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Geralt of Rivia ([personal profile] lovelybottom) wrote2020-04-28 05:30 pm
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[personal profile] rollstoseduce 2020-04-29 01:58 am (UTC)(link)
We're not friends. How many times has he heard Geralt say that? Jaskier stops counting after a while.

He should've listened. But nooo, he gets cocky, lets the way Geralt allows him into his stories and his scars, shares his food and his rooms and protects him from angry husbands get to his head, feed his ego. Obviously Geralt cares about him, right? He's just an actions-rather-than-words kind of guy. Life has been rough for him, he doesn't know how to communicate. So many excuses has Jaskier made for Geralt's behavior through the years, thinking of himself to be so smart for figuring out what he calls Geralt-speech.

He should've listened.

If like could give me one blessing...

The words play on repeat in his head over and over as he makes his way down the mountain - tired, dirty, alone. Hurting. "See you around, Geralt" had been an answer spoken from shock, but with every step he takes with heavy feet, pain and anger build in his chest until they finally explode. Two decades, the best years of his short human life, his best songs... all wasted on this son of a bitch.

He really should've listened, he thinks again when he stops by a river to wash his face, not wanting to reach town with his eyes red from tears spilled over the biggest asshole in the world. He truly is a fool.

(He gets drunk that evening, and sings and dances for the local tavern until his feet and throat are sore. Drinking songs, naughty songs, adventure songs. But not a single song about the White Wolf.)

Oxenfurt seems to be the most logical step, so he stays there for a while, trying to put himself back together. He finishes "Her Sweet Kiss", adding to it a new bitter twist that didn't have before ("gorgeous garroter"? "lovely garroter"? how about neither). Half of the dinner hall cries when they hear him sing it for the first time. And it's the only song about Geralt he sings when he goes back to the road.

There's war coming, people need bards to help them forget. Oxenfurt may be home (in a way Lettenhove never was and never will) but Jaskier is still Jaskier, and he grows restless easily. He needs adventure, he needs his freedom. So back to the road he goes, jumping from inns to taverns, from courts banquets to weddings, singing for both pleasure and coin. People keep asking for the songs of the White Wolf, he deflects the best way he can - it's hard to escape his reputation.

The three soldiers that kidnap him from his room definitely don't let him forget.

They don't believe him when he says he doesn't have any idea about Geralt's whereabouts. They ask him about princess Cirilla as well, because they know he's played in court before. Bloody hell, if their information gathering is so good, how come they don't know Jaskier hasn't seen that asshole of a witcher in over a year? If they've been tracking him, surely they would've noticed the lack of very specific songs?

Jaskier tells them that after the first day. Obviously being afraid and obeying doesn't change anything, so if he's going to get hurt anyway, then at least he wants to use his tongue as it deserves. They think the whole separation deal is an act - Jaskier snorts.

If only.

They hit him and whip him, they keep him chained and only feed him some water and bread in the morning that he gets to throw up later when feet connect with his stomach. They don't ask about Geralt's location any longer, changing the tactic to wanting to know the witcher's secrets and weaknesses. Those Jaskier does know. He still doesn't tell. He tells himself it's because he doesn't want Nilfgaard to win.

The truth is, even now, he's still a loyal fool.

They leave guards outside. A waste of soldiers, because nobody is coming for him. Geralt isn't coming for him, but this part he keeps for himself - the guards possibly shitting themselves at the chance the White Wolf may come for them is the only little pleasure he can get from this situation.

It seems there's some commotion outside tonight, but he isn't paying attention. Jaskier stays in the corner of the cell, face and clothes covered in blood, pants reeking of piss, hugging his legs and waiting for sleep to come - if it comes at all. When the door opens, he whimpers in fear and tries to make himself smaller.

Jaskier has never been afraid of Geralt. For him, all the time. Of him? Never. Yet he reeks of it now. And when blue eyes finally look up and see who it is, they widen, filled with shock. Part of him thinks he must be dreaming.

"...Geralt?"

The voice is barely a murmur, sounding tired and broken... and the smell of fear starts disappearing, only leaving a faint touch under a racing hearbeat. Because he's still a loyal fool. Because even if he wants to throw something at the witcher's head and tell him to fuck off, he knows he's safe from Nilfgaard now.

