirting? Because he's straight? Maybe he is queer, but simply not into Jaskier, and the idea of a younger man who values freedom over family life being into him isn't even an option. Or maybe he's asking on purpose to put Jaskier on the spot, considering the context of the thirsty comments they just discussed.
In the end, the real reason doesn't matter, the final conclusion is still obvious: everything Jaskier's done so far it's been 100% one-sided, and the tolerance he thought was there turns out to be in his head. He's no different from an internet anon creeping on him through his DMs, making Geralt feel uncomfortable and wanted only for being a hot piece of meat instead of appreciated for his work at the ranch.
Jaskier has no chances here. Lizzie will be happy to hear that later, he supposes.
There's one thing he hasn't been lying about though, and it's that he still likes this friendship. And if that's all he can get, well, he'll protect it. He looks down at his glass with a sigh, looking disappointed.
"I guess you're right, why would I want pictures from a friend?" He laughs, because the question sounds dumb in his head (he gets pictures from friends all the time and he sends his own to Geralt as well) but also to cover up any embarrassment that can go through in his expression - he still wants to salvage this, even if it has to be platonic. "Delete them, Geralt. I want you to have fun with your account, not to be harassed."
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Is this what young people did now? Is this how he finds out for certain that he's gotten old?
There's a sudden sick twist in his gut, an uncomfortable possibility. He's not... he's not like one of those kinds of old men, going after people a whole decade younger than them because they're young and don't know what they want out of relationships yet. And sure, Jaskier's twenty-eight, not some barely-legal co-ed, but maybe it's overstepping some client boundaries to take him up the mountain alone for something that could, in the right context, look like a date-like activity. Though Jaskier couldn't have thought it was actually a date, he wouldn't have agreed to come if he'd thought that.
Still. He needs to be more careful. Like he'd said with the pictures-- someone could get the wrong idea.
"I'll take care of them later," he says. "Reception's shit up here."
The rest of their totally platonic picnic passes relatively easily-- Jaskier carries the majority of the conversation, being far better at small-talk and that kind of thing than Geralt's ever been. And Geralt tries to at least participate a little, even if he does have a tendency towards one-word answers. Evening's setting in by the time they pack everything up and head back down the mountain, the sunset painting the meadows in shades of red and gold.
The horses get put away for the night with their (lighter, since they'd been grazing all afternoon) dinners, seemingly content to be back in the barn after spending all day out doing... horse things. Mostly standing around and eating grass, but who knows what goes on inside the head of a horse during long summer afternoons.
This would be about the time that he would walk Jaskier up to where his ride would come to get him, then take the turn to head back to his own house. But Jaskier's very much a city boy, and Geralt's had enough city folk come down for trail rides to know that they aren't always aware of what needs to be done post-trail ride. Probably never had to deal with a tick in their lives. He imagines that Jaskier's probably much the same.
"You should tick check yourself before you go back home," he says. "You've probably got a few on you. Use my shower, if you want."
He's certain that Jaskier has at least one on him, because Geralt already picked one or two of them off of himself in the time since they'd come down off of the mountain. If he has them, the musician almost certainly does too-- ticks don't discriminate against prettyboys with guitars. Very egalitarian of them.
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While this little turn of events ends up in heartbreak for him (what a surprise), Jaskier must admit something does improve in this relationship, and that's the conversation. It's not always easy to chat with Geralt when they're on different horses and the man can easily ignore him by making Roach go a little farther or faster. It's not like he's making that much conversation now either, but the fact he's participating at all (even if it's with one-word answers) is a huge deal. It's... well, nice. A nice platonic chat. It reminds Jaskier of why he puts up with his grumpy ass in the first place.
He tries to flirt a little less. He has to wonder if his mannerisms even make it possible.
The day is over a little too soon, although it's probably for the best. Jaskier takes a picture of the beautiful sunset and sings all the way back to the ranch, a calm and thoughtful song about the twists of destiny leaving his lips to match what he's been in his mind since that awfully awkward moment of realization.
After saying his good-byes to Pegasus, Jaskier takes out his phone to order a ride... and freezes when Geralt makes his comment, blue eyes widening.
