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."
Jaskier instantly freezes when it's a female voice that replies to him - oh shit, is he interrupting something? The woman on the screen is one hell of a beauty, that's for sure, the kind of pretty Jaskier would totally hit on and let her step on him with her high heels. A ten for another ten, Geralt and her would make a killer couple, one Jaskier wouldn't mind being sandwiched in between. When her very intense eyes fall on him, he gives her a smile and a wave, and he considers teasing Geralt over possibly hiding a girlfriend from his new friend when Ciri is brought up.
Hot damn. This is Geralt's fucking ex. And she's getting one hell of a wrong first impression.
After being told over and over that they aren't friends today, Geralt's that's it doesn't sting as much as Jaskier expects it to, probably because he understands Geralt's worry. This could like... look bad in court or something, perhaps? He should do something.
"Actually," he adds in with his voice raised, unsure of how well she can hear him. "I'm a client of the ranch thanks to your daughter's recommendation. ...bollocks, that sounds worse."
How can he-- oh, to hell with it. After hanging the towel around his neck, Jaskier comes closer and puts his hand on Geralt's shoulder as he peeks over it, leaving a wet spot on Geralt's back because of his chest hair. There is, indeed, lots of it.
"My lady." He takes two fingers to his forehead that he quickly lowers as he nods as a greeting, trying to play the charming card. "I assure you nothing of the sort-" He waggles his eyebrows. "-is happening. As Geralt has kindly reminded me today," Sarcastic much, Jaskier? "He doesn't even consider me a friend. Which is, as far as I'm concerned, an impressive pile of bullcrap, but I digress. Geralt here--" He pats Geralt's shoulder. "--is quite the caring and protective father, and he's always made sure I only come around when your daughter isn't around. In fact, he was ready to throttle me when he misunderstood my interactions with the kind Cirilla on twitter, interactions that have always been strictly about music, memes and Lady Gaga's wardrobe choices. I hope this little moment of awkwardness doesn't impact your views on allowing your daughter to enjoy my music and, most importantly, Geralt's capacity to be responsible and safe. Grumpy and brooding he may be, but irresponsible he is not, I swear on my guitar."
He rests his chin on Geralt's shoulder then, offering his best innocent eyes and charming smile. He can see "Yen" better now and fuck, with these two as parents? Cirilla may become the most beautiful woman in the entire fucking world.
This situation is already bad. Yen is taking far too much interest in Geralt's... acquaintance and the reason that he's inside the house, and Jaskier is doing absolutely nothing to dissuade her. Then he walks up behind Geralt and peeks over his shoulder at the camera, and he can do that quite easily because, somehow, Geralt had forgotten that they're almost the same height. He shoots the musician an irritated look that does nothing to stop him.
"Oh, I am well aware of Geralt's protective tendencies. He just so rarely brings anyone back to the house, even... friends."
Yen is enjoying this. Geralt knows that Yen is enjoying this, and she knows that he knows that she's enjoying this, because she's always enjoyed pushing at him and making him uncomfortable. Thinks it's funny. She is delighted by the kind of discomfort that she can see in him right now, especially when Jaskier puts his chin on his shoulder and Geralt doesn't move him. He's still a little damp from the shower, and the texture of his chest hair is slightly rough against the skin of his back, which is a fact that should not be important but is somehow impossible to ignore.
"You're that musician from YouTube, aren't you? I don't see any reason to keep Ciri from watching your little videos, you seem quite harmless." She fixes Jaskier with her violet-eyed gaze, and Geralt knows from personal experience that she has eyes like gimlets. They pierce right through you. "Maybe I shouldn't be worried about my daughter's virtue, hm?"
An odd way to put it, Geralt thinks. Yen's assessments are usually right, and Geralt does generally agree with it-- Jaskier's harmless to Ciri. She smiles, and her lipstick today is a bright, bloody red.
"It's a shame that I'm out of the country right now, Jaskier. I might have liked to meet you in person, I think we would have a lot to talk about."
Geralt's frown deepens; Jaskier isn't Yen's usual type. And he would know, because her usual type is more like him, someone who looks strong and intimidating that she can get underneath her immaculate heels. And she's good at that, too, but that's a trip down memory lane that Geralt doesn't need to go on right now.
He is saved by the buzzing of the dryer.
"I need to get that. We'll talk later, Yen."
"Oh, of course, Geralt. Have a good night."
He hangs up the phone and it's a relief to no longer see her face, which is a first. Geralt moves away from Jaskier to get the clothes out of the dryer, not stopping to look at him because he's. Mostly undressed, and Geralt shouldn't gawk at him. Though why would he stare at all, they're two men, it's not as though he's got a mostly naked woman in his living room.
"Here." He tosses the musician's clothes at him, still warm from the dryer.
"Exactly my point!" he exclaims with a hand thrown in the air. Even the ex is using the word friend and pointing out how it's unusual behavior for Mr Hermit, Jaskier isn't letting Geralt forget this any time soon. "If this isn't friendship, I don't know what it is!"
Her eyes sure are piercing, as intense as Geralt's even. Her strength is in the way she carries herself, in the way she uses her words, a perfect companion for Geralt's more raw, wild yet still powerful manner. They must've made the most explosive couple in the country, and Jaskier has to wonder why it didn't work out when they make such a lovely pair. Maybe they were too explosive.
"That's me! Jaskier at your service - but there's nothing little about my videos." He winks at her, shameless as usual. Geralt had told him she would eat him alive and honestly? Jaskier wouldn't mind being eaten by her. But it's not what's happening here. This woman is playing a game - Jaskier isn't sure what kind of game, exactly, but he isn't about to be left out.
And fuck, she's good, because that comment about her daughter's virtue? Throws Jaskier off his game on the spot. His eyes widen and he internally panics - in another context, he would've flirted a little more, said something no virtue out there being safe from his charms. But after how much of a creep he's felt today, well... better not make things worse with Geralt.
So his reply is a snort instead. "No virtues for you to be worried about around here, rest assured." He nods then. "A pity indeed! Feel free to add me on social media, there's no reason why this first meeting should also be the last."
There are so many questions burning in his tongue, but the call is coming to an end and Jaskier can only wave at her before pulling back to allow Geralt to get to the dryer. Mr DILF is avoiding his eyes, Jaskier can tell, is he embarrassed by what just happened? That would be cute. He only hopes he isn't angry at him, he was only trying to help!
"Sooooo~ That was your ex, huh? She-- ah, thanks." Jaskier catches his clothes and throws the damp towel to Geralt in return. Having to escape through many windows through the years means he's capable of dressing up as quickly as he can undress, but this time, he's going to take his sweet time with it. Can't let this conversation be over soon! "She seemed lovely. Intense, too, but in a good way. I can't fault your taste." He winks at Geralt then - it's not creepy because it's not flirting! It's teasing! Big difference! "You two seem to get along - I bet that's wonderful for Cirilla."
Well, that nightmare's over now, and hopefully it never has a repeat. Geralt doesn't need the headache of his ex-not wife becoming... whatever that was with his client-acquaintance. The man that he takes on trail rides and picks berries with and lets use his shower. Look, he doesn't know what this relationship is, and he's honestly not even the person who should be asked. What he knows right now is that he doesn't want him to interact with Yennefer any more than is absolutely necessary, for the sake of his own blood pressure. The things Yen knows about him alone--
Geralt catches the towel one-handed when it's tossed back to him, then tosses it downstairs towards the laundry room. He'd take care of it later, add it in with another load that he'll have to do once he has enough dirty towels and sheets and such. He turns back in time to see Jaskier wink at him about his choice in... baby mama, and he knows that his face does something. There's a whole face journey that happens in response to that wink, too quickly for him to tamp down on it.
"I'm not setting you up with Yen," he says, and he deeply hates the fact that this is the second time that he's had to say this. "She would eat you alive."
And now Jaskier at least has some idea about why Geralt tells him this. Yen's a terrifying woman who somehow lives off of wine and three square meals of unsuspecting men a day. Geralt is perhaps the exception, but of the kind that proves the rule.
Instead of continuing on this deeply uncomfortable line of conversation, Geralt retrieves some of the baskets of berries and starts separating them into containers so that Jaskier could take some of his hard-earned bounty home. A good assortment of each kind, since Geralt had no idea which ones he'd prefer and had the rising need to get him out of his house before he started asking more questions about his ex-baby mama.
"Take some of these," he says, indicating the large containers that he'd filled up with berries. "You should call for your ride, it's a good hike back to town."
That is -indeed- a whole face journey, damn. Jaskier squints at Geralt, wondering what is bothering him now. It can't possibly be-- oh for fuck's sake. This again? Seriously?
"Bloody hell!" he exclaims as he throws his hands in the air with obvious frustration. "How dense can you be, you big oaf? I'm not asking you to set me up with anyone, I'm fucking teasing you! You know, like friends do? Because- oh, what was it that I told you earlier? Ah, yes, because I want to get to know you better."
A huff. How much clearer can he be? And to think they had been making some progress in that area, too, but the soft moment of touching and sharing is obviously gone. Geralt goes from pushing him away to being soft then back to pushing in seconds, and Jaskier thinks he should make Hot'n'col the first song on his Geralt playlist.
