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.
Geralt is right, Eskel's smile is to melt for. It works like a charm with Jaskier, who is already pretty shameless anyway - Eskel jumping in with his kindness puts out any little shame he may feel for once in his life pretty damn quickly. When he laughs at Lambert's and Geralt's little exchange, his hand moves to Eskel's wrist, and he leaves it there simply because he can... and because apparently Eskel doesn't mind. Promising.
"The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb," Jaskier recites with the utmost sincerity. "I wouldn't have even guessed if Geralt hadn't told me about his age difference with Eskel, trust me."
He hopes the compliment comes through and it isn't mean by accident. Jaskier wants them to know they have a good thing here, that they are lucky to have each other, without accidentally implying that the fact they were foster kids in the first place is a good situation to be in. Sometimes even a writer like him has trouble wording things like that - some subjects are too complex to express them with words on the fly.
"I'm assuming this 'old man' isn't the kind to go to bars with his sons? Because I'm digging this whole--" His need to gesture is stronger than his little flirt attempt, so he raises his hand from its spot on Eskel's wrist to make a whirly movement with his finger, indicating the whole table. "--bringing the whole family to see Jaskier's show deal. The more the merrier! I invited Yen, too, but she's in Spain. ...whiiiich you know already. Obviously." He finishes his drink as he looks at each of them with curiosity in his eyes, blues staying a little longer on Eskel. Time to try to dig out some information. "More friends are also welcome, of course. If you have any mates or even significant others that appreciate good music, then--"
His Super Smooth Plan To Find Out If Eskel Is Single is interrupted when Jaskier's memory makes a connection to significant others and finally remembers where he's seen Lambert before. There's a gasp and widening eyes as he points at him, sounding very pleased with himself when he speaks.
"CHEERS AND BEERS! THAT'S IT! That's where I know you from! You looked so familiar and I couldn't pinpoint from where, it was driving me insane! But now I know! I almost hit on your boyfriend, sorry about that."
All of the brothers look a little amused at the idea that Vesemir might come down with them to a bar-- as if they'd ever be able to convince the old man to go somewhere with them, or that he'd ever want to be out past nine o'clock. Both Eskel and Lambert look surprised when he mentions Yen-- Eskel shoots Geralt a peculiar look with a furrowed brow, to which Geralt replies with a shake of his head and a wave of his hand. A nonverbal not now, I'll tell you later. The story is honestly too odd and unbelievable to get into right now.
Jaskier switches from being relatively normal-- if very... tactile with Eskel-- to suddenly yelling and pointing in an instant, apparently because he's finally remembered where he saw Lambert's face before. The change startles all three of them, and apparently Lambert most of all, because he chokes on the beer that he was trying to drink, hard enough that Geralt has to thump him on the back.
"Boyfriend?" Eskel says, and now his confusion is directed at the youngest brother. A lot of revelations are being dropped today, and he is apparently unprepared for them. First they find out that Geralt made a friend, then that said friend knows Yen, and now Lambert's Secret Boyfriend. What a day.
"Since when do you have a boyfriend?" This is news to Geralt, and, sure, he's not the most up-to-date on everybody's lives, but that seems like one of those things that would've eventually gotten around to him. If these are the kinds of things that he's missing out on, maybe they need to start up a newsletter or something.
"What-- no-- it's, I don't have a fucking boyfriend--" Lambert manages to get the words out between coughs. Once he's cleared the beer out of his airway, he continues, "He's just a fucking drinking buddy, for fuck's sake. I'm not dating everybody I get a fucking drink with!"
There's a certain look that Lambert shoots Jaskier's way, part pissiness and part what-the-fuck-are-you-doing.
"You have drinking buddies?" Geralt says. "Hell, since when do you have friends?"
"Fuck off, Geralt, all your friends are fucking horses."
As every person that has talked to him for more than five seconds knows, Jaskier has a huge mouth, and he puts his foot in it often. Believe it or not, he's aware of this.
When the entire table reacts to his comment in rather shocking way, Jaskier has to curse under his breath. Has he outed someone by accident? Fuck, that would be awful. He doesn't want to be that mind of careless asshole, and most importantly, he doesn't want to hurt anyone like this.
Luckily the conversation goes on rather quickly, preventing him from panicking. Jaskier sighs with relief - Eskel and Geralt don't seem to be shaken by the idea that Lambert could possibly date a man, they are just surprised that Lambert has someone they don't know about. Alright, alright, he can work with this.
"First of all," he replies as he raises a finger. "I'm not a horse, I'm a peacock."
Because of course even at times like this he has to defend his friendship with Geralt.
"Second of all--" He raises another finger as he meets Lambert's pissy look with a glint on his own blue eyes. "-drinking buddies? That's what you are calling the way you and handsome bearded bloke were undressing each other with your eyes? Bloody hell, you're worse than Geralt."
Time to give his attention back to Eskel. Jaskier puts both his hands on the man's bicep this time, and his chin on top of them. "Please tell me you aren't an oblivious himbo too," he begs with his best puppy eyes. "I'm starting to lose faith in this family."
You're worse than Geralt, Jaskier says, and Lambert sputters indignantly at implication that he could possibly be more of a dumbass than his older brother. He is, however, also the one trying to convince everyone at this table that he's not dating a man and is somehow failing spectacularly at that objective.
"I wasn't doing fucking anything, I was just-- I was looking at him! The fuck was I supposed to be doing, staring at a wall? You look at people when you talk to them!" If there's a way that Lambert expected tonight to go, having to argue about the manner in which he looks at his drinking buddies wasn't it. "And he wasn't fucking looking at me any kind of way."
There's a pause. Lambert leans across the table a little, towards Jaskier. "Wait. So. How much eyeballing was he doing?"
"For fuck's sake, Lamb," Geralt says, because seriously, how fucking stupid do you have to be not to notice mutual attraction?
Jaskier turns his attention back to Eskel, both hands now on his bicep with his chin resting on them, gazing up at him with pleading blue eyes. Laying it on pretty damn thick, too. And really it's kind of a thing to be trying to hook up this hard with his brother right in front of him; couldn't he have waited until they weren't all sitting here, at least?
"Somebody had to get some sense in this family," Eskel replies, humoring him. If this is how the rest of the night is going to go, Geralt doesn't want to be part of it-- he doesn't need to watch his brother pick up Jaskier, he's already gotten too much of a glimpse into the musician's apparent taste in men as it is.
"I should go," he says, double-checking his wallet for his cards, just to make sure he got it back from the bartender, and also as a convenient method of not having to notice that both of his brothers are looking at him. "Gotta be at the ranch early tomorrow."
Lambert's hand dives into the pocket of his leather jacket, the one that he always keeps his keys in and returns with his goal before Geralt can stop him. "Drink your fucking expensive hipster beer, Geralt, you don't have to be up that early."
"Lambert," Geralt's voice dips into low, gravelly registers, a good signal of his mounting annoyance. Before he can try to get the keys back from his asshole of a brother, Lambert tosses them to Eskel, a childish game of keep-away. Eskel catches them, and flashes him a look that's apologetic, but not too apologetic.
"Hey, at least finish your beer. Then you can get out of here."
Oh, what an amazing reaction. Jaskier can only be amused at Lambert's indignation, biting his tongue not to laugh aloud. Not because he doesn't want to be mean, but because he thinks laughing may anger Lambert and interrupt this incredible denial rant. He finally loses it, though, when Lambert gives in and asks for details, getting some cursing out of Geralt too. There are no words to describe how much Jaskier is loving this - the fact he lets go of Eskel should be the first clue.
Laughing now, he crosses his arms on the table and leans in as well. "Let's put it this way, Lamb." Yes, he's stealing the nickname. Thanks, Geralt. "What I saw was enough to keep me, someone who isn't easy to get rid of once I see someone I want, away from your table before I even took two steps towards it."
There's so much more he can say about it - he even thinks about starting a retelling of the events with as much poetry as possible, something about there having been love in the air around Lambert and his "friend" and sparks every time they touched. But suddenly Geralt announces he wants to leave, and Jaskier's entire world stops, because no matter how much he tells himself he'll move on as he does with every fling and how much he flirts with Eskel, he's still a fool with a crush.
"NO!" He turns to Geralt quickly, hands up in a stop gesture, but he doubts it's enough. Thankfully Lambert and Eskel have his back - he could kiss them both right now! If he wasn't too busy keeping his eyes on Geralt, that is. "I mean, yeah, come on! Don't be a spoilsport, mate, finish your beer! Tell you what, even ask for another one! Some snacks too if you want, my treat! A thank you for coming!" His butt raises as Jaskier leans completely over the table to grab Geralt's wrist. "The night is young and we barely got to talk. Please? You don't want to leave a man with paint on his face waiting."
It's hard to try to read Geralt's expression when there's a shadow suddenly looming above them. Said shadow clears his voice and Jaskier looks up to see a man watching them - he's dressed quite formally, he can't help noticing, dress pants and formal jacket with a vest under it. No tie, but quite an impressive mustache.
"Jaskier, correct?" His pronunciation of the name isn't the best, but Jaskier nods anyway. "I'm Brian Miller, I'm with Folkways Records."
With a muttered fuck, Jaskier's chair falls to the floor as he scrambles away from the table to stand up and look presentable - well, as presentable as he can look considering their current little mess. His hands tremble when he takes the card offered to him, confirming the guy as the real deal. It's true. It's happening. Dammit, his heart is about to jump out of his chest and is this really the moment for his legs to become jelly? Fucking rude limbs.
"I-it's--" Bloody hell, where is his voice? He can't be nervous, this is his fucking dream! His mind seriously needs to stop screaming right now, that would probably help. He swallows before he tries again. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. Did you enjoy the show?"
"I did, actually. And I must confess, I'm impressed. As you probably already know, folk isn't exactly the kind of music that usually resonates with young people." The chatterbox, for once, is silent - Jaskier can only nod along. He isn't only nervous, he's horrified to fuck this up, especially after that lovely first impression that was saying hi with his butt in the air. Thankfully Brian doesn't seem to mind, in fact he appreciates not being interrupted. "Folkways Records is an old company that is looking to break into a bigger market, to bring folk music back into popular culture, and we think you're exactly what we need..."
Jaskier's eyes widen and a little gasp escapes his lips. This is real, this isn't a dream, this--
"...if you're willing to discuss with me some aspects of the marketing of your image before we rush into things."
--this a huge fucking red flag, that's what it is. His body goes from being nervous and jelly to fucking freezing, the weight of disappointment already sneaking into his chest. Don't jump to conclussions, he tells himself as he takes a deep breath, maybe he's just worried about me possibly making scenes in bars after what he saw.
"What kind of 'aspects'?" His voice sounds a bit colder than he intends it to, his brows are furrowing, he's even grinding his teeth. No matter how much he thinks he should be able to work with this, it shouldn't be a big deal, his mind is already panicking. That little clause sounded too much like discussing possible changes. And he knows he would have to make concessions when signing a contract but...
"I thought we could have this conversation in private?" Brian asks innocently, but his eyes betray him: he looks at the men at the table, then he glances to both sides, as if expecting someone to jump in Jaskier's defense. The red flags in his mind have become full fucking Kill Bill sirens; the only reply he manages is a movement of his hand urging the man to go on because he isn't going anywhere. "I see. Well then-- You must understand, Jaskier, that Folkways Records has a small but very loyal following. And while we're looking to bring a new age bracket into our public, the first few months of your career -perhaps even a whole year- will depend on those more, ah, traditional fans."
Oh boy. The t-word. Jaskier feels like a kid in church again - this isn't going to end well.
"We've seen your online presence, and we wouldn't ask you to lie about what you are--"
"Who I am," he instantly corrects, but it gets ignored.
"--we would only ask you to tone it down."
A snort. "Hide it, you mean." Brian opens his mouth to reply but instead leans back with a shocked face when Jaskier tears his business card into confetti and throws it at his mustache. "I don't work with bigots. And my fans appreciate that."
It's hard to tell whose look could kill you faster: Jaskier's or Brian's. In another context it may've been a tie, right now Brian is the one to give in only because he's obviously the one not belonging at this table.
"Big words for someone your age, boy. Let's see for how long you're capable to keep your morals intact in this industry."
The asshole leaves without saying goodbye, not that Jaskier wanted one anyway. Blue eyes follow his back with enough hate in them to carve a hole in the back of the man's head, and Jaskier hates it, hates how he's feeling right now. Shake it off, the song says, and he wants to do so so fucking badly, just like he does every day with trolls in the internet...
But he can't.
His whole body is shaking, and for a moment he forgets he's even at a bar. There's something cold clawing in his chest, a ball of rage in his throat and deafness in his ears, almost as if he was underwater. Drowning. Trembling hands reach up to the cape around his neck and shoulders and craddle it against his face.
With fabric covering the worst of it, Jaskier just goes ahead and screams.
The musician reaches across the table for Geralt's wrist and his hand feels warm against his skin, makes him feel like he isn't sure if he wants to pull his hand away or get more of that touch. His eyebrows pinch together for a moment before he takes his seat again, and it's only because he doesn't have his fucking keys. Can't go anywhere with his keys in Eskel's pocket.
He's only just back in his chair when some man approaches, asking for Jaskier. Some representative of a record label, and Geralt comes to the same conclusion as the musician-- this guy's here to talk about setting up a deal. Apparently his company wants to expand into a younger market, and someone like Jaskier would be right up their alley. This could possibly be the musician's big break, his first chance to get out of the small-time circuit and start getting real gigs. Jaskier's practically falling over himself to stand up, and Eskel has to catch his chair and right it before it hits the floor.
If only the guy weren't such a fucking unrepentant prick.
Jaskier's standing next to the table and he looks... well, honestly, like he might throw up all over his own hipster shoes, but he looks eager and wanting up until the moment the rep wants to talk to him about his image. Geralt's not even in this industry and he thinks he knows what that means, and so do his brothers, going by the furrow in Eskel's brow and the sharp twist of Lambert's mouth. The guy tries to break it nicely, tries to dress up what he wants Jaskier to do in mild words so that it doesn't sound as bad, but they all know what it is-- they want Jaskier to be less. Less of who he is, because it doesn't fit in with the morals of their current demographics and all they care about is marketability and bottom lines.
Ultimately, the musician tells him to fuck off. Rips up his business card and throws it in his face and righteous fury isn't a bad look on him.
"What a fucking jackass," Lambert says as the aforementioned jackass leaves in a huff.
"Hey, are you--" Eskel starts as Jaskier starts pulling the collar of his cape up higher on his face, and he's abruptly cut off as the musician makes a high, distressed noise into the fabric.
Geralt stands and puts a hand on Jaskier's elbow.
"Jaskier," he says, trying to sound... well, he's not exactly the most soothing person around, but it looks like the musician's in the middle of a panic attack and he'd kind of like for him to be doing literally anything but that. "Jaskier, it's all right. Breathe."
The hand on his elbow startles him and Jaskier can't help jumping at the touch as the cape slides off his hands. He blinks at the man in front of him as his mind slowly comes back to reality, the sounds and smells of the bar helping to remind him where he is.
"...Geralt."