"...what." That has come out a bit more like a squeal than he intends it to. "Bloody hell, Geralt! This isn't our first trail ride!" He's already putting the phone away and taking off his flannel shirt. "Why is it TODAY that you choose to warn fucking warn me about this?"
He's a little too busy freaking out at the idea of nasty bugs hanging on his body and untying his boots to realize that Geralt has invited him inside and also this was something done back at the Pankratz estate... but by the servants.
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"Don't strip right now, unless you want to walk barefoot to the house," he says, then starts to lead the musician back up the driveway towards his home. "Usually I don't get this many on me just from taking a trail ride, but we usually don't roll around in the underbrush either."
The house that Geralt built is, unsurprisingly to anyone who knows him, very much in a cabin style, a sturdy two-story thing with a semi-basement, made from wood and stone with a deck off of the main floor and a balcony off of the second. Geralt leads him up the stairs to the deck, then into the house that way; that entrance goes right into the living room, the closest one to the first-floor bathroom. A person might be surprised that the house actually seems like it's been decorated rather than just filled with whatever furniture would do, but any cohesiveness in the design is entirely Yen's input. Geralt would have been fine with a house with mis-matched furniture so long as each individual piece was serviceable, but she had taken one step into it and demanded that he run these decisions by her first. Something about not wanting her daughter to spend half of her time in a house full of flannel.
So the end result is cozy, a place that Ciri could be comfortable living in, too, with enough of Geralt's-- as Yen would put it-- bullshit mountain man aesthetic that he doesn't feel like a stranger in his own home. Maybe more soft fabrics and warm colors than he would've used, but Yen kept it muted, subtle. She'd always been better at this sort of thing than him, anyway, so leaving it to her had been a good decision.
She had also, for inexplicable reasons, shown considerable glee in putting a dense faux-fur rug in front of the large central fireplace, regardless of the looks Geralt gave her. He knows what she thinks it'll be used for, but he'd have to be dating someone to fuck them on the rug in front of his fireplace.
Anyway.
"Take off your shirt and jeans," he says. "I'll check you over. Bathroom's over there, you can check the rest when I'm done and rinse off."
It's not a big deal-- he'd done the same thing with his brothers after long days messing around in the woods as kids. Purely practical. There's nothing strange about putting his hands on Jaskier, getting his fingers through his hair.
"I'll toss your clothes in the dryer while you're in there. Heat'll kill anything we missed."
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The fact Geralt is inviting him to his freaking house is finally sinking in, and that instantly gets rid of his indignation, replacing it with a grin instead. The bugs are worth it in exchange for this one more step in this re-... ah, friendship, he reminds himself. Right. Which is why he doesn't make an innuendo joke when Geralt mentions rolling around in the underbrush, no matter he's dying to.
Jaskier has seen the house from the outside every time he's visited, of course, and he's always thought it matches the mountain man motif Geralt has going on. So he expects the inside to match - imagine his surprise when it doesn't.
Alright, that's not completely fair. It does match in theme, it's just... well. It's actually well done! Jaskier wouldn't mind spending time here and even take pictures he wouldn't be ashamed of sharing. There even are a fur rug and a fireplace! Geralt only needs to open a few shirt buttons and it'll be the perfect romance novel cover. Has the rug ever been baptized, he wonders.
...he shouldn't be thinking like that. Friends, friends!
"You have a very nice place here, Geralt. I didn't expect you to have an eye for decoration." He keeps turning on his spot in the middle of the room, taking every detail, wanting to learn more about this mystery of a man - and that's why he's distracted when Geralt speaks, so his mouth works on automatic. "Oh gee, buy a bloke dinner first, you scamp."
His turning stops as soon as he finishes saying that. Everything happens in an instant: first the freezing and the wide eyes, a second later the raising of his hands to gesture, which he can't do because they're busy. His flannel shirt falls to the floor and Jaskier curses under his breath as he drops his bags and his guitar case on the couch.
"Sorrysorrysorry I didn't mean-- I mean--" Fuck. Triplefuck. He is being a creep after all, holy shit. He hasn't been this much of a bisexual disaster in a while. "A shower after a warm day sounds lovely, thank you, my friend."
