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On the Merit of A Flower

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Jaskier stared up at the blue sky, watching the clouds move weightlessly through the air.  He breathed in the sweet scent of the tall grass around them and rolled onto his side to pluck one of the wildflowers from its stalk.

“Have you ever wondered what it is like to be a flower, Geralt?” he asked, glancing over at his travel companion who was carefully cleaning his blade.

Geralt didn’t bother to look up from his task.  “No,” was all he offered as he inspected his work.

Jaskier studied him for a moment.  He’d removed his armor when they’d stopped for a light meal, wearing only his leather shirt and pants.  It was a rare sight these days.  Geralt had been taking more contracts than usual as the weather grew warmer, and sometimes it felt like weeks since Jaskier saw him in anything less than full armor.  Even his hair was down this afternoon, falling around his shoulders in white waves.  

“No, I don’t suppose you are the sort to wish to be a flower,” Jaskier said, falling to his back again and twirling the little blossom in the air above him.  “But if you would humor me for but a moment…”

“I’ve humored you for years, Jaskier.  It rarely works out in my favor,” Geralt said, continuing to devote his attention to his silver blade.

“Oh hush!  Why I believe just last night it worked very much in your favor...multiple times, I might add,” Jaskier teased.  He could sense Geralt’s eye roll rather than see it, but he would’ve been disappointed if it wasn’t there.  “As I was saying, to be a flower...to live your whole life in the warm sun and gentle breeze.  To feel the spring rains on your face and never feel the harsh winds of winter.  To watch the clouds pass above…”

“To be plucked by careless children, maidens, and bards.  To be crushed beneath the feet of travelers…”  Geralt interrupted Jaskier’s rambling reverie.

“Must you insist on seeing the negative in everything?”  Jaskier asked, rolling onto his knees before crawling over to Geralt.  He didn’t pay the blade, pointed in his direction as it rested in Geralt’s lap, any mind.  He knew Geralt wouldn’t let it so much as knick him even if he threw himself into Geralt’s lap. 

Crawling to Geralt’s side, he reached up to tuck Geralt’s hair behind his ear.  Geralt didn’t complain, only carefully moving his sword away from Jaskier.  Emboldened, Jaskier tucked the blossom behind Geralt’s ear as well.

“There, it even has the power to make a fearsome witcher seem soft and approachable,” Jaskier told him, stroking Geralt’s jaw affectionately and ignoring the discoloration of the bruise he’d returned from a contract with.

“I think it has more to do with your inability to recognize danger than the power of a mere flower,” Geralt muttered, making no move to get away from Jaskier’s touch or scrutiny.  

“I am perfectly capable of detecting danger.  I just happen to always have a very scary witcher at my side, so why waste the energy on fear when I can be taking studious notes?” Jaskier asked, shuffling around Geralt to kneel behind him.  It wasn’t something Geralt let many people do, turn his back to them.

Geralt sighed.  “And when I am not around?  Did you not stab three gamblers just last month when they accused you of cheating?”

“You heard of that, eh?”

“Tongues wag when an upstart in flamboyant attire with a lute strapped to his back starts stabbing the locals,” Geralt noted, going back to his task of cleaning and sharpening his weapons.  “Subtle, you are not.”

“I won’t deny it.  Those gentlemen tried to besmirch my reputation.  It was an unavoidable encounter,” Jaskier said, combing his fingers through Geralt’s hair which was freshly washed in a stream that very morning.  It was a rare treat to see him so clean while out on the road, and Jaskier hated to waste it.

“Unavoidable,” Geralt muttered, and Jaskier could hear the amusement in his inflection even if his muttering hadn’t really changed at all.  

“Do not try to preach turning the other check to me when just last week, you knocked a man out for insulting my singing...don’t think I didn’t see it.  I am very observant when I perform,” Jaskier retorted, continuing to run his fingers through Geralt’s hair.

“Hmm.”

It was Jaskier’s turn to roll his eyes as he gently separated Geralt’s hair into sections.  He smiled when Geralt made no comment about it as he picked up his steel blade and began to tend to that one instead.  Jaskier wished that simply placing a sword in front of him would always make him so docile to Jaskier's desires.