Right, this is Geralt. His new friend. An extremely masculine man, a classic mountain hermit, buffy and manly but still capable of reading Oscar Wilde, staying friends with his ex/baby mama and hanging out with a queer person without making an ass out of himself (well, Geralt does make an ass out of himself often, but not in the meaning this line of thought is going for). All values he's passing on to his daughter as well.
A cowboy with pierced nipples and a gentle soul - that's how you bring tradition into modern times.
"Sorry you had to see that," he finally says after a pause to put himself together. He turns to look at the brothers to indicate the apology goes for all of them. "I promise my shows don't usually end like this, I'm more of fun kind of bloke."
It's an attempt at humor, but his smile is weak. Jaskier isn't the type of person who hides his emotions behind some mask: he wears them proudly in his sleeve and makes everyone around him know exactly how he's feeling at all times. If he's angry or sad? Well, then any ear is good enough to hear his whining or his ranting. Some times both at the same time.
There's an exception to his, and that's when something that shouldn't affect him does. Being hurt by bigotry gives the assholes power, and he hates it. So much. What happened to sticks and stones, after all? There are two fancy Youtube buttons hanging on the walls of his living room that show how he doesn't need this guy and his company, he's proud of them, of what he's achieved. And yet...
Rubbing his fingers is a normal nervous habit of his, and doing that right now makes him find a piece of the card still sticking to his hand. Jaskier looks at the floor, at all the white bits on it, and gets an idea. He crouches to start picking the card pieces and, hating the silence as always, he starts filling it as well.
"I never thanked you properly, Geralt. One shouldn't have to be grateful for bloody human decency, but here we are, I guess." A sigh before he continues. "You know I recommended your ranch on social media as a great spot for dates, and I know many couples have visited since then..." Queer couples, it goes unsaid. "They all came back very satisfied with the experience. So yeah, thank you. For the safe space."
Not all the card pieces are picked up, and that's fine, he doesn't need them all. Just enough for his little plan. Jaskier stands up and puts them on the table, forming a circle with a piece that has the company logo right in the middle of it. He reaches inside his vest to take out his phone and takes a picture of this collage - now he's extra aware of the possibility of a bomb exploding if he posts it on Twitter with a cheeky caption.
Respect doesn't make history.
To post or not to post? Fuck, this is going to bother him all night. And if he stays and drinks, with the brothers or with his friends, he'll end up doing something stupid, he knows it. After putting his phone away, he turns to Geralt with an apologetic expression on his face, voice sincere as it can be when he speaks.
"I truly wanted to stay and chat but... I think I should leave now."
If he gets home soon, it may be just enough for a decent time difference with England for a call. His sister is always good at helping him stay grounded.
This probably isn't the ending that anyone wanted for this evening. Geralt certainly didn't want it to end with Jaskier having a small panic attack after being accosted by some asshole of a record producer, and Jaskier probably had no desire to have a panic attack in front of an entire bar full of people. Sure, he's a shameless attention whore, but no one wants a bunch of strangers to have a front-row seat to their impending mental breakdown. It's a bad look.
Jaskier gets himself together a little bit, which is definitely an improvement over screaming into his clothes. He picks up the torn-up pieces of the business card to do... something with it that Geralt assumes that he's going to post to social media at some point, possibly some kind of name-and-shame? Whatever, that's Jaskier's business, and hopefully he won't do anything with it that will damage his reputation. More immediately important, he thanks Geralt for... what, not being the absolute worst person that he could possibly be? For treating all of his customers exactly the same, regardless of whether they came as a date or just for fun or with a man or woman? And, really, even if treating everyone the same wasn't just basic human decency, it would be an incredibly shitty business decision to alienate part of his customer base.
A customer base that he has because of Jaskier. If anything, the thanks should probably be going the other way-- he should thank Jaskier for leveraging his social media presence to give Geralt more business. He's got enough people coming to the ranch now that he can justify hiring more help, god knows that he needs it.
"You don't have to thank me for that," he says.
Jaskier looks up at him with an apology written all over his face and says that he wants to leave, and Geralt ought to just let him go. He's an adult, after all, and he can decide when he wants to go home and whether or not he wants to be alone. But he had to have gotten here by some kind of ride-share app or by hitching with one of his friends, because Geralt's pretty sure he doesn't even have a driver's license or a car, and he shouldn't just have to stand around outside and wait for a pick-up after all of this horseshit.
"Let me give you a ride," he says instead. And, hell, it's a pretty perfect excuse for Geralt to get out of here, too, so it's win-win for both of them. Jaskier gets to go home right away, Geralt doesn't have to pretend that he likes to socialize.
You don't have to thank me for that, Geralt says, and it only confirms what Jaskier already knows: that he's a wonderful man and he's been right to recommend his business to the community. He could've gotten smug about his good behavior after that mess with the talent scout that can't even be called a conversation, but he stays humble. Jaskier's little crush grows another inch.
And it's that crush that makes him reply with the most thoughtful comment in the universe.
"...what."
From the corner of his eye, Jaskier notices Lambert and Eskel are surprised by the offer too, so at least his reaction isn't that dumb. His brain and his heart have a little argument over this, trying to understand the meaning behind it, and it's his dick that has to remind them they don't have a chance in the first place. So Geralt doesn't want to admit they are friends, but hasn't he proven himself enough to be the kind of person that puts weight on actions rather than words? The tick check, the shower, the borrowed book, coming to his show...
"I mean, yes! Yes! I'd love that," he finally manages to say with more enthusiasm that such a simple thing as a free ride would call for. So what if he doesn't have any chances with the guy? He's still getting to hang out with Geralt, which he does enjoy, it's not a lie when he says he does want to be friends with him anyway - and his down to Earth presence is exactly what he needs as company tonight, because of course he's already planning to invite him to come inside. He can call his sister tomorrow. "Let me grab my things and say good-bye to my friends and-- I'll meet you in the parking lot?"
Funny how his mood is already improving, huh? Serves to prove how much Jaskier needs people, acceptance and attention. He turns and takes a step away before he remembers the other two people at the table, so he returns and leans over it to grab their hands.
"Thankyouthankyouthankyou for coming! I looooved meeting you and I swear I'd love to hear more from you. Pris gave you my card, right?" He looks down and yep, there are his little cardboard records on the table. "Add me on social media. Or text me. Do you visit the ranch? What I am saying, of course you do, it's your brother's home. So maybe we can all ride together someday! Don't be strangers, I better see you around!"
After squeezing their hands he turns to leave again - this time he manages to take three steps before he gasps and runs back to the table once more. One hand falls on top of it with a loud thud, the other wags a finger in Lambert's face.
"Confess to Handsome Bearded Man, you fool, or next time I see him I won't back off!" An obvious lie, but it seems Lambert needs the push. And hey, respect doesn't make history.
He leaves for real now, his first stop being at his friends' table. They get a very summarized retelling of the events, which upsets the whole group. Half of it is already standing up, crying out curses and promises to find the jackass; the other half comes closer to Jaskier to check on him and offer his support. Priscilla and Essi even make a hug sandwich out of him. They don't fail to notice, however, how Jaskier (aka Mr Drama Queen) has been concise in his talking for a change, promising the full story for later. When he explains why he is in a hurry, all the indignant cries transform into teasing and wolf whistles. This is the guy Jaskier hasn't been able to shut up for a while now, they totally get it - gotta take advantage of a chance when it presents itself. Besides, they also understand Jaskier leaving and needing a quiet, comforting evening of self-care. Who wouldn't after that shitshow?
They're the best gang of crazy people a person can ask for, and Jaskier loves them for it.
Once his bag and his guitar are rescued from backstage, Jaskier makes his way to the parking lot as he texts Geralt the location of his apartment on the map. It isn't until he's standing in the middle of it that he realizes Geralt's truck is nowhere to be seen...
A gasp escapes him when he next realizes why
"...bloody hell. That's your bike? You brought your bike!"
Excuse him for a second while he circles the vehicle, excitement glinting in his eyes and stretching his mouth into a grin. Jaskier is no driver, but he's been given rides on bikes in the past and they're fun. The speed between your thighs, the wind on your face and your partner in your arms--
Oh. Oh dear. He's getting to hug Geralt, isn't he? Tightly. That's wonderful news - he just hopes his dick doesn't betray him in the process.
For a moment, Geralt thinks that his offer of a ride is unwanted-- Jaskier looks at him with dumb surprise, giving him nothing more than a flat 'what'. That's not exactly an auspicious beginning, and he's about to tell him that it's fine if he doesn't want it, he just wants to make sure that he makes it home safely, when the musician jerks himself out of his mute state and accepts. He accepts quite vehemently, agreeing to meet him in the parking lot after he gets his things and says good-bye to his friends. Which is fine, of course-- obviously he'll need to get his guitar, and it only makes sense for him to talk to his friends before he leaves, so that they know that he's gotten a ride home. Being responsible and whatnot, not letting friends wander off drunk into the clutches of unscrupulous men.
Whatever strange looks Eskel and Lambert are throwing his way are quickly diverted by Jaskier's enthusiastic good-byes; he grabs at their hands and they allow it mostly due to surprise, a little bewildered by the rapid-fire thanks and requests to talk to him on social media and ride with him at the ranch and god knows what else. Eskel takes it best, just pats Jaskier's hand and says he's sure he'll see him around, while Lambert looks at the musician like he's grown a second head.
He shakes a finger in Lambert's face and tells him to confess to his friend. Lambert tells him to go fuck himself. Eskel kicks him underneath the table, but Jaskier seems completely unfazed by the response and rushes off to continue his farewells, his mood improving considerably from five minutes ago.
"Give me my keys," he says to Eskel, and his brother hands them over.
"You sure you know what you're doing?" he asks, and Geralt gives him an incredulous look in return.
"I think I can handle driving him home."
Eskel frowns, but he doesn't get a chance to give whatever lecture he's gearing up for, because Geralt grabs his pint, downs the rest of it, and heads out to the parking lot to wait for Jaskier. He stands next to his bike, a black roadster-style motorcycle that he's had for years, a good and reliable machine. He gets a map pin drop while he's waiting-- the location of Jaskier's apartment, he assumes-- and checks the map to see what the fastest way is to get there at this time of night. He realizes, as he's working out the best route, that Jaskier may not have been expecting a motorcycle but rather his truck, and not everyone likes the idea of riding on one. But then the door opens and Jaskier walks out, and he seems thrilled when he sees that Geralt's standing next to a motorcycle.
"Hm," he says, because yes, this is his bike, he's not just standing next to some asshole's motorcycle. He digs through his saddlebags for his own helmet and the spare that he keeps just in case, and tosses that one over to Jaskier. Nobody rides on his bike without proper headgear, for obvious reasons.
He gets on the bike and pushes the kickstand up with his heel, keeping the machine upright so that Jaskier could get on easier. There's enough space behind him for a passenger, if said passenger doesn't mind getting close to his back.
"Get on," he says, and when Jaskier gets himself onto the motorcycle, he'll reach down to show him where to put his feet so that they don't drag or get burned by the tailpipe. Most people, he'd just tell them what to do; he takes Jaskier's ankles in his hand and moves it to where they need to be, and it's usually a pretty slick move with women. Always worked well, touching them while they braced against his back, easy to explain away if they aren't interested and part of the lead-up if they are. For Jaskier-- well, he really just doesn't want the guy to burn himself.
It's a good night for a ride, and once Jaskier's tucked up against his back, Geralt kicks the bike to life and starts on the route to his apartment. It'll take a good twenty minutes to get there, which isn't too bad since Geralt drives nearly double that to get out to his ranch. It's enough time to actually enjoy the drive, the wind and the power of the bike underneath him and the pleasant warmth of someone else against him, arms snug around his waist. It's almost a shame when he pulls into the parking lot of the apartments and parks the bike at the closest open spot to Jaskier's.
Oh! A spare helmet. Jaskier barely manages to catch it before it hits the ground (he's no jock, alright) and he puts it on rather quickly so he can hide his disappointment. He wanted to feel the wind on his face, but believe it or not, once in a while he knows when not to argue. If Geralt cares so much about safety that he carries a second helmet just in case he may give someone a ride, then it's quite obvious this is not negotiable.
At least he's not whining about what the helmet will do to his hair, because he's going home and not somewhere nice.
This passenger definitely doesn't mind getting close to that very (very) wide, leather-clad back - in fact he's rather eager to do so. The only reason why he's careful with his climbing is because of his guitar, otherwise he'd be fucking hopping right on it. He's seen this back naked before yet this is different, because last time he wasn't this close - maybe it's a good thing he has the helmet on after all, this way he can't make a fool of himself by burying his face in and nuzzling the leather. Even if he's really, really dying to.
His hands fall on Geralt's waist and he's about to tease Geralt for being fucking thick even there, but a squeal escapes his lips instead. He's being mandhandled! Again! His damn body hasn't forgotten the fall on the berry patch yet and Geralt is already feeding his imagination once more!
Remembering that day, however, also means remembering the sad conclusion he reached about Geralt's potential interest. Jaskier reminds himself not to be a creep, and he puts his arms around his friend's waist as careful as he can, but a request to hold on tight before they leave makes him tighten his hold and before he can stop himself, he's resting his head on Geralt's back.
Both things done for safety reasons. Totally.
It truly is a great ride. Geralt is an amazing driver, fast and smooth, and Jaskier wouldn't have minded if they had left the city and ridden into the countryside for some more wind and a touch of starlight on their helmets. While the lack of chatting is kinda bothersome (silence? being alone with his thoughts? ugh), having a friend in his arms instead of a random he would've picked up at the bar does wonders for the comfort he needs at the moment. An actual hug would be best, obviously, but the ride provides a good enough distraction.
His apartment comes into view too damn soon, and Jaskier is pouting by the time Geralt parks. Not wanting the contact to end and having forgotten about his own reminder of not being a creep from twenty minutes ago, Jaskier takes his sweet time taking off his helmet and untangling his cape. At least, that's the plan, until Geralt calls him out for it.
"A-ah, yes, yes! Fantastic!" After jumping off the bike, he turns to Geralt and hands him back the helmet with his best smile. Alright, alright, he can't fuck this up. How difficult can it be? (Famous last words.) "Thank you for the ride. I really enjoyed it - we were one with the wind."
Wait, poetry may not be the right approach. So far in their friendship, Geralt has never appreciated it. In fact, if there's something he has learned about the man is that he prefers people being direct. Well then, here goes nothing.
"I believe I've already mentioned wanting to chat a bit more with you and that the night is still young? Why don't you come inside? I have coffee and an attempt at home-made pastries with the jam I made with the berries. Aren't you curious to try it out? You gave it a like after all!" Instagram had a good laugh at his cooking experiments, that's for sure. Jaskier is supposed to be coming off as chill, but all the hand gesturing he does as he talks betray how desperate he is for Geralt to join him for the night (and not for sexy reasons this time! amazing!). "Oh, and I have your book, too! You should take it back! And choose something new from my library now you're done with Pride & Prejudice. Please?"
There's a pause as his hands are dropped to his sides. "...I really don't want to be alone tonight."
Which may be sound a bit manipulative but his soft voice shows how sincere he is about it.