Yeah, friend. There we go. Smooth as fuck (except he isn't).
Jaskier clears his voice and starts undressing as Geralt requested, at more normal speed this time. Partly because he wants to stick to this whole better-not-come-off-as-flirting deal, partly because he needs a moment for his brain to stop panicking at the fact he's undressing for bloody Geralt. This isn't how he imagined it would happen, honestly. And it's not like Jaskier hasn't been in locker rooms before, but this is definitely different. Geralt will be touching him and inspecting him closely in the privacy of his home and--
Bollocks he mumbles under his breath again as he drops his I'm a luxury you can't afford t-shirt on the floor next to his shirt, and now his lovely (blue and yellow) tattoo and all that freaking body hair are in display. His jeans go off next, and he decides to search the room for a topic of conversation to try to distract himself from the fact Geralt is now seeing him in his underwear.
There's one sock left to take off when he sees it. He frowns, confused and already getting a little annoyed if he's understanding this correctly.
"...Geralt. Have you been lying to me or your daughter just happens to have a huge collection of high fantasy?"
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In response to his dinner comment, Geralt just gives him a single raised eyebrow-- he doesn't take it personally, it's the kind of horseshit that people say in this kind of situation. A way to break the weird tension of having to strip down in front of someone you don't know very well. Jaskier seems oddly flustered by the whole thing afterward, though. He still does what Geralt asked and takes off his shirt and jeans, tossing them into a pile, but he seems keen on inspecting his surroundings more than paying attention to his host. Geralt doesn't stop him; he has to get out of his own shirt so that Jaskier can check his hair and back as well, and to briefly go into the kitchen to fetch a paper towel. Needs to have something to squash the ticks in once he finds them, after all.
He asks about the bookshelves, which are, as he noticed, packed full-- fantasy, horror, classic gothic novels, a few shelves dedicated to those popular young adult novels that Ciri likes. Quite a few of the paperbacks are well-loved, with bent pages and cracked spines. Geralt steps behind him, reaching out with one hand to brush aside some of the hair at the nape of his neck so that he could look at his hairline. Start pushing his fingers through his thick, dark hair, feeling for any ticks that might be hiding there.
"Ciri is a very prolific reader," he says. "But I didn't lie to you. I don't read, I don't have time to anymore."
He used to read, a hobby that he'd really picked up while he'd been in prison. Not much else to do while he was there but exercise, read, and try not to get into any more trouble. Be a model prisoner and try to look nice for the parole board hearings.
"Hold still." There's a suspicious little bump in the hair just behind Jaskier's right ear. Geralt grabs it between thumb and forefinger and pulls, and-- yeah, there's one. First tick of the afternoon. Geralt deposits it on the paper towel and squashes it with a thumb.
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So Geralt had been lying, the bastard! Jaskier wants to huff... but a gasp escapes his lip instead when that a strong yet kind hand touches the nape of his neck. When did Geralt get behind him? How can a man this big be so sneaky? Fuck, his fingers are long and gentle and they're pushing through his hair now - Jaskier swears he could bloody swoon right now.
And if he pushes his head back against that hand, well. Totally an accident. Really.
"Y-you arse." Ah, his voice has come out a little too squeaky, hasn't it? Good lord, this is almost pathetic. He takes a deep breath and tries again, ignoring how fast his heart is beating and how it echoes in his own ears. "Don't play innocent with me, this is the second time you answer with a technicality just to avoid my questions. If you don't want to call it lying then call it bloody cheating."
He knows because he's a word-spinner and he used to pull the same shit on his parents. Not so fun when someone else pulls it on you, mmh, Jaskier?
One would think holding still should be a hard task for Jaskier - and usually it is, ball of energy and all. But it isn't so difficult this time, because he can feel Geralt's fingers on his ear and his body can only freeze as a shiver runs down his spine. His eyes are shut tight and Jaskier tries to think about not erotic things to distract himself from Geralt's hand on him and Geralt's warm breath on the back of his head and Geralt's body being so close and--
Fuck. Valdo Marx in a thong. Sundays spent in church. Spoiled milk. Nasty bugs, like the one Geralt is---
Oh for fuck's sake. This isn't working! It's the silence, it's gotta be. He hates silence, and it makes this moment worse by making it an Actual Moment (TM). He needs a topic of conversation asap. Where were they? Ah, yes. Literature.
"Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter," he recites Oscar Wilde as he realizes his chest is flushed now. Dammit, hopefully Geralt doesn't notice. "Is that lovely gothic section yours or your daughter's?"
Do they have books in common? Now that would be as unexpected as the excellent decoration.
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Jaskier holds very still while Geralt takes the tick off of him, presumably because he's taking a gross insect out of his hair. He keeps searching for more as the musician stays silent, focusing entirely on his task. He doesn't want to miss one, after all, and have it bite him. He could get sick from that, if he's particularly unlucky, and he doesn't need Lyme disease or something while he's trying to get his music career off the ground.
He breaks the silence with an Oscar Wilde quote as Geralt's finishing up with his scalp, pushing his ear forward a little and finding a little black dot hiding back there. Apparently the musician's ears are very attractive to ticks, and it takes Geralt a few moments to figure out how to grab the thing and remove it from its awkward location. Thankfully, it's too soon after their trip for the bugs to have bitten yet, so it comes off easily enough once he can grab it.
"Not a whole lot of fourteen year old girls reading Wilde," he says, moving on from Jaskier's hair to the nape of his neck, then down his back. His skin is soft and smooth, clearly well taken care of, and there is surprising strength in the muscles of his back. A splash of color marks his side where the tattoo runs. "They're mine."
His back looks clear, but there's technically one more spot for him to check. Ticks like to hide in dark, warm places, and one of their favorite spots is just underneath waistbands in trousers or, in this case, undergarments.
"Waistband," he says as a warning, then hooks his thumbs over the edge of it and pulls it back. Not much, just enough to see a half an inch or so of extra skin, and it's just as creamy-pale and smooth as the rest of him. Geralt's mouth feels oddly dry; maybe he's a little dehydrated because of the wine.
"You're good," he takes his hands off of Jaskier, and his fingertips feel like they're tingling just a little. "You'll still need to look over the rest of you. I'd appreciate it if you could check through my hair first."
One of the downsides of having his hair long-- it's a lot to check through. But the color of it means that ticks don't blend in at all, so that's one very minor benefit to his premature gray.
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"What?"
-before Geralt is hooking his thumbs over the waistband of his fucking underwear. Jaskier catches his breath and before he can stop himself, he's raising his hand to cover his mouth because he's sure a very embarrassing noise almost escapes him. Geralt is looking at his ass. Geralt is looking at his ass. GERALT IS LOOKING AT HIS ASS! Or maybe he isn't. Is he? He doesn't know what to think, he doesn't know what he wants the answer to be.
Geralt isn't interested in him, he reminds himself. He wanted to be treated like a friend, right? Well, this is it. Dudes being dudes.
Then why does his heart keep on screaming about mixed signals? (His heart has never been good at giving advice, Lizzie would say.)
It's a quick moment that's over soon, but Jaskier feels like it lasts a fucking eternity. It's not helped by the fact Geralt asks him to check through his hair, something Jaskier has wanted to do since he first met him: to run his finger through white locks and let his nails tease the nape of his neck and-- stop.
"S-sure." He gulps before he starts turning around. "If you have a comb I could also help you with--"
Words get stuck in his -suddenly very dry- throat when Jaskier finishes turning and finds himself face to face with the two biggest tits he's ever seen in his fucking life.
That embarrassing squeaky sound from before? Yeah, he can't stop it this time.
Geralt was born chiseled by Michelangelo himself. Every muscle is bulging: his six-pack could be used to wash fucking leather on, those arms are thicker than some of the tree trunks in the forest, and the chest... good lord, that chest. What a mighty chest. Jaskier wants to bury his face in it, to take naps on it, to suck on those perky nipples - PIERCED nipples. Geralt has piercings. On his nipples.
Also a fucking wolf tattoo.
Did they drink all the wine? He needs more wine.
