Geralt isn't pleased about the prospect of spending an evening with Chireadan. It should be a boon-- he is a decent man, will likely be discreet, and staying with him would mean saving some coin. Considering that they used much of Jaskier's teaching payments on supplies for the journey, it would be prudent to save as much as they could. They would need to resupply in Ard Carraigh for the trip up the mountain, and there wouldn't be many opportunities for Geralt to take contracts, and too dangerous for Jaskier to sing. Even just being seen in an inn's common room is risky, because any public house could also be hosting Nilfgaardian agents. Avoiding the inn entirely is not an imprudent move.
But.
He's also going to want tidings of Yennefer, which is both a sore subject for him and Jaskier and also one that Geralt likely won't be able to satisfy the elf on. He hasn't seen her for a year, and the last he had heard of her had been some rumors about the Battle of Sodden. She's doing gods only know what now-- or, for all he knows, she could be dead. But that's another thought that makes his chest do strange things, and he dismisses it. Yennefer of Vengerberg is not dead, because Death is neither strong enough nor stubborn enough to keep her.
He glances at Jaskier's nervously flapping hands, a deeply unsubtle gesture. He hums, then answers back in an undertone-- "Mostly harmless."
The prospect of free room and board for them and their horses is too much to pass up. Hopefully, they could use their travel as an excuse to turn in early and avoid as much interaction as possible, then leave as early as possible. Maximum benefit, minimum awkwardness.
"We would appreciate your... hospitality," he says, only gritting his teeth a little at that last word. But that's fine, no one expects good manners from him.
That's quite well said, actually. Especially for Geralt's standards. Jaskier pats his arm as if saying good boy then turns back to Chireadan, trying to put up his best smile, which honestly comes off as kinda awkward. It says quite a bit about how this place puts him in a bad mood, since Jaskier usually is able to keep up decent smiles even in weird situations, like when Geralt wants to talk about defending elves in front of the elf slaying queen.
Chireadan, meanwhile, is quite pleased with this turn of events and proceeds to guide them back to his place. Which happens to be, he explains, a little healer business he's set up for himself. It isn't anywhere as big as an inn, but it does have more room than the average cottage, which means he has enough extra space for two guests and their horses.
It smells of herbs and incense inside, quite strong even for Jaskier's nose, but otherwise it's incredibly clean and well taken care of. Which makes sense, because wounds should be tended in better contexts than tubs filled will selkiemore guts (ahem). It's actually a pretty decent place to stay at, and Jaskier would've easily relaxed in it if circumstances were different.
(When he takes off his cloak, he realizes the brooch is still visible, this time on his doublet. Taking it off again would make call attention to it, so he leaves it there - at least inside there won't be other prying eyes. Under all the bad memories and anxiety this town brings out in him, he can admit it feels nice to have the little wolf out in the open.)
Chireadan indicates two chairs for them to sit at a decently size table and proceeds to take out the tankards and ale, which isn't court quality (obviously) but it isn't the piss-tasting shit from backwater taverns either, and that's already a win.
"We don't have many travelers passing by at this time of the year. Snow will start to fall soon." He explains with his back turned to them, busy cutting some bread and cheese for his guests. "We've heard about the fall of Cintra, some refugees even made it here, but didn't stay for long." When he finally comes to the table with a platter of food, his looks is quite serious. "Which is why I'm obliged to ask, if you excuse my indiscretion: are you being followed as well?"
Jaskier suddenly becomes extra aware of the scars on his body and, with his heart beating quite loudly in his ears, puts down the ale with a little more strength than intended.
"We are not." He replies after glancing at Geralt. "We come from Oxenfurt. No Nilfgaardians soldiers in that area-"
There's a puff of air at the end of its sentence - a word left unspoken. Yet?
Chireadan's home is certainly adequate; Geralt's standards are quite low, though, and he would have been fine with sleeping in a barn or hay loft. But there seems to be room in the cottage for two guests, especially since Geralt will share with Jaskier, even if there's space for him to have his own room. Both as a precaution and because his presence seems to be essential for the bard to have decent sleep, and he'll need his strength for the road ahead.
They sit at the elf's table and have decent ale served to them, which Geralt accepts with a curt nod. The whole cottage smells like various herbs and tinctures, hardly unexpected for a healer. Even so, he makes sure that he drinks from his ale before Jaskier does from his own, checking by both smell and taste for any additives. He doesn't expect anything like that from Chireadan, but better to be safe than drugged.
Jaskier's heart jumps at the mention of Cintra and Nilfgaard, his discomfort creeping into his scent.
"There is no significant Nilfgaardian presence in Oxenfurt," he confirms. "And we were not followed."
Geralt had made sure of that when they were traveling. And while it isn't impossible that Nilfgaard could have spies or sympathizers in the city, Geralt had told no one of their ultimate destination, and he couldn't imagine that Jaskier would be so foolish as to spread that information around, either. Not with how recent his kidnapping was. Kaer Morhen is a well enough kept secret; very few outside of the witchers of the Wolf School are aware that it survived its second sacking.
He will not lead Nilfgaard to the only place that he has ever called a home.
"So you said." Chireadan replies with a nod. "I'll take your presence here as a good sign then. You're here because they aren't, correct?"
Jaskier nods too as he munches on some of the food they've been offered. They've been on the road for quite a few days already, it's good to have something other than fruit and dried meat. Chireadan asks a few more questions to know the general state of things - the current Nilfgaard situation and how the other kingdoms are handling it. Luckily for him, unlike Geralt, Jaskier has been keeping up with such matters and has the vocabulary to explain them.
Which eventually takes him to mention the Battle of Sodden.
He gives no names - why would he? He doesn't know those kinds of details, only that Aretuza was there. But of course Chireadan jumps on it without hesitation. Bollocks.
"Was she there too?"
A name isn't needed, it's obvious to know whom he's talking about. His eyes are curious and hungry for the information, even after all these years... well, it's not like Jaskier can talk, now can he? He wants to feel sympathetic for the poor guy, offer comfort and an ear that understands, but just thinking about her (in here, of all places) makes his scent bitter as hell. Jaskier tries to hide his face behind the tankard, but he can't go on without replying.
There's nothing to worry about, he reminds himself. Geralt said he wouldn't take her back. He is the one with a silver wolf on his chest right now. His stomach turns anyway.
"I don't have an answer to that question. I haven't seen or heard of her in over a year." After a pause, he decides to add- "I'm sorry."
Because no matter how bitter he feels, at the end of the day Jaskier is still a romantic, the one person who can understand Chireadan the best, and his heart does feel for him. At least a bit.
Jaskier summarizes the political situation far more accurately and precisely than Geralt would have; he had been more concerned as of late with protecting his Child Surprise and locating his Bard Surprise than with the geopolitical landscape, and feels justified in his lack of response to this line of inquiry. And, of course, Jaskier has been classically trained and comes from a nobleman's background-- all things that lend themselves to understanding and appreciating affairs of state.
Additionally-- Geralt should never be asked to carry a conversation. It's a task that's doomed to failure.
But, of course, it's inevitable that the conversation shifts to Yennefer, especially after Jaskier mentions the battle at Sodden Hill. The sorceresses of Aretuza were there, so asking after her makes logical sense, even if the question sours Jaskier's scent almost immediately. The bard maintains his composure well, though, provides a level and neutral answer. Chireadan looks to Geralt after, as though he might have some other answer for him-- Geralt replies with a one-shouldered shrug and a shake of his head.
"Don't know."
He's not nearly as sympathetic as Jaskier is, though, perhaps, he should be. He has no desire to continue to talk about Yennefer, however, not after everything that has transpired between them. He doesn't want to have to explain to Chireadan why he doesn't know where the sorceress is, or whether she is all right.
That day on the mountain meant heartbreak for multiple people, not just the bard. Jaskier knows this, knows he should feel sympathetic for many of the members of that hunting party. Geralt especially - just because it frustrated him how much the witcher always ignored his advice when it came to certain sorceress, it didn't mean he was happy to see Geralt broken.
Right now though, considering his current mood and how he feels about her in general, he can't help feeling a bit smug over the fact Geralt hasn't seen her for so long and doesn't try to check if Chireadan saw her again after the djinn incident either. It's such a huge change from that I'm in that cursed them a year ago, and Jaskier is living for it.
In a second, you'll be wrapped around my finger, because I can do it better. There's no other, so when's it gonna sink in? She's so stupid, what the hell were you thinking?
"I understand." The elf's eyes are down, looking at his own hands on the table, probably feeling exposed and embarrassed. "It was bold of me to assume you'd still be in contact with her, my apologies. My eyes must've deceived me that day - I thought I saw a special spark in that scene through the window." He looks at Jaskier then-- "Wouldn't you agree?"
...and Jaskier chokes on his ale. He knew this would be an awful idea, he knew it! Patting his chest, Jaskier suddenly stands up, the chair falling behind him. He's a ball of nerves and he isn't hiding it. Geralt's possible reaction to this... he isn't sure he wants to find out, but the road mood is already somber enough. Can't have another thing added to the pile.
"Thank you! For supper. It was very-" Here comes the flapping hands. "Very nice of you to receive us in your home and I'd love to-- to, ah, sit and chat about the wonders of this world we live in but my-" He glances at Geralt, swallows, then turns to Chireadan again, who is staring at the bard with wide eyes and a very confused expression. "-companion and I need to rest, it's been an incredibly long trip and we should leave early in the morning not to waster another second of precious autumn time."
Still in shock, Chireadan nods and points at the door on the left, a guest room usually assigned to patients but free for their use today. Jaskier rushes into it without another word, and the elf turns to Geralt with a shrug.
A special spark in the window? And Chireadan is looking straight at Jaskier when he says it, like this is something that the bard would know about and be able to answer for him. Jaskier, for all that he had managed to keep his composure when discussing Yen, completely loses it right now, choking on his ale so badly that Geralt thinks he might have to thump him on the back to clear his lungs. The hand flapping returns with a vengeance, and the bard's usually clever tongue trips over itself to come up with an excuse to leave.