You change your mind like a girl changes her clothes. Yeah you PMS like a bitch, I'd know.
Not only the moment is gone and the coversation is being completely ignored, Jaskier is also pretty much... well... being kicked out. Fuck. He knows he shouldn't impose but having a beer or coffee together after some activity shouldn't be a big deal, right? Why can't they just hang out as friends do? (Never mind the fact they technically just did.)
Jaskier considers doing some pushing but decides against it in the end. He's already been enough of a creep today, and clearly the subject of his ex isn't welcome. Geralt has already shared quite a lot (for his standards) during their little moment there, he's probably already hit his daily socializing quota. Mumbling a thank you, Jaskier grabs the containers and puts them in his tote bag before taking out his phone to call for his ride - the notification that awaits him when he unlocks the screen takes him by surprise.
"She's following me now! On twitter! Yennefer Vengerberg, that's her, right?" His thumb quickly scrolls through her feed, and Jaskier can only wolf-whistle. "A lawyer that actually fights for what truly matters? I never thought I'd see the day. Impressive."
As far as he knows, all lawyers are spawns of the devil. He follows her back, of course, and makes a mental note to slide into her DMs later. This is the kind of contact he wants to have, and professional interest aside, she sincerely seems like an interesting person to befriend. Cirilla is a lucky daughter.
Once his ride has been ordered, Jaskier puts his phone away and turns to Geralt, speaking after worrying his lower lip for a second. Welp, here goes nothing.
"Hey," he says with a soft voice. "Whenever I become friends with a fellow bookworm, I like asking them to choose a book in their library that means something to them and lend it to me. You can tell a lot about a person through the art they enjoy, and it's a great topic of conversation to share. Would you... would you lend me your wolf book?"
Geralt makes to outward objection to this; he just finishes up with the berries, loading them into their containers that he can put into the freezer so that they'll stay fresh for a good, long while. Yen's going to have a direct line of communication to someone who is in frequent contact with Geralt and whom she knows he's been... somewhat friendly with. Yen deeply enjoys his discomfort. Yen probably knows that Jaskier would immediately inform him that she's following him on social media. She's probably pouring herself a glass of wine right now and relishing the thought of him being in this situation.
"She's very good at what she does," he says, if only because defending her career is second nature to him. Yen's got drive and ambition and the burning desire to say fuck you to a bunch of crusty old men who think they can stomp all over people. That's one of the reasons why she's always been too good for him, why it's for the best that she left him behind and never looked back.
There are a few moments of silence while Jaskier orders up his ride and Geralt puts things away in his kitchen. Then-- a very soft request, one that sounds terribly earnest. He wants a book from Geralt's collection, specifically the one that was so important to him as a kid. And that's a lot to ask of him, because it's not just that he wants to read the book, he wants to read Geralt's copy of the book. The copy that he's had for years, the one that has all the commentary that he and his brothers wrote in the margins and parts highlighted that they liked. The one that has a crude little drawing of a dick that Lambert drew in the margins during one of the sex scenes, because he was a shitty thirteen year old who thought it was funny.
Geralt considers it for a moment, leaning against his countertop, not looking at Jaskier. Then he pushes himself upright and walks over to his bookshelf, taking the old, battered book down from it. It's been obviously well-loved-- the spine cracked, pages bent and discolored. It's not the prettiest paperback, but it's still holding together. He brings it over and holds it out for the musician to take.
For a moment there, Jaskier thinks he's fucked up big time, crossed the line he's been toying with since he met this man. But suddenly Geralt is moving, walking over to his bookshelf, and Jaskier lets out a breath he didn't realize he had been even holding. The smile that appears on his face when Geralt hands him the book is so bright it could light up the entire ranch.
"YES! I promise!" He grabs the book as carefully as he can, treating it as if it was made of glass. Well-loved is an understatement, and Jaskier is delighted by every detail - he isn't one to write on books or doggy-ear the pages, but there's nothing like having in your hands the sign of three people thoroughly loving a piece of art. He hasn't even opened it yet and it already makes his writer heart flutter - in fact, he can't help pressing it against his chest like the sap he is. "I'll take good care of it. Thank you, Geralt. Truly."
This is a bad idea, but he can't stop himself: as he gives his thanks, he reaches out for Geralt's hand and gives it a squeeze. It shouldn't be a big deal after all the -ahem- tick checking they did, but Jaskier has reached the conclusion that you can never know with Geralt. And to prove he intends to keep his promise, he takes out a hanky from his bag, wraps the book with it and puts it away not in his bag, but in the pocket of his guitar case. Geralt knows how much care Jaskier takes of his guitar, so hopefully that eases his worries.
As soon as he gets in the car, Jaskier texts his sister a [SCREAMING] gif, and the little shit replies with a TOLD YA gif after he explains what's happened. Jaskier has taught her too well, sigh. She still worries, though, because even after this pseudo-rejection, Jaskier continues to work for this relationship, perhaps a little too much.
Exhibit A: the fact he prepares a package for Geralt the next day with items he purchases especially for this. What's the problem, can't friends buy gifts for other friends? That's his excuse and he's sticking to it, thank you very much. And that's how Geralt will be visited by a messenger in the afternoon, leaving him a black tote bag with the logo of his favorite book painted on it and various items inside. The first one is a note, and the paper is written on should quickly tell Geralt whom this is coming from without having to look at the signature.
Thank you for sharing so much with me yesterday! I had tons of fun. :) I thought I could lend you a special book of mine back, make our own little book club official. The rest of the things are for you to keep, even the bookmark! It's the least I could do after you filled up my fridge with fruit to last me for a while. Looking forward to more invitations like this one! Your new friend, ~Jaskier
The whole thing has been written in gold ink, and the signature has a little flower drawn at the end. Jaskier's penmanship is exquisite, flourish and eye-catching as he is. The next thing in the bag are Geralt's containers being returned after a good wash, and finally, the book itself: a very old copy of Pride and Prejudice. Yes, the classic one from decades ago with a peacock on the cover, because this is Jaskier and he's extra at everything. It's not as "well-loved" as Geralt's book but the signs are still there: the pages are discolored and bent as well, various scratches decorate the hardcovers, and inside there are tons of dried flowers. There's also the mentioned bookmartk, with a quote chosen specifically for their very situation - Jaskier hopes Geralt sees the connection.
Jaskier doesn't start reading the book asap even if he's dying to, he has some work to do on his songs for his gig, and he promised his new gang of friends to go out together to a club soon (and he can't miss that, not after Geralt's "rejection", he needs that one night stand like burning - the fact he ends up picking up a very buff and tall guy to fuck him silly is a coincidence, nothing more). He tries to text Geralt a little less those first few days, which is still a lot for an average person's standards, but hey, it's something. He turns down the flirting as well. When they start reading their respective books, however, all bets are off, and the texting almost becomes spam. Jaskier is loving the monster hunter's adventures, especially the character of the bard (how could you keep him hidden from me geralt!!!) and chatting about it has the same effect on Geralt as chatting about horses: it makes him talk a bit more than usual. Jaskier cherishes every damn text he gets in return. And when after a slow start Geralt admits he's enjoying P&P? He giggles like a goddamn schoolgirl.
Since the state of the wolf book and the notes on it are quite obviously something private, he doesn't take pictures for Instagram, but he does mention in Twitter that he is reading it, which gets him an encouraging reply from Ciri, and an amused message from Yennefer in his DMs. They've been talking since they added each other, and she's honestly great. Her taste is as fine as his own, and she's working hard in defense of women and various minority groups, something that -of course- warms this singer's very own soul. Jaskier has started retweeting all the important things she has to say, and she's actually gained quite a following thanks to the people arriving to her account through him. She isn't a "soft" kind of person, but they do have a little moment when she expresses all her gratitude for the support he sent her way. She goes back to being scary, though, when she asks about the book - she's always very intense when she asks about his relationship with Geralt, and Jaskier can't quite tell what kind of game she's playing yet. That speaks highly of her talents, considering Jaskier grew up with people like her and thinks he's quite talented too at smelling bullshit.
The day of the gig finally comes and honestly? Jaskier doesn't even think Geralt will show up, so he doesn't think about him at all - he concentrates on getting ready and being there in time. The bar isn't crowded by any means but it's not empty either, around three-fourths of the tables are taken and Jaskier considers that a good number for a place that keeps his average fan out.
While he's backstage waiting for his call, his friends help promote him by going around the tables and leaving his business card (which has, to the surprise of no one, a buttercup on the "album cover") for anyone that may want to hire him. It's Priscilla (with her short blue and red dress and her blonde hair up in a messy bun) that approaches the three buffy guys in the back, going through the memorized speech as she leaves three cards on the table.
"--and you can find him in..." She interrupts her own words when her eyes fall on Geralt, squinting for a second at the man as she puts two and two together. "Oh. My. God. You're Geralt, aren't you? The guy with the horses!" She sounds so excited, it's like she's meeting a celebrity. "Jask has told us sooooo much about you!"