It probably isn't really important whether or not Jaskier enjoyed the ride-- it's just a way to get him from point A to point B, since he can't drive himself-- but there's some part of Geralt that's pleased that he at least didn't seem to hate it. Motorcycles aren't necessarily the safest or even most comfortable ways to travel, but he rides them because he likes them, he likes the speed and freedom of it. Though he tries not to indulge too much in the former, because he's got Ciri to look after and a man can only survive so many motorcycle accidents in his lifetime. Geralt has the feeling that he's probably exceeded his fair share of crashes, so he's not allowed to have any more of them.
Geralt tucks the helmet back in his saddlebags as Jaskier gets off the bike, and there's something... odd about how he's acting just then, like he's trying a little too hard. He rubs his fingertips together, a little nervous tic that Geralt's seen him do once or twice, before he launches into an invitation to come inside. For coffee and pastries and the jam that he made from all those berries they picked on the mountain, and it kind of feels like the invitation version of throwing everything at the wall to see what sticks. Tossing out as many reasons as he can think of for Geralt to come inside and hoping that one of them will work.
He mentions something about liking things on Insta-whatsit, and Geralt makes the immediate, split second decision to not think about that any further, because he's completely certain that he's liked quite a few pictures that Jaskier's posted under the impression that he wouldn't know about it. Best to keep that realization on lockdown until he's someplace that he can properly think about the ramifications and seriously consider packing up all of his things and living in the mountains as a wild man, never to be seen again.
What really does it, though, is when he drops all of the bribes of food and books and simply says I really don't want to be alone tonight.
Geralt turns off the bike and pulls the kickstand out with his foot, then tucks his own helmet away.
"I could use a cup of coffee," he says. And that's something that he's said a few times before, but usually when he went inside those apartments, the coffee pot never even got turned on. But he's just... friend-adjacent with Jaskier, and this is just because he's had a rough end to his night and it would be shitty to just ditch him without making sure that he'll be all right. It's not every day that you possibly tank your own career while taking a moral stand.
"I don't have your book with me, but I'll get it back to you." It's a nice copy, too. Definitely not the kind of thing that you accidentally forget to return to someone. "It, uh. It was good."
Great review, Geralt. Three words or less.
Either way, he'd agreed to spend some time at Casa de Jaskier-- so his dubious company is at Jaskier's disposal.
Geralt isn't the only one having derailed thoughts about being invited for a cup of coffee - Jaskier has had the same experiences when it comes to the real meaning of the phrase. He has to remind himself that the man has checked his fucking butt for ticks without batting an eye, and he needs to stop seeing mixed signals everywhere. This is just another normal night with a friend, nothing different from the usual.
(Back in England, a blonde girl went to bed while wondering about the lack of selfies-at-the-after-party in his messages.)
"Brilliant!" His whole body bounces when he replies, smile wide and bright - Geralt truly is doing wonders for his mood. Jaskier bows then, extending an arm towards the building like a butler welcoming someone new to the house. "Shall we?"
Pride & Prejudice becomes the topic of choice as Jaskier guides Geralt inside. He tells him not to worry, he can just give it back to him next time he visits the ranch, there's no hurry; then he launches on a (mostly one-sided, let's be honest here) chat about his favorites scenes and how amazing Austen is for the kick she gave to high society's guts. His rambling is interrupted, however, when he notices a pair of yellow eyes looking at them from the stairs while they wait for the elevator.
"Oh, fuck. This bitch." Jaskier pulls a face and steps back when the 'bitch' in question comes closer: it's an orange tabby cat, her pink nose now sniffing at Geralt's shoes. The green collar around her neck says she isn't a stray. "Bloody demon in a fur suit, I swear. Scratched me the day I moved here, and I was only saying hi! She's only gotten worse since then. Ignore her and hopefully she'll go aw-- oi!"
Are his eyes seeing correctly? Is this little ball of evil rubbing her body against Geralt's legs? Not only that, when the elevator finally arrives and Jaskier drags Geralt inside to get away from her, the little wanker actually follows them. Unbelievable. And Geralt apparently likes it! Which shouldn't be surprising since he obviously has a thing for animals, but still! It's the principle of the thing!
"Traitor," Jaskier calls him, then proceeds to glare at them the whole ride up. Drama queen.
Thankfully it's a short ride, and Jaskier's attitude returns to normal when he opens the door to his apartment and turns to Geralt with open arms.
"Welcome to my humble dwelling!" There's nothing humble about this modern, spacious apartment. It's called artistic license, okay? "Shoes off, please." He indicates the little shoe stand next to the door as he proceeds to take off his own to leave them there. "There are extra slippers if you like them, but feel free to stay barefooted as well. These are good, clean floors." Now this part isn't an exaggeration: the flooring is obviously made of quality wood, and there's even a rug under the coffee table and couch area. "Come in, come in, don't be shy~"
The living area is separated from the kitchen on the right only by a breakfast counter, and the big sliding glass doors show a nice balcony under the moonlight - Geralt can recognize the bird feeders he advised Jaskier on hanging outside. It's (surprisingly to many) quite clean and tidy... well, except for the coffee table, which is a little messy universe of its own. A slick laptop with stickers on its cover rests closed in the middle of the hurricane, surrounded by three empty mugs and two empty plates, an electric kettle, many piles of paper sheets (half of them with printed lines that show them to be music paper), a variety of pens, pencils and highlighters; at least three different notebooks, an aromatic candle, an open pack of honey menthol drops and... who knows what else hides underneath all. The Holy Grail is probably somewhere in there as well.
The rest of the apartment looks fine - Geralt may recognize the same care for colors, fabrics and sytyle Yennefer may've insisted on when she tackled his own place. The couch set around the table matches the rug, except for the pillow on the floor which has noticeably been sat on a lot - it's old and worn-out, but still looking comfortable, just like the blanket lying under the table. This whole set-up is facing the south wall, where a huge piece of wooden furniture houses a flat tv, a DVD player, an entire audio system with way too many speakers, and even a classic record player. This wood unit has two small sliding doors at the bottom, and since once isn't closed all the way through, a collection of DVDs can be recognized in its insides.
On the left, there's a small hallway with three doors, and on the walls on each of its sides, another two big pieces of furniture: one filled with books and trinkets/ornaments (as well as some framed pictures), the other filled with CDs and vinyl records. One of the shelves in this music unit is a bit different, though: there are acrylic stands displaying CDs that have been signed by the artists plus his two Youtube Play buttons: silver and gold, indicating he's surpassed the one million subscriber mark.
Jaskier drops his bag on one of the sofa chairs and his keys on a little bowl next to the box with like fifty different kinds of teabags on the breakfast counter - there's a pile of correspondence there as well, flashing his birth name on the front, but he's too distracted to think about that detail at the moment. His guitar is still at his back though, because his baby must sleep in its proper place.
"Aaaaalright, super quick tour." Moving to the center of the living area, he starts pointing at the different sections as he mentions them. "Kitchen, laundry room, balcony -obviously-, bedroom, bathroom, and studio. I need to wash the paint off and change, but meanwhile, get yourself comfortable! Grab whatever you want from the kitchen, turn on the tv if you want," he says as he disappears into the little hallway. The studio door is opened just enough to leave his guitar inside before he moves into his bedroom, where he raises his voice to continue to talk Geralt even then. "Would you like to borrow some comfortable clothes? I'm not sure if I have anything that fits you, but it can't hurt to try!"
If Geralt decides to open the fridge, he'll find some small bottles of craft beer, but no wine - that's only because fine wine doesn't go in the fridge, you monster! There's a tray, however, with the pastries Jaskier mentioned, and they look just like the Instagram picture showed them: the wonkiest kolaczkis in history, their shape barely keeping itself together, but at least they aren't burnt. There's something Jaskier didn't mention, though, right there on the tray as well - brownies. Those look much better, and they hadn't been included on the picture.
And there's a reason for that: they are not the innocent kind of brownie...
As they wait for the elevator, Jaskier expresses some significant ire at... a tabby cat, a sweetly plump little orange thing that saunters her way down from the stairs to inspect the musician and, presumably, the newcomer. Geralt has a barn cat or two that hangs around on the ranch, attracted probably by the shelter of the hayloft and the fact that Geralt leaves food out for them. He has an idea of how these kind of animals operate, and when she approaches, he just doesn't even look at her. He just lets her do as she pleases, and his lack of staring is as good as an invitation for her to rub her head all over his ankles. Once she's gone and acquainted herself with his shoes, he reaches down to let her sniff at his fingers and then lets her bunt her cheeks against his hand. Quite a sweet thing, really. She follows them when he walks into the elevator, and as they go up, he crouches down to give her a good scratch along her back, ignoring Jaskier's envious glare.
The cat wanders off when the elevator doors open, and Geralt follows Jaskier to the door of his apartment. When he opens it up and lets them inside, he spreads his arms dramatically to encompass the whole space and Geralt is a little surprised at how spacious his living space is. He toes off his boots and just wears his socks inside; it'd be rude to wear his heavy motorcycle boots on these nice wood floors, anyway. Even Geralt knows that, Vesemir didn't raise a boy who drags dirt onto clean floors.
The floor plan is pretty open, with the kitchen only separated from the main living area by a breakfast counter, and it appears that Jaskier spends the majority of his time sitting near the coffee table on a cushion. At least, the coffee table is the messiest part of the apartment, covered by discarded music paper and a few dirty dishes. He could picture the musician sitting there, perched on his worn pillow, plucking at a guitar and scribbling notes down on a piece of paper as he tries to figure out his next song.
Geralt follows Jaskier through the lightning tour, enough to give him an idea of the basic layout of the place. He declines the offer of clothes-- he doesn't plan on being here overnight, after all, just long enough to get Jaskier settled in and make sure that he won't have another panic attack or drink himself into a stupor or something. The musician leaves his guitar in his studio and then goes to wash off all of that ridiculous body paint and change into something practical, and Geralt is left to his own devices in his apartment.
"Hm."
He kills a few minutes looking at the bookshelves and little trinkets and some awards that look like they were given out by YouTube for having a certain amount of followers. Apparently he has quite a lot of them? That must translate to some pretty decent earnings, because unless Jaskier's a trust fund baby and paying his way with that, doing live gigs at bars couldn't possibly pay enough to keep this kind of apartment. Once he'd gotten tired look at those, though, he wanders into the kitchen and pops open the fridge just to see what kids these days are stocking up with. He's not sure what he expects-- quinoa and oat milk and all that vegan fad diet stuff? Expensive hipster artisanal food and exotic produce? Empty shelves because Jaskier doesn't have his life together?
Mostly normal, he finds when he opens the fridge door. Crisper drawer might be a bit empty, he could use more vegetables. And there's a plate of what looks like cookies and brownies, and Geralt remembers the slightly odd-shaped fruit ones from Jaskier's Instagram pictures. He hadn't put the brownies onto Instagram, though, which seems strange because they look pretty nice, possibly nicer than the slightly wonky cookies. Geralt takes one of them and considers grabbing a beer, but since he'll be driving home relatively soon, he abstains.
Jaskier takes long showers. Geralt eats the brownie and looks out the sliding glass doors that lead onto his balcony; it's not a bad view of the city, if you like that kind of thing. He's still alone by the time he finishes his treat, and fetches another from the fridge-- they're good, and a couple of brownies won't ruin his diet. He wonders if Jaskier actually made them while he debates a third, but... no. He shouldn't eat all of the musician's brownies, that would be shitty of him.
By the time Jaskier emerges from his shower, clean and dressed normally, Geralt has finished his snack and has made himself somewhat comfortable-- he's taken off his leather jacket, at least, and is fielding a few texts from Eskel about how Jaskier's doing. It's not surprising, really-- Eskel's always been the type to want to take care of people.
Since Geralt declines the offer of clothes, Jaskier only picks clean underwear and his super cute pajamas before entering the bathroom. Long showers are usually a thing when he's getting ready to go somewhere, not quick wash-ups before bed. But tonight he needs to scrub all the paint off and, most importantly, he needs a moment to be dramatic under the water. Who doesn't like letting his head hang while the water hits the back of it, making all tension leave your weary body?
He seriously needs to stop thinking about this - the show had been a success, the audience had been an actual decent crowd, he met Geralt's brothers and now he is at his place, waiting to share some coffee and hopefully a fun talk. All in all, it should be considered the perfect night. The picture in his phone is a timebomb waiting to happen, but he should leave that for morning Jaskier when he does all the posting of pictures and videos of the show. Because he is going to post it, he realizes, the hesitation is just nervousness, it's years of being raised as having to keep his reputation in mind. Most of the time he knows how to keep those teachings buried under family resentment, but during times like this, when the care he's put into his career and the way he interacts with the industry are on the line, they come out and make him doubt himself. He's not dumb, he knows he's a dreamer in a world that usually isn't as kind. You gotta play your cards right.
Respect doesn't make history.
Maybe he can send a message to Yen, be sure he's legally covered in case of anything. Yeah, that sounds good, he's sure she'll be on board on destroying another old white boomer's public view. His fans will support him, and as far as other potential record companies go, would he want to work with someone that would look down on him for posting such a thing? No. So if they discard him as a potential contract for this, well, to hell with them. Nothing of value would be lost.
It's easy to see why Geralt comes to the conclusion Jaskier is feeling better now. Finally feeling at peace with himself, he lets all his emotions out in what is a daily habit of his now: singing in the shower. Sia's Bird Set Free echoes in the bathroom (I sing for love, I sing for me, I shout it out like a bird set free) even as Jaskier dries his body and hair out followed by taking his worn clothes to the basket in the bedroom - another thing to take care of in the morning.
The sound of bare feet on wood announces his return to the living area, a pleased smile on his face at the fact Geralt is checking on him and, not gonna lie, the nice sight of his arms without a jacket and that lovely bottom casually leaning against his breakfast counter. This man should be illegal, he swears.
"I do, thanks. Feeling comfortable?" he asks in return with a teasing tone as he approaches the coffee table. After leaving his phone connected to his laptop for charging, he picks up the electric kettle and as many mugs as his hands can handle. "I think those stools are strong enough to handle being sat on by your mighty physique, my friend." He winks at him as he passes by, entering the kitchen. "How do you take your coffee?"
After leaving the mugs in the sink, he gets both the coffee maker and the electric kettle going, because he'll make tea for himself - if he drinks coffee now, sleep would be one hell of a difficult task. As he moves around the kitchen getting it all ready, he tells Geralt all about the shenanigans he got into to make the jam and the kolaczkis, a treat he enjoyed a lot as a kid (although he does not explain why).
"I know visually they don't look very good, but I promise they actually taste--"
Jaskier interrupts himself when he opens the fridge and takes the tray out, noticing the missing brownies. His eyebrows quickly go up and blue eyes glance at Geralt to check on him - still chill. He has no idea, does he? Amazing. He has to bite his lower lip not to laugh as he approaches the counter and leaves the tray on it before resting his chin on his hand.
"If I had known getting you high was the way to make you stay, I would've started my chain of offers with the brownies."
A mischievous grin ends that sentence. This is going to be so much fun.