Jaskier realizes he's raising his hand and quickly takes it back - so much for not being a creep. And his voice? The traitor comes out in a high pitch when he speaks.
"...you are a wolf."
His brain is not working right, so that thought is the only thing he manages to say. He isn't talking about the actual animal - Geralt is a wolf in the same way he is an otter. How could he not see it before?
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He calls him a wolf, and Geralt is briefly confused before he follows Jaskier's gaze to the tattoo on his chest. Then he huffs a laugh; really, Jaskier doesn't have a leg to stand on when it comes to tattoos, he's got that giant musical one on his side that's a bit on the nose, too.
He's not aware of the usage of the word wolf outside of the vanilla-- the double meaning goes right over his head.
"I got it with my brothers," he says, which is... something of an explanation, anyway. Doesn't really explain why it's a wolf or why they wanted to get it, but now Jaskier knows that there are brothers involved somewhere. Progress? "Stay here."
He goes to the bathroom to fetch a comb from one of the drawers, then returns with it and hands it over to Jaskier. He takes a seat on the ottoman that's in front of the living room couch, since doing so would put his head at a more convenient height for this sort of thing.
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That huffed laugh brings Jaskier back to reality - a sound he doesn't hear often and it makes him happy when he gets to. Not only that, Geralt is also offering information about himself without Jaskier having to pry for it. How is this fair? How is it that Geralt is finally behaving like a true friend after Jasker arrived to such heartbreaking conclussions? Destiny is one fucking bitch.
He nods when Geralt tells him to wait, watching that lovely bottom leave the room and- ugh, even his back is wide and strong and Jaskier wants to dig his nails on it as he's pounded on the rug-- fuck. Cursing under his breath, Jaskier picks his t-shirt from the floor, makes a ball out of it and presses it against his face so he can scream into it.
Once a drama queen, forever a drama queen. But boy, does it feel good to get that off his chest.
The t-shirt is soon back on the floor and Jaskier quickly regrets it: he may need to scream again after all. How can he not when Geralt is just sitting there waiting for him to take care of his hair? This isn't some anti bug bullshit deal, this is true friendship. He may not know Geralt that well, but he's pretty sure not just anyone gets him like this.
"So, uh. Brothers, huh? Are you the oldest one?"
Conversation is good, it helps him stay focused - besides, he wants to know for real anyway. Two birds one stone and all that jazz. Jaskier picks the comb and the paper towel and moves to stand behind Geralt, but he doesn't quite use his tools yet. First he undoes the hair tie, letting it fall on the floor with his clothes (don't they look good together on the pile, as if they were- no) and quickly runs his fingers through the long locks to take care of the main mess. It's his fault after all! (Yes, that's the excuse he's going with.)
"What does the wolf mean anyway?"
Because obviously it's not what Jaskier thought of. He grabs the comb then and starts brushing, stopping with he finds a tick to grab with the towel. Geralt may know this is happening because of the pause in the combing, but also because there's an ewww mumbled every time.
And if Geralt cares to notice, well - it doesn't seem to be Jaskier's first time combing through someone's long hair.
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The musician asks him a question and he's already offered up a little information about his strange and dysfunctional family. He might as well give a little more.
"No," he says. "Middle. Eskel's a few months older than me."
He'll leave Jaskier to figure out how that works-- for siblings to be only a few months apart instead of at least a full nine. None of them are related.
He's distracted for a bit by the drag of the comb through his hair, the smooth rhythm of it and the indulgence of letting someone touch him this way. He must have had some practice in brushing out long hair-- perhaps because of that sister that Geralt had seen in his Instagram pictures-- because he's gentle when he runs into tangles and knows how to ease them out without tugging too hard. Geralt's not even that gentle with his own hair, he'll rip the comb through if the tangle's being too stubborn. He almost misses the question about his tattoo because he's so enthralled with it.
"Hm, it's nothing, really." Just something gotten when he and Eskel were in their early twenties and Lambert was still technically too young to get a tattoo at all, and they'd lied about his age to get the tattooist to do it. Something that's theirs, because they'd all gone through this same bullshit thing together when they were kids and even if Lambert's a prick and Eskel likes goats too much and Geralt was the surprise disappointment, they'll always be brothers. "A thing from books we all read. About a bunch of monster hunters."