Geralt anticipates that he'll get a blow-by-blow commentary on the book as Jaskier reads it; what he doesn't expect is a courier to show up the next afternoon with a package for him that could only be from the musician. The containers for the berries are returned, which is considerate of him even if Geralt really doesn't need them back quite this quickly, and there's a little note in penmanship so neat and precise that Geralt thinks it must be printed until he looks at it closely enough. The rest is-- too much. A tote bag with the logo from the series on it, which Geralt has no idea how he even found because this series was written decades ago and didn't have much merchandise, and a book from, he assumes, Jaskier's own collection. He'd never been all that interested in period romances, but it looks well-loved in much the same way that Geralt's copy had been well-loved, but with fewer notes in the margins, and he has meant to start reading again. Maybe this is a good place to start.
He keeps the book on his nightstand and reads it for a while every night before he goes to bed.
Jaskier texts him, as expected, about the book while he's reading it, telling Geralt about the parts that he likes and expressing false indignation that he didn't tell him about the faithful bard who follows the monster hunter across the land. Of course he would identify the most with the character who spends his life singing songs, sleeping with beautiful people, and getting in trouble-- and being rescued from said trouble by his friend. (Geralt is secretly looking forward to Jaskier's comments once he nears the end of the book-- there's a scene in one of the last chapters where the bard and the monster hunter fall into bed together. It's tame by modern standards, but it had been scandalous when he had been a teenager. Eskel had written the most thoughtful commentary in the margins, and Lambert's contribution had been the aforementioned dick drawing.)
In return, Geralt comments on Pride and Prejudice-- it takes time in the beginning to get him interested in the social intricacies of the British Regency era, but it helps that he enjoys Elizabeth enough to keep at it until the plot picks up a little. It's not his usual taste in literature but he does feel satisfied at the end when Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy get over their respective bullshit and get together, and really that's all that you can hope for out of an ending, to feel satisfied by it.
He does skip one night of reading, though-- when he goes out with his brothers, bar crawling the day before Jaskier's show. He's determined to fix whatever the fuck is wrong with him with a night of meaningless sex, regardless of the vaguely concerned looks that he gets from Eskel the whole time. Lambert, meanwhile... is actually more interested in his phone for most of the night, and Geralt doesn't question it. He does eventually find a woman who seems game, pretty enough with brown hair and big blue eyes and a bright, easy smile, and he's about to ask her if she wants to get out of here when he spots another blue-eyed, brown-haired pretty thing through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the front of the bar. It's Jaskier-- he knows that laugh-- walking down the street with a gaggle of people around him, dressed to the nines. Geralt can only see him for a few moments before he's gone, past the bar and off to wherever it is he's going for the night, and the woman in front of him asks him a question that pulls his attention back to her.
He asks her if she wants to go. She does, and he drives them both to her place on his motorcycle. He fucks her and it's good, and he waits in bed with her until she's asleep before getting up and putting his clothes back on and driving home. He feels restless the whole way back, and even once he's showered and gotten into his own bed, he can't fall asleep.
The next night is Jaskier's show, and Geralt roped both of his brothers into coming despite the fact that he dragged them out the night before, too. Eskel agrees because, regardless of everything, he'll do anything that Geralt asks, and Lambert... probably just wants to see what the fuck all this fuss is about, really. All he knows is that there's this client that Geralt has that wanted him to come to watch him sing, and the first thing that he asked was if Geralt was trying to fuck him-- as though that would be the only reason that Geralt would ever show his face at a bar for some music. When the answer was negative, he seemed unconvinced, but he at least agreed to show up.
So, there they were. Three assholes standing at the bar, the crowd full of people that leaned way more towards the hipster end of the spectrum than they did, drinking microbrew beer and waiting for Jaskier to get on stage. Some pretty little blond girl is weaving between the tables and dipping by the people at the bar, handing something out; she finally makes it over to them and Geralt takes what she's handing to him almost automatically. It's a business card, not that he really needs it since he already has Jaskier's phone number.
She recognizes him. Lambert, who had been paying more attention to his beer than anything that was going on around him up until this point, whips his head around to see what this fresh bullshit is about.
"He... has?" Geralt's brow furrows, mostly out of confusion for what Jaskier could've possibly told this girl that would have her so excited to meet him. Is it the horses? Women do seem to like horses, maybe she also has an interest in riding. There can't be that much else to say about him; Geralt can't say that he's a particularly interesting person. The opposite, really? It's mostly just horses and apparently old books about monster hunters.
"What did he tell you?" Lambert leans towards her, and when she looks confused at his interruption, he adds, "I'm his brother. I know way better stories--
"When will Jaskier be on stage?" Geralt interrupts him back, elbowing Lambert hard enough to get him to stop talking that he nearly spills his beer.
Geralt is confused by the fact Jaskier has been talking about him, and Priscilla can only think wow, Jask wasn't exaggerating. Curious little man, isn't he? Well, maybe not that little, but the point stands - obviously socializing isn't his thing. The three of them stick out like a sore thumb in a bar like this and she doesn't blame them for hiding in the back, even if she does lament the fact Jaskier will probably not be able to see them from the stage.
At least Geralt's enthusiastic about seeing Jaskier, Priscilla is so telling him about this later.
"Five more minutes," she replies with a grin after checking the time on her phone. "Which means I should hurry back to my table - it's not like you need my sales speech anyway. Thank you for coming." She gives Geralt a meaningful look as she puts a hand on his shoulder - not caring about touching strangers, no wonder she's a friend of Jaskier's. "This will mean a lot to him."
The rest of the gang showers her with questions when she returns, but it doesn't last long: five minutes later, the lights are being lowered and the curtains on the stage are opened. There is a microphone on its stand, a tall stool waiting in front of it and a singer quickly making his way to it with a guitar in his hands.
Jaskier is looking extra as always yet quite different from his usual style - he's a folk-rock singer, and his looks need to match his music. On top of tight dark dress pants and vest, he's wearing a celtic cape, the hood up over carefully tousled hair. There's eyeliner on his eyes, a line of yellow on top of a line of black, and the rest of his face is decorated with an intricated traditional design in blue. This design is painted on his hands as well, which -for once- aren't wearing any rings. There's other jewelry though: a choker on his neck and three earrings on each ear lobe.
So many decorations and yet what stands out the most is still his smile, wide and pleased and simply irradiating pure happiness. His eyes are twinkling as well as he sits down and takes in his audience - all those eyes are on him and he soaks up the attention like a fucking sponge.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen." This isn't his usual cheerful tone of voice - this is deep yet soft, this is hypnotizing the audience with sounds made of velvet, this is making love to their ears with only sounds that come from his throat but also his very soul. "Thank you all for coming. Believe it or not, this is a bloody crowd - in folk-rock standards, ten people already counts as commercial." His audience laughs and Jaskier looks as pleased as a cat that got the cream. "Anyway - I'm Jaskier, and this is Love Run."
The entire performance is done from his spot on the stool, but Jaskier doesn't need to move to have the public wrapped around his talented fingers. He fucking owns the stage and shines in it as if he was born there - when he says that's where he belongs, he means it. With each song that ends another begins, the flow between them smooth as silk, all of them written by him - no cover in sight. And because they were all written by him, it means he knows the emotions that inspired each word and he puts them in his voice, raw and sincere. Blue eyes look at every person in the bar, make them believe he's singing directly to them, enchant them with their intensity. There are some groups in the audience (besides his friends) that are fans of him and sing along to the lyrics - when the time comes when Jaskier exclaims "this isn't a break up dear heart" he pauses and grins when his public happily cries back "it's a season finale!". It's moments like this that fill his heart with adrenaline, his soul with glee and, let's be honest, stroke his ego just right.
He only stands up for the final song, which is performed with no music, only his voice. The guitar is left on the stool, eyes are closed and painted hands grip the microphone stand tightly as the tunes of Elsa's Song start echoing throughout the room.
"♪ And you’ll strew some sage and lilies, and roses where I rot. Of all the flowers you picked, I knew you would forget forget-me-nots. ♪"
The lack of music doesn't make the song any less powerful. There is a couple of seconds of silence when Jaskier is done, only to be followed by thunderous clapping. The bright smile makes a comeback, bigger and brighter than ever, and Jaskier takes a moment to soak it all in before bowing. After thanking everyone again and wishing them all sweet dreams and a good night, he grabs his guitar and disappears backstage, where he raises his arms and yells YES! to the ceiling.
Damn, he feels fucking good. Jaskier swears he could have an orgasm only from the tingling sensation of success running through his body.
When he shows up at the bar seconds later, he hasn't changed, although he did at least leave the guitar behind. His friends hug him and congratulate him on a great performance, they even have a drink ready for him, one of those colorful fruity things he likes so much. He barely gets two sips in before some of his fans approach him but he doesn't mind - the exact opposite in fact: he loves every second of it. Selfies are taken and autographs are signed, and once that's all done, Jaskier turns to the gang to see what are the plans for tonight.
"Waitwaitwait! We aren't done here yet! There's a surprise waiting for you!" Priscilla barely gives Jaskier time to grab his glass before he's dragging him to the back of the bar by his wrist, not caring about the confused looks and all the questions the musician keeps throwing at her. "Ta-daaa~!"