Geralt watches him, head tilted slightly and brow furrowed. Chireadan points him to the guest room and Jaskier bolts for it like he's got a cuckolded husband on his heels.
"Hm." The witcher looks back to Chireadan, who both looks and smells immensely confused. That made two of them. "...Good night, I suppose."
That's one way to end the evening early. Geralt would've probably chosen something a little less ridiculous, but it's Jaskier, so maybe he can't expect anything less than dramatic.
He stands and follows after Jaskier, closing the door to the guest room behind him. Geralt breathes deeply, ignoring the clamoring herbal scents in the air and focusing on Jaskier's; he smells mostly of... embarrassment? Panic?
Geralt is too tired to try to parse through what the hell is going on in Jaskier's head by scent alone.
Panic sounds about right. Jaskier already has his doublet off and he's in the process of taking off his boots while sitting on the small bed when Geralt enters the room. Is it too much to ask the gods for the witcher to ignore what just happened and blame it on Jaskier being naturally weird?
Apparently yes, it is too much.
"Nothing! It was nothing!" His eyes don't meet Geralt's, his voice is a little high. "You know me, dear witcher, always needing to make a grand entrance and a grand exit."
Jaskier is nervous, panicking, and a drama queen. Which means he babbles away, as if that could mask his emotions, as if it could help him cover up what he wants to hide, when in fact it actually reveals more than it should. With both boots off, Jaskier lets his back fall on the bed because oh, look at that, the ceiling looks incredibly interesting at the moment.
"Don't listen to that preposterous elf. He doesn't know what he's talking about. I know I won't be standing for that-- that..." A hand is raised to indicate what is on the other side of the door. "Delusion! Yes! That's correct, delusion! There's no way he saw any kind of 'special connection'--" He airquotes with both hands, eyerolling. "--between you and Yennefer when we found you fuc--"
Jaskier's eyes widen when he realizes he's let his mouth roll for too long, both hands coming down to cover his lips. Worry taking over his scent, he turns his head slowly on the bed to look at Geralt, as if waiting for the witcher to snarl at him.
"...we thought you were dead?" He says after lowering his fingers a little, as if that explained everything.
Panic. Nervousness. Attempts at diverting the conversation. This all points to Jaskier being full of shit, and that's one of the scents that Geralt doesn't like on him. Lying. He doesn't like it when people lie to him, and he certainly doesn't like it when Jaskier lies to him. Usually, that's because Jaskier's lies come to bite him in the ass in some stupid, angry husband-shaped way.
Jaskier's hands clap over his mouth before he can get the last word out, but fuck is basically one of Geralt's favorite words, so he knows the shape of it even from someone else's mouth. So that's what's gotten Jaskier so upset-- he saw the two of them in the aftermath of the house collapsing, when they had had some kind of... victory fuck? Glad-to-be-alive sex? Something like that. There was a lot of adrenaline involved, and she had been very beautiful sprawled among the pillows and debris, and the effects of his djinn wish would've just been kicking in.
She had still been very beautiful when Geralt had left her sleeping there, too.
Geralt's mouth twists a little at the revelation. Is he thrilled about it? No. Can he do anything about it? Also no. Jaskier saw what he saw, Geralt can't change that. He can't un-fuck Yennefer, no matter how much the bard might want him to.
"Didn't take you for a voyeur," he says, walking into the room to hang up his cloak. No sense standing at the door. "Is this going to be a problem?"
With blue eyes following Geralt around the room, Jaskier slowly sits up, and this time is his turn to be utterly confused. At least the panicking hour is over, although he's still kinda nervous, not knowing what the hell is going on. Geralt is being so... chill about it, as if Jaskier had told him he ate the last piece of cheese they were saving.
"Whaaaaat is going to be a problem?" He suddenly feels eighteen again, wondering what don't exist. Some things never change, Geralt expressing his thoughts like shit is one of them. "Geralt, I-- I thought you would be mad at me. For--" Flapping gesture of his hand. "--watching. I didn't stay the whole time, by the way, I swear. Chireadan dragged me away before--"
Oh fuck, he's screwing up again. Because what does that imply? That he would've watched it all if he had the chance?
His stomach turns when his brain provides the answer to that question - not something he wants to explore now. (Or ever.)
Is he chill about it? Not exactly, no. He's not pleased, and he doesn't know why this conversation is even happening right now. All Jaskier had to do was say literally nothing about watching Geralt fuck Yennefer, and they could've gone right on with their lives. If he had just kept his mouth shut, the witcher would've chalked it up to Jaskier being strange and just dropped the whole thing because he's fucking tired and it's too much of a bother to try to figure out what's going on in the bard's head sometimes. And yet, here they are.
"Could've lived my life without knowing that you watched," he grunts, dropping his potion bag to the floor. What had he done, stood in the window and looked in on them while Geralt was on top of her, fucking her like a beast? Listened to his groans and her breathy sighs as he'd pleasured her?
Had he liked it?
That's a thought that doesn't need to be investigated.
Geralt sighs and props his swords up against the wall. He should have finished his ale, or brought it with him. It had been decent, and the ale's only going to get shittier the further north they go. Having it now might actually give him the godsdamned strength to get through this horror of a conversation.
"Is it going to be a problem," he clarifies, "every time you remember that I've fucked Yen?"
Though this particular memory was jogged because of the voyeurism thing. Geralt's head turns sharply from his swords to focus on the bard again.
"Tell me that's the only time you've watched me fuck her, Jaskier."
Because if the answer to that is anything but an absolutely truthful yes, than Geralt would be properly mad at him. On account of what the fuck, Jaskier.
Jaskier drags his hands down his face. This is a conversation they're actually having, huh. They haven't even gotten to fuck themselves yet, but Yennefer keeps climbing back into their love lives. He tries to tell himself that maybe this is for the best, to get out twenty years of shenanigans out of their minds before jumping into things with a clean slate, but it's hard to appreciate the moment of ~communication~ when Geralt is asking those kinds of questions.
"No, Geralt, it won't be a problem as long as you don't bring her up while we're having a moment. And I would like to believe not even you can be that tone deaf."
Geralt is socially awkward but he isn't dumb, right? Right. The next comment has Jaskier groaning and falling back on the bed again. Do I come off as that kind of person, he wants to ask, and stops himself just in time because he already knows the answer. What is he, some kind of pervert now? Just because that one lovely married couple asked him to sit in the corner and watch while they did it and what a lovely experience that had been...
Bad, bad brain.
"Fuck, Geralt, yes! That's the only time!" It comes out a little snappy, quite frustrated. "Because every time she showed up after that I'd try to be as far away as possible from the room you two were in, trying to find a stable boy or blacksmith that would help me forget the fact you weren't fucking me."
...ah. His mouth is running again, bollocks. He can't help it, it's what happens when his emotions explode like this - if he doesn't let them out, he'd explode himself.
"I thought you were dead." He repeats, his heart shrinking at the memory. If he's fucking things up with a very chatty mouth, may as well go all the way. "And suddenly the bloody elf tells me you aren't, and I had to see it with my own fucking eyes and what I found there..." With a sigh, his voice lowers to a hush. "I never thought I'd see you like that. I thought it was something you only did in brothels." He didn't think Geralt fucked people other than whores, he means. Because that's one of the excuses he used to tell himself on why he couldn't conquer the witcher's heart. "Heartbreak kicked in later. At that very moment, you looked exquisite, better than I could ever imagine, and her..." He louts a frustrated grunt he picked from Geralt. "...a very sexy but insane witch indeed."
There's frustration in Jaskier's voice-- only to be expected-- but it rings true when he answers. Thank whatever god might be listening, Geralt really didn't want to have to have to explore the possibility that Jaskier had watched him at other times. Hidden out of sight, perhaps, those blue eyes tracking every push and press of their entwined bodies, taking his own pleasure from the sight--
Which is something that Geralt is not thinking about. Because Jaskier did no such thing.
Right.
And Geralt does remember the way that Jaskier would smell after he parted ways with Yen, and if he had more often reeked of male spend than female, well, he hadn't noticed at the time. Maybe he hadn't wanted to notice-- not because he had any particular qualm with Jaskier's dalliances with men, but for what the timing would imply. What it meant for Jaskier to seek comfort in the arms of strong men whenever Geralt left to bed his sorceress.
There really had been signs of what Jaskier wanted, Geralt was beginning to see, over the past twenty years. The witcher was a master tracker, could pick up a three day old trail in the dark during a rainstorm, but the tracks that Jaskier had left for him weren't ones that he had been trained to spot. He had missed them in the same way that Jaskier would miss a deer trail in the woods.
And the actual voyeurism situation is far more understandable when Jaskier takes the time to actually describe it; merely a mix of relief that Geralt had not been killed in the collapse, needing to see for himself that he was whole and uninjured, and some exceptionally poor timing. Geralt hums at the part about only doing things like that in brothels, since it isn't an inaccurate statement and he usually was only doing those sorts of things after having paid for them. But by the way he says that last thing, calls Geralt exquisite and Yen-- well, he'd called her sexy but insane in the past, and it's hardly inaccurate-- it almost sounds like an admission. An admission, perhaps, that Jaskier had not solely been interested in only one half of that equation.
"I-- hm."
Geralt doesn't truly intend to think about it, but the image comes to him anyway, unbidden-- the three of them in a bed together, Jaskier on his back and Geralt between his spread legs, his hands pressed bruisingly tight to his hips, the bard's face buried between Yen's lovely thighs--
It would never happen. Geralt is an insufficient mediator between Jaskier and Yennefer, and nothing on this earth would convince them to be in a room together and not at each others' throats. Hell, Yen would kill him on the spot for just the suggestion. Another thing for him to not think about.
"Then it doesn't matter," he says, "because it won't be happening again. Not with her."
And Jaskier won't have to run into the arms of any more blacksmiths or stable boys.
"I know. I do trust your word, Geralt. I was worried that you'd be mad at me for what I did, not that you'd do it again."