Geralt's already pretty sure that Jaskier's feeling better by the time he makes it out of the shower-- he was singing in it, loud enough that Geralt had heard him out near the kitchen, so that boded well. Those suspicions are confirmed by the musician himself, when he returns freshly washed and dressed in a yellow matching pajama set. It suits him, really-- walking around barefoot in a cozy apartment, comfortable and soft and smelling faintly of expensive floral shampoo.
Jaskier asks him a question and Geralt hums in response, mostly missing it. His head feels a little slow, and there's an odd little tingly feeling making its way across his scalp-- tired, probably. There's been a lot of work to be done on the ranch and he's always been bad at getting enough sleep. He'll just drink a strong cup of coffee and he'll be fine to drive back home.
"Black. Strong."
He lets Jaskier's chatter wash over him while he busies himself with making coffee, some long rambling story about making jam and cookies from the fruit that Geralt had sent him home with. Something about the cookies being something he ate when he was a child, something about a grandmother? Geralt isn't paying much attention, not to the words, at least-- the sound of his voice is nice, the rhythm and cadence of it soothing. It doesn't really matter too much, anyway, Jaskier doesn't seem to require much input from him and seems fine with just having a warm, living body to chat at.
Then the musician is standing on the other side of the counter, the tray of cookies and brownies sitting between them, and Geralt doesn't remember how he got there? One moment he was chatting on the other side of the kitchen, then he was right there, looking at him expectantly. Geralt frowns; why does he feel so fucking stupid? It's almost like all of those times when he was a kid and he would sneak out at night to--
oh.
"Jaskier," he says, and even his own voice sounds strange to his ears, "what the fuck was in those brownies?"
He has a very good idea of what was in those brownies, now, and it means that he's not going to be able to drive home until the morning, which really makes his plans to meet Eskel first-thing to do some repairs on the goat enclosure more difficult. He might have to text him. God, he might have to text him while high, this is a fucking nightmare.
Black and strong, huh, Jaskier wants to say, just like you. But he keeps it for himself this time, because he isn't supposed to be flirting anymore, and mighty physique had already been pushing it. It does fit Geralt though, not only because of the parallels to his clothing and muscles, but because he's just that kind of serious guy that kind handle coffee in that pure state. He's probably never tasted a frappuccino in his life, and Jaskier can't help wondering if he could ever convince him to try one. Another challenge for the list, perhaps, which could be connected to the main challenge of trying to convince Geralt to hang out in the city together some time, grab a drink or maybe even dinner.
Friends grab dinner together all the time, he can already picture himself telling Lizzie, shut up.
Geralt makes a very obvious question then, and Jaskier finally fucking loses it. He throws his head back and laughs, praying to those gods he doesn't believe in for his phone to charge up fast, because this totally deserves to be documented. Hell, he'll bring out his fucking camera if he has to.
"I think you know, don't you~?" He suddenly gasps and puts a hand on his chest above his heart. "Don't tell me this is your first time trying weed! I shall carry the badge of introducing you to it with honors. Also, no coffee for you tonight, mister."
Weed and caffeine can have both great and awful results, so better not risk it - besides, he wants to experience Naturally High Geralt first. The coffee maker isn't turned off, Jaskier lets it finish so he can have the coffee ready in the morning, but he does take out water from the fridge and a galaxy flask from the cupboard, which he feels with the fresh water before passing it to Geralt.
"Couch, now. Get comfortable for real this time. You aren't driving anywhere like that." And the big smile on his face says he isn't regretting this turn of events at all.
Arter choosing chamomile from his collection of teas, Jaskier quickly fills his colorful mug with hot water and brings it together with the tray of cookies to the coffee table - don't worry, he leaves the rest of the brownies on a separate plate in the kitchen. Two is enough for one person, and Jaskier isn't planning to get high himself tonight, oh no. He needs to watch this with a clear mind, to enjoy every second of it.
"Now you can taste my cookies through the vision of the mighty judge that is the munchies," he comments as he sits down on the couch and grabs his mug to stir the tea and press that teabag with his spoon until he gets every single bit of flavor out of it. "Because the brownies weren't my doing. I'll be veeeeery hurt if you like Pris' cooking better than mine, Geralt."
Great. Fantastic. Geralt accidentally dosed himself with two brownies' worth of pot, and they weren't small brownies. And knowing Kids These Days, they probably were strong, the sort of thing that you're supposed to start off with half of one and wait a bit to see how you feel before going for the rest of it. Back in his day, weed wasn't so goddamned potent-- you could smoke a whole joint without feeling like your entire brain was going to melt into the floor. These days, you take three or four puffs and you're absolutely toasted. Who knew that people would work on upping the THC content of weed like it's the cure for fucking cancer?
Point is, Geralt's fucked and he's already starting to feel the initial effects of all the weed that he ate. It'll hit him fully before too long, and then he'll just be spending the rest of the night high as fuck, trying to act normal.
And he's not even going to get that coffee. Geralt frowns at Jaskier's coffee rejection, then frowns more at the brightly colored flask that the musician puts into his hand. He takes it, of course, because he has the bad habit of taking anything that's handed to him, and moves when he's commanded to sit on the couch. It's a nice couch, and Geralt's weight makes him sink into it a little when he sits down, and it's entirely possible that once this weed kicks in, he might have a hard time getting up again.
"I've smoked pot before," he says, because clearly this is the important thing that needs to be corrected right now. "Just not in fucking years. I have a kid."
He can't go out and get baked when he has to take care of a teenage child, that would be both terribly irresponsible and set a horrible role model for her. She's too young to partake of the devil's lettuce. Once she's not living in Geralt's house, she can do what she wants, but so long as she's living with him, it's Healthy Choices For Developing Children.
Jaskier brings the cookie tray over, sans brownies, and fusses with his tea until it's however he likes it. The couch is very comfortable and Geralt doesn't particularly want to move, even to try one of these cookies that Jaskier's so insistent about, which really just means that the weed is kicking in more. God, this is going to be an ordeal. He's going to be a boneless lump of asshole on this couch before the evening's through.
"Did you put anything in them?" Because that's a question that he has to ask now, apparently. "More weed. Cocaine. LSD. Whatever's popular these days."
If Jaskier wants him to eat one of them, he might have to hand it to him.
So this isn't Geralt's first weed experience. Jaskier is a tiny bit disappointed over not being his first, but the feeling goes away rather quickly when he realizes Mr Responsible Mountain Man used to be, well. Less responsible. He wants to ask so many questions about Geralt's younger days, he doesn't even know where to begin.
Perhaps he shall start by just acknowledging what was just said, because getting any kind of new information out of Geralt is harder than tuning a saxophone.
"Being a dad doesn't mean you can't have fun," he replies after sipping his tea. "You still get breaks, I imagine. You're here tonight, aren't you? And I suspect that wasn't the first time you went to have a drink with your brothers. She doesn't need to know, mate."
And now he's wondering how much Geralt (and now Yen, he guesses) has told Ciri about this friendship. She knows he goes to the ranch often enough and that he's been reading her dad's favorite book, but acquaintances discuss media all the time. Has she picked up on the fact that beloved book is missing from her father's shelves? Is Geralt still protecting her from him?
That's when that little voice in his head that just happens to sound like his sister reminds Jaskier what an awful idea would be to date a father and owner of his own business (with living creatures, even). He's fucked people older than him, mothers and fathers both, but they had been just that - flings. This... this is one hell of a crush on a man that can't just receive a text from Jaskier on Wednesday night asking him to go out together for ice-cream at some stupid hour. So he should be glad for that wake-up call he got the other day, he should be working on absorbing that and moving on.
Geralt turning him down (indirectly, but still) should be a good thing, save them both a lot of drama. Yet it doesn't feel that way.
He's snapped out of his thoughts by Geralt's most boomer comment to date, and that sure is saying something.
"WHAT?! What the fuck, Geralt!" he asks as he throws his free hand in the air. Bewildered doesn't even start to describe his expression. "How can you put hard drugs on the same level than bloody weed? No! I don't do anything that isn't alcohol, weed or shrooms! Which reminds me--" He pokes Geralt's arm. Ugh, so thick and strong, how dare he. "No smoking allowed around me, no matter if it's marihuana or tobacco. Welcome to a new era, you old boomer, edibles are your friends."
His voice is precious to him, and so he must protect his throat. If Geralt ever even dares to take out a lighter around him, Jaskier will make sure to grab it and throw it in the fucking toilet.
"Here," he says as he pushes one of the cookies into Geralt's hand. "Simple, good, old fashioned kolaczki. Grandma's recipe. Don't disappoint her." Because he already worries he may be doing that 24/7.
Jaskier wiggles his hand around in the air and Geralt doesn't even try to follow its path. He sounds... upset? Confused? Something. He's very emotional and tends to switch between them at a rapid fire pace, so Geralt just figures that if he waits for like ten seconds, he'll move on to something else. Turns out, he's right-- about ten seconds after he starts getting offended about like cocaine or something, he's moved on to talking about how there's no smoking in his apartment, regardless of what kind of lettuce you're blazing. Which is fine, he doesn't even smoke cigarettes and he hasn't had a joint in years. He's not bringing one over to Jaskier's place just to hotbox the apartment.
"You're calling it marijuana and I'm the boomer?" he says. "What are you, a narc?"
Nobody calls it marijuana, call it weed or pot like a normal person, you musical dork. The idea of Jaskier being a narc is funny enough for Geralt to huff a laugh, though, at his own stupid-ass joke. God, he's getting fucking high. This is the worst. At least once Jaskier pushes a cookie into his hand, he can put that into his mouth and not talk for a while.
"S' fine," he replies. They're good cookies. Maybe a little wonky in their construction, but it doesn't have to be perfectly pretty to taste good. Maybe there's something to that, that just because something is a little fucked up and maybe kind of unevenly baked doesn't mean that it can't still be good.
Hah, baked.
Christ, he's high.
Geralt tries to open the water bottle. It takes him a good twenty seconds to realize that he can't get it open because he's turning the cap in the wrong direction, but then he has a hard time figuring out how to make his hands go the other way without turning the bottle upside down. He leaves it as it is-- it's fine, he doesn't need water. This is fine. He can just distract from the fact that he's high as tits.
"Since I'm stuck here," he says, and come on, Geralt, make your brain come up with a normal thing that people do when they aren't high, "put on a movie? You have a collection."
Geralt's huffed laughter interrupts him, and Jaskier stares at him for a second before chuckling as well. Ohoho, the weed is kicking in, isn't it? Yep, there he goes, eating the cookie with that lost in drugged thoughts look on his face. The cookie is well received, and that alone should make Jaskier happy - it does, but he's mostly smiling at Geralt's current state. He's even staying silent for once in his life just so he can hear whatever silly thing Geralt may say next.
He almost chokes on his tea when his friend fails to open the water bottle, and honestly? Jaskier ends up giggling. Geralt is being fucking adorable! Is this karma? Is this his reward for having dealt with a bigot and a stick in the wheel of his career? Because then, the price may've been worth it.
Deciding to have mercy on him, Jaskier puts down his own mug before leaning over his friend to open the bottle for him. Which is an amazing yet awful idea, because he can feel every muscle against his own body, he can sense the smell of beer and that nasty secondhand smoke on his clothes plus his breathing against his ear.
"There you go, big boy," he says as he quickly leans back and sips more tea - his throat suddenly feels pretty dry.
Watching a movie while being high is pretty standard, something he's done before even. He just doesn't expect the idea to come from Geralt himself. This is... true hanging out! Pals being pals! Mr Dilf accepting he's staying and deciding to do an activity together! Oh, joy!
"Are you kidding? I've got the perfect flick to go with those brownies!"
Jaskier is practically bouncing off the couch, that's how excited he is about this whole deal. He doesn't need to search for the right DVD case, he knows exactly where the one he wants is, because it's a favorite for both normal and high situations. Disc is popped in and with the remote control in hand, he returns to Geralt's side... but not without dimming the lights first. He's put on a comedy, not a horror or romance story - this isn't even a date. But hey, dimmed lights are preferable when watching movies, right? Especially with this flat screen plus set of speakers set-up of his. Gotta make it the real theatre experience.
That's what he tells himself anyway.
"Tell me, my dear yankee friend, have you ever been shown the true comedy genius that is Monty Python?" he asks as he sits next to Geralt, way closer than he was before. In fact, their shoulders and thighs are touching, which is completely unnecessary, because this couch is big enough to put Roach between them. It means nothing, of course, just being practical - this way he presses another cookie into Geralt's hand, like he's doing right now, right before pressing play. "Because then you're in for a ride."
Hopefully Geralt can appreciate British humor... and the fact Jaskier is reciting some lines along. Oops.
Well, Mr. DILF doesn't exactly have a choice in the matter-- he can't drive home, especially not on his motorcycle, when he's high as a fucking kite. Both because it'd be immensely irresponsible to be out on the road when he's this much of a mess and also because he isn't entirely sure that he'd even be able to ride the damn thing out of the parking lot without tipping over. So really his only options are to stay over here for the night and go home in the morning, spend the next three hours walking, or call one of his brothers. And there's no way in hell that he's going to explain why he's high off of his gourd at Jaskier's house to either Eskel or Lambert. Eskel would just be disappointed in him, Lambert would never let him live it down, and both possibilities are equally bad.
Jaskier unscrews the top of the water bottle for him, which allows him to take a long pull from it; after drinking beer and getting high, he's thirsty. And water always tastes better when he's high, more... wet? He doesn't know, he's fucked up.
He sinks down a little further into the soft cushions of the couch while Jaskier picks out what is, apparently, the perfect film to watch while stoned to shit. It turns out to be a Monty Python film, The Life of Brian, and he really sets the mood for it by dimming the lights and then settling back in right next to Geralt, shoulders and thighs touching. He's about to comment on it when another cookie is put into his hand and, well, since it's there he has to eat it, and by the time he's done that, he's forgotten what he was going to say.
Geralt levels a Look at Jaskier when he asks if he's seen Monty Python before, like one of the most well-known comedy troupes in the world is some kind of obscure British national treasure.
"Yeah, I've seen Monty Python," he says. "Who the hell hasn't?"
He does pretty well through the movie-- Monty Python's fucking funny, even to a grouchy, stoic bastard like him. He makes his way through most of the jokes with chuckles and amused huffs, which is far more than most things get out of him. Jaskier's body is warm and stable next to him, and he leans into the touch just a little. Not enough to make him want to move, or to make things weird with the way his skin feels hungry after he's been touched. It's mostly just annoying, because you'd think that he'd have had his fill of contact after a one night stand or two. And getting high makes that hunger worse-- makes him want to sprawl on top of the closest available warm body and leech the heat out of them. He's trying not to give in and do that to Jaskier, it would be immensely inappropriate and he also might crush him.
Then they get to The Scene.
He's all right through the beginning of it, but just as the guards can't keep their shit together, neither can Geralt. It's not just the fact that the name Biggus Dickus is fucking hilarious, it's also the delivery of it and the fact that every other person on set was also desperately trying not to corpse. By the time the other Roman centurions are laughing on-screen, Geralt has slumped to the side and is wheezing out laughter, leaning his weight against Jaskier's shoulder. He almost gets himself together, but then there's the bit about Biggus Dickus' wife, Incontinentia Buttocks, and that just sets him back off again.