They stop a few steps away from the last tables but even if Priscilla wasn't presenting his surprise with open arms that point in the direction of the right table, Jaskier would've known exactly what she's been meaning with a surprise. Three burly mountain men don't exactly blend in a hipster bar, after all.
Jaskier stares with his mouth open, his free hand reaching up to lower his hood as if that was covering his eyes and making him see things.
That, right there, is Geralt.
Geralt came to his gig.
He's dreaming, right? Or drunk. Or maybe even high. That's gotta be it.
"What are you waiting for, you dummy? Go for it!" Priscilla pushes Jaskier before leaving for her table, which means half of his drink ends up on the floor. But he can't care less about alcohol right now, there's something (someone) waiting for him that makes his heart beat faster than any drug.
"Geralt! You came! I can't believe it!" They're face to face now, with Jaskier standing right in front of the table, but the staring continues... at least until Lambert clears his voice, making Jaskier snap out of it. "Bollocks. Sorry- I mean, hi! You must be Geralt's brothers, right?" The two of them as handsome and fit as Geralt himself, incredible. What kind of family is this? "I love the way you all sit in this corner and brood." Obviously teasing, he winks at them before offering his hand to shake. "I'm Jaskier, buuuuut you probably already know that. Thank you so much for coming. Did you enjoy the show? Have any review for me? Three words or less!"
When Priscilla leaves, both of Geralt's brothers' heads turn immediately towards him. Eskel's eyebrows are making a steady climb towards his hairline, questions written all over his face, while Lambert's giving him the same unconvinced expression that he had when Geralt told him that he isn't trying to fuck Jaskier. Geralt gulps down half of his pint-- this is actually pretty decent beer-- and when he lowers the glass again, all he says to the both of them is a growled, "Don't."
Lambert rolls his eyes so hard that he moves his whole head with it, like Geralt's the one being unreasonable here. They're the ones reading too much into this-- he's just helping out an... acquaintance, that's all there is to it. He's not trying to get into Jaskier's pants, and that's not how things work, anyway-- Jaskier isn't a fucking vending machine that he can insert enough kindness tokens into to make sex fall out.
Also, he doesn't fuck men. That's important, too.
Thankfully, he's saved from having to continue this conversation when the lights dim and Jaskier comes out onto the stage, dressed up in some kind of folksy costume that, presumably, fits the theme of whatever he's performing. It is, as Ciri would say, extra as hell, but that's apparently part of Jaskier's brand.
As ridiculous as it is, Jaskier looks like he's in his element from the moment that he sets foot on the stage. A showman from start to finish, charming his audience before he even starts the performance with a smile and a wink. There's something low and intimate in his voice when he talks that makes it sound like, despite the fact that you're in a room full of people, he's only talking to you.
Then he starts singing. Geralt doesn't recognize most of the songs, and only bits and pieces of some because of what he's heard Ciri play in her bedroom, but Jaskier is... good. He doesn't know much about the technicalities of music, but Jaskier has a voice that can go from lovely and sweet to deep and intense, has range and depth. He can carry a song with just his voice alone, and sometimes does so, to good effect. Geralt makes sure that he doesn't just sit there and stare at him for the whole set, because that would be weird; he takes the empty pint glasses up to the bar for refills and tries not to think about how Jaskier sings symphonies and sweat and sex and sin.
When Jaskier finishes his whole set and comes out from backstage, there are fans waiting for him, the crowd modest but enthusiastic, eager to get pictures and autographs with him. He goes back to his group of friends after that, the one that has the friendly blond from earlier, and Geralt figures he should tell his brothers to pack up and head out. Jaskier'll go off with his friends for some celebratory drinks, and Geralt can tell him that he saw him perform sometime later. Maybe he'll send him a text or something tomorrow. He opens his mouth to tell them to go when he sees Eskel's eyes looking past him, and then Jaskier's there in front of the table with half of his beer sloshed over his hand and a bright smile across his face.
Jaskier starts talking and, in true Jaskier fashion, doesn't stop talking, going fast enough that it's almost impossible to get a word in edgewise. Eskel, since he's the only one of the brothers who managed to learn some manners, takes the musician's hand when he offers it to shake.
"I'm Eskel, this is Lambert," he says. "You did good. Put on a real nice show."
"You look like you walked off the fucking set of Braveheart," Lambert chimes in, because providing unwanted opinions is his greatest talent in this life. Geralt kicks him in the shin under the table. "Ow, fuck off, he does."
That leaves Geralt to make some kind of commentary on the performance, because everyone else has and technically he's the one that Jaskier invited. Something appropriate that isn't the choker you're wearing makes me keep staring at your neck or you have a very pretty mouth or your hands are very distracting. This is a much more difficult task than it should be.
"It was good."
Okay. That's not a glowing review or anything, but no one expects anything lengthy out of him. It'll do, right? This is fine.
Lambert rolls his eyes again. "Yeah, he liked it, so sit down already."
"It's lovely to meet you. And thank you." Eskel, just like Geralt, is probably strong enough to break his bones, but his handshake is nothing but gentle. So are his eyes! Jaskier is quickly picking up on the dynamics here. Geralt is the more awkward and shy one, Eskel is the friendly one with actual manners, and then there's...
This little shit.
Jaskier rolls his eyes, used to this kind of comments. He gets them all the time on youtube: people that reach his channel through his covers and are then surprised by the genre of his own music, not truly understanding it or defaulting to high fantasy fiction jokes.
"An American movie directed and acted by an American is the best you could do?" he asks with a stronger accent, pushing it into that posh British tone Americans think all English people sound like if their movies are anything to go by. There's something else about Lambert though... Jaskier squints at him, thinking he looks familiar. But where could've he seen him before? It's not like Geralt had pictures in his house.
Speaking of Geralt, it's his comment that snaps Jaskier out of his thoughts. Good - Geralt thinking his show was good. Indeed, Jaskier knows better than expect anything lengthy from him. In Geralt's speech, this is high fucking praise, especially after the attitude he gave him the day they met.
"...thanks, Geralt," he replies with another too-bright smile, his words earnest and coming from his heart. He would've gotten stuck staring again if Lambert hadn't invited him to seat and really, how can he say no to such an offer?
Eskel scoots back, making more room for him and further proving he's the one with the manners of the trio, and Jaskier decides not to cross his legs when he sits next to him, letting their knees brush. He's a handsome man regardless of the scars, with kind eyes and a pretty smile, and in another context Jaskier would've already hit on him. Is it weird? It isn't, is it? Geralt has already established he doesn't think about Jaskier in any kind of sexual or romantic matter, so he can't blame him for trying to fish in a different river. Jaskier just needs to tone it down not to make it too awkward with all the brothers around - he may think "your friend's sibling" isn't off-limits, but he isn't dumb enough to think openly dropping a pick-up line in front of said friend would be socially accepted.
"I never thought I'd get to meet you! Geralt is always so private about everything, just saying he has siblings took him weeks to confess. It's easy to tell who you are, though, as soon as I found you I could see--" His hand is waved around to indicate the three of them and their air in between them. "--this raw family dynamic that screams of relatives." It makes him a bit jealous, to be honest. Were he and Frederick ever like this? Or had the early days of their childhood been mere child's play, two little ones loving the games but not the actual person?
Ugh, he shouldn't be thinking about this on his big night.
"Let's see~" He watches them for a moment as he sips what is left of his drink, then suddenly points to Lambert with a painted finger. "You exude annoying little brother energy, so I'm going to assume you're the youngest. OH!" he suddenly exclaims with a chuckle. "I bet you're the one who drew that little cock on the margin of the page! And if Geralt is the middle child, that leaves us wiiiith~"
He turns to Eskel then, casually dropping his hand on the man's bicep. Fuck, another hottie made of steel muscles, how is this fair. "You! You are the oldest, right? So any complaints I may have I shall direct them to you?" Jaskier winks to show he's teasing, glancing at Geralt to see his reaction. Not at the winking itself (obviously he won't care about that, tsk) but about the complaints joke. He lets a thoughtful hum as blue eyes go back and forth between the oldest brothers. "If I didn't know better I would've said you're the same age. Ah, Geralt, didn't you say something about a few months..."
The sentence is left hanging as the math finally clicks in Jaskier's brain and his eyes widen at the revelation unfolding in front of him.
"...don't tell me you are half-brothers?" Because obviously a cheating situation is the first one that comes to his mind. Suddenly, a gasp. "Or maybe adopted!" That-- that sounded a bit too cheerful. He can't help it, he's excited about learning more about Geralt's family and feeling smart for putting the pieces together. When he realizes what he said, though, he at least has the decency to look down in shame as he covers his mouth with his hand. "...sorry. That was rude of me."
The only open chair is next to Eskel and Jaskier drops into it easy as you please, and when he looks up at Eskel-- because Eskel's fucking huge, everybody has to look up at him-- there's this appraising sort of look in his eyes that Geralt doesn't know what to make of. Like the way those girls down at the farmers' market sometimes look at him, and-- oh. Right. He did know that about Jaskier, didn't he? From all the Instagram posts.