Jaskier glanced around, reaching out to pluck another flower from beside them then another and another.  He dropped them into his lap as he carefully pulled Geralt’s hair back from his face and began the process of creating two braids from his temples that he could tie back into Geralt’s usually half up style.

“As I was saying before you rudely distracted me.  A flower.”

Geralt said nothing, and Jaskier inched closer, so his spread knees bracketed Geralt’s hips.  

“A flower is singular in its purpose, but yet it is so much more in practice,” Jaskier continued, beginning to weave Geralt’s hair into a thin braid.  He very carefully wove the delicate blossoms between the soft sections of hair as he worked.

“And what is its singular purpose?” Geralt asked, sounding relaxed as he worked.

“To attract...bees, birds, children, maidens, bards, and even witchers.  To bring us all under their spell,” Jaskier mused, leaning forward to nudge Geralt’s shoulder with his nose.  

Geralt reached back and squeezed Jaskier’s knee in return.  It was moments like this that Jaskier wished others could see Geralt as he was allowed.  Despite his gruff demeanor, if there was time Geralt always indulged Jaskier’s flights of fancy.  They should see the way the “monster” sat stoically as Jaskier braided flowers into his hair.  

They’d never see it.  Geralt would never let them.  Even if they did see it, it wouldn’t change their biased minds.  

So in the swaying grass beneath the wide blue sky, Jaskier saw what no others ever would.  He saw the delicate little flowers bring color to the stark white of Geralt’s hair.  Pinks and golds bringing a splash of color to the black and gray that defined Geralt.

“You didn’t say what more a flower achieved than to lure,” Geralt noted softly after an extended period of silence.  He’d finished with his sword and sat peacefully, letting Jaskier finish the braid that married the two separate ones down the back of his head.

“What doesn’t a flower achieve?” Jaskier mused.  “It brings joy to children.  It brings beauty to a home when maidens pick bouquets.  It shows one’s devotion when gifted to another.  It gives one a soft place to rest on a long journey.  It indulges the senses with beauty and a delicate scent that brings back the fondest memories.  It feeds mighty horses like our dear Roach.  It can be woven into one's hair or a crown…”

Geralt snorted, reaching back and pulling Jaskier around to his front.  Jaskier smiled, sprawling over Geralt’s lap to rest his head there.

“What has you so beholden to the flowers today when usually you complain that they make you sneeze?” Geralt asked, leaning over Jaskier to look down at his eyes.

“I do not always complain…”

“Hmm.”

“Oh shush.  I am allowed to take some time to muse on the merits of something many overlook as frivolous or unimportant.  ‘Tis the duty of a bard,” Jaskier said, tugging Geralt down for a soft kiss.

Geralt hummed before pressing his lips to Jaskier’s in a mismatched kiss that was still breathtaking.  Geralt didn’t ask further questions as he straightened up and ran his own fingers through Jaskier’s hair.

“The flower serves to remind us that we are more than our duty, our purpose,” Jaskier pushed, feeling emboldened by Geralt’s gentle touch.

Geralt sighed, but he didn’t stop touching Jaskier.

“Composing now, are you?” he asked, sounding weary.

“Oh don’t be that way.  It is a good metaphor.  I am allowed to see there is more to you than killing monsters even if you hide behind your singular purpose like a shield.  You are constantly solving others problems.  You defend the defenseless.  You are a brilliant lover if I do say so myself…”

Geralt growled.  “I would rather not suffer your scrutiny.”

“And what would you prefer to suffer?” Jaskier retorted, rolling onto his stomach and taking in Geralt’s formidable form.  However, Jaskier could see the bright blossoms poking out at Geralt’s temples, going a long way to temper the man’s scowl.

“The plague.”

“Unfortunately, you are immune, so you will suffer me instead,” Jaskier laughed, crawling forward and climbing into Geralt’s lap, leaning into him until he let himself fall back in the grass.  

Jaskier laid over him, bracing himself over Geralt and smiling down at him.  “I think I should like to pin you here and sing to you about the similarities between a witcher and a wild blossom.”  