It seems they've come to some sort of understanding, and Jaskier is relieved to say the least. But the subject doesn't go away, not entirely - something is still bothering him. With his body now resting on his elbows, Jaskier raises his head and squints his eyes at Geralt. After two decades, the bard has come to understand the little nuances behind each of Geralt's grunts, and that one had been... how to explain this...
Considering.
"...bollocks. You were thinking about it, weren't you? About the three of us." Jaskier reaches for the pillow and throws is arm back to toss it... but in the end he covers his face and screams into it, just like he had done back in Oxenfurt. Maybe this can be his way to release sexual frustration. "I want to throw this at you so badly right now. But-- fuck." Hands are thrown in the air and he huffs as they land on his lap. "I don't know what I would've done if Chireadan hadn't dragged me away. And later on, to the thought of it, I--"
Jaskier doesn't blush often - as experienced as he is, there's little that can cause shame in him, at least of the romantic and/or sexual kind. But his cheeks do turn pink and his eyes look at the wall as his hands make a motion near his groin to indicate the stroking of an imaginary phallic form.
Welp. That's out in the open now. Maybe this helps with the whole 'clean state' deal he was thinking about a moment ago. It's awkward and weird and he doesn't want to talk about Yennefer anymore, he doesn't want her to be part of their relationship, but damn it feels good to sweep all this out of the house.
"She CAN'T know about this, Geralt!" He shakes a finger at him, finally looking at the witcher again, cheeks still red. "I'm open to the idea of threesomes in the future, if that's something that appeals to you as well." Because it definitely does appeal to him, speaking from experience here. "But not with her. I would probably not even be able to perform around her, and I'm not talking about my singing."
A neutral sort of hum, neither a confirmation nor denial.
Jaskier screams into the pillow again, and this appears to be a new habit of his-- yelling his lungs out into something that muffles the sound to release sexual frustration. To be honest, it's a far better solution than going out to fuck the stable boy, so Geralt can live with the increased possibility of getting a pillow thrown at his head. He's had worse things thrown in his direction.
Geralt raises one eyebrow as the bard turns pink and mentions the thought of it, and the other joins it when Jaskier's hand makes a very obvious pumping motion at cock-height. He perhaps oughtn't be surprised that Jaskier took care of his own tensions in such a way after the fact, but it's a bit different to be told as such directly to his face.
(He does not, and by gods never will tell Jaskier about the times when their inn rooms had been adjacent and he either had not had the coin for or there simply wasn't a brothel available, and he had been able to hear everything that the bard had done with his conquests through the thin walls. He had relieved tensions of his own, telling himself that it was nothing more than a simple biological response.)
"If you've thought about it in her presence," he says, trying not to think too much about how appealing the flush on Jaskier's face is, "she likely already knows. She can read minds, Jaskier."
So... there's probably nothing to bother hiding? It may not be much of a comfort to the bard, though, knowing that his terrible secret is likely not a secret at all. And, really, Yen had given him a number of cutting, knowing looks when he'd been staring a little too intently at the bard, so a number of Geralt's secrets are likely not secrets to her, either.
"And she would kill the both of us for suggesting it to her, so you'd hardly need to worry about your performance."
Geralt crosses the room and takes the pillow away from Jaskier, tossing it to the other side of the bed. Then, with that half-exasperated, half-amused tone that the bard is so familiar with,
Neutral humming, as far as Jaskier knows, is Geralt not wanting to admit something. So he'll just consider this one a successful read, thank you very much.
"The only thoughts I have whenever I'm around that bloody witch are one-" He raises one finger. "How to insult her, and two-" Another finger joins the first one. "how to get rid of her. So we're good. It was a one time thing and it's never happening again, let's leave this subject behind us now."
There are other thoughts he's had around her that he doesn't mention. The jealousy, the worry about Geralt ending in pieces again. Hopefully those won't show up again now that Geralt is his. And boy, isn't that a lovely thought? He got Geralt's word back in Oxenfurt and he does trust him with his life, but it's still pretty nice to hear again how much Geralt doesn't want her anymore. He wants to stay here, with Jaskier, take him to his family and his home. It makes him feel all warm inside and puts a smile on his face.
I think it's time for you to go / Away from my man and me / That's the way it's going to be. ♪
Suddenly Geralt is next to him, teasing him with that question and that affectionate tone that makes Jaskier's musician ears tingle. It should be weird, shouldn't it? How the somber mood Rinde brought onto them has suddenly been lifted, and now well, here they are, joking about this whole fiasco. Jaskier wouldn't have it any other way though, it's what sharing his life with a witcher is like. Never normal, never boring - that's why he loves him so, why he can actually settle down with him and still be thoroughly satisfied at the end of the week.
(The fact Geralt doesn't confirm or deny being interesting in threesomes doesn't go unnoticed, but Jaskier is fine with that. They can talk about their wants and needs in bed later on.)
"I don't think so? If you haven't figured out by now that I've masturbated to the thought of you plenty of times the last two decades, then you haven't been paying attention." His voice is light, filled with affection for the witcher. Geralt is being so understanding, Jaskier feels silly for having been so worried in the first place. "Now come here and kiss me, you marvelous wolf."
From his spot on the bed, he raises his arms and makes 'grabby hands' at Geralt, his head tilting with a grin when a thought comes to his mind.
"Do you think Chireadan would hear us if I blew you right now?"
Jaskier's mood brightened enough that it could almost be called light, and, considering that they entered Rinde with the mood about as low as it could get without someone actually dying, is saying something. He had been concerned that cutting through Rinde would end up being a mistake, that he should've just dealt with getting stoned in Ghelibol, but he prefers not being run out of town. And Jaskier would've been upset by that reaction towards him, too.
Geralt huffs a laugh when Jaskier mentions all of his... late-night indiscretions. The times that he had wandered off from camp to have a piss that ended up taking twenty minutes; the long soaks in rivers; the noises that he could hear even when he was off hunting and Jaskier was 'tending the fire'. Tending to something, certainly.
"You aren't as subtle as you think you are," he says, definitely amused now. "I could smell you every time, Jaskier. And hear you, most times."
Witcher senses. Terrible for privacy, useful for not getting eaten alive by monsters.
He leans down to satisfy Jaskier's request for a kiss, pressing it against his grinning mouth. It's short, cut off by the bard's chatter and constant need to speak whatever comes to his mind. This time, though? Geralt is quite fond of his ideas.
"Hm." Geralt would be able to maintain his composure if Jaskier wanted to do such a thing, but it would also take him an absurd amount of time to bring him off that way. He would grow bored and have a sore jaw before he ever brought the witcher to completion. He could offer an alternative, instead; Geralt turns his head a little and scrapes his teeth over Jaskier's earlobe, murmurs to him, "I think a better question is whether you think you can stay quiet for me."
His cheeks gain a pink blush again, but it's totally worth it if it means having Geralt huffing laughter like that.
"You could?" He gulps and licks his lips. "And you didn't mind."
Bloody hell, all this time Geralt has been dealing with Jaskier's masturbating habits and he never said a word about it. Which, when it comes to Geralt, is saying a lot, because he has complained about every single aspect of Jaskier's personality at some point or another. He's told Jaskier to shut up how many times by now? But never to his moaning, never told him to wash away the smells...
The witcher stood by his side and absorbed it all. Bollocks.
Jaskier bites his lip, already feeling his blood boiling, and it immediately starts traveling south when he hears Geralt talk directly into his ear like that. He's always had a thing for that deep voice, and now that it is dirty talking to him, Jaskier can't stop a whimper from echoing in the room.
Which transforms into a groan when the witcher sinks down to his knees in front of him - Jaskier stops breathing for a second there.
"Fuck, Geralt."
Geralt of Rivia, the mighty witcher, destroyer of monsters, is on his knees, offering to suck his cock. It's such a trusting, powerful, erotic, intoxicating image - it makes his heart race and his throat go dry. Callused fingers fall on the top of the witcher's head and pet it a couple of times to then make their way down and cup Geralt's face, his thumb brushing his lips.
"You're the most magnificent beauty I've ever had the pleasure to be with." He murmurs, a small tent already forming in his pants. "I cannot be quiet, Geralt - I never was, not in life and not in bed, and with you? I'll be singing until the priestesses of Melitele hear me all the way from their temple."
"That is the idea," he replies to the bard's cursing, amused by his enthusiastic response. His heart rate had been a tic or two higher from the embarrassment of their discussion, but it jumps the moment that Geralt is down on his knees. Good-- Geralt prefers to have a solid biological indicator of interest. A heart rate is always honest.
Jaskier's pretty musician hands flutter over his head like restless birds; gentle little touches, stroking his hair and pushing a few errant strands out of his face before moving down to his cheeks, his jaw. His thumb pushes against Geralt's lips and he keeps his mouth soft, letting the bard do as he pleased.
There's some bullshit that he says while Geralt is preoccupied with the burgeoning scent of arousal coming from the bard-- his usual lines, stupid things about beauty that Geralt is sure that he's heard him say to any number of barmaids and farmer's daughters. It must be practically muscle-memory for him by now, to spout off some romantic drivel to whoever has gone down on their knees for him, even though it's not necessary for a a witcher like Geralt. He would go down on his knees for him regardless of what words are said, if that's what pleases him.
"Silence is a skill that must be practiced," he says, reaching for the buttons on Jaskier's trousers. They are more easily undone than the fiddly ones at Jaskier's throat. "We have an opportunity--"
He is interrupted by a knock at the door, and just gets to his feet in time for it to open. Chireadan pokes his head in, and his gaze falls on Jaskier, sitting on the bed with his face flushed and trousers unbuttoned, and then to Geralt, standing before him with his face very carefully neutral.
"Sorry to interrupt," the elf says, "I wanted to catch you before you were ready for bed. There's, ah, there are a few nekkers that are wandering a bit close to the stables, and I was hoping you might chase them off before they bother the horses?"
Nekkers. Of fucking course, there are more monsters to deal with, right when he tries to move past fucking kissing with the bard. He would think that he's cursed, except that no curse is this fucking stupid.
"I have plenty of fun skills I can show you in bed, darling."