Biggus Dickus is funny even when stone-cold sober-- no one stands a chance when they're high. No one can blame Geralt for laughing, even if he is kind of crushing Jaskier.
"A lot of people, considering how many times my references are completely missed on Twitter."
Since he moved here, he had to stop using them when flirting, too. It had gotten him in a few awkward situations before he caught on. Geralt not only knowing but also liking Monty Python is wonderful news, Jaskier can make great use of this during their texting.
Would he chuckle and amusedly huff like this at his texts too, or is it just the weed talking?
He stops reciting the lines along pretty damn quickly, simply because he wants to hear Geralt better. Which isn't an easy task, because no matter how many times he's watched this movie, it still makes him laugh as much as the first time. Comedy is a form of art by itself, one that not everyone can pull off smoothly, and Jaskier appreciates the crew's wordplay with all his writer heart.
There's also an additional distraction: Geralt is leaning into him. Which shouldn't be a big deal, really. This is absolutely normal. Like a sleepover! Nobody would bat an eye at girls sitting like this, so they should be able to do the same without judgment or second guesses! Down with gender stereotypes! That's Jaskier's excuse to scoot closer anyway, to make it mutual leaning and enjoy the warmth of their bodies pressed together. If he wasn't laughing so often, he'd even rest his head on Geralt's shoulder.
(Lizzie is going to kill him.)
His mug is empty now, he should leave it on the coffee table, exchange it for his phone so he can record Geralt losing it to Biggus Dickus - but he can't bring himself to move. They've fallen naturally in this position, it'd bring attention to it to try to replicate it again deliberately.
In the end, it doesn't matter much, because he couldn't have moved even if he had gone for it: the leaning isn't mutual anymore. It's mostly just Geralt, and it can't even be called leaning anymore, more like crushing. They may be only a couple of inches apart in height, but Geralt's body is still much bigger than his: wider, heavier, bulkier... sexier. Jaskier simply doesn't have the strength to compete.
He isn't sure he wants to, anyway.
It happens in a flash: one second Jaskier is nudging his shoulder up, trying to keep his place; the next one he's down on the couch with around two hundred pounds of DILF on top of him. The mug has fallen on the rug and his legs are still hanging off the couch, rather awkwardly at that. His face is flushed, his heart starts beating quite fast and...
Jaskier takes a deep breath as he reminds his dick to behave.
"Hey there," he comments with a grin that shouldn't be there. A friend should be bothered by having to deal with another friend's heavy ass, maybe tease them for it, not speak in a tone a bit too close to sweet-nothings. And definitely not raise a hand to tuck a stray white strand of hair behind said friend's ear, but his hand is moving on its own, he swears. "I've heard stories about dogs, but I didn't know wolves could take over your couch too."
Geralt still thinks this is a tattoo reference, right? So he's safe. Hopefully.
They go from vertical to horizontal in one fell swoop, Geralt's weight pressing Jaskier's smaller frame into the couch and his nose pressed to the musician's clavicle. He smells nice, like fancy floral soap, chamomile tea, and warm skin, and it's a far more appealing scent than expensive perfumes and colognes. Most people always put those on too heavily, anyway, and it irritates his nose.
This is nice. He can feel the rise and fall of Jaskier's chest as he breathes and the resonance of his voice when he speaks. Gentle fingers brush against his forehead when he pushes some of Geralt's hair back from his face, and that's nice, too. Could be nicer if he went a little further with it, because despite his gruff exterior, he does love it when fingers thread through his hair. Yen used to do that, what feels like a hundred years ago. He misses the feeling of nails on his scalp, of gentle hands.
And this is another one of the reasons why he shouldn't get high. He gets touchy, like whatever part of his brain experiences tactile sensation gets dialed up a few notches, and he wants. He can ignore the way his skin hungers for touch when he's sober, it's hard when he isn't. Harder to remember why he shouldn't ask for it, too.
"Hm," he says, a vague reply to Jaskier's comment. Geralt's hand is resting on Jaskier's side, his thumb rubbing slowly across the soft fabric of his pajama shirt. He isn't paying attention to the movie anymore, but that's fine; he's seen it before anyway. And Jaskier's warmth is distracting.
He realizes after... probably too long, honestly, that he's crushing Jaskier on his own couch. No matter how much Geralt wants to lay there and soak in his body heat-- and there's something that should be additionally wrong with that other than just the fact that he's too big and heavy to lay on people, but he can't remember what it is-- he needs to get up. Geralt gets a hand braced against the couch and reluctantly pushes himself up, relieving Jaskier of his weight.
"Sorry," he says, voice rough, and puts a reasonable distance between them on the couch. "I didn't-- sorry."
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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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"The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb," Jaskier recites with the utmost sincerity. "I wouldn't have even guessed if Geralt hadn't told me about his age difference with Eskel, trust me."
He hopes the compliment comes through and it isn't mean by accident. Jaskier wants them to know they have a good thing here, that they are lucky to have each other, without accidentally implying that the fact they were foster kids in the first place is a good situation to be in. Sometimes even a writer like him has trouble wording things like that - some subjects are too complex to express them with words on the fly.
"I'm assuming this 'old man' isn't the kind to go to bars with his sons? Because I'm digging this whole--" His need to gesture is stronger than his little flirt attempt, so he raises his hand from its spot on Eskel's wrist to make a whirly movement with his finger, indicating the whole table. "--bringing the whole family to see Jaskier's show deal. The more the merrier! I invited Yen, too, but she's in Spain. ...whiiiich you know already. Obviously." He finishes his drink as he looks at each of them with curiosity in his eyes, blues staying a little longer on Eskel. Time to try to dig out some information. "More friends are also welcome, of course. If you have any mates or even significant others that appreciate good music, then--"
His Super Smooth Plan To Find Out If Eskel Is Single is interrupted when Jaskier's memory makes a connection to significant others and finally remembers where he's seen Lambert before. There's a gasp and widening eyes as he points at him, sounding very pleased with himself when he speaks.
"CHEERS AND BEERS! THAT'S IT! That's where I know you from! You looked so familiar and I couldn't pinpoint from where, it was driving me insane! But now I know! I almost hit on your boyfriend, sorry about that."
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Jaskier switches from being relatively normal-- if very... tactile with Eskel-- to suddenly yelling and pointing in an instant, apparently because he's finally remembered where he saw Lambert's face before. The change startles all three of them, and apparently Lambert most of all, because he chokes on the beer that he was trying to drink, hard enough that Geralt has to thump him on the back.
"Boyfriend?" Eskel says, and now his confusion is directed at the youngest brother. A lot of revelations are being dropped today, and he is apparently unprepared for them. First they find out that Geralt made a friend, then that said friend knows Yen, and now Lambert's Secret Boyfriend. What a day.
"Since when do you have a boyfriend?" This is news to Geralt, and, sure, he's not the most up-to-date on everybody's lives, but that seems like one of those things that would've eventually gotten around to him. If these are the kinds of things that he's missing out on, maybe they need to start up a newsletter or something.
"What-- no-- it's, I don't have a fucking boyfriend--" Lambert manages to get the words out between coughs. Once he's cleared the beer out of his airway, he continues, "He's just a fucking drinking buddy, for fuck's sake. I'm not dating everybody I get a fucking drink with!"
There's a certain look that Lambert shoots Jaskier's way, part pissiness and part what-the-fuck-are-you-doing.
"You have drinking buddies?" Geralt says. "Hell, since when do you have friends?"
"Fuck off, Geralt, all your friends are fucking horses."
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When the entire table reacts to his comment in rather shocking way, Jaskier has to curse under his breath. Has he outed someone by accident? Fuck, that would be awful. He doesn't want to be that mind of careless asshole, and most importantly, he doesn't want to hurt anyone like this.
Luckily the conversation goes on rather quickly, preventing him from panicking. Jaskier sighs with relief - Eskel and Geralt don't seem to be shaken by the idea that Lambert could possibly date a man, they are just surprised that Lambert has someone they don't know about. Alright, alright, he can work with this.
"First of all," he replies as he raises a finger. "I'm not a horse, I'm a peacock."
Because of course even at times like this he has to defend his friendship with Geralt.
"Second of all--" He raises another finger as he meets Lambert's pissy look with a glint on his own blue eyes. "-drinking buddies? That's what you are calling the way you and handsome bearded bloke were undressing each other with your eyes? Bloody hell, you're worse than Geralt."
Time to give his attention back to Eskel. Jaskier puts both his hands on the man's bicep this time, and his chin on top of them. "Please tell me you aren't an oblivious himbo too," he begs with his best puppy eyes. "I'm starting to lose faith in this family."
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"I wasn't doing fucking anything, I was just-- I was looking at him! The fuck was I supposed to be doing, staring at a wall? You look at people when you talk to them!" If there's a way that Lambert expected tonight to go, having to argue about the manner in which he looks at his drinking buddies wasn't it. "And he wasn't fucking looking at me any kind of way."
There's a pause. Lambert leans across the table a little, towards Jaskier. "Wait. So. How much eyeballing was he doing?"
"For fuck's sake, Lamb," Geralt says, because seriously, how fucking stupid do you have to be not to notice mutual attraction?
Jaskier turns his attention back to Eskel, both hands now on his bicep with his chin resting on them, gazing up at him with pleading blue eyes. Laying it on pretty damn thick, too. And really it's kind of a thing to be trying to hook up this hard with his brother right in front of him; couldn't he have waited until they weren't all sitting here, at least?
"Somebody had to get some sense in this family," Eskel replies, humoring him. If this is how the rest of the night is going to go, Geralt doesn't want to be part of it-- he doesn't need to watch his brother pick up Jaskier, he's already gotten too much of a glimpse into the musician's apparent taste in men as it is.
"I should go," he says, double-checking his wallet for his cards, just to make sure he got it back from the bartender, and also as a convenient method of not having to notice that both of his brothers are looking at him. "Gotta be at the ranch early tomorrow."
Lambert's hand dives into the pocket of his leather jacket, the one that he always keeps his keys in and returns with his goal before Geralt can stop him. "Drink your fucking expensive hipster beer, Geralt, you don't have to be up that early."
"Lambert," Geralt's voice dips into low, gravelly registers, a good signal of his mounting annoyance. Before he can try to get the keys back from his asshole of a brother, Lambert tosses them to Eskel, a childish game of keep-away. Eskel catches them, and flashes him a look that's apologetic, but not too apologetic.
"Hey, at least finish your beer. Then you can get out of here."
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Laughing now, he crosses his arms on the table and leans in as well. "Let's put it this way, Lamb." Yes, he's stealing the nickname. Thanks, Geralt. "What I saw was enough to keep me, someone who isn't easy to get rid of once I see someone I want, away from your table before I even took two steps towards it."
There's so much more he can say about it - he even thinks about starting a retelling of the events with as much poetry as possible, something about there having been love in the air around Lambert and his "friend" and sparks every time they touched. But suddenly Geralt announces he wants to leave, and Jaskier's entire world stops, because no matter how much he tells himself he'll move on as he does with every fling and how much he flirts with Eskel, he's still a fool with a crush.
"NO!" He turns to Geralt quickly, hands up in a stop gesture, but he doubts it's enough. Thankfully Lambert and Eskel have his back - he could kiss them both right now! If he wasn't too busy keeping his eyes on Geralt, that is. "I mean, yeah, come on! Don't be a spoilsport, mate, finish your beer! Tell you what, even ask for another one! Some snacks too if you want, my treat! A thank you for coming!" His butt raises as Jaskier leans completely over the table to grab Geralt's wrist. "The night is young and we barely got to talk. Please? You don't want to leave a man with paint on his face waiting."
It's hard to try to read Geralt's expression when there's a shadow suddenly looming above them. Said shadow clears his voice and Jaskier looks up to see a man watching them - he's dressed quite formally, he can't help noticing, dress pants and formal jacket with a vest under it. No tie, but quite an impressive mustache.
"Jaskier, correct?" His pronunciation of the name isn't the best, but Jaskier nods anyway. "I'm Brian Miller, I'm with Folkways Records."
With a muttered fuck, Jaskier's chair falls to the floor as he scrambles away from the table to stand up and look presentable - well, as presentable as he can look considering their current little mess. His hands tremble when he takes the card offered to him, confirming the guy as the real deal. It's true. It's happening. Dammit, his heart is about to jump out of his chest and is this really the moment for his legs to become jelly? Fucking rude limbs.
"I-it's--" Bloody hell, where is his voice? He can't be nervous, this is his fucking dream! His mind seriously needs to stop screaming right now, that would probably help. He swallows before he tries again. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. Did you enjoy the show?"
"I did, actually. And I must confess, I'm impressed. As you probably already know, folk isn't exactly the kind of music that usually resonates with young people." The chatterbox, for once, is silent - Jaskier can only nod along. He isn't only nervous, he's horrified to fuck this up, especially after that lovely first impression that was saying hi with his butt in the air. Thankfully Brian doesn't seem to mind, in fact he appreciates not being interrupted. "Folkways Records is an old company that is looking to break into a bigger market, to bring folk music back into popular culture, and we think you're exactly what we need..."
Jaskier's eyes widen and a little gasp escapes his lips. This is real, this isn't a dream, this--
"...if you're willing to discuss with me some aspects of the marketing of your image before we rush into things."
--this a huge fucking red flag, that's what it is. His body goes from being nervous and jelly to fucking freezing, the weight of disappointment already sneaking into his chest. Don't jump to conclussions, he tells himself as he takes a deep breath, maybe he's just worried about me possibly making scenes in bars after what he saw.
"What kind of 'aspects'?" His voice sounds a bit colder than he intends it to, his brows are furrowing, he's even grinding his teeth. No matter how much he thinks he should be able to work with this, it shouldn't be a big deal, his mind is already panicking. That little clause sounded too much like discussing possible changes. And he knows he would have to make concessions when signing a contract but...
"I thought we could have this conversation in private?" Brian asks innocently, but his eyes betray him: he looks at the men at the table, then he glances to both sides, as if expecting someone to jump in Jaskier's defense. The red flags in his mind have become full fucking Kill Bill sirens; the only reply he manages is a movement of his hand urging the man to go on because he isn't going anywhere. "I see. Well then-- You must understand, Jaskier, that Folkways Records has a small but very loyal following. And while we're looking to bring a new age bracket into our public, the first few months of your career -perhaps even a whole year- will depend on those more, ah, traditional fans."
Oh boy. The t-word. Jaskier feels like a kid in church again - this isn't going to end well.
"We've seen your online presence, and we wouldn't ask you to lie about what you are--"
"Who I am," he instantly corrects, but it gets ignored.
"--we would only ask you to tone it down."
A snort. "Hide it, you mean." Brian opens his mouth to reply but instead leans back with a shocked face when Jaskier tears his business card into confetti and throws it at his mustache. "I don't work with bigots. And my fans appreciate that."
It's hard to tell whose look could kill you faster: Jaskier's or Brian's. In another context it may've been a tie, right now Brian is the one to give in only because he's obviously the one not belonging at this table.
"Big words for someone your age, boy. Let's see for how long you're capable to keep your morals intact in this industry."