“And what would I get in return, other than the inevitable headache?” Geralt asked with a put-upon sigh.

Jaskier slapped his chest in rebuke.  “My voice is lovely and my songs an inspiration.  I will hear none of your tactless slander.”

“Your analogies are lackluster at the best of—”

Jaskier cut him off with a fierce kiss that stole his own breath as he swallowed Geralt’s false criticisms.  For his part, Geralt let himself be kissed and easily returned each bruising kiss.  

“Do you still find your comparison fitting?” Geralt asked, reaching up to brush Jaskier’s hair out of his eyes.

“You have only strengthened the comparison by reminding me that much like a flower, a witcher can be an irritant to one’s senses.”

That actually earned him a laugh from Geralt as he rolled Jaskier beneath him.  “If I irritate you, perhaps you should stop plucking at me.”

Jaskier smiled up at him.  “No.  You are certainly worth the irritation, darling witcher.”

Geralt sighed again, but Jaskier could see through his mask of malcontent.  He was touched by Jaskier’s words even if he didn’t know how to express it.  He would have snapped at Jaskier otherwise or demanded they be on their way.  

“You will give me a toothache as well as a headache at this rate.”

Jaskier laughed, wrapping his hands around Geralt’s hips as Geralt settled between the v of his legs.  “I will not be persuaded by your lies.  In fact, I will just sing louder.  There once was a witcher...as pretty as a flow—

Geralt rested his palm over Jaskier’s mouth, cutting off his song.  Jaskier widened his eyes innocently as Geralt glared down at him.  He slowly rolled his hips against Jaskier, and Jaskier lost the ability to speak, never mind sing.  He almost purred as Geralt gently rocked against the growing hardness in Jaskier’s pants.

“Will you be quiet if I remove my hand?” Geralt asked, removing it before Jaskier could respond.

“I make no promises, but I will not complain if you continue to keep doing as you are.”

“Is that so?”

“It is, indeed.  I might even be inclined to join you.”

“And if I stop?”

“I fear I might never recover.”

“Hmm.  Sounds like a solution to my troubles,” Geralt said, pushing himself back onto his knees and rising from the ground as Jaskier blinked up at him in surprise.

“You bastard!” Jaskier cried as Geralt walked over to his pack and began putting it to rights again.

Jaskier climbed to his feet and ran to Geralt, tackling him into the soft grass and wrestling him while tossing insults at him.  “You would leave a man with a cock as firm as steel in his pants?  You unfeeling monster!”

Geralt growled, though there was little heat in it as he tried to grab hold of Jaskier’s squirming limbs with surprisingly little success as they rolled back and forth, destroying the flowers beneath them.

“Unhand me you heartless, fiend!” Jaskier insisted when Geralt pinned him beneath him once again, straddling him.

“I thought this was what you wanted.”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“Hmm.  And what is your mind in favor of now?” Geralt asked as though he was loath to actually know.

“I think I would like to pluck the petals from you until you are down to just your skin.”

“So my clothes are my beauty?”

“Mm.  Perhaps the metaphor has grown tired…”

Perhaps .”

Jaskier smiled up at him.  “Will you indulge me?”

“I’ve indulged you all afternoon,” Geralt retorted, though his voice was a soft rumble, making his contentment known.

“Then what’s a little more indulgence?” Jaskier asked cheekily before rolling Geralt onto his back and plucking the vial of oil from his grasp, which he’d clearly gathered when he’d gone to his pack.  The man was a tease, though he’d never admit to it.  “And it would seem you came prepared for indulgence.”  

Geralt just hummed, bracing himself on his elbows as Jaskier sat above him.  Jaskier placed the vial beside them and began the slow task of unbuttoning Geralt’s tunic.  

“One might make the comparison of deflowering…” Jaskier started as his nimble fingers worked through the buttons.

“That ship sailed decades before your parents had the ill-advised idea of conceiving you,” Geralt muttered, watching Jaskier’s fingers work.  

“And who had such a privilege?” Jaskier asked, ignoring Geralt’s barb.

Geralt hummed, but Jaskier was undeterred.