[personal profile] rollstoseduce 2020-04-29 04:01 am (UTC)(link)
For once in his life, Jaskier stays silent. And that speaks volumes of his current state of mind.

I'm here, the asshole says, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, as if they had just drank together some piss-tasting ale the night before. It's so much, too much to be exact, even for Jaskier, who usually isn't overwhelmed by emotions. He's used to feeling a lot, but not this, definitely not like this. Pain, fear, tiredness, thirst; his body and mind are already trying to navigate them all. He can't let his heart add all his anger at Geralt now.

He can't let it long for the gentleness on that voice that for once is showing care.

And now he's starting to feel dizzy.

A short sob escapes his lips, a mix of relief at being saved and his other emotions creating a hurricane in his chest, but he swallows the rest down when Geralt reaches out to touch him. Not right now, not like this. He can't help flinching, not because it's Geralt, but because his body still hasn't caught up with the fact he's free now, he's safe. These fingers aren't here to hurt him.

(This one does it with words.)

Jaskier lets him check anyway, because he isn't sure himself - his whole body is screaming in pain, he wouldn't be able to tell his injures apart even if he tried. Thankfully there is nothing broken - they're all bleeding cuts or purple bruises, and he does whimper when Geralt touches those, but at least his bones are fine. (They did threaten his tongue. Jaskier isn't sure he would've wanted to be saved if they had come through.)

Geralt's comment gets him a nod, then a shrug. Can he stand? He isn't sure, but he's going to try. Hands grab the wall and Jaskier raises slowly, the back of his legs showing more gashes from whipping there. The answer to the question? It's a no. His whole body starts shaking and with a painful fuck! he falls to his knees, fire burning through his veins, making it hard to breathe.

"Geralt..." Pride and anger forgotten for now, Jaskier begs in between pants for the only thing he desperately needs right now. "Please take me out of here."

[personal profile] rollstoseduce 2020-04-29 09:27 pm (UTC)(link)
His whole body aches when Geralt picks him up, the pain burning him from head to toe, eliciting the sharpest groan out of him. He needs a distraction, to put his attention on something else. But that would mean being extra aware of Geralt, of his body around him, of the fact he's being kind and helping him without complaining about him getting in trouble again. It would mean being aware of Roach, the good old girl who has carried him once before and it was during the whole djinn disaster, and that's one memory he doesn't need to revisit right now.

At least the feeling of her mane in his hands is familiar. Comforting. Jaskier tries to concentrate on that, on afternoons spent braiding flowers in her hair.

Don't think about the pain, he tells himself under the pressure of his body's wounds.

Don't think about you incredibly complicated feelings for Geralt, the man his brain wants to push away and his heart wants to cuddle under his protection, like the traitor it is.

At least the trip is short, and Jaskier suddenly finds himself very grateful for Geralt's cloak hiding him from the city's curious eyes. As social as he is, interacting with people is the last thing he wants to do right now - the first being finding a bed, crawl under the sheets and sleep for a whole week.

Those aren't Geralt's plans, however. He sits Jaskier on the bed but only to start inspecting him to check his wounds. Awkwardness slips in then - never in twenty years Jaskier had trouble meeting Geralt's eyes (unless he's failing to be sneaky when asking for a favor) yet now he can't stand the heaviness of that golden gaze. Jaskier may find care in them if he does, and Melitele knows it would be extremely foolish to fall for that again.

So he looks away instead, taking in every detail of the room they're in. Not their-- his, Geralt's usual cheap inn.

"You don't have to stay." His voice is rough when he finally speaks again, and he knows he probably shouldn't do that in the first place, but he can't stand the silence. It leaves him alone with his own mind, and it's not a pretty place to be at right now. "You can send a healer and go. It's not--" He swallows a sob. "I didn't tell them anything. You're safe to leave."

[personal profile] rollstoseduce 2020-04-29 10:43 pm (UTC)(link)
Three words. Just... three little words, words that he's heard thousand of times before coming from multiple people, words that were always favored by a very particular witcher. Hearing them right now, when he's feeling so emotional and vulnerable, is like getting punched in the stomach again.