Silence is definitely not one of them, and he isn't interested in practicing it either. He loves the sound of his own voice, and he enjoys seeing his lovers react to his moaning and whimpering, letting them know how much he's enjoying them. And then there's Geralt, who needs to hear it even a hundred times more. Jaskier is going to worship that gorgeous body until he runs out of words, which -considering his education- isn't happening any time soon.
Geralt's hands reaches for his pants buttons and Jaskier's hips thrust up against them, the mere brush of fingers against his groin already making him gasp. He hadn't lied to Geralt when he had said he enjoys foreplay and build-up, but he's been pining after the witcher for twenty years, their finally coming together keeps being interrupted which causes even more sexual tension, he hasn't fucked since before captivity and he hasn't had an orgasm since Oxenfurt. Jaskier is desperate.
Which means he cries out to the ceiling when they get interrupted yet again.
"OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"
Hopefully that doesn't alert the nekkers, mmh?
This time, he doesn't help Geralt get ready, too frustrated and angry at the world. Like the drama queen he is, he falls face down on the bed and covers the back of his head with a pillow.
"This is the gods finally punishing me for loving freely and openly, for finding pleasure and affection in the most unlikely places, against their godly wishes." He whines away. "Years of need satisfied in various beds so they punish me by stealing from me the one I want the most."
The craving in those last two words can be tasted in the fucking air. Jaskier waves goodbye at Geralt, not trusting himself to even throw a kiss at him, and considers a good wanking like he did in Oxenfurt. But there's nothing sexy what's going on outside - he can hear the screeches and agony of the nekkers, can picture their smell in his mind. Eugh.
He ends up falling asleep while waiting for Geralt. Without an orgasm. Again.
And on top that, they get up at way too damn early in the morning, not even able to enjoy an extra hour or two of cuddling. Chireadan greets them with breakfast (great) and a very amused and knowing look (not so great when they haven't done anything to even deserve it). At least the mood is better when they find themselves on the road again, thanks to leaving Rinde behind and their little adventure in the bedroom (failure as it was, his balls may be blue but his heart is lighter for it). He fills the silence with his own voice like the old times, keeping his singing to a hush or hum not to call attention to them.
The babbling doesn't last as long as the old times, though, because Geralt is pushing really hard, and they aren't stopping to camp unless they absolutely have to. It tires Jaskier out so hard that he doesn't even try anything when pushing their bedrolls together, happy to be sleeping in the arms of a walking furnace in the middle of the nocturnal autumn chill.
So he's kinda tired and sleepy when one afternoon they stop by the river to refill their waterskin and let the horses drink, not quite catching what Geralt says while he's washing his face.
"What now?" Jaskier blinks up at him, trying to understand what has been said to him. Something about not sharing? "Geralt, my dear, I think there's enough river for all four of us."
Jaskier yowls his displeasure at the interruption like a cat in heat, and while Geralt certainly understands his frustration, he would appreciate it being expressed in a quieter fashion. Especially because he hears the nekkers become more agitated after his yelling fit, and that means that it's going to be an even more annoying job, and it is already deeply annoying. He buckles himself into his armor while the bard mopes, fetches his silver sword, and leaves the cottage to vent his frustrations on the monsters. Once those are dispatched, he follows their tracks back to a nest, and must go through the process of destroying that, too, lest more of the little bastards show up. And, because Geralt cannot possibly be given a break, even once, the nekkers had decided that the best place for their nest was in a hollow where all the run-off from the manure piles went.
Chireadan lets him use the rain barrel outside to clean himself afterwards.
They are able to leave early the next morning, with full bellies and a generous re-stocking of Geralt's medical supplies. All in all, it could have been a far worse stop, the previous night's mishap aside.
They make for the southern pass of the Kestrels, and the further north they go, the more bitter the air becomes. The morning frost can hardly be called morning, as it lingers until the afternoon some days. The cold is coming early, and it's what Geralt had feared-- there may already be snow on the way up to Kaer Morhen. Now it is a matter of hoping that there isn't much, that it's still traversable by a bard and the horses. Geralt cannot allocate precious time for rest, even though the pace is hard on Jaskier-- even he can't keep up his customary stream of chatter.
It gives Geralt time to think. Some might argue that Geralt with time to think is an eminently bad thing, but, if nothing else, the road is good for it. His thoughts are mostly preoccupied with this thing that's burgeoning between himself and Jaskier, the transition of their relationship from something strained and undefined right into would-be lovers. His mind keeps returning to what the bard had said in the cottage, about being open to the idea.
Geralt is aware of the fact that he is selfish. Bringing a third into the bed with them-- despite the fact that they had yet to even make it to bed themselves-- is another opportunity for Jaskier to find someone more suited for him, someone with more to offer than a mutant. Though it is likely that only a whore would deign to grace the bed of a witcher, even with Jaskier to improve the situation, the bard has fallen for whores before. Too risky.
And thoughts of that brings his mind to what he had thought of between himself and Jaskier and Yen. It's impossible, of course, unless the bard and the sorceress manage to suddenly put aside their quarrels with each other, which all seem to stem from a source awkwardly Geralt-adjacent. And though they do snipe at each other every time they are together, Yen doesn't do it out of disinterest; she would not speak to him if she found him boring. It has also not escaped his notice that, those squabbles aside, they are not dissimilar from each other-- they enjoy good food and good liquor and other fine things, prefer comforts and luxuries. Yen would make an excellent subject for any number of ballads, being just as steeped in, as Jaskier put it, death and destiny, heroics and heartbreak, with the bonus of being an incredible beauty and in possession of a reputation that doesn't need rehabilitation. Mages are well-respected wherever they go, and in her company, Jaskier would never need to sleep on a lice-infested palliasse, or make camp in the rain, or eat stringy rabbit stewed over a campfire. She would keep him dressed in as much fashionable silk as he desires. They would make a striking pair, his bright colors and her stark blacks, like a raven in the company of a nightingale.
One might think, in fact, that based off of temperament and interests, Jaskier and Yennefer are far better suited for each other than Geralt is for either one of them.
Sours the fantasy a little, that.
They stop one afternoon to water the horses and refill their skins, and the bard seems to appreciate the chance to wash himself up a little in the stream. The water is brilliantly cold, fresh run-off from the mountain peaks, and Geralt has kept his hands busy with the waterskins while Jaskier bathes his face. That's likely why he didn't hear him, he was too busy splashing water on himself to listen properly.
Geralt's mouth twists; of course there's enough fucking river, Jaskier. It's a river.
"Not that." He caps the waterskins once they're full, keeping his eyes on them as he gets them ready to hang back from the saddlebags. "What you said in the cottage, about a third."
It had been days ago, sure, but Jaskier couldn't have forgotten? Or perhaps he had, and Geralt was bringing it up for nothing. Geralt stands with the filled containers and carries them to the horses, attaching one to each and making sure that they're secure.
"I would prefer not to share."
But that is, ultimately, all it is-- a preference. A suggestion. If Jaskier insists, Geralt will still give him what he wants, even if that's a body that isn't his warming the sheets.
It takes Jaskier a moment to react. It's not like he doesn't remember, he definitely does, he isn't forgetting that night any time soon. But the sudden topic of conversation takes him by surprise, catches him unprepared. He can only blink for a couple of seconds until he finally murmurs an "oh".
Geralt approaches the horses, leaving him behind like the big coward he is, and Jaskier curses under his breath and hurries after him, feeling his heart getting stuck in his throat. Nobody else can cause that in him, only Geralt. Once upon a time, the Countess de Stael had been close, but not even her was a love this raw and passionate. This intimate and trusting. Jaskier had bedded her and hasn't bedded Geralt yet, but he can still say that any sign of trust from the witcher has meant more than burying his face between her thighs.
Jaskier has always looked for true love. He falls for everyone he meets and has fun with them, burns through crushes faster than Roach burns through sugar cubes. They're temporary, but that doesn't make them any less real, and he's left a piece of his heart with each them. What he's always sought, however, is someone to give his whole heart to. Someone that wouldn't cage him and would keep his interest after a week, a month, a year.
He found it when he was 18.
So he's absolutely honest when he replies, "It's alright, Geralt. We don't have to do anything you don't want to." Once he reaches Geralt's side, he grabs a witcher hand between both of his and gives it a squeeze. "I'll expect you to respect my preferences, and you can trust me to respect yours as well."
He comes even closer, pressing his whole body against Geralt's to remind him he's here and he belongs to him. He even drops a little kiss to the corner of the witcher's mouth, probably overwhelming Geralt with a deep sweet scent. Usually saying 'no thanks' to a particular kink shouldn't be a big deal, but this is Geralt and well...
"I know how hard is for you to tell me your wants, my dear witcher, so thank you for telling me this. Although I'm curious to know what prompted you to bring up the subject so suddenly." Now frowning a little, he tilts his head, blue eyes squinting a bit. "Have you been thinking about this since we left Rinde?"
Jaskier takes his refusal surprisingly gracefully; Geralt had thought that he might press or whine, as he sometimes does when the witcher denies him other little things. He only reaches forward and clasps one of Geralt's hands, squeezing it warmly and telling him things about respect and trust. And, well, of course Geralt would only ever do the things that he had been given permission for-- he would never take exploit him in such a way, use his inhuman strength or any other advantage to take something from him that isn't freely given. He'd sooner turn his own sword on himself.
It's hard to feel his warmth through all of their layers of clothing, but Jaskier presses against him and kisses him at the corner of his mouth, sweet and soft. Geralt closes his eyes, just for a moment, and breathes when he's leaned in close, and--
floral oil, lute wax, affection, a barely-there spicy hint of lust, meadowsweet that he'd picked to feed to Pegasus and Roach as a treat, water where the fringe of his hair got wet--
commits this moment to memory.
"Hm." A neutral hum again, though Jaskier has, in twenty years, gained the ability to read past even his most carefully ambivalent tones. "There has been time."
The closest to an admission that he'll get.
"If you're finished, we should keep moving. There will only be a few more hours of daylight."
Is he finished? With the water, yes. With Geralt? Absolutely not.