“A lovely young maiden that you’d visit from time to time, even as her years progressed perhaps.”

Geralt snorted.

“A fetching young lad then.  One you met as a youth yourself?”

“Enough buttons,” Geralt said, lifting his arms and holding his back off the ground with abominable muscles Jaskier was quite envious of.  Still, Jaskier tugged the shirt off of Geralt with little trouble.

“Not a young lad either?  An older woman or man?”

“Another witcher, Jaskier.”  He sighed like Jaskier was being purposely ignorant.  “I lived in a secluded castle until I set out on the Path…”

Jaskier’s mouth fell open even as he worked the fastenings on Geralt’s trousers.  “Of course...how silly of me.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Jaskier asked innocently as he removed Geralt’s cock from his pants.  He bit his lip as he looked down it, thick and leaking already.  He wanted to wrap his lips around it, but he waited.  This wasn't a moment to rush.

“Don’t read into it.  We were young men with no outlet other than each other.  We beat each other bloody in training during the day then took care of each other's needs at night.”

“It’s a wonder any of you left to go out on the Path, though perhaps it explains why you return every winter.”  It wasn’t jealousy he felt, but a new level of understanding which Geralt had never spoken of before.

“I said not to read into it.”

“And then you told me that you fuck the only other men who can truly understand what you’ve been through.”  Jaskier ran his palms over Geralt’s stomach and chest, loving the feeling of firm muscle beneath skin and hair.

Geralt sighed.  “You twist my words.  I said my first was another witcher.  I didn’t say it was romantic or intimate or particularly meaningful.  We fucked...constantly, until we set out on the Path.  It isn’t why I return, and it certainly isn’t something I seek out when our paths cross.  Stop turning it over in your head, or I will think twice before I tell you things in the future.”

Jaskier smiled at him.  “You should help me remove my doublet.  I would hate to ruin it,” he said, letting the subject drop.  He would stow it away for a later time like he did with so many of the morsels Geralt gave him in intimate moments when his guard was down.

“We couldn’t have that, could we?” he muttered, easily undoing the fastenings on Jaskier’s doublet and pushing it off his shoulders.  

Jaskier set the garment aside and pulled his tunic over his head before dropping that as well.  He dropped down to press their chests together and stole a sweet kiss as Geralt untied the laces at the back of his pants.  Jaskier let Geralt lift him to settle between his legs, so he could push Jaskier’s trousers down his thighs.

Once both of them were free of the confines of their pants, they pressed against each other, rocking their hips together in a sensual rhythm.  

Geralt’s eyes were bright as they watched Jaskier above him.  Jaskier could see the fondness in his gaze as he held him by the hips, guiding Jaskier’s movements.  It was a tender touch, and one that Jaskier hadn't received from even his most courtly lovers before Geralt.

Jaskier knew their options were limited on the road with several days before they reached the next village.  They’d both need to ride Roach to make decent time, that meant that neither of them could afford to be sore.  

Uncorking the vial with his teeth, Jaskier poured a small amount into Geralt’s palm and moaned when Geralt wrapped his hand around both of their cock’s, stroking them firmly.

“I won’t last if that’s your approach,” Jaskier panted, trying to recork the vial without spilling the remainder of the liquid.  

“Hmm. You never do.”

“Lies!”

Geralt hummed, continuing to stroke them both in a way that made Jaskier’s toes curl as he gripped at Geralt’s firm arms.  

Leaning forward, Jaskier kissed Geralt, licking his way into his mouth and tasting the sweet wine they’d shared with their meal.  It was decadent and warm, and he moaned as Geralt twisted his wrist just so.

Jaskier didn’t even complain as Geralt rolled them once again, straddling Jaskier’s hips.  Jaskier looked up at him and smiled as one of the flowers escaped Geralt’s braid, getting tangled in his hair as it made its escape.  Jaskier reached up and plucked it, even as Geralt’s hips rocked against his own in the most mesmerizing dance.

The blossom flew as Geralt released their cocks in favor of pinning Jaskier’s wrists to the ground.  Jaskier gasped feeling the sensual slide of Geralt’s cock against his own, oil slicking them both as the pressure created the most satisfying friction. 