Fuck this asshole of a witcher. At least his heart syncs up with his mind now, not wanting to seek Geralt's kindness anymore. Anger returns and, if he had the energy, he would scream.

"Didn't shut me up in two decades, witcher. Not going to start working now."

His tone is bitter, his lack of will power to say Geralt's name obvious. Not his best comeback, he admits, his sentences are choppy and lack dramatics, but it's the best he can do at the moment. Being sassy is all he has, his only weapon, the one he used against the soldiers when he realized being quiet and obedient wouldn't earn him better treatment.

(They did threaten him with worse, way worse. But he's no soldier, he's weak and wimpy, they were afraid anything would kill him, and they needed the information urgently. They threatened his hands and tongue as well. Jaskier yelled at them, tell them that damaging those was equal to actually killing him. They got the idea, but he has to wonder how many days would've passed before they would've decided to stop being careful.)

With a sigh and trembling arms, Jaskier starts undressing, slowly, painfully, whimpering whenever a particular wounded muscle is pulled the wrong way. At least this doesn't feel like a big deal, considering he and Geralt have seen each other naked many times before while washing in rivers or lakes. It does bother Jaskier, however, that this probably means there's no healer coming - the witcher plans to take care of him himself. Fantastic.

His legs have gotten the worst of the whipping. They kept mocking him, asking him to dance. Jaskier doesn't stand up to remove his pants, he lies down on the bed and raises his butt, which thankfully is only required for a couple of seconds, because he doesn't have the energy for more than that. He doesn't sit up after it either - the bed is comfortable. The cuts on his back are bothering him, and he feels like tearing his skin off, but the tiredness wins.

"...it's cold." He murmurs, his whole body shivering on the matress.

[personal profile] rollstoseduce 2020-04-30 12:58 am (UTC)(link)
As soon as Geralt leaves, Jaskier sighs. If it's with relief or tiredness, he isn't sure. But he hates how his emotions keep shaking him all over the place: being alone is something that he loathes, being the people person he is and needing comfort at the moment, yet Geralt's presence has been incredibly stressful.

The cloak is nice, at least, and Jaskier slowly moves his body to hug his legs and create a cocoon out of witcher black, wishing he could fall asleep and wake up to all this being a horrible nightmare. Instead, his eyes travel around the room again, watching the fireplace and admiring the colors of the flames, moving afterwards to Geralt's pile of things, wondering if anything has changed since--

Wait.

Is that--?

There's no fucking way. He couldn't have done it, he's an ass, he wouldn't have cared about his--

Wrapping the cloak around himself and with very careful steps, Jaskier leaves the bed. A horrible idea, because of course he falls, getting some colorful curses out of him - hopefully the witcher's dumb dog ears don't pick on it. So he crawls the rest of the way, tears on his eyes because of the pain but also because of what awaits him on that pile. He thought he would never see it again.

When Geralt returns, he'll find Jaskier sitting on the floor with his legs crossed and hugging a very specific object against his chest.

"...you rescued my lute."

[personal profile] rollstoseduce 2020-04-30 02:10 am (UTC)(link)
Geralt is absolutely right, Jaskier isn't letting go of the lute any time soon. Especially now that his Geralt-related emotions are getting messy again. Gods, he had fallen into Angry and Bitter pretty comfortably, why can't he stay there? Why does Geralt have to be nice? Why does he mention picking up Jaskier's things as if it was the most obvious and natural choice from his part? As if he hadn't threatened to destroy the lute hundreds of times in the past?

He doesn't know what to think anymore. Maybe he should say thank you, but the words get stuck in his throat.

The witcher mandhandles Jaskier back to bed, and isn't that an irony? Because that's a fantasy Jaskier has had before, but it didn't go like this - exactly the opposite in fact. It's been a night full of opposites, to be fair. Geralt is the one doing the room renting, food ordering, wound mending. It's surreal, having him at his feet like this, being gentle with his wounds like Jaskier had thousands of times before for him. It makes him wince and whimper every now and then, depending on how deep the cut goes, but the salve is soothing and Geralt's hands are kind, so Jaskier's body is slowly lowering its defenses and giving in to the caretaking.