He doesn't move his head to look, because that might dislodge Jaskier from his task, but he makes a little gesture with one hand towards the musician's side. "Ribs are pretty rough to get done."
The tattoo itself is pretty self-explanatory-- musical things for the musician-- but the placement isn't usual for a first-time piece. People usually go for an easier area for the first one, one that won't hurt quite so much or be in an awkward place to take care of.
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The intimacy side of grooming comes with certain vulnerability, too, it can be a little like exposing yourself. And after an afternoon spent being told they aren't really friends? Well, this means a lot to Jaskier. More than once he has to stop himself from letting his hands wander to those broad shoulders and the scars on Geralt's back. He's dying to know how he got them, and he'll sooner or later - they already have a topic to chat about, one Geralt doesn't seem to mind because he keeps offering information about himself without Jaskier having to push too much for it. He couldn't be more delighted.
"You're a middle child!" he exclaims with pleased surprise, his brain not quite catching on that little mathematical issue yet. "So am I! First the writers, now this - turns out we have more in common than we thought, mmh?"
Definitely rubbing this on Lizzie's face later - who is, by the way, the only sibling Jaskier has ever talked about, the only one that has shown up on his social media. He's so pleased by these little discoveries that his mouth is running a little more than usual, without him stopping to think what kind of questions Geralt may ask about it afterward.
The combing slows down and if you ask Jaskier, he'll say it's because he's being careful with all the knots. The truth is, he doesn't want this moment to end. He even considers pretending to struggle to catch the ticks, but he knows trying to touch more than necessary would cross the line into creep-o zone, and so he reminds himself to be thankful Geralt is the kind of manly bloke that isn't against long hair and he can make this grooming session as long as it is already.
"Aww, that's so sweet! Don't call it nothing, you grump. It has meaning for you and your brothers. That makes it important." He's about to ask about those books, but then Geralt makes a question of his own (indirectly, but still) and how can Jaskier not answer? He loves talking about himself, and Geralt actually making conversation is wonderful. "Do you like it?" he asks with a chuckle, his mouth still running without much thinking thanks to the coziness of the moment. "I got it as soon as I got to college. The ear piercings were easy to hide from my parents, but something like this? I had to wait. I consulted many tattoo artists and yeah, some of them were a bit unsure about my choice for a first tattoo. But I knew what I wanted and I wouldn't settle for less."
And that defines Jaskier's view of life for, well-- pretty much everything. For a kid that grew up supposedly having it all, it felt like everything he actually wanted was forbidden. There won't be any of that in his adult life - limits can go fuck themselves. It's Jaskier's way or the highway.
"To quote Beethoven - what I have in my heart and soul must find a way out, that's the reason for music. And one's soul deserves better than a little something on your shoulder, don't you agree?"
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Neither one was better than the other, probably. Jaskier's overbearing proper upbringing or Geralt's latchkey freedom in a house of unwanted boys.
"Hm," he says, because this talk of the richness of souls and such is out of his depth. Too much poetry to it. Geralt has never been good that that kind of thing-- too much metaphor for him. Anything worth saying is worth saying plainly. "Wouldn't know."
He tips his head just a little, to look back at Jaskier out of the corner of his eye. "Finished up back there?"
As nice as it's been to have someone touch him gently, this has been purely for a practical purpose. There's nothing behind it, Jaskier's just been easy on his hair because he's had experience with combing similarly long hair in the past and knows that it can hurt if you yank at it. That's all. Everything is practical.
"I can finish checking myself. You should go wash up, in case there are any more on you."
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As grumpy and antisocial he can be, Geralt is still the very definition of a gentle soul. There's a reason why Jaskier is developing a (very inconvenient considering what he's learned today) crush on the guy, this goes beyond wanting a night on the hay under those mighty muscles. And speaking of inconvenient crushes, here's Geralt noticing Jaskier is taking his sweet, sweet time with the hair. Oops.
"A-ah, yeah! Yeah. I'm done." He jumps back, feeling caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "I'm just-- gonna take that shower now. Yeah, good idea. Be right back."