He doesn't know how he feels about it, at first, and then decides that he doesn't feel any way about it. Both Eskel and Jaskier are grown-ass adults who can do whatever they want.
Jaskier pegs Lambert as the youngest of the brothers right away, which is hardly a trial considering how he acts on a regular basis and the fact that he's a good five or six years younger than both Geralt and Eskel. Still looks a little younger than his brothers, when he's not scowling and looking pissy.
"Fuck you, it takes one to know one," Lambert says, but there isn't any heat to it. More amused than annoyed by Jaskier's enthusiasm.
He already knows that Geralt is in the middle, so picking out Eskel as the oldest is just process of elimination. Jaskier puts his hand on his bicep, which is approximately the size of the musician's head, and Geralt does not look at it; focuses somewhere into the middle distance, past the two of them. His face is the same neutral expression that it always is, the one that Lambert hates because it's the social equivalent of a brick wall. Jaskier's hand is still on Eskel's arm, and Eskel lets it stay there. Geralt's face stays neutral.
Jaskier continues prattling on about his observations about their family, talking his way through the sudden realization that two biologically-related siblings can't be less than nine months apart without being twins or not having the same mother. That's the first thing that he guesses-- that they're half-brothers, which isn't surprising considering that the two of them have similar features. Used to get mistaken for related more when they were younger, before Eskel got the scars on his face and Geralt went prematurely gray. Jaskier realizes that the whole line of speculation's pretty rude, though, and tries to backtrack it, apologize. Eskel gives him one of those fucking smiles that everybody melts for and it makes something burn in Geralt's gut. He drinks his beer and that does absolutely nothing to calm it.
"Adopted. All three of us are," he says, putting Jaskier out of his foot-in-mouth misery. "Our foster dad kept us."
"Big fuckin' mistake," Lambert says. "But the old man can't return us now."
"Rather be adopted than share your fucked up genes anyway, Lamb," Geralt says, and this is such old shit that they've given each other over the years that Lambert doesn't even get properly mad about it, just elbows him in the shoulder and tells him to fuck off.
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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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Hot damn. This is Geralt's fucking ex. And she's getting one hell of a wrong first impression.
After being told over and over that they aren't friends today, Geralt's that's it doesn't sting as much as Jaskier expects it to, probably because he understands Geralt's worry. This could like... look bad in court or something, perhaps? He should do something.
"Actually," he adds in with his voice raised, unsure of how well she can hear him. "I'm a client of the ranch thanks to your daughter's recommendation. ...bollocks, that sounds worse."
How can he-- oh, to hell with it. After hanging the towel around his neck, Jaskier comes closer and puts his hand on Geralt's shoulder as he peeks over it, leaving a wet spot on Geralt's back because of his chest hair. There is, indeed, lots of it.
"My lady." He takes two fingers to his forehead that he quickly lowers as he nods as a greeting, trying to play the charming card. "I assure you nothing of the sort-" He waggles his eyebrows. "-is happening. As Geralt has kindly reminded me today," Sarcastic much, Jaskier? "He doesn't even consider me a friend. Which is, as far as I'm concerned, an impressive pile of bullcrap, but I digress. Geralt here--" He pats Geralt's shoulder. "--is quite the caring and protective father, and he's always made sure I only come around when your daughter isn't around. In fact, he was ready to throttle me when he misunderstood my interactions with the kind Cirilla on twitter, interactions that have always been strictly about music, memes and Lady Gaga's wardrobe choices. I hope this little moment of awkwardness doesn't impact your views on allowing your daughter to enjoy my music and, most importantly, Geralt's capacity to be responsible and safe. Grumpy and brooding he may be, but irresponsible he is not, I swear on my guitar."
He rests his chin on Geralt's shoulder then, offering his best innocent eyes and charming smile. He can see "Yen" better now and fuck, with these two as parents? Cirilla may become the most beautiful woman in the entire fucking world.
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"Oh, I am well aware of Geralt's protective tendencies. He just so rarely brings anyone back to the house, even... friends."
Yen is enjoying this. Geralt knows that Yen is enjoying this, and she knows that he knows that she's enjoying this, because she's always enjoyed pushing at him and making him uncomfortable. Thinks it's funny. She is delighted by the kind of discomfort that she can see in him right now, especially when Jaskier puts his chin on his shoulder and Geralt doesn't move him. He's still a little damp from the shower, and the texture of his chest hair is slightly rough against the skin of his back, which is a fact that should not be important but is somehow impossible to ignore.
"You're that musician from YouTube, aren't you? I don't see any reason to keep Ciri from watching your little videos, you seem quite harmless." She fixes Jaskier with her violet-eyed gaze, and Geralt knows from personal experience that she has eyes like gimlets. They pierce right through you. "Maybe I shouldn't be worried about my daughter's virtue, hm?"
An odd way to put it, Geralt thinks. Yen's assessments are usually right, and Geralt does generally agree with it-- Jaskier's harmless to Ciri. She smiles, and her lipstick today is a bright, bloody red.
"It's a shame that I'm out of the country right now, Jaskier. I might have liked to meet you in person, I think we would have a lot to talk about."
Geralt's frown deepens; Jaskier isn't Yen's usual type. And he would know, because her usual type is more like him, someone who looks strong and intimidating that she can get underneath her immaculate heels. And she's good at that, too, but that's a trip down memory lane that Geralt doesn't need to go on right now.
He is saved by the buzzing of the dryer.
"I need to get that. We'll talk later, Yen."
"Oh, of course, Geralt. Have a good night."
He hangs up the phone and it's a relief to no longer see her face, which is a first. Geralt moves away from Jaskier to get the clothes out of the dryer, not stopping to look at him because he's. Mostly undressed, and Geralt shouldn't gawk at him. Though why would he stare at all, they're two men, it's not as though he's got a mostly naked woman in his living room.
"Here." He tosses the musician's clothes at him, still warm from the dryer.
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Her eyes sure are piercing, as intense as Geralt's even. Her strength is in the way she carries herself, in the way she uses her words, a perfect companion for Geralt's more raw, wild yet still powerful manner. They must've made the most explosive couple in the country, and Jaskier has to wonder why it didn't work out when they make such a lovely pair. Maybe they were too explosive.
"That's me! Jaskier at your service - but there's nothing little about my videos." He winks at her, shameless as usual. Geralt had told him she would eat him alive and honestly? Jaskier wouldn't mind being eaten by her. But it's not what's happening here. This woman is playing a game - Jaskier isn't sure what kind of game, exactly, but he isn't about to be left out.
And fuck, she's good, because that comment about her daughter's virtue? Throws Jaskier off his game on the spot. His eyes widen and he internally panics - in another context, he would've flirted a little more, said something no virtue out there being safe from his charms. But after how much of a creep he's felt today, well... better not make things worse with Geralt.
So his reply is a snort instead. "No virtues for you to be worried about around here, rest assured." He nods then. "A pity indeed! Feel free to add me on social media, there's no reason why this first meeting should also be the last."
There are so many questions burning in his tongue, but the call is coming to an end and Jaskier can only wave at her before pulling back to allow Geralt to get to the dryer. Mr DILF is avoiding his eyes, Jaskier can tell, is he embarrassed by what just happened? That would be cute. He only hopes he isn't angry at him, he was only trying to help!
"Sooooo~ That was your ex, huh? She-- ah, thanks." Jaskier catches his clothes and throws the damp towel to Geralt in return. Having to escape through many windows through the years means he's capable of dressing up as quickly as he can undress, but this time, he's going to take his sweet time with it. Can't let this conversation be over soon! "She seemed lovely. Intense, too, but in a good way. I can't fault your taste." He winks at Geralt then - it's not creepy because it's not flirting! It's teasing! Big difference! "You two seem to get along - I bet that's wonderful for Cirilla."
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Geralt catches the towel one-handed when it's tossed back to him, then tosses it downstairs towards the laundry room. He'd take care of it later, add it in with another load that he'll have to do once he has enough dirty towels and sheets and such. He turns back in time to see Jaskier wink at him about his choice in... baby mama, and he knows that his face does something. There's a whole face journey that happens in response to that wink, too quickly for him to tamp down on it.
"I'm not setting you up with Yen," he says, and he deeply hates the fact that this is the second time that he's had to say this. "She would eat you alive."
And now Jaskier at least has some idea about why Geralt tells him this. Yen's a terrifying woman who somehow lives off of wine and three square meals of unsuspecting men a day. Geralt is perhaps the exception, but of the kind that proves the rule.
Instead of continuing on this deeply uncomfortable line of conversation, Geralt retrieves some of the baskets of berries and starts separating them into containers so that Jaskier could take some of his hard-earned bounty home. A good assortment of each kind, since Geralt had no idea which ones he'd prefer and had the rising need to get him out of his house before he started asking more questions about his ex-baby mama.
"Take some of these," he says, indicating the large containers that he'd filled up with berries. "You should call for your ride, it's a good hike back to town."