Something else is bothering him though. He watches Geralt with a frown on his face, arms always hugging the lute, as he tries to put two and two together. Why would Geralt find his room in Gors Velen? If he's been protecting princess Cirilla, then he should've been tracking the Nifgaardian soldiers, right? Unless... no way.

"...you were looking for me." He finally says aloud, clearly not believing his own words. Blue eyes are wide with surprise, all his messy emotions raw in there as well, not understanding what the fuck is going on. "Bloody hell. Why?"

[personal profile] rollstoseduce 2020-04-30 03:31 am (UTC)(link)
Ah. That's another punch to his gut. Damn it.

It's not the part about Princess Cirilla - he already heard that from the soldiers, so he isn't surprised. He's glad to know she's safe, actually. It's not the part about Geralt's hands on his thighs, either, although a little part of him does want to scream about that. He's too tired and hurt to have any kind of sexual thoughts.

No, what takes the air out of his lungs -again- is the fact that even when he's not expecting anything, he manages to get disappointed anyway. Because yes, Geralt, words are truly necessary. Otherwise Jaskier will think this is only happening because the witcher just doesn't want to have another corpse under his name, because he doesn't want to give Nilfgaard a pawn.

The bitter smell returns.

Garroter, jury, and judge...

The only reason why he turns around and lays his body face down on the bed, offering his back to Geralt as he requested, is because he wants this to be over with. The lute stays by his side, fingertips brushing its wood, itching to play it but knowing they have to wait. 'Her sweet kiss' is echoing in his mind when he speaks again.

"...and we can't have the bard keeping on shoveling shit on you, can we?"

[personal profile] rollstoseduce 2020-04-30 06:06 pm (UTC)(link)
Fuck indeed, Jaskier thinks. He feels the hands stopping and Jaskier is tempted to turn around, check on Geralt, but at the same time he's afraid of what he'll find there. Will it be the same look Geralt gave him on the mountain? Because Jaskier still remembers that one, it's been burned on his mind, no matter how hard he's tried to forget.

No matter how much time passes, though, he's still a fool, and hearing his name said like that continues to be a weakness. Covering himself with the cloak again (because if Geralt isn't going to touch him anymore then he doesn't want to feel cold again), he turns his body to lie on his side, blue eyes searching for something, anything, on Geralt's face.

Except the witcher doesn't even dare to look at him, the big coward, and what he says? Barely an apology, if it can even be called that.

Jaskier is tired. Angry. Frustrated. In pain. Scared. He's a mess of emotions, half of them having been ignored for the past year, so they've had time to settle down and fester - because no matter how he's tried to sing and fuck his way through the continent, he never moved on. That much of an impact Geralt has had in his life, and that much of an impact he's having now, poking at big emotional wounds with his kindness and care, making them bleed again with poor words.

There's only so much Jaskier cant take - and so he snaps.

"You-- YOU--" He's sitting up, his whole body screaming at the sudden movement, but he doesn't care. Resentment and anger are the energy that move him now, guiding his limbs as if it was adrenaline itself. Before he realizes what he's doing, Jaskier grabs a pillow and throws it at Geralt's face. He shouldn't yell, he should protect his throat. He does it anyway. "YOU BLOODY EMOTIONAL-CONSTIPATED, SWAMP-DWELLING, DIMWITTED, SHIT-DRIPPING, IMBECILIC, COCKEYED, GREASY GOMERIL, BLUNDERING PILLOCK, ASININE BASTARD SON OF A WEASEL AND A WHORE!"

[personal profile] rollstoseduce 2020-04-30 08:12 pm (UTC)(link)
There are not enough words to describe the amount of satisfaction that shows on the glint in blue eyes and smirk on thin lips - how many people can claim having surprised Geralt like this, when the man has live for a century? Having hit him with a freaking pillow, when the witcher can usually dodge arrows with his sword? Nobody, that's who. Another thing for his "I'm the only one who gets this Geralt" list. It's a pity he doesn't sing about the motherfucker anymore, because it would make an amazing comic jig.

And of course, what does the asshole say in return? This has to be a joke.