Good lord, this is new levels of pathetic. That shower will need to be ice cold.
This bathroom seems to be a guest one, Jaskier would guess for the lack of obvious daughter stuff. Which is a pity, because he has been hoping to learn a bit more about Geralt from it. No matter how creepy he thought he had been being earlier, Jaskier continues to be nosy, and that nose is stuck everywhere. Sadly there isn't much to put that nose on, just a bunch of lush products and...
One single bar of basic soap. Unbelievable.
Wait, no, scratch that, it's totally believable from Mr Mountain Man. Jaskier shakes his head at it, half exasperated half fond, and makes a mental note to buy Geralt a nice amenity basket. He gotta give the guy one thing though: the bathtub is damn nice. One could easily invite a date in here and have a bath toge-
Nooooo. Nope. Enough of those thoughts. Gotta wash up quickly, wanking in here is out of the question. So Jaskier starts with pure cold water to get his body under control before changing into something warmer to do the actual washing and checking of ticks in more private areas. What did Geralt think about some hours ago? That Jaskier probably has whole damn concerts in the shower with himself?
Yeeeeah.
"♪ Ooooh, I'm in love with your body. Every day discovering something brand new, I'm in love with the shape of you. ♪"
Look, so maybe (just maybe!) all the touching and uncovering of Geralt's body day has left him... inspired.
(The fact Shape of you ends up stuck in his head and becomes his next cover is a complete coincide, obviously. Not an indication of his crush. Clearly.)
It's a pretty quick shower for Jaskier's standards - he's usually the kind of guy that uses most (if not all!) the hot water. But he doesn't have all his products here, and he's supposed to be behaving less creepily - Geralt already noticed him taking more time than necessary with his hair, no need to have a repeat of that.
He puts his underwear back on after making sure there are no bugs on it, and comes out of the bathroom while still drying his hair off with a towel.
"Geralt, we need to talk about your choice of bathroom products. Where did you get that soap, Hermits-r-us?"
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Geralt disposes of the squashed bugs and then picks up his and Jaskier's discarded clothes, tossing them into the dryer and turning it on to its hottest setting to kill anything that might still be clinging to the fabric. He tosses his own jeans in there, too, just for good measure, and heads upstairs to finish his own quick check and then change into a pair of loose sweats. As he comes back downstairs, he can hear the water running in the guest bathroom, indicating that Jaskier is actually doing as Geralt suggested and rinsing off.
He's only just opened the refrigerator to grab a beer when his phone starts ringing. The call's from Yen, and he answers it just a moment before he realizes that it's a FaceTime call, too. He props the camera up on the counter so that he's reasonably within frame, putting it on speaker so that he can talk to her normally.
"Hello, Geralt." She takes in his mostly undressed appearance with some amusement. "Trying a new look?"
"Just came back in from a trail ride," he says. "Tick check."
"Ah, yes. Another reason why I would never live on the side of a mountain. Well, as promised, I am calling to let you know that your daughter is alive and well despite not being under your endearingly overprotective watch. She's getting changed for dinner right now, otherwise I'd have her say hello."
"Madrid, today?" he remembers that the trip is a few days on mainland Spain before heading to Yen's preferred Ibiza resort. He just can't remember which city it is, or if they're even sticking to the schedule that Yen originally gave him.
"Barcelona. We'll catch the ferry tomorrow afternoon," she says, and her mouth is open to say something else when Jaskier interrupts, making his entrance behind Geralt while drying off his hair. And, because luck is never on Geralt's side, he walks right into the view of the camera, which can only capture him from the waist-up. Considering that he's bare chested at the moment-- with a truly surprising amount of slightly damp chest hair-- it looks like he's just walking around Geralt's house entirely nude.
"Is he still only using a single bar of soap?" Yen says, her focus shifting from Geralt to the musician behind him. "Really, Geralt, would it kill you not to use it on your hair, at least? And you could have warned me that you had company over, I don't want Ciri to see who you're bringing home from dive bars these days."
Geralt grabs for the phone, knocking it over before he manages to pick it up and angle it away from Jaskier. "He was just using the shower, Yen, that's it."
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