“You aren’t playing fairly,” Jaskier moaned, tilting his head to give Geralt’s mouth access to his neck. 

Geralt bit him rather than answering, and it sent fire down Jaskier’s spine right to his gut.  When Geralt licked the abused skin and pressed a gentle kiss to it, Jaskier whimpered at the varying sensations.

Jaskier panted as Geralt’s hips picked up their pace as Geralt latched on to his shoulder, sucking a bruise into the flesh.  It was too good, and his back arched into the sensation.  With a cry, he spilled between them even as waves of pleasure rolled through his humming body.

Jaskier whined as Geralt got off of him as the aftershocks continued, then rolled Jaskier onto his front.  The poor flowers were trampled as Geralt pulled him to his knees and settled behind him.  Jaskier could hear the cork of the vial removed again, and he felt the thick oil spread over his inner thighs.  A shiver ran down his spine in anticipation.

Even though he knew what was coming, he moaned as Geralt pressed his legs together and sheathed himself between them.  He could feel Geralt’s thick cock spear between his trembling thighs, and he could hear Geralt’s groan of pleasure as Jaskier squeezed them together as best he could.

Glancing down at his own body, Jaskier could see his own spend dripping from the head of his softening cock onto the flattened grass as the head of Geralt’s own peaked between his thighs with each sharp thrust.  

When Geralt changed the angle to nudge the small stretch between his balls and his hole, Jaskier saw stars.  He gasped as another wave of pleasure rocked through him, leaving him shaking.

Geralt didn’t stop though, nudging Jaskier there every so often to drag another pleasured moan from his lips.  

Jaskier gripped the grass in clumps as he braced himself for Geralt’s continued assault on his senses.  

Geralt’s hands wrapped around his hips, holding him steady as he continued to thrust between his thighs.  The squelch of slick skin sliding against skin filled the air.  Geralt’s hips never slowed.

Jaskier moaned as Geralt draped himself over his back and his hand wrapped around Jaskier.  He combed his fingers through the hair on Jaskier’s chest before pinching one of his nipples roughly.  

Geralt was still going when Jaskier felt the first stirrings of arousal in his gut again.  He moaned softly, but Geralt knew immediately, likely able to smell it on him.  His hand wrapped around Jaskier’s cock and encouraged it back to hardness.

Jaskier was lightheaded as Geralt slowly pulled his foreskin back, teasing the head of his cock gently even as his trusts continued with unrelenting force that practically knocked Jaskier over at times.

Jaskier felt his own pleasure build as Geralt cradled his balls squeezing them gently as he pressed a finger behind them and practically had Jaskier coming undone again as his whole body quaked.  

Geralt grunted behind him, and Jaskier knew to press his thighs together as tightly as he could.  He could feel the rumble in Geralt’s chest as he let go and came between Jaskier’s thighs.  

Jaskier could immediately feel the wet press where Geralt had spilled, but Geralt continued to thrust, shaking behind him.  He continued to stroke Jaskier even as his softening cock pressed against the expanse between his balls and ass.  

Mumbling filth, Jaskier felt his second orgasm cresting as Geralt continued to stroke him.  It wasn’t as devastating as the first, but it built and built until Jaskier was breathless, held up only by Geralt’s hands.  Clumps of grass were fisted in his hands, and his back arched in pleasure.  It swept him up and set him down again like a flowing tide, and Jaskier was left shaking in Geralt’s embrace covered in both their spend.

Geralt guided them both to the soft ground, where it wasn’t covered in oil and come.  Jaskier sprawled beside him, staring up at the weightless clouds as his breath came back to him.  

Geralt pushed himself up and settled between Jaskier’s legs, lifting them over his shoulders as he dipped in to lap at the mess between his thighs.  Jaskier moaned as he felt Geralt’s tongue against his sensitive skin, and he reached down to bury his fingers in Geralt’s hair as he thoroughly cleaned Jaskier of both their releases.

Jaskier couldn’t keep his eyes open, but there was something so wonderful about the way Geralt licked him clean.  Despite the roughness of their lovemaking, Geralt always tended him gently afterwards.