A neutral hum again, oh dear. And time? Time to think about what? Potential threesomes? The hows and the whos? He guesses Geralt has probably never had a threesome, considering his usual limited companion options, but Jaskier wouldn't have minded paying for a whore even if he wasn't his favorite choice. Hell, maybe with him as a mediator, he could've chatted someone up and--
Oh. Of course. How could he not see it before?
"You were worried."
Another kiss is in order, this time fully on Geralt's mouth, sweet and tender and just full of affection, a hand even reaching up to cup Geralt's face and bring him down to make their foreheads touch when they pull apart. He hopes his silly comment back on Rinde hasn't been haunting the witcher's mind too badly, but this is Geralt, and Jaskier knows how low his self-esteem can go. Thank the gods he spoke up about it instead of bottling it up, though - Jaskier is so proud of him right now.
"I love you, Geralt of Rivia. Don't you dare forget that. This--" He points a flapping finger between them. "-means we're a couple now. I've been the witcher's bard for twenty years, now it just happens to carry a new meaning. Remember, that's why I got--"
He touches his chest and blinks when he finds nothing there. Oh, of course. He hid it back in Rinde! Since they still have a few days of road and forests left, Jaskier takes the chance to do a bit more of showing off (even if it's just the two of them) before they arrive to Ard Carraigh, where he knows he'll have to hide it again.
After letting go of Geralt, he reaches inside his cloak, takes the wolf brooch off his doublet and puts it back outside, this time over the heart area of the cloak. Then he grabs Geralt's hand and puts it on top of it, wondering if even through all the layers of cloth he can still hear his heartbeat.
"A wolf to claim and protect the songbird's heart."
Housewives worry, overwrought bards worry, witchers do no such thing. At most, witchers brood, which is far more serious and contemplative than mere worrying. And it's also something that Geralt has immense practice in, he is a champion brooder. He broods with nuance.
The impact of his protest, however, is probably deeply undercut by the sweet kiss he gets after it, the way that Jaskier presses their foreheads together and Geralt just lets him. He lets him do whatever he wants, touch his face, pull him around, take things out of his hands, with impunity. Says he loves him. Something in Geralt's chest twists up again at the words.
Jaskier switches the silver wolf brooch from his doublet to the outside of his cloak, and the display is only acceptable because they're in the middle of nowhere right now. Once they get close to Ard Carraigh and the road gets busier, he'll have to hide it again, put it underneath his cloak-- formerly Geralt's. The witcher himself will also have to hide his hair, since it's his most noticeable feature.
"Keep that under your cloak in Ard Carraigh so that I don't have to protect your body as well."
His hand rests over Jaskier's heart, and though he can't feel the beat of it through all of that fabric, he can still hear it. Steady and even, as though counting out beats per measure in a composition.
"If we keep this pace, we'll be in town by the day after tomorrow. After that, we follow the Gwenllech until we reach the Witcher's trail. There's a hunting cabin about halfway up where we can take shelter."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
But.
He's also going to want tidings of Yennefer, which is both a sore subject for him and Jaskier and also one that Geralt likely won't be able to satisfy the elf on. He hasn't seen her for a year, and the last he had heard of her had been some rumors about the Battle of Sodden. She's doing gods only know what now-- or, for all he knows, she could be dead. But that's another thought that makes his chest do strange things, and he dismisses it. Yennefer of Vengerberg is not dead, because Death is neither strong enough nor stubborn enough to keep her.
He glances at Jaskier's nervously flapping hands, a deeply unsubtle gesture. He hums, then answers back in an undertone-- "Mostly harmless."
The prospect of free room and board for them and their horses is too much to pass up. Hopefully, they could use their travel as an excuse to turn in early and avoid as much interaction as possible, then leave as early as possible. Maximum benefit, minimum awkwardness.
"We would appreciate your... hospitality," he says, only gritting his teeth a little at that last word. But that's fine, no one expects good manners from him.
no subject
Chireadan, meanwhile, is quite pleased with this turn of events and proceeds to guide them back to his place. Which happens to be, he explains, a little healer business he's set up for himself. It isn't anywhere as big as an inn, but it does have more room than the average cottage, which means he has enough extra space for two guests and their horses.
It smells of herbs and incense inside, quite strong even for Jaskier's nose, but otherwise it's incredibly clean and well taken care of. Which makes sense, because wounds should be tended in better contexts than tubs filled will selkiemore guts (ahem). It's actually a pretty decent place to stay at, and Jaskier would've easily relaxed in it if circumstances were different.
(When he takes off his cloak, he realizes the brooch is still visible, this time on his doublet. Taking it off again would make call attention to it, so he leaves it there - at least inside there won't be other prying eyes. Under all the bad memories and anxiety this town brings out in him, he can admit it feels nice to have the little wolf out in the open.)
Chireadan indicates two chairs for them to sit at a decently size table and proceeds to take out the tankards and ale, which isn't court quality (obviously) but it isn't the piss-tasting shit from backwater taverns either, and that's already a win.
"We don't have many travelers passing by at this time of the year. Snow will start to fall soon." He explains with his back turned to them, busy cutting some bread and cheese for his guests. "We've heard about the fall of Cintra, some refugees even made it here, but didn't stay for long." When he finally comes to the table with a platter of food, his looks is quite serious. "Which is why I'm obliged to ask, if you excuse my indiscretion: are you being followed as well?"
Jaskier suddenly becomes extra aware of the scars on his body and, with his heart beating quite loudly in his ears, puts down the ale with a little more strength than intended.
"We are not." He replies after glancing at Geralt. "We come from Oxenfurt. No Nilfgaardians soldiers in that area-"
There's a puff of air at the end of its sentence - a word left unspoken. Yet?
no subject
They sit at the elf's table and have decent ale served to them, which Geralt accepts with a curt nod. The whole cottage smells like various herbs and tinctures, hardly unexpected for a healer. Even so, he makes sure that he drinks from his ale before Jaskier does from his own, checking by both smell and taste for any additives. He doesn't expect anything like that from Chireadan, but better to be safe than drugged.
Jaskier's heart jumps at the mention of Cintra and Nilfgaard, his discomfort creeping into his scent.
"There is no significant Nilfgaardian presence in Oxenfurt," he confirms. "And we were not followed."
Geralt had made sure of that when they were traveling. And while it isn't impossible that Nilfgaard could have spies or sympathizers in the city, Geralt had told no one of their ultimate destination, and he couldn't imagine that Jaskier would be so foolish as to spread that information around, either. Not with how recent his kidnapping was. Kaer Morhen is a well enough kept secret; very few outside of the witchers of the Wolf School are aware that it survived its second sacking.
He will not lead Nilfgaard to the only place that he has ever called a home.
"Regardless, we will not linger."
no subject
Jaskier nods too as he munches on some of the food they've been offered. They've been on the road for quite a few days already, it's good to have something other than fruit and dried meat. Chireadan asks a few more questions to know the general state of things - the current Nilfgaard situation and how the other kingdoms are handling it. Luckily for him, unlike Geralt, Jaskier has been keeping up with such matters and has the vocabulary to explain them.
Which eventually takes him to mention the Battle of Sodden.
He gives no names - why would he? He doesn't know those kinds of details, only that Aretuza was there. But of course Chireadan jumps on it without hesitation. Bollocks.
"Was she there too?"
A name isn't needed, it's obvious to know whom he's talking about. His eyes are curious and hungry for the information, even after all these years... well, it's not like Jaskier can talk, now can he? He wants to feel sympathetic for the poor guy, offer comfort and an ear that understands, but just thinking about her (in here, of all places) makes his scent bitter as hell. Jaskier tries to hide his face behind the tankard, but he can't go on without replying.
There's nothing to worry about, he reminds himself. Geralt said he wouldn't take her back. He is the one with a silver wolf on his chest right now. His stomach turns anyway.
"I don't have an answer to that question. I haven't seen or heard of her in over a year." After a pause, he decides to add- "I'm sorry."
Because no matter how bitter he feels, at the end of the day Jaskier is still a romantic, the one person who can understand Chireadan the best, and his heart does feel for him. At least a bit.
no subject
Additionally-- Geralt should never be asked to carry a conversation. It's a task that's doomed to failure.
But, of course, it's inevitable that the conversation shifts to Yennefer, especially after Jaskier mentions the battle at Sodden Hill. The sorceresses of Aretuza were there, so asking after her makes logical sense, even if the question sours Jaskier's scent almost immediately. The bard maintains his composure well, though, provides a level and neutral answer. Chireadan looks to Geralt after, as though he might have some other answer for him-- Geralt replies with a one-shouldered shrug and a shake of his head.
"Don't know."
He's not nearly as sympathetic as Jaskier is, though, perhaps, he should be. He has no desire to continue to talk about Yennefer, however, not after everything that has transpired between them. He doesn't want to have to explain to Chireadan why he doesn't know where the sorceress is, or whether she is all right.
no subject
Right now though, considering his current mood and how he feels about her in general, he can't help feeling a bit smug over the fact Geralt hasn't seen her for so long and doesn't try to check if Chireadan saw her again after the djinn incident either. It's such a huge change from that I'm in that cursed them a year ago, and Jaskier is living for it.
In a second, you'll be wrapped around my finger, because I can do it better. There's no other, so when's it gonna sink in? She's so stupid, what the hell were you thinking?
"I understand." The elf's eyes are down, looking at his own hands on the table, probably feeling exposed and embarrassed. "It was bold of me to assume you'd still be in contact with her, my apologies. My eyes must've deceived me that day - I thought I saw a special spark in that scene through the window." He looks at Jaskier then-- "Wouldn't you agree?"
...and Jaskier chokes on his ale. He knew this would be an awful idea, he knew it! Patting his chest, Jaskier suddenly stands up, the chair falling behind him. He's a ball of nerves and he isn't hiding it. Geralt's possible reaction to this... he isn't sure he wants to find out, but the road mood is already somber enough. Can't have another thing added to the pile.