"THAT'S what you concentrate on, you bloody imbecile? Unbelievable." Jaskier says after groaning and rolling his eyes, hands thrown in the air in exasperation. Seriously, his metaphors are wasted on this man. "Not THAT kind of cockeyed. It means foolish! Absurd! Preposterous! LudicroooAAAH-!" He would've started another rant of insults if it wasn't for Geralt lowering the cloak, and now he can feel the cold on the open scabs. The damn fingers touching them, too. Stupid witcher and his stupid kindness. "...bollocks."

Arms hug his stomach and his back bends over, body shivering again as the adrenaline starts fading away and Jaskier becomes aware of the pain again. Fuck, why couldn't Geralt have found him earlier? Yelling all these things at him is so damn satisfying. He doesn't want to stop now - sadly he can see Geralt's point. Just like that day with the djinn (she saved your life, Jaskier), he hates it that the witcher is right.

"Oh sure, NOW you're an advocate of not moving for the sake of wounds." The snort that comes with that is loud enough to echo in the room, the sarcasm is so thick in the air that you could cut it with a blade. But at least he does lower his voice when speaking this time, because unlike what Geralt believes, he isn't that stupid. No, really. "Worry not, you horse's ass, I'll go to sleep after you're done patching me up, and you won't have to hear this filling-less pie no more. We cannot have more shit piled on you."

A sigh, then he mumbles to himself, pointless considering Geralt's hearing. "I truly am foolish."
Edited (typos) 2020-04-30 20:14 (UTC)

[personal profile] rollstoseduce 2020-04-30 09:58 pm (UTC)(link)
"Yeah, well..." He looks down at his lap, not wanting to meet those golden eyes. "You already know my answer to that."

How many times did they have this argument in the past? Jaskier telling Geralt not to move while he was being patched up, only for the man to say it was fine because he was a witcher? How many times he would take on a new contract regardless of the state of his body after the last one? Jaskier would start a speech every time, reminding Geralt that being a witcher didn't mean he had to endure the pain. It didn't mean he didn't deserve a break, didn't mean he didn't deserve kindness or soothing.

He can't bring himself to say all that now, though. His heart isn't exactly in the mood to work on Geralt's reputation and self-esteem issues.

And yet... here they are, with Geralt playing nurse. His hands are kind and methodical, putting his pain at ease and helping his body relax. Every single muscle and bone is still sore as fuck, but at least it's tolerable now. What's difficult to deal with is everything Geralt related.

They aren't talking about the same kind of foolish, he wants to say, but Geralt is still talking, and Jaskier lets him. It's such a rare occurrence after all. When the witcher says he isn't going to leave, Jaskier snorts again, thinking about Geralt didn't have trouble leaving back on the mountain.

Speaking of the mountain... ah. Here we go. Jaskier finally looks up, heart beating fast in anticipation... but that's it? He raiseshis eyebrows.

"...aaaaaaand?"

Goddammit, he's two seconds away from throwing the other pillow.

[personal profile] rollstoseduce 2020-05-01 01:27 am (UTC)(link)
Jaskier is, indeed, very good with words, understanding the meaning in between lines. And he thought he was an expert at reading Geralt's, all the grunts and even the slight shift of his body language. But that day on the mountain, his image of his friend was shattered in pieces. He doesn't know what's real and what is wishful thinking anymore.

More now than ever, Jaskier needs reassurance. He needs to know what Geralt really feels, and not just the usual pushing he does to keep people at bay that Jaskier has to battle against.

He's so done with battling. He's so done with having to translate friendly gestures into actual interest.

At least Geralt does understand he was cruel - that's a start. Jaskier allows him to keep bandaging him up, the words he's hearing soothing his soul as the witcher's hands soothe his physical pain. Blue eyes follow those fingers that could kill him in one swift movement being gentle just for him, and finally lets himself enjoy it. He even can't help smiling a little when Geralt points out Jaskier stayed because of choice, not because of destiny.

That's right - take that, destiny, you bitch. Jaskier is above all of your shit.

"You did. And it scares me, Geralt." His voice is soft, and his eyes are still on Geralt's hands, which are suddenly held by Jaskier's when he's done with the bandages. This bard likes to talk and the power of words, yes, but he is also touchy as fuck and likes physical reassurance. "It scares me to think how easily I believed you."

A pause. Blue eyes look up again, intense. Demanding. Needing the comfort. "What are we, Geralt?"