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"Bloody hell!" he exclaims as he throws his hands in the air with obvious frustration. "How dense can you be, you big oaf? I'm not asking you to set me up with anyone, I'm fucking teasing you! You know, like friends do? Because- oh, what was it that I told you earlier? Ah, yes, because I want to get to know you better."
A huff. How much clearer can he be? And to think they had been making some progress in that area, too, but the soft moment of touching and sharing is obviously gone. Geralt goes from pushing him away to being soft then back to pushing in seconds, and Jaskier thinks he should make Hot'n'col the first song on his Geralt playlist.
You change your mind like a girl changes her clothes. Yeah you PMS like a bitch, I'd know.
Not only the moment is gone and the coversation is being completely ignored, Jaskier is also pretty much... well... being kicked out. Fuck. He knows he shouldn't impose but having a beer or coffee together after some activity shouldn't be a big deal, right? Why can't they just hang out as friends do? (Never mind the fact they technically just did.)
Jaskier considers doing some pushing but decides against it in the end. He's already been enough of a creep today, and clearly the subject of his ex isn't welcome. Geralt has already shared quite a lot (for his standards) during their little moment there, he's probably already hit his daily socializing quota. Mumbling a thank you, Jaskier grabs the containers and puts them in his tote bag before taking out his phone to call for his ride - the notification that awaits him when he unlocks the screen takes him by surprise.
"She's following me now! On twitter! Yennefer Vengerberg, that's her, right?" His thumb quickly scrolls through her feed, and Jaskier can only wolf-whistle. "A lawyer that actually fights for what truly matters? I never thought I'd see the day. Impressive."
As far as he knows, all lawyers are spawns of the devil. He follows her back, of course, and makes a mental note to slide into her DMs later. This is the kind of contact he wants to have, and professional interest aside, she sincerely seems like an interesting person to befriend. Cirilla is a lucky daughter.
Once his ride has been ordered, Jaskier puts his phone away and turns to Geralt, speaking after worrying his lower lip for a second. Welp, here goes nothing.
"Hey," he says with a soft voice. "Whenever I become friends with a fellow bookworm, I like asking them to choose a book in their library that means something to them and lend it to me. You can tell a lot about a person through the art they enjoy, and it's a great topic of conversation to share. Would you... would you lend me your wolf book?"
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Geralt makes to outward objection to this; he just finishes up with the berries, loading them into their containers that he can put into the freezer so that they'll stay fresh for a good, long while. Yen's going to have a direct line of communication to someone who is in frequent contact with Geralt and whom she knows he's been... somewhat friendly with. Yen deeply enjoys his discomfort. Yen probably knows that Jaskier would immediately inform him that she's following him on social media. She's probably pouring herself a glass of wine right now and relishing the thought of him being in this situation.
"She's very good at what she does," he says, if only because defending her career is second nature to him. Yen's got drive and ambition and the burning desire to say fuck you to a bunch of crusty old men who think they can stomp all over people. That's one of the reasons why she's always been too good for him, why it's for the best that she left him behind and never looked back.
There are a few moments of silence while Jaskier orders up his ride and Geralt puts things away in his kitchen. Then-- a very soft request, one that sounds terribly earnest. He wants a book from Geralt's collection, specifically the one that was so important to him as a kid. And that's a lot to ask of him, because it's not just that he wants to read the book, he wants to read Geralt's copy of the book. The copy that he's had for years, the one that has all the commentary that he and his brothers wrote in the margins and parts highlighted that they liked. The one that has a crude little drawing of a dick that Lambert drew in the margins during one of the sex scenes, because he was a shitty thirteen year old who thought it was funny.
Geralt considers it for a moment, leaning against his countertop, not looking at Jaskier. Then he pushes himself upright and walks over to his bookshelf, taking the old, battered book down from it. It's been obviously well-loved-- the spine cracked, pages bent and discolored. It's not the prettiest paperback, but it's still holding together. He brings it over and holds it out for the musician to take.
"...Try to get it back to me in one piece."
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"YES! I promise!" He grabs the book as carefully as he can, treating it as if it was made of glass. Well-loved is an understatement, and Jaskier is delighted by every detail - he isn't one to write on books or doggy-ear the pages, but there's nothing like having in your hands the sign of three people thoroughly loving a piece of art. He hasn't even opened it yet and it already makes his writer heart flutter - in fact, he can't help pressing it against his chest like the sap he is. "I'll take good care of it. Thank you, Geralt. Truly."
This is a bad idea, but he can't stop himself: as he gives his thanks, he reaches out for Geralt's hand and gives it a squeeze. It shouldn't be a big deal after all the -ahem- tick checking they did, but Jaskier has reached the conclusion that you can never know with Geralt. And to prove he intends to keep his promise, he takes out a hanky from his bag, wraps the book with it and puts it away not in his bag, but in the pocket of his guitar case. Geralt knows how much care Jaskier takes of his guitar, so hopefully that eases his worries.
As soon as he gets in the car, Jaskier texts his sister a [SCREAMING] gif, and the little shit replies with a TOLD YA gif after he explains what's happened. Jaskier has taught her too well, sigh. She still worries, though, because even after this pseudo-rejection, Jaskier continues to work for this relationship, perhaps a little too much.
Exhibit A: the fact he prepares a package for Geralt the next day with items he purchases especially for this. What's the problem, can't friends buy gifts for other friends? That's his excuse and he's sticking to it, thank you very much. And that's how Geralt will be visited by a messenger in the afternoon, leaving him a black tote bag with the logo of his favorite book painted on it and various items inside. The first one is a note, and the paper is written on should quickly tell Geralt whom this is coming from without having to look at the signature.
Thank you for sharing so much with me yesterday! I had tons of fun. :)
I thought I could lend you a special book of mine back, make our own little book club official.
The rest of the things are for you to keep, even the bookmark! It's the least I could do after you filled up my fridge with fruit to last me for a while.
Looking forward to more invitations like this one!
Your new friend,
~Jaskier
The whole thing has been written in gold ink, and the signature has a little flower drawn at the end. Jaskier's penmanship is exquisite, flourish and eye-catching as he is. The next thing in the bag are Geralt's containers being returned after a good wash, and finally, the book itself: a very old copy of Pride and Prejudice. Yes, the classic one from decades ago with a peacock on the cover, because this is Jaskier and he's extra at everything. It's not as "well-loved" as Geralt's book but the signs are still there: the pages are discolored and bent as well, various scratches decorate the hardcovers, and inside there are tons of dried flowers. There's also the mentioned bookmartk, with a quote chosen specifically for their very situation - Jaskier hopes Geralt sees the connection.
Jaskier doesn't start reading the book asap even if he's dying to, he has some work to do on his songs for his gig, and he promised his new gang of friends to go out together to a club soon (and he can't miss that, not after Geralt's "rejection", he needs that one night stand like burning - the fact he ends up picking up a very buff and tall guy to fuck him silly is a coincidence, nothing more). He tries to text Geralt a little less those first few days, which is still a lot for an average person's standards, but hey, it's something. He turns down the flirting as well. When they start reading their respective books, however, all bets are off, and the texting almost becomes spam. Jaskier is loving the monster hunter's adventures, especially the character of the bard (how could you keep him hidden from me geralt!!!) and chatting about it has the same effect on Geralt as chatting about horses: it makes him talk a bit more than usual. Jaskier cherishes every damn text he gets in return. And when after a slow start Geralt admits he's enjoying P&P? He giggles like a goddamn schoolgirl.
Since the state of the wolf book and the notes on it are quite obviously something private, he doesn't take pictures for Instagram, but he does mention in Twitter that he is reading it, which gets him an encouraging reply from Ciri, and an amused message from Yennefer in his DMs. They've been talking since they added each other, and she's honestly great. Her taste is as fine as his own, and she's working hard in defense of women and various minority groups, something that -of course- warms this singer's very own soul. Jaskier has started retweeting all the important things she has to say, and she's actually gained quite a following thanks to the people arriving to her account through him. She isn't a "soft" kind of person, but they do have a little moment when she expresses all her gratitude for the support he sent her way. She goes back to being scary, though, when she asks about the book - she's always very intense when she asks about his relationship with Geralt, and Jaskier can't quite tell what kind of game she's playing yet. That speaks highly of her talents, considering Jaskier grew up with people like her and thinks he's quite talented too at smelling bullshit.
The day of the gig finally comes and honestly? Jaskier doesn't even think Geralt will show up, so he doesn't think about him at all - he concentrates on getting ready and being there in time. The bar isn't crowded by any means but it's not empty either, around three-fourths of the tables are taken and Jaskier considers that a good number for a place that keeps his average fan out.
While he's backstage waiting for his call, his friends help promote him by going around the tables and leaving his business card (which has, to the surprise of no one, a buttercup on the "album cover") for anyone that may want to hire him. It's Priscilla (with her short blue and red dress and her blonde hair up in a messy bun) that approaches the three buffy guys in the back, going through the memorized speech as she leaves three cards on the table.
"--and you can find him in..." She interrupts her own words when her eyes fall on Geralt, squinting for a second at the man as she puts two and two together. "Oh. My. God. You're Geralt, aren't you? The guy with the horses!" She sounds so excited, it's like she's meeting a celebrity. "Jask has told us sooooo much about you!"