"Thank you! For supper. It was very-" Here comes the flapping hands. "Very nice of you to receive us in your home and I'd love to-- to, ah, sit and chat about the wonders of this world we live in but my-" He glances at Geralt, swallows, then turns to Chireadan again, who is staring at the bard with wide eyes and a very confused expression. "-companion and I need to rest, it's been an incredibly long trip and we should leave early in the morning not to waster another second of precious autumn time."
Still in shock, Chireadan nods and points at the door on the left, a guest room usually assigned to patients but free for their use today. Jaskier rushes into it without another word, and the elf turns to Geralt with a shrug.
"Good night?"
no subject
Geralt watches him, head tilted slightly and brow furrowed. Chireadan points him to the guest room and Jaskier bolts for it like he's got a cuckolded husband on his heels.
"Hm." The witcher looks back to Chireadan, who both looks and smells immensely confused. That made two of them. "...Good night, I suppose."
That's one way to end the evening early. Geralt would've probably chosen something a little less ridiculous, but it's Jaskier, so maybe he can't expect anything less than dramatic.
He stands and follows after Jaskier, closing the door to the guest room behind him. Geralt breathes deeply, ignoring the clamoring herbal scents in the air and focusing on Jaskier's; he smells mostly of... embarrassment? Panic?
Geralt is too tired to try to parse through what the hell is going on in Jaskier's head by scent alone.
"What the fuck was that, Jaskier."
no subject
Apparently yes, it is too much.
"Nothing! It was nothing!" His eyes don't meet Geralt's, his voice is a little high. "You know me, dear witcher, always needing to make a grand entrance and a grand exit."
Jaskier is nervous, panicking, and a drama queen. Which means he babbles away, as if that could mask his emotions, as if it could help him cover up what he wants to hide, when in fact it actually reveals more than it should. With both boots off, Jaskier lets his back fall on the bed because oh, look at that, the ceiling looks incredibly interesting at the moment.
"Don't listen to that preposterous elf. He doesn't know what he's talking about. I know I won't be standing for that-- that..." A hand is raised to indicate what is on the other side of the door. "Delusion! Yes! That's correct, delusion! There's no way he saw any kind of 'special connection'--" He airquotes with both hands, eyerolling. "--between you and Yennefer when we found you fuc--"
Jaskier's eyes widen when he realizes he's let his mouth roll for too long, both hands coming down to cover his lips. Worry taking over his scent, he turns his head slowly on the bed to look at Geralt, as if waiting for the witcher to snarl at him.
"...we thought you were dead?" He says after lowering his fingers a little, as if that explained everything.
(No, Jaskier, it doesn't explain shit.)
no subject
Jaskier's hands clap over his mouth before he can get the last word out, but fuck is basically one of Geralt's favorite words, so he knows the shape of it even from someone else's mouth. So that's what's gotten Jaskier so upset-- he saw the two of them in the aftermath of the house collapsing, when they had had some kind of... victory fuck? Glad-to-be-alive sex? Something like that. There was a lot of adrenaline involved, and she had been very beautiful sprawled among the pillows and debris, and the effects of his djinn wish would've just been kicking in.
She had still been very beautiful when Geralt had left her sleeping there, too.
Geralt's mouth twists a little at the revelation. Is he thrilled about it? No. Can he do anything about it? Also no. Jaskier saw what he saw, Geralt can't change that. He can't un-fuck Yennefer, no matter how much the bard might want him to.
"Didn't take you for a voyeur," he says, walking into the room to hang up his cloak. No sense standing at the door. "Is this going to be a problem?"
no subject
With blue eyes following Geralt around the room, Jaskier slowly sits up, and this time is his turn to be utterly confused. At least the panicking hour is over, although he's still kinda nervous, not knowing what the hell is going on. Geralt is being so... chill about it, as if Jaskier had told him he ate the last piece of cheese they were saving.
"Whaaaaat is going to be a problem?" He suddenly feels eighteen again, wondering what don't exist. Some things never change, Geralt expressing his thoughts like shit is one of them. "Geralt, I-- I thought you would be mad at me. For--" Flapping gesture of his hand. "--watching. I didn't stay the whole time, by the way, I swear. Chireadan dragged me away before--"
Oh fuck, he's screwing up again. Because what does that imply? That he would've watched it all if he had the chance?
His stomach turns when his brain provides the answer to that question - not something he wants to explore now. (Or ever.)
"...so, ah, yeah. Sorry?"
no subject
"Could've lived my life without knowing that you watched," he grunts, dropping his potion bag to the floor. What had he done, stood in the window and looked in on them while Geralt was on top of her, fucking her like a beast? Listened to his groans and her breathy sighs as he'd pleasured her?
Had he liked it?
That's a thought that doesn't need to be investigated.
Geralt sighs and props his swords up against the wall. He should have finished his ale, or brought it with him. It had been decent, and the ale's only going to get shittier the further north they go. Having it now might actually give him the godsdamned strength to get through this horror of a conversation.
"Is it going to be a problem," he clarifies, "every time you remember that I've fucked Yen?"
Though this particular memory was jogged because of the voyeurism thing. Geralt's head turns sharply from his swords to focus on the bard again.
"Tell me that's the only time you've watched me fuck her, Jaskier."
Because if the answer to that is anything but an absolutely truthful yes, than Geralt would be properly mad at him. On account of what the fuck, Jaskier.
no subject
Jaskier drags his hands down his face. This is a conversation they're actually having, huh. They haven't even gotten to fuck themselves yet, but Yennefer keeps climbing back into their love lives. He tries to tell himself that maybe this is for the best, to get out twenty years of shenanigans out of their minds before jumping into things with a clean slate, but it's hard to appreciate the moment of ~communication~ when Geralt is asking those kinds of questions.
"No, Geralt, it won't be a problem as long as you don't bring her up while we're having a moment. And I would like to believe not even you can be that tone deaf."
Geralt is socially awkward but he isn't dumb, right? Right. The next comment has Jaskier groaning and falling back on the bed again. Do I come off as that kind of person, he wants to ask, and stops himself just in time because he already knows the answer. What is he, some kind of pervert now? Just because that one lovely married couple asked him to sit in the corner and watch while they did it and what a lovely experience that had been...
Bad, bad brain.
"Fuck, Geralt, yes! That's the only time!" It comes out a little snappy, quite frustrated. "Because every time she showed up after that I'd try to be as far away as possible from the room you two were in, trying to find a stable boy or blacksmith that would help me forget the fact you weren't fucking me."
...ah. His mouth is running again, bollocks. He can't help it, it's what happens when his emotions explode like this - if he doesn't let them out, he'd explode himself.
"I thought you were dead." He repeats, his heart shrinking at the memory. If he's fucking things up with a very chatty mouth, may as well go all the way. "And suddenly the bloody elf tells me you aren't, and I had to see it with my own fucking eyes and what I found there..." With a sigh, his voice lowers to a hush. "I never thought I'd see you like that. I thought it was something you only did in brothels." He didn't think Geralt fucked people other than whores, he means. Because that's one of the excuses he used to tell himself on why he couldn't conquer the witcher's heart. "Heartbreak kicked in later. At that very moment, you looked exquisite, better than I could ever imagine, and her..." He louts a frustrated grunt he picked from Geralt. "...a very sexy but insane witch indeed."
So yes. He liked it.
no subject
Which is something that Geralt is not thinking about. Because Jaskier did no such thing.
Right.
And Geralt does remember the way that Jaskier would smell after he parted ways with Yen, and if he had more often reeked of male spend than female, well, he hadn't noticed at the time. Maybe he hadn't wanted to notice-- not because he had any particular qualm with Jaskier's dalliances with men, but for what the timing would imply. What it meant for Jaskier to seek comfort in the arms of strong men whenever Geralt left to bed his sorceress.
There really had been signs of what Jaskier wanted, Geralt was beginning to see, over the past twenty years. The witcher was a master tracker, could pick up a three day old trail in the dark during a rainstorm, but the tracks that Jaskier had left for him weren't ones that he had been trained to spot. He had missed them in the same way that Jaskier would miss a deer trail in the woods.
And the actual voyeurism situation is far more understandable when Jaskier takes the time to actually describe it; merely a mix of relief that Geralt had not been killed in the collapse, needing to see for himself that he was whole and uninjured, and some exceptionally poor timing. Geralt hums at the part about only doing things like that in brothels, since it isn't an inaccurate statement and he usually was only doing those sorts of things after having paid for them. But by the way he says that last thing, calls Geralt exquisite and Yen-- well, he'd called her sexy but insane in the past, and it's hardly inaccurate-- it almost sounds like an admission. An admission, perhaps, that Jaskier had not solely been interested in only one half of that equation.
"I-- hm."
Geralt doesn't truly intend to think about it, but the image comes to him anyway, unbidden-- the three of them in a bed together, Jaskier on his back and Geralt between his spread legs, his hands pressed bruisingly tight to his hips, the bard's face buried between Yen's lovely thighs--
It would never happen. Geralt is an insufficient mediator between Jaskier and Yennefer, and nothing on this earth would convince them to be in a room together and not at each others' throats. Hell, Yen would kill him on the spot for just the suggestion. Another thing for him to not think about.
"Then it doesn't matter," he says, "because it won't be happening again. Not with her."
And Jaskier won't have to run into the arms of any more blacksmiths or stable boys.
no subject
It seems they've come to some sort of understanding, and Jaskier is relieved to say the least. But the subject doesn't go away, not entirely - something is still bothering him. With his body now resting on his elbows, Jaskier raises his head and squints his eyes at Geralt. After two decades, the bard has come to understand the little nuances behind each of Geralt's grunts, and that one had been... how to explain this...
Considering.
"...bollocks. You were thinking about it, weren't you? About the three of us." Jaskier reaches for the pillow and throws is arm back to toss it... but in the end he covers his face and screams into it, just like he had done back in Oxenfurt. Maybe this can be his way to release sexual frustration. "I want to throw this at you so badly right now. But-- fuck." Hands are thrown in the air and he huffs as they land on his lap. "I don't know what I would've done if Chireadan hadn't dragged me away. And later on, to the thought of it, I--"
Jaskier doesn't blush often - as experienced as he is, there's little that can cause shame in him, at least of the romantic and/or sexual kind. But his cheeks do turn pink and his eyes look at the wall as his hands make a motion near his groin to indicate the stroking of an imaginary phallic form.