When Geralt was finished, he collapsed beside Jaskier once again.

They were both covered in sweat and dirt, and Jaskier could see the mess that was Geralt’s hair with crushed flowers sticking out at odd angles.  It was no less beautiful, not less mesmerizing than before.

“You’ll be the death of me.”

“Something tells me you have a deathwish then because you continue to goad me into fucking you at every opportunity,” Geralt mumbled, pulling Jaskier against his side.

“You may have spared my ass, but my knees are raw.”

“Serves you right for comparing me to a flower,” Geralt grumbled, but it was complete nonsense.  He welcomed any excuse to ruin Jaskier’s poor knees, just as Jaskier welcomed any excuse to incite Geralt’s lust.

“Perhaps not a flower, but certainly a tempest,” Jaskier said, rolling to his side and resting his palm on Geralt’s chest.  “Or a spring storm, sudden and violent, but fleeting.  Watering the thirsting plants, so they might grow even greater.”

Geralt sighed.  “Must you always reduce me to romantic poetry?”

“I am a poet, Geralt.  And just now I reduced you to a grunting, shaking mess.  My talents are not limited.  You just do not give them their due recognition.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm, indeed.”

The light was turning golden as evening set in, and Jaskier rolled onto his back to watch the remains of the flowers sway in the gentle breeze as his skin cooled.

“Must we set off immediately?” he asked, groping between them for Geralt’s hand.  He laced their fingers when he found it.  Geralt was surprisingly tolerant of Jaskier’s affection for hand holding when it was just the two of them.  Jaskier understood his unwillingness to show such familiarity when others were present, knowing it could easily be used against either of them.  However, in these quiet moments, it was something Jaskier cherished.

“I suppose you’ll ask for more indulgence,” Geralt said, voice a gravelly rumble.  He sounded so completely at ease that Jaskier knew he’d grant him anything he asked for.

“Just one night.  We’ve flattened out enough space for a small campfire already.”

Geralt snorted.  “You mean that you tore up enough grass.”

“If we are laying blame, you are certainly the culprit.”

“Hmm.  Always blame the mutant.”

“Well, I certainly don’t see how it’s my fault.”

“Hmm.  You didn’t tackle me to the ground…”

“A feat that I would love to claim, but neither of us is naive enough to believe I could achieve such a thing without you letting me.”

“You didn’t sit yourself in my lap and pin me down…”

Fine , perhaps we both played a part.  We certainly shouldn’t let it go to waste.”

“Hmm.”

“Is that a yes?  That is a yes.”

Jaskier saw Geralt shake his head out of the corner of his eye, but he knew he had won.  Though he wasn’t quite sure what they’d actually been fighting for.  He’d accept the victory nonetheless.

“The clouds will make a beautiful sunset.”

“Will you compare me to a sunset as well?” Geralt asked, humor lacing his words.

“Perhaps, if it will inspire you to do that wicked thing with your tongue…”  Jaskier let the statement trail off, the suggestion hanging between them as the blue sky slowly gave way to hues of plum and pink.

Jaskier breathed in the sweet smell of flowers as the sunset cast the sky in beautiful color.  “A feast for the senses,” he murmured, squeezing Geralt’s hand.

“Hmm.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For this.”

“A colored sky?”

“You have no sense of romance, Geralt.  It is a wonder you incite any to your bed.”

“You have enough romance for the both of us...and then some,” Geralt muttered.

“Then thank you for this moment, Geralt.  Thank you for the time to appreciate the simple things.”

“Like flowers and clouds?”

“You are purposely being obtuse.  Yes, the flowers and clouds...and you.  Without all the trappings of witchery.  Without the scowl and walls around you.  Thank you for indulging me and laying in the grass for one lazy afternoon.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier turned his head just enough to press a kiss to Geralt’s scarred shoulder before he went back to looking up at the ever changing sky.

I once knew a witcher as lovely as the setting sun… ” he began to sing, only just keeping his laughter in check.

Geralt huffed, but he didn’t stop him, staring up at the sky himself, a contented smile playing on his lips.