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He keeps the book on his nightstand and reads it for a while every night before he goes to bed.
Jaskier texts him, as expected, about the book while he's reading it, telling Geralt about the parts that he likes and expressing false indignation that he didn't tell him about the faithful bard who follows the monster hunter across the land. Of course he would identify the most with the character who spends his life singing songs, sleeping with beautiful people, and getting in trouble-- and being rescued from said trouble by his friend. (Geralt is secretly looking forward to Jaskier's comments once he nears the end of the book-- there's a scene in one of the last chapters where the bard and the monster hunter fall into bed together. It's tame by modern standards, but it had been scandalous when he had been a teenager. Eskel had written the most thoughtful commentary in the margins, and Lambert's contribution had been the aforementioned dick drawing.)
In return, Geralt comments on Pride and Prejudice-- it takes time in the beginning to get him interested in the social intricacies of the British Regency era, but it helps that he enjoys Elizabeth enough to keep at it until the plot picks up a little. It's not his usual taste in literature but he does feel satisfied at the end when Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy get over their respective bullshit and get together, and really that's all that you can hope for out of an ending, to feel satisfied by it.
He does skip one night of reading, though-- when he goes out with his brothers, bar crawling the day before Jaskier's show. He's determined to fix whatever the fuck is wrong with him with a night of meaningless sex, regardless of the vaguely concerned looks that he gets from Eskel the whole time. Lambert, meanwhile... is actually more interested in his phone for most of the night, and Geralt doesn't question it. He does eventually find a woman who seems game, pretty enough with brown hair and big blue eyes and a bright, easy smile, and he's about to ask her if she wants to get out of here when he spots another blue-eyed, brown-haired pretty thing through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the front of the bar. It's Jaskier-- he knows that laugh-- walking down the street with a gaggle of people around him, dressed to the nines. Geralt can only see him for a few moments before he's gone, past the bar and off to wherever it is he's going for the night, and the woman in front of him asks him a question that pulls his attention back to her.
He asks her if she wants to go. She does, and he drives them both to her place on his motorcycle. He fucks her and it's good, and he waits in bed with her until she's asleep before getting up and putting his clothes back on and driving home. He feels restless the whole way back, and even once he's showered and gotten into his own bed, he can't fall asleep.
The next night is Jaskier's show, and Geralt roped both of his brothers into coming despite the fact that he dragged them out the night before, too. Eskel agrees because, regardless of everything, he'll do anything that Geralt asks, and Lambert... probably just wants to see what the fuck all this fuss is about, really. All he knows is that there's this client that Geralt has that wanted him to come to watch him sing, and the first thing that he asked was if Geralt was trying to fuck him-- as though that would be the only reason that Geralt would ever show his face at a bar for some music. When the answer was negative, he seemed unconvinced, but he at least agreed to show up.
So, there they were. Three assholes standing at the bar, the crowd full of people that leaned way more towards the hipster end of the spectrum than they did, drinking microbrew beer and waiting for Jaskier to get on stage. Some pretty little blond girl is weaving between the tables and dipping by the people at the bar, handing something out; she finally makes it over to them and Geralt takes what she's handing to him almost automatically. It's a business card, not that he really needs it since he already has Jaskier's phone number.
She recognizes him. Lambert, who had been paying more attention to his beer than anything that was going on around him up until this point, whips his head around to see what this fresh bullshit is about.
"He... has?" Geralt's brow furrows, mostly out of confusion for what Jaskier could've possibly told this girl that would have her so excited to meet him. Is it the horses? Women do seem to like horses, maybe she also has an interest in riding. There can't be that much else to say about him; Geralt can't say that he's a particularly interesting person. The opposite, really? It's mostly just horses and apparently old books about monster hunters.
"What did he tell you?" Lambert leans towards her, and when she looks confused at his interruption, he adds, "I'm his brother. I know way better stories--
"When will Jaskier be on stage?" Geralt interrupts him back, elbowing Lambert hard enough to get him to stop talking that he nearly spills his beer.
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At least Geralt's enthusiastic about seeing Jaskier, Priscilla is so telling him about this later.
"Five more minutes," she replies with a grin after checking the time on her phone. "Which means I should hurry back to my table - it's not like you need my sales speech anyway. Thank you for coming." She gives Geralt a meaningful look as she puts a hand on his shoulder - not caring about touching strangers, no wonder she's a friend of Jaskier's. "This will mean a lot to him."
The rest of the gang showers her with questions when she returns, but it doesn't last long: five minutes later, the lights are being lowered and the curtains on the stage are opened. There is a microphone on its stand, a tall stool waiting in front of it and a singer quickly making his way to it with a guitar in his hands.
Jaskier is looking extra as always yet quite different from his usual style - he's a folk-rock singer, and his looks need to match his music. On top of tight dark dress pants and vest, he's wearing a celtic cape, the hood up over carefully tousled hair. There's eyeliner on his eyes, a line of yellow on top of a line of black, and the rest of his face is decorated with an intricated traditional design in blue. This design is painted on his hands as well, which -for once- aren't wearing any rings. There's other jewelry though: a choker on his neck and three earrings on each ear lobe.
So many decorations and yet what stands out the most is still his smile, wide and pleased and simply irradiating pure happiness. His eyes are twinkling as well as he sits down and takes in his audience - all those eyes are on him and he soaks up the attention like a fucking sponge.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen." This isn't his usual cheerful tone of voice - this is deep yet soft, this is hypnotizing the audience with sounds made of velvet, this is making love to their ears with only sounds that come from his throat but also his very soul. "Thank you all for coming. Believe it or not, this is a bloody crowd - in folk-rock standards, ten people already counts as commercial." His audience laughs and Jaskier looks as pleased as a cat that got the cream. "Anyway - I'm Jaskier, and this is Love Run."
The entire performance is done from his spot on the stool, but Jaskier doesn't need to move to have the public wrapped around his talented fingers. He fucking owns the stage and shines in it as if he was born there - when he says that's where he belongs, he means it. With each song that ends another begins, the flow between them smooth as silk, all of them written by him - no cover in sight. And because they were all written by him, it means he knows the emotions that inspired each word and he puts them in his voice, raw and sincere. Blue eyes look at every person in the bar, make them believe he's singing directly to them, enchant them with their intensity. There are some groups in the audience (besides his friends) that are fans of him and sing along to the lyrics - when the time comes when Jaskier exclaims "this isn't a break up dear heart" he pauses and grins when his public happily cries back "it's a season finale!". It's moments like this that fill his heart with adrenaline, his soul with glee and, let's be honest, stroke his ego just right.
He only stands up for the final song, which is performed with no music, only his voice. The guitar is left on the stool, eyes are closed and painted hands grip the microphone stand tightly as the tunes of Elsa's Song start echoing throughout the room.
"♪ And you’ll strew some sage and lilies, and roses where I rot. Of all the flowers you picked, I knew you would forget forget-me-nots. ♪"
The lack of music doesn't make the song any less powerful. There is a couple of seconds of silence when Jaskier is done, only to be followed by thunderous clapping. The bright smile makes a comeback, bigger and brighter than ever, and Jaskier takes a moment to soak it all in before bowing. After thanking everyone again and wishing them all sweet dreams and a good night, he grabs his guitar and disappears backstage, where he raises his arms and yells YES! to the ceiling.
Damn, he feels fucking good. Jaskier swears he could have an orgasm only from the tingling sensation of success running through his body.
When he shows up at the bar seconds later, he hasn't changed, although he did at least leave the guitar behind. His friends hug him and congratulate him on a great performance, they even have a drink ready for him, one of those colorful fruity things he likes so much. He barely gets two sips in before some of his fans approach him but he doesn't mind - the exact opposite in fact: he loves every second of it. Selfies are taken and autographs are signed, and once that's all done, Jaskier turns to the gang to see what are the plans for tonight.
"Waitwaitwait! We aren't done here yet! There's a surprise waiting for you!" Priscilla barely gives Jaskier time to grab his glass before he's dragging him to the back of the bar by his wrist, not caring about the confused looks and all the questions the musician keeps throwing at her. "Ta-daaa~!"
They stop a few steps away from the last tables but even if Priscilla wasn't presenting his surprise with open arms that point in the direction of the right table, Jaskier would've known exactly what she's been meaning with a surprise. Three burly mountain men don't exactly blend in a hipster bar, after all.
Jaskier stares with his mouth open, his free hand reaching up to lower his hood as if that was covering his eyes and making him see things.
That, right there, is Geralt.
Geralt came to his gig.
He's dreaming, right? Or drunk. Or maybe even high. That's gotta be it.
"What are you waiting for, you dummy? Go for it!" Priscilla pushes Jaskier before leaving for her table, which means half of his drink ends up on the floor. But he can't care less about alcohol right now, there's something (someone) waiting for him that makes his heart beat faster than any drug.