Welp. That's out in the open now. Maybe this helps with the whole 'clean state' deal he was thinking about a moment ago. It's awkward and weird and he doesn't want to talk about Yennefer anymore, he doesn't want her to be part of their relationship, but damn it feels good to sweep all this out of the house.
"She CAN'T know about this, Geralt!" He shakes a finger at him, finally looking at the witcher again, cheeks still red. "I'm open to the idea of threesomes in the future, if that's something that appeals to you as well." Because it definitely does appeal to him, speaking from experience here. "But not with her. I would probably not even be able to perform around her, and I'm not talking about my singing."
no subject
A neutral sort of hum, neither a confirmation nor denial.
Jaskier screams into the pillow again, and this appears to be a new habit of his-- yelling his lungs out into something that muffles the sound to release sexual frustration. To be honest, it's a far better solution than going out to fuck the stable boy, so Geralt can live with the increased possibility of getting a pillow thrown at his head. He's had worse things thrown in his direction.
Geralt raises one eyebrow as the bard turns pink and mentions the thought of it, and the other joins it when Jaskier's hand makes a very obvious pumping motion at cock-height. He perhaps oughtn't be surprised that Jaskier took care of his own tensions in such a way after the fact, but it's a bit different to be told as such directly to his face.
(He does not, and by gods never will tell Jaskier about the times when their inn rooms had been adjacent and he either had not had the coin for or there simply wasn't a brothel available, and he had been able to hear everything that the bard had done with his conquests through the thin walls. He had relieved tensions of his own, telling himself that it was nothing more than a simple biological response.)
"If you've thought about it in her presence," he says, trying not to think too much about how appealing the flush on Jaskier's face is, "she likely already knows. She can read minds, Jaskier."
So... there's probably nothing to bother hiding? It may not be much of a comfort to the bard, though, knowing that his terrible secret is likely not a secret at all. And, really, Yen had given him a number of cutting, knowing looks when he'd been staring a little too intently at the bard, so a number of Geralt's secrets are likely not secrets to her, either.
"And she would kill the both of us for suggesting it to her, so you'd hardly need to worry about your performance."
Geralt crosses the room and takes the pillow away from Jaskier, tossing it to the other side of the bed. Then, with that half-exasperated, half-amused tone that the bard is so familiar with,
"Any other revelations for me today?"
no subject
"The only thoughts I have whenever I'm around that bloody witch are one-" He raises one finger. "How to insult her, and two-" Another finger joins the first one. "how to get rid of her. So we're good. It was a one time thing and it's never happening again, let's leave this subject behind us now."
There are other thoughts he's had around her that he doesn't mention. The jealousy, the worry about Geralt ending in pieces again. Hopefully those won't show up again now that Geralt is his. And boy, isn't that a lovely thought? He got Geralt's word back in Oxenfurt and he does trust him with his life, but it's still pretty nice to hear again how much Geralt doesn't want her anymore. He wants to stay here, with Jaskier, take him to his family and his home. It makes him feel all warm inside and puts a smile on his face.
I think it's time for you to go / Away from my man and me / That's the way it's going to be. ♪
Suddenly Geralt is next to him, teasing him with that question and that affectionate tone that makes Jaskier's musician ears tingle. It should be weird, shouldn't it? How the somber mood Rinde brought onto them has suddenly been lifted, and now well, here they are, joking about this whole fiasco. Jaskier wouldn't have it any other way though, it's what sharing his life with a witcher is like. Never normal, never boring - that's why he loves him so, why he can actually settle down with him and still be thoroughly satisfied at the end of the week.
(The fact Geralt doesn't confirm or deny being interesting in threesomes doesn't go unnoticed, but Jaskier is fine with that. They can talk about their wants and needs in bed later on.)
"I don't think so? If you haven't figured out by now that I've masturbated to the thought of you plenty of times the last two decades, then you haven't been paying attention." His voice is light, filled with affection for the witcher. Geralt is being so understanding, Jaskier feels silly for having been so worried in the first place. "Now come here and kiss me, you marvelous wolf."
From his spot on the bed, he raises his arms and makes 'grabby hands' at Geralt, his head tilting with a grin when a thought comes to his mind.
"Do you think Chireadan would hear us if I blew you right now?"
no subject
Geralt huffs a laugh when Jaskier mentions all of his... late-night indiscretions. The times that he had wandered off from camp to have a piss that ended up taking twenty minutes; the long soaks in rivers; the noises that he could hear even when he was off hunting and Jaskier was 'tending the fire'. Tending to something, certainly.
"You aren't as subtle as you think you are," he says, definitely amused now. "I could smell you every time, Jaskier. And hear you, most times."
Witcher senses. Terrible for privacy, useful for not getting eaten alive by monsters.
He leans down to satisfy Jaskier's request for a kiss, pressing it against his grinning mouth. It's short, cut off by the bard's chatter and constant need to speak whatever comes to his mind. This time, though? Geralt is quite fond of his ideas.
"Hm." Geralt would be able to maintain his composure if Jaskier wanted to do such a thing, but it would also take him an absurd amount of time to bring him off that way. He would grow bored and have a sore jaw before he ever brought the witcher to completion. He could offer an alternative, instead; Geralt turns his head a little and scrapes his teeth over Jaskier's earlobe, murmurs to him, "I think a better question is whether you think you can stay quiet for me."
He sinks down to his knees in front of Jaskier.
no subject
"You could?" He gulps and licks his lips. "And you didn't mind."
Bloody hell, all this time Geralt has been dealing with Jaskier's masturbating habits and he never said a word about it. Which, when it comes to Geralt, is saying a lot, because he has complained about every single aspect of Jaskier's personality at some point or another. He's told Jaskier to shut up how many times by now? But never to his moaning, never told him to wash away the smells...
The witcher stood by his side and absorbed it all. Bollocks.
Jaskier bites his lip, already feeling his blood boiling, and it immediately starts traveling south when he hears Geralt talk directly into his ear like that. He's always had a thing for that deep voice, and now that it is dirty talking to him, Jaskier can't stop a whimper from echoing in the room.
Which transforms into a groan when the witcher sinks down to his knees in front of him - Jaskier stops breathing for a second there.
"Fuck, Geralt."
Geralt of Rivia, the mighty witcher, destroyer of monsters, is on his knees, offering to suck his cock. It's such a trusting, powerful, erotic, intoxicating image - it makes his heart race and his throat go dry. Callused fingers fall on the top of the witcher's head and pet it a couple of times to then make their way down and cup Geralt's face, his thumb brushing his lips.
"You're the most magnificent beauty I've ever had the pleasure to be with." He murmurs, a small tent already forming in his pants. "I cannot be quiet, Geralt - I never was, not in life and not in bed, and with you? I'll be singing until the priestesses of Melitele hear me all the way from their temple."
no subject
Jaskier's pretty musician hands flutter over his head like restless birds; gentle little touches, stroking his hair and pushing a few errant strands out of his face before moving down to his cheeks, his jaw. His thumb pushes against Geralt's lips and he keeps his mouth soft, letting the bard do as he pleased.
There's some bullshit that he says while Geralt is preoccupied with the burgeoning scent of arousal coming from the bard-- his usual lines, stupid things about beauty that Geralt is sure that he's heard him say to any number of barmaids and farmer's daughters. It must be practically muscle-memory for him by now, to spout off some romantic drivel to whoever has gone down on their knees for him, even though it's not necessary for a a witcher like Geralt. He would go down on his knees for him regardless of what words are said, if that's what pleases him.
"Silence is a skill that must be practiced," he says, reaching for the buttons on Jaskier's trousers. They are more easily undone than the fiddly ones at Jaskier's throat. "We have an opportunity--"
He is interrupted by a knock at the door, and just gets to his feet in time for it to open. Chireadan pokes his head in, and his gaze falls on Jaskier, sitting on the bed with his face flushed and trousers unbuttoned, and then to Geralt, standing before him with his face very carefully neutral.
"Sorry to interrupt," the elf says, "I wanted to catch you before you were ready for bed. There's, ah, there are a few nekkers that are wandering a bit close to the stables, and I was hoping you might chase them off before they bother the horses?"
Nekkers. Of fucking course, there are more monsters to deal with, right when he tries to move past fucking kissing with the bard. He would think that he's cursed, except that no curse is this fucking stupid.
"Fine. I'll look into it."
no subject
Silence is definitely not one of them, and he isn't interested in practicing it either. He loves the sound of his own voice, and he enjoys seeing his lovers react to his moaning and whimpering, letting them know how much he's enjoying them. And then there's Geralt, who needs to hear it even a hundred times more. Jaskier is going to worship that gorgeous body until he runs out of words, which -considering his education- isn't happening any time soon.
Geralt's hands reaches for his pants buttons and Jaskier's hips thrust up against them, the mere brush of fingers against his groin already making him gasp. He hadn't lied to Geralt when he had said he enjoys foreplay and build-up, but he's been pining after the witcher for twenty years, their finally coming together keeps being interrupted which causes even more sexual tension, he hasn't fucked since before captivity and he hasn't had an orgasm since Oxenfurt. Jaskier is desperate.
Which means he cries out to the ceiling when they get interrupted yet again.
"OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"
Hopefully that doesn't alert the nekkers, mmh?
This time, he doesn't help Geralt get ready, too frustrated and angry at the world. Like the drama queen he is, he falls face down on the bed and covers the back of his head with a pillow.
"This is the gods finally punishing me for loving freely and openly, for finding pleasure and affection in the most unlikely places, against their godly wishes." He whines away. "Years of need satisfied in various beds so they punish me by stealing from me the one I want the most."
The craving in those last two words can be tasted in the fucking air. Jaskier waves goodbye at Geralt, not trusting himself to even throw a kiss at him, and considers a good wanking like he did in Oxenfurt. But there's nothing sexy what's going on outside - he can hear the screeches and agony of the nekkers, can picture their smell in his mind. Eugh.