The asshole leaves without saying goodbye, not that Jaskier wanted one anyway. Blue eyes follow his back with enough hate in them to carve a hole in the back of the man's head, and Jaskier hates it, hates how he's feeling right now. Shake it off, the song says, and he wants to do so so fucking badly, just like he does every day with trolls in the internet...
But he can't.
His whole body is shaking, and for a moment he forgets he's even at a bar. There's something cold clawing in his chest, a ball of rage in his throat and deafness in his ears, almost as if he was underwater. Drowning. Trembling hands reach up to the cape around his neck and shoulders and craddle it against his face.
With fabric covering the worst of it, Jaskier just goes ahead and screams.
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He's only just back in his chair when some man approaches, asking for Jaskier. Some representative of a record label, and Geralt comes to the same conclusion as the musician-- this guy's here to talk about setting up a deal. Apparently his company wants to expand into a younger market, and someone like Jaskier would be right up their alley. This could possibly be the musician's big break, his first chance to get out of the small-time circuit and start getting real gigs. Jaskier's practically falling over himself to stand up, and Eskel has to catch his chair and right it before it hits the floor.
If only the guy weren't such a fucking unrepentant prick.
Jaskier's standing next to the table and he looks... well, honestly, like he might throw up all over his own hipster shoes, but he looks eager and wanting up until the moment the rep wants to talk to him about his image. Geralt's not even in this industry and he thinks he knows what that means, and so do his brothers, going by the furrow in Eskel's brow and the sharp twist of Lambert's mouth. The guy tries to break it nicely, tries to dress up what he wants Jaskier to do in mild words so that it doesn't sound as bad, but they all know what it is-- they want Jaskier to be less. Less of who he is, because it doesn't fit in with the morals of their current demographics and all they care about is marketability and bottom lines.
Ultimately, the musician tells him to fuck off. Rips up his business card and throws it in his face and righteous fury isn't a bad look on him.
"What a fucking jackass," Lambert says as the aforementioned jackass leaves in a huff.
"Hey, are you--" Eskel starts as Jaskier starts pulling the collar of his cape up higher on his face, and he's abruptly cut off as the musician makes a high, distressed noise into the fabric.
Geralt stands and puts a hand on Jaskier's elbow.
"Jaskier," he says, trying to sound... well, he's not exactly the most soothing person around, but it looks like the musician's in the middle of a panic attack and he'd kind of like for him to be doing literally anything but that. "Jaskier, it's all right. Breathe."
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"...Geralt."
Right, this is Geralt. His new friend. An extremely masculine man, a classic mountain hermit, buffy and manly but still capable of reading Oscar Wilde, staying friends with his ex/baby mama and hanging out with a queer person without making an ass out of himself (well, Geralt does make an ass out of himself often, but not in the meaning this line of thought is going for). All values he's passing on to his daughter as well.
A cowboy with pierced nipples and a gentle soul - that's how you bring tradition into modern times.
"Sorry you had to see that," he finally says after a pause to put himself together. He turns to look at the brothers to indicate the apology goes for all of them. "I promise my shows don't usually end like this, I'm more of fun kind of bloke."
It's an attempt at humor, but his smile is weak. Jaskier isn't the type of person who hides his emotions behind some mask: he wears them proudly in his sleeve and makes everyone around him know exactly how he's feeling at all times. If he's angry or sad? Well, then any ear is good enough to hear his whining or his ranting. Some times both at the same time.
There's an exception to his, and that's when something that shouldn't affect him does. Being hurt by bigotry gives the assholes power, and he hates it. So much. What happened to sticks and stones, after all? There are two fancy Youtube buttons hanging on the walls of his living room that show how he doesn't need this guy and his company, he's proud of them, of what he's achieved. And yet...
Rubbing his fingers is a normal nervous habit of his, and doing that right now makes him find a piece of the card still sticking to his hand. Jaskier looks at the floor, at all the white bits on it, and gets an idea. He crouches to start picking the card pieces and, hating the silence as always, he starts filling it as well.
"I never thanked you properly, Geralt. One shouldn't have to be grateful for bloody human decency, but here we are, I guess." A sigh before he continues. "You know I recommended your ranch on social media as a great spot for dates, and I know many couples have visited since then..." Queer couples, it goes unsaid. "They all came back very satisfied with the experience. So yeah, thank you. For the safe space."
Not all the card pieces are picked up, and that's fine, he doesn't need them all. Just enough for his little plan. Jaskier stands up and puts them on the table, forming a circle with a piece that has the company logo right in the middle of it. He reaches inside his vest to take out his phone and takes a picture of this collage - now he's extra aware of the possibility of a bomb exploding if he posts it on Twitter with a cheeky caption.
Respect doesn't make history.
To post or not to post? Fuck, this is going to bother him all night. And if he stays and drinks, with the brothers or with his friends, he'll end up doing something stupid, he knows it. After putting his phone away, he turns to Geralt with an apologetic expression on his face, voice sincere as it can be when he speaks.
"I truly wanted to stay and chat but... I think I should leave now."
If he gets home soon, it may be just enough for a decent time difference with England for a call. His sister is always good at helping him stay grounded.
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Jaskier gets himself together a little bit, which is definitely an improvement over screaming into his clothes. He picks up the torn-up pieces of the business card to do... something with it that Geralt assumes that he's going to post to social media at some point, possibly some kind of name-and-shame? Whatever, that's Jaskier's business, and hopefully he won't do anything with it that will damage his reputation. More immediately important, he thanks Geralt for... what, not being the absolute worst person that he could possibly be? For treating all of his customers exactly the same, regardless of whether they came as a date or just for fun or with a man or woman? And, really, even if treating everyone the same wasn't just basic human decency, it would be an incredibly shitty business decision to alienate part of his customer base.
A customer base that he has because of Jaskier. If anything, the thanks should probably be going the other way-- he should thank Jaskier for leveraging his social media presence to give Geralt more business. He's got enough people coming to the ranch now that he can justify hiring more help, god knows that he needs it.
"You don't have to thank me for that," he says.
Jaskier looks up at him with an apology written all over his face and says that he wants to leave, and Geralt ought to just let him go. He's an adult, after all, and he can decide when he wants to go home and whether or not he wants to be alone. But he had to have gotten here by some kind of ride-share app or by hitching with one of his friends, because Geralt's pretty sure he doesn't even have a driver's license or a car, and he shouldn't just have to stand around outside and wait for a pick-up after all of this horseshit.
"Let me give you a ride," he says instead. And, hell, it's a pretty perfect excuse for Geralt to get out of here, too, so it's win-win for both of them. Jaskier gets to go home right away, Geralt doesn't have to pretend that he likes to socialize.
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And it's that crush that makes him reply with the most thoughtful comment in the universe.
"...what."
From the corner of his eye, Jaskier notices Lambert and Eskel are surprised by the offer too, so at least his reaction isn't that dumb. His brain and his heart have a little argument over this, trying to understand the meaning behind it, and it's his dick that has to remind them they don't have a chance in the first place. So Geralt doesn't want to admit they are friends, but hasn't he proven himself enough to be the kind of person that puts weight on actions rather than words? The tick check, the shower, the borrowed book, coming to his show...
"I mean, yes! Yes! I'd love that," he finally manages to say with more enthusiasm that such a simple thing as a free ride would call for. So what if he doesn't have any chances with the guy? He's still getting to hang out with Geralt, which he does enjoy, it's not a lie when he says he does want to be friends with him anyway - and his down to Earth presence is exactly what he needs as company tonight, because of course he's already planning to invite him to come inside. He can call his sister tomorrow. "Let me grab my things and say good-bye to my friends and-- I'll meet you in the parking lot?"
Funny how his mood is already improving, huh? Serves to prove how much Jaskier needs people, acceptance and attention. He turns and takes a step away before he remembers the other two people at the table, so he returns and leans over it to grab their hands.
"Thankyouthankyouthankyou for coming! I looooved meeting you and I swear I'd love to hear more from you. Pris gave you my card, right?" He looks down and yep, there are his little cardboard records on the table. "Add me on social media. Or text me. Do you visit the ranch? What I am saying, of course you do, it's your brother's home. So maybe we can all ride together someday! Don't be strangers, I better see you around!"
After squeezing their hands he turns to leave again - this time he manages to take three steps before he gasps and runs back to the table once more. One hand falls on top of it with a loud thud, the other wags a finger in Lambert's face.
"Confess to Handsome Bearded Man, you fool, or next time I see him I won't back off!" An obvious lie, but it seems Lambert needs the push. And hey, respect doesn't make history.
He leaves for real now, his first stop being at his friends' table. They get a very summarized retelling of the events, which upsets the whole group. Half of it is already standing up, crying out curses and promises to find the jackass; the other half comes closer to Jaskier to check on him and offer his support. Priscilla and Essi even make a hug sandwich out of him. They don't fail to notice, however, how Jaskier (aka Mr Drama Queen) has been concise in his talking for a change, promising the full story for later. When he explains why he is in a hurry, all the indignant cries transform into teasing and wolf whistles. This is the guy Jaskier hasn't been able to shut up for a while now, they totally get it - gotta take advantage of a chance when it presents itself. Besides, they also understand Jaskier leaving and needing a quiet, comforting evening of self-care. Who wouldn't after that shitshow?
They're the best gang of crazy people a person can ask for, and Jaskier loves them for it.
Once his bag and his guitar are rescued from backstage, Jaskier makes his way to the parking lot as he texts Geralt the location of his apartment on the map. It isn't until he's standing in the middle of it that he realizes Geralt's truck is nowhere to be seen...
A gasp escapes him when he next realizes why
"...bloody hell. That's your bike? You brought your bike!"
Excuse him for a second while he circles the vehicle, excitement glinting in his eyes and stretching his mouth into a grin. Jaskier is no driver, but he's been given rides on bikes in the past and they're fun. The speed between your thighs, the wind on your face and your partner in your arms--
Oh. Oh dear. He's getting to hug Geralt, isn't he? Tightly. That's wonderful news - he just hopes his dick doesn't betray him in the process.
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Whatever strange looks Eskel and Lambert are throwing his way are quickly diverted by Jaskier's enthusiastic good-byes; he grabs at their hands and they allow it mostly due to surprise, a little bewildered by the rapid-fire thanks and requests to talk to him on social media and ride with him at the ranch and god knows what else. Eskel takes it best, just pats Jaskier's hand and says he's sure he'll see him around, while Lambert looks at the musician like he's grown a second head.
He shakes a finger in Lambert's face and tells him to confess to his friend. Lambert tells him to go fuck himself. Eskel kicks him underneath the table, but Jaskier seems completely unfazed by the response and rushes off to continue his farewells, his mood improving considerably from five minutes ago.
"Give me my keys," he says to Eskel, and his brother hands them over.
"You sure you know what you're doing?" he asks, and Geralt gives him an incredulous look in return.
"I think I can handle driving him home."
Eskel frowns, but he doesn't get a chance to give whatever lecture he's gearing up for, because Geralt grabs his pint, downs the rest of it, and heads out to the parking lot to wait for Jaskier. He stands next to his bike, a black roadster-style motorcycle that he's had for years, a good and reliable machine. He gets a map pin drop while he's waiting-- the location of Jaskier's apartment, he assumes-- and checks the map to see what the fastest way is to get there at this time of night. He realizes, as he's working out the best route, that Jaskier may not have been expecting a motorcycle but rather his truck, and not everyone likes the idea of riding on one. But then the door opens and Jaskier walks out, and he seems thrilled when he sees that Geralt's standing next to a motorcycle.
"Hm," he says, because yes, this is his bike, he's not just standing next to some asshole's motorcycle. He digs through his saddlebags for his own helmet and the spare that he keeps just in case, and tosses that one over to Jaskier. Nobody rides on his bike without proper headgear, for obvious reasons.
He gets on the bike and pushes the kickstand up with his heel, keeping the machine upright so that Jaskier could get on easier. There's enough space behind him for a passenger, if said passenger doesn't mind getting close to his back.
"Get on," he says, and when Jaskier gets himself onto the motorcycle, he'll reach down to show him where to put his feet so that they don't drag or get burned by the tailpipe. Most people, he'd just tell them what to do; he takes Jaskier's ankles in his hand and moves it to where they need to be, and it's usually a pretty slick move with women. Always worked well, touching them while they braced against his back, easy to explain away if they aren't interested and part of the lead-up if they are. For Jaskier-- well, he really just doesn't want the guy to burn himself.
It's a good night for a ride, and once Jaskier's tucked up against his back, Geralt kicks the bike to life and starts on the route to his apartment. It'll take a good twenty minutes to get there, which isn't too bad since Geralt drives nearly double that to get out to his ranch. It's enough time to actually enjoy the drive, the wind and the power of the bike underneath him and the pleasant warmth of someone else against him, arms snug around his waist. It's almost a shame when he pulls into the parking lot of the apartments and parks the bike at the closest open spot to Jaskier's.
"You all right back there?"
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At least he's not whining about what the helmet will do to his hair, because he's going home and not somewhere nice.
This passenger definitely doesn't mind getting close to that very (very) wide, leather-clad back - in fact he's rather eager to do so. The only reason why he's careful with his climbing is because of his guitar, otherwise he'd be fucking hopping right on it. He's seen this back naked before yet this is different, because last time he wasn't this close - maybe it's a good thing he has the helmet on after all, this way he can't make a fool of himself by burying his face in and nuzzling the leather. Even if he's really, really dying to.
His hands fall on Geralt's waist and he's about to tease Geralt for being fucking thick even there, but a squeal escapes his lips instead. He's being mandhandled! Again! His damn body hasn't forgotten the fall on the berry patch yet and Geralt is already feeding his imagination once more!
Remembering that day, however, also means remembering the sad conclusion he reached about Geralt's potential interest. Jaskier reminds himself not to be a creep, and he puts his arms around his friend's waist as careful as he can, but a request to hold on tight before they leave makes him tighten his hold and before he can stop himself, he's resting his head on Geralt's back.
Both things done for safety reasons. Totally.
It truly is a great ride. Geralt is an amazing driver, fast and smooth, and Jaskier wouldn't have minded if they had left the city and ridden into the countryside for some more wind and a touch of starlight on their helmets. While the lack of chatting is kinda bothersome (silence? being alone with his thoughts? ugh), having a friend in his arms instead of a random he would've picked up at the bar does wonders for the comfort he needs at the moment. An actual hug would be best, obviously, but the ride provides a good enough distraction.
His apartment comes into view too damn soon, and Jaskier is pouting by the time Geralt parks. Not wanting the contact to end and having forgotten about his own reminder of not being a creep from twenty minutes ago, Jaskier takes his sweet time taking off his helmet and untangling his cape. At least, that's the plan, until Geralt calls him out for it.
"A-ah, yes, yes! Fantastic!" After jumping off the bike, he turns to Geralt and hands him back the helmet with his best smile. Alright, alright, he can't fuck this up. How difficult can it be? (Famous last words.) "Thank you for the ride. I really enjoyed it - we were one with the wind."
Wait, poetry may not be the right approach. So far in their friendship, Geralt has never appreciated it. In fact, if there's something he has learned about the man is that he prefers people being direct. Well then, here goes nothing.