"Geralt! You came! I can't believe it!" They're face to face now, with Jaskier standing right in front of the table, but the staring continues... at least until Lambert clears his voice, making Jaskier snap out of it. "Bollocks. Sorry- I mean, hi! You must be Geralt's brothers, right?" The two of them as handsome and fit as Geralt himself, incredible. What kind of family is this? "I love the way you all sit in this corner and brood." Obviously teasing, he winks at them before offering his hand to shake. "I'm Jaskier, buuuuut you probably already know that. Thank you so much for coming. Did you enjoy the show? Have any review for me? Three words or less!"
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Lambert rolls his eyes so hard that he moves his whole head with it, like Geralt's the one being unreasonable here. They're the ones reading too much into this-- he's just helping out an... acquaintance, that's all there is to it. He's not trying to get into Jaskier's pants, and that's not how things work, anyway-- Jaskier isn't a fucking vending machine that he can insert enough kindness tokens into to make sex fall out.
Also, he doesn't fuck men. That's important, too.
Thankfully, he's saved from having to continue this conversation when the lights dim and Jaskier comes out onto the stage, dressed up in some kind of folksy costume that, presumably, fits the theme of whatever he's performing. It is, as Ciri would say, extra as hell, but that's apparently part of Jaskier's brand.
As ridiculous as it is, Jaskier looks like he's in his element from the moment that he sets foot on the stage. A showman from start to finish, charming his audience before he even starts the performance with a smile and a wink. There's something low and intimate in his voice when he talks that makes it sound like, despite the fact that you're in a room full of people, he's only talking to you.
Then he starts singing. Geralt doesn't recognize most of the songs, and only bits and pieces of some because of what he's heard Ciri play in her bedroom, but Jaskier is... good. He doesn't know much about the technicalities of music, but Jaskier has a voice that can go from lovely and sweet to deep and intense, has range and depth. He can carry a song with just his voice alone, and sometimes does so, to good effect. Geralt makes sure that he doesn't just sit there and stare at him for the whole set, because that would be weird; he takes the empty pint glasses up to the bar for refills and tries not to think about how Jaskier sings symphonies and sweat and sex and sin.
When Jaskier finishes his whole set and comes out from backstage, there are fans waiting for him, the crowd modest but enthusiastic, eager to get pictures and autographs with him. He goes back to his group of friends after that, the one that has the friendly blond from earlier, and Geralt figures he should tell his brothers to pack up and head out. Jaskier'll go off with his friends for some celebratory drinks, and Geralt can tell him that he saw him perform sometime later. Maybe he'll send him a text or something tomorrow. He opens his mouth to tell them to go when he sees Eskel's eyes looking past him, and then Jaskier's there in front of the table with half of his beer sloshed over his hand and a bright smile across his face.
Jaskier starts talking and, in true Jaskier fashion, doesn't stop talking, going fast enough that it's almost impossible to get a word in edgewise. Eskel, since he's the only one of the brothers who managed to learn some manners, takes the musician's hand when he offers it to shake.
"I'm Eskel, this is Lambert," he says. "You did good. Put on a real nice show."
"You look like you walked off the fucking set of Braveheart," Lambert chimes in, because providing unwanted opinions is his greatest talent in this life. Geralt kicks him in the shin under the table. "Ow, fuck off, he does."
That leaves Geralt to make some kind of commentary on the performance, because everyone else has and technically he's the one that Jaskier invited. Something appropriate that isn't the choker you're wearing makes me keep staring at your neck or you have a very pretty mouth or your hands are very distracting. This is a much more difficult task than it should be.
"It was good."
Okay. That's not a glowing review or anything, but no one expects anything lengthy out of him. It'll do, right? This is fine.
Lambert rolls his eyes again. "Yeah, he liked it, so sit down already."
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This little shit.
Jaskier rolls his eyes, used to this kind of comments. He gets them all the time on youtube: people that reach his channel through his covers and are then surprised by the genre of his own music, not truly understanding it or defaulting to high fantasy fiction jokes.
"An American movie directed and acted by an American is the best you could do?" he asks with a stronger accent, pushing it into that posh British tone Americans think all English people sound like if their movies are anything to go by. There's something else about Lambert though... Jaskier squints at him, thinking he looks familiar. But where could've he seen him before? It's not like Geralt had pictures in his house.
Speaking of Geralt, it's his comment that snaps Jaskier out of his thoughts. Good - Geralt thinking his show was good. Indeed, Jaskier knows better than expect anything lengthy from him. In Geralt's speech, this is high fucking praise, especially after the attitude he gave him the day they met.
"...thanks, Geralt," he replies with another too-bright smile, his words earnest and coming from his heart. He would've gotten stuck staring again if Lambert hadn't invited him to seat and really, how can he say no to such an offer?
Eskel scoots back, making more room for him and further proving he's the one with the manners of the trio, and Jaskier decides not to cross his legs when he sits next to him, letting their knees brush. He's a handsome man regardless of the scars, with kind eyes and a pretty smile, and in another context Jaskier would've already hit on him. Is it weird? It isn't, is it? Geralt has already established he doesn't think about Jaskier in any kind of sexual or romantic matter, so he can't blame him for trying to fish in a different river. Jaskier just needs to tone it down not to make it too awkward with all the brothers around - he may think "your friend's sibling" isn't off-limits, but he isn't dumb enough to think openly dropping a pick-up line in front of said friend would be socially accepted.
"I never thought I'd get to meet you! Geralt is always so private about everything, just saying he has siblings took him weeks to confess. It's easy to tell who you are, though, as soon as I found you I could see--" His hand is waved around to indicate the three of them and their air in between them. "--this raw family dynamic that screams of relatives." It makes him a bit jealous, to be honest. Were he and Frederick ever like this? Or had the early days of their childhood been mere child's play, two little ones loving the games but not the actual person?
Ugh, he shouldn't be thinking about this on his big night.
"Let's see~" He watches them for a moment as he sips what is left of his drink, then suddenly points to Lambert with a painted finger. "You exude annoying little brother energy, so I'm going to assume you're the youngest. OH!" he suddenly exclaims with a chuckle. "I bet you're the one who drew that little cock on the margin of the page! And if Geralt is the middle child, that leaves us wiiiith~"
He turns to Eskel then, casually dropping his hand on the man's bicep. Fuck, another hottie made of steel muscles, how is this fair. "You! You are the oldest, right? So any complaints I may have I shall direct them to you?" Jaskier winks to show he's teasing, glancing at Geralt to see his reaction. Not at the winking itself (obviously he won't care about that, tsk) but about the complaints joke. He lets a thoughtful hum as blue eyes go back and forth between the oldest brothers. "If I didn't know better I would've said you're the same age. Ah, Geralt, didn't you say something about a few months..."
The sentence is left hanging as the math finally clicks in Jaskier's brain and his eyes widen at the revelation unfolding in front of him.
"...don't tell me you are half-brothers?" Because obviously a cheating situation is the first one that comes to his mind. Suddenly, a gasp. "Or maybe adopted!" That-- that sounded a bit too cheerful. He can't help it, he's excited about learning more about Geralt's family and feeling smart for putting the pieces together. When he realizes what he said, though, he at least has the decency to look down in shame as he covers his mouth with his hand. "...sorry. That was rude of me."
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He doesn't know how he feels about it, at first, and then decides that he doesn't feel any way about it. Both Eskel and Jaskier are grown-ass adults who can do whatever they want.
Jaskier pegs Lambert as the youngest of the brothers right away, which is hardly a trial considering how he acts on a regular basis and the fact that he's a good five or six years younger than both Geralt and Eskel. Still looks a little younger than his brothers, when he's not scowling and looking pissy.
"Fuck you, it takes one to know one," Lambert says, but there isn't any heat to it. More amused than annoyed by Jaskier's enthusiasm.
He already knows that Geralt is in the middle, so picking out Eskel as the oldest is just process of elimination. Jaskier puts his hand on his bicep, which is approximately the size of the musician's head, and Geralt does not look at it; focuses somewhere into the middle distance, past the two of them. His face is the same neutral expression that it always is, the one that Lambert hates because it's the social equivalent of a brick wall. Jaskier's hand is still on Eskel's arm, and Eskel lets it stay there. Geralt's face stays neutral.
Jaskier continues prattling on about his observations about their family, talking his way through the sudden realization that two biologically-related siblings can't be less than nine months apart without being twins or not having the same mother. That's the first thing that he guesses-- that they're half-brothers, which isn't surprising considering that the two of them have similar features. Used to get mistaken for related more when they were younger, before Eskel got the scars on his face and Geralt went prematurely gray. Jaskier realizes that the whole line of speculation's pretty rude, though, and tries to backtrack it, apologize. Eskel gives him one of those fucking smiles that everybody melts for and it makes something burn in Geralt's gut. He drinks his beer and that does absolutely nothing to calm it.
"Adopted. All three of us are," he says, putting Jaskier out of his foot-in-mouth misery. "Our foster dad kept us."
"Big fuckin' mistake," Lambert says. "But the old man can't return us now."
"Rather be adopted than share your fucked up genes anyway, Lamb," Geralt says, and this is such old shit that they've given each other over the years that Lambert doesn't even get properly mad about it, just elbows him in the shoulder and tells him to fuck off.
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