[personal profile] rollstoseduce 2020-05-01 02:54 am (UTC)(link)
Whatever you want.

Blue eyes widen in shock, his heartbeat starts running incredibly fast. Bloody hell. Those three words are so much bigger than what he expected, and he isn't sure if Geralt realizes exactly how much Jaskier wants to ask for. Has he listened to "Her Sweet Kiss"? Understood its meaning? Probably not, too busy with Ciri.

"I want to! So badly." He suddenly exclaims - Jaskier has never had much control of his emotions, always carrying his heart in his sleeve, yet he can feel himself losing it right now. His voice breaks a little with the next words, his hands squeezing Geralt's fingers. "...I've missed you."

It hurts his pride to admit it. Jaskier would've liked to have been a petty bitch for the past few months, able to dismiss pain and move on. But that's also not true at all, he loves to love openly and freely, he loves feeling this strongly, and no matter how he tried to pretend he was over it... he never stopped missing Geralt.

Whatever you want is a lot. It's a fire in his chest, and he's scared of burning. If Geralt had asked before the mountain, Jaskier would've jumped on it. Now, however? Now he needs to know their friendship is fine before he can even consider anything else. And as much as he hates having this thought, sooner or later he'll have to ask about certain sorceress as well. That is, if Geralt means his offer that way in the first place - Jaskier still has doubts.

"You told me thousands of times that we weren't friends. And the last year I kept thinking: you should've listened, Jaskier, you're such an utter fool." He shakes his head at himself before looking at Geralt again, his expression and tone of voice demanding to be taken seriously. To be paid attention to. "I know it's hard for you to relate to people, Geralt. I know better than anyone, and that's why I've been patient for twenty bloody years. I don't expect you to suddenly read me poetry and laugh at my jokes. Banter is good, teasing is what friends do - you tell me to shut up, not meaning it, I tell you you're emotionally constipated. It works. But there's also only so much I can take."

A deep breath. Here goes nothing.

"I want to forgive you, and I know I will, because I am a fool, especially for you. But I need your word that at least you're going to try, Geralt. No more filling-less pie. No more 'we aren't friends'. No more pushing me away. Can I have that much at least?" He shouldn't be a manipulative bastard, but as a wordsmith, the urge is stronger than him. "Hasn't my loyalty earned that consideration?"

[personal profile] rollstoseduce 2020-05-01 05:00 am (UTC)(link)
That one word already shakes Jaskier's entire world, but then Geralt keeps talking, saying he's earned more and-- by Melitele's tits, he uses the f-word. And not the one he likes so much.

Jaskier's smile could light up the entire fucking inn.

Forget the bitterness - Jaskier smells sweetly now, happiness exuding from every inch of his body, eyes twinkling like the stars, grin almost splitting his face in two. He's still sore so he doesn't enter his dramatics mode, but it's obvious that a general bounce has returned to his limbs.

And before Geralt gets away, because he knows that face, knows the conversation has become too much for him, Jaskir leans in and hugs the hell out of him.

"I forgive you, old friend." Gods, it feels good to be able to say those words once more. Makes his heart beat to the rhythm of Toss a coin again. "And thank you. For saving me, and for taking care of my wounds." He pulls back and this time his little smirk is more of a teasing kind. "I won't apologize for the pillow, however, I shall carry that success with me. Your cloak is mine now too."

Okay, the cloak part he doesn't mean, not really. But he still grabs it and wraps himself in it, enjoying having this little piece of Geralt protecting him. He was too hurt, both in the emotional and the physical sense, to appreciate it on the ride here. Now though? Now he doesn't let go of it, moving to lie down on the pillow that is left on the bed. See, he's being a good boy!

"Let us sup, then, my dear witcher!" Congrats, Geralt, you've earned some extra terms of endearment. Jaskier pats the spot next to him. "Come, Geralt. Bring the tray and sit with me. Let us share food like the old times. Then I'll promise I'll rest - I am tired and I don't want to stay here for too long either."

Where is he going, he has no idea. But they can figure that out in the morning. Now he only wants to cuddle against Geralt's broad back, just like he used to do while sharing bedrolls and rooms with only one bed.

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