He ends up falling asleep while waiting for Geralt. Without an orgasm. Again.
And on top that, they get up at way too damn early in the morning, not even able to enjoy an extra hour or two of cuddling. Chireadan greets them with breakfast (great) and a very amused and knowing look (not so great when they haven't done anything to even deserve it). At least the mood is better when they find themselves on the road again, thanks to leaving Rinde behind and their little adventure in the bedroom (failure as it was, his balls may be blue but his heart is lighter for it). He fills the silence with his own voice like the old times, keeping his singing to a hush or hum not to call attention to them.
The babbling doesn't last as long as the old times, though, because Geralt is pushing really hard, and they aren't stopping to camp unless they absolutely have to. It tires Jaskier out so hard that he doesn't even try anything when pushing their bedrolls together, happy to be sleeping in the arms of a walking furnace in the middle of the nocturnal autumn chill.
So he's kinda tired and sleepy when one afternoon they stop by the river to refill their waterskin and let the horses drink, not quite catching what Geralt says while he's washing his face.
"What now?" Jaskier blinks up at him, trying to understand what has been said to him. Something about not sharing? "Geralt, my dear, I think there's enough river for all four of us."
no subject
Chireadan lets him use the rain barrel outside to clean himself afterwards.
They are able to leave early the next morning, with full bellies and a generous re-stocking of Geralt's medical supplies. All in all, it could have been a far worse stop, the previous night's mishap aside.
They make for the southern pass of the Kestrels, and the further north they go, the more bitter the air becomes. The morning frost can hardly be called morning, as it lingers until the afternoon some days. The cold is coming early, and it's what Geralt had feared-- there may already be snow on the way up to Kaer Morhen. Now it is a matter of hoping that there isn't much, that it's still traversable by a bard and the horses. Geralt cannot allocate precious time for rest, even though the pace is hard on Jaskier-- even he can't keep up his customary stream of chatter.
It gives Geralt time to think. Some might argue that Geralt with time to think is an eminently bad thing, but, if nothing else, the road is good for it. His thoughts are mostly preoccupied with this thing that's burgeoning between himself and Jaskier, the transition of their relationship from something strained and undefined right into would-be lovers. His mind keeps returning to what the bard had said in the cottage, about being open to the idea.
Geralt is aware of the fact that he is selfish. Bringing a third into the bed with them-- despite the fact that they had yet to even make it to bed themselves-- is another opportunity for Jaskier to find someone more suited for him, someone with more to offer than a mutant. Though it is likely that only a whore would deign to grace the bed of a witcher, even with Jaskier to improve the situation, the bard has fallen for whores before. Too risky.
And thoughts of that brings his mind to what he had thought of between himself and Jaskier and Yen. It's impossible, of course, unless the bard and the sorceress manage to suddenly put aside their quarrels with each other, which all seem to stem from a source awkwardly Geralt-adjacent. And though they do snipe at each other every time they are together, Yen doesn't do it out of disinterest; she would not speak to him if she found him boring. It has also not escaped his notice that, those squabbles aside, they are not dissimilar from each other-- they enjoy good food and good liquor and other fine things, prefer comforts and luxuries. Yen would make an excellent subject for any number of ballads, being just as steeped in, as Jaskier put it, death and destiny, heroics and heartbreak, with the bonus of being an incredible beauty and in possession of a reputation that doesn't need rehabilitation. Mages are well-respected wherever they go, and in her company, Jaskier would never need to sleep on a lice-infested palliasse, or make camp in the rain, or eat stringy rabbit stewed over a campfire. She would keep him dressed in as much fashionable silk as he desires. They would make a striking pair, his bright colors and her stark blacks, like a raven in the company of a nightingale.
One might think, in fact, that based off of temperament and interests, Jaskier and Yennefer are far better suited for each other than Geralt is for either one of them.
Sours the fantasy a little, that.
They stop one afternoon to water the horses and refill their skins, and the bard seems to appreciate the chance to wash himself up a little in the stream. The water is brilliantly cold, fresh run-off from the mountain peaks, and Geralt has kept his hands busy with the waterskins while Jaskier bathes his face. That's likely why he didn't hear him, he was too busy splashing water on himself to listen properly.
Geralt's mouth twists; of course there's enough fucking river, Jaskier. It's a river.
"Not that." He caps the waterskins once they're full, keeping his eyes on them as he gets them ready to hang back from the saddlebags. "What you said in the cottage, about a third."
It had been days ago, sure, but Jaskier couldn't have forgotten? Or perhaps he had, and Geralt was bringing it up for nothing. Geralt stands with the filled containers and carries them to the horses, attaching one to each and making sure that they're secure.
"I would prefer not to share."
But that is, ultimately, all it is-- a preference. A suggestion. If Jaskier insists, Geralt will still give him what he wants, even if that's a body that isn't his warming the sheets.
no subject
Geralt approaches the horses, leaving him behind like the big coward he is, and Jaskier curses under his breath and hurries after him, feeling his heart getting stuck in his throat. Nobody else can cause that in him, only Geralt. Once upon a time, the Countess de Stael had been close, but not even her was a love this raw and passionate. This intimate and trusting. Jaskier had bedded her and hasn't bedded Geralt yet, but he can still say that any sign of trust from the witcher has meant more than burying his face between her thighs.
Jaskier has always looked for true love. He falls for everyone he meets and has fun with them, burns through crushes faster than Roach burns through sugar cubes. They're temporary, but that doesn't make them any less real, and he's left a piece of his heart with each them. What he's always sought, however, is someone to give his whole heart to. Someone that wouldn't cage him and would keep his interest after a week, a month, a year.
He found it when he was 18.
So he's absolutely honest when he replies, "It's alright, Geralt. We don't have to do anything you don't want to." Once he reaches Geralt's side, he grabs a witcher hand between both of his and gives it a squeeze. "I'll expect you to respect my preferences, and you can trust me to respect yours as well."
He comes even closer, pressing his whole body against Geralt's to remind him he's here and he belongs to him. He even drops a little kiss to the corner of the witcher's mouth, probably overwhelming Geralt with a deep sweet scent. Usually saying 'no thanks' to a particular kink shouldn't be a big deal, but this is Geralt and well...
"I know how hard is for you to tell me your wants, my dear witcher, so thank you for telling me this. Although I'm curious to know what prompted you to bring up the subject so suddenly." Now frowning a little, he tilts his head, blue eyes squinting a bit. "Have you been thinking about this since we left Rinde?"
no subject
It's hard to feel his warmth through all of their layers of clothing, but Jaskier presses against him and kisses him at the corner of his mouth, sweet and soft. Geralt closes his eyes, just for a moment, and breathes when he's leaned in close, and--
floral oil, lute wax, affection, a barely-there spicy hint of lust, meadowsweet that he'd picked to feed to Pegasus and Roach as a treat, water where the fringe of his hair got wet--
commits this moment to memory.
"Hm." A neutral hum again, though Jaskier has, in twenty years, gained the ability to read past even his most carefully ambivalent tones. "There has been time."
The closest to an admission that he'll get.
"If you're finished, we should keep moving. There will only be a few more hours of daylight."
no subject
A neutral hum again, oh dear. And time? Time to think about what? Potential threesomes? The hows and the whos? He guesses Geralt has probably never had a threesome, considering his usual limited companion options, but Jaskier wouldn't have minded paying for a whore even if he wasn't his favorite choice. Hell, maybe with him as a mediator, he could've chatted someone up and--
Oh. Of course. How could he not see it before?
"You were worried."
Another kiss is in order, this time fully on Geralt's mouth, sweet and tender and just full of affection, a hand even reaching up to cup Geralt's face and bring him down to make their foreheads touch when they pull apart. He hopes his silly comment back on Rinde hasn't been haunting the witcher's mind too badly, but this is Geralt, and Jaskier knows how low his self-esteem can go. Thank the gods he spoke up about it instead of bottling it up, though - Jaskier is so proud of him right now.
"I love you, Geralt of Rivia. Don't you dare forget that. This--" He points a flapping finger between them. "-means we're a couple now. I've been the witcher's bard for twenty years, now it just happens to carry a new meaning. Remember, that's why I got--"
He touches his chest and blinks when he finds nothing there. Oh, of course. He hid it back in Rinde! Since they still have a few days of road and forests left, Jaskier takes the chance to do a bit more of showing off (even if it's just the two of them) before they arrive to Ard Carraigh, where he knows he'll have to hide it again.
After letting go of Geralt, he reaches inside his cloak, takes the wolf brooch off his doublet and puts it back outside, this time over the heart area of the cloak. Then he grabs Geralt's hand and puts it on top of it, wondering if even through all the layers of cloth he can still hear his heartbeat.
"A wolf to claim and protect the songbird's heart."
no subject
Housewives worry, overwrought bards worry, witchers do no such thing. At most, witchers brood, which is far more serious and contemplative than mere worrying. And it's also something that Geralt has immense practice in, he is a champion brooder. He broods with nuance.
The impact of his protest, however, is probably deeply undercut by the sweet kiss he gets after it, the way that Jaskier presses their foreheads together and Geralt just lets him. He lets him do whatever he wants, touch his face, pull him around, take things out of his hands, with impunity. Says he loves him. Something in Geralt's chest twists up again at the words.
Jaskier switches the silver wolf brooch from his doublet to the outside of his cloak, and the display is only acceptable because they're in the middle of nowhere right now. Once they get close to Ard Carraigh and the road gets busier, he'll have to hide it again, put it underneath his cloak-- formerly Geralt's. The witcher himself will also have to hide his hair, since it's his most noticeable feature.
"Keep that under your cloak in Ard Carraigh so that I don't have to protect your body as well."
His hand rests over Jaskier's heart, and though he can't feel the beat of it through all of that fabric, he can still hear it. Steady and even, as though counting out beats per measure in a composition.
"If we keep this pace, we'll be in town by the day after tomorrow. After that, we follow the Gwenllech until we reach the Witcher's trail. There's a hunting cabin about halfway up where we can take shelter."
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)