"I believe I've already mentioned wanting to chat a bit more with you and that the night is still young? Why don't you come inside? I have coffee and an attempt at home-made pastries with the jam I made with the berries. Aren't you curious to try it out? You gave it a like after all!" Instagram had a good laugh at his cooking experiments, that's for sure. Jaskier is supposed to be coming off as chill, but all the hand gesturing he does as he talks betray how desperate he is for Geralt to join him for the night (and not for sexy reasons this time! amazing!). "Oh, and I have your book, too! You should take it back! And choose something new from my library now you're done with Pride & Prejudice. Please?"
There's a pause as his hands are dropped to his sides. "...I really don't want to be alone tonight."
Which may be sound a bit manipulative but his soft voice shows how sincere he is about it.
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Geralt tucks the helmet back in his saddlebags as Jaskier gets off the bike, and there's something... odd about how he's acting just then, like he's trying a little too hard. He rubs his fingertips together, a little nervous tic that Geralt's seen him do once or twice, before he launches into an invitation to come inside. For coffee and pastries and the jam that he made from all those berries they picked on the mountain, and it kind of feels like the invitation version of throwing everything at the wall to see what sticks. Tossing out as many reasons as he can think of for Geralt to come inside and hoping that one of them will work.
He mentions something about liking things on Insta-whatsit, and Geralt makes the immediate, split second decision to not think about that any further, because he's completely certain that he's liked quite a few pictures that Jaskier's posted under the impression that he wouldn't know about it. Best to keep that realization on lockdown until he's someplace that he can properly think about the ramifications and seriously consider packing up all of his things and living in the mountains as a wild man, never to be seen again.
What really does it, though, is when he drops all of the bribes of food and books and simply says I really don't want to be alone tonight.
Geralt turns off the bike and pulls the kickstand out with his foot, then tucks his own helmet away.
"I could use a cup of coffee," he says. And that's something that he's said a few times before, but usually when he went inside those apartments, the coffee pot never even got turned on. But he's just... friend-adjacent with Jaskier, and this is just because he's had a rough end to his night and it would be shitty to just ditch him without making sure that he'll be all right. It's not every day that you possibly tank your own career while taking a moral stand.
"I don't have your book with me, but I'll get it back to you." It's a nice copy, too. Definitely not the kind of thing that you accidentally forget to return to someone. "It, uh. It was good."
Great review, Geralt. Three words or less.
Either way, he'd agreed to spend some time at Casa de Jaskier-- so his dubious company is at Jaskier's disposal.
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(Back in England, a blonde girl went to bed while wondering about the lack of selfies-at-the-after-party in his messages.)
"Brilliant!" His whole body bounces when he replies, smile wide and bright - Geralt truly is doing wonders for his mood. Jaskier bows then, extending an arm towards the building like a butler welcoming someone new to the house. "Shall we?"
Pride & Prejudice becomes the topic of choice as Jaskier guides Geralt inside. He tells him not to worry, he can just give it back to him next time he visits the ranch, there's no hurry; then he launches on a (mostly one-sided, let's be honest here) chat about his favorites scenes and how amazing Austen is for the kick she gave to high society's guts. His rambling is interrupted, however, when he notices a pair of yellow eyes looking at them from the stairs while they wait for the elevator.
"Oh, fuck. This bitch." Jaskier pulls a face and steps back when the 'bitch' in question comes closer: it's an orange tabby cat, her pink nose now sniffing at Geralt's shoes. The green collar around her neck says she isn't a stray. "Bloody demon in a fur suit, I swear. Scratched me the day I moved here, and I was only saying hi! She's only gotten worse since then. Ignore her and hopefully she'll go aw-- oi!"
Are his eyes seeing correctly? Is this little ball of evil rubbing her body against Geralt's legs? Not only that, when the elevator finally arrives and Jaskier drags Geralt inside to get away from her, the little wanker actually follows them. Unbelievable. And Geralt apparently likes it! Which shouldn't be surprising since he obviously has a thing for animals, but still! It's the principle of the thing!
"Traitor," Jaskier calls him, then proceeds to glare at them the whole ride up. Drama queen.
Thankfully it's a short ride, and Jaskier's attitude returns to normal when he opens the door to his apartment and turns to Geralt with open arms.
"Welcome to my humble dwelling!" There's nothing humble about this modern, spacious apartment. It's called artistic license, okay? "Shoes off, please." He indicates the little shoe stand next to the door as he proceeds to take off his own to leave them there. "There are extra slippers if you like them, but feel free to stay barefooted as well. These are good, clean floors." Now this part isn't an exaggeration: the flooring is obviously made of quality wood, and there's even a rug under the coffee table and couch area. "Come in, come in, don't be shy~"
The living area is separated from the kitchen on the right only by a breakfast counter, and the big sliding glass doors show a nice balcony under the moonlight - Geralt can recognize the bird feeders he advised Jaskier on hanging outside. It's (surprisingly to many) quite clean and tidy... well, except for the coffee table, which is a little messy universe of its own. A slick laptop with stickers on its cover rests closed in the middle of the hurricane, surrounded by three empty mugs and two empty plates, an electric kettle, many piles of paper sheets (half of them with printed lines that show them to be music paper), a variety of pens, pencils and highlighters; at least three different notebooks, an aromatic candle, an open pack of honey menthol drops and... who knows what else hides underneath all. The Holy Grail is probably somewhere in there as well.
The rest of the apartment looks fine - Geralt may recognize the same care for colors, fabrics and sytyle Yennefer may've insisted on when she tackled his own place. The couch set around the table matches the rug, except for the pillow on the floor which has noticeably been sat on a lot - it's old and worn-out, but still looking comfortable, just like the blanket lying under the table. This whole set-up is facing the south wall, where a huge piece of wooden furniture houses a flat tv, a DVD player, an entire audio system with way too many speakers, and even a classic record player. This wood unit has two small sliding doors at the bottom, and since once isn't closed all the way through, a collection of DVDs can be recognized in its insides.
On the left, there's a small hallway with three doors, and on the walls on each of its sides, another two big pieces of furniture: one filled with books and trinkets/ornaments (as well as some framed pictures), the other filled with CDs and vinyl records. One of the shelves in this music unit is a bit different, though: there are acrylic stands displaying CDs that have been signed by the artists plus his two Youtube Play buttons: silver and gold, indicating he's surpassed the one million subscriber mark.
Jaskier drops his bag on one of the sofa chairs and his keys on a little bowl next to the box with like fifty different kinds of teabags on the breakfast counter - there's a pile of correspondence there as well, flashing his birth name on the front, but he's too distracted to think about that detail at the moment. His guitar is still at his back though, because his baby must sleep in its proper place.
"Aaaaalright, super quick tour." Moving to the center of the living area, he starts pointing at the different sections as he mentions them. "Kitchen, laundry room, balcony -obviously-, bedroom, bathroom, and studio. I need to wash the paint off and change, but meanwhile, get yourself comfortable! Grab whatever you want from the kitchen, turn on the tv if you want," he says as he disappears into the little hallway. The studio door is opened just enough to leave his guitar inside before he moves into his bedroom, where he raises his voice to continue to talk Geralt even then. "Would you like to borrow some comfortable clothes? I'm not sure if I have anything that fits you, but it can't hurt to try!"
If Geralt decides to open the fridge, he'll find some small bottles of craft beer, but no wine - that's only because fine wine doesn't go in the fridge, you monster! There's a tray, however, with the pastries Jaskier mentioned, and they look just like the Instagram picture showed them: the wonkiest kolaczkis in history, their shape barely keeping itself together, but at least they aren't burnt. There's something Jaskier didn't mention, though, right there on the tray as well - brownies. Those look much better, and they hadn't been included on the picture.
And there's a reason for that: they are not the innocent kind of brownie...
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The cat wanders off when the elevator doors open, and Geralt follows Jaskier to the door of his apartment. When he opens it up and lets them inside, he spreads his arms dramatically to encompass the whole space and Geralt is a little surprised at how spacious his living space is. He toes off his boots and just wears his socks inside; it'd be rude to wear his heavy motorcycle boots on these nice wood floors, anyway. Even Geralt knows that, Vesemir didn't raise a boy who drags dirt onto clean floors.
The floor plan is pretty open, with the kitchen only separated from the main living area by a breakfast counter, and it appears that Jaskier spends the majority of his time sitting near the coffee table on a cushion. At least, the coffee table is the messiest part of the apartment, covered by discarded music paper and a few dirty dishes. He could picture the musician sitting there, perched on his worn pillow, plucking at a guitar and scribbling notes down on a piece of paper as he tries to figure out his next song.
Geralt follows Jaskier through the lightning tour, enough to give him an idea of the basic layout of the place. He declines the offer of clothes-- he doesn't plan on being here overnight, after all, just long enough to get Jaskier settled in and make sure that he won't have another panic attack or drink himself into a stupor or something. The musician leaves his guitar in his studio and then goes to wash off all of that ridiculous body paint and change into something practical, and Geralt is left to his own devices in his apartment.
"Hm."
He kills a few minutes looking at the bookshelves and little trinkets and some awards that look like they were given out by YouTube for having a certain amount of followers. Apparently he has quite a lot of them? That must translate to some pretty decent earnings, because unless Jaskier's a trust fund baby and paying his way with that, doing live gigs at bars couldn't possibly pay enough to keep this kind of apartment. Once he'd gotten tired look at those, though, he wanders into the kitchen and pops open the fridge just to see what kids these days are stocking up with. He's not sure what he expects-- quinoa and oat milk and all that vegan fad diet stuff? Expensive hipster artisanal food and exotic produce? Empty shelves because Jaskier doesn't have his life together?
Mostly normal, he finds when he opens the fridge door. Crisper drawer might be a bit empty, he could use more vegetables. And there's a plate of what looks like cookies and brownies, and Geralt remembers the slightly odd-shaped fruit ones from Jaskier's Instagram pictures. He hadn't put the brownies onto Instagram, though, which seems strange because they look pretty nice, possibly nicer than the slightly wonky cookies. Geralt takes one of them and considers grabbing a beer, but since he'll be driving home relatively soon, he abstains.
Jaskier takes long showers. Geralt eats the brownie and looks out the sliding glass doors that lead onto his balcony; it's not a bad view of the city, if you like that kind of thing. He's still alone by the time he finishes his treat, and fetches another from the fridge-- they're good, and a couple of brownies won't ruin his diet. He wonders if Jaskier actually made them while he debates a third, but... no. He shouldn't eat all of the musician's brownies, that would be shitty of him.
By the time Jaskier emerges from his shower, clean and dressed normally, Geralt has finished his snack and has made himself somewhat comfortable-- he's taken off his leather jacket, at least, and is fielding a few texts from Eskel about how Jaskier's doing. It's not surprising, really-- Eskel's always been the type to want to take care of people.
"Feeling better?"
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He seriously needs to stop thinking about this - the show had been a success, the audience had been an actual decent crowd, he met Geralt's brothers and now he is at his place, waiting to share some coffee and hopefully a fun talk. All in all, it should be considered the perfect night. The picture in his phone is a timebomb waiting to happen, but he should leave that for morning Jaskier when he does all the posting of pictures and videos of the show. Because he is going to post it, he realizes, the hesitation is just nervousness, it's years of being raised as having to keep his reputation in mind. Most of the time he knows how to keep those teachings buried under family resentment, but during times like this, when the care he's put into his career and the way he interacts with the industry are on the line, they come out and make him doubt himself. He's not dumb, he knows he's a dreamer in a world that usually isn't as kind. You gotta play your cards right.
Respect doesn't make history.
Maybe he can send a message to Yen, be sure he's legally covered in case of anything. Yeah, that sounds good, he's sure she'll be on board on destroying another old white boomer's public view. His fans will support him, and as far as other potential record companies go, would he want to work with someone that would look down on him for posting such a thing? No. So if they discard him as a potential contract for this, well, to hell with them. Nothing of value would be lost.
It's easy to see why Geralt comes to the conclusion Jaskier is feeling better now. Finally feeling at peace with himself, he lets all his emotions out in what is a daily habit of his now: singing in the shower. Sia's Bird Set Free echoes in the bathroom (I sing for love, I sing for me, I shout it out like a bird set free) even as Jaskier dries his body and hair out followed by taking his worn clothes to the basket in the bedroom - another thing to take care of in the morning.
The sound of bare feet on wood announces his return to the living area, a pleased smile on his face at the fact Geralt is checking on him and, not gonna lie, the nice sight of his arms without a jacket and that lovely bottom casually leaning against his breakfast counter. This man should be illegal, he swears.
"I do, thanks. Feeling comfortable?" he asks in return with a teasing tone as he approaches the coffee table. After leaving his phone connected to his laptop for charging, he picks up the electric kettle and as many mugs as his hands can handle. "I think those stools are strong enough to handle being sat on by your mighty physique, my friend." He winks at him as he passes by, entering the kitchen. "How do you take your coffee?"
After leaving the mugs in the sink, he gets both the coffee maker and the electric kettle going, because he'll make tea for himself - if he drinks coffee now, sleep would be one hell of a difficult task. As he moves around the kitchen getting it all ready, he tells Geralt all about the shenanigans he got into to make the jam and the kolaczkis, a treat he enjoyed a lot as a kid (although he does not explain why).
"I know visually they don't look very good, but I promise they actually taste--"
Jaskier interrupts himself when he opens the fridge and takes the tray out, noticing the missing brownies. His eyebrows quickly go up and blue eyes glance at Geralt to check on him - still chill. He has no idea, does he? Amazing. He has to bite his lower lip not to laugh as he approaches the counter and leaves the tray on it before resting his chin on his hand.
"If I had known getting you high was the way to make you stay, I would've started my chain of offers with the brownies."
A mischievous grin ends that sentence. This is going to be so much fun.
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Jaskier asks him a question and Geralt hums in response, mostly missing it. His head feels a little slow, and there's an odd little tingly feeling making its way across his scalp-- tired, probably. There's been a lot of work to be done on the ranch and he's always been bad at getting enough sleep. He'll just drink a strong cup of coffee and he'll be fine to drive back home.
"Black. Strong."
He lets Jaskier's chatter wash over him while he busies himself with making coffee, some long rambling story about making jam and cookies from the fruit that Geralt had sent him home with. Something about the cookies being something he ate when he was a child, something about a grandmother? Geralt isn't paying much attention, not to the words, at least-- the sound of his voice is nice, the rhythm and cadence of it soothing. It doesn't really matter too much, anyway, Jaskier doesn't seem to require much input from him and seems fine with just having a warm, living body to chat at.
Then the musician is standing on the other side of the counter, the tray of cookies and brownies sitting between them, and Geralt doesn't remember how he got there? One moment he was chatting on the other side of the kitchen, then he was right there, looking at him expectantly. Geralt frowns; why does he feel so fucking stupid? It's almost like all of those times when he was a kid and he would sneak out at night to--
oh.
"Jaskier," he says, and even his own voice sounds strange to his ears, "what the fuck was in those brownies?"
He has a very good idea of what was in those brownies, now, and it means that he's not going to be able to drive home until the morning, which really makes his plans to meet Eskel first-thing to do some repairs on the goat enclosure more difficult. He might have to text him. God, he might have to text him while high, this is a fucking nightmare.
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Friends grab dinner together all the time, he can already picture himself telling Lizzie, shut up.
Geralt makes a very obvious question then, and Jaskier finally fucking loses it. He throws his head back and laughs, praying to those gods he doesn't believe in for his phone to charge up fast, because this totally deserves to be documented. Hell, he'll bring out his fucking camera if he has to.
"I think you know, don't you~?" He suddenly gasps and puts a hand on his chest above his heart. "Don't tell me this is your first time trying weed! I shall carry the badge of introducing you to it with honors. Also, no coffee for you tonight, mister."
Weed and caffeine can have both great and awful results, so better not risk it - besides, he wants to experience Naturally High Geralt first. The coffee maker isn't turned off, Jaskier lets it finish so he can have the coffee ready in the morning, but he does take out water from the fridge and a galaxy flask from the cupboard, which he feels with the fresh water before passing it to Geralt.
"Couch, now. Get comfortable for real this time. You aren't driving anywhere like that." And the big smile on his face says he isn't regretting this turn of events at all.
Arter choosing chamomile from his collection of teas, Jaskier quickly fills his colorful mug with hot water and brings it together with the tray of cookies to the coffee table - don't worry, he leaves the rest of the brownies on a separate plate in the kitchen. Two is enough for one person, and Jaskier isn't planning to get high himself tonight, oh no. He needs to watch this with a clear mind, to enjoy every second of it.
"Now you can taste my cookies through the vision of the mighty judge that is the munchies," he comments as he sits down on the couch and grabs his mug to stir the tea and press that teabag with his spoon until he gets every single bit of flavor out of it. "Because the brownies weren't my doing. I'll be veeeeery hurt if you like Pris' cooking better than mine, Geralt."
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Point is, Geralt's fucked and he's already starting to feel the initial effects of all the weed that he ate. It'll hit him fully before too long, and then he'll just be spending the rest of the night high as fuck, trying to act normal.
And he's not even going to get that coffee. Geralt frowns at Jaskier's coffee rejection, then frowns more at the brightly colored flask that the musician puts into his hand. He takes it, of course, because he has the bad habit of taking anything that's handed to him, and moves when he's commanded to sit on the couch. It's a nice couch, and Geralt's weight makes him sink into it a little when he sits down, and it's entirely possible that once this weed kicks in, he might have a hard time getting up again.
"I've smoked pot before," he says, because clearly this is the important thing that needs to be corrected right now. "Just not in fucking years. I have a kid."
He can't go out and get baked when he has to take care of a teenage child, that would be both terribly irresponsible and set a horrible role model for her. She's too young to partake of the devil's lettuce. Once she's not living in Geralt's house, she can do what she wants, but so long as she's living with him, it's Healthy Choices For Developing Children.
Jaskier brings the cookie tray over, sans brownies, and fusses with his tea until it's however he likes it. The couch is very comfortable and Geralt doesn't particularly want to move, even to try one of these cookies that Jaskier's so insistent about, which really just means that the weed is kicking in more. God, this is going to be an ordeal. He's going to be a boneless lump of asshole on this couch before the evening's through.
"Did you put anything in them?" Because that's a question that he has to ask now, apparently. "More weed. Cocaine. LSD. Whatever's popular these days."
If Jaskier wants him to eat one of them, he might have to hand it to him.
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Perhaps he shall start by just acknowledging what was just said, because getting any kind of new information out of Geralt is harder than tuning a saxophone.
"Being a dad doesn't mean you can't have fun," he replies after sipping his tea. "You still get breaks, I imagine. You're here tonight, aren't you? And I suspect that wasn't the first time you went to have a drink with your brothers. She doesn't need to know, mate."
And now he's wondering how much Geralt (and now Yen, he guesses) has told Ciri about this friendship. She knows he goes to the ranch often enough and that he's been reading her dad's favorite book, but acquaintances discuss media all the time. Has she picked up on the fact that beloved book is missing from her father's shelves? Is Geralt still protecting her from him?
That's when that little voice in his head that just happens to sound like his sister reminds Jaskier what an awful idea would be to date a father and owner of his own business (with living creatures, even). He's fucked people older than him, mothers and fathers both, but they had been just that - flings. This... this is one hell of a crush on a man that can't just receive a text from Jaskier on Wednesday night asking him to go out together for ice-cream at some stupid hour. So he should be glad for that wake-up call he got the other day, he should be working on absorbing that and moving on.
Geralt turning him down (indirectly, but still) should be a good thing, save them both a lot of drama. Yet it doesn't feel that way.
He's snapped out of his thoughts by Geralt's most boomer comment to date, and that sure is saying something.
"WHAT?! What the fuck, Geralt!" he asks as he throws his free hand in the air. Bewildered doesn't even start to describe his expression. "How can you put hard drugs on the same level than bloody weed? No! I don't do anything that isn't alcohol, weed or shrooms! Which reminds me--" He pokes Geralt's arm. Ugh, so thick and strong, how dare he. "No smoking allowed around me, no matter if it's marihuana or tobacco. Welcome to a new era, you old boomer, edibles are your friends."
His voice is precious to him, and so he must protect his throat. If Geralt ever even dares to take out a lighter around him, Jaskier will make sure to grab it and throw it in the fucking toilet.
"Here," he says as he pushes one of the cookies into Geralt's hand. "Simple, good, old fashioned kolaczki. Grandma's recipe. Don't disappoint her." Because he already worries he may be doing that 24/7.
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"You're calling it marijuana and I'm the boomer?" he says. "What are you, a narc?"
Nobody calls it marijuana, call it weed or pot like a normal person, you musical dork. The idea of Jaskier being a narc is funny enough for Geralt to huff a laugh, though, at his own stupid-ass joke. God, he's getting fucking high. This is the worst. At least once Jaskier pushes a cookie into his hand, he can put that into his mouth and not talk for a while.
"S' fine," he replies. They're good cookies. Maybe a little wonky in their construction, but it doesn't have to be perfectly pretty to taste good. Maybe there's something to that, that just because something is a little fucked up and maybe kind of unevenly baked doesn't mean that it can't still be good.
Hah, baked.
Christ, he's high.
Geralt tries to open the water bottle. It takes him a good twenty seconds to realize that he can't get it open because he's turning the cap in the wrong direction, but then he has a hard time figuring out how to make his hands go the other way without turning the bottle upside down. He leaves it as it is-- it's fine, he doesn't need water. This is fine. He can just distract from the fact that he's high as tits.
"Since I'm stuck here," he says, and come on, Geralt, make your brain come up with a normal thing that people do when they aren't high, "put on a movie? You have a collection."
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Geralt's huffed laughter interrupts him, and Jaskier stares at him for a second before chuckling as well. Ohoho, the weed is kicking in, isn't it? Yep, there he goes, eating the cookie with that lost in drugged thoughts look on his face. The cookie is well received, and that alone should make Jaskier happy - it does, but he's mostly smiling at Geralt's current state. He's even staying silent for once in his life just so he can hear whatever silly thing Geralt may say next.
He almost chokes on his tea when his friend fails to open the water bottle, and honestly? Jaskier ends up giggling. Geralt is being fucking adorable! Is this karma? Is this his reward for having dealt with a bigot and a stick in the wheel of his career? Because then, the price may've been worth it.
Deciding to have mercy on him, Jaskier puts down his own mug before leaning over his friend to open the bottle for him. Which is an amazing yet awful idea, because he can feel every muscle against his own body, he can sense the smell of beer and that nasty secondhand smoke on his clothes plus his breathing against his ear.
"There you go, big boy," he says as he quickly leans back and sips more tea - his throat suddenly feels pretty dry.
Watching a movie while being high is pretty standard, something he's done before even. He just doesn't expect the idea to come from Geralt himself. This is... true hanging out! Pals being pals! Mr Dilf accepting he's staying and deciding to do an activity together! Oh, joy!
"Are you kidding? I've got the perfect flick to go with those brownies!"
Jaskier is practically bouncing off the couch, that's how excited he is about this whole deal. He doesn't need to search for the right DVD case, he knows exactly where the one he wants is, because it's a favorite for both normal and high situations. Disc is popped in and with the remote control in hand, he returns to Geralt's side... but not without dimming the lights first. He's put on a comedy, not a horror or romance story - this isn't even a date. But hey, dimmed lights are preferable when watching movies, right? Especially with this flat screen plus set of speakers set-up of his. Gotta make it the real theatre experience.
That's what he tells himself anyway.
"Tell me, my dear yankee friend, have you ever been shown the true comedy genius that is Monty Python?" he asks as he sits next to Geralt, way closer than he was before. In fact, their shoulders and thighs are touching, which is completely unnecessary, because this couch is big enough to put Roach between them. It means nothing, of course, just being practical - this way he presses another cookie into Geralt's hand, like he's doing right now, right before pressing play. "Because then you're in for a ride."
Hopefully Geralt can appreciate British humor... and the fact Jaskier is reciting some lines along. Oops.
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Jaskier unscrews the top of the water bottle for him, which allows him to take a long pull from it; after drinking beer and getting high, he's thirsty. And water always tastes better when he's high, more... wet? He doesn't know, he's fucked up.
He sinks down a little further into the soft cushions of the couch while Jaskier picks out what is, apparently, the perfect film to watch while stoned to shit. It turns out to be a Monty Python film, The Life of Brian, and he really sets the mood for it by dimming the lights and then settling back in right next to Geralt, shoulders and thighs touching. He's about to comment on it when another cookie is put into his hand and, well, since it's there he has to eat it, and by the time he's done that, he's forgotten what he was going to say.
Geralt levels a Look at Jaskier when he asks if he's seen Monty Python before, like one of the most well-known comedy troupes in the world is some kind of obscure British national treasure.
"Yeah, I've seen Monty Python," he says. "Who the hell hasn't?"
He does pretty well through the movie-- Monty Python's fucking funny, even to a grouchy, stoic bastard like him. He makes his way through most of the jokes with chuckles and amused huffs, which is far more than most things get out of him. Jaskier's body is warm and stable next to him, and he leans into the touch just a little. Not enough to make him want to move, or to make things weird with the way his skin feels hungry after he's been touched. It's mostly just annoying, because you'd think that he'd have had his fill of contact after a one night stand or two. And getting high makes that hunger worse-- makes him want to sprawl on top of the closest available warm body and leech the heat out of them. He's trying not to give in and do that to Jaskier, it would be immensely inappropriate and he also might crush him.
Then they get to The Scene.
He's all right through the beginning of it, but just as the guards can't keep their shit together, neither can Geralt. It's not just the fact that the name Biggus Dickus is fucking hilarious, it's also the delivery of it and the fact that every other person on set was also desperately trying not to corpse. By the time the other Roman centurions are laughing on-screen, Geralt has slumped to the side and is wheezing out laughter, leaning his weight against Jaskier's shoulder. He almost gets himself together, but then there's the bit about Biggus Dickus' wife, Incontinentia Buttocks, and that just sets him back off again.
Biggus Dickus is funny even when stone-cold sober-- no one stands a chance when they're high. No one can blame Geralt for laughing, even if he is kind of crushing Jaskier.
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Since he moved here, he had to stop using them when flirting, too. It had gotten him in a few awkward situations before he caught on. Geralt not only knowing but also liking Monty Python is wonderful news, Jaskier can make great use of this during their texting.
Would he chuckle and amusedly huff like this at his texts too, or is it just the weed talking?
He stops reciting the lines along pretty damn quickly, simply because he wants to hear Geralt better. Which isn't an easy task, because no matter how many times he's watched this movie, it still makes him laugh as much as the first time. Comedy is a form of art by itself, one that not everyone can pull off smoothly, and Jaskier appreciates the crew's wordplay with all his writer heart.
There's also an additional distraction: Geralt is leaning into him. Which shouldn't be a big deal, really. This is absolutely normal. Like a sleepover! Nobody would bat an eye at girls sitting like this, so they should be able to do the same without judgment or second guesses! Down with gender stereotypes! That's Jaskier's excuse to scoot closer anyway, to make it mutual leaning and enjoy the warmth of their bodies pressed together. If he wasn't laughing so often, he'd even rest his head on Geralt's shoulder.
(Lizzie is going to kill him.)
His mug is empty now, he should leave it on the coffee table, exchange it for his phone so he can record Geralt losing it to Biggus Dickus - but he can't bring himself to move. They've fallen naturally in this position, it'd bring attention to it to try to replicate it again deliberately.
In the end, it doesn't matter much, because he couldn't have moved even if he had gone for it: the leaning isn't mutual anymore. It's mostly just Geralt, and it can't even be called leaning anymore, more like crushing. They may be only a couple of inches apart in height, but Geralt's body is still much bigger than his: wider, heavier, bulkier... sexier. Jaskier simply doesn't have the strength to compete.
He isn't sure he wants to, anyway.
It happens in a flash: one second Jaskier is nudging his shoulder up, trying to keep his place; the next one he's down on the couch with around two hundred pounds of DILF on top of him. The mug has fallen on the rug and his legs are still hanging off the couch, rather awkwardly at that. His face is flushed, his heart starts beating quite fast and...
Jaskier takes a deep breath as he reminds his dick to behave.
"Hey there," he comments with a grin that shouldn't be there. A friend should be bothered by having to deal with another friend's heavy ass, maybe tease them for it, not speak in a tone a bit too close to sweet-nothings. And definitely not raise a hand to tuck a stray white strand of hair behind said friend's ear, but his hand is moving on its own, he swears. "I've heard stories about dogs, but I didn't know wolves could take over your couch too."
Geralt still thinks this is a tattoo reference, right? So he's safe. Hopefully.
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This is nice. He can feel the rise and fall of Jaskier's chest as he breathes and the resonance of his voice when he speaks. Gentle fingers brush against his forehead when he pushes some of Geralt's hair back from his face, and that's nice, too. Could be nicer if he went a little further with it, because despite his gruff exterior, he does love it when fingers thread through his hair. Yen used to do that, what feels like a hundred years ago. He misses the feeling of nails on his scalp, of gentle hands.
And this is another one of the reasons why he shouldn't get high. He gets touchy, like whatever part of his brain experiences tactile sensation gets dialed up a few notches, and he wants. He can ignore the way his skin hungers for touch when he's sober, it's hard when he isn't. Harder to remember why he shouldn't ask for it, too.
"Hm," he says, a vague reply to Jaskier's comment. Geralt's hand is resting on Jaskier's side, his thumb rubbing slowly across the soft fabric of his pajama shirt. He isn't paying attention to the movie anymore, but that's fine; he's seen it before anyway. And Jaskier's warmth is distracting.
He realizes after... probably too long, honestly, that he's crushing Jaskier on his own couch. No matter how much Geralt wants to lay there and soak in his body heat-- and there's something that should be additionally wrong with that other than just the fact that he's too big and heavy to lay on people, but he can't remember what it is-- he needs to get up. Geralt gets a hand braced against the couch and reluctantly pushes himself up, relieving Jaskier of his weight.
"Sorry," he says, voice rough, and puts a reasonable distance between them on the couch. "I didn't-- sorry."
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